Authors: Sarah Rayne
The Silence (32 page)
It infuriates me that my father says I must write this account, but I’ve done as he asked, and it’s all written down, and I shall sign and date it, as he asked, then take it along to the almshouses. My mother won’t be there; in the middle of the afternoon she’ll be busy-bodying in someone else’s house and my father will be on his own. I know what he’ll do. He’ll lock this statement away in the Japanned box where he keeps his few papers, and he’ll say that it makes an end to the matter.
But I’m the one who’ll make the end to it, and the end is not what my father will be expecting . . .
And when I look ahead to the years left to me (I am no longer young, but I am not so very old), I do not think I can remain silent forever. I think there will come a day when I shall be compelled to accept the punishment due to me.
The final paper in the folder was a cutting from a newspaper. The date was 1901.
JURY’S VERDICT ON FATHER-KILLER
A verdict of Guilty was today unanimously pronounced on Mr Samuel Burlap of Derbyshire, who stood charged with killing his disabled father, Mr Jack Burlap, in May of this year.
Mr Burlap had pleaded Guilty to the charge, declining to give evidence on his own behalf. The Court heard how Mr Burlap had visited his father on what the defence said was a normal family visit – a son calling on his elderly parents.
The dead man’s wife had not been present, but neighbours reported hearing raised voices and sounds of a quarrel between Samuel Burlap and his father, followed by unmistakable sounds of violence, during which Mr Jack Burlap shouted for help. Sadly, by the time they got into the cottage, Mr Burlap lay on the floor with blood pouring from a head wound, and his son standing nearby holding a brass poker, covered in blood. One witness said Samuel Burlap appeared to be trying to break into a small cupboard which it was thought held Mr Jack Burlap’s private papers, but this was never known for sure, and Samuel himself declined to answer questions.
Summing up, the judge said there could be no doubt about Samuel Burlap’s guilt, and that the only possible sentence that could be passed was the death sentence.
Clipped to this were two further pieces of paper, both headed H M PRISON, NOTTINGHAM. The first said:
I, Henry Osgood, Surgeon of His Majesty’s Prison of Nottingham, hereby certify that I have today examined the body of Samuel Burlap, on whom judgement of death was today executed in the said prison; and that on that examination I found that the said Samuel Burlap was dead.
Dated this fourth day of November, 1901.
Signed:
Henry Osgood.
The second had the same heading and said,
We the undersigned hereby declare that Judgement of Death was this day executed on Samuel Burlap in His Majesty’s Prison of Nottingham in our presence.
Dated this fourth day of November, 1901.
Several signatures followed.
T
he various papers were strewn over the carpet, and the two low tables were littered with the remains of Chinese food. Beth had stayed up to eat her share of the food, and had finally gone, rather reluctantly, to bed.
Michael reread the execution notices, and laid them down thoughtfully. ‘So that’s what happened to Samuel in the end.’
‘I can’t help feeling just a little bit sorry for him,’ said Emily. ‘He had no real guidance, if you know what I mean. No parents to love him and understand him, or realize what was going on in his head.’ She caught Nell’s eye and smiled a bit sheepishly. ‘I do know I’d find excuses for the devil, though. And I certainly can’t forgive him for Esmond.’
‘Nor can I. Jack did try to forgive him for Isobel, I think,’ said Nell.
‘But Jack was caught up with chasing the ladies, and then with his own tragedy,’ said Michael. ‘It was only later he became really suspicious.’
‘Yes, but I don’t think Jack ever really intended to tell anyone what his son had done,’ said Nell. ‘Even though Samuel seems to have subtly threatened him.’
‘One thing I do find strange,’ said Emily. ‘That belief about the music calling to the dead. It’s interesting, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.’
‘Nor have I. Michael, are you having some more wine, or are you driving?’
‘I’m not driving,’ said Michael. ‘Emily and I are sharing a taxi back. So I’ll have some more wine, please. In fact I’ll even get the bottle of white Burgundy from the fridge.’
When he had refilled the glasses, Nell said, ‘While we were in the house I heard Beth talking about the music – about it calling the dead back.’
‘Was she talking to Esmond?’ asked Emily eagerly.
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps it was to something that might have been a leftover fragment of Esmond,’ said Nell, firmly.
‘You never will be convinced about ghosts, will you?’ said Michael, smiling.
‘I might allow you Esmond. I do think something of Esmond might have lingered in that house.’
Emily said, ‘Was Esmond trying to pass the music down? Was that the “secret” he told Brad about?’
‘It sounds like it,’ said Michael. ‘Nell will look sideways at this, but I think while Esmond lived in that house he picked something up about the music from Anne-Marie – Ralph seems to have seen Anne-Marie, remember.’
‘What Ralph saw sounds like a kind of replay of Anne-Marie creeping up to imprison Isobel,’ said Emily. ‘I wonder if Esmond might have seen the same thing? He sounds like the sort of imaginative child who’d be receptive.’
Michael glanced at Nell. ‘You saw Anne-Marie as well, didn’t you? But I know that’s another ghost you won’t admit to.’
‘I’ll consider it,’ said Nell. ‘Emily, did Charlotte ever mention Anne-Marie? Or anyone who sounded like Anne-Marie?’
‘No. Charlotte’s ghosts were all quite happy, quite benevolent,’ said Emily, and then, slightly startled, ‘Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever taken part in such a bizarre conversation as this.’
‘It’s quite a bizarre situation,’ said Nell.
‘However it happened, Esmond somehow inherited the belief that music had a power,’ said Michael. ‘And he wanted to pass it to Brad. But Brad went abroad before he could tell him.’
‘So Esmond tried again with Brad’s daughter,’ said Emily, nodding.
‘Yes.’
‘It does make a skewed kind of sense,’ said Nell.
‘There were a lot of lingering fragments of the past in that house,’ said Michael, thoughtfully. ‘Isobel and Anne-Marie’s punishment. Anne-Marie’s belief in the music’s power—’
‘And Esmond,’ said Nell, softly. ‘What are we going to do about that?’
‘I’ve been thinking . . .’ Emily broke off.
‘Go on.’
‘If we could . . . well, find where Samuel put Esmond . . .’
Michael said, ‘Christian burial?’
‘I wasn’t going to go that far,’ said Emily. ‘Mightn’t that involve police investigations and all sorts of complications?’
‘I think there’d have to be an inquest,’ said Michael. ‘But I don’t think it would be a very in-depth one, not for such old remains.’
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea for Beth,’ said Emily. ‘It would be far better if she could remember Esmond as a slightly unusual boy she met at Stilter House.’
‘Yes, it would,’ said Nell, at once. ‘It would be confusing for her – macabre, even – if she discovered Esmond was murdered over a century ago.’
‘Well then, I was thinking that if we could identify the spot in the grounds and mark it – that place where Beth used to say goodbye to Esmond – I should think that’s where Burlap buried him, shouldn’t you?’
‘What kind of marking? You don’t mean a headstone or something?’
‘Oh, no. But I visited California last year and I saw some wonderful gardens while I was there. There’s a very nice rose called “Nocturne” they have. I don’t think it’s available in this country, but it might be possible to arrange shipping.’
‘Nocturne,’ said Nell, staring at her. ‘Chopin’s Nocturne. Esmond’s music.’
‘Yes. It’s a hybrid tea-rose – very attractive, quite sturdy. It might not survive at Stilter House, of course – well, it might not survive the journey from America. And it ought to have some careful pruning, which we probably won’t be able to give it, not once the house is sold at any rate. But on the other hand—’
‘On the other hand, it might flourish,’ said Michael.
Michael and Nell walked slowly back through the gardens of Stilter House. The sun was beginning to set over the Derbyshire Peaks, and a spear of golden light fell across the newly dug earth and touched the small plant with its neatly printed label.
Nocturne.
Emily and Beth had gone ahead of them, Beth enthusiastically talking about the rose bush, and Emily listening gravely.
Nell heard Emily say, ‘And we’ll come back here in the autumn because the house won’t be sold that quickly, and we’ll try to take some cuttings from that rose and strike them – I’ll show you how to do that. Then you can grow a separate one of your own in Oxford. You can look at it when you play Esmond’s music.’
‘I’d like that a huge lot,’ said Beth. Then, a bit uncertainly, she said, ‘Esmond was real, wasn’t he, Aunt Em? Because I was never ezzackerly sure.’
Nell saw Emily reach down to take Beth’s hand. ‘Yes, he was real,’ she said. ‘Here at Stilter House he was very real indeed. I don’t think you’ll see him again, but he’ll stay real, because we’ll still talk about him. And you’ll play his music and perhaps you’ll play it to me very soon.’ She smiled. ‘I’d like that a huge lot.’
‘And if Esmond does go back to Stilter House, he’ll see that rose bush and he’ll know we put it there for him,’ said Beth, pleased.
‘Precisely.’
Nell had to blink hard because the stupid sentimental tears were suddenly clouding her sight. But it’s all right, she thought. Beth’s accepting it at face value. Jack Burlap was right when he said children were more open to enchantments than adults. That they were still partly in heaven’s dreams, still trailing clouds of glory.
She paused to look back at the small shape of the Nocturne rose which would probably not survive, but which might perhaps flower for a season or so. And Beth would have a cutting and they would plant it behind their little shop in Oxford. Esmond, she thought. We won’t forget you, Esmond, I promise we won’t.
At her side, Michael suddenly said, ‘Oh God, I do love you when you look like that.’
Nell turned to stare at him, startled, and found him looking at her.
She said, ‘I thought you were waiting for the moonlight and roses to say that.’
‘Well, we’ve got the roses, if not the moonlight. So I thought I’d seize the moment.’
Nell considered this. ‘You did say we were booked into The Pheasant tonight, didn’t you?’
‘I did.’ Michael took her hand.
‘Will you say that again when we’re in the bedroom? About loving me?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said.
