Underbelly (6 page)

Laura remained at the back as the bridal party entered, continually subtly looking at the two priests, who also monitored her throughout surreptitiously. Tony and Alice both kept their composure as they walked down the aisle, having shared a private moment before they left. She merely smiled when she saw the state that her groom was in, too happy to find any fault in him.

The service went smoothly, to Reverend Stuart’s relief. After what he had heard about Laura Spencer her presence unnerved him but he gave no sign of nerves and was patted on the back by Father Rossi as the bride and groom walked out of the church and the celebrations began.

The reception was held at the small village hall, everyone clubbing together to lay on a decent spread of food for them, and it soon became clear that another drinking session was underway. Alice didn’t mind – she’d had her big wedding and didn’t begrudge him drinking with his family and friends. She called Laura over to her table, wanting to bring her more into things, but Laura didn't go across and merely raised a glass in her direction and continued her conversation with Billy Beckett, who was discreetly warning her about her enemies. Once he had told her all that he knew she thanked him sincerely and he said, chivalrously,

“
They’ve nee business bothering you. You’ve ne’er done anyone nee harm.”

She thanked him again and exchanged pleasantries with other villagers. He believed his folly wholeheartedly, but she knew the priests who had followed her to the party were not so easily fooled. Late in the afternoon Father Rossi approached her as she sat down by herself, asking her courteously if he could trouble her for a dance.

“
Of course, Father,” she said politely, apprehensive and agreeing only for appearance’s sake. As she stood up Father Sciali came across to her, which Father Rossi explained.

“
I’m asking for Umberto, who’s too shy to ask for himself.”

“
Okay,” Laura said, holding her hands out for him to take, which he did, powerfully. Without using her powers this man was physically stronger than she was, and while he was not rough with her, he used his strength to lead her across the room wherever he wanted to take her. While there were many others on the dance floor, the two of them attracted the most glances, Laura noticing that some, like the old Gregory woman, seemed very amused by the spectacle. He looked down, never looking at her face once as they danced, and Laura was keen for the song to end, a suitable juncture to terminate the dance, which felt more like a subjugation. She looked to Father Rossi who was walking around them anticlockwise in an extended circle, his half-closed mouth uttering something. She looked down at the ground by him and saw particles of something, some children putting them in their mouths – he was dropping small fractions of something with each pace he took.

The song couldn’t end quickly enough for her, after which Father Sciali thanked her for the dance, his English the worst she had heard for a long time. She thanked him and tried to make her way back to her seat when she felt her legs start to give way. She was determined not to go down and ended up staggering towards a table laden with food, which she crashed through, breaking it in half. Sylvia started mouthing off, trying to be funny, going on about the English being unable to hold their drink and whining about rationing as a number of guests tried to salvage the food that had hit the floor. Laura was helped to her feet and put on a chair and she told Alice she didn’t feel well and would have to leave. Tony offered her a lift home, which she declined, saying that she thought the fresh air would do her good. As she walked to the door Fathers’ Rossi and Sciali came over, Father Rossi offering to escort her home.

“
Another time, perhaps,” she said as she left hastily. She had to stop three times on her journey home, feeling too weak to continue, her body utterly exhausted. When she did arrive home she went down to her basement and looked through her books to try and discover what they’d done to her. She was the witch; they weren’t supposed to be able to make her suffer. Her books were no help and she remedied herself without discovering what her ailment was. Her cure made her sick repeatedly as she purged her system, her vomit black and pungent, comprised of bile, blood and ash. When the Horsfields eventually returned they fussed around her as she lay sprawled across her settee in the lounge and they offered to go and fetch a doctor to her, an offer which she firmly refused. She sat up all night, joined late on by the eldest daughter, Pamela, who began bemoaning her life, envying Laura her isolation, the life she wanted for herself.

“
This is how I’d like to live, away from everyone. The peace must be wonderful.”

Laura nodded, coughing up blood into a handkerchief. “It takes a lot of money though, and you have to be able to handle yourself.” She could tell that Pamela was nothing like her younger sister, Alice: Alice was the type to achieve something with her life while Pamela seemed content to daydream unrealistically and then do nothing to achieve her fantasies. Pamela confided in her that she had hated every second of the party, uncomfortable with so many people, believing that she was a kindred soul to Laura, who worried that the girl might ask to stop with her. The girl eventually retired back to her room and Laura began to feel better and formulated a plan. Alice Chapman was not returning with her parents, staying in Scotland a while longer with her in-laws. Alice’s three friends were returning home by train, dropped off by Tony at the station in Aberdeen early in the morning. That left a space in the Horsfields’ car, which she determined to take.

“
Can I impose upon you for a lift? I have business to attend to in London which I’ve put off for a while because I had guests stopping with me – not you good people, my soldier friend and his wife.”

“
Of course,” Tony said instantly as his wife nodded in agreement. “Whereabouts and we’ll take you there?”

“
I don’t expect that. London’s out of your way. If you stick to your planned route and drop me off as close as possible that would be marvellous.”

They insisted that they could easily go through London and wanted to repay her for her hospitality, especially as she’d put them up without complaint even though she’d been very ill throughout their stay and probably would rather have not had company. She packed a small case and was pleased when they started their journey at midday, sitting behind Kate for the long journey. She was disheartened as she learned that they were heading into the village before leaving, just to say goodbye to the Chapmans, who all came out to the car to see them off.

“
You still look flushed,” Sylvia said to Laura, who was watchful of the surrounding streets, having hoped that she could have left in secret – with Sylvia Chapman now knowing of her egress she knew her departure stood no chance of going unmentioned. “I was only joking with you at the do, you didn’t have to go.”

“
I wasn’t offended, Sylvia. I left because I felt ill.”

“
The smog of London’s not likely to make you feel better, is it now?” While Laura internally begged Tony to start the car and speed away, the goodbyes continued interminably for almost an hour until finally they were off.

“
We won’t be back until very late tonight, Laura. Do you want to stop the night at ours and I’ll drive you into London in the morning?” Tony offered, uncomfortable with leaving her in London unaccompanied so late.

“
Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I have somewhere to stay,” she lied. The journey was long, with Pamela talking furtively about their previous night’s conversation and asking her for advice regarding how to make that happen. It was different for Stuart Lambert, easier for him to achieve the quiet life he craved because he was a man and more suited to the solitary occupations – shepherd, groundskeeper, farmer, caretaker – he had been them all before and after he left the army with shrapnel in his stomach. The hermitic life would be much harder for Pamela Horsfield to achieve, and Laura’s advice was poor, Laura still too wrapped up in her own problems to be of much use. The priests would know she was in London so she would have to sort out her business there quickly before moving again.

Reverend Stuart arranged a lift to the train station in Aberdeen for the priests and said goodbye to Father Rossi as Father Sciali filled the van with their cases.

“
Do you want me to write to you if she returns here?”

Father Rossi approved of his suggestion and wrote down a contact address of a third party, another priest from Italy, who would forward the information on to him. “If she does return, don’t approach her, write to him and we’ll be back. I don’t believe she will return, but in the remote possibility that she does, we will be ready.”

“
Good luck, Father,” he said, offering his hand only to be embraced by the grateful priest.

“
And good luck to you. We will meet again,” he said. “You will find out how this ends.”

Laura found adequate lodgings for the night and early the next morning she went to the large offices of Smith & Woods and asked to see Harry Donald immediately. His secretary was resistant at first but Laura was insistent and told her to tell him that he was keeping Laura Spencer waiting. Once she had passed on this message he expressly told her to send her to him right away and Laura made her way to his office. He stood up to greet her; he barely knew Laura though he knew much of her and he did not want to appear discourteous to her. As well as being involved in finance (possibly a little shadily) he was also a politician whose constituency was in the north of Scotland, covering Ravensbeck, his ancestral home. He was an arrogant upstart who was descended from a humble man, McKinley’s apprentice, a painter who she had at one time taken under her wing after her husband’s death. Iggy had known what she was and had shared the secret with his kin, swearing them to secrecy, the secret even stretching down to Harry Donald’s generation. As a result she could be open and she told him about the priests.

“
There’s been two of them asking all of the villagers difficult questions about me.”

“
I see your problem. It’s hardly surprising though, is it? Would returning to France be so bad?”

“
They’ve come from Rome, so I don’t think going to France will be a solution,” she said pithily. “I want you to find out everything that you can about it.”

“
Miss Spencer, I’m a politician, and a Protestant at that. I have no involvement with the Catholic Church. I can keep my ear to the ground, but…”

“
I’m not asking you as a constituent. I’m asking you as the woman who helped put you in that comfortable chair.”

“
I put myself in this chair, thank you,” he said quickly, modifying his anger to indignation as he considered who she was and what she could do.

“
Your ancestor was a labourer’s apprentice…”

“
You helped my ancestor out and I’m grateful for that, but you have never done anything for me and nor I have asked you to. Politics is open to all now and I dare say that I’d be in this comfortable chair no matter what my past.”

“
Never interrupt me again, especially when I’m in a bad mood,” she said, calmly quiet and all the more threatening for it. She knew that politeness and subtlety wouldn’t work on him – he endured the House of Commons on a regular basis and wouldn’t scare easily. “I have the floor, Mr Donald.”

“
I’m listening, Miss Spencer,” he said slickly.

“
That would be a first for a politician.” He smiled wryly at her comment and clasped his hands under his chin as he stared at her, waiting for her to continue. “You’re separated from Iggy by twelve generations, that’s all. He had the talent to be a painter, but not the finances – I put him through university, I was the patron for his first few years when he put on shows. When he struggled and thought about giving it all up and going back to labouring, I talked him round and kept him on the path to success. The talent was undeniably his, but I gave him the chance to make money from that gift. That’s one of his behind you, isn’t it?” she said, looking up at a picture of city streets (possibly of Edinburgh) at night and some shady characters.

“
Yes, one of his lesser known works. Even politicians don’t make enough to buy his masterpieces.”

“
Don’t try and be funny. His pictures sell for a very low figure nowadays, but he made enough of a name for himself at the time to make his family respectable. Are you going to help me or not?”

“
Yes, when I have time. My schedule is full today.”