20
The Dark Patch
The dry reeds made a strange, enigmatic rustling sound as the wind passed through them, their ragged dark head swaying languidly, almost as if they bent over in sadness. Water gurgled over rocks, sounding to Laura like a strangled scream that went on forever. The slow-moving stream caused the pennant-like leaves of underwater weeds to fidget, not unlike a drowning man’s groping fingers, and the spectral, shadowy shapes of melancholy willows lined the bank opposite, posing as ethereal guards that watched studiously over everything.
‘This is the place Ophelia came to drown herself,’ said Laura’s father, staring at the oil-like surface of the restless stream. ‘At least, this is just the sort of place I imagine it to look like.’
Laura, the little girl, held his hand tighter and snuggled up close to him. His sombre words scared her, and a shiver of dread ran icily through her as she too stared into the liquid depths.
He did so love Hamlet, Laura thought. She almost felt her father’s presence beside her, but that could not be, because he was long-dead and she didn’t believe in any kind of afterlife, aware that it was merely her imagination being stretched on the rack of her emotions. He could no more be sitting beside me today, she thought, than Ophelia had drowned in this stream.
Yet she was, admittedly, drawn to this spot, to the softly spoken water that seemed to beckon her, tease her. A sad, lonely place she purported to own along with Devereux towers, but which in fact appeared to own her.
She so wanted to cry, but there were no more tears left inside, only a fiery anger that she could not tamp down. Her entire frame shook with it.
‘You are an evil, evil young woman!’ her father had said. ‘You are not my daughter. My Laura could never have done such horrid things. My Laura must be dead to me.’
And he had turned away from her. That was the last time she remembered seeing his face whilst he was alive. When she came back to Langbridge to see his body before its burial his expression was still the same; one of disappointment and shame.
‘He’s at peace,’ reassured the undertaker.
He did not look at peace, Laura thought. And she hoped he’d be restless for all eternity. She hoped he never found peace.
‘Your father had already made the necessary arrangements for his funeral. I can show you the casket he chose,’ the undertaker began, taking her through to another room. He pointed it out. ‘The best, of course.’
‘That will not do,’ she said. ‘Put him in the cheapest you have,’ she said.
He was momentarily lost for words; he knew how wealthy she was. ‘It has all been paid for, Miss Leach. It was your father’s wish…’
‘And that is my wish. Do as I say. You can keep the money, don’t worry; I’m not after a refund.’
‘Grief is a terrible thing,’ he pointed out. ‘Perhaps you need time to reconsider. After all, your father had a certain high standing in Langbridge society, being an important councillor, Chair of the Langbridge Civic Society, a leading light, one might say; it wouldn’t be fitting to have him sent off in our most basic model.’
‘I don’t need any time,’ she said. ‘The cheapest. No flowers, no frills. Just burn him and send me the bill.’
‘But he stipulated burial, in the family plot at Devereux Towers.’
‘Do as I say,’ she said.
‘And the ashes?’
‘I don’t want them. Throw them over the roses in the crematorium grounds.’ She thought about it. ‘Perhaps not; I don’t want to kill them. Do with them what you will, I don’t care.’
Ophelia was mad, thought Laura, but drowning herself was the sanest thing she did. And the bravest. As much as Laura detested this world she could not do what Ophelia did. She did not have the courage to end the torment the way she did.
She twirled the bloodied knife before her eyes. Make the hurt go away, she thought. Please make it go away. The sharp edge tinged with scarlet was but a couple of inches away from her eye. She gave a tiny shriek and tossed the knife into the water. It sank instantly into the murky depths, disappearing into a clump of waving weed fronds.
She rose to her feet, left the stream and the brooding willows behind. Ahead, Devereux Towers stood like a dark block of stone, all by itself in its empty field, the onset of autumn making its stark form even more pronounced. Rolling clouds pregnant with rain appeared to brush by the single tower.
Laura became nervous when she saw a strange car parked outside the main entrance. She approached it warily and as she drew close the door opened and a woman stepped out. A pretty woman. A beautiful woman. All smiles and neat hair with a body that had curves in all the right places. Laura felt her blood begin to boil a little.
‘Good afternoon,’ chimed the young woman. ‘I’m sorry to bother you. Are you Laura Leach?’
Laura hesitated. Studied the woman. ‘Yes,’ she said moving swiftly to the door and pressing a key into the lock.
‘I wondered if you might be able to help me.’
Laura dropped the key. Scrabbled in the gravel to retrieve it. When she reinserted it into the lock her hand was all jittery. ‘I doubt it,’ she said flatly, swinging open the door.
‘I’m looking for someone,’ she said insistently, coming up to her. ‘You might know him.’
‘I’m extremely busy,’ said Laura. ‘I have to go.’
‘His name is Casper Younge. He’s my brother,’ Katherine lied. ‘He’s gone missing, you see, and I don’t know where he’s got to.’
Laura’s eyes steeled. She looked the young woman up and down. ‘So you’re Casper’s sister, you say?’
Katherine smiled, but it felt as if the wild-eyed woman was snooping about inside her head. ‘That’s right. He wrote to me from Langbridge, but that was weeks ago. He hasn’t called like he said he would and now I‘m beginning to get worried.’
‘What makes you think I might know this Casper of yours?’
‘He mentioned Devereux Towers in a letter to me. Mentioned your name.’
‘I can’t understand why. I don’t know anyone called Casper,’ she said shortly. ‘I can’t help you.’
‘Are you certain?’ said Katherine. ‘Please think; it’s important.’
‘I’ve never heard of him.’ She stepped over the threshold, turned back. ‘If you’re worried, perhaps you ought to contact the police.’
She said it in such a way that it made Katherine doubly unsettled. ‘Maybe it’s just me, fussing over nothing,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t want to drag the police into this unnecessarily.’
Laura nodded slowly. ‘That’s right. No sense in going to the police in a hurry, is there?’ She closed the door so there was only the tiniest of cracks to peer through. ‘Good luck with the search for your brother. I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere.’
The door closed with a solid thump of finality and Katherine heard the sounds of bolts being slid into place, then the key being turned in the lock. It had been a risk, confronting Laura. But she was running out of options. Her denial of ever knowing Felix only increased her suspicions and her anxiety. Something was dreadfully wrong and this strange woman was at the heart of it.
She went back to her car and sat inside for a while, in the cold shadow of Devereux Towers. She put her head in her hand, her worst fears – fears that she’d managed to keep a lid on - were rising to the surface. Something terrible had happened to him. It was the only explanation. She was confident in her heart he wouldn’t simply have taken the money and run; they were far too close a couple. That notion was only Martin’s vindictive way of getting back at her in the same way she had tried to get back at him for all the hurt he’d caused her in the past, both physically and mentally.
She thought she caught sight of someone at a window but couldn’t be certain. As she gunned the engine, part of her wished she’d never ever brought Martin into this in order to help satisfy her petty revenge. That Laura had discovered their plans was now without a doubt, she thought, glancing up at Devereux Towers as she eased the car down the gravel drive. If that were the case and Felix had been confronted by Laura the plan was always the same; claim ignorance no matter what, scoot back to base and then they’d both get the hell out of there and find somewhere new to start all over again. Unless Martin was right and Felix really had taken the money and run…
No, she refused to believe that. Why would he dump his car in Langbridge? It didn’t make any sense, none of it did. What she couldn’t quite grasp was how it went wrong so fast. One moment Laura was a fish on a hook and all but in the keep-net; the next everything was in tatters. She had to have been tipped-off by someone. That was the only explanation. Someone took it upon themselves to warn her. So was it Martin? No, she felt he had too much to lose, no matter his show of empty bravado. There was only one other she knew about and that was the young projectionist from the Empire, the one who Felix had to beat up; the one who threatened to tell Laura. He’d be the most likely. He’d be smarting after his beating. He’d nothing to lose.
Katherine resolved to confront him, pump him for information, and if anything had happened to Felix because of that interfering nobody he’d pay dearly for it.
As she left Devereux Towers behind, jolted her way down the uneven track, the distance shrinking the melancholy old building, her mind wandered to what Martin had told her about Laura. That she was crazy, unstable. She wasn’t your average woman in the street; Katherine knew that much for sure. There was something weird going on in that head of hers and you didn’t have to be any kind of shrink to read it in her demented eyes.
Christ, what had they gotten themselves involved in, she thought?
Laura leach sat in the dark, rocking slowly back and forth in the chair, a plaintive little mewl issuing from her dry lips twisted by despair. She ran a clawed hand through her messed-up hair, her eyes saucer-wide and unblinking.
She looked down at her arm, carefully rolled up the sleeve. The blood-sodden bandage needed changing, she thought, touching the dark, oozing patch.
And though the searing pain shot up her arm and into her skull she did not wince.
* * * *