Promise Made (23 page)

Frances sat down suddenly. Her legs had gone to jelly as she realized that the nurse who had rushed Charlie to the doctor had imagined that she had hurt him. How could she have thought such a thing? Frances had never raised a hand to her son in her life, even when he screamed and threw things on the floor she had just told him to be a good boy . . . and now he was dead.

She was aware that a car had stopped outside the house. She heard someone knock at the back door but she didn't get up to answer it. A moment or so later it was thrust open, because she hadn't locked it after she let the dog out. She stared at Sam with dull eyes as he came in, feeling so numbed that she didn't even care he had entered her house without an invitation.

‘Charlie just died,' she told him. ‘They thought it might have been a bang to the head – but now the doctor says it was meningitis. I didn't know that it could happen . . .'

‘What do you mean, meningitis?' Sam demanded, because he had never heard of the illness either. ‘They told me it was brain fever – caused by a blow to his head. What did you do to him, Frances? Did he cry and upset you – was that it?' Sam picked up the sherry glass, looking at the half empty bottle. ‘How long has this been going on?'

‘What do you mean?' Frances asked. She was too numb to answer him properly. ‘Go away, Sam. Didn't you hear what I said? Charlie is dead . . .' She put her elbows on the table, burying her face in her hands as the tears started to fall.

‘I really cared about you, Frances,' Sam said. ‘After Marcus threw his life away I would have been good to you if you hadn't tried to blackmail me – but I shan't forgive you for this. You killed my grandson. He was all I had in the world – and you have to pay for that . . .'

‘Go away,' Frances said, refusing to look at him. ‘What does it matter now? I don't care what you think or do . . . Charlie is dead. I have nothing to live for now . . .'

Frances sat on at the table long after he had gone. She hadn't killed Charlie. It wasn't her fault he had died. Perhaps she ought to have taken him to the doctor sooner, but she had thought it was just a chill – and then a bilious attack. Only it wasn't just a chill or some minor sickness. It was a terrible illness that had taken her son's life. Nothing mattered anymore. She didn't know or care what Sam had in mind for her. She wasn't even interested in the money. Charlie was dead and she was all alone.

At this moment, she didn't much care if she lived or died.

Nine

‘That is terrible news,' Emily said when Daniel rang her the next morning. ‘Frances must be so upset. I can't believe it could have happened so quickly. Just a few hours . . .'

‘Frances told Alice that he'd had a chill for a few days, and then he started being very sick. She told us she was worried and Alice wanted me to go over there, so I did. When I saw Charlie I took him straight into the hospital – they seemed to think it might be some kind of physical abuse at first. One of the doctors asked me if Frances had a temper and if she shouted at Charlie a lot. I told him that she was a very good mother and had never smacked him to my knowledge – and they seem to accept it was meningitis now.'

‘Frances would never have hurt her son,' Emily said immediately. ‘Oh, I wish I was there. She must feel so alone. I shall come down tomorrow, but I have something on today – and I've tried telephoning her but I can't get through.'

‘She probably isn't answering,' Daniel said. ‘I went to see her this morning and she seems to be in a bit of a daze. She said Sam had threatened her because he thought she had killed Charlie, but she must have that wrong. I rang Rosalind and told her exactly what the hospital said – and I picked up the death certificate myself so I know it's right. Frances didn't want me to have Charlie taken to the house, because she couldn't bear to see the coffin so I've arranged for a Chapel of Rest.'

‘She probably can't bear to face up to what has happened,' Emily said. ‘I know she was a bit strange when Marcus died – but Charlie is different. I would have wanted him brought home if it were . . .' She broke off, a little sob in her voice. ‘When I think of that lovely little boy, Dan – and he was all Frances had. Go up and see her, ask her if she will come to you. She shouldn't be alone in that house.'

‘I don't think she will come,' Daniel said. ‘I did ask but she said she wanted to stay there – and she had been drinking sherry.'

‘Are you sure?' Emily asked. ‘Surely she wouldn't – not in the morning . . .'

‘Alice said she had two bottles in her bag the other day in Ely. It made me wonder for a moment if she had . . . but then I realized that she wouldn't hurt Charlie. Even if she has been lonely and miserable since Marcus died, she wouldn't take it out on her son.'

‘Of course she wouldn't,' Emily retorted. ‘Don't even think it, Dan. Frances might have a few drinks, but we can all do that when we're upset – but she would never hurt Charlie. Look, I'm coming down tomorrow. I shall see if she will come back with me like she did last time – but somehow that was different. She still had Charlie then . . .' She caught back a sob. ‘I can't bear to think of it, Dan. It is heartbreaking to lose a child . . .'

Emily replaced the telephone. She turned to see Amelia watching her. Her eyes were stinging with tears as she told her that Frances's son had died in hospital.

‘She must be so terribly upset,' Emily said. ‘I have to go to her, Amelia. I shall try to bring her home with me if she will come . . . but I don't think I should take Robert to another funeral. It is nearly Christmas and he has parties to go to. Besides, I don't want him upset. Will you help Nanny look after him for me? I shan't be gone more than a few days. I shall certainly be back for the Christmas party here – and at the home.'

‘Of course I will,' Amelia said. ‘If you are sure you trust me to take care of him?' There was a hint of resentment in her voice.

‘I know you love him,' Emily said. ‘Robert would be bound to wonder where his cousin was and I don't want to tell him that Charlie is dead, not yet. So I think I should leave him here this time.'

‘He will be quite safe here with us,' Amelia said and smiled oddly. ‘You've had nothing but tragedy in your family recently. This is the third death, isn't it?'

‘Yes. I just hope it will be the last for a long time,' Emily said. ‘It's getting so as I'm almost afraid to pick up the telephone . . .'

Emily glanced at her sister as the little coffin was carried outside to the churchyard after the service was finished. Frances hadn't shed a tear, but her black-gloved hands were trembling so much that she almost dropped her prayer book, and she was very pale.

‘It will soon be over,' Emily said, laying a hand on her arm. Frances moved forward, almost as if she were saying that she didn't want to be touched. She had been cold and silent ever since Emily arrived, refusing to be held or comforted. She was very different to the way she had been after Marcus died, and Emily was worried about her. She felt that she was keeping it all inside and that the feelings she was denying would burst out when she could no longer bear it.

She followed the little procession round to the churchyard. Rosalind Danby was weeping into a large white handkerchief. Dressed all in black, she was wearing a fox fur about her shoulders, her hat a dark soft felt. Sam Danby stood at her side, his expression one of anger and even hatred as he looked at Frances. Emily was shocked. Surely he couldn't really blame her for what had happened to Charlie?

Emily saw Daniel and Alice together. Daniel had his arm about his wife, supporting her as she wept. Dorothy and Mary were standing together. Several of the village people had come to support the family, but nowhere near as many as had been there for Marcus's funeral. Emily noticed that one or two women directed an odd look at Frances, and she saw a couple of them with their heads together whispering.

That was the trouble with rumours. Once people got hold of a tale, they couldn't let it be, even if it wasn't true. Emily knew that there were rumours about how Charlie had died, and she wondered who had started them. Someone must dislike Frances a great deal to have started the rumour that it was her fault that her child had died.

She stood by Frances's side, fiercely protective of the sister she loved. Emily asked again as they left the church if Frances would come and stay with her. She knew that Alice had already offered several times, but Frances wouldn't leave her own house. She just said that she wanted to be left alone.

‘Are you sure you don't want to come back with me?' Emily asked as they walked down the church path. ‘It helped you the last time, Frances. Besides, it is almost Christmas. You can't be alone for that, Frances.'

‘Last time was different,' Frances said. ‘I still had Charlie then – now I don't. And I don't feel like celebrating Christmas. Why should I? I have nothing to be thankful for . . .'

‘What are you going to do about the dog?'

‘Alice's brother asked if he could have him. I told him to take it away. I don't want the brute in the house.'

‘Oh, Frances. Toffee was a nice little dog.'

‘Stupid name,' Frances said. ‘I always called it the dog – and I told Alice I was going to have it put down. Her brother fetched it that night. I am glad, because I couldn't bear the sight of it.'

‘Oh, Frances . . .' Emily looked at her with pity. This wasn't like Frances at all. ‘Surely you wouldn't have had Charlie's dog put down?'

‘Why not?' Frances looked at her bitterly. ‘Some people think I killed my son – why not his dog?'

‘No one who knows or cares for you thinks anything of the sort.'

‘You might not – but Daniel suspected it at the start. He practically said that I had neglected Charlie.' Frances was so cold and removed from the situation, as if she didn't know or care that she had just left her son's funeral. ‘I'm not coming to Alice's. I didn't want to ask anyone back, but she insisted it would look wrong – so she can play host and make everyone think what a lovely person she is. I'm going home – and I don't want you to come. When I'm ready I'll be in touch.'

‘Frances . . .' Emily stared after her as she crossed the road and disappeared round the side of her house. ‘Oh, Frances . . .'

‘Leave her,' Daniel said coming up to her. ‘It's no use, Emily. Alice and I have both tried to talk to her, but we can't get through. She just shuts everyone out – and I'm sure she is drinking too much. Muriel told me she threw out three empty sherry bottles this week.'

‘Why on earth does she want to ruin her health with drinking?' Emily frowned. ‘After Marcus . . .' She broke off, shaking her head. ‘It's just foolish.'

‘Exactly. It's as if she is punishing herself. I think we must just leave her for the moment, Emily. If she won't let us help her there isn't much we can do.'

‘I don't like to think of her alone in that house.'

‘It is her choice. Alice has asked her to come to us for Christmas, and so have I. If she won't even come to you . . .' He shook his head. ‘I'll come up and see her in a few days, but I owe it to Alice and Danny to celebrate Christmas. It is the first we've had together and in our new house as well. I can't worry about Frances all the time, if she won't be sensible. Come on now, you're only wasting your time.'

‘Yes, all right,' Emily said. ‘I'll try talking to her in the morning before I go back . . .'

Frances could hear her front door bell ringing. She closed her eyes willing whoever it was to go away. She had drunk a whole bottle of sherry the previous evening and her head ached. She didn't want to answer the door, and she didn't want to talk to anyone, all she wanted was to lay here until she died.

‘Frances . . .' Emily was shouting through the letterbox. ‘Let me in, please. I want to talk to you. I know you are there and I'm not going away until you let me in.'

Frances groaned and threw back the bedcovers. Her head swam as her feet touched the ground. She felt sick and a hundred hammers were at work at her temples. She clung on to the stair rail as she walked down them, because otherwise she might have fallen. She had never felt this ill in her life!

‘I was asleep,' she lied as she opened the door to her sister. ‘Why all the fuss? I told you I would be in touch when I was ready.'

Emily looked at her and then went into the kitchen. She was shocked when she saw the state of it. Frances was usually so fussy about her house, but it looked as if nothing had been touched for days.

‘Why hasn't Muriel cleared this mess up?' Emily asked as she filled a kettle. The range was low and she opened the door, raking the ashes to get a spark before putting on some wood and coke. ‘I'll make you some coffee. It looks as if you need it.'

Frances looked at the empty bottle on the table and the dirty glass on the sink draining board. There were several cups and saucers but no plates. ‘Muriel rang to say she wouldn't be in for a while. Her husband is ill or something. Maybe she doesn't want to come in, because she thinks I'm a murderer too.'

‘Don't be silly, Fran. No one thinks that of you.'

‘Sam does,' Frances said. ‘He came round here after the funeral and told me he was going to make me pay for what I'd done to his grandson.'

‘He is a nasty man,' Emily said. ‘He's got it in for you because you wouldn't sleep with him.'

‘I tried to blackmail him into giving me double what my share of the property is worth,' Frances said, shocking her sister. ‘I know too many of his dirty little secrets – that's why he hates me. It isn't because of Charlie, though I suppose that made it worse.' She gave a sob. ‘I don't care about him or the money. I would give it all away if I could have Charlie back again.' Her eyes were dark with grief. ‘Do you think it was a punishment for what I tried to do? Is God punishing me because I am a bad woman?'