“Linking the Abyss to the Centre,” Rose Pellengro murmured, looking at the two cards. She paused. “Abducted? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I thought I was talking to someone with vision, ” said Elder disappointedly. “Very well, I’ll make it a bit clearer. She has kidnapped Jonathan Barker.”
The cards fell to the table in a heap. The woman’s cheeks reddened.
“Was Marion Rose one of your... clients?” Elder asked softly.
Rose Pellengro seemed deep in thought. Then she nodded. “Oh yes, she was a regular. We seemed to have an affinity. She’d travel miles to come and see me.”
Elder nodded. “This affinity, she felt it, too, didn’t she? So much so that she confided in you.”
Pellengro smiled. “This was in the days after priests but before psychiatrists. Yes, she told me all about her... her problems.”
“One particular problem, I think.”
“Ah yes, one problem. A large one.”
“She was pregnant by Jonathan Barker, and he wanted her to get rid of the child.”
Rose Pellengro eyed him shrewdly. “You know a lot.”
“But not all of it.”
She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Yes,” she said. “His career had to come first. He twisted her around.”
“What happened?”
“Marion didn’t want to lose the child. She was very religious in her own way. She was a believer. I decided to help her.”
“You took the child, fostered it?”
“As far as Barker was concerned, Marion had gone to a clinic. Actually, she stayed here with me. When the baby was born, I kept it.”
Elder released a long-held breath. This was what he had suspected, the truth of Witch’s identity. “Did she... did the mother keep in touch?”
“Oh yes.” Pellengro sifted through the cards. “At first she kept in touch all the time. I thought maybe Barker would become suspicious, but not him.” She tapped her head. “He was too stupid, his mind only on himself.”
“Then what?”
“Then?” A shrug. “Marion started visiting less and less. By that time, Barker’s wife had died. They were to be married. More children arrived... born in wedlock. Proper children. She stopped coming altogether. She never came again.”
“And the child? The girl?”
A faint smile. “You call her Witch, but to me she’s Brigid Anastasia. Brigid, the Celtic goddess of fire, Anastasia, resurrection. Brigid Anastasia... A real mouthful, isn’t it? I always used to call her Biddy. I brought her up, mister. I educated her as best I could. She was always wild. Wild like fire.” Her eyes were glistening. “She once stabbed a boy who was bothering her. Then at fourteen she ran off with an Irishman. He’d been hanging around the fair for weeks. We were in Liverpool. When she went, I thought he’d killed her or something. But she sent me a letter from Ireland. She sent a lot of letters in the early days. Then she didn’t send any at all. Instead, she’d just turn up at my door. I never even recognized her half the time.”
“But this time... this trip... it was different?”
“Different, yes. Because she’d found out who her mother was.”
“How?”
The woman shrugged again. “She had vague memories of a lady visiting her when she was a toddler, picking her up and hugging her and crying and making her cry, too.” A tear slid down Rose Pellengro’s left cheek. “And when she was a bit older, I told her a little. Not much, but enough.” She sniffed. “Enough so that when she read the death notice... One of the papers had a photo of Marion. Biddy wasn’t daft. She remembered all right. And she knew now who her father was and what he’d done.”
She reached into the cuff of her cardigan and tugged out a small lace handkerchief with which to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
“Did she tell you what she was going to do?”
Pellengro shook her head. “Oh no, nothing like that. She just said she wanted to hear the story. Well, she’s old enough, isn’t she? So I told her the whole thing. I thought maybe she’d... well, I didn’t think she’d... Oh God, what does she want him for?”
“What do you think?”
“ I don’t know.”
“Tell me, what do you think she’s been doing all these years?”
“She’s never said.”
“And you’ve no idea?”
“I thought maybe a prostitute?”
Elder shook his head.
“What then?”
“Never mind. Where will she take him?”
“God in heaven, how would I know that?”
“We’ve got to find her, you know that, don’t you? If we’re too late, she may be charged with murder.”
“Oh, she wouldn’t kill him, would she? Little Biddy? I know she’s been a bit wild in her time, but she’s a woman now.”
He gripped her hands in his own. “Rosa, tell me what you told her. Tell me everything you told her.”
She stared at him wide-eyed. “Who are you? What are you? Are you the police?”
“I’m a father,” he said.
She blew her nose again, staring at him. Then she began to gather up the tarot, and as she did so, she started to speak.
Almost half an hour later, he made his way out into the evening air. His legs were stiff, and he rubbed them. He gestured to the Special Branch man, who came over to him.
“Stick around,” Elder ordered. “She might come back.”
There was no sign of Barclay and Dominique. He had choices now, several choices, and he was keen to get away from this place. He passed Barnaby’s Gun Stall.
“Here, guv, have a go?” cried the young man. He didn’t recognize Elder. The wooden cut-out was still there, the target destroyed with such accuracy. A young lady ... The whole fair was Witch’s cover, because she was part of it and always had been.
Where were they? Then he heard a shriek, and he saw them. Dominique was on the dodgems, Barclay watching from the sidelines and smiling. She shrieked again and tried to avoid a collision, but too late. Elder could not help but be affected by the scene. He stood, leaning against a rail, and watched. Barclay saw him at last and joined him.
“Sorry, sir,” he said.
“No need to apologize, Michael. Let’s call it necessary R and R. Listen, there’s something I want to get from the car. Just point me in the general direction and give me the keys.”
Barclay dug the keys out of his pocket. “The car’s parked on Islingword Road. Top of Richmond Terrace and turn right.”
Elder nodded. “Thanks,” he said, turning away.
“You’re coming back, aren’t you, sir?”
Elder nodded again. He wanted to say, It’s not your fight, it’s not worth the risk. Instead, he glanced towards Dominique. She made up his mind for him.
He wondered what they would do. Maybe a train back to London. Or stay the night in Brighton. Elder had never seen himself as a matchmaker. He didn’t see himself as one now. All he knew was that he had to do this alone. The young couple represented too much baggage, too much of a responsibility. And besides, there was a score he had to settle. Silverfish.
Wolf Bandorff had said Witch hated men. In fact, she hated only the one man. Aged thirteen, she had asked Rose Pellengro about her parents. Rose had told her some of the story, enough to fuel hatred but not enough to identify the people involved. Witch had pressed, but Rose Pellengro would say no more. But the obituary of Marion Barker had struck a chord, and this time, confronted with the name, Rose had admitted the truth. The man who had forced Witch’s mother into discarding her was Jonathan Barker. Suddenly, there was someone for her to focus her vague, long-held hatred on. The Home Secretary.
The young Brigid Anastasia had run away with an Irishman. It was a short sea crossing from Liverpool to Ireland. Maybe the man himself was a terrorist, or maybe she had drifted into the company of terrorists afterwards. Female and a teenager, she would have proved useful to the IRA, running cross-border errands. Perhaps they had even sent her as far as Germany to liaise with Wolfgang Bandorff and his group. From Germany, she’d drifted south to Italy. In a sense, she’d been drifting ever since. She had no cause, no real set of ideals. All she’d had was anger, an anger she could do little to assuage. Until now.
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