Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

I did not tell the others, but I heard the screams, as well. Sometimes, in the depths of those nights, unable to sleep, hearing the agonized sobbing from the other rooms, I used to imagine the sounds were coming from my own soul.

‘But we’re accepting it all,’ said Crispian, with angry despair. ‘That’s what sickens me. We’re seeing it as normal – we’re hardly even upset by it any more.’

I wrote, ‘Speak for yourself,’ on the slate, and Crispian sent me one of his intense looks that usually heralded the start of some deep and searching discussion. Gil just winked at me and went off somewhere.

It pains me to record this, but during those weeks I don’t think I ever heard Gil complain and I don’t think I ever saw him give way to anger or fear. Somehow he maintained that air of flippancy all the way through. I suspect it was a mask, and I suppose he was trying to appear in a favourable light to Crispian. I don’t know if it did him any good with Crispian, who, as far as I could make out, remained in chaste celibacy in his own bedroom every night. Gil could have been in half a dozen bedrooms every night, for all I knew, and probably was. Even war and famine don’t prevent people from fornicating. I shouldn’t think anything ever prevented Gil.

But one day it would all end – I clung to that thought. And then we would be back in England, and England meant Cadences – the bank, the old manor, the money… everything I wanted and had been cheated of having. Everything Crispian was preventing me from having.

‘Crispian’s my legitimate son,’ Julius had said to me all those years ago. ‘My heir. I’ll make sure you’re looked after, of course, but you won’t inherit Cadences.’

You won’t inherit Cadences… The words still reverberated in my mind even after so long. To Julius’s ghost, I said, Oh won’t I, though?

It was almost the end of May before we were finally able to leave Edirne. And although it’s probably unusual to record gratitude to a man you intend to kill, in the name of justice I have to admit that when we finally got back to England, Crispian did everything he could to help me.

Crispian had always known that when they finally got back to England he would do everything he could to help Jamie.

In the infirmary within the fortress, Raif had told Crispian that Jamie’s wounds would eventually heal. Then he said, ‘But I’m afraid his face – his mouth – will always be…’ He paused, obviously searching for the word.

‘Scarred?’ said Crispian.

‘Misshapen?’ said Gil. ‘Deformed?’

‘Deformed,’ said Raif. ‘That will always be there. I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do about that.’ He paused again, then said, ‘Has he ever offered any explanation as to why they believed him a spy?’

‘No,’ said Crispian quickly. ‘And I haven’t asked him. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.’ He looked at Raif and said, ‘You don’t believe he was innocent, do you?’

‘Mr Cadence, I have no opinion. I heal bodies. Souls and minds I leave to others.’

Souls and minds. Many times during those weeks, Crispian felt as if the images of famine and suffering and loss were etching themselves on his mind as if corrosive poison was dripping onto it.

‘When you reach England, what will he do, your cousin?’ asked Raif.

‘There’s a place in the country where he could live,’ said Crispian.

‘Your family’s house?’

‘Yes.’ An image of Cadence Manor, remote and quiet, flickered on Crispian’s mind. He said, ‘I think it’s what he’ll want. I’ll find some kind of work for him, though. He’ll need to be occupied.’

‘While you go off to fight the war that is coming?’

‘No,’ said Crispian. ‘No, I shan’t fight in it.’

‘No? I thought the British were great ones when it came to fighting wars.’

‘We are. But after what I’ve seen here I’m too sickened by violence. I won’t fight in this war.’

‘You surprise me,’ said Raif.

‘I surprise myself.’

Jamie Cadence’s Journal

Crispian did not often surprise me, but he surprised me over his decision not to fight in the war against Germany.

We learned about the declaration of hostilities with Germany at Cadence Manor. I remember we were all in the big drawing room and the early August sunshine was streaming through the French windows. Crispian and Gil – Gil was often at the manor in those days – were arguing rather listlessly about going along to the billiard room for a game or two. If they did they would probably include me and I would probably shake my head. Serena Cadence was seated a little apart from everyone – she always was. She always sought the shadowy corner of any room, even in those days. In strong sunlight it was sometimes possible to see that her hands were slightly marked. She covered them with trailing sleeves or those lace mittens ladies sometimes wore for evenings, but every time I saw her hands, it was as if I was seven years old again, standing by the bedside of the nightmare creature that was my mother. It looked as if the disease had gone from my mother to Julius, and then to Serena. If I had been given to biblical thoughts, I might have dwelled on the hoary old lines about the sins of the fathers descending unto the third and fourth generation.

The coffee tray had been brought in, and Colm and old Dr Martlet were considering embarking on a game of chess in the library. But shortly after that Flagg returned, bearing a telegram on a small tray. Most of the country probably heard about the war from neighbours, or in the taproom of their local pub, or even by listening to the wireless – wirelesses were becoming quite common by 1914. Not the Cadences. The information was carried to them by their butler on a silver salver.

It was a long telegram, as those things go. I think it was from someone at the Treasury who was letting all the leading financial houses know what had happened. I do remember it contained parts of the statement made by Herbert Asquith, the Prime Minister, to the Government, and also parts of the King’s speech to the armed forces.

Asquith and the King said many things, but the core of the message – the words that I remember so vividly – were these. ‘His Majesty’s Government has declared to the German Government that a state of war exists between Great Britain and Germany as from 11 p.m. on 4 August.’

The King’s statement, in summary, said, ‘Germany tried to bribe us with peace to desert our friends and duty. But Great Britain has preferred the path of honour.’

We all listened as Crispian read it out. We were all there, even Saul. He was only a few months old, of course, but I can still remember the bassinet in the corner, and the swathed child lying inside it. They used to place him away from the light, hoping the marks on his face wouldn’t be noticed. They were more noticeable as he grew older, but no one ever commented on them.

I remember that old Martlet, stupid old fool, made some crass, sentimental observation about how sad to think an innocent child had been born into a world that was about to see a bloodbath rage across Europe.

Inevitably it was Crispian who said, ‘Oh, the war will be all over by Saul’s second birthday.’

Cadence Manor, 1914

‘I’m not a coward,’ said Crispian defiantly.

‘I know you’re not.’ Gil was reading that morning’s Times , apparently absorbed in the latest news.

‘But I find the act of war – of inflicting pain, violence – entirely wrong.’ Crispian frowned, trying to sort out his thoughts, aware of Gil watching him. ‘They’ll all think I’m a coward for not fighting, though,’ he said.