Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

‘There’s nothing discreditable about Jamie’s condition,’ said Serena, and I saw Colm start to say something. I could guess it was that I had been accused of being a spy all those years ago in Edirne.

Serena guessed it as well, I think, because she said, impatiently, ‘Oh, very well, do what you want. But make sure the money’s paid to her regularly. Through a bank, if she possesses a bank account. I don’t want the slut coming up here to demand money. I shall deal her very short shrift if she does, I promise you.’

‘I’ll take care of it,’ said Colm, but the look he sent me made it clear that he knew I would be the one who would really take care of it.

‘And now,’ said Martlet, clearly relieved, ‘what should we do about Saul?’

I reached for the slate and wrote quickly. ‘I’m afraid we’ve reached a time when Saul will have to be kept under restraint.’

They read it and looked at each other, and I could see the memories surging up: Old Julius and that shameful locked room at the top of the London house; Crispian and I getting him out of the country, out of the reach of wagging tongues and rumour mills. With that knowledge, I wrote, ‘Lock and key?’ on my slate and passed it round the table.

‘A locked room,’ said Martlet at last, ‘would need a gaoler.’

There was a long silence. I waited and I enjoyed waiting, all the while knowing they were hoping I would volunteer for the task. None of them had the courage to actually ask me, though, so I let the silence stretch out. Then I wrote, ‘Let him live in the lodge. I’ll live there with him. I’ll be his gaoler.’

It was Martlet who said, warningly, ‘It could be for many years, Jamie.’

I wrote, ‘I know that. But I feel responsible for what’s happened. I should have kept a closer watch on him.’

‘That girl,’ said Serena, and for the first time there was a sob in her voice. ‘Because of her Saul will have to be locked away. Jamie will have to act as gaoler to him.’ She beat on the table angrily with her fist. ‘Because of Brenda Ford, several lives are being ruined.’

‘Saul was always likely to be a risk,’ said Martlet gently.

‘I can’t see it like that,’ said Serena. ‘I can only see that she’s responsible for my son being locked away for the rest of his life.’

‘The rest of his life,’ said Colm slowly. ‘Jamie, are you sure you’re prepared to do this?’

I nodded, then wrote, ‘I will do it for as long as necessary.’

And as I passed this round I saw the relieved acceptance in all their faces.

So there it was yet again: the Cadences closing ranks. Protecting their own, because the might of the law must never, God forbid, touch any of the family. Never mind that the family commits half the crimes in the Newgate Calendar (and let’s face it, I’ve certainly done so), a Cadence must never be subjected to the vulgar rigours and indignities of the judicial system.

My idea for scotching any rumours Brenda Ford might spread worked quite well, I think. I managed to get a story into the local newspaper about her having been attacked, stressing there was no truth in the rumour that her assailant had been a German spy left over from the war. The war had been over for several years, but people were still nervous about Germans, and from time to time there were small panics about spies and fifth columnists. Denying the rumour had the effect of putting it into people’s minds. So if Brenda did tell people the child’s father was a Cadence, in the light of the article no one was likely to believe her.

The child…

I had no particular emotion about the child. I couldn’t see that it would make any difference to my life, apart from having to send a cheque or a money order of some kind each month to its mother. I thought about it long and carefully, but I couldn’t see that the child would ever have any effect on my life.

Jamie Cadence’s Journal, Concluding Pages

Over the last seven days, writing this, I’ve sought to put a barricade between myself and the inevitable ending to my story. I’ve poured out my emotions and my fears and confessed my sins (most of them), to this journal, all the time pushing away what I know is ahead. There was even that brief space when I thought I might escape, but I know now that the wall at the back of the half-concealed cupboard won’t provide a way out. There’s little more to write now. I’ve squeezed every drop out of the memories while writing this journal and there’s little more to say. And already I can hear the sounds beyond my window. I know what they mean. Oh God, I know only too well…

But before I lay down my pen for what I think will be the last time (and there’s a splendidly dramatic line to write!), there are perhaps a few loose ends I should tie up.

After that venal little slut Brenda Ford succeeded in screwing money out of Serena – including the deeds to a tiny cottage in Bramley – it was agreed that we had to create what would effectively be a prison for Saul.

‘As much,’ said Colm, ‘to protect people from him as to prevent him being taken away to some grim institution.’

‘Or worse,’ put in Martlet.

‘You think he’d be regarded as responsible for his actions?’ said Colm, surprised.

‘I think it’s a risk we don’t want to take,’ said Martlet drily.

The Cadences may cheat a bit, but they do have social consciences where the rest of the populace is concerned (except for me. I never had a social conscience or anything approaching it). But they agreed that Saul had to be strictly confined, and they looked to me, as always, to deal with the practicalities.

I surprised myself over that, because I rather enjoyed it. I had never thought of myself as very practical, but it was interesting to draw up the plans and arrange for workmen to come down from London, and turn the lodge into a virtual prison house.

There was a big bedroom on the first floor and it was not difficult to create a small bathroom opening directly off it. Bars were fitted to both windows – thick strong iron staves, driven deep into the fabric of the walls at top and bottom. The windows overlooked the main drive leading up to the manor. In fact, one window had a direct view through the trees of the main entrance. Anyone going up to the manor would probably see the bars at the lodge’s upstairs windows, but it was a risk that had to be taken. And not many people did come to the manor by then.

While the workmen were there, I got them to build shelves on each side of the fireplace, and I stocked the shelves with books. I bought a second, more up-to-date gramophone, and later, when such things were more easily obtainable, I added a wireless. Saul liked music and by then it was a necessary part of life for me. It drove the darkness back – not every time and not always completely, but it was a powerful defence.

I believe Colm told the various workmen a mixed version of the truth – that an elderly member of the family was given to wandering off and it was necessary to create a degree of security. For safety’s sake, he said, there needed to be bars and locks. Very sad, but there it was.

He was believed, of course; no one who ever met Colm would have suspected him of any kind of deceit. And it wasn’t so long since the aristocracy hid away their mad relatives, rather than consign them to some bleak asylum.

After the work was finished and the workmen had left Priors Bramley, I managed to fix two stout bolts: one to the outside of the door of Saul’s room and another to the main outside door. It meant both doors could easily be secured from outside. I think I did a very good job there.

Serena insisted the lodge should be as comfortable as possible. There were certain standards one should not lose, she said. I looked at her, and I saw how the disease had marked her and how she walked so slowly and painfully around her dim rooms, and for the first time I was aware of an unwilling admiration. I wrote that she had my promise that Saul should be comfortable in his prison.