Lynda Plante - The Little One

Barbara sat back. She’d always had a very vivid imagination and now it ran riot. What if none of it were true? What if Armande was upstairs? Perhaps he’d survived the helicopter crash and was badly burned. Or what if he’d suffered terrible head injuries and lost his mind?

She felt almost feverish. Could it be that, after she discovered their betrayal, Margaret had locked Armande or Julia away? Or maybe punished their child instead?

Shaking, she gulped down her brandy. She heard a door closing above. Then the soft footfall of someone hurrying down the stairs.

Barbara’s heart was beating fast and her hands were clenched tightly together as the kitchen door creaked open.

Margaret stood in the doorway, smiling.

‘It’s all quiet now,’ she said. ‘Are you all right, Barbara? You look very agitated.’

‘I’m fine. It’s... it’s just the fire. It makes the room very warm,’ Barbara stammered.

Margaret leaned over and touched Barbara’s face.

‘You’re so flushed. Would you like me to make you a coffee?’

‘No, really. We were interrupted and you were just about to ask me something.’

‘You’ve had too much to drink,’ Margaret teased.

‘Look, I’m ready.’ Barbara pressed her hand on top of the Bible. ‘Just tell me what you want me to say.’

Margaret nodded and closed her eyes, placing her hands together as if in prayer.

‘Repeat these words: “I promise that I will never divulge this secret to anyone. It must remain with me and my knowing will release Margaret from all her promised responsibilities. This I swear.”’

When Barbara had said the words, Margaret touched her hand.

‘Thank you.’

Although Barbara now did feel a little woozy, she was desperate for Margaret to continue. Impatiently, she asked, ‘Who is upstairs? I know someone is living up there.’

Margaret sipped her glass of brandy.

Then, not looking at Barbara, she resumed her story. She repeated that she’d arranged for Julia and Emily to stay with her in London. It was snowing. The roads were icy. When Julia had not arrived by eleven, she became worried. At midnight she received a call from St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington. There had been an accident and her sister was in intensive care. She rang for a taxi and went straight to the hospital.

Julia was in a critical condition, desperate to talk to Margaret. Margaret screamed at the doctors to give her a few moments alone with her sister. At that point, Julia had clung to Margaret’s hand and admitted that Emily was Armande’s child. She said that the affair was over as quickly as it had begun. She wept and asked to be forgiven.

Margaret shuddered and sipped more brandy.

‘I was in shock, hardly able to take in what she was saying. I didn’t want to believe it.’

Julia then became hysterical, asking Margaret to go to her bag and bring her the Bible from inside it. Julia insisted that Margaret put her hand over the cross and swear on her life that she would take care of Emily. If anything should happen to Julia, Margaret must swear to bring up Emily as her own child.

‘Of course I did as she asked. And that seemed to calm her. When the doctors returned she had become quieter. But then she suddenly went into convulsions. Blood poured from her nose and mouth... it was terrible. She’d been bleeding in her brain and had sunk into a coma shortly afterwards. She had been dying in front of me all the time.’

Barbara now knew how the blood had stained the Bible. She wanted to reach out to comfort Margaret, but there seemed to be no need. Margaret was in a world of her own. She sat very still, calmly sipping her brandy.

‘So Emily was injured as well?’ Barbara asked.

Margaret nodded. She explained that she had been in a state of shock over her sister’s confession, hardly able to take in that she had died. Eventually she’d asked if she could see Emily.

‘I was told she’d been taken straight to Great Ormond Street, so I caught another taxi and went straight there.’

Even though Margaret’s story was so shocking, Barbara couldn’t contain her excitement any longer. ‘She’s here, isn’t she? It’s Emily I’ve heard moving around upstairs, isn’t it?’

Margaret nodded.

‘When I got to the hospital, they told me that Emily was dead on arrival. I broke down in tears. To lose my husband, then my sister, then her child... It was all too much for me. I collapsed and the following day I was taken back to the clinic to recover. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

Puzzled, Barbara frowned and shook her head. She had no idea how to react when Margaret continued, explaining that she’d managed to leave the clinic and go to the funerals. She then came straight to the manor house.

Margaret paused and looked straight at Barbara. With no emotion in her voice, she stated, ‘That’s when I realized Emily had returned.’

Barbara could think of nothing to say.

‘She lives here, Barbara. She’s now seven years old. I’ve taken care of her all this time. I’ve been afraid to tell anyone. I knew no one would believe me. They’d send me back to that awful clinic. Emily has dominated my life. I’ve treated her like the daughter I never had. I couldn’t just leave her and return to work. That was impossible.’

Barbara’s jaw dropped. She tried to say something, but no words came out. She was certain that Margaret was mentally ill. She didn’t want to upset her any further. She just wanted to leave and get back to London as soon as possible. She knew about how schizophrenics could hear or speak in different voices. Eventually she found her own voice.

‘Thank you for telling me this, Margaret. I will never repeat it to anyone.’

Margaret gave her a lovely smile.

‘Of course you won’t. I knew I could trust you. Now we share the secret, I’m so relieved that it’s over.’

Margaret woke Barbara at seven the following morning. She was very smartly dressed. Her face was made up and her hair was coiled into a bun at the base of her neck.

‘I’ve run a bath for you. We’ll leave in about three-quarters of an hour.’

‘Terrific,’ Barbara muttered, feeling the start of a terrible hangover.

She went upstairs, where Margaret had left out clean underwear and a lovely skirt with a thick cashmere sweater. She then came back down to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee.

The drive to the station passed without incident. Margaret kept up a bubbly conversation, pointing out the landmarks in the village. First the church and the vicarage, then the neat little cottages and some elegant weekend retreats for people from London, finally the post office and the grocer’s shop.

When they stopped in the small railway station car park, she showed Barbara where she hid the keys of the Land Rover, beneath the driver’s seat.

They were in perfect time for the train and sat opposite each other in window seats. Margaret said she would take a taxi from Waterloo to her solicitor in Knightsbridge. Barbara said she would head over to Alan and Kevin’s house. She had still not made contact, as her mobile phone battery was now flat.

As they arrived, Barbara was a little embarrassed to admit that she had only a few pound coins. Margaret gave her two £20 and three £5 notes.

‘That’s too much.’

‘Nonsense. You will need to buy a few things.’

Margaret put her briefcase down and cupped Barbara’s face in her hands. She kissed her on the lips.

‘Goodbye, Barbara. I love you.’

Barbara was embarrassed again, but replied haltingly, ‘Er, I love you too, Margaret.’

Sitting back in a taxi, Barbara felt very confused. Her headache was really hammering. She lowered the window and took a few deep breaths. She began to wonder if she could still face speaking to Mike Phillips, the editor, about all this. It was so crazy, how would he react?