Nicola Upson - Angel with Two Faces

Morwenna had chosen a sycamore tree to mark her death. Her body was hanging from its lower branches by a narrow rope – a lone, dark figure, one for sorrow, certainly, although the grief was no longer hers. A soft breeze ruffled her skirt and the sleeves of her blouse, and the image was so familiar to Penrose that he wondered if that moment all those years ago – that pairing of beauty and death which had affected him so deeply – had, in fact, been a premonition, a sign that it was already too late to save her. There was a pile of logs close to her feet and, as he got closer, Penrose could see that the rope was actually a long leather rein – one of Harry’s, no doubt. Her head was tilted to one side, away from the fatal knot, and the only mark that he could see on her skin was the imprint of a metal ring at the front of her neck. Otherwise, her face was pale and uncongested, suggesting a merciful cardiac response rather than slow asphyxiation. She would probably only have suffered a few seconds of consciousness, but she had left nothing to chance: as he walked around her body, he noticed that her wrists were tied clumsily together behind her; it was a poignant sign of her resolve, and something which he had occasionally seen in those bent on self-destruction who feared they might lose courage at the final moment. Every human impulse in him wanted to raise his arms and lift her gently down, but he knew that he should not touch anything, and he felt the conflict between his job and his heart more sharply than ever.

There was no note that he could see, but then he would not have expected to find one. Morwenna had nothing left to say to the living – she had made that perfectly clear at their last meeting. But on the ground, too close to the place of her death to be a coincidence, Penrose noticed something which was as eloquent an expression of atonement as any suicide note he had ever read. A dead bird lay among the bluebells – a jackdaw. He knelt down and parted the hanging flowers to take a closer look, and saw that there was a piece of rough twine around its neck. Its small, serpent-like eyes were clouded and lifeless and, if Penrose had ever doubted Morveth’s story, he did so no longer. Whatever had gone on between Harry and Morwenna that morning, this was her response to the realisation that their love had killed Nathaniel. This was an end to it.

Josephine got back from the stables to find that Archie had left the cottage and was headed towards Loe House. She left the car this time and hurried off in the direction pointed out to her, keen to catch up with him and make sure he was all right; he might have escaped the fire without harm, but she knew that his emotions would not be similarly unscathed by what had happened.

She saw Archie first, and Morwenna a split second later. He was kneeling on the ground, his head bowed, and she knew that he was examining the scene, but, from where she stood, the action held a much deeper poignancy: it was a moment of great peace and respect and, at the same time, an acknowledgement that however hard Archie had tried to save Morwenna, in the end, it had not been enough. The sun shone through the leaves, gentle and diffuse like light through stained glass, and she stood for a second, caught between an instinct to go to him and a horror of intruding on this most private of scenes. Morwenna was beautiful, even in death – still isolated, and more distant than ever, but suddenly immune to the shadows that had cursed her for so long. Slowly, Josephine walked forward through the bluebells.

‘I’m so sorry, Archie,’ she said.

He had been too deep in thought to hear anyone approaching, but he turned now and walked quickly over to her, shielding her as best he could from the sight of Morwenna’s body. ‘Come over here,’ he said gently. ‘You don’t need to see this.’

She allowed herself to be led a few yards away, and they sat down for a moment on a fallen tree. ‘I went to the stables. Shilling’s still there – but you obviously know that.’ Archie nodded. ‘This must be a shock for you… are you all right?’

‘I don’t know how I feel,’ he said. ‘Morwenna and I have known each other for so long but I didn’t really understand her until yesterday, when she talked about Harry – and part of that understanding was accepting that there’d be no happy endings. So I suppose it is a shock, but not really a surprise.’

‘So much love and so much misery. How on earth did it all come to this?’

It was a rhetorical question, but Archie surprised her by his answer. ‘I think Morwenna knew she had to be strong enough for both of them,’ he said, ‘and I think she started the fire this time, not Harry. He must have told her that he killed Nathaniel – I found a dead jackdaw over there by her feet. There’s a group of them strung up on the fence.’

‘Yes, I saw them.’

‘They’re Jacks’s trophies. She knew all this had to stop and she took things into her own hands. If she needed a sign to justify her decision, I can’t think of anything more appropriate.’

Josephine tried to imagine the utter desolation that Morwenna must have felt when she realised what she had to do – and the strength that was required to see it through. ‘I told her she was using her love for Harry to keep the world at arm’s length and to hide from reality,’ she said sadly. ‘I could hardly accuse her of that now.’

Wearily, Archie rubbed his eyes. ‘At least it’s over for her now – her and Harry.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Come on – I need to get some help to take her down and seal this part of the wood off.’ She followed his gaze as it took in the glory of the woods around him. ‘It’s always the beautiful things that death taints for the living, isn’t it?’ he said, with anger in his voice.

Josephine hesitated, remembering all that Morveth had said to her about protecting Archie and wondering if his acceptance of Morwenna’s death was as final as he thought it was. ‘Shall I fetch someone while you stay with her?’ she asked.

He smiled at her gratefully. ‘Thank you. At least I can make sure that she’s looked after now. It’s ironic, isn’t it?’ he added sadly as she walked away. ‘You always said that Morwenna had killed Harry, and I’m sure you’ve turned out to be right.’

Chapter Twenty

Josephine sat by her bedroom window, looking out into the darkness. Loe House was not visible from the Lodge but she imagined that, had she been able to see beyond the curve of the lake, several lights would be in evidence despite the lateness of the hour, mirroring her own restlessness across the water. The jumble of lives and events in her head weighed her down with a claustrophobic intensity, and she was glad of the cool night air and the sense of absolute peace, disturbed only now and again by the screech of an owl from the woods behind the house. Most of all, though, she thought about Loveday – safe at Loe House, with the best of care from William and his household, but with her own demons still to face: Harry and Morwenna dead; Christopher’s fate still uncertain; and no more hope of refuge in her friendship with Nathaniel. When the harsh sound of the telephone cut through the stillness, Josephine welcomed the distraction.

‘Did I wake you?’

‘No, Archie, of course not. Where are you?’

‘Still at the station. I’m waiting for some reports from the fire and the post mortems, and I know I’ll get them quicker if I’m here to breathe down people’s necks. Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. I was just thinking about Loveday and everything she’s got to come to terms with.’

‘And there’s something else, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh God – Christopher. Is he…?’

‘No, no – he’s absolutely fine. The Falmouth force picked him up this afternoon from the description we circulated. He’d got himself a job on the docks, of all things.’