The Branded Man Read online

  On arrival, he went straight to the yard, and definitely startled the men by standing in the middle of the yard and calling, ‘Young! Young!’

  When the coachman hurried out of the harness room, James demanded, ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Well, sir, Bill Winters is…is in the barn seeing to the hay; I mean, the feed.’

  ‘And Crouch?’

  ‘Well, sir, he’s seeing to Mr Vincent’s horse. It’s been sweating a lot again.’

  ‘Get them here!’

  Young hurried as he hadn’t done for some time, calling his subordinates into the yard, although both men were already aware that the master was there and in an unusual hurry.

  On their appearance James, pointing to them, said, ‘You two, come with me. You, Young, get one of the others from the garden to give you a hand with the dray cart.’

  ‘The dray cart?’

  The man had hardly finished stammering the last word when James almost bawled at him, ‘Yes! You heard, the dray cart. But first get someone to go to the laundry and bring me as many empty wash-baskets as they can find.’

  For a moment the three men stood perfectly still, the same thought running through their minds: he’s flipped his nut at last. But he wanted wash-baskets and the dray cart, and so they actually scattered to fulfil his command, only to be halted again by James yelling, ‘You, Young, bring the dray to the front door, and see that those two bring the baskets into the hall.’ And with this he went round the side of the house and into the hall.

  There, he also startled Green by shouting, ‘Get me Mrs Piggott!’

  As if by magic Mrs Piggott appeared from a side passage at that moment, saying, ‘Yes, sir? I…I’m here.’

  ‘Well then, Mrs Piggott, two of the yard men will be here shortly with a number of wash-baskets, but first, I want you to go upstairs and show them where they can pick up four single mattresses.’

  ‘Four m-m-mattresses?’

  ‘You heard me, Mrs Piggott,’ and he stressed each word. ‘I said four single mattresses, and have them brought down here into the hall ready to be loaded onto the dray cart, which should be at the door very soon.’

  Mrs Piggott dared to take her eyes from her master to glance enquiringly at Green, but he did not meet her gaze, for he was looking out of the tall window to where two of the yard men were carrying wash-baskets and making for the front door.

  ‘And when they have done that I want you to accompany me to the linen room. Are you taking in what I am saying, Mrs Piggott?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir. Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, stop gaping; and for your information, and you can pass this on, I have not gone mad; not yet, anyway.’

  Robert Green was now opening the front door to the two evidently embarrassed and very puzzled yard men, and their bewilderment was not lessened when they were ordered to go with the housekeeper, who would show them where to get four single mattresses, which were to be brought down and placed on the dray cart. And the maids were to bring down the bedding for them.

  At the top of the stairs the slightly distraught housekeeper was met by her mistress, who looked at the two men carrying wash-baskets, of all things.

  ‘What on earth are you doing, Mrs Piggott?’

  Mrs Piggott, swallowing deeply, faced her mistress and said, ‘I am carrying out the master’s orders, ma’am.’

  At this Veronica Lawson leaned over the balustrade to see her husband looking up at her and she yelled at him, ‘What does this mean?’

  ‘If you will come down, my dear, I will tell you exactly what it means.’ And he turned as if to walk into the drawing room, but stopped and, addressing Green again, he said, ‘When the dray cart comes to the door see that the bottom is entirely clean. If it isn’t, put dust sheets on it. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Yes, sir.’

  Mr Lawson was standing in the middle of the drawing room when his wife entered. She, of course, had to speak first, and she made a statement: ‘You have gone mad.’

  To this he answered, ‘Not quite yet, my dear. I likely shall before this night is out; and you too, if you have any conscience left in you, you too may be feeling mad. Anyway, for your information I am at present directing that a quantity of bedding and linen et cetera should be taken to the cottage of Mr McAlister. You have heard of Mr McAlister, haven’t you? He is the gentleman, and I repeat, gentleman, who was the instigator of your daughter’s returning home. Well, she is at present lying in his cottage and is near death’s door, and I am not exaggerating when I say this, because that statement has been confirmed by Dr Ridley.’

  ‘Huh!’ It was almost a laugh from Veronica now as she said, ‘Because she’s having a premature baby she’s lying near death’s door? Poor soul!’

  ‘No, woman! It isn’t because she’s having a premature baby that she is lying near death’s door, but because your son battered her almost to death.’ The words had come out on a whispered hiss, and she staggered back from them.

  ‘What? What did you say?’

  ‘You heard what I said. He has battered her almost to death. Head, face, stomach and all.’

  ‘Nonsense! Nonsense! Why would Vincent want to…well, as you say, almost batter her to death?’

  ‘Because of you. It appears he has inherited traits from you and he’s hated her since she was little. It’s been pointed out to you before, woman, that you knew of his feeling against her, because it was as strong as your own, and you could have put a stop to it. But no; you let it go on until now, and—wait for it—if she dies, and I repeat this, my dear Veronica, if she dies I shall see to it that your son also dies.’

  When her hand went out to grip the back of a chair he knew that for once he had got through to her, and now he added, ‘She was found just a few hours ago, and I can follow every step he took to carry out this’—he shook his head now, searching for words—‘diabolical attack. But even if I couldn’t, she has named him, and there are other witnesses. But I shall deal with him as soon as I have seen to what is needed at Mr McAlister’s cottage for, being a lone man’s abode, it is ill-prepared for an occasion such as this. So, madam, inform your son I want him in this room, ready and waiting for me, no matter how long I may be in returning.’

  She uttered no word. Her eyes were wide, her whole body was trembling, and to herself she was repeating the words, ‘That girl! That girl again!’ …

  Fifteen minutes later the linen room was depleted by six pairs of the best sheets, matching pillowcases, and a dozen towels of various sizes. The blanket room, too, gave up three of its best blankets.

  The wash-baskets, full to overflowing, followed the mattresses down into the hall; but apparently the master was not yet finished. After ordering his housekeeper to have two large hampers taken to her storeroom, he then made her heart ache because, not satisfied with sweeping two shelves almost bare of their daily necessities, he went to the so-called delicacy cupboard, where he picked out tins of pâté, pressed tongues, salmon, and fruits, saying, ‘These won’t go very far with four or more people so, Mrs Piggott, will you kindly go to your meat store and pick out a ham and a small side of bacon, as well as a loin of lamb from which chops could be cut.’

  The housekeeper made no reply to this; she was past talking; her face was colourless and her mouth dry; she felt she had come to the end of her world …

  It was a full half-hour later when the piled-high covered dray cart was driven out of the yard by an indignant coachman accompanied by the two yard men. Harold Young had his orders to drive the cart into Mr Harding’s farmyard. Once there the three of them would unload the articles and carry them across the two fields to Mr McAlister’s cottage.

  The floor of the hall, empty now of its miscellaneous baggage, was being cleaned by two scurrying, nervous maids who, now that the master had clearly gone out of his mind, could see themselves without a job in the near future, because things were definitely going from bad to worse in this house. In the drawing room the mistress was now shouting at Mr
Vincent, and he was shouting back at her.

  May Dalton, the first chambermaid, gave a discreet cough and Susan Fowler, her assistant, recognising the signal, doubled her efforts with the polishing mop, for the master was coming from the direction of the kitchen, followed by the footman carrying a wine basket in which there were four bottles, and he was saying, ‘What would you like me to do with these, sir?’

  ‘Oh yes. Well, I can’t take them out like that, can I? Wrap them up individually and get someone to take them along to The Little Manor. They’re for the cottage, but I’ll pick them up there. Do it right away.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Robert Green waited until the drawing room door had closed on his master, before he turned quickly to the maids, saying, ‘Get yourselves out of here!’

  ‘We’ve got to…’

  ‘Do what I say. And look, take this.’ He handed the wine basket to May Dalton, saying, ‘Wrap them up, as he said, individually, then put them into a hessian bag and bring it back here.’

  May Dalton looked at him hard, and had she dared she would have said, And leave you here so you can listen in? But both girls did as they were bid, leaving Green with the hall to himself.

  He was standing in the middle distance between the drawing room door and the front door. At one time, when he’d had less to do, this would have been the position he would take up; besides affording him a view of the approaching visitors, it was also a good listening post.

  James had closed the drawing room door slowly behind him. For a moment, he stood with his back to it and surveyed his son, who was standing by the head of the couch, and his wife, who was seated at a small table on which she was drumming her fingers. But on the sight of him standing there making no move forward, she rose sharply to her feet, saying, ‘Barking up the wrong tree, as usual. How dare you say such things about your own son!’

  James walked slowly forward towards the middle of the room, taking no heed of his wife but concentrating his gaze on Vincent as he said to him, ‘How have you managed to convince her that you’re in the right again?’

  ‘I don’t know what on earth you’re getting at, Father. And it’s a serious accusation you’re making.’

  ‘It is indeed.’

  James took no notice of his wife’s interrupting strident voice, but continued to stare at his son, and slowly he said to him, ‘You were in the yard when I asked Pat if anything was wrong. He knew I was referring to Marie Anne and he answered “no”, but that she was going for a walk as far as the wood. To me that meant Sarah Foggerty would be with her. But you weren’t to know that, so you made it your business also to take a walk to the Wood by the top road. Likely you were disappointed when you saw she had company; but then, what did her company do but leave her sitting on the old tree-stump before going picking bluebells. It was then you saw your chance, and you took it. There must have been plenty of broken branches for you to choose from, and you picked on a heavy one. You started on the side of her head, and proceeded systematically to beat her. It was only Sarah’s yelling and approach that stayed your hand, for Marie Anne, by then, must have been past screaming.’

  Vincent was now looking at his mother and shaking his head wildly as he said, ‘He’s mad! He’s mad! I told you. Shortly after you left the yard I came indoors and I spoke to Mother here. Didn’t I? Didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you did’—Veronica was yelling again—‘and he never left the house.’

  James looked from one to the other. She was lying for him; but she was doing so with such emphasis it was hard to disbelieve her.

  ‘Would you swear on that, my dear?’

  He watched her glance towards Vincent, then swallow deeply as she said, ‘Yes. Yes, I would.’

  ‘And following on that, I suppose you would say you had witnesses to support your statement?’

  ‘Yes, I would, that too. And…and I can fetch one. Just you wait! Just you wait!’

  She almost ran from the drawing room, and she hadn’t far to go to find her footman.

  ‘Green!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  ‘Today about three o’clock, you…you let Mr Vincent in through the front door.’

  ‘I…I don’t remember, ma’am.’

  ‘Listen to me, Green! Today, at about three o’clock, you’re not sure of the time but you are sure that you let Mr Vincent in through that door.’ She pointed now to the door itself, and he turned to look at it, then back towards her. And now her voice low, she said, ‘You have been promoted, Green, you have a good position here, you could go further, you understand? Or you’—she drew herself up—‘could be without a post, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, I understand you, ma’am.’

  ‘Then come along and answer my questions in front of my husband.’

  She entered the room, followed by Green, and the man stood back near the door almost as his master had just a few minutes earlier. That is until she demanded, ‘Come forward, Green. Come forward.’

  After the man had walked slowly forward she faced him, saying, ‘You tell the master whom you let in the front door this afternoon between half-past two and half-past three.’

  For answer the man, looking straight back at her, said, ‘I’m off duty between half-past two and half-past three, ma’am. Since you altered the times, I have been allowed an hour free because of my extra work and curtailed leave.’

  For a moment all was quiet in the room; then Veronica Lawson turned and glanced at her son before looking back at the footman and saying, ‘But you said you let Mr Vincent in the front way at around that time.’

  Again there was silence before the man answered, ‘No ma’am, I didn’t say that; you said it.’

  ‘Green!’ Her voice was almost at screaming pitch now. ‘Don’t you stand there and lie. You said…’

  She got no further because James, his voice matching hers, yelled, ‘Shut up, woman! You cannot make the man lie for you.’ Then turning to the footman he said, ‘That’s all, Green,’ only to check his step immediately by saying, ‘just a minute. I’ll tell you what you can do for me, and for Mr Vincent’—he almost spat out his son’s name—‘You can go up to his room and start packing his cases or anything that you find belonging—’

  ‘By God in heaven! You don’t…he doesn’t! You dare go near my room!’ Vincent had left the support of the couch head and had moved towards the footman, when he was checked, not only by his father’s voice but by an arm thrust out and pushing him backwards with such force that he almost overbalanced; but he continued to shout at his father, ‘You won’t do this to me! You’ve gone mad…mad.’

  ‘Not quite. But by the time I have finished with you that might be the case.’ James turned again to Green, saying, ‘Do as I say. Everything you can find belonging to my son, pack it, and have it brought down into the hall.’

  After the door had closed on Green, Vincent stepped towards his father and growled at him, ‘You won’t do this to me! You can’t do this to me! This is my home and I intend to stay here.’

  ‘From this day onwards, this is not your home and if you don’t leave it quietly I shall call the police and have you charged with assault and battery; yes, maybe murder. Do you hear? You lecherous, dirty, filthy coward of a man. You’re not a man. No, you’re not a man, you’re an evil beast. Ever since you were a youth you tried in most ways to interfere with your sister; I know that now. Playful horseplay she would call it,’ he said, thrusting out his arm to point to his wife. ‘It was only Marie Anne’s temper that kept you at bay. She was glad to get away to London and out of your clutches, as well as away from her mother’s hate. And the very thought that some man had been where you wanted to be has driven you mad, hasn’t it? So what d’you do? You try to finish her off good and proper; and her child. Well, let me tell you, there’s just a chance that you have succeeded and that they both could die within the next twenty-four hours. If that happens I shall see that justice is done.’

  Vincent moved a step back and his hands
began to flail the air, the while tossing his head, as he appealed to his mother, saying, ‘He’s crazy. I tell you he’s crazy, Mother. Talking about justice. I’ve done nothing, nothing, and he can’t prove anything.’

  For once Veronica Lawson did not come back with comforting words that would have substantiated his statement, but she groped backwards at the chair she was standing by; and she almost fell into it as she listened to her husband, this strange man, this man she had never known, say, ‘You will go to your friend’s house. It is at twenty-three Bingham Close. Oh yes; I know it, and all about him too.’

  It was almost on a high scream now that Vincent cried, ‘He is not my friend in that way; you’re barking up the wrong tree, old man. He has a—’

  He glanced at his mother, and she stared back at him, her eyes now wide with other questions, which her husband answered for her, saying, ‘Well, yes, he has a sister, a lady of high standing. Married. If I’m correct, her husband is an explorer. Well, well. But what does it matter whether your friend is male or female, you visit his house and stay there for long weekends. Well, this time you will stay until you are ordered to leave, which will depend upon what happens to Marie Anne. If I cannot contact you at that address then I shall immediately put the matter into the hands of the police. Do you understand me? Because I mean to make you pay and to the full—and I repeat to the full—for destroying my daughter’s life. One more thing before you leave here. You are finished in my business. I shall leave orders that you are not allowed back into the office. I shall give you double their value for the shares you hold. Once you start to quibble, I shall withdraw the offer.’