Thomas shrugged. ‘Like all families, Princess, we have a few skeletons in our cupboards. That’s why we don’t talk about it much, but you can be sure you are from a good family with a noble ancestry.’
‘But why Hamilton? If you came from Romania, then why such an English name?’
Thomas smiled. ‘That was my doing, I’m afraid. When I came here in the sixties there was still a very strong class system and there was a lot of prejudice against anyone, well,
‛different.I
am proud of my heritage, make no mistake about that, but I took a practical decision: I guessed if I changed my name to something more English, lost my accent and put on a three-piece suit, I would be accepted.’ He gestured upwards towards the house. ‘I was right.’
April nodded. She could tell there was more to say, such as why did her grandfather come here in the first place if he was so family-orientated and what were those skeletons in the cupboard, exactly? But for now, April was happy that no one was ducking her questions. She had enough to deal with at the moment without finding out that her family were wanted by Interpol or something.
‘So what do I do now, Gramps?’
‘You go on. You may not feel it right now, but you are from a long line of strong women. Your mother, however? I think you know this is hitting her harder than she will tell you, so you’re going to have to be strong for her. It’s not what you want, but it’s what families do, what they have always done. And the Lord watches over good families like ours.’
‘That’s nice, but I’m not sure I—’
‘Believe in such things?’ he finished her sentence for her. ‘Don’t worry, little one, it doesn’t matter to Him, He will still protect you. Anyway, it’s good to believe in things. That was something your father and I agreed on. He believed in something. It’s too rare these days.’
‘What did he believe in?’
‘Many old-fashioned things. Honour, family, hard work. All good things. And he also believed in you, my darling.’
‘Why does everyone keep telling me that now?’
‘Sometimes it’s hard to say what we really mean in life.’
For some reason, April suddenly thought of her afternoon in Highgate Cemetery, all those gravestones with their heartfelt words. Did all those people under the earth know how their loved ones felt about them? Probably not. Maybe it had always been this way; only the poets really said what they meant. Then she thought of Gabriel.
Well, I’m not going to make that mistake again,
she thought fiercely.
I’m not going to waste my time on something that isn’t true.
It was time to dry her tears and do what she had to: find out who had killed her father - and why.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was cold. Bitterly cold. The wind was rushing down from the north, being channelled into frigid, biting gusts by the winding streets, then cutting straight through April’s coat. It had never been this cold in Edinburgh, or perhaps she had never felt it so keenly. Certainly there had never before been so little warmth to cling to. Which was why she was walking down West Hill towards Ravenwood on this wet Monday morning. No one had told her to go back - who would when something so terrible had happened? - but where else could she go? They had moved back to Pond Square over the weekend and April had no wish to stay in the house with its over-cheerful yellow front door and the sinister hunting scene above it. April had known that her mother needed to return, so she had gone back for her sake, but walking through that door had been one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. There was no outward sign of the terrible struggle as they had shuffled into the deserted hallway - April had offered up a silent word of thanks to the police cleaners - but the atmosphere was still claustrophobic and oppressive; it was as if the rooms and corridors were filled with a solid mist that they had to push their way through.
The only way to cope was to pretend life was going on as normal, but every now and then April would catch sight of something: her dad’s coat hanging on a peg, his favourite coffee mug on the draining board, and she would remember that her dad was gone. And if that terrible revelation wasn’t enough, she would instantly be gripped by anxiety, by the full knowledge that the killer had been inside this house. Had he got inside first and hidden, lain in wait, picking his moment to strike? Or had he pushed his way in, attacked her father in the hallway? The living room and study had been ransacked as if the intruder was looking for something, but no one knew what. Had he searched the rest of the house? Had he been into the kitchen? The bathroom? Her bedroom? There was nowhere inside those four walls April could feel safe; even her own room seemed smaller and darker. Perhaps it was fear, or perhaps that April could no longer fool herself that her father was coming back, that his laughter would fill this gloomy space ever again. The coroner had called late on Friday to inform her mother that they were finally releasing the body, so Silvia had thrown herself into the preparations for the funeral. April hadn’t been surprised to learn that her dad was to be interred in the Hamilton family vault in Highgate Cemetery, but she had to admit it had upset her at first. To April, a funeral should be like the ones you saw on TV, on a green hillside under a tall oak with lots of people standing around in overcoats as the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. But the more she thought about it the more glad she felt that her dad wasn’t going to be buried under a ton of earth, but would be laid gently to rest on a shelf. At least this way if he woke up he could bang on the door or something. He had loved exploring the great unexplained in his lifetime; now he could wander about unravelling the mysteries of Highgate in death. And at least he would have company. April quite liked that idea. But there was no way she was going to hang around the house talking to her mother about it. The only place she could think to go was Ravenwood. At least in lessons no one would be able to talk to her and poring over books and problems might take her mind off things.
Ravenwood’s facade looked even more forbidding than usual as she approached, and she turned up her collar.
I hope this wasn’t a terrible mistake,
she thought to herself as she walked through the gates. April had timed her arrival so she would be among the last going into the school; she was trying to avoid the staring eyes and pitying looks, so she joined the final stragglers running in through the entrance and turned towards her English class.
‘Oh hell,’ she whispered, because right in front of her, chatting to that tramp Sara from the party, was Gabriel. April kept her eyes fixed to the floor and tried to walk past, but he had spotted her.
‘April,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you were back.’
‘Yes,’ said April, still trying to step around him. ‘But I’m late, so—’
‘I was so sorry to hear about your dad,’ said Sara, without an ounce of sincerity in her voice. Gabriel flashed her a look and she moved away. ‘Well, must get to class,’ she said.
‘Me too,’ said April, making to push past, but Gabriel put up a hand.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘How are you? I’ve been worried.’
‘Have you?’ said April, narrowing her eyes at him. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because—hey, what’s going on?’ asked Gabriel, a hurt and confused look on his face.
‘Oh, just that I thought you had other things on your mind,’ she said, nodding towards Sara’s back.
Gabriel shook his head. ‘Sara? Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t think—’
‘Can’t I?’ April turned and pushed past him, but he caught her arm.
‘April? What’s the matter? Tell me!’
‘Why do you care all of a sudden?’ she asked.
He looked at her directly. ‘I thought I made it clear how I felt the other night.’
‘The only thing you made clear was that you were going to call me. It’s been, what, a week and a half? That’s ten days when I really could have used a kind word, Gabriel, but obviously you’ve been too busy.’
‘I was going to call, I picked up the phone dozens of times—’
‘I know, I know,’ April silenced him.‘But you couldn’t think what to say? Or perhaps you thought it might get complicated and messy? It might all be too difficult? Listen, Gabriel, maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s better we keep away from each other. I know that works for me.’
She walked away down the corridor, leaving him standing there. April knew she should have felt empowered and full of self-confidence having taken control and told him where to get off. But she didn’t. She just felt sad.
Mr Andrews, the English teacher, nodded to April as she rushed in and sat down next to Caro, but didn’t make any other comment. April could feel the looks of the other people in the room.
‘How are you, honey?’ whispered Caro. ‘Didn’t think you were coming in.’
‘I’m fine,’ she replied, feeling that the complete opposite was the truth, especially after her confrontation with Gabriel. ‘Just want to forget it all.’
Caro nodded and gave her knee a squeeze under the table.
April felt bad. She did have some good friends, but she had almost completely withdrawn from them since her father’s death. Various people from Davina to Simon had been ringing and sending texts, but she hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone, not even Caro or Fiona. What was the point? There was nothing to say beyond, ‘Oh, it’s all so terrible, I can’t imagine how you must feel.’ And that was the point: no one could understand what she was going through. Obviously, some people would have lost friends and relatives, but how many had died right in front of them? She knew they all just wanted to offer their support and a kind word, but to April, it was something she had to deal with on her own.
‘The biggest problem with Hamlet is that he is always thinking too much,’ said Mr Andrews. ‘Now, that makes for some excellent drama and, in fact, some of the greatest soliloquies Shakespeare ever wrote, but it does have the potential to make Hamlet a tragic and sometimes quite annoying character.’
There was polite laughter.
‘If you all turn to Act Three, Scene Two, right after Polonius has left, we can see Hamlet at his most angry. He’s begun to suspect his mother’s role in his father’s death, plus Polonius has wound him up so much with his windbag sycophancy that Hamlet’s almost spitting fire. Jacob, can you read the passage for us?’
A tall boy with sandy hair and freckles stood up and began to read in a strong clear voice. “”Tis now the very witching time of night ...”’
‘Drama club,’ Caro hissed in April’s ear. ‘Thinks he’s Kenneth Branagh or Mel Gibson or something.’
They listened while Jacob read the rest of the well-known lines:
‘“...when churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the bitter day
Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother.
O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom:
Let me be cruel, not unnatural:
I will speak daggers to her, but use none;
My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites;
How in my words soever she be shent,
To give them seals never, my soul, consent!”’
As he finished, there was a ripple of applause.
‘Very good, Jacob,’ said Mr Andrews with a smile, ‘although usually actors shout the line “drink hot blood”! But still, very well read. Now, can anyone tell me what Hamlet is talking about?’
‘He’s going to murder his mother, of course,’ said a girl with a blue Alice band.
‘Well, yes and no,’ said the teacher. ‘He does say “my soul and tongue in this be hypocrites” - he wants to kill her, but he knows he has to be clever and keep his mouth shut to find out what actually happened. But of course, it’s just another excuse for inaction. A couple of scenes on we see Hamlet stumbling across his uncle confessing to the murder, then kneeling down to pray - the perfect opportunity to act out his revenge, but even then he manages to talk himself out of it.’
‘But doesn’t he kill Polonius straight afterwards?’ asked a spotty boy at the front.
‘Yes—it’s as if he’s so angry with himself for not killing his uncle and mother that he finally loses control. The point is, he wants to find out who killed his father and avenge the ghost, but he just doesn’t know how.’
Amen to that
, thought April. She was walking in Hamlet’s shoes. She didn’t know what to do right now, but she was determined to find out what had happened to her dad and then she could act. It was just a question of finding the proof. Evidently Mr Andrews was thinking the same thing, as he glanced nervously in April’s direction and then abruptly changed the focus of the discussion, focusing on the safer ground of Hamlet’s relationship with his mother instead.