Moorcroft - the Possession: Book One of the Moorcroft Trilogy (25 page)

Charles stiffened. “What happened, tell me everything.”

After twenty minutes Charles put the phone down, a stricken look on his face. How was he going to explain all this to Sarah? At that moment he hated Richard more than he had ever hated anyone in his life. Charles rang his father and explained the situation. He wouldn’t be in work for a few days so his father would have to come and collect the books. Then he paced the floor waiting for Sarah to come home from her shopping.

He heard the key in the door. She talked incessantly about her shopping trip carrying her bags into the kitchen.

She looked up into Charles’s face. “What’s happened, are you alright?”

“Sarah sit down, I have some bad news for you.”

When Charles had finished repeating the story he had heard earlier from Mr Howard he looked at the distressed face of his wife.

“That’s it, I don’t care what Richard says I must go and see mother, before it’s too late.”

Charles wrapped his arms around her.

“How can he do this to me Charles, his own sister?”

“I don’t know, but you’re right we must go to Moorcroft first thing in the morning.”

“No, I want to go now, please Charles.”

“Okay, go and pack a bag while I ring mum and dad and explain things. You know we won’t be welcome at Moorcroft.”

“I don’t care, this time he is not throwing me out.”

When they arrived at the village it had grown dark and Charles carefully made his way up the track to Moorcroft, Charles noticed the gate post leaning to one side. The windows were all lit up as they approached the house and Sarah spotted Henry Davenport’s car. Her hand went to her mouth and tears sprang to her eyes.

“Oh God, please don’t let me be too late.”

She shot from the car and banged on the front door.

Mr Howard opened it at once. “I am so glad to see you Miss Sarah, please go straight up to your mother’s room.”

Leaving Charles behind, she rushed up the stairs and stopped outside the bedroom door and took in a deep breath. She opened the door and saw her mother propped up on several pillows. Mrs Shaw was sat in a chair crying into her handkerchief. Henry Davenport was sat on the bed; he turned when he heard her enter. He stood up and took her hands in his.

Sarah whispered, tears pouring down her face. “How is she Henry?”

“It’s not good, Sarah, she doesn’t have much longer. I’m glad you’re here.”

Sarah moved to her mother’s side and held her hand in hers. She was skin and bone, her face was grey and her eyes were lost in deep hollows. “Mother, its Sarah.”

Emily’s breathing was very shallow and Sarah could hear the awful rattle. With an effort Emily opened her eyes and a smile crossed her face. “Is it really you, Sarah?”

“Yes, Mother, I’ve come home to look after you.”

“That’s nice; you were always a good girl. Your father’s been back a few times to see me but I told him I was waiting for you. I’m so happy you’re home, my dear.” A smile crossed her face and she closed her eyes.

Sarah wiped the tears from her face and looked around the room; Richard was slumped in a chair by the fire. She crossed the room and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her with a look of hatred on his face. Sarah drew back shocked and turned into the waiting arms of Charles and sobbed.

“Shush, my love, he’ll come round in time.”

“I don’t think so Charles.” She whispered.

Emily opened her eyes and saw Mrs Shaw sat beside her, where was Sarah, had she dreamt that she had come home? She tried to lift herself from the pillows. “Sarah, Sarah are you there?”

Sarah wiped her face and rushed to the bed. She looked down at her mother and smiled. “It’s okay Mother, I’m here.

Emily looked into the beautiful face of her daughter and smiled. “Now I think it’s time I left you all, I’m so tired. I love you dearly, try and make peace with your brother and give my love to Charles.”

Sarah bent down and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I love you Mother.”

Emily gave a sigh and closed her eyes. Henry came forward and felt her pulse. He shook his head. “She’s gone.”

Mrs Shaw took Sarah in her arms and together they wept for the woman they both loved. At the back of the room Richard sobbed, now he had no one left. Hearing Richard, Sarah crossed the room and took his hand, he pulled it away.

Sarah looked down on him. “Richard don’t be like this.”

He never looked in her direction. “This is all your fault, all of it.”

Sarah looked shocked. “No Richard, it’s yours. I came here with every intention of making peace with you, but you are still wallowing in self pity. I’ll never forgive you for this, I could have been here months ago taking care of our mother, but you sent me away.” She turned and saw Charles in the doorway, he opened his arms to her and together they left the room.

Henry found them in the drawing room still clinging to each other. He took Sarah in his arms and expressed his sorrow. He explained how her mother had been very ill for several days but she had been holding on just to see her. He mentioned Richard’s heavy drinking bouts and how he had sold most of the estate and sacked all the staff except Mrs Shaw, Mary and Eddie. How he had tried to talk him round but Richard just didn’t want to listen. Henry didn’t think Richard would be up to organizing the funeral and because of the ill feeling between him and Sarah, he thought it would be best if he made the necessary arrangements. Sarah agreed and said she would pick her mother’s favourite hymns. When asked if she would be staying on at the house, Sarah flatly refused and said they would stay at a hotel nearby and would ring him with the details. She waved Henry off and turned to see Mr Howard and Mrs Shaw hovering in the hall. They both hugged her and said how sorry they were. Mr Howard, although he had been sacked, said he would stay on at the house just to keep an eye on Richard, but after the funeral he would be leaving to stay with his sister in Kirkham. Mrs Shaw said she would stay and help Mary in the house until she too was no longer needed.

Sarah went upstairs to see Richard still hoping for reconciliation, he was sat by the bed holding their mother’s hand. She walked to him and put her hands on his shoulders. He shrugged them off. She sat down beside him.

“Are you still here?”

“Please Richard don’t let us part like this. Surely you still don’t blame me for Victoria’s death?”

“I know what I saw. When Vicky died I died with her and you were responsible.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Henry said he would make the arrangements for the funeral, he didn’t think you would be up to it and that you wouldn’t trust me to do it properly. He said he would get in touch with the details. If you want any special arrangements you must speak to him. We’re going now. We’ll see you at the funeral.”

She waited hoping for some response, but Richard ignored her so she left the room. As they left Moorcroft Sarah looked back at the house and wondered what would happen to it now left in Richard’s hands. Would she ever return?

On the day of the funeral Charles had tried to talk to Richard but he turned his back on him and walked away without a word. Now the three of them sat in silence in the limousine following the hearse to the village. Richard, Charles, Mr Howard and Eddie carried their mother and friend into the church, it was full to capacity. Once again the entire village had turned out to say their final farewell to a well loved employer and friend. At the graveside Mr Howard stood side by side with Mrs Shaw and Mary, and Charles supported Sarah as she slumped against him filled with grief. Richard stood alone as he watched his mother laid to rest with his father. Charles had arranged sandwiches and drinks at the village pub, it was full to capacity with people offering their condolences, but after just one drink he and Sarah shook hands with everyone and said their goodbyes and left to go home. Richard was nowhere to be seen.

Charlotte had stood by the bedside and watched as Emily left one world for another. The room had been charged with emotion and Emily’s parting words and the sight of John holding out his arms to his wife had disturbed her. If John had come back to take Emily, why hadn’t Frederick come for her, she was still here in this God forsaken house still waiting. Had Frederick not loved her with the same passion as she had loved him, is that the reason she still lingered here, in the hopes that one day he would come for her. What of Richard, he was so like Frederick, had he been sent to comfort her while she waited. She was so confused. The house was once more dark, cold and empty, she wanted sunshine and laughter, would she ever be happy again? She stood by the window watching the clouds drift by the moon causing strange patterns on the lawns and drive. She saw a movement in the trees, was it a fox, had he come to see what he could scavenge from the bins. She screwed her eyes to try and focus, it was a man, staggering, coming closer, perhaps he had come to burgle the house knowing everyone was in the village. She made her way downstairs and through the back door, she would creep up on him and scare him away. From the corner of the house she watched and waited. He had come out of the trees and was reeling from side to side, the silly man, what was he up to? As he came closer he stumbled and fell to the floor, he rolled over onto his back and laughed out loud.

“Hello moon, give me a smile.”

It was Richard in a drunker stupor. Without thinking she ran to his aid and helped him to his feet. He stood up and through bleary eyes studied his saviour.

“Well, my dear, I don’t know who you are but thank you. Would you like a drink?” He offered her the almost empty bottle. She shook her head and put her arm beneath his to support him and slowly they made their way to the back door.

She helped him to the kitchen table and he slumped onto a chair, he placed his head on his arms. Charlotte had never had to do domestic chores but how hard could it be to make a cup of coffee. She picked up the kettle and put some water in it from the tap and placed it on the stove. How did you light this thing? “Would you like a coffee?”

Richard raised his head. “You still here?”

Charlotte looked from him to the stove. “I can’t seem to get this thing to light, can you help?”

“Lift up the lid; you need to lift up the lid.” He staggered towards her still gripping the bottle in his hand. He reached behind her and tried to grasp the handle of the Aga lid; she could smell the whisky on his breath and recoiled. He put down the bottle and tried to steady himself against the wall and reached for the handle, swaying from side to side in the effort. Charlotte steadied him and he lifted the lid, what now. Richard lurched forward and grabbed the kettle and placed it on the hot plate. He laughed as he picked up the bottle and staggered from the room.

Charlotte watched him cross to the drawing room where he collapsed on the settee. His arm fell to the floor, his hand still holding the bottle. She took it from him, he mumbled something before his head dropped and the snoring began. Charlotte sat in the chair and watched him, a smile crossed her face as she fantasised about the things they would do together now they were alone. Richard was a passionate man, he needed the love of a good woman and she was that woman. She crouched beside him and stroked the hair from his face, such a handsome face. She bent over him and kissed him on the lips; she could feel his stubble and rubbed her chin. She took off his shoes and straightened his legs in an effort to make him more comfortable.

He moaned and his arm wrapped around her. “Come here my lovely.” He drew her closer and attempted to kiss her before his head fell back against the cushions and he slept once more.

A few hours later Richard opened his eyes and shivered, he was cold and stiff. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he realised that he was in the drawing room. He rolled over and fell to the floor banging his head on the corner of the hearth. He groaned as he raised his aching limbs. He sat on the settee rubbing his head. He couldn’t remember much after the funeral. He remembered buying a bottle of whisky from the bar, and shoving people out of his way to get to the door. He had walked back to the cemetery and sat on the grave toasting his mother and father and he remembered Mr Howard, the old goat, telling him to go home. He couldn’t remember what he said back to him, but it wouldn’t have been very nice. He ran his hand through his hair, what a mess. He stood up and a pain shot through his head, this headache was going to be a blinder. He stumbled from the room and slowly made his way up the stairs to his bedroom. He flopped on his bed and once again drifted into sleep.

The following morning he sat up with a start. He could hear things moving about downstairs, someone was in the house. The bedclothes had wrapped around his legs and he almost stumbled to the floor. He reached out for the bedside cabinet to stop his fall and knocked the lamp to the floor. The room was spinning and he felt nauseas. He staggered to the bathroom and vomited. He splashed cold water onto his face and looked at himself in the mirror. Oh God, what was he doing to himself? He pulled off his clothes and stood in the shower letting the warm water cascade over him soothing his aching body. Charlotte watched, admiring his rippling muscles, his broad shoulders and slim waist, his tight buttocks and thick thighs, he was magnificent and she wanted him.

He dressed casual in jeans and sweatshirt and went downstairs. He could hear voices coming from the kitchen. Mary was busy at the stove the smell of cooking bacon almost made him retch. Mrs Shaw was sat at the table talking quietly to her daughter. She looked up as he entered.

“Good morning Master Richard, how are you feeling this morning?”

“Not too good Mrs Shaw, but thanks for asking. Just toast and coffee for me this morning Mary; in the study if you don’t mind.”

Mary looked at her mother and held up the frying pan. “Fancy a bacon butty?”

In the study Richard looked at the collection of post on the desk, he hadn’t opened the mail in days. He sat down and opened the envelopes. It was mostly final demands, the electricity, animal feed, and the garage. He would have to get these settled and quick. He must make a decision about the farms, they would have to go but not to Reg Phillips if he could help it. He knew that he and the slimy Metcalfe from the bank were in cahoots together, he’d show them, but how? Mary came in with his breakfast and she poured him a coffee, black. He looked up at her and smiled.