The Stranger House (39 page)

“That would suit me very well,” said Mig.

“That’s settled then,” said Sister Angelica, “Come on, Woollasses. Let’s get you home. Then it’s up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire for both of you by the look of it.”

She escorted the two men across the room. At the door Frek joined them, but made no move to take over the nun’s comforting role. She glanced towards Mig, raised her eyebrows as if to say
wasn’t that fun?,
then followed the others out of the bar.

All eyes watched them go but no one called goodnight.

Mig finished his brandy, taking his time. Then he too rose and made for the door.

En route he let his gaze touch everyone he knew, but no one was catching his eye.

Out in the dark hall, he could see a chink of light under the kitchen door.

What was going on in there?

Should he knock and ask how Sam was?

He thought about it.

The answer was no. Whatever balm Edie Appledore was pouring on to the little Australian’s troubled spirit, he didn’t want to risk disturbing the process.

He made his usual silent way up the stairs to his bedroom.

It wasn’t till she’d been talking to Edie Appledore for ten minutes that it struck Sam that in fact this woman wasn’t part of the solution but part of the problem.

By then she’d drunk an ounce of the landlady’s excellent cognac and was now drinking her second mug of coffee and, not having eaten since the pub at lunchtime, feeling a strong inclination to get her teeth into a second slice of the scrumptious chocolate cake which had been set on a plate before her.

Another woman in face of these goodies might have felt inhibited from suddenly diverting from confidence to accusation, but such social niceties had never troubled Sam.

“You lied to me as well,” she broke out, “Soon as I got here, the way I looked, and my name, they all meant something to you but you said nothing.”

The woman made no attempt at denial.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “But round here you don’t tell folk what you don’t need to tell them, not until you’ve got some idea exactly what it is they’re after.”

This philosophy was close enough to her pa’s to quieten Sam for a moment. But rapidly she resumed: “It was more than just keeping quiet, wasn’t it? You did things too. OK,
nothing as extreme as knocking me off a ladder like the Gowders. But you spread the word about me, didn’t you?”

“I rang Thor, yes. But that was it. If what you say about the Gowders is right, I’m sorry, but I’m not responsible for what they get up to, am I?”

“I suppose not,” said Sam, beginning to feel frustrated, “But you searched my room, right?”

“I did not!” declared the landlady indignantly, “I never laid a hand on your things.”

“Someone did.”

“Then I apologize. In my house! I’ve been meaning to get proper locks on those bedroom doors. Anyone could have crept up the stairs and got in. You believe me?”

Sam nodded. Why shouldn’t she believe her? This was truth time.

She finished her story, telling all that she’d discovered in Newcastle, and then she settled to wait for the payback.

They were seated at an angle of the big table, chairs skewed so they faced each other. Mrs Appledore stretched out her right hand, laid it on Sam’s left and squeezed hard. It was a gesture too natural to be intimidating.

Then she said, “I bet you’ve hardly had a thing to eat since you left here this morning, right? Get stuck into that cake. It’s all right, you know. We don’t do the dead any good by starving ourselves.”

She wasn’t being evasive, Sam recognized, just practical. And she was right.

She carved another slice of cake and took a large bite.

“Grand,” approved Mrs Appledore, “Now, where were we? Oh yes. You’re dead right, of course. Soon as I
set eyes on you I thought of little Pam. It was the hair. Not so much the face, though I do see a resemblance, except in the eyes. And of course she was a little elf of a thing like you.”

“And you said nothing!” accused Sam.

“What was I to say? You said your name was Sam Flood. It was all I could do not to slap your face! I thought someone’s playing a dreadful joke on me. Then I saw your passport. I’ve never asked to see a passport in my life, but I needed to see yours. When I saw your name really was Sam Flood, I began to think it was maybe just an unfortunate coincidence. Or more truthful, I began to hope it was. And when you said your gran had left in 1960, I heaved a sigh of relief. It was still very odd, but you were so definite. And one thing I knew for certain was that it was 1961 when little Pam left Illthwaite.”

“Tell me about her. It’s Pam you’re calling her, not Sam, right? Did she have a second name?”

“Galley. Like the ship. Pamela Galley. But we all called her Pam.”

“So it would have been easy for her to answer to Sam?”

“Oh yes. Though the truth is little Pam wasn’t much for answering to anything. She was the quietest kid you could imagine, and afterwards she was even quieter if that was possible.”

“Afterwards? After what?”

The woman shrugged, not indifferently but with a suppressed anger.

“Who knows?” she said, “But now we can guess. We just thought it was the shock of her seeing Madge Gowder die. Maybe that’s what we wanted to think.
After what you’ve found out, though, it’s pretty clear … God help us!”

Sam felt that great wave of anger which had exploded in the bar welling up in her again but she forced it down. Its time would come; now what she wanted was information.

“This Madge Gowder, she related to the twins?”

“Their ma.”

“So the Galleys lived in Illthwaite too?”

“No,” said Mrs Appledore, “In Eskdale, not far away as the crow flies. But they were kin of the Gowders.”

“The Gowders? You mean I could be related to the Gowders?” exclaimed Sam, not trying to conceal her horror.

“Aye. Well, like they say, you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your relatives. I shouldn’t worry too much though. Cousins they called each other for convenience, but the family connection was a lot further back than makes true cousins in my book. For all that, round here even thin blood’s still thicker than water. The Galleys never amounted to much, while the Gowders used to be one of the important families in Illthwaite. But they always took care of the Galleys in their way, if you call tossing the odd bone to a starving hound taking care of it. So when little Pam were orphaned, it seemed natural she should be brought over from Eskdale and left at Foulgate.”

“Natural to leave a little girl with the Gowders!”

“You’re a bit quick to judge, if you don’t mind me saying so,” said Mrs Appledore, regarding her critically, “Is that an Aussie thing?”

“Quick to judge? Were you listening when I told you what happened to my grandmother?” demanded Sam.

“OK, keep your hair on. Sorry, not trying to be funny. You’ve made a right mess of yourself, you know that? God, when I was young, I’d have given my right arm for hair like yours and Pam’s. Anyway, Madge Gowder, the twins’ mother, were still alive then, though ailing. It was her being sick and then dying that set Jim Gowder, her man, drinking away what was left of the farm. Sad really, when you think what they once were. Employed a dozen men, didn’t tip their hats to the squire, and had their own pew in the church. Madge would have seen little Pam right but, like I say, she was sick. For a while the doctor was never away, then the vicar was there as often as the doctor and we knew it couldn’t be long.”

“The vicar? Mr Swinebank’s father, you mean?”

“Yes. And Sam, the curate. In fact, Sam was probably there more often. Madge preferred Sam. Everyone did. Old Paul was hot on hell, but Sam had the knack of making religion sound a lot more attractive somehow.”

“I bet!” said Sam harshly. In her eyes, this saintly fucking curate was still number one suspect, “So Madge Gowder died, right?”

“Yes, she died. It was little Pam who was with her, or found her, no one knows which. Someone went to Madge’s room, and there she was, dead, with Pam sitting at the bedside, holding Madge’s hand. She was in a state, but not the kind of state that drew attention, if you follow me. Just even quieter and more withdrawn than ever. You could forget she was there. I suppose eventually someone would have thought to ask what was to become of Pamela, left up there with the two lads and their drunken father. But Sam Flood didn’t hang around to ask. He took her out of Foulgate straight off. Gave her a bed up at the vicarage. His own bed. The Rev. Paul didn’t like
it, nor old fish-face Thomson, his housekeeper. They reckoned that if God’s house had so many mansions, He didn’t need the vicarage, so they wanted her out. But they couldn’t just chuck her into the street. By now she was a worry to us all, quiet as a ghost and looked like one too. Like I say, most of us put it down to losing her mam and dad and then losing Madge Gowder in quick succession. There were some ready to gossip, of course. In a village there always are and generally it’s best not to listen …”

“Especially when the gossip’s about the local saint!” Sam burst out.

Mrs Appledore’s hand, which had been resting lightly on hers, suddenly gripped it till it hurt.

“Listen,” she said, and her voice which till now had been conciliatory and understanding was harsh and emphatic, “You make a big thing of liking things straight. Well, there’s something we’ve got to get straight. I heard what you said in the bar and I hear what you’re saying now. But you’re wrong, absolutely wrong. What happened to Pamela Galley I don’t know, but one thing I’m absolutely certain of is that she got nothing but love in the proper Christian sense from Sam Flood!”

In this mode, Edie Appledore was formidable, but Sam refused to be fazed.

“How can you be so sure? He was a man, wasn’t he?” she declared, “He had her to himself at the vicarage. OK, you all say he was a good man, a very good man, but good and bad doesn’t come into it when their cocks start crowing. All it means is that afterwards he must have known that what he’d done was unforgivably wrong, for anyone, let alone a priest, and he couldn’t live with himself, so he committed suicide. How else can you compute the data?”

“Data? Is that the way you see things?” said Mrs Appledore scornfully, “You come here from the other side of the world and within two minutes you’re making judgments like it can be done by arithmetic.”

“So point out my errors,” said Sam, “I can only work with what I’m told and round here that’s not a lot! Someone got my gran pregnant and then she was shipped to the other side of the world in some cockamamie scheme that charities, churches and the government dreamt up between them. And the only guy Pam seemed to trust and be close to is a curate, and he tops himself. Come on, Edie! You must have wondered if something was going on. For God’s sake, it wasn’t as if there weren’t rumours flying around that he was having under-age sex! What kind of community is it that can hear gossip like that and not do anything about it?”

She drew her hand away from the landlady’s and stared defiantly into her face. But the woman’s gaze was focused over her shoulder. Sam looked round to see Thor Winander standing in the doorway. His expression was untypically serious. He nodded, not at Sam but at Mrs Appledore, then came into the room, closing the door behind him. He sat down at the far end of the table.

Edie Appledore’s attention returned to Sam and she said in a still flat voice, “You’ve been talking to Noddy Melton, haven’t you? For once, he’s right, old Noddy. Yes, there were stories about Sam having a relationship with an under-age girl.”

“There you go then!” cried Sam triumphantly, “Do it with one, you get a taste for it, isn’t that what they say?”

Then something in Edie Appledore’s face made her add, “If it was true, of course. Was it true, Edie? Do you know it was true?”

The woman’s gaze moved from Sam to Thor Winander and back.

Then she said, very quietly, “Oh yes, it was true, my dear. I know that for sure. You see, the girl was me.”

For a second Sam was completely thrown.

Then her mind incorporated this new information and all she could see was that it confirmed her theory. A priest who could screw around with one kid wouldn’t have too much difficulty screwing around with another! It was going to be hard to press this point without hurting the woman sitting before her, who looked to be hurting enough already, but she was getting too close to the truth now to hold back.

She said gently, “I’m sorry, Edie, but surely you can see that if Sam and you were—”

“No!” broke in the woman, “You’re missing the point, which is that Sam and I weren’t! And it wasn’t because I didn’t want to, believe me! What you need to get straight is we’re not talking perversion here, we’re talking love!”

This sounded like denial to Sam. She said, “Edie, you can’t have been more than a kid back then …”

“That’s right. A kid. In fact when he first came to Illthwaite on holiday to visit Thor, I was just thirteen. I remember he came into the pub and we looked at each other and that moment I grew up. I think he knew too that I was the one for him. And don’t imagine that
shows he had a thing about kids! I was an early developer. From twelve on I was a stunner, though I say it myself, fit for any man’s bed. I could see it in our customers’ eyes every night of the week. You must have known girls like that.”

“Yeah, my best friend’s one of them,” admitted Sam, “All the same, it doesn’t make it right—”

“You’re not listening! There wasn’t anything to make right. We just looked. Sam must have got a real shock when he found out how young I was. He never caught my eye after that, not till he came to be our curate. I was fifteen by then. I make no bones about it, I went after him. Few months more and I would be sixteen and legal. I could be wedded with my dad’s permission and bedded without it! Not that I wanted to wait. But Sam wasn’t having any, even though once we started seeing each other, it was clear he fancied me as much as I fancied him. God, he must have had the willpower of a saint, the tices I put on him! But his beliefs made him hold out till I was legal. At least that’s what I thought. No kid looking forward to Christmas found the days drag by as slowly as I did those last few weeks till my sixteenth.