Weird Sister (34 page)

She turns the last page and sits staring out the window. Elizabeth does not know what to do with her knowledge. What can this little book possibly mean? What can this chronicle represent to Warboys now, in our so different century? Who is Agnes Samuel?

Elizabeth drives Lolly home. They are silent much of the way. ‘Why?’ says Elizabeth when she can stand it no longer, ‘did Jenny think – did you and Jenny –’ She stops. ‘Did you try to use witchcraft yourself?’

‘N–no miss,’ says Lolly quickly, as though she’s in trouble at school. ‘I m–mean Elizabeth.’

Elizabeth shoots her a look. ‘Are you sure? It may be important.’

Lolly fidgets, unwilling to speak. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘we did a b–b–bit of chanting, lit a few c–candles, read up on spells – that k–kind of thing. But it was just fun, that’s all. Fun.’

‘Did Jenny think that she was a witch?’

‘Agnes?’

‘No, Jenny – Jenny herself.’

‘Oh,’ says Lolly, shocked. ‘No. N–not Jenny. It’s something I,’ she paused, ‘p–p–play at. But not . . . seriously.’

‘But Agnes . . .?’

‘Yes.’ Her stutter eases. ‘It was like a kind of weird game. Sometimes Jenny seemed to believe it, sometimes not. Until I found the book.’

‘What do you think about Agnes now Lolly?’ Elizabeth asks.

‘I think she is evil,’ Lolly answers evenly, staring straight ahead at the road.

Elizabeth drops the girl off at her house and waits until she is safely indoors. The journey has helped Elizabeth compose herself. She drives over to the Throckmorton house.

The old house is full of absences now. During the day Robert pushes his father’s chair from room to room. He misses the little boys. Robert and Agnes are on their own, they are always on their own these days. They’ve given up the supper hour – there is no one to feed except Martin – they go upstairs to their bed. Robert feels guilty as he lies with his wife. How can it be right to take pleasure when Jenny is not yet buried, when she is laid out downstairs? How can she be dead? Agnes is sitting astride him, naked, moving back and forth.

The doorbell rings.

They stop. Agnes lies down, smiling, lips wet. She says she’ll wait for him. Robert puts on his dressing gown and goes down the stairs. He opens the front door and, for a moment, can see no one. Then Elizabeth steps forward, out of the dark night.

‘Robert,’ she says, ‘we need to talk.’

Robert sighs. Lizzie always wants to talk, he can feel her heavy and pressing need. He is tired of talking. That’s why he loves Agnes, he thinks, she doesn’t want to talk. She wants to fuck, she wants to live, she wants to get to it. Without delay. He is about to speak harshly, but stops himself. He feels Jenny, she is in the ballroom behind him. He can smell the lilies.

‘All right,’ he says. ‘I’ll get dressed.’

He leaves Elizabeth standing in the open door. She pauses for a moment and considers whether or not to go in the ballroom and look at Jenny once again. She walks forward, toward the coffin. There she is, Jenny. She lays her hand on her cold brow. ‘We’ll sort it out,’ she whispers. ‘Don’t worry.’ Then she turns to leave.

She is shocked to see Agnes standing by the door. Elizabeth thinks she looks taller, thinner, altogether sharper, more extreme. They move into the entrance foyer, away from Jenny.

Agnes speaks slowly. ‘So,’ she says, ‘have you come to tell me a story?’

‘You know about the book.’

Agnes laughs. ‘The world is full of stories.’

Elizabeth realizes she is breathing very quickly, she slows herself down. She decides to try out a theory; it develops as she speaks. ‘I don’t know if Agnes Samuel is your real name. You think you are a witch, but you are not, you can’t be. You have internalized the story. I don’t know why but –’ Elizabeth speaks quickly.

A smile is spreading across Agnes’s lovely face.

Elizabeth wants to get it all out in the open, she is dying to get it all out. ‘Witches don’t exist. The Throckmortons were rich, the Samuels poor. They had no way of mounting a defence. The children were hysterical. No one understood about these things.’

Agnes takes a step toward Elizabeth.

Elizabeth holds her ground. ‘The accusations were false, but at that time people believed they were true. The girls’ symptoms were real enough. The trial couldn’t possibly –’

‘Shut up,’ hisses Agnes, drawing close. ‘Shut up.’ Her voice is full of loathing. Elizabeth backs up until she is against the fireplace. Agnes draws nearer. ‘All you do is talk, you can’t stop talking.’ Her nails are long, her face bony, too thin, it is as though she is changing as she speaks. She points her finger at Elizabeth’s chest. ‘You are jealous of my marriage. You have always been jealous of my marriage. It clouds your judgement.’

‘That might be,’ says Elizabeth, the mantel pressing into her back. She leans her head back, nudging the painting that hangs over the fireplace. ‘I’ll admit it. I am jealous. I wish you had never come here, I wish you did not exist. I’ve seen the book. I’ve read it. I know what happened to that other Agnes Samuel. I know what you –’

‘Look at that,’ says Agnes, pointing above Elizabeth’s head.

‘What?’ Elizabeth doesn’t dare look, she’s afraid it’s a trick.

‘Look at the painting.’

Elizabeth turns. It’s the only painting still hanging in the entrance foyer, a portrait of a man, the glaze yellow and cracked.

‘It’s Robert Throckmorton,’ says Agnes. ‘Did you know that? Robert doesn’t know that. But I do. His namesake.’

‘Agnes, it’s not –’

‘Shut up,’ Agnes says, loudly this time.

‘Agnes, you’ve got to tell me what you –’

Agnes slaps Elizabeth across the face. ‘Stop it,’ she says, ‘stop talking.’ Her eyes go black, the pupils eclipsing the irises.

Elizabeth is terrified, her face stinging. She’s never been hit before. She thinks of Jenny, she wonders if Jenny saw this face the night she died. She starts again, determined – ‘I –’

Agnes slaps her hard this time. Her eyes are still black, they have not returned to green. She is about to speak. The room is full of hissing.

Robert enters. Agnes falls away from Elizabeth. She is immediately smooth. ‘Oh there you are sweetheart,’ she says, her voice light, dreamy. ‘Elizabeth,’ she smiles, showing her white, neat teeth, ‘can I make you a cup of tea?’

Elizabeth is breathless. She tries to hold her fear inside. She wants to be as charming as Agnes. ‘No thank you,’ she says, straining.

‘What is it you want to discuss, Lizzie?’ Robert is calm, at ease, benevolent even, as though he gave himself a pep talk while he got dressed. Be kind to those less fortunate than ourselves.

‘Well,’ she tries to think, ‘– I wanted to make sure you want me to come to the funeral tomorrow. I thought you might have decided to keep it quiet, just family.’

‘Oh no,’ says Robert, looking glum again, ‘Jenny would want you to be there. She’d want us all to be there.’

‘All right. I’m sorry Robert, I’m sorry to disturb you.’

‘That’s all right Lizzie.’ Robert crosses to her. He puts his arms around his old friend, gives her a hug. Elizabeth closes her eyes tight so she doesn’t have to look at Agnes. She breathes deeply of Robert, willing him not to release her.

A row of solemn teenagers

Jenny had often thought about her own funeral. Having gone so far as to plan it on occasion, she might have found the real thing uncomfortably close to her fantasy. Or perhaps she would have been pleased. There is a row of solemn teenagers dressed in black, leaning into the wind, Lolly at their head. Her family in a tight knot around Martin in his wheelchair – Robert, Agnes. Graeme is there, he stands slightly apart, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Weeping into the collar of his coat, trying to hide his distress. Karen’s mother has brought the little boys home to Warboys for the day so that they can attend, she stands as far away from Graeme as possible. Mr McKay from school, with the Headteacher. Elizabeth. The vicar says his prayers and speaks of Jenny’s good character. Robert and Graeme each heave a shovel full of dirt; Lolly drops a red rose on top of the coffin. And it begins to rain.

Afterwards, Elizabeth follows the Throckmortons back to their house, she doubts she is welcome but she can’t stay away. Robert is friendly to her, welcoming, as though grateful for the distraction. She takes it upon herself to build a fire in the grate in the sitting room. She wheels Martin in his chair next to the fire, tucks the blanket around him fondly. ‘There you go Mr T,’ she says, ‘there you are.’ Robert bustles about making drinks. The little boys have left already and he feels their absence keenly.

‘There’s a book,’ Elizabeth begins. She’s on her knees in front of the fire, next to Martin. She’s not sure where Agnes is; this is not the right time but she thinks it will never be the right time. ‘Lolly came across it. She was doing some research into the history of Warboys.’

‘Is Lolly here?’ Robert asks, looking around the room suddenly.

‘No, she –’

‘I should have asked her back. She’s a nice girl.’

‘Yes she is. She found this book Robert, this strange little book,’ Elizabeth can see it on the library desk, lit from within, glowing.

Agnes enters the room. She is wearing a black velvet scarf around her neck, as she moves it flashes scarlet lining. As she crosses the room Martin’s eyes follow her.

‘Here’s your whisky, my love,’ Robert hands Agnes a drink. ‘What will you have, Lizzie?’

Just then the front door swings open and wind tears through the house. The fire gutters and backs up in the grate. The door slams shut and in walks Graeme. He is soaked through from the rain. He stumbles over the threshold of the room; he is without his cane. He limps across to where Elizabeth is kneeling. ‘Lizzie,’ his voice is slurred as though he has been drinking, ‘did you know my boys are gone, did you know their grandmother took them . . .’ He collapses onto the floor, his legs folding beneath him, slow and awkward like a camel. His features are smudged, he looks at Elizabeth, pushing back his wet hair, putting all his effort into focusing. ‘I killed her. But you know that, don’t you Lizzie. You know everything about us, our family. You always did.’

Elizabeth can hardly speak. ‘Who?’ she says, whispering. ‘Who did you kill?’

Graeme swings his big head down and up. ‘Karen. My wife.’ He clutches his hair and drags in a breath, gasping. ‘My wife,’ he says loudly. ‘Karen. It’s my fault.’ He looks into the fire. ‘Right here in this room,’ he adds. ‘The boys know,’ he says, ragged and tearful, ‘the boys know everything.’

Agnes and Robert cross the room at the same time. Agnes sits down on the sofa, tucking her legs up and taking a sip from her drink as though she is watching television. She looks on as Robert stands next to Elizabeth. He puts his hand on his brother’s head, stroking once, twice.

‘Robert,’ Graeme says, looking up. ‘I didn’t kill Jenny.’

Robert lifts his hand away quickly. ‘I know that.’

‘No,’ he insists, ‘I didn’t kill Jenny.’ He looks around the room, Elizabeth knows he is looking for Agnes. He twists around on his knees awkwardly. ‘She did.’ He points at Agnes. ‘Agnes killed Jenny. That bitch. I never touched her. She did it.’

Graeme hauls himself up off the floor using Robert’s arm for leverage. Once standing he doesn’t let go of his brother; they are locked together head-to-head. At this moment they look terribly alike, almost mirror-image. Elizabeth stares, fascinated. Then she looks around to see what Agnes is doing. She is sitting on the settee, drink in hand.

Elizabeth screams.

The two men separate.

‘She’s gone,’ says Elizabeth, ‘where is Agnes?’ One instant she was there, Elizabeth staring, the next she had disappeared. Elizabeth did not blink, she did not glance away. Agnes vanished.

Graeme pulls his gun from the back of his waistband and heads for the door.

Moments pass. Robert looks from the fire to the glass of whisky on the table and back at the fire again. He stares at Elizabeth as though he is trying to think of something to say. Then he gives a shudder and it clicks in to place.

‘Have I told you, Lizzie,’ his voice is quiet, controlled, ‘how very much I love my wife?’

His face changes again. ‘Graeme will kill her,’ he says. ‘He’ll try to kill Agnes. I’ve got to stop him – I –’

A bright light comes up in the far comer of the sitting room. They both turn. Agnes is standing in the door to the kitchen, the light from behind rendering her silhouette black. She walks forward, now they can see she is smiling, she draws Robert toward her. ‘Robert,’ she says, ‘let’s go upstairs. Let’s –’

‘For god’s sake Robert,’ Elizabeth shouts, ‘you’ve got to listen to me.’ With surprising force she grabs Robert by the arm and pulls him through the sitting room, the foyer, out the front door, into the pouring rain. They grapple. Robert is reluctant to use his full strength. Elizabeth pulls him down into a puddle that has collected in the drive. ‘There’s a book,’ she repeats, ‘it’s about Agnes, witchcraft, it’s about Agnes Samuel –’

Now Robert is very angry. He pushes Elizabeth into the mud, and stands up. She grabs his trouser leg. He shakes his foot, trying not to hurt her, kicking until he is free.

Robert runs into the house calling Agnes’s name. There is no reply. He travels from room to room, leaving muddy handprints on the walls, dripping onto the carpets. From their bedroom he looks out over the field. He sees a figure running away from the house; he flies down the stairs and through the kitchen, outside.

Martin acts

In the sitting room, by the fire, Martin stirs. He is alone. Everyone has rushed away. Gripping the black vinyl arms of the wheelchair, he stands up, and sits down again. Pushes himself up, sits down heavily. Stands up one more time, and then, unable to move his legs, falls forward onto the floor.

He lies there, staring at the carpet, for a long time.

It is dark and there is chaos

Elizabeth is looking for Agnes. She wants to find Agnes, to confront her, to find out the truth. If she finds Agnes, she can protect Robert. Elizabeth knows Robert needs to be protected.