Chapter Seven #5
Theo learned the day and hour of Kit’s hanging by eavesdropping on Peterson and Kitty Shoat.
That morning she lay unmoving in her room, paralysed by the impossibility of it.
No longer drugged, but still incapacitated.
She could not sleep, and she could not get up.
She watched the hands of the clock on the mantelpiece tick towards nine in the morning, and then carry on past. Five seconds past. Ten seconds past. And somewhere, between those heedless ticks, Kit’s life ended.
The world was no longer a place she knew.
They held a memorial for Kit on the village green, clustered around the Roman Cross, which at least had an air of the sacred.
There was no funeral, since, with the best will in the world, Reverend Nimrod couldn’t hold a church service for a convicted murderer.
Kit’s body had been interred in the prison yard in Dorchester.
Their appeals had fallen on deaf ears: they could not have him back for burial.
Many of their close neighbours attended the gathering; people who’d seen Kit every day, and had known him well. But many others stayed away.
The Hallewells had not been invited to attend.
Toby didn’t look at anyone. Whether they looked sympathetic, or solemn, or uncaring, he wanted to hit them all.
David spoke when Mona could not. He thanked them all for coming. He cleared his throat. He had a piece of paper but the wind kept crumpling it, so he smoothed it out, again and again.
‘“Suffer little children to come unto me”,’ he said eventually.
‘I suppose that is what the good reverend would be saying, had we been admitted to church today. If Christopher were lying in his casket before us, in a . . . clean place. We are supposed to find it in ourselves to be joyous at the passing of a loved one, and grateful that their cares on this Earth are over. We are to picture our boy with his maker, in the Kingdom of Heaven, but I . . .’ His breath hitched.
‘I am finding it hard to do as I should.’
He shifted his weight on his crumpled leg, adjusting his stick.
‘On the very day that this . . . this catastrophe began to unfold, I had cause to say to my elder son that nature does not often allow beautiful things to grow old. I only wish I had been wrong. I . . . I wish that nature – God – had not chosen to break our hearts like this, by taking our beautiful son.’
Mona took his arm, her hands skeletal against the black broadcloth of his sleeve. David glanced down at his wife’s sunken face, her unblinking eyes.
‘Because they are broken,’ he said. ‘Our hearts are quite broken, and we . . . we do not understand.’
Toby stayed in bed instead of going to church on Sunday, since there seemed very little point in him being there. He was leaving for Durham on Wednesday, and wanted to go without seeing Theo. Without seeing anyone, but most especially her. He wanted to leave and never come back.
On Monday, Kit’s toothbrush, comb and grubby, worn-out clothes were delivered, wrapped in brown paper.
Toby buried his face in them, breathing in the familiar smell that was already fading.
Then his fingers found something hard, tucked carefully into the lining of the waistcoat.
Elfred Rex. Abrecan’s silver coin. He flung it at the wall as hard as he could, taking a small chip out of the plaster.
Then he fetched it, and put it in an envelope with a scribbled note.
Under cover of darkness, he tramped up to the big house and shoved the envelope beneath the door. An autumn storm was building.
The wind howled through Hallewell in the black hours before dawn, bringing down two of the big elm trees.
It was a week since Kit had been hanged.
The window was snatched out of Theo’s hand when she opened it, and hurled back on its hinges, shattering the glass.
The power of the storm was mesmerising. Leaning out as far as she dared, with her hair in her eyes and the wind in her mouth, she felt something release, at long last, and sobbed until her throat was sore.
When she went down early in the morning, she found Toby’s envelope.
She couldn’t imagine he had anything kind to say to her, and yet she couldn’t help but hope.
There is always hope of a reprieve. Perhaps this was the first, fragile sign of a thaw.
He hadn’t left for Durham, though he should have gone in October.
Theo didn’t know if his plans had changed, or were merely delayed; she didn’t dare ask anybody.
She slid the note into her pocket. She didn’t want anyone near her when she read it. Even Amy’s room was not private enough, so she headed outside.
Nobody would be at the castle that day, with the wind still carrying cold flecks of rain.
Theo passed the corpses of the elms on her way, and their vast root balls reared above her.
A small crowd had come to see the fallen trees, and to watch the gang of men set about clearing them with axes.
Theo met nobody’s eye as she carried on past. At the top of the mound, she looked across at the green lane she so loved.
Had once loved. Now it was merely a track through a field, muddier at this time of year.
It was a farmer’s route, nothing more. She couldn’t feel anything now, when before it had spoken so loudly of freedom, and adventure, and wonder.
The letter was a single folded sheet, wrapped around Abrecan’s coin. Tears burned her eyes as she opened it.
Have the coin back, if that is all that matters to you. It did my brother no good – it could not make up for your abandonment. Your presence would have served him better than a token. I will not write again. TM.
Toby didn’t sleep. He doubted whether anyone in Hallewell did, with the racket of the gale.
He heard a chimney pot come loose and shatter on the garden path.
In the morning his parents slept in, so he stoked the stove quietly, and put the kettle on to boil even though he didn’t want anything to drink.
He sat at the table and looked out at the puddled lane, and saw Theo. Waiting by the gate.
The sight of her drove him to his feet. He was amazed that she would dare.
And then angry. He hadn’t wanted her to come; he hadn’t wanted to see her.
He set his jaw as he went out. Her face was streaked, eyes and nose reddened with cold.
She had his letter in her hand; opened her mouth and then froze, as if forgetting what she’d planned to say.
‘What do you want, Theo?’
‘Your letter. How can you . . . how could you . . . ?’
‘How could I what?’
‘How can you be so cruel?’ she managed. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks. ‘Why would you ever think the coin was all that mattered to me?’
‘By your actions, Theo – or the lack of them.’
‘But I don’t . . . I didn’t . . .’
‘There’s nothing you can say to make up for it! And I have nothing to say to you. I don’t think there’s anything else to say.’
She wiped her face with her hands. ‘I did try, Toby . . .’
‘I heard your testimony read out in court, Theo. The first thing – the very first thing you said was that it was too dark to be sure. Who would take the least notice of anything, after that? When Joanna stood in the box and told everyone what she saw, with no prevarication!’
‘I couldn’t tell them what I saw!’
‘You could have spoken up for him. You could at least have been there,’ he said. ‘He’ll rot in that prison yard forever, now, alongside the murderers and defilers. Is that where he belongs?’
‘Oh, no! Of course not! Toby, I . . . I want to tell you—’
‘And you wouldn’t even go and see him before the end, when it would have meant so much to him!’
She shook her head. ‘But I didn’t think you—’
‘Just go, Theo. Go away! Go back to your own people.’
He went inside and shut the door, and only dared to look out again long after she’d gone.
Peterson told Kitty he’d seen Toby early that morning, loading his trunk on to the back of a farm cart. ‘Poor sod. Can’t blame him for wanting to be elsewhere, can you?’
Theo had paused by the kitchen door, and his words caused a shiver. When she stepped into view, both servants straightened.
‘Peterson, will you . . . I need to go to the station,’ she said.
‘Going somewhere, Miss Hallewell?’
‘I don’t think your mother—’ Kitty began.
‘Please,’ Theo said. ‘I need to go now. I’ll come with you to the stables. There’s no need to bring the trap to the front.’
Peterson inclined his head, and Theo followed him out.
She hadn’t meant to try and see Toby again, when he was so obviously done with her, but she couldn’t let things end as they were.
The feeling of being cast off was too terrible.
She gripped the side of the trap as they rocked and jolted along the lane.
If he would only promise to come back, then she might survive him going. Some tiny sign.
The train was already at the platform when they arrived.
Clouds of steam and noise. Theo scrambled down before the trap had even fully halted, and ran on to the platform as Toby swung open a door and climbed aboard.
He took his seat and tugged at the window strap, all without looking back, and Theo could only stare, already bereft.
If he looks up, and he sees me, then he loves me and will be mine.
The words, so feeble and hopeless now, came into her head unbidden.
All Toby wanted was to be far away from Hallewell.
He wanted it with a desperation that bordered on panic, though he knew his guilt and sorrow would go with him.
Perhaps the distance might make them easier to bear.
As the train drew in, Toby heard hooves in the lane – a horse trotting fast, and the rattle of wheels.
Someone about to catch it by the skin of their teeth, he supposed.
He refused to look, but his skin prickled, thinking that it might be her.
Half expecting to hear her voice, or feel her grabbing at his sleeve. He would not look over his shoulder.
While he chose a carriage, while he climbed aboard, Toby still waited for her to call out, or try to stop him.
He was ready to reject whatever it was; in fact, he almost wanted to be given the opportunity to do so.
Heart thumping like a drum, he found a seat and put his small bag up on the rack.
The train smelled of grubby wool and tobacco smoke, and as it pulled away somebody was on the platform.
Itching in the corner of his eye. A pale figure pushed by the wind, standing all alone. But he still refused to look.