The Rose Garden

‘They’ll both wind up dead by the roadside,’ was Fergal’s black prediction, as he gave the fire on the hearth a savage stir with the poker, ‘and Creed will come and say it is an accident, he will, and I’ll be left to kill the bastard with my own two hands.’

I braved his blackened mood to ask a question. ‘Fergal?’

‘Ay?’

‘Why does the constable want Daniel’s blood?’

Fergal set the poker back in place and I could sense his hesitation, so I tried to help him.

‘It can’t be just the free-trading,’ I said, ‘because I’m sure he makes a profit from that, doesn’t he?’

His mouth twitched in the way it always did when I’d amused him. ‘Ay, he does.’

‘So I’m assuming that it’s personal.’ I cleared my throat and asked him, ‘Does it have to do with Ann?’

He slowly turned his head. ‘Why would you think of that?’ But I could see from his expression that I’d hit the mark. ‘What did Creed tell you?’

‘Nothing. No, it’s just … oh, I don’t know. The way he sometimes looks at me. He doesn’t like to see me wear her clothes.’

‘Well now, the only one who has a say in that is Danny,’ Fergal said. ‘And he’s not bothered by it.’

I wasn’t sure I’d have agreed with that, entirely, but instead of arguing the point I asked, ‘Was he in love with her? Constable Creed, I mean.’

‘Love?’ Fergal’s mouth twisted slightly, a grimace instead of a smile. ‘Not the word I’d have used for it, no. Not what Ann would have called it herself, neither. No,’ he said, looking away, ‘he was Ann’s brother.’

That one I hadn’t seen coming. ‘Her brother?’

‘They shared the same father, though Creed’s mother died before he was grown halfway to manhood. He took little notice, they say, of his father’s new wife, or of Ann. Not at first. But as Ann grew, he started to take an unnatural interest.’ He spat in the flames. ‘’Twas a kind of obsession. An evil one. Smothered her with it, he did. Couldn’t bear it if she looked at anyone else.’

‘And she looked at Daniel.’

‘She did, ay. And Danny looked back.’

I thought about this. ‘So I’m guessing the constable wasn’t too pleased when they married.’

‘He was not. But see, Ann had a mind of her own, and she did what she wanted. She feared Creed herself at times, but she would never have shown it.’ He glanced at me, and this time there was nothing hard behind his smile. ‘You share that with her, anyway – the both of you too proud to let your fear show when you feel it.’

‘I’m not proud at all.’ I met his gaze with honesty. ‘When the constable’s anywhere near me, I’m scared to death.’

Fergal’s face softened. ‘Well now, you needn’t be. He’ll have to come through myself first to get to you, and after me there’s still Danny left standing, and he’s not so easy to get by.’

‘So long as he’s not lying dead by the roadside,’ I pointed out, remembering his earlier prediction.

Fergal shrugged aside the words. ‘’Twas only myself talking, that was. You pay it no heed, now.’

I did try to take his advice.

Hours later, alone in my bed, I tried focusing on the soft sounds of the sleeping house – the scuttle of mice through the walls and the creak of the beams in the ceiling above me, and Fergal’s snores rattling down the long corridor. I tried telling myself that if Fergal was so unconcerned about things that he was able to sleep, well then, I should be able to sleep, too. But I couldn’t shake off my worries.

The images rose in a taunting progression, dissolving to worse ones of Daniel approaching the dark shadowed trees of The Hill with his unhurried stride, to be met by an ambush as Jack had been, beaten and bound while the constable looked on with cruel satisfaction …

I turned over sharply to stop my imaginings, tugging the blankets with me as I rolled on to my side. The weather had changed, growing cooler and damp, but I’d left the windows halfway open anyway, so I’d be able to hear any noise from the road. There was no wind tonight, and instead of the rush of the leaves and the rattle of window-glass, I could hear nothing right now but the hoot of an owl from the woods, and the slumbering roll of the waves on the shingle below the black cliffs. Now and then something made a faint sound, some small animal, maybe, that rustled the grass with its passing, and after that silence again and that horrible stillness that seemed to be waiting.

And when, after what felt like hours, I finally heard the shuffle of approaching footsteps, my rush of relief was short-lived. The steps sounded wrongly uneven, and in those first moments the horrible images rose once again and I half-thought that Daniel had met with the constable’s men, and was staggering wounded now up the long hill from Polgelly.

I bolted from the bed, taking the top blanket with me to wrap round my shoulders for warmth like a shawl, but by the time I reached the window he’d gone past already.

From the floor below I heard the door swing open and slam shut as though it had been kicked. And then a dreadful clattering as though he’d fallen over.

I was halfway to my own door when I heard a burst of laughter, and Jack’s cheerful voice so slurred with drink I couldn’t catch the words. I couldn’t catch Daniel’s reply, either, but the deep quiet tone of his speech reassured me and made me relax. He was only bringing Jack home. He was safe.