In Her Shadow (35 page)

We went upstairs, and I threw myself face down on the bed, laughing uncontrollably. I couldn’t stop. Tears were streaming down my face, and it was only when I heard an enormous bang that I managed to swallow the hysteria. I sat up straight then, wiping my face with my sleeves.

‘What was that?’ I asked, as gunshots boomed through the early-morning air, shattering the quiet, rousing every nerve in my body. The ugly noise ricocheted around the room, bouncing off the walls.

‘Oh God, Ellen, is that your father? What’s he doing?’

‘Shooting rabbits.’

‘Killing them?’

She nodded. ‘Target practice.’

We stared at one another. I sniffed.

‘You need to go,’ Ellen said. ‘Go now while he’s out in the field.’ She dived under her bed and emerged with a large carrier bag. ‘It’s Jago’s things,’ she said. ‘Get them out of here.’

I took the bag, saying, ‘Did Jago have a chance to tell you last night about his plan? Do you know what you have to do at the party?’

Ellen nodded.

‘Then what’s wrong?’

Ellen pulled a face, hugged herself and shivered. ‘He knows something, Papa does. He keeps saying stuff.’

‘What sort of stuff?’

‘Sly little remarks and comments.’

‘But he’s always been like that. He’s always trying to catch you out.’

‘I know – but this is different. Even before last night … I don’t know what he knows, but he knows something.’

‘Do you think he recognized Jago last night?’

‘I don’t know.’ Ellen bit her lower lip. Her arms were wrapped around herself and she jiggled up and down. ‘What if he did, Hannah? What if he was watching and waiting? What if he saw Jago climb out of my window? What if he saw him climb in?’

‘He probably didn’t,’ I said without much conviction.

But he might have done. Ellen was right. He might have done anything. I stood up and put my arms around her, pulling her to me. She rested her head on my shoulder. We looked out through the window and in the field over the road we saw Mr Brecht raise the gun to eye-level and take aim.

‘I hate him,’ Ellen whispered.

‘It’ll soon be over,’ I said, stroking her head. ‘Just a couple more days and you’ll be away from here for ever. You’ll be free. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

THE MOMENT I
saw Ellen, a little breeze blew up on top of the hill and wafted my hair across my face. It was soothing and soft – it made me feel as if I was where I had always been supposed to be.

‘Are you all right, Hannah?’ John asked.

I nodded.

John sat on the bench beside me. He rested his elbows on his knees and turned a twig between his fingers.

‘I can’t believe it,’ I said, ‘but she’s there. That’s her. What should we do?’

‘Perhaps we should sit here a minute and think about this.’

The sweet breeze cooled my face on the hilltop, and down below, the same breeze lifted her hair. John and I watched as she pulled up a chair on the terrace, by the fountain, and then another. She went back inside the house and returned shortly with a straw hat on her head, and a book in her hand. Another woman followed behind, a tall, short-haired woman. I couldn’t be certain, but she looked to me like Tante Karla. The two women appeared to be laughing. After a few moments, a third person came out to join them and they all sat down together.

‘She looks happy,’ I whispered. ‘She looks all right.’

I looked to John for confirmation and he smiled at me. He brushed his fringe out of his eyes.

‘Hannah, you know that can’t be Ellen.’

‘It’s her. My hunch was right. She never died.’

I gazed down again. I felt as if I were looking into a different world, a world where a dead girl could be alive again, where she could be happy, where her life could play out in safety, away from anything that could hurt her. I had the feeling that, if I took my eyes from her, Ellen would disappear. She would be gone from me, for ever this time.

Perhaps, I thought, we didn’t need to do anything more. We had come to Magdeburg, I had seen Ellen. God knows how, or why, but she was there and now I knew she was there, maybe the best thing would be to leave her in peace, and go back to my life and forget her.

Only I could not do that.

‘Oh John,’ I said. ‘I don’t know if I could bear to lose her again.’

I stood up, and I knew what I had to do. I turned back to the path and began to walk downhill; after a moment, my footsteps quickened and I broke into a run.

‘Slow down!’ John called. ‘Wait for me!’

But I didn’t want to wait for him, or anyone. As I ran, my feet skittering on the dry soil, sending pebbles racing down the path before me, I felt the weight of grief and loneliness slip away from me. They disappeared, were gone, like magic; it was as if they had never existed. All the time that spanned the distance between the moment when I read my mother’s letter, sitting on the top bunk in the barn in Chile, to now, contracted to nothing. Ellen was just a few hundred yards away from me. The impossible was going to happen. I was going to see her again.

I had been given a chance to make things right.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

IT WAS THE
day of Ellen’s party. Mum and I went to Thornfield House early. Mum had been enlisted to help clean the house in preparation. When we arrived, the house was a hive of activity. Men were outside erecting a marquee in the garden, caterers were laying out equipment in the kitchen and Mrs Todd was going around the house conscientiously moving anything of value to a safe place.

Ellen was as jumpy as a prawn on a skillet. She was dreading the party, dreading the thought of taking her mother’s place, standing by her father’s side and welcoming the guests, but at the same time she was racked with excitement about her impending elopement and claiming her inheritance. It was an exhausting combination and she looked terrible, her eyes wide with anxiety, her face a mask. She looked far older than her years. She worried me. She was so nervy that I thought she was almost bound to fight with her father or say something that would jeopardize the escape plan. She might do anything.

The postman came, but there was no large envelope, no papers for Ellen, nothing from any firm of solicitors.

‘That must mean the documents are going to be delivered
by hand,’ she said. ‘Somebody will come and give them to me. Perhaps I’ll have to sign for them.’

‘Perhaps,’ I said.

Mr Brecht prowled around the house, smoking and rubbing his hands together.

‘What exactly is going to happen this evening?’ Ellen asked him, and he laughed.

‘That would be telling! All you need to know,
Schatzi
, is that there will be plenty of surprises for you. Oh yes!’

Ellen frowned. ‘I don’t like surprises, Papa.’

‘But life is full of surprises, Ellen. You, for instance, surprise me every day. Your capacity for creativity never ceases to amaze me.’

Ellen glanced at me from under her fringe. Her eyes were saying:
See what I mean?
And she was right, her father was behaving as if he knew something she didn’t. He was unsettling me too.

We went into the front room where Mum was polishing the grand piano to a gleam. Silver candelabras had been positioned around the room and a new rug lay on the floor, covering Adam Tremlett’s bloodstains.

‘I think your father must be planning for you to give your guests a recital tonight,’ Mum said to Ellen with a smile.

‘I expect so,’ Ellen said. She lifted the piano lid and trickled her fingers along the keys. Then she sighed and replaced the lid. ‘Have you heard anyone mention anything about my German family, Mrs Brown? Do you know if they’ve arrived yet? I thought my grandparents would have come to see me this morning. I hoped Tante Karla, at least, would have come.’

Mum straightened and stretched, pressing her two hands into the small of her back.

‘Nobody’s said anything to me,’ she said. ‘But perhaps they’ve been told not to. Perhaps that’s all part of the surprise.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Ellen. She didn’t sound convinced.

For the thousandth time she went outside to see if anyone had arrived with her legal papers. Each time a vehicle passed along the lane her face brightened with anticipation, but each time she was disappointed. No cars pulled into the drive.

Mr Brecht, meanwhile, strode around the house directing the tradespeople in a loud and unnaturally jolly voice, making everyone feel uncomfortable.

‘He’s not being normal,’ Ellen said as we pinned bunting in the front garden, which gave us an opportunity to keep an eye out for the solicitor. ‘Something’s wrong.’

‘Ellen, your father is never normal. He’s actually trying to do something nice for you for a change. That’s probably all it is.’

‘No,’ Ellen shook her head. ‘He keeps looking at me. He knows something. He’s planning something – I know he is.’

She stood on the step-ladder and peered over the wall. ‘Oh, where is this lawyer?’ she cried. ‘Where is he? Why doesn’t he come?’

I turned to see Mr Brecht standing behind us. I wondered if he’d overheard and my cheeks flushed. He caught my eye and winked. I looked away again quickly.

‘Who are you waiting for, Ellen?’ he asked.

‘Nobody, Papa.’

He was holding a large white envelope. He tapped it against his thigh.

‘I think you’re lying,
Schatzi
. I think you’re lying to me again.’

Ellen climbed down the step-ladder. She was trying to look relaxed, but failing. Mr Brecht fanned his face with the envelope.

‘Is that for me?’ she asked, holding out her hand. Mr Brecht moved the envelope out of her reach.

‘It has your name on it.’

‘Please, Papa. Please give it to me.’

‘Hmm,’ said Mr Brecht. He looked at the envelope and then back at his daughter. ‘You were expecting some papers today, weren’t you, Ellen? But you didn’t say anything to me. Why not?’

Ellen made a grab for the envelope. He moved it again. He laughed.

‘Why didn’t you talk to me about your inheritance,
Schatzi
? Why didn’t you confide in me? Did you think I didn’t know? Of course I knew! I’ve known you were the beneficiary of your grandmother’s will ever since we returned to England! Your mother and I met the solicitor and he explained everything. It was one of the first things we did.’ He laughed nastily. ‘The silly old woman had tried to arrange things so that I couldn’t get my hands on her money. She should have tried harder.’

A knot of worry began to tie itself in my guts.

Ellen stiffened. ‘I didn’t talk to you, Papa, because Mama told me not to. She told me not to trust you.’

‘Ellen …’ I said, reaching out for her. She shrugged me off.

Mr Brecht’s face had tightened and his eyes had narrowed. He and Ellen stared at one another.

‘Your mother was the sole trustee of your grandmother’s will, Ellen,’ he said. ‘And before she died, she signed the trusteeship over to me.’

Ellen was leaning forward, trembling.

‘Mama would never have done that. She told me! She said she’d never let you get your hands on my fortune!’

Mr Brecht smiled and shook his head. ‘She shouldn’t have cheated on me,’ he said. ‘I was loyal to her, I loved her, I looked after her and she … she lied and cheated and made a mockery of our marriage. She was the one who broke the
trust between us,
Schatzi
. My crime was nothing compared to hers. I didn’t even
want
the money.’

‘What did you do to her?’

‘Nothing. I gave her the pen and showed her where to sign her name. She thought she was giving her consent for you to go on a school trip, but in fact she was making me trustee of your fortune. She should have been more careful, Ellen. Those who deceive can’t afford to be complacent.’ He sighed. ‘It’s such a pity,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want you to suffer,
Schatzi
, but I had to make her pay for her infidelity, one way or another.’

‘You’re a fool,’ Ellen said. ‘How was that making her pay? She didn’t even know you’d tricked her into making you a trustee. It didn’t hurt her!’

Mr Brecht took a deep breath. He rubbed his chin.

‘She did know,’ he said. ‘I told her when it was too late for her to do anything about it.’

I remembered him sitting by the bed where Anne Brecht lay dying. I remembered how he held her hand in his, how close his face had been to hers, so close she must have breathed in his exhaled breath, how he had whispered to her and how I thought he had been comforting her. I remembered how she had turned her face from him. She had been too weak to speak but I had seen the look in her eyes.

‘Oh God!’ I cried, in horror.

Mr Brecht looked at me, surprised, as if he had forgotten I was there.

‘I had to tell her what I’d done, Hannah,’ he said. ‘Because if she didn’t know, if she didn’t spend the last hours of her life thinking about what
she
’d done, what was the point?’

Beside me, I could feel Ellen’s distress pricking through the air like electricity. I willed her to stay composed.

Mr Brecht reached out his hand and Ellen took the envelope from him.

‘It’s all in there,’ he said. ‘You’re eighteen now. It’s all yours. Have a good read.’

He turned and walked back into the house. His step was light and easy.

Ellen waited until he had disappeared inside Thornfield House before she started shaking. She was in shock. She was beyond tears. I put my arms round her and I kept whispering to her, reassuring her, telling her that everything would be all right, that she would be fine.

We went into the corner of the garden where we could hide beneath the willow tree. We sat together in the long grass and she ripped open the envelope, tearing into it with her teeth and fingers, scattering papers around the grass.

She took out a letter, read it quickly and passed it to me. It was from a Falmouth-based firm of solicitors, just a covering letter that said all the documents pertaining to Ellen’s inheritance were enclosed and asking her to confirm receipt by return.

‘Is there a cheque?’ I asked. She shook her head.