he had been moved to
tears. He held out his hand but the pathetic creature shrank back into a dark
corner, eyes full of terror, fingers scrabbling at her mouth. It was then he
saw the padlock on her tiny ankle and the chain that shackled her to one of the
rafters.
‘Good God in heaven! This is
inhuman! This is . . . ’ Words failed him.
‘She tried to set the attic on
fire,’ explained Elaine. ‘It was just to attract someone’s attention, but
father said she was a danger to herself and everyone else and chained her up.’
‘Monster! Cruel Monster!’ said Tozer in a
hoarse whisper.
As they descended the attic
steps Ferdinand Tozer heard a sound that made the hairs rise on the back of his
neck and all the way down his spine – peal after peal of demoniacal laughter
that must surely have come not from a little child but from a tormented soul in
hell. He had intended to threaten Uther Pendragon with exposure and offer to
keep silent in exchange for whatever promise of honours he could extract from
him. His conscience now demanded that he abandon that cynical scheme, and do
everything in his power to ensure that Pendragon – brutal, degenerate beast –
was punished for his crime. Life imprisonment would surely not be too much for
him. Never had Ferdinand Tozer felt so good about himself, so righteous was his
indignation, so just his cause.
When finally he confronted the
wicked perpetrator of the sickening crime, the amusement with which Uther
greeted Tozer’s angry denounciation was as unexpected as it was shocking.
Convinced that this monster was the son of Satan, Tozer responded with bitter
insults and solemn threats. Yet in the middle of his righteous tirade, Uther
abruptly left the library and reappeared holding Morgan, his youngest daughter,
by the ear. The sight of Morgan clutching a filthy old shawl, the telltale
smudged red and blue cosmetic circles round her eyes, and several of her front
teeth blacked out, was one that branded itself like a hot iron on Ferdinand
Tozer’s memory.
He was not the first to be
taken in by Elaine, though that was no consolation to him at all. Having gulped
down the best part of a bottle of Uther’s finest twenty year old Malt Whisky,
Tozer’s driver helped him, still shaking his head in bemusement, into his
Bentley.
Uther’s embarrassment was
tinged with secret amusement, for whilst he had little time for his
step-daughters, whom he considered spoilt, wilful and absurdly privileged, they
were at least entertaining. ‘Naughty but funny, eh, duchess?’
Igraine was not so sure. ‘Why
Bertha Mason?’ she asked her husband.
Uther found that an odd
comment coming from Igraine, an intelligent and well-read lady. ‘Quite
appropriate, I thought. A demented female imprisoned in the attic and all
that.’ He grinned. ‘Serve Tozer right. If he had read Jane Eyre , he
would have known it was a practical joke.’
‘It wasn’t Elaine’s idea, you know. It was
Margot’s.’
Uther handed his wife a gin
and tonic. ‘How do you know?’
‘She told me. Seemed rather
proud of it.’ Uther opened a can of tomato juice. ‘So?’ ‘You don’t find that
strange?’
‘Should I?’
‘Elaine is the passionate one.
She’s the one who adores wildly romantic novels, not Margot.’
Uther spiced his Bloody Mary
with a few drops of Tabasco. ‘I’m not with you, duchess.’
‘Think about it. Margot is the
most calculating of the three girls. She never acts on impulse, and she never
does anything without a reason.’
Uther sipped his drink
thoughtfully. ‘You think she’s telling us something?’
‘A guilty secret. An abandoned child. Parents
afraid the world might discover the truth. Isn’t it all a little too close too
home?’
A sharp pain stabbed Uther’s
chest. Just for a moment he felt breathless, and then the feeling passed.
‘You’re not suggesting she knows anything?’
‘Bit too much of a
coincidence, isn’t it?’ ‘But how could she?’
Igraine
tears. He held out his hand but the pathetic creature shrank back into a dark
corner, eyes full of terror, fingers scrabbling at her mouth. It was then he
saw the padlock on her tiny ankle and the chain that shackled her to one of the
rafters.
‘Good God in heaven! This is
inhuman! This is . . . ’ Words failed him.
‘She tried to set the attic on
fire,’ explained Elaine. ‘It was just to attract someone’s attention, but
father said she was a danger to herself and everyone else and chained her up.’
‘Monster! Cruel Monster!’ said Tozer in a
hoarse whisper.
As they descended the attic
steps Ferdinand Tozer heard a sound that made the hairs rise on the back of his
neck and all the way down his spine – peal after peal of demoniacal laughter
that must surely have come not from a little child but from a tormented soul in
hell. He had intended to threaten Uther Pendragon with exposure and offer to
keep silent in exchange for whatever promise of honours he could extract from
him. His conscience now demanded that he abandon that cynical scheme, and do
everything in his power to ensure that Pendragon – brutal, degenerate beast –
was punished for his crime. Life imprisonment would surely not be too much for
him. Never had Ferdinand Tozer felt so good about himself, so righteous was his
indignation, so just his cause.
When finally he confronted the
wicked perpetrator of the sickening crime, the amusement with which Uther
greeted Tozer’s angry denounciation was as unexpected as it was shocking.
Convinced that this monster was the son of Satan, Tozer responded with bitter
insults and solemn threats. Yet in the middle of his righteous tirade, Uther
abruptly left the library and reappeared holding Morgan, his youngest daughter,
by the ear. The sight of Morgan clutching a filthy old shawl, the telltale
smudged red and blue cosmetic circles round her eyes, and several of her front
teeth blacked out, was one that branded itself like a hot iron on Ferdinand
Tozer’s memory.
He was not the first to be
taken in by Elaine, though that was no consolation to him at all. Having gulped
down the best part of a bottle of Uther’s finest twenty year old Malt Whisky,
Tozer’s driver helped him, still shaking his head in bemusement, into his
Bentley.
Uther’s embarrassment was
tinged with secret amusement, for whilst he had little time for his
step-daughters, whom he considered spoilt, wilful and absurdly privileged, they
were at least entertaining. ‘Naughty but funny, eh, duchess?’
Igraine was not so sure. ‘Why
Bertha Mason?’ she asked her husband.
Uther found that an odd
comment coming from Igraine, an intelligent and well-read lady. ‘Quite
appropriate, I thought. A demented female imprisoned in the attic and all
that.’ He grinned. ‘Serve Tozer right. If he had read Jane Eyre , he
would have known it was a practical joke.’
‘It wasn’t Elaine’s idea, you know. It was
Margot’s.’
Uther handed his wife a gin
and tonic. ‘How do you know?’
‘She told me. Seemed rather
proud of it.’ Uther opened a can of tomato juice. ‘So?’ ‘You don’t find that
strange?’
‘Should I?’
‘Elaine is the passionate one.
She’s the one who adores wildly romantic novels, not Margot.’
Uther spiced his Bloody Mary
with a few drops of Tabasco. ‘I’m not with you, duchess.’
‘Think about it. Margot is the
most calculating of the three girls. She never acts on impulse, and she never
does anything without a reason.’
Uther sipped his drink
thoughtfully. ‘You think she’s telling us something?’
‘A guilty secret. An abandoned child. Parents
afraid the world might discover the truth. Isn’t it all a little too close too
home?’
A sharp pain stabbed Uther’s
chest. Just for a moment he felt breathless, and then the feeling passed.
‘You’re not suggesting she knows anything?’
‘Bit too much of a
coincidence, isn’t it?’ ‘But how could she?’
Igraine
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