Shell House (28 page)

       
Then the local paper she always had posted to her address dropped from the mail slot; the thud on the floor seeming louder than normal. And there it was − an announcement in the Death Column:

       
Henry James Rochester passed away peacefully at his home, aged eighty one years. Much loved by his son, Dr. Jonathan Rochester, daughter-in-law, Anna Rochester and granddaughter, Nancy Rochester. Forever remembered and sorely missed by all his family and friends....

       
She’d stared at it for quite some time not really registering the news. A tiny voice inside her head kept saying “what about me?” She tried to push it aside as grief overwhelmed her and she fell into absolute devastation. She spent the next few days shut away in her house − not that she ventured out much anyway − but she completely switched off from everyone. She thought she was used to feeling lonely having lived under a false identity and never being able to tell her friends who she really was as though a stranger were living her life. But when she read about her father’s passing she realised she’d never felt quite as alone as in that very moment and it scared her so much she feared it would suffocate her.

       
She wrote Jonathan a short letter offering her condolences and asking him if she could attend the funeral. She posted it to Harry’s address not knowing where her brother lived and hoped he would get it in time, although she had a good idea what the answer would be. He’d written her an even shorter, painful note back telling her to stay away from him and his family otherwise he’d call the police.

       
In some ways she’d wished she hadn’t asked him, as then she would have felt she could pay her respects from a distance unnoticed and unexpected, but she couldn’t risk being seen anywhere near the church or the graveyard, not when she considered she was under licence. There was no point in making life any more difficult for herself or for anyone else. So in the end she paid her respects in her own way and spent most of the time crying for what they could have had.

       
There was so much warmth in those letters and she gripped them in her hands now, remembering that tiny snippet of affection shared with her father.

       
She hadn’t wanted to finish the book because she’d wanted to stay in that make believe world, but she knew it wasn’t healthy for her and could ultimately be quite detrimental to her mental state. She had to be thankful for the precious months she’d had of talking to him on the telephone and the letters they’d shared between them. Her healing time was over for now and she needed to move on.

       
She raised her glass to Harry, kissed his letter and placed it back into the tin with the memory stick and carried it up to bed with her; she wanted to keep it safe by her side.

CHAPTER TWO

        She slept surprisingly well considering the thoughts that were running through her head, and it was a deep rest borne of exhaustion and she felt better for it.

       
Again, once she’d woken properly she sat in her garden room watching the rain fall and searched for more complex feelings but there was nothing except the calmness from the night before. She still felt pain from her father’s passing but none of the other knotted emotions she’d carried around for so long were apparent.

       
She moved around her home almost in slow motion, performing tasks that had always been done frantically; one merging into another. But now everything just seemed peaceful as though there was all the time in the world to do anything she wanted and there was a quiet about the house she hadn’t noticed before.

       
Then the phone rang startling her from her serenity; breaking the flow of silence and everything began to speed up again. She let the answering machine get it; she didn’t want to talk to anyone.

       
“Hello Rebecca, its Rosa. I need to come and see you...it’s important. Can you call me back please as soon as you get this message? Thanks...bye.”

       
Rebecca frowned clicking the answer machine off once Rosa had hung up. She hadn’t heard from her in a long time.

       
She called her straight back and arranged for her to come over later that morning. Rosa wouldn’t discuss anything over the telephone, saying she needed to speak to her in person.

       
Rebecca went over and over what it could possibly be about while she went for a quick run and then back home for a shower. The only conclusion she could come up with was that it had something to do with her licence. Rosa had sounded quite serious so she wasn’t expecting good news; she could always tell when she was calling to arrange something socially. She wondered if someone had recognised her locally and she was going to have to be moved to a safe house. She’d been through that before, many years ago. The Home Office had been obliged to inform the Chief Inspector of the local constabulary in the area where she was housed. The Chief Inspector had then informed the local Bobby who patrolled the area, in order for him to keep an eye on her and make sure she kept to the regulations of her licence. Unfortunately, the police officer in question hadn’t kept it to himself, as he was asked and had shared the information with his wife who’d eventually decided to tell some of her neighbours. It had turned into a horrible witch hunt, resulting in her having to be removed from the area.

       
As horrible as the ordeal was it had been a blessing in a way because she was then relocated all the way back to Norfolk, only an hour or so round the coast from her father. The Home Office had felt the media and the public wouldn’t look in the obvious places and would in no way think she’d be back in her home county.

       
She hoped this wasn’t what Rosa was coming to tell her because she’d lived in the same place for over twenty years, had made friends there, a life of sorts. Even though Harry had passed on she still wanted to feel close to him and be near her childhood home.

       
She paced her kitchen before Rosa arrived, turning the kettle back on every time it boiled, looking out of the window to see if she could see her car, even checking her hair in the mirror, which seemed a ridiculous thing to do, but she was nervous.

       
When Rosa eventually arrived Rebecca was shaking from head to toe.

       
They embraced and Rosa said nothing to reassure her, which unnerved her even more.

       
“Leave the coffee. I need you to sit down.” Rosa fixed her large dark eyes onto Rebecca’s crystal blue ones and led her into the sitting room.

       
Rebecca suddenly felt like putting her hands over her ears as she had done as a child. Tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t help her legs from shaking when she sat down.

       
Rosa pressed her hands onto Rebecca’s knees to try and calm her. “Its okay, it’s okay. Just listen to me.”

       
Rebecca snatched a tissue from the box she kept on her coffee table. “I’m alright, just a bit emotional today. Go on.”

       
Rosa took a deep breath. “Ellen Tailby passed away a few weeks ago. She left a sealed letter addressed to her solicitor that she’d requested be opened after her death.” Rosa paused to let Rebecca digest this news.

       
“Go on.”

       
“The contents of the letter are basically a confession to the murders of her two children, Alexander and Thomas.”

       
The colour drained from Rebecca’s face and it felt like the life drained from her body also, as the adrenalin rushed through her so fast. Her heart pounded even harder and more tears began to fall down her face. She was so shocked she had to ask Rosa to repeat what she’d just told her.

       
“There has to be an appeal to make it all official and to prove she was guilty. The police have reopened the case and have already begun an investigation. It turns out her medical records are filled with incidents as far back as when she was a child.”

       
It was a while before Rebecca spoke. She was trying to digest what she was hearing and it was as though she’d misheard what was being said.

       
“What do you mean incidents? What incidents?” Rebecca’s voice was choked with yet more tears.

       
“Well, she was a self harmer when she was younger. She took various medicines and sometimes even small amounts of poisons.”

       
“What does that prove?”

       
“Nothing as yet but she had several still births and quite a few miscarriages, some late on in pregnancy. It’s being suggested she may have had Munchausen’s Syndrome by Proxy or bipolar.”

       
They both sat quietly for quite some time. Rebecca stared at the floor, digesting what had been said and trying desperately to remember what had happened all those years ago.

       
“Why did no one find this out at the time? Why didn’t anyone help me?”

       
“I don’t know, Rebecca. It was such an unusual case and I don’t think anyone knew how to deal with it properly.”

       
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

       
“No.” Rosa took a deep breath. “You have to remember Rebecca that you never denied it. It was as good as a confession.”

       
“No, this isn’t right.” Rebecca stood up. “I’d like you to leave now, Rosa. You can’t come here with this. I killed those children. Christ almighty, I was told I’d done it. I can’t be led to believe anything else, it’s the foundation of who I am, it’s dictated my whole life. Please Rosa. You’re my friend and I love you but I need you to go.” Her voice was becoming dark and low.

       
“I wouldn’t be here, Rebecca if we didn’t believe there was enough information to prove you were innocent. I’ll go if you want me to but just give me a chance to tell you what I’ve come here to say.”

       
“I can’t remember much about it but I did it, you can be sure of that. I wrapped them in their eiderdowns using some rope I found under the stairs. I was trying to secure the blankets around them by tying them on because they felt so cold. I managed to suffocate them in the process, Rosa. I know in my heart I didn’t kill them in cold blood but then I can’t be sure of that either anymore. You have no concept of what death means when you’re ten. I have a vague recollection of a fleeting thought that I needed to put them to sleep to make them feel better and they’d be back to normal by tea time.” She sat back down to try and calm herself, realising she was rambling. “That’s not a normal thought process for any child.”

       
Rosa reached out and touched Rebecca’s leg. “You didn’t kill them. Ellen Tailby has said how she’d given them an overdose of medicine that morning. She’d realised she’d gone too far, you happened to be passing and she called you in to baby sit telling you she needed to go to the shops. It was all set up for you to take the blame.”

       
Rebecca frowned, remembering the story she’d written in her book about the murders and how she’d toyed with the idea she might be innocent. Something stirred in her, a flash of a memory but it was gone as quickly as it arrived.

       
“But I remember pushing them both into the under stairs cupboard because I knew I’d killed them. They were so, so tiny.”

       
“She said in her letter she thought they were already dead before she left you with them.”

       
It wasn’t clear at first but the memory returned and sharpened within her mind’s vision.

       
“Are you okay, Rebecca? Do you want me to get you anything?”

       
“No, no...I’m fine. She asked me to sit with them because they were poorly. Asked me to play doctors and nurses with them, make them better. They can’t have been dead, I could have sworn they...moved or spoke.”

       
“They may well have done because they weren’t actually dead when she left them. She says in her letter that when she got back she found them lying in the hallway where they’d fallen out of the down stairs cupboard and you’d gone.”

       
Rebecca clamped her hand to her mouth. She clearly recalled now the fear she’d felt at what she thought she’d done and how she’d nearly injured herself trying to hide them under the stairs. She’d been so frightened and the only thing she could think of doing was hiding them so she didn’t get into trouble. Their faces flashed in front of her now, grey and lifeless, their lips chapped and purple. She shuddered at the memory.