The Fairbairn Girls (7 page)

Lying in bed that night, Eleanor recited to herself what she was going to say while pressing the crucifix against the trunk of the Rowan tree. She’d composed a special prayer and written it down so that she could memorize it.

Please, dear God,
it began
, tell the Rowan tree not to curse us any more. I know it can prevent bad things happening to the family but a wicked man has told it to do bad things to us, and only you, dear Lord, can change its mind.

Was that going to be enough? Should she say the Lord’s Prayer as well? Just to make certain God understood? It would be awful to go to all this trouble and find God didn’t know what she was talking about. So she decided to say the Lord’s Prayer too, to be on the safe side.

Eleanor knew she couldn’t do this in broad daylight. There were too many servants and gardeners and too many of them in the family to do anything private during the day. She was going to have to exorcize the Rowan tree under cover of darkness, but her plans were all in place and tonight was the night she was going to lift the curse.

Every now and again she crept out of her room on to the landing, waiting for her parents’ dinner guests to depart. Then McEwan would make sure the house was locked up and bolted for the night and all the candles blown out except for the two in the chapel.

At last, and it was after midnight by the chimes of the church bells, Eleanor knew everyone in the castle had gone to bed. For security reasons they were all safely locked in, and would remain so until the castle was opened up at six the next morning.

Climbing out of her bed, she groped under it for the rope, uncoiling it until it stretched across the room. Then she wound one end of it around the carved post of her bed and tied it in a double knot. Pulling on it with all her strength until she’d made sure it would hold her weight, she then opened her window and silently dropped the other end. It uncoiled and slid like a snake down the castle wall. Leaning out as far as she could, Eleanor waited until there was a gap between the clouds as they scudded across the moon. Suddenly the terrace below was bathed in faint light, confirming that the rope was long enough to reach the ground.

Now she just had to collect the little wooden crucifix from under her bed. How hard and strong it felt in her hand, she thought, as she jammed it into the pocket of her dressing gown.

Eleanor’s heart was racing now with part excitement and part terror. She gave a final glance at her prayer, which she’d left on the dressing table, and then she decided the best way to climb down the rope was to sit on the window sill with her legs dangling while she got a good grip by wrapping it around one of her wrists before gripping it with both hands.

At that moment the moon disappeared behind another cloud and she looked down into the pitch darkness with alarm. Beneath her was nothing but blackness. She couldn’t even see the Rowan tree, although it was only a few feet away from the castle wall. She sat still, breathless and frightened. She couldn’t back out now, though. The curse had to be broken before anything else dreadful happened in the family. If she gave up now she’d never forgive herself if someone else died. Supposing it was Papa or Mama?

Galvanized into action and petrified of the consequences if she didn’t act quickly, Eleanor got a tighter grip of the rope and then eased her body out of the window. Her bare feet found the rope beneath her and she held it between them to steady it. Inch by inch, hand over hand, she began to descend, although her shoulders became agonized by the strain and her wrists and hands burned as if they were on fire. Biting her bottom lip, she edged a few more inches down but it was taking much longer than she’d expected and it was far more terrifying than she’d realized.

‘Please, God . . . help me do this,’ she prayed. ‘Oh, please, God . . . help me . . .’

Suddenly she was bathed in a pale light as the moon momentarily slid out from behind a cloud. Encouraged, she lowered herself a few more inches. Then she glanced down again. The terrace must still be thirty feet away and she didn’t know how much longer her thin arms could take the strain of her weight.

‘Oh, God, I
must
do this,’ she whispered in desperation.

At that moment she was plunged into darkness, followed a moment later by a vivid flash of lightning which illuminated the land all around, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. Startled, she gave a loud scream and lost her grip on the rope.

Laura sat up with a start. The violent storm must have awakened her, she reflected sleepily. Through her curtains flashes of lightning kept penetrating the room and she turned over in bed, wondering vaguely how long it would last. She thought she’d been awakened by the sound of a scream but that must have been part of the dream she was having. Listening to the rain and hailstones which sounded as if someone was flinging gravel at her window, she could tell the storm was right over the castle by the speed with which the thunder followed.

After a while it faded away and all was quiet again. Laura closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

Shrill screams and a man’s voice yelling and blaspheming broke the tranquil silence of another cold dawn. Laura woke again, startled. This time she wasn’t having a nightmare. Flinging on her dressing gown, she ran barefoot into the corridor and looked down over the banister to the great hall below. Servants and footmen were standing still as if stupefied, while her mother clung to Beattie and Georgie, in obvious distress. At that moment Diana and Lizzie shot out of their rooms, still in their long white flannel night robes.

‘What’s happened?’ Diana asked in a frightened voice as she rushed ahead, followed by Laura and Lizzie.

Their mother suddenly collapsed and Georgie and Beattie were helping her to a chair. Then Laura saw her father standing in the entrance of the castle. He looked like a broken man, his face white and gaunt and his expression wracked with grief.

In his arms lay the soaked and frozen body of Eleanor.

Laura stared in disbelief, unable to speak.

‘
Why
. . .
?
’ Diana whispered. No one was able to answer and the only sound in the great hall was the soft sobbing of the kitchen maids.

Then the sisters turned and looked at each other, almost accusingly.

‘We
knew
something was troubling her, didn’t we?’ said Lizzie.

‘She insisted there was nothing the matter,’ Beattie whispered.

‘She’s been acting strangely for weeks,’ Laura said despairingly.

‘Then why didn’t you tell us?’ their father suddenly bellowed in a rage. They hung their heads, overcome, as he glared at them with his bloodshot eyes. ‘You should have told me or your mother instead of standing idly by.’ He looked down into Eleanor’s face as if he couldn’t believe he was holding her dead body. ‘Poor little girl,’ he groaned. ‘Poor child.’

McEwan stood two paces behind him. He was staring straight ahead, then he raised his right hand and they saw he was holding the small wooden crucifix. ‘This had fallen out of her pocket. It was lying beside her body on the terrace.’ He sounded bewildered, light-headed almost, a lifetime of training in etiquette forgotten.

‘Christ! Why did she jump?’ asked Freddie angrily.

His younger brother stood beside him, trying very hard not to cry. ‘Why did she want to die?’ Henry asked in a quivering voice, but nobody was listening to either of them.

As if aroused from a coma, Lady Rothbury suddenly looked up from where she was sitting and spoke. ‘Will someone tell Nanny not to let the young ones come downstairs.’

Mrs Spry moved swiftly forward. ‘I’ve already given those instructions, M’Lady.’ Then she turned to the kitchen maids. ‘This way, please,’ she commanded in a quiet but firm voice as she opened the green baize door.

Her professionalism instantly made them shuffle back towards the kitchens, some of them wiping their eyes with their aprons. Then she ordered the footmen to fetch brandy and the maids to light the fires in every room.

Leading the way, Lord Rothbury carried Eleanor’s body into the chapel. ‘Bring something to lay her on,’ he commanded, his voice gruff. A long oak table was hurriedly fetched and a silk Turkish rug was laid on it. As he placed the little broken body of his daughter on the table, he let out a bellow that sent shivers through all those who heard him.

‘May God forgive me, for this is all my fault,’ he moaned. ‘The sins of the father . . .’ His voice broke and he covered his face with his hands as he slumped down by Eleanor’s body.

His wife went to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, William.’

‘Why did she jump?’ persisted Freddie in a loud voice.

His father turned on him in a burst of savage rage. ‘She didn’t jump, you fool! She fell from her window.’

Freddie’s mouth dropped open. ‘But why . . .?’

‘Stop asking questions,’ his mother begged.

Laura and her sisters looked at each other again. It didn’t make sense. Eleanor believed in God. She would never have taken her own life. Laura turned to Lizzie and they both started running back up the stairs.

As soon as they entered Eleanor’s bedroom they froze and stood still, shocked by the sight of a rope still tied to the carved bed post. It hung from the bed to the window like a washing line.

Laura pressed her hand over her mouth as she walked unsteadily to the window and looked out. Then she flinched. ‘It’s a terrible drop!’ she whispered as she looked down at the bloodstained flagstones far below.

‘Do you think she was trying to run away?’ Lizzie whispered.

‘No. There are a hundred other ways she could have run away if she was that unhappy. Why choose this dangerous method in pitch darkness? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘I’d never have had the courage to try and climb down that rope,’ Lizzie said brokenly. ‘What in God’s name was she trying to do?’

Laura leaned against the window frame, feeling sick and dizzy as terrible thoughts filled her head. Had Eleanor died instantly? Or had she lain injured on the freezing terrace, alive but unable to move, knowing it would be hours before anyone would find her?

‘Are you all right?’ she heard Lizzie ask. She shook her head, unable to speak. Now she knew, with terrible certainty, it had been Eleanor’s scream she’d heard in the night as the storm broke. And she’d turned over and gone back to sleep. Her anguish became laden with guilt. Maybe Eleanor would still have been alive if she’d raised the alarm?

‘I can’t bear it.’ She pulled herself away from the window and turned to run from the room but something caught her eye: a sheet of white paper lying on the dressing table. She instantly recognized Eleanor’s childish handwriting. ‘Look, Lizzie! She’s left a note.’

Lizzie peered over her shoulder. ‘It’s a prayer,’ she exclaimed in surprise.

They hurried downstairs again to find their mother had retired to her bedroom, overcome with grief, while their father had just given orders for the family doctor and the police to be called.

‘Papa,’ Lizzie said urgently. ‘We have something to show you.’ They led him into the study and closed the door.

He read the prayer in silence and as the tears flowed freely down his ruddy cheeks he murmured again, ‘The sins of the fathers . . .’ Then he dashed out of the room and ran up the stairs, still muttering.

‘He’ll have gone to see Mama,’ Lizzie observed bleakly.

Mrs Spry appeared, walking briskly along the corridor. ‘Ah, Lady Elizabeth, Lady Laura,’ she said when she saw them standing huddled in the middle of the hall, still in their nightgowns. ‘Can I get you anything? Some beef tea? Or something to eat?’ She spoke under her breath as if they were in a church.

They shook their heads. Lizzie asked, ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Her Ladyship has requested not to be disturbed; I think Lady Georgina, Lady Diana and Lady Beatrice are also in their rooms; all the younger ones are upstairs, the boys with their tutor and the little girls with Nanny. So far the girls haven’t been told what’s happened.’

Laura suddenly felt deeply sad. Families were supposed to stick close together in a crisis, like they did in the cottages in the village when something happened. Why did the upper classes have to grieve alone? she wondered. Was it to maintain their dignity? She looked at Lizzie, who was biting her bottom lip to prevent herself weeping in front of a member of staff, and she suddenly wished she belonged to a very ordinary family.

At that moment Beattie, Georgie and Diana came downstairs, already wearing an assortment of black clothes.

‘We thought we’d sit in the chapel,’ Beattie explained. ‘We can’t leave Eleanor alone. Why aren’t you two dressed yet?’

Lizzie told them about the prayer they’d found.

‘What did it say?’ Diana asked.

‘I can’t remember it word for word,’ Laura pointed out, ‘but she was asking God to tell the Rowan tree not to curse us any more. She said a bad man was making the Rowan do bad things to us.’ Her voice trailed away.

‘What tosh! What was she talking about?’ Georgie said scornfully.

Beattie understood at once. ‘Remember the fierce argument we overheard when Papa and a man were fighting? They were cursing each other. I remember Eleanor was with us and we all wondered what it was about? Papa was very angry and ordered the man to leave and never come back.’

‘Yes,’ Diana butted in. ‘I clearly remember the man shouting, “As the Rowan tree is my witness, I curse the Fairbairn family from here until eternity”.’

They looked at each other, shocked and appalled as the words sank in and they realized that Eleanor had tried to save them all.

‘Dear Lord, I feel sick,’ Diana whispered.

‘Why didn’t she tell us what she was planning?’ Beattie exclaimed. ‘We could have helped her and done it properly.’

Georgie, for once aware of her own acerbic shortcomings, spoke humbly. ‘She’d have been afraid we’d laugh at her, and the awful thing is we probably would have done.’

There was a long silence, and then Lizzie spoke. ‘You have to admit it’s a strange coincidence that since Papa had that fight with that man I lose James, Rory is killed, one of Papa’s dogs mysteriously dies, and then Eleanor is killed as she is about to take a crucifix down to the tree and pray to God to lift the curse.’