A Keeper(42)

Her mind was racing. Who was this man lying in the bed before her? Was he her father or just a smokescreen and Rosemary had been right about her mother being pregnant before she left? Was her real father walking along The Green back in Buncarragh, unaware of her existence? But if she wasn’t the daughter of Edward Foley, why had she been given Castle House? Questions began to tumble into each other in an impenetrable heap. Why was the newly married Edward replying to Lonely Heart ads? Who had written the letters? Did her mother know Mary? Who was Mary?

Elizabeth hastily shoved the wedding picture in her jacket pocket and returned the other photographs to the drawer in the locker. She stared at the old man. His eyelids fluttered and he licked his lips. Was Edward Foley still in there? All the answers she wanted trapped inside this frail creature. This was so much worse than not knowing.





THEN


Escape was the last thing on her mind now. After Edward had rescued her, she had gratefully returned to what now seemed like the refuge of her bedroom and accepted a mug of hot sweet tea. Patricia didn’t care if it was drugged or not. She had to stop shivering, but long before the morning came, a fever had taken hold of her. The sheets were soaked through with her sweat and when Mrs Foley had changed them for her, she lay under the weight of the blankets shivering so violently she thought she might break a tooth.

Patricia would have sworn that she had been awake all night but when she opened her eyes she discovered that not only had she been asleep but at some point she had been moved into a different bedroom. She now found herself in a high double bed with an ornate headboard made from some dark glossy wood. A large matching wardrobe stood against the end wall, while the wide window was opposite the bed. The wallpaper and curtains were almost the same shade of burgundy, which brought to mind dried blood. The heavy material around the window made the wind sound further away. After the trauma of the marsh Patricia felt safe. She slipped back into sleep.

Her lucid moments came and went but old Mrs Foley seemed to be a constant. Washing her face with a cool flannel, holding cups of tea up to her mouth, straightening the bedclothes and tucking her in. Patricia’s throat felt sharp and raw so that speaking was difficult but she took comfort from listening to the whispered monologue of the old lady. ‘Now, that will make you feel better.’ ‘A big sleep. That’s what you need.’ The prison guard had become a nurse and somehow Patricia found it much easier to feel thankful for her help.

‘The doctor has been, and he has left us a bottle of tonic and a prescription, but Teddy will probably have to head into Clonteer for that.’

‘The doctor?’ Patricia rasped, the words like knives against her throat. ‘When?’

‘This morning,’ explained Mrs Foley. ‘You were very groggy, but you were a good patient. You sat up and let him listen to your chest and your back.’

Patricia lay down on her pillow and shut her eyes. Was Edward’s mother telling the truth? Should she take the medicine? She felt so tired …

‘What do you want, Mrs Foley?’

‘What’s that, pet? What do I want?’

Patricia searched her face for some clue to her intentions.

‘Do you want me to die?’

The old lady recoiled. She looked truly wounded by Patricia’s question, as if such a suggestion was unthinkable.

‘How could you ask such a … no, I … I only want …’ She bowed her head and rubbed her eyes before abruptly turning and leaving the room. Patricia didn’t hear the sound of the key turning in the lock.

A flurry of thoughts filled her head. Why had that question thrown the old woman? Was she planning to kill her? If she was, why hadn’t she already done it? Had she reacted in the way she had because she had killed before? No, she was being ridiculous. She was just an old crazy lady who had lost her mind. Edward had helped her escape once. She was sure he would again.

Later, there was a gentle knock on the door, and then before she could answer, Edward stuck his head into the room. Without thinking, Patricia smiled, and he stepped forward.

‘How are you?’ he whispered.

‘All right. Sore throat. Headache.’

Edward nodded.

‘Thanks for rescuing me,’ she continued weakly.

‘I’m sorry, I’m just so happy I found you in time.’ His dark eyes held her gaze and for a moment neither of them spoke.

‘Did a doctor really come?’

‘Yes. Yes, he did. That’s why she moved you in here.’

Patricia screwed her face up to indicate that she didn’t follow his logic.

‘The double bed,’ Edward said, pointing at it. ‘We’re married.’ He held out his hands helplessly.

Patricia stared at him, unsure what to say. Being reminded of her circumstances, and how out of control they had become, made her almost dizzy. Her sense of panic began to resurface. She took some deep breaths. She didn’t feel able to scream or shout. What did she need to understand? She licked her dry cracked lips.

‘Why won’t your mother let me leave?’

Edward squirmed, pulling at the bottom of his jumper, and turned away.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know. She’s not a bad person.’

‘What does she want?’

Edward turned back towards her. ‘She wants us to be happy.’