Spider Light(18)
After the rape in the showers, and after her attackers had gone swaggering back to the block, she had been violently sick. She had managed to turn on the shower taps and crouch shivering beneath the jets of water, trying to wash away the smell and the feel and the taste of what had happened.
She did not intend to report the attack. It did not take much logic to know that to do so would only cause further trouble, but her head and mouth had been knocked against the edge of the shower cubicle, and a small scalp wound was bleeding quite badly. It was noticed of course, and she was taken to the prison’s infirmary. When she came out, she was moved to what was termed the high-risk wing.
In a curious way, this had been much easier. There she was with the real killers and the child beaters, all of them herded together in one section for protection from the rest of the prisoners–it had seemed that the stories about ordinary thieves and drug dealers hating child molesters were perfectly true–but because of her training she found these women much easier to deal with. A great many of them had suffered abuse in their own childhoods, and some of them displayed unmistakable signs of mental illness, but a number of them were intelligent and articulate, diligently attending classes for creative writing or art or taking Open University degree courses. After a while Antonia even formed one or two wary friendships and managed to forget, sometimes for quite long stretches, that these were women who had committed vicious murders or were guilty of violence against children.
Donna Robards knew all about Antonia’s life in prison because she had made it her business to find out.
She had not been drawn into any of the publicity surrounding the trial, and the police had not called her to give evidence. They had interviewed her, of course, and she had told them that her brother’s death and the way he had died would be her life’s tragedy. Disagreements or rows between them? No, not at all. She and her brother hardly ever disagreed, and they certainly never had rows. But although the newspapers had ferreted around to find out about his family, Donna thought they had been looking for something a bit more sensational than an unremarkable sister, and most of them had preferred the angle of Don being alone and defenceless. The tabloids had gone all out for the image of a manipulative, sex-hungry older woman exploiting a younger man’s infatuation. Donna did not think she had been mentioned by any of them.
At the time she had been bitterly resentful at being ignored–she wanted people to know her as Don’s dearly-loved sister–but as the months went along, and as her plan began to take firmer shape, she saw how it would work to her advantage. If people did not know about her–especially the people at Antonia’s hospital–she would be able to work quietly and anonymously against the bitch. In any case, by the time her plan was ready to put into action, anyone who had known that Don had a sister, would have forgotten.
After the first few months they had given Weston a cell to herself, and assigned her to work in the prison library. A very easy imprisonment for the bitch who had killed Donna’s beloved brother, and a very short one, as well! Eight years, that was all they had given her. It was an insult to Don’s memory. On Antonia’s first night in prison, Donna had known that since the stupid courts and the feeble justice system had not been prepared to deal properly with this creature, this seducer of young men, then she would have to do it herself. The hows and the whens of the punishment would need to be carefully thought out, but she had eight years to do that. As for the where…
Donna smiled the secret smile–the smile she had once kept for Don, and that no one else would ever see now. There was only one place where punishment could be properly administered to this murdering bitch, and that was the place of Donna’s own childhood–the place where her parents had taken her and Don every summer.
The tiny market town of Amberwood in Cheshire. Charity Cottage in the grounds of Quire House: the cottage Donna’s parents had liked so much and had rented for a month every summer. A place of great atmosphere, Donna’s mother used to say. So restful.
And on Amberwood’s outskirts was the old mill. Twygrist. Twygrist was not restful. When Donna thought about it–when she thought of what had happened inside it–the smile curved her lips again, and the embryo plan to destroy Antonia Weston took a darker turn. Twygrist.
Could Weston somehow be got to Amberwood when she was released? Once there, could she be lured out to Twygrist?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Maud’s birthday present to Thomasina was a framed charcoal drawing she had made of Thomasina standing in the main doorway of Quire House. She had had it properly framed, and had wrapped it in gold-spangled paper. Thomasina was very pleased; she said they would choose a well-lit place to hang it so people could properly admire it. Perhaps the music room would be a good idea.
Maud was glad Thomasina was so pleased, and relieved Thomasina had not seen her first attempt at the sketch. Halfway through she had suddenly seen that she had drawn Thomasina as immensely tall, with dreadful greedy eyes and large teeth, like the ogresses in the stories, whose appetites were inclined towards human children, and who plotted to steal them away. How dreadful of her, after all Thomasina’s kindness.
During breakfast, opening her letters, Thomasina said, in what Maud thought was a slightly too casual voice, that she had invited her cousin Simon to stay at Quire for a week or so.
‘And he’s written to say he’ll be here this afternoon. He’s in financial difficulties again of course–that’s a common occurrence with Simon–but he’s the nearest thing I’ve got to a brother. He spent a lot of his school holidays at Quire; my father always thought him a bit weak and too much of a drifter to ever do any good, but he’s a charming drifter and an entertaining companion so I shan’t mind having him around. If he gets bored he can go rough shooting with Cormac Sullivan.’