Sea Gem (33 page)

‘That’s mine!’ Edwin shouted with excitement and pushed against the water to collect the striped shell.

Suddenly William saw red. He wanted that shell. He sprang forward and with his greater weight and strength shouldered Edwin aside, bent and snatched the shell from under his nose.

‘I saw it first!’ Edwin protested with a hurt cry.

‘I grabbed it first!’ William crowed. ‘If you want it, come and get it, I dare you!’ he jeered.

Edwin hesitated a second, only too well aware how strong William was. There was a look of malice on William’s face which mocked and challenged. Then months of resentment reached ignition
point inside Edwin. He forgot William’s muscles and moods. All he could think of was the striped shell that should be his. He sprang, taking William quite by surprise; it was the first time
Edwin had dared to oppose him outright.

Edwin reached over to grab William’s tightly closed knuckles and force him to yield the shell while his face went red with anger. William hesitated only long enough for the shock to wear
off, then reacted in the only way he knew how and with a force he had always wanted to use but had never dared before.

His fist opened, the shell dropped and he struck out at Edwin’s face. More by luck than judgement his fist connected with Edwin’s jaw. His brother stopped in his tracks, his eyes
opened wide with shock and he swayed as another wave licked around their bare legs. William seized the advantage. He sprang through the water, sending it sheeting high, and pummelled Edwin’s
face and body, making the other wince and lower his guard to protect pained ribs.

William jabbed again so Edwin kicked out but his sandalled foot did not connect. What it did do was infuriate William, who had never dreamed Edwin would dare attack. William lashed out with both
fists, suddenly all over Edwin who felt sharp fear. There was a horrible look in William’s dark eyes and his teeth snarled as he jumped forward again.

Edwin desperately tried to back away but the water was a little too deep. He stumbled and went flying backwards. William sprang landing on top of him, his fighting blood at top pitch. His hands
shot out and grabbed Edwin’s head and he flung him back further, pushing him under the water.

There were only a few rocks and they were smooth from the tides but William’s force was enough to ram Edwin’s skull against them. At the same moment, in an instinctive reflex action
to live, Edwin jerked himself half around. There was an ugly crack and Edwin went limp in William’s hands. His neck broken; he died instantly as his spinal cord was severed.

William suddenly grasped something was very wrong. He froze. ‘Edwin?’ he cried nervously. ‘Eddie!’ he quavered, then, half bent, he stared with horror as Edwin’s
body floated on the water with the head bent at a queer angle. Gingerly he reached out and touched the body, tugging at it as it moved listlessly towards him. William felt his skin cringe as his
eyes opened wide with panic and terrible fear. He stood up sharply, backing away from the body, one hand at his mouth while his eyes rolled with sheer terror. He had killed Edwin.

He splashed from the water and fell on his bare knees, panting heavily with shock and terror, then his sharp wits lurched into action. He flung a wild look all around but he was quite alone. The
tide was gently coming in and swiftly he pushed Edwin’s body out a little further to where the waves were stronger then he sank down and made himself wait. His heart pounded as he forced
himself to count for over three minutes during which time two larger waves had washed out the tracks on the sand.

With large eyes flaring their whites, his nostrils pinched and forehead dappled with beads of sweat, William made himself wait a little longer, all the time checking he was unobserved. Finally
he judged the time was right. Swiftly he stood and bolted back the way they had both come, shouting and waving to attract attention.

Mary woke with a violent start and a thumping heart. She sat up, looked around quickly then scrambled to her feet as William raced madly towards her, waving and shouting like a mad thing. Her
heart lurched as she turned to run towards him.

‘What is it?’ she cried as he reached her, sweating madly, lungs labouring for breath, his eyes filled with distress.

‘It’s Edwin!’ He gabbled frantically. ‘A wave came when he was collecting shells. He fell backwards and is lying all queer. I can’t get him out!’ William
screamed at her, half believing it himself now.

‘Dear God! Where?’

William pointed with a shaking hand then Mary was gone, speeding over the sand. ‘Get your sister!’ she screamed at him before she moved off and William, bent double to catch his
breath, did nothing at all. She’d find out soon enough and he had to compose himself and double-check his quickly thought-out story.

Mary saw Edwin’s body moving almost lazily and her face twisted with anguish. One glimpse was enough to tell her but she plunged into the sea, grabbed the arms and dragged Edwin on the
sand. Then falling to her knees she looked at the queerly angled head and neck while a wild sob rose in her throat. Edwin was—dead! She bent her head and felt the first hot flood of wild
tears as she cradled his head against her breasts.

The child she and Victor had made so long ago. He who was her favourite even above Margaret. She stared down at his wet face and ran gentle fingers down one cheek. She felt that her heart would
burst. Never before had she felt such terrible anguish. Dear, quiet little Edwin who was not like either of his parents but who was so loveable.

She peered through the flood of tears. There were marks on his cheeks and around his jaw. Slowly she lifted her head and looked at the innocent sea. It was true hidden rocks could be anywhere at
high water but how could they make such marks on the childish skin?

Something horribly sinister rose in Mary’s mind. She shivered, frozen to the marrow of her bones despite the blazing sun. She knew Edwin’s neck was broken but surely the rock which
did that would not lacerate the skin? Those marks on his face could not have been caused by rocks because there was not even the tiniest graze. Again evil flashed through her mind, impossible to
accept.

She cradled Edwin’s body and broke into a fresh paroxysm of grief. She could not think straight; not while her son’s body was still wet and warm in her arms.

Michael and Margaret raced up followed by William. The children ground to a halt and stared aghast at Mary’s wild grief and Edwin’s stillness. Great sobs broke from Mary’s lips
and it was Michael who knelt down by her side and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Margaret could not move. She was frozen in time, her eyes riveted upon Edwin’s body, watching as very gently, with an adult gesture, Michael leaned forward and closed Edwin’s staring
eyes. Mary turned to him, seeing him through a curtain of liquid misery, unable to frame one word as she shuddered and quivered with shock.

‘Margaret, stay with your mother!’ Michael said firmly, getting to his feet. ‘I’m going to take the trap and get help from town!’

Michael flashed a warning look at his friend and Margaret took his place, one arm around her mother as her own tears poured. William stood one pace back, nervously going from one foot to
another. Then Mary opened her mouth and let out a keening wail of human misery. The sound was the most awful William had ever heard. It hit him straight and deep in the guts and his skin cringed,
then crawled. He had never thought the human voice was capable of expressing such depth of misery and sorrow. Fear, terror and guilt smothered him and suddenly he became aware of a lump in his own
throat. At the same time, he felt something else.

William flashed a look to his left and Margaret’s salty, narrowed eyes bored into his. There was a white, bleak look on her face. Her nostrils were pinched and her teeth showed, barred
with lips drawn back in a silent snarl. It tore through William’s mind that his sister suspected; she even
knew
this was no accident. He gulped, tried to avert his eyes but found he
could not. Margaret glowered at him with twitching nostrils and lips which moved and uttered some silent words. William backed a step, desperately afraid of his sister. There was something savagely
barbaric emanating from her which sent ice down the length of his backbone. Her cold stare went deeper and deeper, making William avert his gaze, lower his head and, finally cry, not for his dead
brother, but in abject terror for himself.

Very gradually Mary regained control of herself as she hugged Edwin’s thin, lanky body, feeling the warmth and companionship of Margaret’s arms hugging her tightly. Mary knew. There
was not the slightest doubt in her mind. She knew with the mother’s instinct that it was Cain and Abel all over again. William had killed his brother Edwin and she had not a shred of
proof.

She tried to say something but the words stuck in her throat so slowly she turned and looked at William. He returned her stare gravely with a coolness almost more than Mary could bear. How could
one brother kill another? Was this what William had been leading up to since birth? Was it this which had made her dislike him from the first sight?

Margaret was different. She wiped her eyes and turned them, red-rimmed and icy, upon her brother.

‘What happened?’ she asked in a low but firm tone.

William related the tale of shell hunting and the large wave, then Edwin being thrown by it into the rocks.

‘Why are your knuckles skinned then?’ Margaret snapped with hostility.

William thought quickly but did not make the mistake of trying to hide his hands. With a calmness which, afterwards, he admired in himself, he extended his hands before him and looked at them
before replying.

‘I must have skinned them when I was trying to help Edwin,’ he replied evenly.

Margaret opened her mouth to scream an accusation, then thought better of it with her distressed mother in hearing. There would be a time to reckon with William later. She stared at his face,
then at the marks on Edwin’s. Mary caught her eyes and they exchanged a long look. Mary knew it was possible Edwin’s bruises had been caused by the sea and William’s answer for
his skinned knuckles was plausible. Nonetheless she knew, without any doubt, he was lying. Dear God, she asked herself, what kind of monster have I bred?

Then everything misted before Mary’s eyes and she was only conscious of Margaret’s strong, young arms and later Michael, returning with some men.

There were questions and answers and it was young Michael who acted with the astounding maturity Victor had mentioned. Mary’s heart went out to him in gratitude though she could find no
words. She had become encased in frozen hunks of ice in which she was led here and there, sat on chairs, given copious cups of tea with a double brandy until she did not know whether she was coming
or going.

It was Michael who arranged for their return to Guernsey. It was he who collected the car, put Mary behind the wheel and encouraged her to drive back to Cobo with himself sitting alongside. It
was Michael who slipped off somewhere and told them at the house and hurried back to help her. It was Michael who took his father aside when he drove up unawares to collect his son from the
day’s outing.

Victor was in a quandary. His instinct was to stay and help his Catherine and his grandmère yet he had to get Michael home to his mother. He had sufficient sense to understand that
perhaps the two women were best left alone. He could give the practical help required by the law starting with James and Emil.

When they were alone, Mary could only sit slumped in the chair. She was cried out with not a tear left. Louise was stunned into immobility and sat white-faced with shoulders which sagged.

‘Oh, Tante,’ Mary moaned in a low voice as she lit a cigarette with a trembling hand, ‘this has been the worst day of my life. When I woke this morning I was gay and
light-hearted. The sun shone, the children were excited and now the day has ended in black. My son is dead. I have lost my gentle Edwin and Tante, oh Tante, that’s not the worst of
it.’

Louise regarded her with hooded eyes. She was over the initial shock but what made her feel even more haggard and sick was the news she had but which, she told herself, must be kept awhile. So
now what could Mary mean? What could be more horrific?

‘Go on,’ she said, hardly daring to breath.

Mary spoke in a whisper, her face wretched. ‘I cannot prove it but I’m convinced William killed Edwin!’

Louise took a deep breath, closed her eyes and counted slowly to ten. This time her discipline faltered and her shoulders slumped heavily while she thought about what she had heard. She licked
dry lips, shook her head and finally spoke.

‘Tell me all,’ she said slowly, ‘I have to know.’

Mary’s sorrowful eyes started to swim as fresh tears arose. ‘It’s not just me but Margaret too. Nothing has actually been said. William has given a logical explanation but
there’s more to it than that and I’m scared.’

‘Take a deep breath, speak slowly and explain,’ Louise encouraged.

Mary obeyed, then slowly related the tragic story. Tante listened in silence while her mind raced. It was possible that William had told the truth but it was also highly unlikely. She could so
easily picture some scene in which the two boys clashed and William, with this superior strength, had simply attacked his brother. He had either killed him wilfully or created some situation that
had caused Edwin’s death. Murder or manslaughter, it mattered not what they called it. The boy was under the age of criminal responsibility. He could not be touched by the law and anyhow,
where was the evidence? It was possible a clever-tongued adult could wheedle, browbeat or trick William into confessing the truth but for what? What good would it do? He was only twelve. Tante
shuddered suddenly. Child’s body he might have but what went on in that head of his?

‘It’s the bad blood in the Penfords,’ she muttered. ‘Duret had it. Christine did to a minor extent and now—William.’

‘What do I do?’ Mary asked between fresh sobs.

‘Victor will get help for the legal side of it, which means William will be questioned.’ Not that that would do much good, she told herself. ‘Then there is Margaret to think
about,’ she pointed out slowly.