‘I am well, as is Richard, thank you, sir. I… I did speak to him about you, but…’
‘He would not hear it?’ said the old man, sadly.
‘Not yet. His… pain over the rift between you is yet strong, and persuasive. Perhaps, with time…’
‘A great deal of time has passed already, my dear, and none of it has dulled his anger. He spoke sharply to you, when you mentioned me?’ Duncan Weekes’s watery eyes fixed on her, full of concern.
‘I… a… a little, yes. I am sure he did not mean…’
‘Poor girl. You are too kind and good, to be reprimanded over the likes of me. I am but a ruin of what I once was. ’Tis scant wonder my boy wants nothing to do with me.’
Butterflies took flight in Rachel’s stomach. She swallowed before she spoke again, and found her throat dry.
‘Forgive me, sir, but I must have it from you. My husband… my husband told me that you killed his mother. Does he speak the truth?’ Her voice shook audibly; there was a long and deafening silence afterwards. Duncan Weekes stared at her, his eyes gone wide and empty. Rachel suddenly realised that she had no idea how he would react to her terrible question. Fool! To come here, and be alone with him, and say such a thing! Rachel started up to her feet and made for the door.
‘Wait! Don’t go yet, I beg you!’ Duncan called after her. Rachel paused, and glanced back. The old man’s eyes were no longer empty, or alarming. His whole body had collapsed in misery, shrinking in on itself as though she’d kicked him. ‘Forgive my silence, only… only you did shock me so. It did shock me, to hear you say it,’ he said.
‘Then… it is not true?’ Rachel whispered.
‘I… I cannot say it is wholly untrue. Alas, I cannot say so.’ He wiped at his eyes with a juddering hand. ‘But you must believe me, please, when I say that I never had any intention of harming my Susanne. I loved her more than any man ever loved a wife, and never laid a finger upon her in anger… For all she did upbraid me often, and point up my many failings.’ A fragment of a desolate smile crossed his face. ‘I loved her truly, and meant her no harm.’ Rachel stayed where she was for a moment longer, then took a step back towards the chair. Duncan Weekes’s sorrow was like a physical thing, like something she could touch.
‘Do you… do you swear this to me, sir?’
‘I swear it upon my very soul, Mrs Weekes.’
Tentatively, Rachel sat back down. She found she had little trouble believing him; her every instinct told her that he was not a violent man.
‘Can you… can you tell me what harm befell her?’ she said. The old man shook his head. A single tear was flung from his cheek, splashing onto the hearth with a tiny sizzle.
‘If you must hear it, then I must tell it. But I beseech you – do not make me. It is my constant shame; it is like a wound that runs right through me, and to speak of it turns the blade in that wound. It is unbearable, my dear girl. It is unbearable.’
‘Then speak it not, sir,’ said Rachel, decisively. ‘It matters only that her death was… accidental. And that you are sorry for it.’
‘A sorrier creature would be hard to find,’ said Duncan, so quietly. Rachel thought for a moment.
‘And… afterwards, you raised Richard yourself? From when he was eight years of age? And… this rift lay between you all that long while?’
‘No, not all that while. I… I compounded my sin, you see – I lied to him. Lies of omission, perhaps, but lies all the same. He was a young man by the time he found out what fate befell her, from what source I cannot say. And his grievance was made all the worse for knowing that I had kept the truth from him.’
‘You were an ostler then, I think?’
‘That’s right, Mrs Weekes. And a coachman, too. I was all my life in some such employ – I’ve a gift with horses, you see… I can gentle them, and coax them on. They only want soft handling, you see; they only want a little reassurance, and a little tenderness. But after I lost Susanne, I… I drank all the more, to forget my sorrow. I am the architect of my own decline, and I deserve none of your pity.’
‘Does our faith not teach us to forgive, sir, upon the repentance of wrongdoing? I believe that includes… forgiving oneself.’
‘How may a person forgive themselves such a thing? How do I forgive myself, when I have blighted my boy’s life so terribly? I have much time to think, now, in these twilight years, and my thoughts are bitter ones, of regret for all the wrong choices I made and all the ways in which I have fallen short.’
‘You are hard on yourself, Mr Weekes. You seem to me to be a… kind man. I’m sure you have tried to do right – and any one of us may fall short. God can expect nothing more of any man than that he perceives his own faults, laments them and strives to improve upon them…’
Rachel thought of her own father, of the shame that had eaten away at him; wasted him, like a canker. She reached out and took Duncan’s gnarled hand. It was dark with grime, some unknown dirt worn into the creases and the bed of each nail. ‘Such thoughts will prey upon you, sir,’ she said gently. ‘There must be some joy in life, must there not? You must allow some happiness, or ’tis all for naught. I was sad for many years after I lost my own family. But now I have Richard, and a new life with him, and I feel that the time has come to be joyful again.’
‘There ought to be happiness for those that deserve it, aye. For those good of heart and deed such as you,’ said Mr Weekes. ‘For an old fool like me, the chance has come and gone.’ He cleared his throat, and his treacherous gaze wandered to the bottle again before he could wrest it back. ‘But that you came to visit me – and stayed to hear me… that gives me much happiness.’
‘I fear I have brought you no joy this day,’ said Rachel. ‘I had better leave now – the evenings draw in, and I should be home before my husband.’ She stood, smoothing her skirt with both hands.
‘But you will come again, my dear?’ Duncan Weekes’s expression was so full of hope that it pained her.
‘I… I am not sure, sir. I would have to conceal any such visit from my husband, and it… troubles me a good deal to do so. To lie is a terrible thing.’
‘But you have it in your power to do what I have longed to these many years, my dear.’ He stood up and clasped her hand in both of his, finding a tremulous smile. ‘You have it in you to make my boy think kindly of me once more. Or at least to bring me word of him, and how he fares.’
‘I…’ Rachel hesitated, shaking her head.
‘Please! Please, dear girl. Do call again. You cannot know the good you would do.’
For a moment Rachel stared into his eyes, all couched as they were in lines of age and desperation. Will you make an old man beg you?
‘Perhaps the greater sin would be to let a family member languish, all unnoticed…’ She stopped herself short of saying in poverty. ‘To let bad blood and misunderstanding continue, when perhaps I could make it right…’
‘Bless you, Mrs Weekes. And thank you.’ Duncan let go of her hand, walking unsteadily to the door to see her out.
‘Can I bring you aught, next time? A little food perhaps?’ she asked. Duncan shook his head.
‘Only your good self, and word of my boy. But… you must be careful, dear girl. You must be careful not to… not to make any difficulty for yourself on my account,’ he said, anxious again. Rachel tried to brush off the warning, but it came too soon after the shock of Richard’s anger, and as she left the building it was with a trapped feeling like the beginnings of fear. No. I do not fear my husband, who loves me.