Chapter 77: Mary & Peter Schormann

Ashford, afternoon: Tuesday, October 21st

‘You should not have gone on your own.’ Peter was agitated; he sat on the bed, then got up and paced the room. Up and down. Up and down. Rubbing the palms of his hands over his head when standing and over his thighs when he sat.

‘Well, I did.’ Mary knotted her fingers together. The enormity of what she’d done frightened her, but she was stubborn enough not to admit her fear. Still, the thoughts played over and over in her mind. In her arrogance she’d believed she could put a stop to anything George Shuttleworth planned. Now she’d fired him up until heaven knows what he would do. She’d put her family in more danger, told him Tom hadn’t killed Frank, and let him know that Nelly would be prepared to tell the police what she knew about the day her son had murdered Tom.

But worse than anything else, she’d lied to Peter: she hadn’t told him about Karen’s relationship to the man, that the whole family knew George Shuttleworth was back in their lives. She’d kept it secret that she was going to see him, to tell him to stay away from their son.

And she still hadn’t told him that Linda knew the truth about Peter’s part in Frank Shuttleworth’s death. That Peter was the one who’d killed Frank.

And it was that which would hurt him the most. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth. Peter idolised Linda. From the day he’d rescued her from that dreadful place in the old camp, he’d had a special place in his heart for their eldest niece. For her now to see him as someone who’d killed in anger would hurt him bitterly.

And was it even fair to expect Linda to keep a secret that really only belonged to their generation? What if she couldn’t? What would Richard and Victoria think of their father?’

‘You should have told me what you were doing.’

Mary hadn’t even been aware that he was standing in front of her. ‘You would have stopped me.’

‘Yes. Or gone alone to talk to him.’

‘Fat lot of good that would have done, Peter.’ She spoke wearily, the throb of a headache increasing. ‘The man’s dangerous.’

He gave her an impatient look. ‘And you have not made him more so?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She closed her eyes, waited until she was sure her voice was even. ‘There’s something else.’

‘Ja? What is it?’

‘I told him Tom didn’t kill Frank.’

She watched him from under her lids, unwilling to meet his eyes.

He sighed. ‘So…’

That was it. That was all he said.

The minutes passed.

Tentatively Mary moved her hand from her lap, held it out to him. When he took it her relief was intense. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

‘So, tell me again what it was he said.’ Peter sat at the side of her. ‘So that I know what we must do.’

She leaned against him. ‘He said for us to watch our backs.’ She whispered. ‘In other words, Peter, he was threatening us. All of us.’