Unjust

Augustine Nash

Description

Monica has a dark past that she hopes will stay hidden. When she meets Fred, it seems as if life is getting better, however when her estranged daughter Sharon turns up out of the blue, things start to go horribly wrong.This is a tale of secrets, lies and murder. Will Monica beat the race against time to save her family?

Informations

• Publié par: eBookPartnership.com
• Date de parution: 17 janvier 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783013272
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

UNJUST
A legacy from the past.
Augustine Nash
* * *
2014 Augustine Nash
Augustine Nash has asserted her rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Published by eBookPartnership.com First published in eBook format in 2014 ISBN: 978-1-78301-327-2
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
All names, characters, places, organisations, businesses and events are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Twenty Eight
Twenty Nine
Thirty
Thirty One
One
The stream was fast flowing, clear and deliciously cool, water whirling round her feet, so soothing...so comforting that it made her want to cry. She felt tiny stones bouncing off her toes and then carried away into some other spot. The sun was warm across her shoulders, striking the water in patches, glittering like silver.
Monica felt that she could stand here for ever in this beautiful country spot where everything seemed alive and throbbing with life, a world away from all the things she feared would catch up with her, overtake her, bearing her down into the depths of depression.
I take it you are the one renting the cottage; it s been empty for far too long.
Startled she looked up the bank to the narrow strip of garden and the broken down fence beyond. He was leaning on the sagging post staring down at her intently, as if reaching inside her soul. Her heart started to thump painfully and she felt her hands begin to tremble, a thing that had not bothered her for ages. Monica felt many things rushing through her brain like a runaway train. She had moved here thinking it a remote spot where she could hide away from the world and her past, be safe by herself to regain some sense of what her life was all about; or what was left of it.
Yes, was all she could manage to answer, stepping out onto the low wooden landing, moving upwards like a sleepwalker. Now what was to be done?
Sinking down onto the old wooden seat which had seen better days, she desperately hoped he would go away, this intruder into her narrow confined world. But, she could see by the position of his body, with legs spread in a wide stance that he would not.
I m your nearest neighbour, Fred Helmsley s the name, been farming in this same spot all my life, he informed her, lifting his cap to scratch his head.
She judged by the streaks of white hair that he had passed middle age, and yet his face showed no sign of wrinkles, his clothes clean but old fashioned.
After a moment she answered, How do you do. She was not going to volunteer her name; however, as it turned out she did not need to.
There was a pause before he said, I never forget a face, and yours seems familiar.
Monica felt as if she was being stifled, couldn t breathe, wanting to run and never stop. Shakily she stood up, You are mistaken, she answered, turning her back on him, making for the safety of closed walls. They were familiar to her.
The voice called after her, It will come back to me in a little while!
She leaned against the closed door frightened that he would follow her, but he did not. Two mugs of strong coffee calmed her nerves, made her feel a little more in charge. In charge, she had never been that, buffeted about like a leaf born on the wind to be deposited...
Pushing the thought away Monica began to try and make up her mind what to do. Indecisiveness was the problem and being too regimented for so long.
Tomorrow would be time enough to dwell upon it all, she decided, and went to lie down, feeling so tired and weary of the burden. Will I ever be free of it? she thought, drifting away to a temporary solution.
Fred Helmsley walked up the lane towards his farm deep in thought. The woman he had just met somehow disturbed him, there was something about her which spelled defeat. Her resignation and unwillingness to talk, what was that all about? His thoughts searched within the recesses of his mind until he eventually knew the answer. He knew without doubt who she was.
He found his older sister Mary in the big old fashioned kitchen cooking the evening meal over the black stove, which had served three generations of his family. His thinking was, if it isn t broke why fix it?
It was obvious that his sister was thinking along the same lines with an opposite view. I m tired of slaving over this contraption, why don t you buy me a new electric stove like other folks have? she demanded.
Mary was always making heavy demands; sometimes he thought she owned him lock, stock and barrel. He never bothered to answer, not wishing to quarrel with her, sitting at the scrubbed-topped table, finally informing her, The cottage has a new tenant; a woman, not before time though of course. I have got to admit it s not in very good order.
A plate of stew was roughly banged down in front of him, followed by the usual loud sniff of contempt, which his sister did so well. For all the notice he took it was just like water off a duck s back. Even so, he had to give it to her, she was a fine cook. No one could cook rabbit stew like she did, better than them professionals on the tele .
What s her name? Mary demanded. Not that she was interested; however, she liked to know what was going on, in case it affected her world.
Never said, Fred answered pushing his plate away, feeling pleasantly full. I m away to shut the chickens up, they are clucking fit to bust.
It was another lovely day, the land covered with sunshine and shadows. A fox, followed by three small ones moved across the field in search of something to eat. The birds had been up and singing from an early hour, wild ducks splashed in the stream.
This should have been an idyllic time for Monica, but it was not. She sat in the narrow garden listening to the stream gurgling merrily on its way, and from a distance she heard the toll of a bell, calling people to prayer. She had forgotten it was Sunday, not that it made much difference, her prayers had never been answered.
The garden was long and narrow, coming to an end by the wooden landing. Nothing had been done to it for years by the look of it, though there were some stunted rose bushes pushing through the long grass. The best thing to be done was to forget everything and make a start.
She began to clear the rubbish from around a bush, no wonder it wouldn t grow with so many weeds choking it. Monica emptied her mind of all negative thoughts and bent to the task, somehow feeling reprieved.
So intent on what she was doing she failed to realise he was standing right next to her, holding out a large egg box. I thought you might be glad of a few eggs, they make a good omelette, he said quietly.
She took it; noticing the intense blue of his eyes, Thanks, that is very kind of you.
It would be neighbourly to offer me a cup of coffee, or tea, I don t mind which, he went on. It s a tidy walk from my farm and on such a day as this it makes thirsty work.
You had better come in, Monica answered, feeling dismayed. Visitors were the last thing she wanted.
Monica put the kettle on and put the coffee powder in two mugs, while she felt his eyes boring into her back making her feel uncomfortable. Take it easy, she told herself, no sense in seeing what was not there.
And then the man sitting at her small table dropped the bombshell. I know who you are, I remembered on the way home yesterday. Some years back I read in the paper about you; Stella Morgan, isn t it?
Placing the mugs on the table she sat down, visibly shaking. That was long ago and I hoped over and done with. I had my name changed by deed poll to Monica Edwards, she answered, now she would have to up sticks and move all over again.
Fred seemed unperturbed, as if he was discussing the weather. Yes, I remember, you murdered your husband with a knife, he replied.
Monica felt she was sinking into the mire of the past, which stayed forever with her. I paid for my crime; twenty years in prison, can you imagine what that was like?
No, not really, I have always been as free as a bird; apart from my sister Mary always mithering me, there are times when she s got a tongue like a snake, ready to strike. She is rather on the bitter side because I inherited the farm.
Oh, I see, was all she could say, her mind reaching out for some answer whereby she could explain, that was impossible.
The farmer noticed many things in life, and here he saw tragedy. Why was he thinking about this woman in that way? Her look of despair went straight to his heart, causing him to state, You have no fear of me telling anyone else, my lips are sealed.
Thank you, I have never had anyone who understood.
Fred quickly changed the subject, This cottage is in need of a coat of paint and better furniture, he remarked.
I m afraid I don t have the cash to spare, maybe at some later date.
I think I may be able to help there, you see this cottage belongs to me, but as it s been empty for so long I put it in the hands of those renting agents.
You don t have to, it doesn t really matter, Monica answered.
Oh yes it does, just a matter