The Reluctant Widow part 6

Simon waited for the vicar, feeling low and lousy.
Cursed!
For heaven’s sake this whole thing was becoming more Gothic by the minute. There’ll be vampires and blood sucking next. Honestly! Yet she really believes it and so, apparently, do the villagers. Gods and Devils before Sunday lunch and the Anti-Christ for supper!
He walked aimlessly around, strumming his finger along the books that lined one wall of the study. Literature, theology, Shakespeare, all sorts. Seeing so many he wondered if the Reverend had ever read them all. He was a learned man no doubt, hopefully with some straight answers. He walked to the back part of the room where two old leather armchairs, separated by a low table, faced the window which looked out onto the garden. A good spot for contemplation, he thought as he sat down. The chairs were certainly well worn but very comfortable. Close your eyes and dwell on better things, except that Jenny’s anguished face anchored him in the morose.
The vicar returned, closing the door quietly.
‘Jenny’s resting now. She will be all right soon.’ He sat opposite his young guest, his face pale and haggard. The conviction he had radiated from the pulpit was gone. He could have been just another old man waiting his turn at death.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed her.’ Simon said.
‘Don’t blame yourself Simon. Jenny...we’ve both been under considerable strain for some time.’ The old man shifted heavily in his chair then looked steadily at Simon. ‘But we’re not mad, if that’s what you’re thinking?’
‘You preach to an empty church, Jenny’s convinced that she is cursed - what am I supposed to think? Call it none of my business Reverend, but something weird is going on here.’
The vicar nodded, making no reply. Simon had the impression that the old man was weighing up the pros and cons of further revelations. At last he smiled weakly and asked Simon if he wanted a glass of port. ‘I usually indulge at this time of the day.’ He went to a small drinks cabinet and poured two full measures. ‘I think today they should be large ones.’ He sat down once more, taking a large swallow, then cupping his glass between long fingers. ‘Simon...it’s difficult to know where to start.’
‘Why are the villagers afraid of Jenny. What is this curse?’
The Reverend frowned then said, ‘Does the name Billy Drayton mean anything to you?’
‘No. Should it?’
‘He was one of the last people to be executed in Great Britain.’
‘I don’t see the connection with Jenny.’
‘He was hung for killing his brother Tom... Jenny’s husband.’
Simon’s surprise was obvious. For some strange reason he could imagine Jenny in love but not married.
‘It’s a sad and miserable story I’m afraid,’ the vicar continued. ‘They all three grew up together here in the village. Tom was a fine lad. Good head, good character. He worked at his father’s garage, the same garage where your car is now being repaired. He was all set to take it over when his father retired and would have made a success of it I’m sure.’
‘And Billy?’
The old man drank some more port, leaning back with a sigh. ‘Billy was... a strange unhappy creature. It was as if good and bad had been filtered out - the one into Tom the other into Billy. He was always getting into mischief. I used to call them the “Jekyll and Hyde” brothers.’
‘I’m sorry Reverent, I’m still in the dark about Jenny.’
‘Tom was her childhood sweetheart. He became a mechanic, she a school teacher in Morton Town where her father was a master. Their love stayed strong through all the years and it was obvious that they would marry. Unfortunately Billy was in love too.’
‘With Jenny?’
‘Yes. He was convinced that Jenny had promised herself to him first, and that Tom had stolen her. It was nonsense of course. The whole business deranged him. When they became engaged he swore that he would kill Tom if he married Jenny.’
‘Now I understand.’
The vicar leaned forward, the pain of re-living the story drawn on his face. ‘We...I didn’t take him seriously. That was a tragic mistake...tragic...’

The church was full. The whole village had turned out to see its local sweethearts wedded. Tom was the proudest man on earth and the luckiest, he knew well. Good health, a good business to work at and the prettiest, smartest girl in the village as his bride. He could want for no more. He stood before the altar, immensely happy, in his best dark suit sneaking glances at Jenny as the vicar spoke. Dear god, she was beautiful - as white and elegant as a swan, that dress her mother had made was perfect. Her smile was just for him, as it had always been.
The service was a blur for them both, so immersed were they in each others happiness. The ring, the vows and at last the kiss to seal their betrothal. It was not until their lips parted that they were aware of the stillness. Tom instinctively looked towards the church door where Billy stood waiting. Jenny clutched his arm but he soothed her. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he smiled. Billy shuffled down the aisle staring before him, blond hair messed up, eyes unfocused as if he’d had one glass too many. He was dressed, as always, in old jeans and a loose shirt. He stopped before the bride and groom, eyeing them as if to make sure of what he saw.
‘I’m glad you came Billy.’ Tom couldn’t completely hide the uncertainty in his voice. ‘You can be the first to congratulate us.’ His brother looked back and forth at the couple, lines deepening across his forehead, then aimed a steady blue eyed gaze at Tom who knew he had to say something to ease the tension. ‘Look Billy, I know how you feel...but...well...enough is enough. Let’s just shake hands and settle it.’ He reached his hand out. Billy stared down down at his brother’s open palm muttering, ‘Know how I feel do you?’
‘C’mon Billy, give me your hand.’
‘You’re right Tom,’ Billy drawled, moving his hand forward, ‘It’s time to finish it.’
Jenny said a silent prayer of thanks then shrieked in horror as a long butchers knife slid into view from Billy’s sleeve. In a single breath he plunged the blade into his brother’s stomach, forcing it up through his heart. Tom was too shocked to make a sound as blood flowed from his open mouth. Staring into the dying eyes of his brother, Billy spat, ‘Now it’s settled...for good!’ He pushed the dead man to the floor, remaining motionless as Jenny fell, screaming, onto Tom’s body.
‘Tom...oh God...Tom!’ She hugged and wept as the life drained from her beloved, unaware of the commotion around her. Billy gave no struggle as he was restrained. It was over. He’d done what he’d wanted to. Tom’s blood was soaked through to his skin.
'I warned him. He had his chance! You were always too smart Tom,’ he shouted. ‘Thought you could ignore me...laugh at me...steal my girl!’
Jenny cupped her husband’s head tenderly in her arms, caressing his ashen cheek then looked up, grief stricken into Billy’s wild eyes as he ranted,
‘You’re mine Jenny Summers...for nobody else!’

The Reverent slumped back in his chair, exhausted and distressed by the remembrance.
‘Poor Jenny.’ Simon muttered, too shocked to say more.
‘Yes. A bride and a widow in one moment. The happy young man I had just married...I buried a few days later.’
‘It must have been a shock for everyone.’
'The whole village was devastated, especially the Draytons. One son murdered, the other hung. They left soon after Billy’s execution.’
‘How did Jenny cope?’
‘She grieved Simon, she grieved. Her parents, her friends, myself, we all did our best to comfort her. None of us knew that this was just the beginning of her nightmare.’
‘The beginning?’
The old man placed his glass carefully on the table then got up.
‘Come with me Simon, I want to show you something.’

They walked outside into the churchyard. The sun was arching across the sky but could not warm this sombre place of death, with its monuments laid out before them as a granite forest. An unnatural quietness shrouded the whole area, as if none of the worldly noises dared penetrate the stillness. It was Spring without bird-song, sun without warmth, a picture of day in negative shades of grey. They walked a short way into the cemetery, stopping half way beside three gravestones laid close to each other. Simon noticed at once that they were different from the rest. In the midst of grimy chipped and mouldy stones, these three looked fresh white and perfect. They could have been laid this morning, he thought.
The vicar asked him to read the inscription on the middle stone. ‘Tom Drayton, may God keep our beloved son.’ He studied the other graves. ‘Sam Stockwood, Colin Drewry,’ he said with a questioning look. ‘What’s the connection?’
‘They all loved me.’ Jenny’s voice startled them. Reverend Stones told her to go and rest some more but she refused. ‘I’m fine John.’ She knelt before Tom’s grave. ‘They all loved me and died for it. First Tom then Sam then poor Colin.’
‘Is that your curse?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, standing up beside him. ‘A present from Billy. The last words he ever spoke were a curse on me.’ A sudden chilling breeze made her shiver. Simon immediately removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. The Reverend explained that Sam and Colin had died in mysterious circumstances; Sam in the wood surrounding the village, Colin in Jenny’s house, though he remained vague on the details when Simon questioned further.
‘After Colin’s death the villagers became hysteric and turned against
Jenny, wanting to banish her. Some were prepared to go even further.’
‘They say that death follows me...and they’re right.’
‘It was outrageous of course,’ the vicar continued. ‘When I heard of their plans I brought Jenny to the vicarage.’
‘He saved my life.’ Jenny’s voice was flat.
‘And that’s when the village abandoned you.’ Simon said, stooping once more before Tom’s headstone. ‘Strange. According to the date, this stone has been here for ten years yet it looks new. There’s not a mark on it or has it been replaced?’
Reverend Stones shook his head. ‘The stone is original.’
‘And the others the same.’ Simon continued. ‘And wasn’t it a bit...odd to bury them together, away from the rest?’
‘They weren’t. Sam and Colin were buried in different parts of the graveyard.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Someone or something moved them here.’
‘But that’s ridiculous. You mean that somebody just moved the stones, some sort of prank.’
‘The graves are genuine Simon, there’s no mistake.’
‘But that’s impossible...who would want to move entire graves around...
and why?’
‘I’ve no idea Simon. I noticed the change the day after your accident and went to investigate; where the other two graves should be are just empty holes.’
‘If there’s a connection I don’t see it...yet it can hardly be a coincidence.’
‘I should be with them,’ Jenny moaned. ‘If God were merciful...’ she whispered, returning, head bowed, to the vicarage.
Simon looked after her then turned to the vicar.
‘Is God merciful Reverend? Where was He when the blood started flowing, even in His holy place? And what purpose is there in putting Jenny through this kind of Hell?’ He followed Jenny, not expecting a reply, leaving John Stones a lone, mute figure by the graves.