Josephine Cox 3-Book Collection 2: The Loner, Born Bad, Three Letters. Josephine Cox
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at Dave, the stallion beneath him wild-eyed and terrified, leaping and rearing at the sight of Dave running towards him.
‘You’re too late!’ Seamus screamed. He struck the match against his boot, and for a second he held the flame high for Dave to see.
‘Good God!’ Dave realised with horror what he was about to do. ‘NOOooo!’ His frantic cry was lost as Seamus threw the match, and instantly there was a whoosh as the first stable was lit from within.
‘Tell your best friend Frank there’s more to come!’ the Irishman bawled.
Dave didn’t hear his threat as he ran to the stables, his shouts alerting everyone. ‘FIRE! FIRE AT THE STABLES!’ Shocked by the speed of the flames, he ran from door to door, opening them to let the horses out, desperate to save as many of the terrified animals as he could. But the fire was rampant, spreading so fast he was all too quickly beaten back by the heat and licking flames.
Having heard the pandemonium, they came from all directions … the stable boys and girls, Frank, still in his pyjamas with his dressing-gown thrown on top, and Maggie, her hair in curlers and her slippers on. And here was Lucy, yelling desperately for Dave to get clear.
Running up fast, the stable hands went in search of the horses that had fled in terror when Dave threw open the stable doors. Incensed that some of the horses had been saved, Seamus turned on Dave who, blackened and exhausted, was limping away from the inferno that was now engulfing the block.
‘I couldn’t save them all,’ Dave almost wept to Lucy, who came running towards him. ‘I couldn’t save them, my love.’
Having been traumatised by the fire, the big stallion would go neither forwards nor backwards. Desperate to punish Dave, to run him down, Seamus was viciously wielding the whip, again and again. ‘Come on, you bastard … move!’ he roared, foam on his lips. ‘MOVE, I SAY!’ Another crack of the whip and the horse went up on its back legs, almost unseating its rider. Then, with a mighty thump it was down on all fours again, racing away, wanting only to run from the carnage and that pitiful noise of its fellow creatures, trapped inside the stables and roasting to death.
In the panic and confusion, Seamus finally managed to turn the stallion towards Dave. ‘Time you got your comeuppance, gypsy boy!’ He was laughing, his crazed mind shot by the turn of events. ‘I told you I’d be back – that you hadn’t heard the last of me!’
Things happened so fast, there was nothing anyone could do. Head down and driven by the devil himself, the horse careered towards Dave, and with no time and nowhere to run, Dave thought this must be his last moment on earth. When he heard Lucy crying his name, he knew she was too close; his heart dropped like a stone inside him. ‘Go back, Lucy! For God’s sake, go back!’ he roared.
A cry went up and now Frank could be seen running forward, a look of desperation on his face. But it was too late. Seamus had what he wanted. He spurred the stallion into a frenzy, and when it seemed that Dave would die under its hooves, Lucy shot forward; the horse came down, and it was she who took the full force of the blow.
Shouts and screams turned to a deathly silence, broken only by the sound of burning wood and a horse’s hooves as the stallion raced away out of control, the rider screaming for someone to help him. But there was no help. Only retribution.
Later the horse was found in the thick of the woods, so badly injured it would have to be put down, and alongside him, the body of Seamus, almost decapitated when the horse careered into the overhanging branch.
Lucy lived, long enough to tell Dave and her father how much she loved them; and their grief was immense.
Lying in her bed, in the pretty bedroom upstairs in the farmhouse, the girl had looked so beautiful; a soft blush on her face and her hair spread out over the snowy pillows. But it was all illusion. Madden’s hooves had caught her in the chest, causing massive internal damage, and beneath the lace nightdress, Lucy was bleeding to death.
Drugged by morphia, and with the light in her eyes growing dim, she whispered feebly to Dave, ‘Remember the summerhouse …’ Aware that she was dying, Lucy wanted him to know she was glad to have died a woman – his woman – body and soul.
‘Daddy, I’m going to be with Mummy now,’ she promised. ‘Look after Maggie, won’t you? And don’t be unhappy. I love you and Dave so much.’
And then came the alteration in her face, and they knew that the Angel of Death was there at the bedside with them. As her father cried out, ‘No! Dear God, no!’ she took her last breath and was gone from them.
In that last poignant moment, she smiled on Dave with such profound love, that as long as he lived, he would never forget.
A week later to the day, Lucy was laid to rest in the small churchyard down the lane.
Packed to the doors, spilling across the graveyard and filling the narrow lane, the mourners came from across the county; farmers, neighbours, townsfolk and a smattering of those who lived further afield but knew of the tragedy and wanted to offer their condolences.
After the burial, when no one remained but Frank and Dave, with Maggie standing back, her face swollen from crying, the two men stood in silence at the graveside. ‘Why?’ Frank was sobbing. ‘Why my Lucy? What evil thing did I ever do, for her to be taken from me like that?’
In his own grief, Dave comforted him; he told him it was not his fault, that Seamus was the evil one, but that Lucy would not rest in peace, if her daddy continued to blame himself.
The profound words he spoke to Frank seemed to calm that good man, who had not slept nor eaten properly since the night he had lost his beloved daughter.
Quietly, Frank put his hand on Dave’s shoulder. ‘If it isn’t my fault, then neither is it yours.’ Head bowed, he walked away.
‘He’s right.’ Maggie stepped forward. ‘What happened was because of one man, so riddled with hatred and evil, that no one could have known the outcome.’
Dave slowly shook his head. ‘I will always wonder if there was something else I could have done to prevent what happened.’ Like Frank, he looked for the blame in himself. Had his secret doubts in some way influenced Fate? For here he was – free. A terrible sob rose in his throat, for Lucy, for his mother – for the tragic waste of it all.
Maggie walked back home with him. ‘Frank’s talking about moving away – says he can’t bear to stay here, now she’s gone.’
Dave was surprised. ‘But Lucy was so happy here,’ he said huskily, wiping his eyes. ‘And there are so many memories to help him through.’
‘And what about you?’ she asked. ‘What will you do?’
Dave had given it no thought; the only task he had been concentrating on was seeing Lucy to her last rest. But Maggie had focused his mind. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered sombrely. ‘I think I can understand why Frank wants to move away, because if either of us were to stay, how could we take a single step and not be seeing her everywhere we look?’ His voice broke. ‘It’s so cruel, Maggie. She was so young and vibrant, and so excited about our future together.’
He looked her in the eye. ‘When it happened with my mother, I felt the same as I do now. Even though I loved my grandad, I couldn’t go back. Mam was there, d’you see? And yet she wasn’t there.’
Maggie understood his pain. ‘If you really feel like that, then I think you should leave this place. You’re still a young man, with a life before you. We must none of us make our life amongst the dead.’
She opened her heart to him. ‘When I lost my darling Ted, I carried on living with him, in my mind and my heart, and in everything I did or planned to do. I know now, that I was wrong. I will always remember him, and I