The Scold's Bridle by Minette Walters Read Free Book Online Page A

days, was little better than an invalid. Her one concession to poor health had been the introduction of a stair-lift which had allowed her continued access to the upper floor. Sarah had once suggested that she sell up and move into a bungalow, to which Mathilda had replied that she wouldn't dream of any such thing. "My dear Sarah, only the lower classes live in bungalows which is why they are always called Mon Repos or Dunroamin. Whatever else you do in life,
never
drop your standards."
    Ruth came out as she was opening her car door. "Let's talk in the summer-house," she said jerkily. She didn't wait for an answer but set off round the corner of the house, her thin body, dressed only in tee-shirt and leggings, hunched against the biting north wind that was swirling the autumn leaves across the path.
    Sarah, older and more susceptible to the cold, retrieved her Barbour from the back seat and followed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Joanna watching her from the dark depths of the dining-room. Had Ruth told her mother she'd asked Sarah to call, Sarah wondered, as she tramped across the lawn in the girl's wake. And why so much secrecy? The summer-house was a good two hundred yards from Joanna's listening ears.
    Ruth was lighting a cigarette when Sarah joined her amongst the litter of art deco cane chairs and tables, relics from an earlier-happier?-age. "I suppose you're going to lecture me," she said with a scowl, pulling the doors to and flopping on to a chair.
    "What about?" Sarah took another chair and folded the Barbour across her chest. It was bitterly cold, even with the doors closed.
    "Smoking."
    Sarah shrugged. "I'm not in the habit of lecturing."
    Ruth stared at her with moody eyes. "Your husband said Granny called you her scold's bridle. Why would she do that if you didn't tick her off for nagging?"
    Sarah looked out of the windows to where the huge cedar of Lebanon, after which the house was named, cast a long shadow on the grass. As she watched, the blustery wind drove a cloud across the sun and wiped the shadow away. "We didn't have that sort of relationship," she said, turning back to the girl. "I enjoyed your grandmother's company. I don't recall any occasion when a ticking-off would have been appropriate."
    "
I
wouldn't have liked being called a scold's bridle."
    Sarah smiled. "I found it rather flattering. I believe she meant it as a compliment."
    "I doubt it," said the girl bluntly. "I suppose you know she used the bridle on my mother when my mother was a child?" She smoked the cigarette nervously, taking short, rapid drags and expelling the smoke through her nose. She saw Sarah's disbelief. "It's true. Granny told me about it once. She hated people crying, so whenever Mum cried she used to lock her in a cupboard with that thing strapped to her head. Granny's father did it to her. That's why she thought it was all right."
    Sarah waited but she didn't go on. "That was cruel," she murmured.
    "Yes. But Granny was tougher than Mum and, anyway, it didn't matter much what you did to children when Granny was young, so being punished by wearing a bridle was probably no different from being thrashed with a belt. But it was awful for my mother." She crushed the cigarette under her foot. "There was no one to stand up for her and take her side. Granny could do what she liked whenever she liked."
    Sarah wondered what the girl was trying to tell her. "It's an increasingly common problem, I'm afraid. Men, under stress, take their problems out on their wives. Women, under stress, take theirs out on their children, and there's nothing more stressful for a woman than to be left holding the baby."
    "Do you condone what Granny did?" There was a wary look in her eyes.
    "Not at all. I suppose I'm trying to understand it. Most children in your mother's position suffer constant verbal abuse, and that is often as damaging as the physical abuse, simply because the scars don't show and nobody outside the family knows