Jackson Is Missing

by Wendy Gill

  “Isaac and I will stop off at The Retreat on our way up and drop you off, then we shall carry on and do a tour of Scotland just like we had planned. We will call at The Retreat on our way home to travel back with Freddie. If you have not enjoyed your stay, then you will be welcome to return to Bossett with Isaac and me.”

  “You make it sound so simple Miss Charlotte. Can it be so easy?”

  “There is nothing to stop you doing anything you want to do now, is there?”

  “Do you think her ladyship would approve of me going up to Scotland?”

  “Not only do I think she would approve Miss Tubby, I think she would say, ’If you do not take this opportunity, then you are not the woman I thought you were’, she would be delighted for you.”

  “In that case, I shall do it,” Miss Tubby dried her eyes and sat up straight.

  “Thank you, Miss Charlotte, I know you are Lady Singleton now, but you will always be Miss Charlotte to me, and you know my child, you made her ladyship very, very happy by marrying Isaac. She passed peacefully away in her sleep knowing that he will be well cared for, thank you for that.”

  Charlotte stood up and took Miss Tubby by the hand and taking her into the dowager’s bedroom she said, "Right, hopefully by tomorrow afternoon we shall be on our way back to Scotland. As you will not be getting paid at The Retreat, why don’t you pack as many of these clothes of grandmamma’s that you want into a couple of trunks and take them with you. Except for her wedding dress, I should like to keep that myself. Anything else of hers that you want Miss Tubby, you pack. I know grandmamma would want you to have all her clothes rather than throw them away.

  “They will be far too big for you, but you will have ample time to alter them to fit you, or even pass some on to any of the women at The Retreat you think might benefit from them. Get packing Miss Tubby, you had better be ready to go straight after the funeral, or we shall leave you behind, there’s no time to waste.”

  Part Three

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was six months since Ella and Mr Grundy had moved into Mr Grundy’s house on West Street. Jackson and Blanche had moved into Mr Grundy’s end terrace house on Haywood Street and PC Keyser had moved into Charlie’s old house. Ruth, PC Keyser’s daughter had married her policeman and had moved back to Hotshell with him.

  Before they had moved, Charlie had blocked off the bolthole he had made leading into Clarence’s house. Fran had insisted on him making the bolthole in case he needed a way of escape one day. She had said that he met some very nasty characters in his line of work. Fortunately, he had never had cause to use it, but he was glad to know it had been there if ever he did.

  Jackson had agreed that Charlie should brick the wall up connecting the two bedrooms up again. He told Charlie he didn’t want PC Keyser creeping into his house and molesting Blanche whilst he was at work, for he had seen the way PC Keyser had looked at Blanche that first day he had laid eyes on her in the sickroom.

  Jackson had made a good job of turning Fran’s workshop into a veterinary surgery, and his reputation was slowly growing.

  But the side stairway that connects the workshop to the house had been left in place. Jackson had no intention of blocking that off. It was handy for both he and Blanche to nip from the house to the workshop, it would be very useful when the weather turned inclement, especially in the winter months. Living in Scotland, Jackson had seen some harsh winter months.

  Blanche was getting a bigger tummy every week and she would be glad when the baby finally arrived. She was finding it more and more difficult to get out of chairs but once she was standing, she was very mobile. Being pregnant had not slowed her down any.

  Mrs Moyer was a regular visitor and Mr Moyer was monitoring the situation from afar.

  Charlie had gone to live with his grandmother and was busy working the estate. Arrangements had been made for Charlie and Ella to be married and that was three weeks away.

  Lord Mooreway woke early next morning, sleeping the sleep of the innocent, dreamless and restful and he was raring to go. He ate his last crust of bread and drank a mug of cold clean spring water.

  He was sitting at the table while contemplating his next move, inviting his mother to join in and agree with him. She did not. He decided it would be best if he got his bearings, study the lay of the land. Find the best entry into this Retreat. That was his goal.

  Henry had to try to find out when the best time to strike would be, in and out without anyone seeing him, no witness, that was his plan. Nobody to inform on him, he would be invisible, then the tittle tattlers would not be able to wag their tongues.

  But he intended to let Marcy know who it was that had attacked her. His intention was to strike from behind, knock her to the floor then sit on her, just like he had done to his mother, then she would know who her attacker was, but she would be in no condition to tell anybody.

  There would only be his mother and he that would know who had done such damage to that little face, and the thought pleased him. His mother would be proud of him.

  Henry had decided he was not going to kill Marcy straight off, he was just going to take her back to his shack and teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget. He would make her pay, repeatedly. He would make her understand why he was doing it, why she had to pay.

  He had thought that it might be difficult to get her back to his shack, but he did not dwell on this problem for very long. Just the thought of catching her and seeing the look on her face when she saw him, soon emptied his mind of anything else. He relished the chase and capture. He would let events take their course.

  Marcy had been the cause of all his troubles. If it had not been for her, he would not have had to kill his mother, and his mother would still be alive today.

  Henry was so angry with Marcy he decided once he had her tied up in his shack, he was going to go to The Retreat and smash the place up. Why should Marcy have a nice home to live in when she had made him kill his mother? Not only had he lost his mother because of her, he had also lost his home and his money. If he went to the bank, the police would arrest him, and he was not going to let that happen, he was going to do what he had to do, then he would disappear.

  Henry would ask his mother to keep watch for him, let him know if anyone was about, if it was safe for him to make his move, let him know when Marcy was on her own. That would show his mother how good he was. Yes, that is what they would do. He and his mother would work together as a team from now on. His mother would be impressed by the way he worked, and she would tell him so.

  Henry was hungry. He had eaten the last of the food he had brought with him, so necessity made him venture into Marchum. Showing himself in public was the last thing that Henry wanted but as luck would have it, there was a farmer’s market on, and he was lost in the crowd. Spending the last of his money on provisions, he was now prepared to bide his time.

  He had no money left but that did not concern Henry, he would just break into somebody’s house and take what he wanted, he was now invisible.

  Six days later Henry stood up and went outside and headed for the edge of the wood. It was still early, the dawn chorus was in full swing and he listened to the sweet song of the birds while he stood, leaning against one of the tall wide trees, watching The Retreat. Henry had stood and watched and waited next to the same tree every morning for the past six days.

  He had seen Marcy on more than one occasion, but she had always been with somebody else. He wanted to get her on her own, he did not want any witnesses, he was going to do what he had to do, and then he was going to disappear. There would be no witnesses to what he had done, that was his intention.

  His patience was rewarded at last when he saw Marcy, shopping basket in her hand, walk the length of the drive and head in the opposite direction to where he was standing.

  Time to strike he decided, there was nobody around. The area was isolated but beautiful, heather was scattered all around on the rough undulating landscape.

  Marcy was
keeping to the barely visible footpath in the lush green grass. It was only kept trodden down by people walking into Marchum from The Retreat and back.

  Henry was gaining on Marcy; his feet were moving swiftly in her direction gaining on her with every rapid stride. His footfall was silent as he moved ever closer to her across the damp grass.

  Henry’s heart was racing, the anticipation that was running through his body and mind made him throw all caution to the wind, he had his goal in sight, and nothing else mattered, nothing else existed in his world except Marcy and himself.

  Henry had forgotten all his well thought out plans. His excitement was so great nothing else was in his head, only the chase. All he could think about was catching her and teaching her a lesson.

  “Not long now Mother, not long now, Mother,” he whispered to himself. His excitement growing at the thought of seeing the shock and surprise on Marcy’s face at the first blow he would deliver.

  Marcy had been an easy prey the first time he had hit her on the eve of their wedding day. That had been the first time he had ever hit a woman and he was surprised at the emotion that spread through him when he landed his first blow, at how much he had enjoyed hitting a woman.

  The way things looked now, she was going to be an easy prey once more. Marcy was seconds away from her fate and she was oblivious to his chasing her down. His excitement was so great seeing her sauntering forward, swinging her basket without a care in the world. He could hardly breathe with the anticipation running through him.

  He needed to see Marcy’s face. He wanted to see the life go out of her eyes, just like he had seen the life go out of his mother’s eyes when he heard her neck snap. There had been sheer anger and hatred in her eyes when she advanced on him, but when he had raised his head after the last cruel blow that had landed on his ear and his fist met her chin, Henry saw that all the anger and hatred had disappeared.

  There were only seconds before his mother had hit the floor, but it had been long enough for Henry to see his mother look at him with no anger or hatred in her eyes and he had liked that. There had been no love either, but at least it was a start, the hatred had gone and with that he hoped love would develop, he was satisfied, at least for the time being.

  Henry had forgotten he intended to take Marcy back to the shack. At that moment in time his need was to see the shock on her face on seeing him. He needed to see the life go out of her eyes as he landed that fatal blow. It would remind him of the revenge he had had on his mother. He had liked that.

  Marcy felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned to see Lord Mooreway standing behind her. After the first initial shock, instinct took over and she swung her basket in the direction of his head.

  Henry, not expecting this gave a roar of rage and his right hand had turned into a fist, aiming in the direction of Marcy’s nose.

  Marcy jumped back, but not quite quickly enough for she felt his fist graze her lip but not enough to knock her out. Everything that her aunt had taught her took over. Marcy lifted her knee and placed it between Henry’s legs.

  His rage was so intense that he barely felt it. His fist came up again and this time landed on the side of Marcy’s right eye making her stumble back. The heel of her shoe catching on the hem of her dress and she tripped and fell backwards onto the damp grass.

  Henry wasted no time in dropping to his knees, straddling her just like he had done to his mother and he brought up his right fist and took aim.

  Marcy was unable to move, but she knew what was coming. Fight until the last, do not give in. That is what her aunt had told her. Do not let yourself be a victim, even if you lose the fight, if you do not give in, you will not be a victim.

  So, grabbing the first thing she could with her free hand, Marcy found herself clutching the little finger of Henry’s left hand. Before he brought his fist down into her face, she yanked his little finger backwards with a sharp jerk as far as she could bend it and there was a satisfactory crack of bone.

  Henry, again taken by surprise and agony, gave a roar of pain and the fist that had been heading for Marcy’s face came down to cradle his left hand. All thought of Marcy was gone from his mind, his finger hurt.

  Marcy, sensing his pain and lack of concentration on her, pushed him off her with all the strength she could muster.

  Henry being off balance fell over onto the grass leaving Marcy free to jump up and she tried to run but her long dress made her stumble when the hem got caught, once again, under her shoe. Instinctively, she grabbed at her skirt and yanked the hem free and she was running away as fast as she could.

  She had not gone very far when she heard Henry chasing her down again, this time though he was not silent, his roars of rage brought terror to her face as she sped away.

  Henry caught her by her waist, this time pressing her to him and she kicked his shins and punched his left hand, aiming for the little finger until he released her, but not before giving her back a solid punch with his right hand, sending her flying again.

  Henry knew he could not go on fighting Marcy. He was in agony; he could no longer use his left hand. He knew he could not hope to overcome her now he only had one hand to fight her with.

  She was fighting like a wild cat and it was something he had not expected to happen. None of the other women had fought back, and it muddled his brain. He was no longer in control of the situation. This was not right. His mother had not fought back.

  He needed to have a word with his mother, she would tell him what to do, his mother would mend his broken finger, after all, that is what mothers do for their children, nurse them when they are hurt, and love them better.

  He needed to get back to his lair, heal himself and wait for the next time. He would be ready for her next time, and there would be no escape.

  So, Henry kicked Marcy in the ribs whilst she was trying to get to her feet and she went down again. Satisfied he had taught her a lesson for the time being he set off at a trot, back to the wood, back to the shack and back to try to find his mother. She would know what to do.

  Marcy had difficulty in breathing, but she stumbled to her feet and set off for Marchum, shopping basket discarded. She had heard there was a doctor there that would help people in need, one that demanded no money, well she had no money to pay for a doctor and she needed one now. She set off to find him.

  Marcy could feel herself getting weaker and weaker, it was sheer determination that kept her feet heading forward. She knew she did not have far to go. Marchum was only a mile away from The Retreat and she must have travelled at least half the distance before Henry had attacked her, so she kept on moving forward.

  Her eye was beginning to close, the one he had hit with his fist, she could also feel her lip swelling and her ribs and back hurt when she breathed.

  It had been Henry Mooreway. Marcy had recognised Henry Mooreway. Her aunt and the girls back at The Retreat might be in danger, she had to get to see this doctor, she had to get back and warn her aunt and the girls. They did not know what he was like, they had to be warned.

  The edge of Marchum was in sight now. Marcy knew West Street was the beginning of it and she also knew that the doctor lived on Haywood Street which was located at the bottom of West Street.

  By the time Marcy reached the edge of town, she was exhausted. She saw what looked like a porch covering the entrance to a door and she made for it. She found a wooden bench and she gratefully sat slowly down, her ribs hurting if she moved too suddenly. Marcy sat in the corner and rested her head on the side.

  She tried to take a few deep breaths but only succeeded in managing a few short gasps. Marcy closed her eyes; she would rest for a few moments then be on her way. There was no time for self-pity, she had to get back to The Retreat and warn them. No time to waste searching out a doctor, she was needed at The Retreat.

  Lord Mooreway sat down on the rickety chair that was placed at the table. He shouted for his mother. She did not come. He waited a while and called again, she was never there when h
e needed her. She had never been there when he needed her.

  His mother had called him names, not very nice names, she had hit him, she had ignored him but one day she would tell him she loved him. One day he would do something right and she would tell him he was a clever boy, a good boy. One day she would take him in her arms and tell him she loved him. The last time she had looked at him there was no hatred in her eyes; at least he had succeeded in that, if nothing else.

  These thoughts continually kept coming into his head. When would he get some peace? His mother would not leave him alone, he knows she never will. He had killed her, but he had not rid himself of her.

  His rage began to get the better of him again. His mother was never there when he wanted her, when he needed her.

  Henry took hold of his little finger that stood up awkwardly on his left hand and gave it a sudden yank. A wailing noise came from his mouth and his senses began to reel, he took deep long breaths until the nausea stilled itself.

  He had prepared two splints. He placed one of the splints gingerly under his little finger and the other one gently on top. Then he proceeded to bandage his hand with strips of linen he had torn off one of the old sheets that had been left on the single put-me-up bed that had belonged to the last occupant.

  After ten minutes sitting and brooding Henry decided he did not care anymore. He was going back to that Retreat. He was going to see if Marcy had returned. He had unfinished business with her, his hatred for her magnified by his failure once again, to master her.

  His mother had seen this. That is why she had left him. That is why she would not mend his finger. His mother was disgusted with him and it was all that Marcy’s fault. Everything was Marcy’s fault, he hated her. She had to be stopped, there was nothing else for it, and he knew that.

  Maybe if he put an end to Marcy it would put an end to his torment. Maybe his mother would leave him alone if there was no more Marcy to torment him with.