The Key to Hiding

by Wendy Reakes

  At the same time each year, as if it was a well-rehearsed annual ritual, Marely, with Celia planned their escape from the attic. Before the household went off to Italy for the summer, they talked at length about how it could be done, but each time, there had been a reason not to go, as if fate was making things happen to keep them locked up for good.

  The year Rain had turned one, she’d caught the pox. Master John caught it, much to the distress of the mistress who had, a few days before, given permission for him to mix with some local children. Then he’d passed it to Rain.

  While they nursed John through that week, not knowing if he would live or die, Marley’s child had suffered too. Celia was run-ragged, looking after Master John as she offered Rain the same treatment. The only benefit John had, that was not available to Rain, was being whisked off to a foreign land to recuperate in the sun. Instead, Marley had kept her daughter out on the attic terrace where the English sun served her just fine.

  By the time Rain turned three, she had spent the last of her money on tickets to Taunton, which Celia, as in previous years, had purchased prior to her departure. When the family decided to delay their trip to Italy due to the unrest in Europe, her plans were once again thwarted. After the death of Queen Victoria on January 22, 1901, at the ripe old age of 81, following a reign of sixty-four years, the whole country went into mourning and no one was travelling. Instead of holidaying in Europe, that year, the family had, once again, taken off to Brighton with only a handful of servants, thus preventing Marley from fleeing in June.

  Apart from having no more money to start a new life with Rain, Marley began to wonder about how pleased she’d felt when they were given another excuse not to leave the safety of their secret home. The welfare of her daughter was the most important matter in her life. How then, could Marley be happy about never leaving the attic? Was it her way of keeping her safe from harm, from the world out there, so wicked and dangerous. Look what had happened to her…and to Porter…look what had happened to him! Maybe she was right to keep her daughter shut away from that cruel world.

  With a notion like that in her head, she was always prone to thinking about the black-haired lout and the image she had seen that night three years earlier, when she found the little bird and left Rain on the Mistress’s bed. Marley couldn’t make head or tail of it, but she was determined to find out why the Mistress had a likeness that resembled the man who effectively, by his dastardly deed, had changed Marley’s life.

  When she and Celia had a good hour together in the comfort of her attic parlour, she shared her thoughts about the curious incident. “Have you ever noticed the picture, Celia?” The small hand-painted image had been set among several other family pictures all grouped together in various shaped gilt-edged frames.

  “No, never, but I shall go and look when I go into the Mistress’s boudoir later,” she said with wide eyes. “You probably just saw someone who looked like the black-haired lout, that’s all. Because, Marley, what on earth would a picture of that terrible man be doing on the wall of this family’s house?”

  “Well, it wasn’t a man. He looked about three or four years old. A proper portrait done in a studio.”

  “So, most babies look the same, don’t they? And not many end up as they looked when they were babies. My mam told me I was blonde when I was born but look at me now.” She prodded her dark brown hair beneath her mob cap.

  “Yes, I suppose so. But…it was that smile…those features…it looked so much like the black-haired lout, at the time it startled me good and proper.”

  She shook her head “I don’t think you’re on the right path with this one, Marley.”

  She looked so serious, Marley chuckled. “Okay, Celia. But I would like to find out more about William. Who was he and where was he now?”

  She gave her a familiar look of assurance. “Don’t worry about that. I can find out all sorts from me mam. Although she does chastise me sometimes, saying she’s never known anyone to gossip about other people’s business as much as I.” She smiled as she thought about her dear mother. “Speaking of my mam,” Celia said, “She’s been curious about where I go when I have time off.”

  I gasped. “What did you say?”

  “Well, lucky for me, we rarely spend our relaxing time together. My mam never stops, or so it seems, but when she does she always stays in the servant’s hall.” Celia’s eyes were wide with mystery. “Anyway, I told her I go up to our room to read -she was very happy with that one- and I told her that sometimes I just go for a nice brisk walk.” Celia smoothed the creases from her apron as she talked. “Then she asked me what I was reading since we possessed no books of any kind. So, I said I had permission to take suitable novels from the Master’s library as long as I looked after them and put them back in the right place when I’d finished. The Mistress really did tell me that,” she finished with a nod.

  “But what if she asks you about the story you’re supposed to be reading? Won’t she get suspicious if you can’t tell her anything about it?”

  “That’s where you’ll come in,” Celia said in her best sleuth-like manner.

  “What,” Marley gushed, anxious to hear her plan.

  “I’m going to bring it up here for you to read and then you can give me a brief summarisation when I pop in.”

  She thought about her logic. “But what if she asks where the book is?”

  “I’ll have a different book lying around and when you finish the first I’ll replace it with that one, like a rota system,” she said, satisfied she’d thought of everything. It just means I’ll have two books out at a time, but no one will notice, considering the size of the master’s library.”

  “Well, I’d be very keen to read some good novels.”

  “There you are, then. And he has an excellent collection from Mr Conan Doyle.”

  “I think you should be careful, Celia…about your mam asking questions and all.”

  “Don’t worry about me mam, Marley. I will make it look like I’ve got my head in a book whenever she sees me, and she’ll soon lay off. And in the meantime, I’m going to find out as much as I can about baby William.”

  Marley Too went in search of her own evidence. Long ago she had cause to suspect that the reason all of George’s belongings were up in the attic was because of some deep family secret which could bring shame down on Wilbury House. At least that’s how her suspicious and often overly-dramatic mind thought of it. Lying before her, under the eaves somewhere, could be something she had overlooked.

  It was a windy day in October when, during Rain’s regular afternoon nap, Marley went wandering around the attic she now knew like the back of her hand. She had a quick rummage through Elizabeth’s packing trunks and found nothing new to enlighten her, although she did happen upon some coloured threads she’d missed the last time when putting together all the needlepoint material she needed to finish the embroidery. She was still sewing the whites and pale pinks of the face with some darker shades outlining the contours of the cheeks and nose, but even now, three years later, she still had no way of recognising William’s features. If indeed it was William at all. One day she would know, but the project could take her years.

  With the extra threads stuffed into the pocket of her winter coat, she went amongst George’s things, to see if there was something she had missed. She shook her head when she saw the box with the empty sections. Each year she promised to return the silver items, but each year, as her attempts to escape the attic were ruined, the items were once again brought out for her own special use.

  That day, as she rummaged around the bottom of George’s wardrobe, she pulled away the hatbox containing his shiny black top hat and delved deeper into the back of the robe, hoping to discover a secret panel or something, but there was nothing. Then, just when she was about to give up, she stumbled on her bended knees and accidently tripped over the hat box. As the lid slid across the wooden floor and she went to retrieve it, there, between the white tissue paper, she s
aw something odd. She reached inside and pulled out the hat and that’s when a bundle of letters tied with red ribbon fell to the floor at her feet.

  When Celia came up to the attic that night, she still hadn’t opened the bundle.

  “Go on,” she urged, staring at the letters resting on my lap. “Read them.”

  She turned to her with a frown on her face, revealing her untold guilt. “They’re private.”

  “Marley, that won’t matter much now. George is dead and so is Elizabeth.”

  “Did you find anything out?”

  Once again, Celia’s eyes enlarged as she relayed the information she had gathered from her mother. “‘You’re a one for gossip, my girl,’ me mam said to me.” Celia spoke in a hoity-toity voice to demonstrate her mother’s admonishment. “She said ‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter since it was so long ago’.” Celia winked. I’d never seen her wink before. “Well, this is what she said…She said His Lordship…that’s George…married Elizabeth, a country girl from out Frome way. His father had been set against the match, since Elizabeth wasn’t a lady, nor connected to any noble blood of any sort.” Celia licked her lips as she relayed the story. “When George insisted that Elizabeth was accepted into the family as his wife, after she fell pregnant with his Lordship…that’s the current Lord…George’s father agreed to keep George as his one true heir in favour of his brother who had gone off to fight in the Boar War.” Celia took a long deep breath. “When the brother was killed at the front, and the old Lord passed on, George rightly inherited everything. That’s that. Not much else to tell.” She paused. “Oh, and Elizabeth died in childbirth when she had His lordship.”

  “So, who’s William?” Marley asked.

  Celia shook her head. “My mam made no mention of a baby called William.”

  “And why are all of George’s things still here in the attic, instead of passed on?”

  Celia pouted. “I don’t rightly know the answer to that.”

  They both looked down at the letters. Maybe now was the time to open them.

  The following morning, Celia whizzed in with a new book for Marley to read. She’d just finished Swiss Family Robinson and had relayed the premise of the story to Celia in case she was quizzed by her mother. How odd that she had related so well Johann David Wyss’s story, even though it had been written almost a hundred years before, in 1812. Marley was a castaway like the characters in the story, living on her own precarious island.

  As they swapped books, she stared at the beautiful leather-bound novel of Jane Eyre, published in 1847 under the pen name of Currer Bell. Of course, the nom de plume belonged to no other than Charlotte Bronte as the world discovered later on, and now she longed to begin reading it, wondering if she would once again relate to the characters in the book? A lone woman, in a lone house, living a lone life. Yes, that was her.

  They opened the first letter together. It was the only one they would ever read, since they found out all they needed to know in that single one, dated 1874. It went like this:

  My darling Elizabeth,

  Finally, father has agreed to our marriage. I have dreamed of this moment for so long, ever since we met at the tailgate. Do you remember, darling, how my horse nearly ploughed you down? I was in such a rush and a fool to have spoken so harshly to you, my future wife. You didn’t mind. You were and still are the sweetest girl and the privilege of marriage belongs only to me, honoured and deeply endeared that you would take on an old fool such as I.

  I have had many gloriously happy days since we met, but this one today, as I have only an hour ago received the blessing of my father, is one to top all days. Of course, together, our happiest days are to come, after I watch you walk down the aisle towards me, your love, your friend and your lover.

  Darling, we have talked at length about William, how much I shall enjoy being his father in the true sense of the word. I shall love him as I love his mother and he will never again be treated as an outcast for as long as I am here to protect him.

  Father has requested we wait to bring William here to Wilbury House and thank you for agreeing to leave him, just for a short while until our marriage is accepted and acknowledged. He will be well cared for by your good parents and I shall set up means for them so that, as long as you are apart, dearest William will want for nothing.

  Soon, we shall bring him here and he will be a treated as the son of a Lord, as our future children shall also.

  Oh, my darling, how I long for you, to share our lives together, to become a family as we have dreamed.

  Tonight, you will come to the house and we shall officially announce our engagement. I will send a carriage for you, my love, my angel.

  Until then, Yours, George, Earl of Wilbury.

  “So, there we have it, Marley,” Celia said quietly, as she watched her slide the letter back under the red wax seal. “William was Elizabeth’s love child. A bastard. It must have been quite the scandal.”

  Marley nodded her agreement, but something was playing on her mind and she couldn’t shake it off. “Celia, did you say Elizabeth was from out Frome way?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Oh, my God, Celia. Is it possible that baby William became the black-haired lout?”

  Celia’s wide eyes remained fixed on her quivering lips. “No…that’s impossible. He couldn’t be.”

  Marley got down on the floor and pulled something out from underneath the bed. It was a picture wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. She’d found it between the two sea chests years ago. At the time, she was ashamed for rummaging through the family’s personal items and so, she decided not to unwrap the paper; not to go snooping into something that wasn’t hers to snoop at. At the time, it was her saving grace, one thing less to tug at her conscience.

  “Do you think we should I look at it?”

  Celia looked as cautious as she. “Perhaps it won’t harm, as long as we wrap it back up again.”

  Marley nodded as she untied the knot. The string fell off and she opened the picture. Inside, was an image of a family set in a gilt frame. The people were dressed in early Victorian attire, their faces glum and their bodies in rigid poses.

  Marley pointed to the man and lady, “George and Elizabeth, perhaps?”

  Celia nodded. “Yes, that would be a fair assumption. There is a portrait in the main hall and they look like these people.” Elizabeth was holding a baby dressed in a laced shawl. “That must be the current master.”

  They turned the picture over where they saw a faded date, 1875. “That would tie in with the letter. If they married in 1874, the baby was born a year later.”

  She pointed to a youth standing in front of the handsome couple, a boy of about four-years-old. “That must be William,” she said. “Elisabeth’s child before she married the George.”

  They both paused to ponder the family’s history. “William would be about twenty-six now.”

  Marely looked at the image of the child, with his black hair under a cap and a look to his eyes that chilled her bones.

  “Celia,” Marley said as her breath faltered, and a feeling of disgust surged though her body. “If William is the black-haired lout, that would make William Rain’s father…

  Celia gasped. “…and that would make Rain, Elizabeth’s granddaughter.”

  They observed a good five minute’s silence as they both contemplated the implications of such a revelation.

  Chapter 24

  April 1903

  Now that Rain was five, her paintings became more impressive as she aged and as she practiced. Marley’s favourite -not Celia’s- was of the green meadows she painted from the terrace outside the attic. Her clever daughter had spent hours looking out across the balustrade to the view across the fields. At first, the picture seemed child-like; flat with different shades of green running into each other in blocks and random lines. The thick lumpy black and dark greens streaked across the canvas as if the paint had been scraped on without care, but when th
e painting was hung, when the light reflected upon them, the fields came alive with hedgerows and trees standing above the canvas as if they were alive.

  The painting was the largest she’d ever been allowed to use. The sheets were a gift from Celia when she was told by her mother to put them in the linen cupboard in the servant’s quarters. Marley was wary at first, until Celia explained they were to be used as dust sheets, when they had so many of them anyway. “They won’t be missed,” she’d said handing her a bundle of starched white sheets. “Do you have more frames?”

  Marley pieced together three different size frames to stretch the sheets and nail them as tight as she could with tacks. “We have to re-use the frames each time, which is a shame since the finished paintings can’t be seen without a frame to stretch them on.”

  Celia chuckled, “But, at the rate she’s going, you wouldn’t have much more room to hang them.”

  They’d both laughed at the notion of the attic being filled with Rain’s paintings. A true give-away should someone go looking.

  It was true. As each picture was completed and enjoyed for a number of days until Rain needed the frames again, they were taken and stored in Elizabeth’s trunks so that they were properly preserved. She told Rain, that one day, when they were free to leave, they shall display them all at once as if they were living in a proper art gallery. She’d nodded her understanding with a smile. Silently embracing her mother, she locked away the paintings in the trunk and turned the key.

  Last Christmas, Celia had presented Rain with a selection of coloured oil paints, bought from the village out of money she had saved from her monthly earnings. Marley had cried at the thoughtful and most useful gift. As a gesture to Celia, for everything she meant to them, Marley gave her one of Rain’s pictures. The one Celia had preferred out of them all.