House of Secrets

by Lynda Stacey

  The photo had been taken during a holiday they’d shared during their time at school. It had been around the same time that he’d watched Madeleine outside her classroom; she was two years below him and had smiled once or twice as she’d walked past. He’d felt sure that the smile had meant something, felt sure that she was waiting for him to make his move and had risked everything to walk across the canteen to speak to her. But she’d turned her back on him, ignored him and had carried on speaking to her friends.

  And then, with good planning on his side, everything had fallen into place. He’d waited for hours in the snow, watched for her to emerge from her flat and had then performed the act of his life, crashing into her at just the right moment. Oh, she’d been sorry. He’d been hurt and just as he’d predicted, she’d invited him in. The rest had been history as he’d slowly become her friend, her confidante and she’d allowed him to manipulate her life, not realising for a moment that they’d been in the same school and he hadn’t thought to tell her. There would have been no point.

  He’d given himself a second chance. She was going to be his and for once in his life he was going to have what he wanted: a normal loving relationship with someone who wanted him too.

  He looked at the holiday photo and then between both Madeleine and Jess’s boards wondering which one it truly belonged to. Stepping back his foot stood on a discarded photo album making him slip and twist his knee.

  ‘Damn you!’ he screamed as he stared down at the object that had been tossed on the floor, next to an ornate photograph frame that he’d stamped on to break it in two. Cursing, he kicked them both to one side of the room as he walked over to a picture that lay on his desk. Madeleine’s father looked up at him. ‘Do I class you as murder too?’ He picked up the picture and tossed it in the bin. ‘No, you were too easy, just one little sachet in your drink, one dose was all it took and, with a little bit of persuasion, you flew like a bird. So, was it my doing, or yours? Besides, you didn’t play fair. I didn’t get to torture you, maim you or blindfold you.’ He shook his head. ‘No, you don’t get a board, though I’m glad that you’re gone. You tried to take Maddie away from me and no one takes her away from me.’

  He moved back to Madeleine’s board.

  ‘You think you can run, but you can’t hide, Maddie, darlin’. You should have loved me at school.’ The words fell from his mouth as he grabbed at his face and a sob reached his throat. ‘You almost made up for it, Maddie. I was happy, we were normal, we were a family. I almost forgave you. You should never have left me.’

  He picked up a large camping knife. It was pointed with a long serrated edge. He pressed the tip against his thumb, testing the sharpness of the blade. A bright red drop of blood ballooned up. Pushing his thumb in his mouth he began to suck away the fluid. The suckling gave him comfort like that of a mother giving comfort to her child.

  ‘You didn’t love me either, Mummy, did you?’ he sobbed as he looked over at the second board that he’d hung. Old black and white pictures of his mother covered the board. Again black marker pen obliterated her eyes. ‘I needed you to love me, but you loved her instead,’ he said as he stared at the board containing pictures of his younger sister.

  He’d never liked her. Never wanted her in his life and had no idea why his mother had needed a second child. She’d taken his place. Special they’d called her. Well, she was special now.

  The pictures stared back at him: a child of five, young, and tiny for her age, smiled for the camera with a vacant, dreamy and innocent look, that only a blind child could give. The photographs remained unmarked and unlike all the others, her eyes stared back.

  Walking over to the picture of Jess and Madeleine, he used the knife to separate the two. ‘Soon I’ll make sure that you’re parted forever, Maddie. You don’t need a sister and neither did I,’ he said as he pulled the half that contained Madeleine and walked across the room to pin the picture on her own board. He chose a place near the locket, picked up a pin and pushed it through her face. ‘Not so pretty now, are we? You bitch.’

  A knock at the front door made him jump. Following his normal routine, he locked the door carefully behind him, all three Yale locks. Opening the door to the servants’ staircase, he picked up the small pouch, hid the keys inside and then tucked the pouch carefully under the top step. He looked up and smiled as he saw the cage. That’s where most of them had ended up. Where they all begged for their life and where they’d all eventually died. He then shut and locked the door to the servants’ staircase with three keys on his keyring, then went to open the front door.

  Two figures stood waiting and he saw a hand rise up as they knocked again.

  Opening the door, two policemen stood before him, dressed in their traditional black uniforms.

  ‘Mr O’Grady?’ one of the policemen questioned as he placed a foot forward stopping Liam from slamming the door.

  ‘Yes, sir, what can I do for you?’ His Irish tone came over as gentle, friendly and composed.

  ‘We’re following up on the disappearance of a Miss Angelina Corby. Could we ask you a few questions, Mr O’Grady, please?’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  December 25th, 1942

  It is Christmas Day and the worst Christmas I have ever known. Yesterday morning Eddie’s mother was told that he is missing in action. Neither his commanding officer, nor his comrades know of his fate. All I can hope is that he is safe and well and that if he was killed in action that his torment was over quickly.

  I can’t bear to think that he has either died, or is out there alone, or even worse that he’s a prisoner of war and that he’s being tortured daily to find out the secrets of our country that he wouldn’t know. It could even be that he ran away from the war. He’s not a violent man and I know that he would not have enjoyed killing other human beings, but if he ran in an attempt to get home to me and has been caught, will he be court martialled?

  I pray that I’m not responsible for whatever has happened to my wonderful man. I honestly believe that my letters will have reached him by now and even though I can’t be sure, I will never forgive myself if the news of his unborn child was too much for him to bear and have nightmares that I may well have been in part responsible. Did he feel happy or sad to know that by the spring he’d be a father? Whatever went through his mind in those final days before he went missing, I only hope that my letters may have brought him some small comfort in the knowledge that he was very much loved.

  I am now left with a huge dilemma. The life within me is so small and defenceless and only has me to protect it. Already I feel a sense of overwhelming love and devotion to it and promise that once my child is born I will show it a photograph of its father every day in the hope that one day my Eddie returns to us. If he doesn’t, I need to ensure that the child grows up knowing who his father was and that he would have loved him just as much as I will.

  My dilemma is one of choice. Shall I run, take my baby and go? It’s an option that I have to consider, but I have no idea where I would go. Everyone I know is a friend of either my mother or my father, which means that turning to them is impossible and to leave with nothing would mean that I’m penniless and without a home. Father would abandon me, disown me and expect everyone else to disown me too.

  I could go abroad. But both America and Europe are out of the question. The war is too dangerous and America is too far. I have to be sure that if Eddie does come home, I will be here with his child to greet him, which means that my options are limited.

  Madeleine looked up at Bandit who still lay beside her. ‘That’s awful, she had nightmares too, just like you do.’ She grabbed for a tissue, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  Bandit held Madeleine close and dropped a kiss lightly on her forehead, just as the bedroom door burst open and both Poppy and Jess burst in. ‘Mummy—’

  Jess stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh my goodness, Maddie. Err, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she shouted as she immediately closed her eyes, grabbed Pop
py and pulled her back out of the room, slamming the door behind her. ‘We’ll just go get a cup of tea. Come on, Poppy, let’s go see Nomsa, I smell cake.’

  Madeleine could hear the panic in her sister’s voice and held her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud.

  ‘But I wanna see Mr Bang’it man.’

  Jess coughed. ‘Poppy, you have no idea how much of Mr Bang’it man you almost got to see.’ Jess’s voice echoed through the corridor and Madeleine could hear Poppy protesting loudly as she was being dragged towards the stairs.

  Madeleine looked at Bandit and finally burst out laughing.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he whispered as he dropped a kiss on her lips, pulled back the sheets and began searching for his jeans.

  ‘No you don’t,’ she said as she dragged him back beneath the sheets. ‘You don’t think they’ll come back any time soon, do you?’ She shook her head. ‘Besides, they’ve seen us now. Secret’s out, I’m afraid. Come back to bed.’

  ‘Really, you’re quite the temptress, Mrs Frost. Now, do tell, what do you want me to come back to bed for?’

  ‘Well, actually, I thought we could read some more of Emily’s diary.’ A saucy giggle left her lips as she picked up the book and dropped it in his lap.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ‘There you go, my girl, eat up your soup,’ Nomsa said as she placed a steaming bowl of beetroot and apple soup down on the table in front of Jess.

  ‘Thanks, can I have some of that yummy bread too?’ she asked, pointing to some crusty bread buns that stood on a cooling tray next to the range. Steam still rose from them, making the kitchen smell all warm and homely.

  ‘Of course you can, my lovely girl.’ Nomsa laughed as she walked to the tray, picked out two rolls and passed them to Jess.

  ‘Nom Nom, we came to see you,’ Poppy shouted as she took one look at Jess’s soup, turned her nose up and immediately jumped up beside Jess, cuddling in.

  ‘You want some of my soup?’ Jess asked as Poppy frantically shook her head and clamped her hand over her mouth.

  ‘If you ask Nomsa nicely she might find you something yummy to eat or we could go out and play with Buddy. Would you like that?’

  Poppy nodded.

  ‘Jess said we had to come for cake, but I wanna go play on the bed with Mummy and Mr Bang’it man,’ she announced loudly as she picked up the glass of juice that Nomsa had put in front of her, took a gulp and wiped her mouth with her sleeve making everyone else in the room turn around and stare.

  Jess shrugged her shoulders, stifled a giggle and picked up a mug of tea that Nomsa had put before her. Lifting it to her lips, she began to sip it slowly in the hope that she could blend into the surroundings and no one would question her as to what Poppy had meant.

  ‘I’m going to go and get Buddy,’ Poppy ran straight to the back door and jumped up to grab the key.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t, madam,’ Nomsa said as she stopped Poppy from pulling the key from the door, grabbed her by the arm and sat her back at the table. She locked the back door, pulled the key out from the lock, held it up in the air for Poppy to see and then placed it in her pocket. ‘You’re not going out there, young lady, until you’ve had something to eat.’

  ‘Jess said we could take Buddy out while Mummy was playing with Mr Bang’it man.’

  ‘Poppy, enough, for goodness’ sake. I think you’ve made it very clear and I think everyone heard you the first time and the second time and I’m sure your mummy will be very pleased how enthusiastically you just told everyone.’ Jess picked up the bowl and wiped her bread around it to soak up the soup.

  Poppy smiled and looked pleased with herself until Nomsa placed a small sandwich before her, making her frown. ‘Eat the sandwich, or you get no cake.’

  ‘Huggle me, Nom Nom,’ Poppy asked as she raised her arms up to Nomsa for a hug.

  ‘Cupboard love, that’s what you give, my girl,’ she said with a smile as she sat on the edge of the bench to cuddle the youngster, just as she felt Poppy’s hand reach into her pocket to grab the key.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t.’ She spoke a moment too late. The key flew up into the air and as though in slow motion, it spun and spiralled before clattering down behind the Aga. ‘Poppy, where did it go?’

  Poppy shrugged her shoulders and began to sheepishly eat the sandwich as both Nomsa and Jess got on their knees and began looking in and around the chimney breast where the range stood. The floor was clean and tiled and a key would have easily been seen if it were there.

  ‘Bernie, you are going to have to pull this out. It must have got trapped behind there.’ Nomsa pointed to the chimney breast.

  Bernie’s eyebrows rose up. ‘If you think I’ve got time to dismantle that right now, you’re kidding yourself. Besides, it’s hot and I’ve got sixty people to feed and they are not going to feed themselves. You are going to have to wait till after dinner.’ He stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Now, I could use some help with chopping the vegetables, if you don’t mind.’

  Jess’s mobile began to ring and she turned away to answer it.

  Jess closed her eyes. ‘Not again. Has someone broken in?’ she paused and listened. ‘But the place is almost empty. It can’t be that bad. Can it?’ She opened her eyes and held her head in her hands. ‘Thank you, I’ll be right there.’ She looked up at Nomsa and thought for a moment. It had been half an hour since she’d left Madeleine and Bandit alone upstairs and knew that they’d have followed her down by now to find Poppy if they weren’t in a position where they didn’t want to be disturbed. This was Madeleine’s time to be happy, she deserved it and Jess had no intention of interrupting her.

  ‘Listen, Nomsa, can you watch Poppy till Maddie comes down? That was the police. Sounds like someone broke into my flat again.’

  ‘I sure can, my girl. When are you going to finish emptying that nasty place and come live here permanently?’ Nomsa asked as she smiled hopefully. ‘Leave her with me. She can help me make the chocolate cookies for us to eat after tea.’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  March 9th, 1943

  I know it’s been a while since I’ve written in my diary, but so much has happened, I barely know where to begin.

  My baby arrived last week and I have named him Edward Arthur after his father.

  I didn’t know what to do or what was happening to me when the pain hit like a battering ram. I’ve never felt pain like it and now I understand what Mother had meant. I was so cold and so very alone and to make it worse, it began to snow.

  I took the secret staircase and hid in the room by the bell tower. It was the only place I could go where I knew I’d be safe. Where I could scream and be sure that no one would hear. I have no idea why the room was built, the only thing that I know for sure is that whoever built the house designed the room in with the plans and needed it to be secret for a reason.

  The room was my perfect hiding place. Except for when the bell chimed and the whole room shook along with the staircase. For some time following Edward Arthur’s birth, I hid him up there, wrapped in towels and blankets, and no one suspected a thing.

  That was until Father returned from London and discovered me sneaking to the stairs.

  Up until then, I thought I’d got away with my deceit. I’d sleep with him each night beneath the bell tower, then creep down early in the morning and wait until both Father and Mother had busied themselves with Rose. Then I made excuses of needing air or exercise, but one day it had been raining and I knew that I’d already left Edward Arthur alone for far too long and that he’d be both wet and hungry. But I’d suffered badly after the birth; every part of me was in pain and as I got to the staircase entrance and my hand reached for the door handle, I remember my body doubling beneath me. The next thing I knew Father had hold of me. He helped me up to the room and lay me on the bed where a fever took over my body and I must have slept for days.

  When I finally woke, Edward Arthur was by my side. He lay in an old, but
newly painted crib, all white with pretty little yellow ducks. The bed that I slept on now had blankets and all I can think is that Father must have bought them for me as I don’t recognise them from the house, nor did I recognise the patterned curtains or the huge rag rug made from brown and cream squares.

  My father looked after me at a time when I least expected him to, at a time when I’d have thought he’d disown me rather than look at me and for a while afterwards, I couldn’t understand why he’d do any of this at all.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  A loud bang, followed by a shrill alarm, a continuous beep … beep … beep … beep noise came from somewhere in the distance as Madeleine woke up with a start. Her chest felt tight and she began to cough. It was dark and her hand reached out to her side but Bandit had already jumped out of bed.

  She reached for the light but the electric failed and she began to panic as her breathing became heavier and more laboured.

  ‘Bandit, what … what’s that noise?’ She coughed again, caught her breath and tried to take a deep breath but pain seared through her lungs.

  Bandit had run to the door. He opened it to reveal a bright glow from the stairway.

  He slammed the door shut, leaned against it for a second and took a moment to think. ‘Jesus Christ, Maddie, we have to get out. It’s a fire. It’s blocking the stairs.’ His words were controlled yet Madeleine could tell that he too was struggling to breathe. He began to cough and covered his mouth with his hand. Then he scrambled around the room in the darkness, grabbed at the sheets and pulled them into the bathroom, where he turned on the taps, dropped them into the bath and soaked them before throwing them across the gap at the bottom of the door.

  ‘That should help.’ He pulled on his clothes and threw Madeleine hers. ‘Get dressed, we don’t have much time,’ he shouted as he grabbed a rucksack from the side of the bed. ‘Right, what can you not live without?’