Twenty-three
‘Nain?’
‘Hello, cariad. What a lovely surprise.’
The sound of her grandmother’s voice almost made Verity cry.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Everything’s fine. I felt like a chat.’ The telephone receiver was sticky in her hand. ‘How’s Gethin?’
‘Gethin’s as good as it gets. Now then, my lovely, what’s up with you?’
How does she manage to do that?
‘Nain, can I ask you something?’
‘Anything you like; you know you can.’
‘It’s about Angharad Lewis.’
There was a small pause, as if the line had gone dead.
‘Nain?’
‘I’m still here, cariad. You took me by surprise, that’s all. What about Angharad Lewis?’
‘Do you remember her? You told us about her ages ago.’
‘Of course I remember her. Why do you want to know about her now? I was expecting you to be complaining about your mother.’
‘I can; if you want me to.’
Mared laughed and immediately Verity felt better. Her grandmother’s laugh sounded as comforting as hot chocolate or the softest quilt.
‘What reminded you about Angharad Lewis?’
Verity swallowed. ‘Oh, some gossip Meredith heard.’
‘Go on.’
‘We got talking about her, and we wondered, was she a real person or was she made up.’
‘Oh, she was real all right. It’s a very sad story.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, for one thing, they said she was mad and if you ask me that’s a very unkind thing to say about any child. My mother knew all about her. She showed me a book written by some local historian. Oh, I don’t know – Victorian houses and asylums or something. Gull House was mentioned, and poor Angharad.’
‘Do you know what happened to her?’
‘Not really. She was supposed to have had some sort of breakdown and they committed her to that old asylum and then she died.’
‘She died in the asylum?’
‘I’m pretty sure that’s what happened. There was some talk of her running away. It wasn’t in the book mind; my mother told me that part, and about her committing suicide, but who knows? Your great grandmother wasn’t the full ticket either, bless her.’
‘So is Angharad buried in the chapel down by us?’
‘I wouldn’t think so, cariad. Suicides weren’t allowed to be buried in hallowed ground.’
‘That’s awful,’ Verity said.
Her grandmother went on. ‘And not something you or your sister ought to be dwelling on. I should never have told you.’
Verity hesitated. ‘Nain, did you ever get a sense of her? In the house?’
‘What? Like a ghost? Good grief no, whatever made you think that?’
‘Oh, nothing, just some silliness of Meri’s. You know what she’s like.’
‘Indeed I do, cariad.’
‘How old would Angharad have been, when she died?’
‘About seventeen or eighteen? She would have been sheltered and probably young for her age; living there in those days, isolated and most likely not going to school. Girls didn’t, not the gentry at any rate. A lot of poor girls were locked up in those days for all sorts of things. Older ones too; they were dreadful times for women.’
‘Why would her parents do that?’
Nain said she couldn’t say; things were different a hundred years ago. ‘There was a brother if I remember rightly; it was only a small mention in that book. The rest of it was mostly gossip and rumour and honestly I can’t remember. Maybe my mam told me that bit too – about her having a brother, so it could be a lot of nonsense.’ Mared laughed. ‘She loved the old tales and the gossip, Dilys did. Those stories might not go away, they do get exaggerated.’
‘Have you still got it?’ Verity realised she was holding the telephone receiver so tightly the plastic in her hand was hot enough to melt. ‘The book.’
‘Well, yes, I expect so; it’ll be there, in the house. I wouldn’t have brought a book like that all the way to London.’
Verity took a deep breath, tried to sound a lot more casual than she felt. ‘So, do you know where it might be?’
‘Goodness, you are keen to find out about her, aren’t you?’
‘You know what Meredith’s like when she’s got a bee in her bonnet.’
‘No change there then.’ Mared laughed again and said, ‘It’ll keep her occupied I suppose. Local history – maybe you can call it a proper lesson, instead of the rubbish your mother pretends to teach you.’
‘Oh, Nain, you are funny. We miss you ever so much.’
‘I’ve only been back home five minutes!’
It may as well be five years.
‘I miss you too, more than I can say.’ Mared paused again. ‘Now then, if I were you, I’d try the bookcase in the tower room, the one with the glass front and the encyclopaedias and your grandfather’s war books. If that old book’s anywhere, it’ll be there.’
‘That’s brilliant, Nain, thanks.’
‘His name was Emlyn Trahaearn, the chap who wrote it.’ Mared gave a small hoot. ‘There, I remember it now – same as Mari Trahaearn from the shop. You know who I mean.’
Verity did. ‘She’s still there.’
‘No, no. You’re thinking of her daughter, Llinos. I’m talking about the old lady.’
‘Right.’
‘Llinos still giving your mam credit is she?’
Verity didn’t answer.
‘You don’t have to do it, Verity. I know she won’t like it but you are allowed to say no. I should have had a word last time…’
‘Please don’t, Nain. It’s all right and she hardly ever…’
‘If you say so, cariad. Now then, come on, I want to hear your real news. Are you eating properly and how are my chickens? And apart from chasing ghosts, what else have you and your sister been up to?’
Seeing them?
Verity made up some stuff about the beach and the woods, they talked about the chickens until Mared said she had to go and see to Gethin.
‘Give your mother my love, cariad, and tell her to keep in touch.’
They rarely ventured into the tower room. Allegra kept her unsold paintings in there. Otherwise she avoided it. It had once been their grandfather’s study. After he died, Mared had quietly tidied her husband away leaving only the space and some dull furniture.
Verity opened the door and peered inside. Shadows swallowed the inside of the room. She crossed the wooden floor towards a padded seat curving in front of three tall windows. Parchment blinds screened the view of the driveway. She pulled the cord on one of the blinds and it snapped up, the sound loud in the dusty silence. A pale light landed on a large desk taking up most of the floor space, and against a wall, a glass-fronted bookcase.
Above the high ceiling line was the attic where Meredith had found the sewing box. It was accessed by a mahogany ladder. The hatch was open. It would have been too heavy for Meredith to close.
Verity opened the doors of the bookcase and dug around amongst the books. Sure enough, there it was, a dusty old thing called, A Brief History of the Victorian House in Wales by Emlyn Trahaearn.
It was large and thin, the pages stiff and shiny. The text was small, the photographs tiny. Verity turned to the index hoping for a clue. To her surprise, under ‘G’ she found Gull House. Turning to the relevant page she discovered a grainy photograph accompanying a short piece of text. The house looked huge, perhaps because posed by the front door stood the slight figures of two people. One, a woman, wore a plain, elegant gown; the other – a thin young man – was clad in riding clothes.
‘A house of peculiar and unusual interest is Gull House designed in 1860 by Sir Gilbert Wynstanley and built for Caradog Lewis, a prominent local businessman. Overlooking the sea, it was a building whose simple and elegant façade was somewhat spoiled by a small tower more suited to a house o
f larger proportions. Remote and accessed from the road by a narrow drive it was virtually hidden from view. Lewis was a banker and a magistrate, married with two children and the family were well respected in the district. Sadly, in 1879 tragedy struck when the youngest child, a daughter, was declared ‘morally insane’ and confined to a local lunatic asylum. She committed suicide and the family left the area although it is not recorded where they went. It was rumoured the mother and the son died soon after, the former also by her own hand, the latter in a hunting accident.’
Verity sat for a while, bemused and shocked. She tried to imagine the terror of a young girl, who was sent away for being “morally insane”.
What did that even mean? Shuddering, she closed the book. Whatever had occurred in this house one hundred years ago remained a mystery although it was looking as if Meredith was right: something terrible had happened to Angharad Elin Lewis.
And for whatever reason, her ghost has woken up determined to tell my sister her story.
She found her sister in her bedroom, rummaging in a drawer.
‘Hi,’ Meredith said. ‘What’s up? You look like you lost a five pound note and found a penny.’ She tipped a pile of underwear onto the already clothes-strewn floor. ‘I still can’t find my necklace. Are you sure you haven’t seen it?’
‘No, I found something though.’ Verity waved the book at Meredith. ‘You were right. Here, I’ve marked the page.’
Meredith turned and stared at the book. ‘Where did you get this? How did you…?’
Verity explained. ‘Nain knew all about it. Well, not everything. She remembered quite a lot though and she remembered this. And don’t worry, I didn’t mention the sewing box or the ghost.’
Snatching the book from Verity, Meredith frowned as she read; stopping once to comment: ‘Bloody cheek! Our tower’s perfect.’
Verity sat on her sister’s bed. ‘You have to stop now, Meri. Stop trying to find out the story, stop thinking about it too. It’s horrible and sad and I don’t…’
‘Are you kidding? Verity, this is gold dust. It means I’m right and it’s her. Why would we stop now?
Because it’s scary…
‘It makes me uncomfortable. It’s private. It’s her life and it’s like prying.’
‘Speak for yourself – I’m helping her.’ Meredith’s eyes glittered as she scanned the page again. ‘Looks like the evil brother got what was coming to him.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why not? Sounds like rough justice to me.’
‘Whatever he did—’
‘Verity, don’t be naïve. He did something vile.’
‘What do you think ‘morally insane’ means?’
‘I’m not sure, but whatever it is, it sounds disgusting. Moral is like being good and not sinning, isn’t it? All that Bible stuff.’
Verity felt sick. ‘Yes, and it’s horrible. I think we ought to forget all about it.’
‘No way, and in any case, it’s too late and I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to.’
‘You could try.’ Verity didn’t like where this ghost was taking them.
Meredith’s face held the mutinous look. ‘I don’t want to try. I keep telling you, Angharad’s made her choice and I’m not going to let her down.’
‘But why is she telling you, Meri? And why now, after a hundred years?’
‘Because I woke her up and because you’re right and it’s horrible. And because the story isn’t for me, Verity, it’s for her.’
Present
I’m staring at the cracked and pitted fountain.
It looks unsteady and an odd thing happens: it’s as if I shrink and instead of looking into the bowl the birds drank from, I’m reaching up to the lip and I’m a little girl again barely able to see over the edge. The hairs on my arms rise, gold against my pale skin and the air changes and I have a vivid recollection of somebody calling out a warning.
‘Be careful!’
It’s Nain’s voice and I turn, half-expecting to see her.
The moment is gone and I’m me again, grown up and alone, standing next to a dried-up old stone fountain surrounded by the half-glimpsed past and too many imagined ghosts.
I reach for my jacket again – whether or not it’s my imagination is immaterial. I’m unsettled and a chill runs through me.
That April, the last one before we left, it snowed.
Lilac and snow; an impossible combination Allegra said, only she was wrong. The snow was ephemeral and magical, there and gone in less than a week; a phenomenon, people said later, an anomaly and a quirk of nature, but snow it did, and it was deliriously beautiful.
I look up at the sky. There’s no sign of snow.
About to step across the broken wall, I see it.
Another cigarette butt.
This one is smoked almost to the tip. It’s crushed in the dried-out stone bowl. Bits of tobacco splay from the stub, the end of the filter stained with nicotine. It smells like the other one – pungent with an edge of recent burning.
One night as I went to bed, snow began falling.
Unable to sleep, I watched from my window as it swirled like spinning moths. The house slept and there was no one else to see how it stopped for a short time, began again, falling slow and straight, adding to the previous layer until the garden became a shroud.
Dawn cast a translucent light turning the garden and the view beyond it spectral. I leaned out of my window again, transfixed by the spiralling flakes, whiter than the moon. Silent as a shadow, I crept downstairs and in the scullery, pulled on my heavy cloak and a pair of boots. I made my way through the conservatory and stood at the door.
A heavy coating of snow rendered the garden timeless. Looking up I could see how snow had reshaped the roof, and icicles under the eaves as sharp as daggers.
Snow in April was as rare as a comet.
I took a few steps and my feet plunged into deep snow almost covering my boots. The edge of my cloak and the hem of my nightgown were instantly soaked. Fearing my mother’s wrath, knowing it would be wiser to wait for permission, I returned indoors.
Passing the parlour I saw him, in front of the fireplace, dressed for riding, slapping a crop against the palm of his hand. It was new – a gift from Papa to mark my brother’s acceptance into the hunt.
Snow drifted across the tall windows.
‘Where have you been, at this time of the morning?’
‘Outside, to look at the snow.’
‘Half dressed?’ He scowled and ordered me into the room. ‘Close the door.’
The dull click isolated me. I tried not to look as nervous as I felt.
‘I am perfectly decent, brother.’ My cloak more than covered me, but this seemingly innocent remark was my undoing. As the words left my mouth I already heard the edge of his criticism.
‘Decent.’ He licked his lips and a shudder ran through me. ‘You are dripping filthy snow all over the floor. Have a care, sister; you treat this house with disrespect at your peril.’ The crop swished, the sharp sound of it menacing the air.
Some demon in me refused to be quiet. ‘Better to disrespect a house than fail to respect an innocent animal.’
His eyes narrowed, his mouth twisted and he took a step forward. ‘What did you say?’
‘Killing animals for sport; it disgusts me.’
‘Foxes are disgusting, they’re vermin and vermin must be destroyed.’
‘And you are a bully; no wonder girls dislike you.’
Inwardly cursing myself for a fool, I made to leave the room.
‘Stop right there. How dare you! Bullies are weak and I am no weakling, miss.’
I stayed silent, afraid of his vile temper and fouler tongue and yet beneath my cold skin my blood boiled and I was contemptuous of my weakness. I said no more, knowing how he could hurt me.
‘Apologise at once!’
I shook my head and before he could do or say anything further, I turned on my heel, wrenched open the door and fled.
/>
Twenty-four
Across the bay a bone-coloured sky receded into the night.
Snow began drifting in from the far side of the mountains. By morning it had stopped, the ground was icy and a puddle by the kitchen door had frozen solid.
Verity opened her eyes with a start. Slipping out of bed she opened the curtains on an unblemished landscape, a vast unbroken expanse of brilliant white. On the other side of the glass the sky split open like a pillow, white feathers falling through the air; an unexpected interlude as April played her most audacious trick. The branches of the trees were heavy with snow. Everything appeared twice its normal size. A pale sun washed the garden in a silent light.
She opened the window, dislodged the snow on the sill and watched as it thudded to the ground. A snowflake landed on her open palm. As it dissolved she imagined it under her skin: starlight in her veins.
Downstairs she rattled the embers in the range, placed some wood and coal on top of them and moved the big kettle onto the hot plate.
The silence in the kitchen hovered.
Through the window the sky now held a tinge of pink. Verity watched as new flakes began blowing against the windowpane.
Hearing her mother, she turned.
‘I suppose you’re feeling pleased with yourself,’ Allegra said.
‘Not particularly.’
‘At this rate we’ll be snowed in.’
‘No we won’t. It’ll be gone in a day or two.’
‘I daresay. In the meantime, we’ll have to lump it.’ Allegra came into the room, watched the steam beginning to curl from the kettle. ‘Have you seen Meredith?’
‘Still in bed I reckon.’
‘No she isn’t. I looked. I knew she’d be excited about the snow.’
‘Let me guess. She’s gone outside already.’
They peered out of the window together. The snow was beginning to obliterate the familiarity of the garden. The new fall had already covered any footprints Meredith might have left and the ground glittered like sugar.
‘Do you think we ought to look for her?’
Allegra began rolling a cigarette. ‘She won’t have gone far. I daresay she’ll show up in a minute, no point in both of us freezing to death.’
Snow Sisters Page 12
