No Stone Unturned

by Helen Watts

  Refusing to be put off, she focused on the task in hand and began checking all the tombstones, working her way along each row from left to right, so she didn’t miss any. By the end of the second row, she was starting to feel rather melancholy. Each stone was a snapshot of loss. ‘Beloved’ mothers, ‘kind and true’ husbands, ‘tender’ sisters, brothers ‘gone but not forgotten’, children ‘sleeping peacefully’: so many departed relatives ‘held in loving memory’.

  Kelly was crouched down trying to decipher the faded inscription on one particularly old stone which was almost completely covered in scaly, yellow lichen, when something dark and heavy whistled past her ear, brushing the hair off her shoulder, hitting the gravestone and bouncing off to one side. Kelly screamed and ducked down, covering her face with her hands, hardly daring to imagine what it was.

  ‘Oh Kelly, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t aiming it at you, honestly!’

  Kelly breathed out and let her hands fall from her face, relief mixing with rage. ‘What the hell?’ she screeched, rounding on her friend. ‘That was not funny! I was jumpy enough. It’s really spooky here in this mist. And you’re late!’

  Ben grimaced. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.’ He tried a smile.

  Inside, Kelly softened, but she was determined not to let Ben know that he was forgiven just yet. ‘What did you throw at me, anyway?’ she snapped. Ben nodded towards the patch of damp grass where the missile had landed.

  Kelly followed his gaze then let out another little scream, this time in disbelief. ‘That’s Tyson’s boot. But how did you….? Where did you…? It can’t be. I put it back in my treasure chest last night.’

  She looked back at Ben, who was smiling more broadly now. The damp, early morning mist had darkened his usually bouncy blond fringe and plastered it flat to his forehead. He looked quite different.

  Without saying anything, Ben reached over, picked up the old boot and handed it to Kelly.

  She still wanted an explanation. ‘How come you’ve got my boot?’

  ‘Blimey, I thought you were good at examining clues!’ Ben tutted and took the boot back from her, holding it up. ‘Look. Your boot is for a right foot, this one’s for the left.’

  Kelly’s mouth dropped open. ‘What? You think they’re a matching pair? No! That’s too good to be true!’

  ‘Well, they look the same, don’t they? When you brought me your boot last night, I knew straight away that I had one just like it.’

  ‘You what?’ asked Kelly, incredulous.

  ‘What I mean to say is, I saw one just like it. When I was looking through old family stuff up in the attic. You remember, when I found the map? That’s why I kept asking after the one you had. I didn’t really believe that the two would match, but when you showed me your boot I could see it was the same.’

  Kelly got to her feet, realising that her school tights were soaking wet from the grass. She didn’t care. Her mind was working at a rate of knots, trying to figure out what this meant. She didn’t know what to say.

  Ben spoke for her. ‘You’ve been wondering if the boot belonged to someone involved in the accident, haven’t you?’

  Kelly nodded then walked towards him and looked up into his eyes. ‘But do you know what this means?’ Her breath made its own mist in the narrow space between them as she whispered. ‘If the boots are a matching pair, and one was in your attic, we could be looking for the grave of one of your relatives. Are you ready for that?’

  Ben blinked and looked away.

  ‘Because if you want to stop, we can. It’s just a history project, after all.’ Kelly reached out to touch Ben’s face but he took a step backwards.

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘I want to find out.’

  Worried that Ben might change his mind and decide they should leave, Kelly told him which gravestones she had already checked and set him to work, looking at the inscriptions on the gravestones along the rows from the far end.

  ‘That way we will meet in the middle and know we haven’t missed any,’ she explained. ‘And don’t forget, we’re really looking for four graves. The news clipping said there were four victims.’

  Kelly and Ben worked their way along the gravestones. As she discounted one after the next, Kelly began to get frustrated. The minutes were ticking away and soon she would have to go and join the queue for the school bus. She lifted her gaze and squinted through the mist, trying to see how far Ben had got. As she did so, a break in the usual pattern of the headstones caught her eye. About half way between her and Ben, she could see a spot where, rather than the usual single headstones equally spaced, there was one slightly taller headstone with a gap at either side and four little stones in a row at the foot of the grave.

  She held her breath and tiptoed across, praying that the inscriptions would be clear enough to read.

  ‘Oh my God, Ben! Come and look at this!’ she spluttered, when the engraving came into focus. Ben ran over to her side.

  ‘Look at the date!’ whispered Kelly, her fingers brushing away the dirt.

  Ben read: ‘Died, 28th September, 1860.’

  The two friends glanced at one another, eyes wide.

  Ben continued to read, taking each phrase slowly, one at a time:

  ‘A bitter cup, a shock severe;

  To part with ones we loved so dear.’

  He paused and swallowed hard. His voice cracked with emotion as he completed the verse:

  ‘Our loss is great, we will not complain.

  But trust in Christ to meet again. RIP.’

  ‘That’s so sad,’ said Kelly. ‘28th September, 1860. It’s the right date, but it doesn’t say anything about a railway accident. That’s a bit strange, don’t you think? I’ve seen inscriptions here which talk about people having been killed at war, and there was one which said a woman had drowned. There’s a recent one for a local fire-fighter, too. It said he was killed while on service. So why not mention something as major as a railway accident? Four people dying at once in tiny old Wilmcote must have made an impact, surely! Wouldn’t they want people to remember it?’

  Ben remained silent. Kelly stepped back to get a better view of the four footstones, poking out of the grass like a row of tiny baby teeth.

  ‘Ooh, these are harder to read,’ she complained, parting the blades of grass that were obscuring the letters carved into the stone. One by one, she made out the initials and ages of the deceased:

  ‘E. R. S. Age 36.

  ‘L. T. W. Age 27.

  ‘G. G. B. Age 43.’

  Kelly crouched down to wipe away the moss from the fourth footstone. Her lips parted as she prepared to read out the final set of initials, but it was Ben who spoke, his voice thin and wobbly in the cold air:

  ‘W. T. D. Age 35.’

  ‘That’s right!’ exclaimed Kelly. ‘Had you seen it already?’

  When Ben didn’t reply, she straightened up, staring quizzically at him. Ben met her gaze, his face ashen. ‘That last one—W. T. D. It stands for William Thomas Denton.’

  Kelly was shocked. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I don’t know…’ He staggered backwards, his eyes filling with tears.

  Thinking Ben was about to fall, Kelly took a step towards him, but he backed away from her, dropping the boot at his feet.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Kel,’ he muttered, moving further away between the gravestones. ‘I can’t be here. Just let me go.’ He turned and began to run away across the churchyard.

  ‘Ben!’ Kelly called after him. ‘Ben!’

  She snatched the boot up from the grass and considered running after him, but something told her to do as Ben had asked, and let him go. Anxious and confused, she watched her friend disappear into the mist. She wasn’t surprised to feel tears prickling her own eyes, too. Kelly had no idea what to say or do, or why he had reacted so badly, but her dad’s words of advice over breakfast came back to her.

  When she was sure that Ben was not coming back. Kell
y rummaged in her school bag for her notebook and pen. Quickly, she copied out the inscriptions on all five stones. At the bottom of the page, in capital letters, she wrote WILLIAM THOMAS DENTON, and next to the name, a giant question mark. Then, deep in thought, she made her way back to the path and headed for the bus stop.

  Chapter 28 – September 2012

  Even after double English, normally one of her favourite lessons of the week, Kelly was still feeling unsettled by her early morning adventure in the churchyard. She was certain that the grave she and Ben had found was the one they were after. The date, four victims, and that epitaph: A shock severe. These were tragic, unexpected deaths, that was for sure. But she couldn’t understand why there were no names, only the four sets of initials and ages on the footstones. And why no mention of how these four people died? It was as if no one wanted the world to know what had happened to them.

  Kelly needed some advice, so at break-time, rather than heading to the canteen for her usual apple juice and flapjack slice, she climbed the stairs to the history department on the top floor, hoping that Mr Walker would be in his room. Thankfully, she found him there, cleaning his whiteboard and humming the opening bars of an old AC/DC tune.

  ‘Sir?’ she said tentatively, knocking quietly on the door.

  ‘Kelly!’ The teacher broke into a grin. ‘Everything all right?’

  Kelly told Mr Walker everything, bringing him up to date about the map, the newspaper cutting and what she had discovered that morning. She could see that he was intrigued.

  ‘I’ve just got to find out some more about this William Denton, but I don’t want to upset my friend.’

  ‘No, well, that’s understandable.’ Mr Walker folded his arms across his chest as he perched on the edge of his desk. ‘Perhaps you should work on this on your own for a while. Give your friend some time. He’ll let you know when he’s ready to open up some more—or maybe to find out more.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ agreed Kelly. ‘But I don’t know where to go next, to be honest.’

  Mr Walker explained that if she had a name, and the date of death, Kelly might stand a good chance of tracking down a death certificate. ‘They started making official civil records of births, marriages and deaths in 1837, so you’re well after that. Death records for this area aren’t online yet, so you have to write to the Records Office, or go there in person and apply for copies. That would probably be the quickest thing to do. The office is easy to get to. It’s right next to the Town Hall. And the staff are usually really helpful. I went there a lot last summer when I was working on that book about our local First World War heroes. They open every weekday until four I think.’

  ‘What would I need to do?’ asked Kelly, getting out her notebook.

  ‘Just give them the details of the person you want them to search for. First and last name, the date they died, and where. They will check to see if they hold the death certificate you want and if they do, you can apply for a copy.’

  ‘Would they be able to trace someone from just the initials and the date and place of death?’ asked Kelly.

  Mr Walker pulled a face. ‘Hmm, that might be tricky. I think a full name is easier. I’m not sure you’ll be able to trace all four of your victims. Anyway, that’d be a bit expensive for you. It costs a tenner for each death certificate.’

  Kelly groaned. ‘I might have to stick to William, then, for now.’

  She thanked Mr Walker and virtually skipped off to her next lesson in the maths block. Her spirits had lifted. She was back on the trail.

  For the rest of the morning, and especially during a particularly dull algebra exercise, William Thomas Denton kept popping into Kelly’s head. Could she really find out who he was? Would she discover why this man was significant to Ben? She hoped so—and she hoped that Ben would understand why she had to keep digging.

  Then her heart sank. Mr Walker had said the Records Office closed at four. Even if she went straight there after school, realistically she would only have a few minutes before they closed. That would be no use at all. And tomorrow was Saturday. They wouldn’t be open.

  The need to know some answers about the mysterious W. T. D. was like an itch she had to scratch. She would have to bunk off school and go to the records office that afternoon. There was nothing else she could do.

  Kelly checked her pocket. She had enough money. No surprise really. She’d been so busy meeting up with Ben lately that she hadn’t had time to go to the shop, where she usually spent most of her allowance.

  She sat through the rest of her maths lesson biting her nails, secretly planning her escape from school while her maths teacher’s monotonous voice droned on and on in the background about what x and n were equal to. For once, Kelly didn’t care. Her stomach was doing somersaults as she weighed up all the risks of playing truant.

  When the bell finally rang for lunch, she was first out of the classroom. She shot down the corridor to her locker and took out her bag and coat. Then she nervously waited for Leanne to appear.

  As she approached, Leanne smiled and waved. Friday was fish and chip day in the canteen and the pair of them had planned to eat together. Her face fell when she saw Kelly holding her coat.

  ‘You going somewhere?’

  ‘Ssssh,’ hissed Kelly. ‘I need you to cover for me. I’ve got to sneak out for an hour or two. I’ll definitely be back in time for the bus but I’m not going to be here for afternoon registration. Can you cover for me?’

  Leanne grinned conspiratorially. ‘Course I can. Does a bear shi—’

  ‘All right, all right!’ Kelly cut in, pulling her friend closer and out of ear-shot from a group of Year 11 boys who were mucking about by the lockers behind them. ‘Can you tell Mr Walker that I’m doing an errand or something? I don’t know. Say I’m putting out chairs for afternoon assembly. Anything so he doesn’t mark me down as absent.’

  Leanne nodded. ‘Sure. But just be careful. You’ll have to sign out, so make sure you time it so that there are no teachers about when you do it. Charlotte used to tell Reception she had a dental appointment or something. They never checked.’

  ‘Thanks, Leanne,’ whispered Kelly. ‘I owe you one.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ said Leanne, giving Kelly a wink. ‘I still owe you plenty.’

  * * *

  The lady at the Records Office was really helpful. Kelly explained that she was working on a history project for school and the lady seemed to accept that as a reason for her to be there during school time. That was a relief. Sneaking out had made Kelly feel sick with nerves. The fact that she was missing lunch and her stomach was empty didn’t help.

  The lady entered the details that Kelly had for William Denton into her computer and then asked Kelly to take a seat, while she went off to see what records they had in their archive.

  Alone in the waiting area, Kelly sucked on an old humbug she had found in her blazer pocket. It had been there so long that bits of the wrapper had stuck to the sweet, but Kelly didn’t care.

  The lady seemed to be gone a long time. There was nothing to do or read to keep Kelly occupied, apart from a dull-looking poster on the wall about using online census records to trace your family history. The stuffy warmth of the room, combined with fatigue after her early start to the day and a slump in energy after the adrenaline rush of sneaking out of school, all began to make Kelly feel decidedly drowsy. When the back office door suddenly opened, Kelly jumped and shot to her feet as if she had been electrified.

  Pleased to be bringing good news to such an eager customer, the lady trotted triumphantly back to her desk and gestured to Kelly to sit down in the chair opposite her. ‘I’ve found your William Denton,’ she chirped, ‘so we can definitely provide you with a copy of his death records.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ Kelly beamed.

  The lady peered over the top of her glasses at her. ‘But you will need to pay a fee of £10. Are you able to do that, my dear?’

  ‘Sure.’ Kelly felt around in her poc
ket and produced a crumpled ten-pound note.

  ‘Lovely,’ said the lady rather primly, taking the tatty note from Kelly with her fingertips as if afraid she would catch something, and dropping it into her cash box. ‘Now, I just need you to complete your details on this form. I will give you a copy of the form and that will act as your receipt. All right?’

  Kelly nodded, accepting the lady’s offer of the use of her pen.

  ‘How long will it take? The certificate I mean.’

  ‘Oh, we will post it out to you. Should be with you by this time next week, at the latest.’

  Kelly left the Records Office feeling a little deflated. She had thought that she would be able to bring the certificate away with her. Still, at least there was a death record for William Denton. It could have been worse.

  By the time she got back to school, it was well after two o’clock. Her last lesson on a Friday was French, and started at twenty past, so she only had ten minutes or so to stay out of trouble before the corridors would be full of students moving from one classroom to the next. She decided to drop off her bag at her locker and head to the toilets. But as she was hurriedly signing back in at Reception, she heard a familiar voice barking her name. Her heart sank.

  ‘Kelly Hearn. Where do you think you’ve been?’ It was Mr Walker, this time without the usual friendly smile on his face.

  ‘Er… I had to go the dentist, sir,’ Kelly stammered.

  ‘Was that after you had to put out the chairs in the hall, or before?’

  ‘After?’ Kelly said hopefully.

  ‘So your parents have phoned in, have they, to explain that they were taking you out? Or sent a letter perhaps?’

  Kelly’s shoulders dropped. ‘Sorry, sir. They haven’t. I think they must have forgotten.’

  ‘Kelly, you aren’t lying to me are you? I would be very disappointed if you were.’

  Kelly couldn’t look her tutor in the eye. She knew that he had put two and two together. She felt guilt oozing out of every pore. ‘I’ve been to the Records Office, Mr Walker,’ she mumbled.