A Kind of Vanishing

by Lesley Thomson

  Not all of them.

  Lucian’s rod caught between his ankles. He tripped and fell headlong on to the grass. Alice heard him swear as he picked himself up and readjusted his knapsack and her cheeks went red. She marvelled that she could ever have wanted to marry him. His face was pink from sitting out on the riverbank in the sun all day and he had untidy hair sticking up like Eleanor’s. If she had been with him when they met the tramp he wouldn’t have saved her. Because this occurred to her, Alice resisted going over to him when he fell.

  Instead, Alice crept closer to Doctor Ramsay, breathing in his lovely smelling aftershave and clean clothes mixed in with rose petals.

  ‘Okay, the coast’s clear.’

  As they skirted the lawn, following a path made of red bricks like the ones at the Tide Mills, Alice was sure she saw the curtains of Mrs Ramsay’s window move. She didn’t want to have to be polite to Mrs Ramsay and for the game to be over so she pretended not to have seen it.

  They hurried down some slippery mossy steps at the side of the house that were also new to Alice, who was beginning to realise she had seen very little of the White House until now. Eleanor clearly didn’t know as many secret places as her father. Eleanor’s power to upset Alice was diminishing. Abandoning all her good intentions, Alice imagined scoffing at all Eleanor’s games and suggestions. Alice could hardly wait to see Eleanor so that she could tell her about all the things and places she didn’t know. But then she knew she would keep quiet. This adventure would be a secret she shared with Doctor Ramsay.

  The steps led to a dark basement. The door had been open and they ended up in a small room with shelves packed with boxes with dates written on them. Alice could make out the words on one box as they went past: ‘Edith Barwick Murder 1931’ was printed in thick black lettering.

  She shivered, and Doctor Ramsay noticed. He noticed everything.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘Not really. It’s not very nice in here. Is this your secret place?’

  ‘No. Everyone knows about this, it’s where my father’s files are stored. These are the transcripts of trials and all the related papers for his cases. Gory reading. Not for you, Alice.’

  ‘Was it your father who was the Judge in the dining room?’

  ‘Well done. That’s right. He taught me a lot.’

  They were in a paved tunnel with a curving brick ceiling. His voice sounded hollow. There were doors all along the walls on both sides. Alice thought how if they hid down here, no one would ever find them. One of the doors was open and she caught a glimpse of a long low freezer and vaguely remembered Lizzie, the Ramsays’ housekeeper, warning Eleanor never to think of hiding in the freezer or she would end up as stiff as a board.

  Doctor Ramsay was whispering again, ‘We’re going to go upstairs, if we meet anyone, you must say you felt ill and that I found you in the road and brought you back, okay?’

  ‘But Eleanor knows we were at the Tide Mills.’ Alice knew as soon as she had spoken that she shouldn’t have pointed out to Doctor Ramsay that he was asking her to lie. But he wasn’t. It was part of the game, and in games it was all right to make things up. He read her thoughts.

  ‘We have a secret to keep, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied and nodded.

  ‘It’s you I’m thinking of. It would be a shame to have things spoiled.’

  He eased open the basement door and pulled a face as it creaked noisily. They waited. The only sound was the dull click-click of the grandfather clock near the front door. Alice could see the black and white tiles on the floor that had reminded her of the chessboard in her favourite book. Gina’s riding boots were missing from the rack by the front door. Alice was disappointed because Gina was the one person she was prepared to share Doctor Ramsay with. In fact Gina would make it even more fun. Turning to her left, Alice saw that they were outside the downstairs toilet where Eleanor had made her look stupid by talking about poo. The door was open and she could see the big box of matches on the windowsill. The memory of that afternoon made her cheeks tingle with a horrid mixture of dread and shame. No wonder she hadn’t noticed the basement door before. Now she was glad they had left Eleanor to whatever terrible dangers the Tide Mills had in store for her. Alice held her breath as, step for step, she walked beside Doctor Ramsay up the wide staircase. He put one hand on her back to stop her falling backwards the way she had once seen him do with Mrs Ramsay.

  They reached the landing. There was a settee on it, perhaps for people who got tired while climbing the stairs. Alice had previously thought how she would like to sit on it when she had been trailing after Eleanor on the way to the playroom. She would have preferred to stay here unnoticed noting the comings and goings in the house. This wish applied to most things. Alice dreamed of simply observing without having to take part and to always come top.

  The second floor was much darker because the walls were panelled with wood almost black with age. There were two corridors, one going off to the left and the other to the right, and more stairs going on up to the floor with the playroom and finally to the attics where the maids had slept long ago. Alice would have been disappointed had they been going to the playroom. He must know there was nothing secret about it. But she felt a swoop of joy as Doctor Ramsay, his finger on his lips, guided her over to the closed door that Eleanor had told her was his study. It had always been locked before. Alice knew that Eleanor didn’t have a key as she had once tried the door, although she also knew that Eleanor had been in there. But this time would be different. Alice would be entering at Doctor Ramsay’s invitation. Her heart pounded in her thin chest as he produced yet another key from his magic trouser pocket and quietly opened the door.

  Alice’s first impression was that the room was extremely bright. After the dark landing, the sunlight hurt her eyes. She hovered by the door, unsure what to do. The room was as daunting to her as Doctor Ramsay had once been. It was the private territory of an important and imposing person, even if that person had become less awe-inspiring and pulled faces like a little boy. An enormous desk stood at an angle near the window. Taking a few steps further into the room, Alice was delighted to see the book with the names of flowers that Doctor Ramsay had used for their flower pressing expedition two days earlier. It lay open on the blotting paper pad. Doctor Ramsay might be planning another expedition. Perhaps they could plan it together now.

  Apart from Newhaven Library, Alice had never seen so many books in one room. The alcove to the left of the fireplace was filled with books as was the wall opposite this. There were even books on a shelf above the door. Lots had leather covers and gold or silver writing on the spines like in the reference library. Alice was used to the odd paperback and magazines stacked in neat piles on the sideboard.

  ‘I like reading too,’ she offered brightly.

  ‘I’m sure you do, you’re exceptional in many ways. Come and sit down.’

  Facing the window was a very big brown leather settee with studded buttons. Alice had seen it before. There was one in the doll’s house just like it. This excited her. Alice’s oblique familiarity with the exact copy of this room in miniature contributed to her impression of everything being enormous. She fleetingly imagined telling her Mum later how she had been like the other Alice. She would say she had been in Wonderland and was small enough to fit in the palm of a hand and be held up for Doctor Ramsay’s inspection. Doctor Ramsay indicated the settee and with trepidation Alice perched on the edge.

  ‘There, are you comfortable?’ The leather was cool and smooth on her bare legs.

  ‘This is a nice place.’ She didn’t want to hurt him by telling him his study wasn’t at all secret. Eleanor had been inside lots of times to get books. Thinking of Eleanor brought Alice down to earth and she began to fret about the time. She couldn’t see a clock and Doctor Ramsay wasn’t wearing a watch. She didn’t want to be late home, not after the bad behaviour with Eleanor’s special tea the afternoon before, and now having left Eleanor on her ow
n. She could see no way to broach the subject of going, since she had just got there. She put on a smiling face and pointedly looked about her.

  ‘Welcome to my lair!’

  He sat beside her, pushing himself into the other corner so that he could look at her properly. One leg was crooked on the settee, his knee nudging hers.

  ‘I hide in here to escape the chaos. It’s nice to have your company. I don’t really like being on my own. You’re a beautiful girl, Alice. Rather special, so it’s a pleasure to have you.’ He talked in the hushed voice he had on when reciting the Latin names of flowers. Alice’s skin was getting itchy from where his trousers were rubbing up against her, but she dared not move. Doctor Ramsay craned forward and once again stroked her hair away from her face. It made Alice apologetic. She was mortified to think she needed tidying up and that Doctor Ramsay had noticed and minded. She sat up, shifting away from him, causing him to do the same.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ He was concerned, perhaps even nervous, which Alice thought strange. Maybe he wished she would leave and didn’t know how to suggest it.

  ‘I ought to be going. Thank you for having me. It’s a lovely secret hidey-hole. I like it very much.’ When Alice had imagined being with Doctor Ramsay, she had pictured herself having loads of interesting things to tell him and original comments to make about anything he showed her. Instead, here she was, like one of Eleanor’s abandoned dolls plonked on a huge settee, her feet only just reaching the carpet, with nothing to say. She was prickling with heat and unable to see properly because the hot sun flooding through the open window shone full in her face.

  Eleanor would still be searching for her at the Tide Mills. Her Mum would be worrying about where Alice had got to. Doctor Ramsay had seemed an escape from playing with Eleanor, but he wasn’t. Tomorrow he would go back to being a doctor and Alice would have to see Eleanor for three more days. She wanted to go home. Even Doctor Ramsay was disappointing. He had promised a secret but there was no secret. Alice saw with a perception beyond her years that Doctor Ramsay was ordinary. She had been right all along. There were no real magic places. There was no Wonderland.

  She would have to lie and say she had been ill and Doctor Ramsay had taken her to his study. She had never lied to her Mum. Maybe Doctor Ramsay himself already judged that Alice was a bad girl for agreeing to come with him and leaving Eleanor. Perhaps he had been doing the Traitor Test after all. Alice slid off the settee and stood up, tugging at her dress. Doctor Ramsay had locked the door when they came in. She would have to ask him to open it.

  ‘Oh, you can’t go. I haven’t shown you my secret place.’ He stood in front of her, his hands on his hips. He was frowning now, his eyes looking at something behind her, above her head.

  ‘I thought this was it,’ Alice retorted. In the distance she heard the grandfather clock strike four times. Four o’clock. The time she had told her Mum she would come home.

  ‘Oh no wonder you’re cross with me!’

  ‘I’m not cro…’

  ‘What I have to show you is far more special.’ Doctor Ramsay didn’t move. They might have been the waxworks Alice had hoped he would take her to see.

  Alice was astonished by his expression. He was looking directly at her. He was frightened. Alice took a step nearer to the door.

  ‘If I’m late my Mum will kill me.’ The words tumbled out.‘I want to go home.’

  He had her by the hand, strong fingers closed down on her thin wrist, not like before, which she had liked, but squeezing so tight that it made her eyes smart as he pulled her over to him. He began to shake her arm as if it didn’t belong to her while staring wildly at the thin flapping thing.

  ‘Just do as I say.’ Alice had heard him speak like that to Eleanor during the flower picking expedition and she had refused to pay proper attention. Eleanor had ignored him and gone running off by herself. There was nowhere for Alice to run. He was blocking the way to the locked door. He grasped her shoulders and spun her around to face the fireplace. All Alice could think in those last moments was that there would be bruises on her arms and that she would have to lie about them too.

  They were walking towards the wood-panelled wall, keeping close together, the way her father used to march with Alice standing on top of his big black postman shoes.

  Clump. Clump. Clump. Moving without moving.

  She was going to bang straight into the wall. Then he leaned over her head and gave the carved wooden rose by the side of the fireplace a thump with the flat of his palm. This action made no sense to Alice, but then nor did what happened next.

  The panelling began to slide. It swung inwards, like a revolving door. Then it shuddered to a halt leaving a low doorway through which came a guff of chill air that smelled like the tramp.

  Doctor Ramsay pushed Alice through the dark entrance. Once inside he pushed the wall back the way it had come. At the same moment as it clicked back into place, a dusty bulb dangling from the ceiling on a long wire came on so that they were just able to see.

  It was a very small space, about six feet square with a lower ceiling than the room they had left behind. In one corner was an old lumpy armchair. Beside the chair was a pile of notebooks and paper. A bottle of whiskey stood next to a glass that had fallen on its side. It was much like Eleanor’s den in the hedge but not as homely. Alice had no wish to make this den into a proper home.

  As she got used to the dull light, Alice saw that a bundle in the far right-hand corner was a pile of clothes that looked like someone had got undressed quickly without hanging anything up. It made her think of the tramp after Doctor Ramsay had knocked him over. She staggered slightly as Doctor Ramsay loosened his grip on her and let her go. She leaned on the wall to stop herself falling.

  Then she saw her cardigan.

  She had been sure she had left it at the White House, but when she asked, no one had seen it. Doctor Ramsay had even said he would make sure to keep a special eye out for it and she had been pleased. He had offered to lend her his jacket for the flower expedition. Alice had suspected that Eleanor had stolen it. She knew she was lying when she said she didn’t know where it was. She had looked guilty. Afterwards Alice had felt bad for making it obvious she suspected Eleanor because she knew her Mum would be ashamed of her for even thinking such a bad thing of a new friend. Especially one of the Ramsays. But once again her Mum was wrong. The Ramsays did steal things. ‘I don’t like it here.’ Something prevented Alice from mentioning the cardigan.

  ‘No one knows about my den.’

  ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘You’ve only just got here. You wanted to come. It was your idea.’ He had the little boy’s voice again, but this time Alice didn’t want to make him better.

  ‘That’s not true.’ Alice pulled away as he tried to take her hand. She caught the whiskey bottle which tipped over. The top hadn’t been screwed on and liquid welled out over the floor, soaking the clothes. She dived forward and snatched up her cardigan.

  Then as her eyes grew accustomed to the light Alice saw the passage beyond the bundle of clothes. It was beyond the darkest part of the chamber. There was another way out.

  ‘Calm down.’ Mark Ramsay wasn’t calm. He kept wiping his hands on his trousers. He appeared unable to make sense of how things had turned out and keen to make friends again. Once again he tried to touch her. It was obvious he only meant to calm Alice down while he found the catch to open the wall. He was sure there was still time to explain the mistake and take her home. That was definitely still possible.

  But unexpectedly Alice made a lunge for the passage and Mark knew she could escape that way. At the end of the passage was another secret door. This only opened from the inside on to the landing. It was cleverly constructed to form part of the wooden panelling. Only Mark Ramsay knew it was there. All Alice would have to do was turn the knob and she would be free. It dawned on Mark what he had done. Alice running away from him was the worst thing she could do. He grappled fiercely with her. He held
her. But she slipped away leaving only her cardigan. The whiskey-soaked wool that only last night he had clutched to his face with thoughts of such tenderness spelled his doom. He flew after her and halfway down the passage caught her and dragged her back by her lovely hair into the priest’s hole.

  Alice stared up into his face uncomprehending as he smiled weakly at her. Her last impression was that he was trying to ask her a question but she couldn’t speak. As Doctor Ramsay’s hands closed around her neck, it seemed to Alice that the light bulb in the ceiling went out.

  Thirty-One

  The playroom had become bitterly cold. Wind rustled the trees and bushes in the garden and rattled the window frames. The centre light flickered, in time to these sudden gusts. Far away, downstairs in the hall, the grandfather clock chimed three-quarters of the hour – fifteen minutes to go before midnight.

  ‘How long have you known?’ Chris cleared her throat.

  ‘Until tonight, not properly. Or maybe I’ve always known.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My friends never said anything. But they would giggle or blush if he was near, or far worse, I saw their fear. In the end they didn’t come. So there was only Alice. It was the same for Gina, although we never acknowledged it. In those days there was no word for it. Now I’ve come back they don’t mention I was away.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell the police?’

  ‘Report my own father? For doing what? No one would have believed me. I didn’t believe it.’

  ‘Couldn’t you tell your Mum, or your brother and sister?’

  ‘They don’t want the truth. They want just to get through life relatively unscathed. I couldn’t destroy my family’s fragile existence on the basis of vague hints and imaginings. His terrible act had threatened to do that. My mother made sure we all got back to normal. She was a great believer in structure and routine.’