Walls of Silence: a stunning historical thriller you won't be able to put down

by Ruth Wade

  ‘That’s an excellent idea. Why didn’t I think of that? Hold on though, I’ve an even better one ... Why don’t you come to Lewes with me? We can have tea there instead, and get you one of those loose-leaf journals along with anything else that tickles your fancy. The Asylum Board grants us an allowance to cover your board and lodgings, only as you eat next to nothing the majority of it is still sitting waiting for a rainy day.’

  ‘Dr Maynard will already have spent it then.’

  ‘No, he ... Oh, I see, his deluge. Very good.’

  ‘Could I have a garden? I’ve always wanted one.’

  She didn’t know how long that thought had been planted in her head; unless it was since about half an hour ago.

  ‘Another brainwave. Arnold Gage – you’ll have seen him around, he sees the grounds as his private park to look after – loves having new challenges and I’m sure he’d be happy to dig some flowerbeds around the cottage. In fact the arrangement should suit you both very well because he’d only need showing once what you want and then you’d be able to get on with your writing project in peace and quiet; Arnold isn’t one of those who likes to chatter away whilst he’s working.’

  Edith couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not; Helen had been smiling since she’d issued the invite to tea so her facial expression wasn’t a clue. The frog-man who clipped the hedges had a mouth of the slash kind and the right side of his jaw was missing. Had no lips to form words even if he wanted to. Edith decided it was her own desire to put every cruelty down to another of life’s bitter ironies that had made her find Helen’s comment amusing. She mentally apologised for tarring the good doctor with the same brush.

  ‘We’ve some deliveries arriving in about an hour and I was planning on hitching a lift into town. Start out for the Hall when you hear the church clock begin striking ten and we won’t have to keep him hanging around. See you in a bit. And eat all your breakfast because you’ll need your strength if we’re to embark on a mammoth shopping expedition.’

  Helen clasped Edith’s hand briefly before she left. Edith went to wash again as the porridge congealed in the bowl.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Helen had to catch hold of Edith’s arm to stop her from walking out in front of a motorcar. The activity all around was disorientating. She stood for a moment with her back pressed against a wall to gather her thoughts and calm her senses. It had been a long time since she’d been exposed to a busy street and it seemed as if everyone had chosen today to be out and about. She felt Helen’s steadying presence beside her and took some deep breaths. She could do this. Yes, she could. It was only overload, not panic. As long as she remembered that she could cope.

  They were outside a pawn shop. There was an untidy pile of spectacles in the window. Perhaps a pair would bring her life back into focus. Edith made the suggestion and in another five minutes she was adjusting wire frames to sit more comfortably behind her ears. She looked down at her hands. They were something she wished she couldn’t see clearly. She didn’t know how they’d got into that state. The knuckles were cracked, and the skin red and flaking.

  ‘I’ll need some gardening gloves.’

  ‘I think we can stretch to those, Edith. And to something a little more. Come on, the chemist is just on this corner; let’s see if we can’t make you feel feminine again.’

  A bell rang over the door as they entered. The shop had floor to ceiling shelves on one wall stacked with jars and bottles in a variety of hues; a counter partially covered with advertising displays for stomach powders, skin cream, toothpaste, and muscle embrocation.

  A woman in a white coat approached Helen who had opened a pot of cream and was rubbing some into the side of her thumb.

  ‘Does this have lanolin in it?’

  The assistant smirked. ‘Only the finest ingredients go into that one: rose water, glycerine, and almond oil.’

  ‘Then I’ll take two pots. And a pair of lightweight cotton gloves. Some talcum powder – preferably lily of the valley – a complexion soap, a bottle of that pink shampoo over there, some emery boards and nail scissors.’ She looked across at Edith and smiled. ‘And a bottle of 4711 eau de cologne. I’ll take the laudanum from our usual order as I’m here but the rest of it can wait until you deliver again next week.’

  The woman produced a heavy-duty brown paper bag then proceeded to wander from one shelf to another collecting the items. Edith waited until she had gone into the dispensary and then walked over to stand beside Helen.

  ‘Don’t you think you’ll end up smelling like a cheap florist with all that lot?’

  ‘They’re not for me: they’re for you. If you rub the cream onto your hands lavishly and put on the cotton gloves overnight the cracks should soon heal. The rest is just for the fun of it.’

  Edith wasn’t ungrateful for the thought but she did wonder what she’d have to sacrifice in terms of plants. Helen touched her on the forearm.

  ‘And they’re my treat – mine and Peter’s. I don’t see why you should have to be deprived of some of the fripperies of life just because you’ve ended up in a place full of men. After all, they get their hair oil and astringent to titivate themselves with so it isn’t fair you should have to go without. Except I couldn’t include these things on the requisitions list or they’ll think I’m stocking up my bathroom cabinet. It’s not that your presence at Beddingham Hall is a secret, however we don’t advertise the fact. It’s our choice that you’re with us – and one I’m very glad we made – but I think the less the bureaucrats in Whitehall know about our bending of the rules, the better. Or they might insist that we take more than the odd woman, and that could play havoc with some of the men’s new-found equilibrium.’

  ‘One odd woman’s certainly enough for anyone to contend with.’

  Helen’s smile dimmed. ‘Edith, you know I didn’t mean that. You’re going to have to make an effort to appreciate that no one sees or judges you in the way you do yourself if you want people to be friendly.’

  ‘I don’t want people to be anything.’

  ‘Yes, you do. We’re all social beings, whether we like it or not, and it’s a much more pleasant experience to accept the fact than fight it.’

  The assistant returned from the back room with a slim green bottle in one hand and a large leather-bound ledger in the other.

  ‘You’ll have to be signing the drugs’ register if you’re to be taking this now.’ She offered the book and pen to Helen then popped the bottle into the bag.

  ‘We’ve something new in, if you’re interested. It’s a pan-stick make-up. All the movie stars in Hollywood are using it now. It doesn’t run under the lights, nor wash off in water neither. The box says it has an extra thick formulation and covers even the reddest of scars and blemishes a treat.’

  Edith felt a pang of compassion as Helen’s hand fluttered on its way up to her forehead. So this was what it was like to watch someone wear their vulnerabilities in the open. Her words surprised her as she heard herself saying: ‘We’ll take what we’ve asked for, thank you. Keep the bag for us and we’ll pay for it when we return. Come on, Mrs Hargreaves, or the best plants will be gone.’

  She received a squeeze of her hand in reply, and the two of them set the bell jangling once more as they walked out into the street.

  *

  ‘We’ve a little time before the fish van is due to take us back. I know it’ll be smelly but beggars must. I could always ask that woman to add a vial of smelling salts.’ Helen shifted the string bag she was carrying into the other hand. ‘Who’d have thought a few plants could be so heavy? I think we’re way overdue for our refreshment and there’s a teashop at the bottom of the hill. Why don’t you take these things and meet me there? I’ll pick up the stuff from the chemist, pop into the stationers for that journal I promised, and then nip along to the fishmonger to tell him where we’ll be. Then we’ll have nothing else to do but relax until it’s time for us to be picked up.’

  Edith acc
epted the proffered bags and walked in the opposite direction. As she crossed the bridge over the railway line, she stuck close to the flint wall. She didn’t like heights at the best of times and the smell of smoke and soot always reminded her of the fire and brimstone sermons of Sunday School; but making sure she didn’t squash any of her precious plants gave her something else to think about other than how far she had to fall. Nevertheless she was grateful when she saw the tearoom sign up ahead. A dodge of a young man pushing a hand- truck piled high with crates, another of an elderly couple dithering in the doorway, and she was, at last, inside.

  The place was of the dainty sort with tables covered in white cloths, and doilies. Wooden beams spanned the low ceiling. Edith chose the table in the bay window and settled herself down with her back to the door. There was nothing she hated more when waiting than not being able to resist the impulse to look up every time someone entered the room. It betrayed an impatient nature – and a desperation of being alone.

  A pudgy young girl in a starched white apron came over. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘I’ll order when my companion gets here.’ It felt absurdly good to be in a position to say that. ‘But do you have a piece of paper and something to write with?’

  The girl tore the top sheet off her pad and placed it, and her pencil, on the table.

  ‘I’ll get another from the till. Let me know when you’re ready. The card’s there by the sugar bowl; we’ve a nut sundae dripping with chocolate sauce on special.’

  She walked away and left behind the memory of her cheeky grin.

  Edith picked up the pencil. She wanted to write down the flower colours she’d chosen so she wouldn’t forget them. It also had the advantage of making her look busy. She had almost finished listing the contents of the largest of the bags and had taken her glasses off to rest her eyes when heavy breathing at her elbow made her look up. The sudden change in focus made her sight blurry. At first, all she saw was a blob of blue. Then she noticed the bright buttons and belt buckle. The skin on her back grew clammy.

  ‘Miss Potter. I was thinking it was you when I cycled past so then I turned around and came back again. Uphill this time. Mrs Billings always says as I should be taking more exercise – what with me being a bit partial to her fruitcake, and a spot of cream on the side if truth be told – and now if the chickens haven’t come home to roost and I’m puffing and panting like one of Giblet Gibson’s old bulls. Will you be minding if I be taking the weight off?’

  Edith couldn’t speak. He knew her. And she knew him. From the same source as she’d known which plants to select. In the time it took to lick her lips she became another person entirely. One she had every reason to wish she wasn’t. Coming to Lewes with Helen had been a very bad idea; for once she could truly empathise with the men’s compulsion to remain at Beddingham Hall. If she put her glasses back on, maybe he would vanish and take her new-found uncertainty with him ... It was no good, it just made him loom even larger.

  ‘Have you come to arrest me?’

  He wheezed a laugh. ‘Stone the crows, no. What would be giving you that idea?’

  He took off his helmet and placed it on the table before sitting down.

  ‘There’s me thinking I’m paying my respects to one of my fellow villagers – every one of which I feel it is my bounden duty to ascertain how life is treating them whether they are in Fletching or not – and now I find all I have done is to be scaring you from here to next week and back.’

  The sadness of his expression relaxed her a little. But the jumble in her head only increased; snatches of pictures like washed-out sketches flitted through her mind – only now they weren’t of the London flat but a dreary cottage and chalky lanes. An impression of senses really, nothing that could constitute joined-up memories.

  ‘It is very nice to see you.’

  He smiled again. ‘Now I know you’re not really meaning that because of the shock of me coming up on you like I did. But it does my sore heart good to see you looking so hale and hearty. Nothing like the last time.’

  ‘In the village?’

  ‘No, in the ... the place where they were looking after you. I paid you a visit whenever I was over here on court business. I expect you’re not remembering.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, don’t be fretting yourself about that. Mrs Billings says I would be forgetting my own name if it wasn’t written right here for me to look at in the mirror. Arse about face, of course.’ He tapped his epaulet. ‘But now I know you’re ready to join us again, is there anything I can do for you, in my official capacity, like?’

  Edith wanted to tell him he could go away; she could feel all the other patrons staring. But he looked so earnest and eager. Helen’s words about her needing to make more overtures of friendliness came back to her.

  ‘I won’t be returning to live in Fletching quite yet, so maybe you could keep an eye on my cottage for me.’

  ‘I’m happy to report that’s already being taken care of. Wilf Drayton’s made it his business to be seeing that everything’s in order as far as that is concerned. Checking the windows and locks, that sort of thing.’ He pulled at his whiskers. ‘I’ve even seen with my own eyes that he’s put a fence ’round those roses of yours to keep his geese off.’ He laughed. ‘Happen that’s why I’m getting more complaints than ever about the racket they’re making; they’ll be giving him what for over keeping them from eating what they like best in all the world.’

  ‘Now I think of it, there is something. With my ... abrupt departure, I will have left my post office book, my watch, and some other things I wouldn’t want to get into the wrong hands.’

  ‘There you go, fretting yourself over nothing again. I did a thorough search of the premises the day after you left, and everything of any value is in safe custody. Anyways, I told you, old Wilf and his geese are keeping watch so that no one untoward goes anywhere near your cottage. In fact the whole village is on the alert regarding a strange face – on account of the Taro Fair just passing. I’ll be minding you won’t be knowing that last year a young lad was feared to be snatched away by Gypsies.’

  ‘Was he? How terrible.’ Had he always talked as much as this?

  ‘Only we found the poor little tyke, him having been messing around at the old chalk quarry where his parents should’ve told him he had no business being. Slipped in and smashed his head, we reckon. Sad business, but not breaking the law. Excepting try telling the likes of Sneezer Crowhurst and Giblets Gibson that; I was having to be apprehending them stalking the common with bailing hooks, meat cleavers and whatnot. Still, that’s what they gave me this uniform for, and nothing you have to be concerning yourself with. Where is it you’re staying? A nice restful spot, I hope.’

  ‘Very. The perfect place for recuperation.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll be moving along now as I have to be discharging the errands I came for, then cycle back in time for supper. Mrs Billings is a stickler for having the meal on the table just when she said she would, and she expects me to be sitting with my knife and fork in hand ready.’ He sighed. ‘To this day I’ll never understand why she had the notion to marry a village constable who’s lucky if he can have a cup of tea without getting called out over something and nothing.’ He put his helmet on and flicked the chinstrap in place. ‘But I’m right proud down to my boots that she did. Now don’t you be telling her that when you see her or I’ll never be hearing the end of it.’

  He tapped the side of his nose with his finger, threw a nearly-wink, and walked out of the tearoom leaving a booming ‘afternoon all’ hanging in the air behind him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  He watched the constable leave. His figure was framed in the triangular side window like a shaft within an arrowhead. A poisoned one at that. He’d always known it would come to this. That she would betray him. That’s why he’d holed up in that shabby room in Uckfield. Watching. Waiting. Close, but never too close to startle; always within rea
ch for the moment when it would become necessary to burst forth into the world again. He’d been twiddling his thumbs through all those long months in the loony bin. Had tracked her progress to Beddingham Hall – the skills he’d learned in his former life had never been put to better use. Joined the band of volunteers with a reason to hang around the accursed place. Although the temptation to reveal himself had almost overwhelmed him once or twice, in the end good sense and judgement had prevailed. Why take the risk unless – or until – the option for a quiet life was denied him?

  Patience was something he had a lot of. Time may no longer be. From this moment forward, every second needed to count. He’d no longer haunt like a spectre in the shadows. Make his presence felt. Check the state of affairs. Shore things up if need be. Protect his interests.

  A dark trail of exhaust fumes followed the blue van as it sped away to join the traffic crossing the River Ouse.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Arnold dribbled water into the last hole. At first, Edith had been content to observe him from inside the cottage but then the desire to get involved and feel the gentle autumn sun on her back had proved irresistible. Now she was on her knees, the remaining plant wrapped in damp newspaper lying on the grass between them. Their fingers touched as they reached for it at the same time. Arnold withdrew his hand as if he’d been stung, and grunted. Edith was anxious she’d transgressed some boundary – perhaps the man didn’t like physical contact? – but he was only scrabbling in his pocket for his notebook. He scribbled a few words then showed her the dirt-streaked page.

  Your privilege, missus. Make garden complete ...

  His thoughtfulness was strangely moving.

  ‘Thank you, Arnold. But I think we should do it together. How about I hold it at the right height while you bed it in? That way we can both share in the sense of achievement.’