by Daisy White
Beverly lowers her voice as her daughter looks away again, this time out towards the sea. “We’ve told her that she’s my daughter, and she knows what happened, but I don’t think she’s taken it in. Most of the time she drifts around like a little ghost, although she smiles a lot, and she gave me a hug yesterday.” Her eyes fill with tears at the memory. “That’s why I agree that this will be a good idea. For that little girl’s sake and for Ella’s. We need to find out what happened so we can get on with our lives.”
Brenda bustles over, smiling at both of us now. “Tea for you ladies? I’m so pleased your Ella is back. I heard it from Stephanie this morning. I’ll bring you a meal, shall I? Chicken and chips? My treat! Ella, you have turned out as lovely as your mum, and I can’t tell you how glad we are to have you back.”
While the girl smiles vacantly, I’m a bit worried about how Beverly is going to take this. After all, these people who ignored her, shouted at her, gossiped about her and lied to convict her, have been proven wrong. So what, they all become best friends suddenly? I say as much when Brenda has moved on to another table, and she smiles.
“It doesn’t matter. I have my daughter back, and I have a second chance at my life. If people want to ease their consciences by giving me free food then let them! I don’t blame them. As we kept saying, all the evidence was against me.” Her gaze narrows and she slips for a second into the old Beverly. “It isn’t over, you know, Ruby. I said this was a second chance and I meant it. Before, I was so scared of everyone, so worried what people thought of me and how I would scrape together enough money to get a decent dinner for my daughter. It’s different now. My aunt has offered me the job of running her post office in Rottingdean. She’s getting on a bit now and wants to hand it over. Now people know I’m innocent and Ella is home, we’ll make a life over that way. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know exactly what happened and who set me up.”
Well, this is a change from the other day. “Really? Are you sure?” I lower my voice. “Has Ella mentioned anything at all?”
Beverly shakes her head. “No. She might in time, but just now she’s totally bewildered. She clung to me like a little child when they finally told her I was her mother, but I got the impression she only did it because there's nobody else for her to cling to. According to Ella she remembers nothing but being on the beach and another girl asking if she would take her for an ice cream.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
She shakes her head. “Who knows? But if Ella won’t talk . . . I hope in time she might open up, but meanwhile I do want you to find out what happened to her. Where she’s been and who she’s been with.”
“I wasn’t getting on all that well before. Seeing Beach Girl might help. There may be some connection and hopefully Ella will find a way to tell us.” Do I tell her about my conversation with Will? I don’t think I can, with Ella sitting next to us. It’s weird enough discussing her with Beverly, as though she isn’t here.
“Something will give. Because things are starting to unravel, aren’t they? We’re getting deeper. Ella coming home is just the start. All these things are happening, and they are happening because something has changed,” Beverly says, slightly confusingly.
“Maybe circumstances have changed with the person who took her,” I suggest carefully, scooping up the last salty, steaming chip. “You know, I wondered if that was why Laura felt she was finally able to come forward. If the person was, say, old and sick and likely to die soon . . .”
“You still think it had something to do with the Stockers, don’t you?” Beverly lowers her voice, glancing nervously at her daughter.
I shrug and glance at my watch. “Yes. In fact, I’m convinced they took Ella.” I look up from the chips at the girl, and find she is staring right at me. Her eyes are wide, and the little colour she had is draining from her face. “Actually, Beverly, I did get a name today. Someone who may be involved. Trixie?”
Beverly repeats the name, shaking her head, but Ella is gripping the edge of the table, her mouth trembling. I wait, half watching her, pretending to rummage in my bag, but nothing happens.
“Have you heard the name, Ella? It’s not a common name round here, is it?” I force a smile but she drops her gaze abruptly, picking up her cup but not drinking.
Beverly turns to her daughter, but I touch her arm gently. “It’s OK, I have a telephone number for Trixie, so I’ll try calling her later.”
“I suppose so . . .”
“As soon as we’ve eaten we need to head off to catch the bus and meet Mary at Alice’s Farm,” I add quickly.
Kenny appears bang on time, pulling into the side of the road and tooting the horn of a beige Ford Capri just as Mary hurries down the hill with Summer.
“Phew, I thought I wasn’t going to make it in time. Kenny, what is that?” Mary laughs.
“It’s your transport, Madam,” Kenny grins, leaning an elbow out of the window, a cigarette hanging from his tanned fingers.
“Where did you get it?” I ask him suspiciously as we clamber in. The door handles appear to be held together with string, and there is fungus in a damp patch on the roof.
Kenny shrugs. “Oh, if you don’t mind a few minor imperfections you can easily pick up an old banger for a few quid. This one will probably last a few months and then I’ll sell it on.”
“If it doesn’t fall apart in the meantime . . .” I giggle as I open the passenger door and the handle drops off into my hand.
Mary squashes up on the back seat with the others, and Summer blinks sleepily at everyone, but doesn’t start wailing.
Beverly curls her legs away from what seems to be a rusty hole in the floor, and puts an arm around her daughter. Ella stares at Summer for a long moment and then looks out of the window. She doesn’t seem to be upset at being in a car, which suggests she is used to it.
“Do you like car journeys, Ella?” I smile at her, and she turns towards me, dark blue eyes serious. Then she just shrugs, and returns to the view out of the window.
“Nice try,” Kenny says, changing gear with a terrible grinding noise and turning up the hill. “It won’t take long to get up there, and it’s better than walking!”
“It is. Thank you, Kenny,” Beverly says politely, clinging on tightly to the seat in front.
Alice’s Farm, far from being the grim institution I imagined, is a long, low flint farmhouse just off Dyke Hill Road. The driveway is clear of weeds, and despite the rather ugly collection of newer buildings surrounding the original house, it looks welcoming. The garden is rather wild, but someone has trimmed pathways through the tall seeding grasses and wildflowers. I can hear children laughing from somewhere in an overgrown orchard, which sprawls along one side of the house. The trees are full of little green apples.
Kenny parks neatly next to a rusty trike, a couple of bicycles, and a pram with one wheel missing.
The manageress, Miss Smith, comes out with a baby on one hip and two toddlers clinging to her stained apron. Her greying hair is pinned into a bun, and her eyes are small and black. But her expression is kindly, and she beams at us all, before shouting to the children in the orchard that they need to come in for tea.
“It's always busy at this time of day, because I get them all back from school. But at the moment most of them have just started their summer holidays, so God help me, I’ve got them all the time. Thanks heavens for my wonderful staff, or I’d disappear under a pile of toys.” But she is laughing as she shows us in.
We hurry down a red-tiled hallway, pass a big room with the table laid for tea, and Miss Smith indicates a shut door to our left. “She’s just in there reading a book. She knows you're coming, but she still hasn’t said a word, poor love. Let me know when you're done and she can come and have her tea with the others.”
I push open the door, hoping belatedly that we aren’t so much of a crowd we scare Beach Girl out of her wits. But is seems likely that John Stocker has done that already.
She
is curled up on a battered orange sofa reading a paperback, but as we enter the room, she swings her legs to the floor and stares at us, taking in the adults. As Ella enters the room she stares hard at her.
“Hallo. I’m Ruby. Do you remember I found you on the beach?” I smile at the child.
For a moment there is no response, and she stares only at Ella. Then she runs to her, flinging her arms around the other girl.
“Ella?” Beverly says gently, urgently, “Who is this?”
The rest of us are frozen, absolutely stunned by her reaction. Ella is hugging her back and both girls have tears running down their cheeks. Beach Girl is smaller than Ella, and her shiny brown hair hangs just below her shoulders, but clinging together in the centre of the room, they could be sisters.
Summer is starting to wriggle in her mother’s arms, making small whiny noises, so Mary puts her down on a rug in the room, crouching next to her.
“Ella, do you know this girl?” Kenny finally asks the obvious, putting a hand on Ella’s arm, smiling down at them both.
Two blank, tear-streaked faces turn to his, but neither of them speak.
I hesitate, looking at Beverly, but she shrugs, shaking her head, clearly as bewildered as the rest of us. Torn between crying out with frustration and pity for the silent pair, I start to talk. “Ella, did this girl live with you and your dad? You said he lived in London, and you don’t remember where. I’m going to tell you what I think, and if I’m wrong, you tell me, OK? I think you lived mostly in Brighton, and I think the man who called himself your dad was actually John Stocker.”
Both girls are staring at me now, their intensely bright gazes fixed on mine. The younger girl moistens her lips, but does Ella give the faintest shake of her head?
Encouraged, I continue. “I believe that you, Ella, were taken from your mum when you were very young, which is why you can’t remember anything about it. I think John Stocker took you, and you lived with him and his wife, Susie.”
Ella’s expression changes, and she bites her lip, but she still says nothing.
“You know her, don’t you? Susie Stocker. It’s OK, you don’t have to be afraid now. You’re safe with us.”
I leave Ella for a moment, and address the other girl. “You were taken by the same people, weren’t you? I don’t know how long you have been living with Ella, but if you tell us your name we can find your real mother too. We can help you to go home.”
“Lily,” says Ella suddenly. “Her name is Lily and she is my sister.”
Beverly takes a sharp breath, and then puts her hand over her mouth.
“That’s a pretty name,” Mary says idly, playing with the baby in her corner. “Do you remember when Lily was a baby? Was she like Summer?”
“No,” Ella whispers. “None of my sisters were babies. We got them when they were already girls.”
“Where did you get them from, sweetheart?” Beverly asks her daughter, twisting her fingers anxiously. Her cheeks are pale, and she darts a worried glance at Kenny.
Ella shakes her head slowly. “Big towns. They always came from big towns. But . . .” Here her mouth droops, “but when they came home with us they were always sad. I wasn’t allowed to play with them, but I did. I wasn’t meant too, but I always did,” she repeats.
Lily leans against Ella, and nods. “She came down and let me out, and we played until he came home.” These must be the first words she has uttered since her screams on the beach, and her voice comes out a little croaky. She clears her throat nervously, putting a hand to her chest, like she’s surprised the words popped out.
“I had to put her back then, but she knew I’d always come back . . .” Ella’s brow furrows. “Lily was my last sister, because all of the others have left now.”
“Where did they go?” Kenny asks, lighting a cigarette casually.
“She said that all little girls have to grow up and leave home,” Ella tells him. “He never said where they went and I wasn’t supposed to bother him with things like that.”
“Do you mean Susie?” I ask.
“She said I was special, and I wouldn’t have to leave home. But she was getting poorly, and he was there more and more. He was poorly too, and he coughed all night. One evening he said the doctor was coming so I had to go down with Lily.”
“She stayed the night with me, but he gave her medicine so she went to sleep, and he put her in the other room,” Lily confirms.
“When I woke up in the morning everyone was gone. Lily and her and him,” Ella says confusingly. “I wasn’t in bed . . . I was inside a box. Not too small, and the lid came off when I pushed it, but I was scared.”
“You must have been so frightened,” I say. “What did you do?”
“I was tied up too. I knew that he must have done it, because she would never have let him do that to me. Later he came back and untied me. He was nice to me then and let me come back into the house. That lady came to cook dinner. Do you remember her, Lily?”
Lily shakes her head, watching Summer, who is gurgling on her rug.
“She isn’t a pretty lady, not like her, but she is always nice to me,” Ella tells us.
“Lily, what happened the night the doctor came? When Ella slept with you . . . Did you get out? Was that the night you went down to the beach?”
Lily screws up her little face, eyes glistening, but she sniffs and rubs a hand across them, pushing the tears away. “I never knew what time it was because it was always dark, but she came and took me out. She was shouting everywhere for Ella, and she kept asking me where she was. She shook me hard.”
“But you didn’t tell her?” I prompt, hardly daring to breathe.
“No. She was different, almost mad, and I was afraid for Ella, so I didn’t tell her. She gave up looking in the end, and dragged me out of the house. I smelt the sea, and the air was cold on my face.” She pauses at the memory. “It was dark and raining, but she took me down to the sea.”
“Did she say anything to you?” Kenny asks.
“No. She was sort of talking to herself, about how she wasn’t going to let him get away with it, so she was taking us both away for good. It didn’t make any sense. When we got down to the beach the rain was worse, and the wind was blowing us along. I wanted to run away but she held my hand so tightly . . .”
“What happened on the beach, Lily?” Beverly reaches out a gentle hand and rubs the girl’s arm. “It’s OK, nobody will hurt you now.”
“She took me into the sea. I was so scared I screamed and hit her and kicked her, but she was strong.”
Silence while we all digest the horror of this, and then Ella speaks. “But you got away from the sea. I thought you had left home like all the others.”
“I’m a good swimmer,” Lily says. “At home with my mum . . .” — tears are falling properly now — “I used to swim every day in the pond by the house with my brothers. I miss my mum and dad so much.”
“We can find your mum, and we can take you back home, Lily,” I tell her firmly.
Beverly takes a deep breath. “Ella, darling, do you know where you lived with your sisters?”
She shakes her head. “A big house in London sometimes, or a big house near the sea with lots of floors. It has a blue front door.”
“Lots of men come through the door,” Lily says suddenly. “Not the blue door, but the brown one with locks.”
“OK. I’m going to say some names, and I need you to tell me if you recognise any of them,” I say at last. I repeat the Stockers, and add DS Appleton, Stocker’s cousin Jeff Kendle, and I even tag Will on the end.
The girls shake their heads, more animated after our conversation, but still wary. Their speech and mannerisms are those of much younger children, and when one speaks, the other watches her constantly.
“How about Trixie?”
Both girls nod, and smile.
“Trixie looked after us a lot. She was sometimes a bit cross, and once she slapped a man, but she was kind.”
“Di
d Trixie live with you?”
Lily shrugs, “No, she just stayed sometimes. She lived in London, I think.”
“Are you sure you don’t remember any other names?” Mary says gently.
The girls are silent for a moment, but reluctantly shake their heads again.
I risk one last question. “Ella, when the police found you on the beach, you were with another girl. What were you doing?”
“I was lonely by myself, and he said maybe I could find another sister. He stayed in the car, but he gave me some money.” She frowns, “He never gave me money before. I started talking to a girl, and she seemed nice. I knew I should take her back to the car, but I saw the ice cream sign on the shop, and I had money . . .”
“You were taking her to buy an ice cream?” Beverly says, quickly.
Ella smiles, “Yes. She was happy too. But then everyone started shouting, and a man dragged her away. When I looked for the car, it was gone. The police took me away . . .” Her eyes fill with tears.
“They may not have heard their names. We need photos!” Kenny says suddenly. “We can come back with photographs. I have lots of the Stockers in the Herald archives.”
I suggest to the girls that they sit down and talk to Beverly while I get some tea. Kenny nods, “I’ll come and help you.”
As soon as we’re out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind us, he lets out a low whistle. “Bloody hell, Rubes, what do you make of that?”
“Well, we were all right, and if we can get them to identify these people from the photographs, surely Inspector Hammond will be able to arrest Stocker, and get something on Appleton?”
“Appleton is going to be a tough one. The police don’t like to turn in one of their own, but, like I said before, Hammond is a good copper, so we’ll have to trust him. You didn’t mention Hector and Eva to Ella?”
I shake my head. “They’ve gone, haven’t they, and if we're right and they took Ella, they were just another example of people being used by John Stocker. She doesn’t remember anything anyway. I did wonder for a while if it was just Hector and Eva and they took Ella away with them, up to London and then around Europe, but they wouldn’t have the power to silence all those neighbours on White Oak, and they have no motive for sending Beverly to prison.”
