by Daisy White
“But where is Ella?” Beverly is crying again, looking around the cellar in bewilderment. “Lily, wake up!”
We head back up through the kitchen and meet James coming down the corridor. He exclaims at the sight of the sleeping girl.
“It’s OK, she doesn’t seem to be hurt. I think she might have been drugged, though,” I tell him. “Where’s Johnnie?”
“Finishing the top floor. We haven’t found anything interesting. This place has been left to rot, by the looks of it. Only a couple of rooms are habitable, and there's certainly no incriminating evidence. I suppose they thought of that ages ago and all the paperwork, money or drugs were moved.”
I’m reluctant to lose sight of Lily, but we still have a child missing, and she seems to be sleeping peacefully. Kenny lays her carefully on a dust sheet and I fling my coat over her, tucking her cold hands underneath.
“I expect the evidence was burnt,” says Beverly. “What the hell has he done with Ella?” She reaches over to where Kenny has laid Lily and gently shakes the girl. “Lily, where is Ella?” She looks up at us, pain and determination fighting it out in her eyes. “You keep searching, while I look after Lily. I’ll shout for you if she wakes up.”
Spurred on by our discovery, we split up again and search the rest of the rooms. I discover another, smaller room next to the library which seems to have been set up as a bedroom. At first I think it must be Ella’s room, but as I open a few drawers and look properly I can see it was Susie’s room before she died. There are bottles of pills, and notes from the doctor. The single bed is piled high with pillows, and has a pink satin quilt, but the room smells of sickness and death.
The trappings of her glamorous life must have mostly been left upstairs, but there are some lipsticks, a hairbrush and some pins lying in the dust. I open another couple of random drawers and pick out a box. Fingers scrabbling, hands shaking, I open the lid and tip the contents onto the bed. Lots of photographs, and duplicates of the newspaper clippings Kenny and Will have already given me. A few studio shots of Susie looking, as Catherine said, like a Hollywood film star with her perfect pout and Marilyn hair style.
“Ken!”
He comes quickly, feet thundering along the wooden floorboards. “Have you found something?”
I hold up a yellowing newspaper cutting, tears in my eyes.
The Brighton Herald, 23 May 1953
Residents of White Oak estate enjoyed a street party yesterday . . .
I don’t read the rest — my eyes are focused on the photograph, and its caption, ‘Beverly Collins and her four-year-old daughter, Ella, enjoying their picnic.’
Beverly is smiling down at the little girl, her brown hair brushed back into a high ponytail. They look happy.
“Why would she have kept this?” I frown at the date, my brain struggling. When did Beverly’s boyfriend leave? 1952? I remember Annie chuntering about how Beverly was a single mum by the time Ella was two . . . “I kept thinking it was a long time after Barry Green left and took all the money, to get revenge. If he did do that. Perhaps Stocker didn’t know about Beverly and Ella, or where they lived, even. Once they saw this all they had to do was get Stocker’s men to ask around, find out a bit more, and then . . .”
Ken is shaking his head. “So between them they get revenge on Barry, and gain a child for Susie, but you’re right. Why wait two years? In that case, it was never about Beverly at all. She was right when she said she was just normal, but she just happened to have a rotten boyfriend.”
I shiver. “I still can’t believe how evil Susie was. Worse than him, almost. She wanted a child but she found little girls for him to do terrible things to. Maybe she kept this just to gloat.”
“Perhaps she regretted it in the end. It might be part of her decision to take her own life,” Kenny suggests, opening a wardrobe door. “Look at this!”
I peer inside. “That's really weird and sick. Do you think these are Ella’s ‘sisters’?”
There are no clothes, but the entire inside of the wardrobe is covered in black and white photographs of girls, pasted onto the wood. Mostly headshots, but some full length, dressed up in rather old-fashioned party clothes. Very few of the girls look happy.
“And how are you going to explain Lily to Inspector Hammond? Are you going to admit breaking into the house?” Ken says finally, shutting the door on desperate eyes and forced smiles.
I frown at him. “Susie was bloody mad, wasn’t she? Come on, let’s get out of here and take Lily to the hospital for a check-up. We need Inspector Hammond to find Ella. I’ll say the door was unlocked, and I walked in. They won’t care at this stage. I won’t mention anyone else.”
“All those years, and Ella was right here in Brighton,” Kenny says, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe she was hidden away under their noses, and nobody guessed.”
“Where do you think Stocker is now?” I want to scream with frustration, because although I’d been fairly sure we wouldn’t find the girls here, I was certain we would find something to tell us where he was. So much for hunches — maybe they're only for reporters after all.
“I wish I knew, because I’d guess Ella is with him, or she would have been down in the cellar with this one. There was a half pint of milk on the side in the kitchen, wasn’t there? And one of the other rooms off the hall looked like it had been used as a bedroom. There were two beds . . . Maybe the others have something upstairs.”
“Why would he take Ella with him?” I sigh and sink down onto a small dusty red velvet sofa under the window.
“She was Susie’s kid, wasn’t she? Maybe he had second thoughts about getting rid of her after he’d had a chance to think about his wife’s death. Trouble is, whatever Stocker’s thinking, the best thing for Appleton would be to have them all dead so there’s nobody left to tell tales about his involvement in the Stockers’ sick games.”
“He must have seen them losing their grip over the years, perhaps even demanded more money off them that they couldn’t pay. But he must have worried that things would finally unravel. Do you think Susie really did take her own life? Oh God, do you think Appleton threatened her and was somehow involved?” I say, struck by the thought, remembering the telephone call that Trixie talked about. The one that upset Susie so much the night she died.
“We might never find out. Lily didn’t say that there was another man that night, did she?”
“No, I don’t think so, but she’s been kept down in that cellar for six months, so no wonder she couldn’t even speak. She may not even have known. It could have been anything to tip Susie over the edge, or it could just have been the fact she was dying and, like Trixie said, she wanted to end it on her terms.”
“What now?” Kenny lights another cigarette, taking in the sad little room, and wandering over to pick up a few dusty china ornaments on a side shelf.
“There must be something we’ve missed. Let’s find out if Lily has woken up yet.”
“Come on then, Ruby Baker, put a bit of effort into it!” He hauls me up from the dusty sofa.
We are just heading back across the black and white chequer-board tiles in the hallway when the doorbell rings. I freeze and grip Kenny’s arm and we stand, waiting, until someone raps urgently at the door.
“Ruby, I know it’s you in there because I saw you at the window. Let me in!”
“Trixie?” What the hell is she doing back here?
I run across the hall and fling open the door. Trixie glances quickly around and then comes inside, looking at Kenny uncertainly and stopping dead at the sight of Beverly kneeling next to the sleeping child.
“You found her!” The woman totters a bit on her spindly legs. As last time, she’s dressed in a short skirt and thin blouse, but at least this time she has added a cardigan to her insubstantial outfit. Her thin, bony face is pale, despite an uneven daub of rouge on each cheek. “That’s not Ella, though. I came to tell you I know where Stocker’s gone. Well, I know where I think he’s gone. Or have
you found Ella here too?”
“No, she isn’t here. How do you know?” Beverly is on her feet, speaking quickly. “Where are they?”
Trixie flinches at her tone, but her mouth is set in an obstinate line. “You must be Beverly. You look just like . . . just like I thought you would,” she falters, momentarily confused, before she continues. “Anyway, when you said you wanted to know where John Stocker might go if he was on the run, I’d forgotten about this place. If I’m right Stocker will have gone down to a place near Peacehaven. There’s a ruined farmhouse off the road. He’s got some old sheds right on the cliff edge and there’s a little path down to a sort of hidden cove. He used it to get rid of any rubbish, if you know what I mean.” She pulls a disgusted face.
“You mean bodies?” Kenny says.
“Sometimes. Susie would go and watch, and she wanted me along too,” Trixie tells us, lighting a cigarette, “but I’m telling you that’s where he’ll be. Once he was going to have it rebuilt as some kind of country mansion, but he never got around to starting. You’ll have to look carefully, but it’s this side of Peacehaven, and there's a narrow track on the right-hand side. You can still see the old farm . . . Abbots Farm, I think. The sign is in the hedge and you can just about read it.” She studies Beverly again, her bright red-rimmed eyes lingering on the other woman’s face. I think she’s about to say something else, but she just makes a shooing gesture with her hands. “Go!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Mary needs to get back for Summer, and we need to get Lily up to hospital for a check-up, so we need to split up. Kenny, can we drive to your place and pick up your car?” I say, thinking quickly.
“I’ll drive Mary to get Summer and drop her home. After that I’ll do the hospital, then I’ll go straight on and get Inspector Hammond. James, you come with me and look after the girl.” Johnnie is slamming doors and James is awkwardly manoeuvring the unconscious girl.
“You’ll go to the police station?” I stare at him.
“I didn’t say that, Ruby. I said I’d get Hammond. You and Kenny will get there first, so do what needs to be done and get Ella out of the way.” Johnnie waits while the six of us pile into his car.
“I’m going with Ruby,” says Beverly firmly.
As we pull out of the tree-lined road, James says, suddenly, urgently, “She’s waking up!”
I bend over her soft, pale face. “Lily. Lily darling, it’s OK, you’re safe with us now. Do you remember when I found you on the beach?”
The girl blinks drowsily, still half asleep.
“Lily, your sister is in danger. We must find Ella. Can you tell us what happened to you?” I have to lean close to hear her whisper, and James shifts his arm so she’s nearer to my shoulder.
“The policeman came to show us photographs. He came back and took us away and he said if we screamed he would kill us.” She shivers. “He had a gun.”
“Good girl. What happened then?” I sway sideways as Johnnie makes a left turn, overtaking a van at speed. “It’s alright, we’re just in the car.”
A long pause while her brow wrinkles into a frown and her eyelids droop. “He took us home, and the other man was there. They shouted at each other. I think . . . I think the policeman wanted him to kill us, but he wanted money first. While they were shouting Ella gave me some medicine and told me to hide in the chest. I didn’t want to because I was scared, but she made me.”
“Do you know where Ella has gone?”
Lily shakes her head sorrowfully. “No, but he must have taken her, mustn’t he?” Tears trickle down her pale cheeks and I find her hand and squeeze, while James cuddles her close.
Johnnie screeches back into the centre of Brighton and Kenny, Beverly and I leap out at Kenny’s place.
“Be careful, Ruby!” shouts Mary, then “Stay safe, sweetheart . . .” as Johnnie swings the car around and heads uphill, tooting the horn.
The old beige car is sitting on the kerb, string from the door handles blowing merrily in the breeze. “How fast do you think we can get there?” I ask Ken, helping Beverly to yank open the doors.
“Peacehaven isn’t far, but it does depend how hard it is to find this ruined farm place.” He turns the ignition key and the car rattles into life. Beverly and I cling to each other in the back seat as Kenny squeals the tyres and turns towards Peacehaven.
The coast road changes from town to countryside pretty quickly and we judder past a few farms, watching the cliffs rise to our right and the fields turning lusher and greener. It’s early evening now, and the sun is lower over the sea. The vast flat expanse of water is never hidden from view for long. I shiver with a sudden sense of foreboding, watching the sunbeams dance blood red and gold over the waves.
Beverly, frozen beside me, her curly hair blowing out in the wind, is gripping my hand so tightly my knuckles have gone white.
“Look, I just saw a sign to Peacehaven off that lane. We must be getting close!” I shout to Kenny, gently releasing my hand from Beverly’s. My mouth is dry.
He slows, and the car rattles along, annoying faster traffic behind us. Ken makes a rude gesture as a lorry and two cars overtake, leaving us alone on the road. We all scan the hedges to our right for a battered sign. The roadside verges are crowded with giant weeds, overgrown hedges dotted with wildflowers, and the odd rabbit leaping to safety. In the distance, a tractor is chugging slowly across a corn field, trailer loaded dangerously high. Even out here, out of sight of the waves, as we dip down and round a bend, I can smell the salt of the sea.
“There!” Beverly shouts suddenly, making me jump. She points quickly and Kenny slows down to a crawl to make a right turn, bumping down a weed-infested track.
The overgrown hedges almost meet above us, but there are other fresh tyre tracks slashing a way through the greenery, forcing a way ahead for us. Eventually we drive through a rusty metal gate, open and half hanging off its hinges. Kenny kills the engine and we freewheel slowly to a stop in front of a ruined farmhouse. The cobblestone walls of a cattle yard are decorated with the same tufted ferns as the driveway, and the house itself is nothing but three blackened walls and a tottering brick chimney.
Several other outbuildings are in the same state of disrepair, but there is another track leading between a rickety cow barn and the cattle yard. The gate to this has a rusty padlock still intact and wheel marks indicate someone has gone through fairly recently.
“Let’s go on foot,” I say, whispering even though I can’t see anyone in the house or yard.
I can feel Beverly trembling beside me as we get out of the car, closing the doors gently and following Kenny to the gate.
He gives it a shake, but the padlock is twined through thick rusty chains, and the gate stays shut. Shrugging at us, he starts to climb over the gate. Beverly and I follow, and we hurry along the grassy track in silence. It winds eastwards, descending swiftly, scarred with great sheer places of bare chalk, amidst the sheep-cropped turf. Eventually, peering cautiously around every blind corner, we round a bend, and the hedge that lines the track on both sides finishes in a straggle of weeds.
Again there is evidence of broken vegetation and crushed chalky stones, as though a vehicle has come this way. Two large wooden and metal sheds stand between us and the cliff edge, and the track narrows abruptly to a single file pathway, dropping steeply between the rocks. The sound of waves breaking lazily on the shore and the screech of a couple of seagulls high overhead breaks the uncertain silence.
“This must go to the cove Trixie told us about. Should we search those sheds first?” Beverly whispers, despite the rush of the sea covering any noise we might make, “Or go straight down there?”
Kenny puts a gentle hand on my arm and points. Parked almost out of sight, right next to one of the buildings, is a white Ford Anglia. “That must be him, so let’s go up to the buildings. Remember, we aren’t the police, and if we are right and he does have some kind of strange attachment to Ella, we can try to play on that. Espec
ially if we can offer a way out.”
We walk carefully towards the vehicle, leaving our hedge cover and venturing out onto the short grass of the cliff top, but nobody challenges us.
It’s a shabby car and parked at an angle, as though someone was in a hurry. Or the driver had trouble seeing properly, I think, remembering. Was it Will who said Stocker was losing his sight? Next to the driver’s door are a couple of empty beer bottles, lots of cigarette ends and a pile of crisp packets.
The shed nearest to us isn’t locked, and I cautiously crack open the door. It smells of cows, tar, and petrol, but there is nothing there except piles of splintered wooden packing crates. Chains hanging from the wooden beams swing ominously in the sea breeze, and the metal roof is full of rusty holes. The second shed is locked with another rusty padlock and chain links which are the size of my arm.
“Let’s go around the back and see if there is another way in,” suggests Kenny, leading the way between the buildings.
We emerge blinking in the low sun, a few yards from the edge of the cliff. To our right the grassland slopes down to the little path we followed before. To our left a track winds to a grassy knoll up on the cliff. A rusty blue van stands parked a little way from the edge. The soft blue of the summer sky is fading to the rosy gold of evening, and the shadows are lengthening. We are near enough to see that a man and a girl are sitting in the van, side by side, and that smoke from a cigarette drifts away over the sea.
“Ella,” gasps Beverly.
Kenny shushes her, and I whisper that maybe we should try cutting back around the farm and approaching the van from the other side. Ella’s side.
“We don’t know what he’s going to do. Let’s keep going. He must have seen us by now. We’ve been visible ever since we left the shelter of the shed,” Beverly says, grinding out the words, fighting back tears. She moves forward, almost shoving us away.
“Beverly, wait!” I put a quick hand onto her arm, and she bites her lip hard, tears in her eyes.
