Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  “Stay vigilant. I’ll scrape it clear.” The voice was abrupt and terse and Jellie was reminded of their previous escapade in the night. At the time, that girl had been indignant, but this woman knew the reason. The clearing process was taking longer than had been expected. The door consisted of two flaps that would open in the middle, but the wooden cleat, wedged in a metal hoop, needed to be cleaned off before they could be separated. Jellie could feel her heat rising. She needed to take off some layers, but did not dare stop, too conscious of so much to do in so short a time. Fortunately the doors were small, the opening allowing enough room for one body at a time.

  Before attempting to raise the top door Mal sprayed WD40 on all four hinges, then with a short crow-bar exerted leverage against it, while Jellie got a grip on the end to help lift. It would not budge. “Bloody hell!” she tried again. This time there was some movement, but no opening. “Jells, can you to find a wedge so we can both push?” She returned with a piece of broken brick from the stable wall. “Will this do?” she asked, low-voiced.

  “Great. Slide it under as soon as I give you enough room.”

  They worked together, one prying one wedging, until eventually they had a door in a position where they could both give it a heave: “On the count of three.” Suddenly it flew up and they were knocked back, sprawling either side of a small hole. The other door put up less of a fight and they were in, down a short flight of roughly hewn steps to an uneven, dirt floor.

  Jellie did not need the map, her memory from here was only too vivid, but she was worried about the door at the other end. After all this time, would it have been bricked over? It used to work on a special mechanism hidden from strangers’ eyes. Anyone not in the ‘know’ could not follow. She remembered exactly which brick to remove, but so much could have changed in one hundred years.

  Before they went further they removed their head gear and outer jacket. Mal stuffed it all in the grip then slung it over one shoulder. She took out the flashlight and adjusted it to a wide beam. Jellie took the lead. Eventually she saw the stone wall at the end of the passage. They must have traversed quite a distance, enough to bring them under the main house. They had to proceed in a crouch position which was tiring, but at least here they were safe and could take time to catch their breath. She handed over her torch and Mal stood back a pace to provide the widest range possible in which to search. Jellie moved left slowly and methodically, tapping each stone with a small mallet; about waist height.

  Mal heard the change in note when she struck the right one and moved in closer with her light. Jellie passed over the mallet and began to push on the right-hand side of the stone. “It’s not moving,” she cried out, so disappointed.

  “Let me try. I push here?” she checked. They swapped roles and Mal used all her power to force the stone to pivot. She felt a slight give, but that was all. “I’ll try the spray.” Jellie handed over the can. Once again she got herself into position and this time the stone turned. It revealed a sturdy chain which Jellie began to pull down, only a short span at a time since the cleft was not large. It produced a low grinding sound; an old mechanism was being made to move again. As her hands kept pulling, to Mal’s amazement, a hatch above their head rose upwards.

  “How do we get up there?” she asked stricken. “We don’t have a ladder.”

  Jellie, feeling more relaxed now, chuckled. “My ancestors were clever. They made slight foot-holds in the wall. You have to know where to put your toes,” she asserted, proudly. “I’ll go first, then you can hand me the bag. Watch carefully …” she ordered, “… they’re widely spaced. At least they were for my short legs when I was a girl.”

  Mal kept the arc of her light steady. Slowly Jellie inched her way to the trap door and pulled herself through. She leaned out to reach for the grip. Mal had to find two toe-holds before they could make contact, but then the exchange was made and the erratic beam of Jellie’s torch guided her ascent.

  What they had done was climb to the cellar floor from below and once through the opening, they could stand upright. Sweeping her torch they saw the area was totally empty, cleared of all previous contents and certainly no longer in use; dust and cobwebs abounded and the air smelled musty and stale. It seemed the only visitors were rats and mice. She did not recall it being so scary. A panic attack was threatening, depriving her of breath.

  “Which way now,” Mal urged, breaking her introspection.

  This is no time to get the jitters, Jellie rebuked herself. She steadied her nerves with the recollection that Mr. Minton, their Cellar Master and Sommelier and one of her favourites, had regularly maintained this domain. In those days, the trap door’s location had been hidden behind the port racks.

  C’mon Jells, move on, Mal inwardly fumed.

  “The cellar steps are along here,” Jellie supplied. “Do you think the door will be locked?”

  “I’ve thought of that. I’m going to drill out the screws. It will be locked from the other side I’m sure, so I just have to remove it.”

  As expected the handle did not turn. With Jellie still providing light, Mal rummaged in the bag and drew out what she needed; a small, battery charged drill to which she could fit differently sized bits. She had a set of screw drivers in a pouch. Once the plate and tumbler had been removed then the lock no longer functioned properly on the other side and the door opened.

  They stepped onto the polished, square flagstones that would lead them to the kitchen. Now Mal was flooded by a torrent of memories herself. The familiarity of the flooring hit hard and she was figuratively knocked back by the impact. For some reason she did not understand, this confrontation was more intense than when she had seen Patchford House from the outside. Perhaps the image was more personal.

  The plan: to enter the house from the kitchen via the backstairs. This kitchen was nothing like how they remembered. Totally modern and it seemed smaller, but no time to investigate changes now, time only to stow away shoes and replace gloves and the balaclava. Once again Jellie led the way. The house was dark and silent. They took a moment to listen for suspicious sounds; voices and/or barking. All was quiet. Her light stayed low as they padded down the long corridor to the green baize door at the end of the next flight of stairs. Interestingly, this had not changed, but on the other side of the servants’ door everything was totally different. Functional rooms flanked a tiled walkway. Each one had had a large glass window installed making it light and airy. Gone were the costly Persian carpets, the lavish hangings and rich drapes, still they made sure their steps made no sound.

  Jellie took them to the next storey. This looked more familiar. The panelled doors were the same, but they had been stripped of paint to the natural timber which was now stained to a golden sheen. She stopped for a moment as she was reminded of her girlhood visits.

  “Jellie?”

  The fourth door – her mother’s boudoir. Taking a deep breath, she gently turned the handle. The door opened silently and quickly they slipped in. Closing the door softly they surveyed the interior. It was no longer a chamber, but the private office of the CEO, just as Mal had hoped. Shock kept Jellie immobile. Mama’s room!

  The furniture had gone; the windows looked the same, the same watered silk on the walls and the same parquetry flooring. Only the rugs had been replaced. The greatest impact: the same pictures hung in their original positions. This venture could really be a success after all, she hoped.

  “Sit here Jells. Take a moment.” Mal indicated the easy chair opposite the huge mahogany desk located beneath the window. She took over the flashlight.

  “No, I’m recovered,” she assured her. “I need to do this.”

  Quickly she scanned the art works, then crossed to a side wall and looked up at the portrait of her mother as a small child. Her heart hammered in her chest and her hands shook as she reached up to swing back the wooden frame on its creaking hinges. She needed to know if someone had already discovered this safe and if so, had it been invaded? As far as she c
ould tell, no damage had been done, not even scratches on the lock. Had the subsequent owners not been curious? I wonder how long the house has been under new management. Perhaps they haven’t yet got around to changing everything.

  She could not believe her good fortune, yet at the same time was intrigued. What had been the reason for the sale of the property? Were Mona and Patchy’s children still alive? Indeed, had they had children? As soon as possible she resolved to embark on a quest to discover all she could about Ramona and Ambrose – and any other Patchfords. She had so much to make up for. She continued to stand and stare. Although conscious of their vulnerable situation she was still more conscious of the loud pulse beat in her ears, drumming in the message that she must find out everything; leave no stone unturned.

  “Jells?” Mal’s voice brought her to the present.

  “Yes, I know.” She withdrew the gold chain from her neck and unclasped it. Taking the key she turned it in the lock. Mal moved closer with her curve of light and as Jellie swung back the solid door, she saw the contents of the safe revealed in the lambent glow. Amazement kept her wordless for a long moment.

  Dark, velvet jewellery cases were stacked each upon the other. The opening was deep in the thick wall; wide enough to house a goodly number of boxes of all sizes, well beyond the dimensions of the painting which in reality was just a small doorway. Well off to one side the beam picked out a thick envelope. Eventually Mal found her voice: “The letter?” Jellie’s eyes remained fixed. She nodded.

  “There’s no time now, Jells. We must collect the boxes and get out,” she pressed, although her wish was to investigate their contents immediately, but their priority must be to get safely away. She opened the grip. “Put the stuff in here and we’ll high-tail it out.” Jellie was too slow. “Here! You hold the bag, I’ll do it. Then we must run.” In double quick time she had the safe emptied and the grip over her shoulder. They locked and closed up everything, but before retracing their steps took a moment to listen to the vibrating silence. Nothing! All they could hear was their own heart beat hammering in their ears. Quick, along the corridor to the stairs: down to the kitchen, then on to the cellar. She could do nothing about the broken lock, just pushing the door to, and had to hope people did not come down here often. Now they could replace their footwear. Once they were in the secret tunnel Mal pulled on the block and tackle to close the hatch and pushed on the stone to swing it into place. As much as possible, they did not want to reveal their mode of entry, although anyone walking along the outside of the stable could not help but notice the disturbed ground. Perhaps they’ll think of foxes.

  She pulled herself up to the outside, then Jellie hauled up the grip and she gave her a hand to climb out. It was good to breathe the fresh air, albeit tinged by the dank smell of marshland. By the light of the moon Mal checked her watch. It would not be long before the first rays of dawn could betray their presence and still they had to get through that fence. In silence, crouched as low as possible, they ran to their opening. Mal clutched the grip to her chest not willing to leave it bobbing on her back. Progress was slow and awkward. No voices rang out in the morning stillness. There was no belligerent confrontation. It was Sunday; no-one worked today. All was quiet.

  In the car Mal had just enough light to guide her without enhancement, as a rosy tint had begun to colour the sky. Not until the open road did she flick the beams, although by this time they were hardly needed, the silver glimmer was successfully fighting its way through the scattering of clouds. They were silent on the journey home, too much going on in the brain for idle chatter. Jellie lost herself in ‘dawn’s early light’, taking comfort from the familiar golden rays as they struck the passing rooves and spires. For so long she had been unable to appreciate this time of day. It felt good, her mind too active for sleep; her nerves in need of calm.

  Mal drove automatically. At this hour traffic was not heavy; she could let her wandering thoughts relive past events. She exalted in the fact they had accomplished their goal in one shot. Lady luck had been on their side. My nerves wouldn’t stand it otherwise.

  Although, by the time they reached the unit they should have gone straight to sleep, neither could delay any longer. Mal had decided she would take her cue from Jellie and if she wanted to wait, she would respect her wish. However, here they were, sitting on the carpet in their PJ’s, each with a cold drink, the grip between them and Jellie coming to the end of reading the letter, her voice a hushed whisper: “… Hereunder I do set my seal and signature … Lady Glencora Regina Elizabeth Patchford. Witness: Francine Anne Hewitt. September 20th. 1909.”

  They looked at each other for a long moment, Mal in a stunned silence, Jellie lost in vivid recollection of that day and how it had changed her life. She recalled her own disbelief at the thought she was going to lose her beautiful Mama and then the horror of the truth regarding her ignominious origins. And to think, in her innocence she had expected to find out about her brother and sister! Now the reality of her situation hit her like a winding punch – they were half siblings. She was a Patchford in name only. Even if she could discover something of their lives, really she had no right to the information: certainly not to any claim on the indulgence of their offspring.

  Mal had thought this letter would bring joy to her beloved, but she saw only grief and desolation reflected in those serious, dark eyes. They began to brim with tears. So much pain pulsed beneath that fixed countenance.

  “Oh my darling, what is it?”

  Still Jellie could not tell the secret. The shame was too deep for her to voice the words. This was a truth she knew she would never reveal.

  “Jells, don’t you want to look in the boxes?” Mal encouraged.

  “You open them … my hands …”

  Mal reached for the nearest one: burgundy velvet, long and narrow. For a bracelet she guessed. She snapped open the clasp then gasped in wonderment at the opulence and beauty of the design. A series of specimen rubies were set in a chain of small, white gold circles, each joined by a large solitaire. Mal could just picture it on Lady Glencora’s wrist, over the white, satin evening glove. Its magnificence was truly spectacular. She looked across at Jellie to observe her oval face, tear-streaked. Deep sadness swirled in the green depths of her eyes. Here was no delight in this discovered treasure. If anything she saw a damaged soul wrestling in torment with, she knew not what.

  “You must miss your mother and everyone so much. Do you want to leave this for another time?” Mal thought she had not heard her, her form remained so unmoving. At last she broke her transfixed silence.

  “I remember what’s in each of those boxes … I don’t need to open them.” Her soft voice cracked on the last words as she dashed away hot tears from her cheeks.

  “Jells, I’ll catalogue every item for you. When you feel up to it, we can go through together and then you must decide what you want to do.” She stopped, wondering if this was a bad time to point out the obvious. What best to say?

  “Jellie, do you realise that you have come into your inheritance? From now on you are an independently wealthy woman. You will have to make some major decisions about how you want your future to unfold.”

  “I don’t want a future!” she burst out, lips quivering. “There’s no life for me here.” Her moist eyes flashed with manic fervour as she threw out the words: “I hate this world I’m living in. If I can’t go back, I don’t want to go on!” She slumped to a heap on the floor, stifled sobs wracking her body. The panic of the warning was out, causing a sudden jump in Mal’s heart rate. It battered her senses, shattering into multiple elements of awful fear. All around them, the horror of the suggestion hovered in the air. Jellie’s breathing was laboured as she grappled with bleak emptiness; a mocking fate to which she could see only one solution.

  Mal could hardly believe her ears and eyes. Everything had been going so well and now this. Where had it come from? Was it going back to Guilfoyle Park? But she had seemed so positive about the prospect. Perhap
s being confronted by unavoidable reality had been too much? She was deeply distressed. You should have known better, she berated herself. It was her role as guardian to foresee the problems and take action to avert them. Not go blundering in like some sort of cracked nut job. She wanted so badly to make the hurt go away, but she could only look on in paralysed impotence. Perhaps whatever this calamity was would be mitigated by time? But not knowing what had gone wrong, how could a resolution be found?

  I pressed too hard. We should never have done this. Being confronted by what used to be has brought down all this anguish. She revised her conclusion. She has the right to know the truth of the letter. Yet truth itself is a fractured prism. Perhaps there’s more here than I can fathom and she’s not telling … or can’t. Not now anyway.

  “Come, dear heart. Let’s get you to bed. You’ll feel different after, you’ll see, now isn’t the time to be resolving anything.” She tenderly raised her up and slowly guided her over to sit gently on the edge. It seemed that vehement outburst had spent all her energies. She brought her a glass of water and one of the tranquillisers.

  “Take this and then try to sleep.” She did not approve of administering in excess to the prescribed dose. The last thing she wanted was an over dependency on pills, but sometimes.… Once the pill was down she drew up the covers. “Try not to worry, Jellie. You know it doesn’t help, don’t you.” She gave her a hug and a light kiss. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  She did not settle herself for sleep, but continued to keep guard over her precious love while she systematically opened each of the boxes. This jewellery represented an extensive fortune, especially when bearing in mind its antique status. She re-read the letter. She would need to get the name of a good solicitor and rent a safety deposit box … do both as soon as possible. At length, when she had come to the end of listing the items and had checked on the somnolent form, she felt free to lay her body down, but still sleep was an age in coming.