by Kirsty Ferry
‘Well, I think this girl is Ella,’ said Becky decisively. She picked the photograph up and brought it over to him. ‘I need a magnifying glass to check. Ella had a beauty spot on that portrait on her left cheek. The way this girl is turned to the camera, I can see a mark in the same place.’
‘How the hell did you spot that?’ asked Lissy.
‘Oh, I’m quite observant,’ said Becky. ‘I take a lot in. It comes with the territory.’
‘She’s a journalist now,’ muttered Jon. He closed his eyes. ‘God help us all. Worry when she starts doing those exposé things.’ He felt a sharp jab to his shoulder and opened his eyes to see Becky glaring at him.
‘I hadn’t considered that until now. But apart from that, like it or not, I think you are definitely part of it all now,’ she said.
‘Do I detect a note of complacency in your voice?’ Jon sighed. ‘I don’t want to be that involved. Adam. Adam who?’
‘I think this is Adam in the photograph,’ said Becky, ‘and judging by the way they are looking at each other, I would imagine Adam is her lover. Lissy, can you find out if there were any Adam Carricks? If she’s Lady Eleanor, he might be Sir Adam.’ She shrugged her shoulders and stared at the picture again. ‘Once more, I’m clutching at straws. But the feeling I get from, well, from Ella, is that this man is Adam.’
Jon watched Becky sidelong as the furrow on her brow eased and a small smile played about her lips. He knew Ella was somehow about again, telling Becky in her own special way that she was right. Adam or no Adam, this was the man she loved. Jon reached out and touched Becky’s hand. She jumped and snapped back into the present. What he would give, he thought, for her to let him hold her hand just a little longer.
‘Sorry, Jon,’ Becky said, looking up at him.
Jon whistled a breath out from between his teeth. Over the last day or so he knew he had actually become quite fond of Becky, all over again. He’d always preferred her to any of Lissy’s other friends anyway, but most of the time, they were just kids tearing around the house together and shrieking. He liked this new, improved, grown-up Becky even more. And he wanted Becky with him, not Ella. He briefly wondered what would happen if Ella decided to stay, then pushed the thought away. Becky was a device for communication, nothing else, he told himself. He looked at her again. Yes, he definitely wanted Becky with him. Her hair had the sort of sheen to it that a thousand hair product commercials would promise, but she seemed completely unaware of it. Even as he watched her, she twisted that little tendril around again and, yes, there it went; shoved behind her left ear. Only the left one. The right side of her hair, she left hanging down.
‘Adam Carrick is as good a place to start as any,’ said Lissy, interrupting his train of thought. ‘I’ll get my laptop set up.’ She slipped away to the table by the door.
Jon stood up and walked over to the writing slope. ‘If he is indeed Adam, then it still doesn’t explain L.J.C.,’ he said, looking at the slope. He peered into it and fished out the sprig of lavender that Becky had left behind. He turned it thoughtfully in his hands. ‘Maybe the owner was called Lavender?’ he suggested. He heard a snort of laughter behind him and Becky came up to him.
‘Now who’s clutching at straws?’ she asked. She was still holding the picture. ‘Do you have a magnifying glass, then? If this is Ella I want to see her properly. I want to see her face when she’s not posed. I want to see what she’s saying. Does that make sense?’
‘Sort of,’ said Jon. He fumbled around in a drawer and gave Becky a magnifying glass. ‘You’re lucky. I use it to identify the tiny defects in the photos – I like them to be perfect and if there’s a splodge over their face, I like to know what’s caused it.’
Becky raised the old photograph up and peered through the glass at it. Jon longed to take hold of her hair as it fell forward and tuck that strand away for her again, but he somehow thought she wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. He was so caught up in the idea of touching her hair and maybe seeing where it would lead, that he was brought back to reality with a kind of muffled squeak from Becky.
‘It is her, I’m almost certain!’ she cried. ‘And even more exciting – look at the fireplace. See the carving in the middle of the plaster mantelpiece thing. It’s the shield from Carrick Park, isn’t it?’
Jon took the photograph and the magnifying glass from her and peered at the carving. It wasn’t the clearest of details, but he definitely saw a ‘C’ shape in the middle of it, just like the ones from the hotel depicted. ‘It looks like it,’ he said guardedly, ‘but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ Almost reluctantly, he moved the glass over the faces of the people. He saw the beauty spot on the girl’s cheekbone and the soft tendrils that escaped her carefully styled hair. He saw the look on the man’s face and shuddered to think that this might indeed have been Adam who had spoken to him moments before. He moved the magnifier over the background, trying to pick out more details and felt his heart beat faster as he settled on a table in the corner. Placed on the table were a decanter and a set of glasses. He could just see the outline of what looked like another person reflected in the decanter. The person appeared to be sitting down and a box-like structure was on the desk next to them. ‘Good Lord,’ murmured Jon. ‘I think we’ve got the photographer as well. There is a reflection in the decanter.’
‘What?’ asked Becky. ‘Let me see!’ He handed the magnifier and the photograph to her and watched her squint into the glass. ‘Can you do anything to make it clearer?’ she asked, looking up at him.
‘I suppose I could have a go,’ he said. ‘There are ways of enlarging it. It would be easier if I had the plate, of course.’
‘Well you haven’t,’ said Becky. She thrust the photograph at him. ‘Go on, see what you can do in that little darkroom of yours. Pretty please?’
‘All right,’ said Jon. ‘How are you doing over there, Lissy?’
‘I’m checking a few records,’ she replied. ‘I’m looking for the usual things – birth, marriage and death records, census returns, that kind of thing. I think I’m way off track though. I’m looking at the 1871 census return and I can’t find a record of any Carricks at Carrick Park. I just thought the easiest and quickest way was to check Carrick Park first. At least we know the place we are dealing with, if nothing else.’
‘Good plan,’ said Becky. ‘What year was that? 1871? Wasn’t there a return in 1861? Every ten years? I think the date on this invitation here was nearer to that.’ She disappeared and moved the pieces of paper around, searching for the invitation. ‘1865. Are there any Carricks in the 1861 census?’
‘Let me check,’ said Lissy. She pressed a few keys and stared at the laptop screen. ‘Ooh. I’ve got a hit. There is one person called Carrick at Carrick Park in 1861– she was seventeen then. Oh, these transcriptions are terrible … wait. I think if I zoom in on here … got it! Well. Our Miss Carrick is called Lydia Jane—’
‘L.J.C!’ cried Jon, turning to Becky. ‘We found her!’ He put the photograph down and ran over to Lissy.
Becky laughed. ‘So not Lavender then!’ she said. ‘That explains why the writing slope has the Carrick coat of arms on it. It was Lydia’s. But it doesn’t explain the rest of our puzzle. The finger spelling or the invitation, for instance. She would have been twenty-one in 1865. I wonder if it was an engagement or something really special for her?’
‘Hmmm,’ said Lissy. She moved the mouse and scrolled the page along to one side. She studied the screen for a moment then shook her head. ‘And the census doesn’t explain the finger spelling sheet either,’ she said.
‘How would the census tell us that?’ asked Jon.
‘The final column states whether the person was deaf, dumb or blind,’ replied Lissy. ‘I just wondered if that was why Lydia had it. But she’s not classed as deaf here, so it can’t be hers.’
‘No further forward on that
one, then,’ said Becky. She looked at Jon. ‘And it doesn’t explain Adam either.’
‘I’ll do a bit more digging,’ said Lissy.
She typed away and Jon returned to the table where the photograph was. He wondered if he had time to start working on it now, while the girls were busy and stared towards his darkroom, thinking. Whilst his attention was elsewhere, he felt someone grab hold of his hands and cover them with their own, trying to force his fingers to move. The feeling was so strong, that he looked down sharply, half expecting to see Becky holding them. Instead, he noticed that she was still beside Lissy, eagerly bending over his sister and reading the information she was pulling up on the laptop. Jon shook his hands, thinking he had maybe cut off the circulation somehow, but the feeling intensified. He felt himself grow hot and cold and stared at them, feeling oddly disassociated from them. He concentrated on trying to hold them steadily in front of him and looked around the studio, feeling scared and helpless. This was all new to him, and if it was something ghostly, he really didn’t want to know.
Becky looked at him over her shoulder, as if sensing his discomfort. Her eyes flicked down to his hands and back to his face then she turned and walked over to him. She took his wrists in hers.
‘Just go with it,’ she said quietly. ‘Let them talk.’
‘No! It’s weird,’ he hissed under his breath. He tried to pull his hands away, but Becky shook her head.
‘Jon. If I have to put up with Ella, you need to let this happen.’
Jon took a deep breath and tried to relax. He closed his eyes and he felt Becky let go of his wrists. As if they didn’t belong to him, he felt his hands shape four perfect letters. Then they dropped to his side. He opened his eyes and looked at Becky.
‘What did it say?’ he asked.
‘Adam,’ replied Becky. ‘I think you’ve definitely got a connection there with him.’ She half smiled, but there was no humour in it. ‘Tell me, could you still hear what was going on around you?’
Jon nodded. ‘I guess so. It was just my hands that felt like they wanted to do … that.’
‘So Adam knows how to communicate through you. And he knows how to finger spell so he is either deaf or needs to communicate with a deaf person. We know Lydia is not deaf, according to that census, and when Ella has taken me over I realise that there is no sound. So by process of elimination, I think it’s Ella. I think she’s the deaf one. This could prove interesting; what wonderful conversations we could have in the guise of Adam and Ella—’
‘No! I want to be Jon and Becky!’ said Jon, panicking. ‘I can’t understand all the finger stuff.’ He shuddered. ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘You said you would be willing to learn,’ said Becky.
Jon hoped she was teasing. ‘Well, I would, you know that. But I don’t want to be Adam—’
‘And I don’t want to be Ella!’ snapped Becky. She clearly hadn’t been teasing that much. ‘I can’t stop thinking about her now,’ said Becky. ‘It explains a lot.’ She picked up the photograph and studied it again, then sighed and laid it down. ‘Dear God, the poor girl; fancy being deaf in that day and age. I can’t even imagine it. You know something? I think she’s talking to him here – really talking to him. Oh, Ella. What are you saying?’
She moved her hands vaguely, apparently trying to copy the blurred movements on the photograph. ‘Maybe she’s saying something like … what’s happening. Yes, we would all like to know that, Ella.’ She walked over to the table where the writing slope was. She sat down, staring at it.
Jon debated whether to go over to her or not, then decided she probably wouldn’t thank him for it. This was more awkward than he had anticipated. Damn his thoughtlessness. Would he ever learn?
For a moment Jon wasn’t sure whether that was Jon talking, or indeed Adam. He had a horrible suspicion, though, that it was Jon.
BECKY
‘Adam is still rather elusive,’ said Lissy, her voice breaking into Becky’s thoughts. ‘If he was off travelling or on his Grand Tour or something, we wouldn’t be able to pin him down in 1861 and we aren’t sure of his surname either. We just think it’s Carrick. Damn and blast!’
Becky stood up and went back over to Lissy. ‘Can you find any marriage records on that lovely site of yours?’
‘Marriage records?’ asked Lissy. She looked up at Becky, curious. ‘Why marriage records?’
‘For Adam Carrick, if he is indeed a Carrick,’ replied Becky. ‘I’m just wondering if he actually married our Ella. If we can find his marriage record, it might help.’ The way they were looking at each other in the photograph, Becky thought, if they hadn’t married, it would have been a crying shame.
‘Good idea,’ said Lissy. She gave Becky a thumbs-up sign and turned back to the screen. ‘I have a few Carricks coming up here over the years … I’ll try and narrow it down a bit. We think it was around 1865, don’t we? Okay, I’ll do it for, say, two years either side. Oh! How about this one? It’s the exact year, as well.’ She turned the laptop towards Becky, her face glowing triumphantly.
Becky read the details out loud. ‘A.J.E. Carrick. Married third quarter of 1865. Spouse’s surname … E.C. Dunbar. Well, it’s a start. You know what I’m going to ask you now, don’t you?’
‘If we can find an Eleanor Dunbar or an Ella Dunbar somewhere, yes?’ asked Lissy. ‘Oh! Oh no! Oh damn it. I knew I should have charged this thing up.’
Becky saw the screen turn black and the laptop blinked. Then it stared at her, uncommunicative. ‘Out of battery,’ Becky said. ‘Great. We all know how that feels, don’t we?’
‘I’m so sorry!’ wailed Lissy. She bashed the side of the laptop in vain.
‘That won’t work,’ said Becky. ‘Have you got a charger?’
‘Not with me,’ muttered Lissy flushing scarlet.
‘Great,’ repeated Becky. ‘This day just gets better and better. Lissy, you know I’ve always loved you and it’s wonderful to see you – but I could scream at you right now.’
‘I know! I really am so sorry!’
‘Can I do anything to help?’ said Jon, coming over to them.
‘I think you’ve done enough,’ replied Becky curtly.
‘I didn’t mean it before. I wasn’t thinking. I meant that I would rather communicate with you as we do now, than have to do what Adam did all the time—’
Becky held her hand up to stop him. ‘You don’t know it was all the time,’ she said. ‘We don’t know anything about their situation. All we know is that for one moment, the moment of that photograph, they seemed really happy together. Lissy, where’s your charger?’
‘At home,’ she mumbled, talking into the keyboard.
‘Pardon?’ said Becky. She knew she had sounded sharp.
‘At home,’ repeated Lissy, more loudly. ‘I need to go now anyway. Have you got your mobile with you? I can let you know if I find anything out?’ She raised those eyes, so like her brothers, to Becky and Becky softened.
‘All right,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Let me know as soon as you find anything, okay?’
‘Okay. Even if we find an E.C. Dunbar, we need to get the marriage details from the parish register to prove it further. If it’s local, I can do that tomorrow.’
Her old friend looked so upset that Becky couldn’t resist giving her a quick hug. ‘It’s fine. You’ve done so much for us today, it’s wonderful. I’m very grateful to you. I’m sorry Ella felt she had to let herself impress upon you like that. It must have been scary.’
‘It wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences,’ said Lissy guardedly.
‘No, I know it wasn’t,’ said Becky. ‘See, to her that was normal. She’s trying to talk through us, trying to let us know something about her life. We know a bit more than we did, though.’
‘And Adam as well. Fancy that, we’ve actuall
y seen them today as well!’ Lissy brightened up. Becky knew she wouldn’t have stayed down for long. ‘Jon, you’ll get that photo sorted for us, won’t you?’ Lissy asked.
‘I will,’ Jon said. ‘It’s a priority. Well, hiding in my darkroom is a priority in view of recent events, so I think I’ll go and make a start now.’ He looked at Becky and attempted a smile. She gave in and half-smiled back. Damn the man for being so attractive! What had happened to the annoying older brother thing? Yet she went ahead and added a little thoughtless to her mental Jon-list. Still, if that was as bad as he got …
She tried to shake the thought away and helped Lissy pack up her belongings, eventually walking her to the door amid promises of immediate action on her behalf if at all possible. When she returned, Lissy-less, to the writing slope desk, Becky idly looked at her mobile, which was lying just on the top of her handbag. She noticed the message icon flashing and realised she had a text message. And a missed call. She’d had it on silent all morning, not particularly expecting anyone to call her at all. She cursed under her breath and picked it up. She pressed a few buttons and her heart sank. Seb. What the hell did Seb want with her? She’d made the situation perfectly clear to him; their expectations of the relationship didn’t match at all. The final straw had come in the shape of a small, curvaceous blonde called Abigail. It was when Becky accidentally bumped into them in a wine bar one night that she realised what was going on. The sweet nothings Seb was clearly whispering to Abigail riled Becky, and she had stormed up to them, told them exactly what she thought of them and left. She assumed Seb had come to her flat afterwards, as the bag she had left in the foyer containing his possessions had vanished by the time she came home from work the next day. He could have banged and hammered on the door all night, and she still wouldn’t have opened it to him. And she’d switched her phone off that night as well, just to make doubly sure he couldn’t contact her.
