by Fay Sampson
‘Mmm. But he’s in danger of blowing his cover, then. He’s not being clever enough. And he is a clever man.’
‘But that’s how he always is,’ Millie said. ‘Shouting at people. You ask anyone from Briars Hill. He has them wetting their pants.’
‘Using anger as a weapon to browbeat children is one thing. Losing your temper at the country club is another. Anyone could have come along and seen him. That sort of behaviour is generally frowned on.’
‘Even if we were genuinely at fault?’ Suzie queried. ‘I mean, we were there on false pretences. He had a reason to bawl us out.’
‘He’s worried somebody will find Tamara. That she’ll tell the police what he did to her. That’s why he’s scared as hell.’ Millie stared belligerently at her father.
‘Maybe. I’m not denying he’s a dangerous man if he’s crossed. That’s why you should keep away from him. I just feel that the more he has to hide, the more careful he’d be.’
‘You think he’s not the baby’s father?’
Suzie frowned. ‘He’s just too proud to let people know she’s missing? That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? Anything could have happened to her. As far as he knows, she might not have run away. She could have been murdered by a stranger.’
‘Who’s being extreme now?’ Millie exclaimed. ‘Aren’t most murders committed by someone close to the victim?’
‘I didn’t tell you, did I? I met Alan Taylor in the library today. You know, the minister at Springbrook.’
‘Yeah, Tamara told me about him. He sounds a good laugh. She says he gets on great with the youth group at church. Better than the old one used to.’
‘I . . . Well, I found myself telling him about Tamara.’
‘Mum!’
‘I know, but you can say things to ministers you wouldn’t tell anybody else, even your best friend. And you’re right.’ She turned to Nick. ‘He did notice that we were having a bit of a set-to with Leonard Dawson. And he’s not unaware that there’s a personality problem there. Forceful was the word he used. Anyway, the upshot is that he’s going to ask the Salvation Army to see if they can trace Tamara. They might not do it for us, because we’re not her parents, but he thinks he can persuade them to do it for him.’
Millie’s eyes lit up. ‘You really think they could find her?’
‘There’s a good chance. Unless she’s covered her tracks extremely well. But don’t get your hopes up too high. Even if they do find her, they won’t tell anyone where she is unless she wants them to. So we might not be much better off than we are now.’
‘Maybe we should just drop it,’ Nick said. ‘We know she’s safe. At least, for the moment. Somebody seems to be looking after her. She probably wants to stay there until the baby’s born.’
‘Dad!’ Millie cried suddenly. ‘There was something in her letter about seeing a doctor.’ She jumped up and grabbed the notelet. ‘Look! You don’t think someone’s making her have an abortion, after all?’
Suzie and Nick studied the words. Suzie read them aloud. ‘She says I have to see a doctor soon because of the baby.’ Suzie’s head shot up. ‘She? I never noticed that before. She’s staying with a woman? Who could that be, Millie?’
Millie shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘Seeing the doctor could mean anything. Antenatal care. An abortion. She doesn’t say.’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t. Agree to an abortion, I mean.’
‘Makes sense,’ Nick said. ‘If she had wanted that, it could all have been taken care of by now. She wouldn’t need to be in hiding. But she might be so that Dawson can’t put pressure on her to get rid of it.’
‘Dad! What if he finds out where she is?’
‘He knows less than we do. I doubt he can find her if he won’t go to the police or the Sally Army.’
‘We have to get there first,’ Suzie said slowly. ‘We need to find out what really happened and persuade her to go to the police. Even if it’s only physical abuse, and not something worse.’
‘Or we go to the police,’ Millie insisted.
The phone rang. Millie sped to answer it. They heard her breathless query turn to laughter. Then: ‘It’s for you, Mum. It’s that nice American lady.’
Suzie hurried to take the call. ‘Hi, Pru. How are you?’
‘I’m doing great. I’ve had the best time. And I’m dying to share my news with you. It just might open a few more doors than we thought. Look, I’m coming back tomorrow afternoon. How about if I come round to your place about eight? Fill you in on the details?’
‘That would be great.’ Suzie stifled the voice of conscience that told her she should invite Prudence for a meal. ‘Eight would be fine. But can’t you tell me over the phone?’
‘Wait till tomorrow. I want to see your face when I tell you.’
Suzie came back to the table with a mixture of feelings. It was comforting to be reminded again about Prudence’s family history. Safe. Its dramas securely in the past. But it was hard to sound enthusiastic about the unmarried Johan Clayson of Corley when a real, living girl was hiding from her parents, waiting to have a baby whose existence might be the result of rape or, at the least, coercion.
SEVENTEEN
Suzie was surprised by the rush of affection she felt when she saw Prudence Clayson on the doorstep, in her crisp green dress and white jacket. She had only known this dark-haired, carefully-coutured American woman for a week, yet it felt like welcoming a much-loved member of her own family.
It was laughable to think of that moment of hostility in their first encounter, when Prudence had found it difficult to accept the evidence of bastardy.
The women embraced warmly.
‘Come in. I’m dying to know what you’ve found.’
It was not strictly true, but she couldn’t help responding to Prudence’s enthusiasm.
Prudence unwound her white chiffon scarf and settled herself on the sitting-room sofa. She beamed, with the delighted confidence of one who believes she has a treat to give. ‘I sure struck gold with William Clayson. He’s just a mine of information about the family. Around Birmingham, the south-west, the south-east, you name it. He’s got ’em all covered.’
‘And?’ In spite of her other worries, Suzie was warming to the excitement she could see in Prudence’s eyes.
‘He told me one handy little bit of information you and I never suspected.’
‘Which is?’
‘Well, we’ve been chasing up the name Clayson. And, thanks to you, we did pretty well. Adam’s baptism. Poor little Johan. That apprenticeship at Norworthy. The lease on the farm down in the valley you said we could go look at one day. I’d be excited enough to take all that back to the family. But that’s only the half of it. Of course, I knew all along that people weren’t too particular about the way they spelt their names in those days. Back when most folks couldn’t read and write.’
Suzie laughed. ‘They pull schoolchildren up for getting the spelling of Shakespeare wrong. But even Shakespeare couldn’t spell Shakespeare. He wrote it about fourteen different ways.’
‘Is that so? Well, that sure makes me feel better about my own spelling. But this William Clayson’s pretty sure that, early on, the Clayson name was Clarkson; in some parts, anyways.’
‘Clarkson? Are you sure? When you look for someone on the IGI Family Search, they throw in all the variant spellings for you. But when I searched for Clayson, Clarkson never came up once. I’m sure of it.’
‘Guess the IGI don’t know there’s a connection.’
Suzie was thinking rapidly. ‘When I get on the A2A website, looking for documents, I usually put in asterisks to cover variant spellings. With Clayson, I probably typed in Cla*son. That would cover things like Clason, without the y. But once the list of hits comes up, I run my eye down it and pick out just the ones that look possible.’ She felt the jolt as she grasped the point. ‘So, if I saw there was a document about someone called Clarkson, I wouldn’t have bothered to click on that and get
the details. In fact, I remember now that’s what we did. There were lots for John Clarkson which I didn’t bother to open.’
‘But that’s just what we did. Follow up the Clarksons. Well, Will did it for me. He got to this – what do you call it?’
‘The National Archives, A2A. That’s Access to Archives, from all over the country.’
‘That’s the one. And he picked out one of those Clarkson documents, from right here in your County Record Office.’
‘And? Don’t keep me on tenterhooks any longer.’
‘It was a bastardy bond.’
There was a beam of huge pride on Prudence’s face. She looked for Suzie’s reaction. An expression of doubt at what she saw dimmed her expectant delight.
‘That’s what you call it, isn’t it? A bastardy bond? I’m pretty sure that’s what Will said.’
Suzie could contain herself no longer. She burst into peals of laughter. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, when she could speak at last. ‘That’s really rude of me. But when I first met you . . . Do you remember, at the Record Office? You spat that word at me as if it were just about the worst thing you could imagine. And now, here you are, looking as if Father Christmas has called in the middle of June, because you’ve found a bastardy bond.’
Prudence looked startled. She seemed to be casting her mind back. Then a rueful grin spread over her face. ‘You’ve got me there. I guess I was a little put out.’
‘Put out? You were shocked.’
‘Well, yes. And I’m still planning how I’m going to tell the good folks back home that their story’s not what they think it is. Those good old God-fearing Dissenters.’
‘Johan might have been godly,’ Suzie said more seriously. ‘We still don’t know what happened to her, to make her pregnant. We probably never will.’ Her grin grew again, to match Prudence’s. ‘But join the club. You’re a real family historian now, if you’re putting the flags out because you’ve discovered a bastardy bond for your family. Lucky you. I’m green with envy.’
‘You’re jealous?’
‘Well, yes. It’s not often you turn up the details of such a human story from 260 years ago.’
‘I’m still not sure I’d call it lucky. It was a pretty sad affair, from what you’ve told me, being an unwed mother in the 1700s.’
‘I said lucky because most of us would give our eye teeth for one of those documents. We’ve all got them on our family trees. Unmarried mothers. It nearly always means the trail goes cold. You’ve only got the mother. Occasionally, the child is given a second baptismal name that’s the father’s surname. But otherwise, you’re never going to know who he was. It’s the ultimate brick wall. But if you’ve got a bastardy bond, that’s your breakthrough. You’ve found yours. Who was he?’
‘The catalogue says “Michael Atkins the younger, maintenance of Joane Clarkson’s male bastard”. It’s Joane without the h. J. O. A. N. E. But you told me that didn’t matter.’
‘Of course! What an idiot I’ve been. I remember that entry now. We saw it on the Record Office computer, and I said how lucky someone else was. I never thought it might be your Johan. Look, we’re definitely going back to the Record Office tomorrow to see this bond.’
‘You really think it’s the same person? Joane Clarkson, Johan Clayson?’
‘Was there a date for this bond?’
‘Seventeen thirty-nine.’
‘That fits exactly with Adam’s baptism. And the place?’
‘Corley parish.’
‘It’s got be her, hasn’t it? An unmarried mother, in the right place and at the right time. Corley’s not a very big village. I think William Clayson’s cracked it.’
Prudence sat back, glowing with success. ‘Now, my dear, you tell me what’s been happening to you.’
And then the present came rushing back.
How much could she tell Prudence, this newcomer she had known for such a short time? ‘Foreigner’ didn’t sound right. This woman felt almost like her own family, as though their shared search had made them relations. And it had been Prudence, not Suzie, in whom Millie had chosen to confide the fact that the pregnancy test was not for her.
Hesitantly, selecting her words with care, she began to tell Prudence something of the events of the weekend. The differing stories of the Dawsons in church. The Fewings’ doubts about the tennis coach. The furious confrontation with the racquet-wielding stepfather. One thing she kept back.
Tamara’s secret wasn’t hers to share.
A movement of air behind her told her that the door had opened. Millie was standing there, listening.
‘We know he hasn’t killed Tamara. She’s run away from him.’
The girl turned and went back to the kitchen. When she returned, Suzie was startled to see she had Tamara’s notelet in her hand.
‘That’s all we have. She’s hiding in this village, or country house, or something. Out in the sticks. Could be anywhere.’
Prudence studied the contents carefully. ‘I’d say she was with someone she knows. Someone she trusts.’
‘It’s a woman,’ Suzie said. ‘She talks about she.’
‘And you can’t think who that could be?’ Prudence’s bespectacled eyes gazed at Millie thoughtfully.
Millie shook her head. ‘Nope.’
‘It could be a couple,’ Suzie suggested. ‘It would be the woman who’d put her in touch with the antenatal stuff.’
Prudence closed the card. Her ringed hand rested on the picture on the front. She drew it aside, revealing the drawing. A half-timbered, thatched house. She gave a little start. Her head bent to examine it more closely. ‘You know where this is?’
‘No,’ Suzie said. ‘I thought the name might be printed on the back, but it’s not. It’s just a drawing of a cottage.’
‘I was there. Just yesterday. That’s Anne Hathaway’s cottage in Stratford-upon-Avon.’
Millie and Suzie stared back in silence. Then Millie started forward. ‘You mean, you think she’s there? Well, near it?’
‘I guess they could sell these cards all over. But most gift shops sell ones of local places. If the person she’s staying with has a packet of these, well, it’s the best clue yet.’
‘Somewhere near Stratford-upon-Avon?’ Millie was thinking rapidly. ‘It looks like I was wrong. I didn’t really think she would have, but maybe Tamara’s gone to her father, after all. Her real father.’
‘Reynard Woodman?’ Suzie asked. ‘Why? Where does he live?’
‘In a little village six miles from Stratford-upon-Avon.’
‘And is there a woman there?’
Millie pulled a face. ‘Her stepmother. I don’t think they get on. That’s why I thought she wouldn’t go there.’
Suzie was aware of a commotion outside in the gathering twilight. She turned her head to find Tom storming up the drive, wheeling his bike somewhat awkwardly with one hand, while the other appeared to be dragging a boy scarcely half his size.
The bike clattered against the garage wall, the front door flew open and the boy was propelled into the hall. Millie dashed to see what was happening. Suzie hurried after her. Nick and Prudence were still getting to their feet.
‘Justin Soames!’ she heard Millie cry.
‘That’s the one.’ Tom pushed the boy into the sitting room. ‘This is the nerd who’s been boasting about having it off with Tamara Gamble.’
‘Liar!’ Millie shouted.
‘I never! I didn’t actually say that.’
The boy’s thin, sharp-featured face looked scared. He hunched his shoulders as he looked round in fright at the assembled adults. Tom’s face, on the other hand, was alight with triumph.
‘But you’ve been hinting at it. Putting the word around.’
‘As if she would! You pathetic little slug!’ Millie stormed. ‘Tamara’s never even been out with you. Has she?’
‘N–not exactly.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
The boy lowered his eyes. ‘We met u
p a few times,’ he muttered. ‘She fancies me.’
‘In your dreams!’
‘Look.’ Tom had hold of Justin’s collar. ‘Tamara’s off school at the moment.’ Suzie shot him an alarmed warning, but he went on, choosing his words carefully. ‘Apparently, she’s not well. Her stepfather says she’s been overworking and they’ve sent her away for a rest until she’s better. Do you know anything about that?’
‘I heard she was off school,’ he muttered. ‘Didn’t know why.’
Tom pulled the boy round and leaned over him. ‘I’m asking you what you did know. Because I’m not sure that Tamara has been overworking. I think she may have been upset. And I’d very much like to know who’s responsible. So if there’s anything between you two you haven’t told me about, you’d better cough it up fast.’
‘It wasn’t me!’
‘But you boasted you’ve been out with her. When was that?’
‘He didn’t,’ Millie insisted. ‘She’d have told me.’
Justin wriggled uncomfortably. ‘I did meet her. But we didn’t exactly go out. I see her sometimes when I’m swimming at that country club. You know. Out on the West Road. My mum goes to their gym. We had a bit of a lark round the pool. I don’t care what you say,’ he rounded on Millie. ‘I could see she fancied me.’
‘And?’
‘I asked her to go to the Year Eleven disco, when we’d finished exams. But she turned me down.’
‘She told me about that. We had a good laugh.’
The boy shrank visibly.
Tom let him go. ‘And that’s really all? You two have never been on a date? You haven’t tried any funny business behind the swimming pool? That’s all lies you’ve been telling your mates?’
The boy shuffled his feet. ‘Yeah. I guess so.’
‘Get out. And if I hear one word more about you and Tamara having a thing, I’ll break your neck.’
‘Yes, Tom. Sorry, Tom.’
Tom pulled the door wide open. Justin Soames fled through it.
Tom turned to them, his blue eyes ablaze. He brushed his hands together, as though to rid them of dirt. ‘There! I wanted you to hear that. I think I believe the little snot-nosed runt. She splashed him a couple of times in the swimming pool, and he thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’
