by M K Jones
“We’ve come from Rhiwbina Farm, Mr Jones,” one of them explained, twisting his cap in his hands. “We heard about your search and Mr Morgan said to come and see what we could do to help you, like.”
“Tell Mr Morgan that we’re very grateful indeed. We shall need your help.” The group hushed as one, as he turned to face them.
“Today we are going to search up the valley and down towards the port. We fear…” He hesitated and looked at Ruth, choosing his words carefully in the presence of the Ellises. “Our daughter had been deeply upset recently following the death of her friend Esme. We fear she is in a most unhappy state of mind and has run away. We cannot understand why this is or where she would go, but if she was outside in last night’s rain, she will be soaked through, hungry, and cold.
“I’ve spoken to our local police constable and he’s bringing help up from the port. I have informed him that today we will organise our own search of the local land, which he approves as we know this area better than the constabulary. I shall take one group to search in the direction of the port. Arthur Ellis will take the other and work up the valley towards the disused mine shafts.” He paused, licked his dry lips and swallowed anxiously.
“If it becomes necessary to search around the active shafts, the police constable will make arrangements with the owners. I have a photograph of my daughter here. Please look at it.” He placed the photograph on the table, pointing to Alice, and had each man look at her face. “My wife has made up parcels of food for us. Please make the best use of daylight. We’ll meet back here again at the end of the day, unless of course there is any news to report before then.”
As he finished speaking, Ruth stepped forwards and handed out the packets of bread and honey, cheese, and oat biscuits. The men began to speak in low voices amongst themselves until Arthur Ellis called them together and announced that his group would leave immediately. Arthur nodded grimly to his wife, Gwen, and led half of the men out of the kitchen.
Ruth brought John his scarf and coat, and a package. As he put his coat on she spoke to him in a low voice. “You’ll need this for Alice.” John glanced into the package and saw Alice’s winter coat. He squeezed Ruth’s hand for a second, and was gone with the second search party.
In the silence of the empty kitchen Ruth and Gwen gathered up the crockery, washed them, and returned them to the dresser. Then Ruth poured a cup for each of them and they sat down at the table.
“You look very tired, Mrs Jones. If you would like to go and rest, I can stay here and look after the children.”
“I’m sure you’d prefer to be with your own children, Gwen.”
“Not yet, Mrs Jones. I would prefer to be out of my house, doing something. They keep asking for Esme.”
Ruth heard the tremble and put her hand over Gwen’s as the words came out in a rush. “I’ve tried to explain to them that she’s gone to heaven, but they don’t understand. And Arthur just shouts at them. Gwenny understands of course, but she won’t even say Essy’s name. I know we must try to bear, Mrs Jones, but some days…” Her voice trailed off into a barely stifled sob.
“Has Mr Pugh been to see you, Gwen? Perhaps he can be of some comfort?” Ruth wasn’t very hopeful that Minister Pugh would be much interested in bringing comfort to one of the poorest families in his ministry, but she was still unprepared for Gwen’s response.
“No he’s been nowhere near us… and I don’t want him in my house, anyway!”
“Gwen? Not one visit from him? Surely he has sent you something?”
“Nothing, Mrs Jones. I think,” she broke off and stared defiantly at Ruth, “I do not think that he is a very nice man.”
Ruth had never heard meek Gwen Ellis speak ill of a living soul. Gwen must have known that John and Ruth didn’t have the best of relationships with the minister, or with the schoolteacher, or indeed the deacons. The accusations and arguments had become public knowledge and had caused Ruth much embarrassment and pain but she had spoken of her feelings to none save John. They had decided to keep their own counsel, being newcomers in the eyes of most of the congregation, and remained unsure of who they could count as friends to trust. She was shocked to hear Gwen’s opinion, but uncertain of what to say next. She was saved from having to think by a child’s cry from upstairs.
“Walter is awake, which means that William and Maud will follow soon. I had better go up to them. I shall need to explain something to the boys about their sister.” She left Gwen sitting alone at the kitchen table.
Half an hour later the three children were out of bed, washed and dressed and sent down to the kitchen for their breakfast. When Ruth got back there, Gwen had tidied up and was preparing vegetables at the sink, her head down. She didn’t look up when Ruth came into the kitchen to feed the children.
During breakfast Ruth explained as carefully as she could to William and Walter that Alice had run away, and that their father was out looking for her. She also told William that he would not have to go to school, which pleased him. Walter at five was too young to understand that there was anything really wrong, and two-year-old Maud listened attentively then continued to eat her breakfast.
“Alice was crying before school,” William said, smiling in satisfaction through a mouthfull of bread, but the smile faded rapidly in reaction to the horrified expression now on his mother’s face. He hurried on, “Sara Morris said something nasty about her. Is that why she has run away?”
“Sara Morris?” Any mention of the Morris family caused Ruth concern. “What did Sara Morris say to Alice, William? Don’t be afraid to tell me. I shan’t be angry.” But William shook his head.
“Why won’t you tell me? It might be important to help us to find Alice.” She saw him glance up at Mrs Ellis’s back, then he shook his head again. Ruth got the message.
“Let’s take the children upstairs to play with their toys,” she said quietly and led him out of the kitchen. When they reached the boys’ bedroom she put Walter in charge of Maud on the floor with their wooden train. She turned to William, who was now sitting on his bed, picking at the edge of his eiderdown.
“You know you need not be afraid, William. Tell me what happened. I’m very worried about Alice. We must find her soon and I know you will want to help your sister.” Her voice was gentle but firm and William knew that he wasn’t going to get away with anything but the truth.
“Well,” he said, twisting the knot of bedding around his fingers, “some of the children have been saying things this week, since Essy died, things about Alice and…” He paused. Ruth could see that his hands were shaking despite his firm grip, so she prised them away, took his hands in hers, and smoothed his palms as she spoke to him.
“Always tell the truth, William. It may be uncomfortable, but it can never truly hurt you.”
William gazed up at her with piercing blue eyes. “Alice didn’t think so. She thought that if she told the truth she would get into trouble.”
“Tell me what Alice said, William.”
“It was yesterday morning, when we were walking to school, Mammy. She was being really slow, and she told me not to speak because she was thinking. I asked her what she was thinking about and she said that she was thinking about something that she saw, but couldn’t tell anyone. I asked her why she couldn’t tell anyone and she said that if she told what she saw, none would believe her and she would get into trouble. So I told her what you always say about if you tell the truth it can’t hurt you and she said, ‘Not this time, William’. She was crying a bit and I asked her why. But she said not to ask her any more, because she was still thinking.”
William hadn’t taken his eyes off his mother’s face and he stared at her in silent deliberation.
Ruth let go of his hands and put her arm around him. As she listened to her son, Ruth had been thinking back over the past week and Alice’s behaviour. She was beginning to see a pattern, from the disturbed dreams to the strange conversation about having a twin. She was starting to comprehend that p
erhaps there was more to Alice’s knowledge of Essy Ellis’s death than Alice had told anyone.
“And what did Sara Morris say that upset Alice?”
“It was in the yard at playtime, Mammy. Sara was with her sister Elsie – I don’t like Elsie, she’s mean and cruel and she’s been horrid to Alice ever since we came here. She tries to get her on her own and say bad things – and some of the other big girls. And Miss was there too.”
“And what did they say?” Ruth guided him gently.
“They was talking loud and Sara Morris said that they wondered how Essy got the big hole in the back of her head if she fell forwards into the water. They was wondering if Alice had really got there too late.”
“And what did your teacher say to them, William?”
“I think she said that wickedness was its own enemy, or something like that. I didn’t really understand. Then she sent the girls away, but she was looking over at me and Alice and she knew that Alice had heard.”
“Is that everything?”
“Well, Mr Pugh arrived then and he was speaking to Miss Probert and they were both looking at me and Alice. Alice was trying to play with me and take no notice, but she knew that they were talking about her. Her fingers were shaky. Then Mrs Morris arrived too, because she takes the girls for sewing. And she talked to them and then they were all looking at Alice and me. Did I do something wrong, Mammy?”
“No, William,” Ruth said emphatically. “And nor did Alice, I am quite sure,” she added, “apart from not being able to tell me or her father what was troubling her so much. That makes me sad. But don’t you worry about it any longer. I have to go out for a little while, so I want you to make sure that Walter and Maud play quietly. Mrs Ellis is in the kitchen and she will take care of you.”
“Will you be a long time, Mammy?”
“No.” She smiled at him. “Just an hour or so.”
Her calmness reassured William. He got down from the bed onto the floor and joined in playing with the wooden trainset with his brother and sister. Ruth took a deep breath, walked out of the bedroom and back down to the kitchen.
“Gwen, I have to go out to make some enquiries for myself. If you would stay here with the children, I would be most grateful to you. They are playing quietly upstairs and shouldn’t trouble you. I am going to the school,” she added, “to speak to Miss Probert.”
Gwen looked up from the sink. Her stare was intent and she opened her mouth to speak. Ruth paused for whatever Gwen was about to say, but Gwen seemed to think better of it, closed her mouth and nodded. As Gwen turned back to the sink, Ruth said quickly, “You know that you can trust me, Gwen, if there is something, anything, that you want to say to me…” Gwen paused and looked directly at Ruth, pursing her lips then biting them. “Be careful, Mrs Jones.”
“Of what? My Alice is missing. I need to know whatever there is to know, so we can get her back!” She spoke sharply, raising her hands in enquiry.
Gwen flushed and turned her attention back to the parsnips. Ruth saw tears starting in her eyes and knew that she had been too abrupt. She walked up to Gwen and put an arm around her shoulder. “Forgive me, Gwen. You are kindly helping me out when your own family is grieving, and I should not have spoken so.”
“That’s all right, Mrs Jones. I know how worried you are. But you should be careful what you say to them at school. They do not have your best interests at heart. And…” She broke off, her expression reddening and uncertain, frowning indecisively about what to say next.
“Gwen, it may be that you and I should talk soon, but for now I must go to the school. Thank you for your concern, but please don’t be worried for me.” She smiled reassuringly. “I shan’t be disturbed by any… unkindness I may encounter.”
Fifteen
May 2015
Maggie had to run down the stairs and across the square back to the car park. Luckily the traffic hadn’t begun to build up, so she was only five minutes late. But Alice was waiting at the gate in her hand-on-hip, bored-of-waiting pose.
“You’re late – again.”
“What do you mean, again? I’m never late.” Maggie quipped, ignoring the arched eyebrow and pout. “Get in quickly. Jack’s waiting, too.”
She had expected to tell Alice about her meeting with Zelah and what had transpired, but as she drove home and the children chatted together, she found that she was reluctant to mention anything that might bring about a discussion of Alice’s dreams. She decided to get home and through the usual routine of homework, dinner, etc, then relax and think through what she had learned during the day. She wondered if perhaps she could avoid the subject of dreams altogether.
She wasn’t able to follow up with her research that evening, as Jack needed help with a piece of history homework. He wasn’t a great researcher or writer, so after a half an hour of sparring with him and batting back reasons why he just had to do one more thing before he got started, Maggie gave up any hope of going into the attic to bring down the trunks and instead concentrated on helping Jack to write an appraisal of British military leadership during The Great War. She quickly became absorbed in the subject.
Maggie had accepted the straightforward, text book opinion of history, but reading through Jack’s notes, found that the reality was more complicated.
“Much like my own situation,” she thought gloomily, as she tried to explain to Jack how to structure arguments for the opposing opinions. Jack was supremely uninterested and secretly hoped that Maggie would do most of the work for him. As usual, she did.
She had planned to go into the attic the following morning, as soon as the children had been delivered to school. But during a disturbed night’s sleep she thought a great deal about the consequences of continuing with this search. At around four in the morning she came to the conclusion that she should stop, resume her normal life, go back to work, and accept that the story was a mystery that would have to wait until another time. After that she slept.
Daylight inevitably brought doubt about that decision too. Back home after the school run, she made herself a cup of tea and wandered around the garden to try to clear her mind of the confusion.
The morning was warm, the frosts of earlier in the month having subsided with fine weather predicted. The dew had dried and at last there was a smell of flowers in the air. Maggie was no gardener, but she had managed to bring the wasteland at the rear of the house back to a semblance of the lawn and flower beds that it must once have been. She had plans for a bigger transformation during the summer and autumn, but that was also behind schedule because of her family history research.
As she walked around the rose beds and wandered down to the bottom of the garden where the canal ran by, she sat on the bench she had put there, and thought through her discussions with Zelah Trevear.
This woman was prepared to take her seriously and would be supportive and helpful, albeit in her own distinctive way. Maggie had taken a liking to Zelah so it would be good to have someone she could trust to work with. But could she carry on, knowing that those trunks were up in the attic and not look at what was in them?
“No,” she thought, “I have to know. Now.” With that thought she jumped up from the bench and made her way quickly back to the house, via the kitchen to collect the key, and up to the attic.
This time the key turned easily in the lock. She had left a torch at the top of the stairs, which she clicked on. Deciding it was now or never, Maggie picked out a route across the dusty floorboards, and made her way to the cases. They were heavy-looking, old-fashioned trunks. And she had seen something very similar before. Her mother had kept an almost identical trunk in a cupboard in which she kept old sheets and blankets, relics of the past that she didn’t want to throw away. That trunk had been constructed from brown leather, solidly made with big brass buckles, as were both of these. The trunks here were matching, but different sizes, one larger and one much smaller. She couldn’t quite remember, but she thought the trunk in her mother’s possession had
belonged to her grandfather George, and inherited by her father when George had died. George had been John and Ruth’s son. She thought Fiona might still have it. She could check later. It could well be the third of a set of three.
Very carefully she dragged each trunk across the floor. They were heavy, and swayed alarmingly as she moved them. She pushed and half-carried them down the winding stairs, around the landing and into her bedroom. Whatever the contents of the smaller trunk were, they had rattled as Maggie had moved it and she was worried that she might have damaged something.
Maggie sat staring at the big brass buckles that held each of them shut. Now she had reached daylight she could see that these trunks were identical to her mother’s blanket store. It was now just a matter of which to open first.
Both were filthy with dust and the buckles looked rusty. After a few minutes of pulling and straining, the first buckle gave way, followed immediately and more easily by a snap of the second, which caused the lid to fling back with the momentum of her struggles. A great wave of dust rose up, straight into Maggie’s face and eyes, which sent her groping backwards for a handful of tissues from the bedside table. Once her sneezing and coughing had died down, she could see that the larger trunk held clothes, neatly folded and packed. She wanted to dive in immediately, but common sense told her that these garments had been packed a very long time ago, and there was a chance that they might disintegrate if she touched them.
She remembered from some TV programme or book that when examining historic artefacts it was important to note the order in which they had been assembled. She scrabbled around inside the bedside cabinet until she found a notebook and pen, which she put next to the trunk. Then Maggie gingerly put a couple of fingers on two corners of the first garment and shook it ever so gently from side to side. More dust came out, but the cloth seemed to be in reasonable condition.
