by M K Jones
Ruth could see sweat appearing on Eira’s forehead as her lips curled into a snarl. With a sudden sweep she raised her arm above her head. Ruth stepped back in alarm, convinced a blow was coming, when the door behind them opened, and the minister, Robert Pugh, walked in. Both women turned to see him framed in the doorway, staring in confusion. Eira Probert slowly lowered her arm, smiled at the minister, and turned a newly-composed face towards Ruth as if they had been engaged in nothing more than polite discussion.
“I cannot recall overhearing Miss Morris say something unkind about your daughter, or indeed any other child. I do not recall any such comment. Perhaps you should check the source of your information.”
Pugh’s face contorted into an angry frown. He marched to stand beside Eira, and folded his arms.
“Is there a problem, Mrs Jones?”
“Why yes, Mr Pugh. I believe there is.” Ruth kept her gaze fixed on Eira. “Alice ran away after school yesterday and I have information that some very hurtful words were spoken by Miss Elsie Morris and,” she paused to look directly at him, “by your own Miss Probert. I am here to ask her about this and if there was anything further that might have upset Alice so much that she ran off.”
Pugh shuffled and moved his head from side to side. He usually responded to anything less than flattery with belligerent abrasiveness but this time he seemed to be thinking first.
“You have proof of what you say, Mrs Jones?”
“Yes, Mr Pugh. My son William overheard it all. He was witness to her distress.”
Pugh’s face reddened. “You are accusing Miss Probert on the word of a five-year-old boy?”
“Yes, Mr Pugh. And William is eight years old.” Ruth spoke firmly. She was still looking at Pugh but at the edge of her vision she could see Eira flicking between the two of them, like an excited lizard.
Pugh jutted out his neck in Ruth’s direction. “How dare you accuse Miss Probert on the word of a mere child! How dare you malign the Morris family!” He was so close to her now that each breath smacked into her face and she could see blood vessels colouring his cheeks. Ruth’s legs were shaking at the viciousness, but she struggled to maintain an outer calm. She saw Eira smile and turned back to her.
“Miss Probert will tell you that I have made no accusation. I have reported to her what I have been told and have simply asked for an explanation.” She turned back to Pugh. “I would remind you, minister, that my child has been missing all night, and that my husband and members of your own congregation are even now searching, and that my concern is very great. I expected more compassion from you, of all people.”
If she had expected a softer response, it was not forthcoming. Ruth knew that he liked sycophancy from his supporters. He was about to lose control of his fragile temper. But before he could launch into a diatribe, the schoolteacher placed a firm hand on his arm.
“You must not let yourself be troubled so, Mr Pugh. I will answer Mrs Jones’s questions. If there was any unkindness in the words spoken I was unaware. And I am sure that Miss Elsie Morris meant no offence. But there are many questions being asked. Perhaps you should consider how to respond?”
“I am not aware of any questions, Miss Probert. If they are indeed being asked, then it is done behind my back. However, I do know that Alice was troubled by something she had seen and probably didn’t understand, and which has given her a serious fright. I’m very sorry that she didn’t confide in her parents, but I assure you that she will do so as soon as we find her. There are indeed questions to be answered.”
“What are you implying?” Pugh’s face contorted.
“I make no implications, Mr Pugh, merely ask questions, which seems to be what is happening around nd behind me, if Miss Probert is correct. There is little reason to continue this conversation. I am going home to pray, and to await Alice’s return. Then we’ll find out what secret she was protecting. Miss Probert, William will not be attending school today.”
Pugh made no move to let Ruth by, but gentle pressure on his arm from Eira made him reconsider. He looked at the schoolteacher, as if for permission. She nodded and he stood aside, but Eira remained in Ruth’s path.
“Alice told you nothing, Mrs Jones that would explain her sudden departure?” Ruth thought she sounded relieved. she shook her head and left.
Ruth entered the playground as the first of the children arrived for school and began to play sticks and stones on the grass. She walked rapidly past them, ignoring the curious glances. Once out of the schoolyard she walked along the length of the whitewashed boundary wall until she reached a secluded corner. She checked that no-one could see her, bent down, and sobbed until she was physically sick.
Eighteen
May 1883
Although Alice knew that she’d been in the pigsty for many hours since nightfall, she wasn’t sure of the actual time or whether or not it was safe to come out.
She had been lying with her head on the back of her favourite sow, whose piglets were snuggled up under them both. The sow’s hypnotic breathing had sent Alice to sleep a few times and this last time, when she awoke with a start, it had taken a moment to realise where she was, and why.
Despite her determination to get away and shift the dangerous eye off her family, she was again overwhelmed with reluctance to leave. She considered the risk in telling her mother everything. She dug her nails into her arm to remind herself of why she was taking such a desperate measure. To give herself the courage to go on she thought about how she’d been so violently cornered earlier that morning at school. She saw herself, pressed against wall, that face inches from hers. She remembered her nausea at the wet, putrid breath.
“You came back then, you stupid girl. Now you’re going to jail for the murder of your friend. Not what I intended, but good enough. You won’t like it there. Your family is going to suffer such agonies. And don’t think about telling them, because no-one will believe you, I’m making sure of that.”
Reflected in the centre of the pupils Alice saw her own face in wide-eyed terror. The smell was overwhelming, worse than anything on the farm.
“You’re alone, just you and me in the whole of the world.” She glimpsed a flash of red in the black pupils.
There was a pause, as her tormentor raised its chin, closed its eyes, and drew a deep breath in an ecstasy of satisfaction.
“Why do you hate me so?” Alice whispered.
“Hate is what I am, witless girl. Just hate. Your hate.”
“Who are you really?”
“I am made this way and will remain so, thanks to your family.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. I make you afraid, then you hate me. That’s when I destroy you all, each time.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, her tormentor walked away, leaving Alice shaking.
At that moment she had decided to run, believing that the only way to make her family safe was to go away and hide. She must sacrifice herself. That would help make up for Essy’s death as well. As she sank down in the corner, she didn’t know where to go, but wherever it was, it had to be now. As soon as she was able to sneak out of school, she ran home, crept past her mother and Gwen Ellis, and went to her room.
She found a scarf into which she bundled a dress and some stockings, a handkerchief and ten shillings that she had been saving for two years. Going through her drawers to decide what would be best to take, she found the newspaper article for the Waverley that told her that the boat would depart on Sunday morning. That was it. She could take a passage across the Channel to Weston-super-Mare and hide there. She had been hazy about what to do after that, but certain that something would occur to her. Perhaps it would be safe to come home.
After a few minutes of packing and listening to the distant talk between her mother and Mrs Ellis, she crept back downstairs, and ran to hide in the pigsty until dark. Before falling asleep with the pigs, Alice had tried to work out how she would get to Newport, and from there get on th
e steamer. She decided that it was best to follow the canal, as that ended up at the port. She had two days to think about it.
Now, gazing out into the pitch black night, she was filled with doubt, with fear of the dark, and of what might be lying in wait for her. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than what was in store if she stayed.
“I have to go. I must go,” she repeated to herself, chanting it in her head like a Sunday school prayer.
She crept out of the pigsty and carefully closed the gate, but the oversized latch slipped through her fingers. In the dead of night the sound was like a giant, clanging bell and Alice froze. Sure enough, a door opened at the front of the farm and she ducked down behind the wall. She held her breath as she heard footsteps move around the side of the house to the gate at the entrance to the courtyard. The steps stopped. Someone was listening. The steps were light and Alice thought immediately of her mother. If it was her mother and she called her nameAlice knew that she would have jumped up and rushed into her arms, whatever the consequences. After a moment, the steps moved away and the front door closed. A tear fell from her eye. She wiped it away.
Clutching her bundle under her arm, Alice ran out of the farmyard and down the lane to the chapel beside the canal. She crossed the footbridge, and walked on the canal path, the beginning of her journey to the port.
Nineteen
At first, the walk was easier than Alice had expected. The moon lit up the path and allowed her to pick her way over the stones and potholes without stumbling too much. But increasingly the moon disappeared behind clouds and a wind whipped up that made her shiver. After about an hour, she felt weary and cold. Looking for somewhere to rest she saw a gap in the hedge next to the path, with a small ditch in front of it. She squeezed in.
Not a moment too soon! Just as she settled down, voices carried on the wind towards her from the direction of the port. She made herself as small and inconspicuous as possible as the voices became louder. Trembling with fear, she pushed her head into her chest, praying that they wouldn’t stumble across her. W She had heard her parents discuss their outrage at the increase in drunkenness and violence in the area. Recently an inebriated man had fallen into the canal and drowned. If the people coming towards her were drunk, perhaps they would throw her into the canal, for sport!
hen the voices were almost level with her, Alice could make out snatches of the conversation through the wind.
“I think… something wasn’t right about it.”
“Aye. Pugh said…”
“Man’s a fool!”
“Ran away, though, but my girl says… Not fair, it wasn’t.”
Alice held her breath as the men passed and their voices faded away. She climbed cautiously out of the hedge. She had recognised the voice of Arthur Ellis, Essy’s father, and he had called Mr Pugh a fool! The “runaway” must be her. They were already out searching. That must be Dada’s doing. He might even have been one of the group. The sudden realisation of the pain she must already be causing her parents brought tears to her eyes. Perhaps her parents were strong enough to fight the terror, after all? No. She couldn’t risk it. If they failed, her whole family would be broken, even the babies. She turned back in the direction of Newport and trudged on again on her journey.
The moon disappeared behind a bank of heavy clouds and a fine drizzle came down. At first it wasn’t too bad, and she was able to keep walking. But the lack of moonlight made the darkness profound. She had reached a particularly uneven part of the path where she feared there was a risk losing her footing and falling into the canal. She needed to stop to take shelter for a while, so she crossed the path to look over the hedge, knowing that there were houses and farms along the route where the bargemen would buy provisions.
Standing on tiptoe, and shaking the rain out of her eyes, Alice made out a light in a building not too far away. Perhaps it would offer some shelter in one of the outhouses, or in a barn? But as the thought crossed her mind, dogs barked loudly. She shook her head. Her father’s dogs would have done the same, protecting the farm from intruders or strangers passing by. Another light appeared from within the building in response to the dogs.
“No shelter there,” she thought dejectedly, returning to the path.
Rain was now falling steadily and the wind drove it into her face. Feeling cold, miserable and homesick, she found a gap in the hedge where she could squeeze in. She wound her shawl around her head to protect her head from the stinging rain, and tried to sleep.
When she awoke the rain had ceased but the sky was grey. For a moment she struggled to remember where she was, while wetness penetrated her body. Standing quickly she found that the ditch she had crawled into had filled with water and had soaked her to the skin. Feelings of heat, cold, and clamminess brought her to her knees, and a sore throat made her cough and feel dizzy. When she felt steady, she stood and looked around, checking for others on the path, but there was no-one. Now she could see over the hedge and along the path that there were no other buildings ahead, which meant nowhere to buy food.
The soreness in her throat burned so she risked a drink of water from the murky canal. The taste wasn’t brackish, so she cupped her hands into the water and drank a few more mouthfuls. Then she smoothed the creases and mud from her dress as best she could.
Fortunately, she had pushed her bundle of clothes and small possessions well into the hedge and all had escaped the rain. Her spare dress wasn’t too badly creased, so it would still be possible to be presentable when she bought her ticket for the steamer. She set off down the path.
The sun didn’t come out that morning and the cold seeped into Alice’s feet and hands as the heat intensified in her head. The walk was hard now, particularly on an empty stomach, and became a slow trudge. She needed to find something to eat.
When the sun finally appeared, Alice spotted some men in the field on the other side of the canal, workers who had stopped for a break. There was a bridge in the distance and they seemed to be laughing and joking with each other as they ate, so she decided to risk crossing over to ask if they had anything they could share with her. As she approached she saw that the men had seen her coming. The closest stood up as she approached.
“What do you want, beggar brat?” He turned and laughed at his friends.
“I’m not a beggar, sir. But I am looking for some food and wondered, please, if you might have something to spare?”
“Spare? For a beggar? Get out of here before we run you out!” He raised his hand and before she understood what he was doing, a sharp object struck her on the side of her head. The pain was terrible and she fell to her knees, crying and clutching her left eye, feeling blood. She looked up and put a hand out, but this just made them laugh again, and she could see them looking around for more rocks. She stumbled to her feet and ran, back across the bridge, stopping only to pick up her belongings before she bolted down the path, dizzy, bleeding and sick.
Glancing back, Alice could see that they were not following her, but pointing and laughing. Once she was out of eyesight she stopped as her lungs were aching for breath. She fell onto a patch of grass at the side of the canal, paralysed with shock. Putting her hand up gingerly to her head again, she felt blood streaming down her face. Now the tears came. With her free hand she rummaged in her parcel until she found her handkerchief. After holding it to her head for several minutes she checked and found that the bleeding had slowed, but touching the spot made her cry out with pain. Probing gently she felt a gash that stretched from her ear to her forehead, about two inches long and quite deep. Carefully, she dipped her handkerchief into the canal and washed away the blood but the wound starting bleeding again, so she pressed the handkerchief into her head. Lying on the ground, filthy and bloody, Alice wept for her mother.
Twenty
May 1883
When there was nothing left in her stomach but foul-tasting bile, Ruth pulled herself to her feet. Her breathing came in panting gasps and she could feel a black lump in her
chest that she feared was going to crush her. With great effort to control her gasping breath, her sobs subsided and she began the walk home. She walked without thinking, still in shock and not yet able to consider what had happened at the school. The sickness had left her with a dry mouth and her legs were shaking, so much so that she had to pause several times to regain her balance and her composure. She had to try to control her emotions before she saw Gwen and her children.
In ten minutes she was at the entrance to the farm, calmer but in need of something to take the bitter taste away. Her throat was so dry that she knew she would have difficulty speaking. She walked to the back of the farm and stopped at the well where she pumped a handful of water and swallowed it quickly.
In the kitchen, Gwen was at the sink. “Oh, Mrs Jones. I was beginning to wonder. Maud is asleep and…” She glanced round at Ruth as she spoke and was so shocked at what she saw that she rushed over to the door and led Ruth to the nearest chair.
“Whatever has happened Mrs Jones? You are grey! Has someone hurt you?” She wrinkled up her nose as she saw the vomit on Ruth’s shawl. “Let me get you something to clean that. Do you need a drink?”
“Just a little salt to clean my shawl, thank you, Gwen. And a cup of tea, if you would be so kind.”
Ruth squeezed and opened her fingers and rubbed her hands together as she sat, while Gwen put the kettle onto the rack on top of the fire. As they waited for the kettle neither spoke. The silence was broken when William and Walter flung open the back door and hurtled into the kitchen.
“We saw you in the lane, Mammy! Do you have Alice? Are you staying home now?”
“Your Dada is still looking for Alice, William, but I am staying home until he returns with her.” She smiled at the boys and Walter, satisfied with her explanation and smile, ran off towards the stairs, calling to William to come with him. But William remained, hovering uncertainly next to the range, watching his mother.
