by M K Jones
“Can I help you?”
“I am looking for information, of a missing child. A girl, around ten years old. Have you seen a runaway in these parts?” The voice was muffled.
“No, I have not.” A pause, another step back and a retching cough. “Are you ill? There’s something dripping from your muffler. And…” he hesitated. Alice held her breath.
“Pardon me. I…have a condition that troubles me. I will not bother you further. Thank you for your time.” The feet disappeared. As the footsteps moved away, another pair of feet took their place.
“What’s the matter, Jack? You’re green, you look like you’re about to retch! Shall I fetch you some water?”
Alice heard the stallholder take several long, deep breaths until his friend returned, and the sound of deep gulps. The stallholder blew out a long breath. “Dear God, did you smell that?”
“What? Smell what? That person who spoke to you? Bit of odour never hurt anyone. You’re getting very particular.” The friend laughed, until he was cut off abruptly by the stallholder.
“Odour? That wasn’t any odour from a human being! It wasn’t just the smell, either, I think the face was coming away! My God! I think it was a leper!”
Alice heard a sharp gasp from the second stallholder. She had never heard of a leper, but the reaction of the men told her that it was a bad thing.
“Fetch the police! They shouldn’t be wandering around the streets, harming decent folk!”
“What do you mean, ‘they’?”
“That one over there mentioned a missing girl, so there must be more than one. Look, over by the castle. There’s a couple of Specials. Call them over.” The second stallholder moved around to stand beside his friend. “No, let’s go and speak to them. They won’t hear us from here.”
“Ay, you’re right.” The feet ran off. Alice peered out around the edge of the curtain. Other stallholders’ attention was drawn by the men running to the constables, so they didn’t see her. She saw the pair reach the constables and point over to the far side of the bridge where her tormentor must have been seen last. Then they pointed back to the stall and she pulled her head in.
Guessing that they would return any minute, she grabbed her bundle and crawled out the other side, stood up, checked around, then walked away from the quayside. Without consciously thinking about it, Alice knew where she was going: home. There was something wrong with her tormentor, something that people would be able to see and now they would believe her. Her mother’s face, smiling and welcoming, rose in front of her and she smiled back. Now she just had to find the track that led to the canal path. Despite her hunger, weakness, and pain, she was sure she could get home.
“There, over there, that’s her! She’s the one was trying to get onto the boat!”
The shouts came from behind her and as she turned she saw a crowd standing next to the stall where she had hidden, together with the two constables, pointing at her.
She ran, stumbling along the street leading into the town. She arrived at a street where well-dressed people were strolling and hid in the doorway of a closed shop, to catch her breath. What seemed like seconds later, the whistle-blowing constables ran down the street, parting the crowd before them.
She left the doorway and ran back the way she had come, but hesitated at the quayside. There was another, rougher path that seemed to follow the bend of the river. There was no other choice, so she took off down the river path, with the river on her left. No-one seemed to be following. Desperate to get away, Alice ran and ran until her legs gave way and she fell into the long grass at the side of the path.
She knew that this was the wrong direction, taking her away from the road home. But as she lay there, shrill whistles in the town told her that they hadn’t given up. As soon as she could breathe again, she got up and ran further down the path until she reached flat, open countryside, where the ground was marshy with a tang of sea in the air. The path was less defined, and springy underfoot, which made running easier. After a while she couldn’t hear any whistles at all.
The sunshine of the morning disappeared and a fine drizzle fell. It felt safe enough to stop, so she sat in the long grass at the side of the path, to think about what to do next. Her thirst and the dryness in her throat caused her to choke. There was no source of water, save the dirty brown river, but the need to drink took her across the path to the bank that dropped steeply to the water’s edge a couple of feet below. A strong current caused the water to whirl and gurgle. Just a couple of footsteps caused her to slide dangerously close to the water’s edge and she had to grab onto grass and nettles to stop herself falling in. The stinging of the nettles caused her fingers to tingle and burn, so planting her feet as firmly as she could,
Alice leaned forwards and balanced over the swirling water. Reaching out she dipped her free hand into the water. The cold eased the tingling immediately and she left her fingers in the running water. Deciding to risk a mouthful, she cupped her hand and brought water up to drink. The taste was more vile than she imagined. Mud, salt and dirt. She spat it out, coughing and retching. The sudden movement caused her feet to slip and they sank into the mud. One foot came out at once, but the other wouldn’t budge despite heaving and tugging. The more she panicked, the further she sank. She was up to her ankle in mud. Leaning over, she pulled the laces looser, releasing her foot, but not the boot, which disappeared.
Alice scrambled back up the bank, across the path to where she had left her bundle and lay down, sobbing. Her hand throbbed from the nettle stings and her bootless foot was soaking wet.
No-one had come along the path. The mountain, at the base of which the canal ran, was further away than before. To get home, she had to get back in that direction, but she couldn’t risk going back to the town. This path seemed to be taking her to the sea, so the only option was to leave it and walk across country, towards the mountain. She didn’t know what type of terrain she might be facing but at least it was in the right direction.
She thought about her mother and father, her brothers, and her baby sister. They would all be at chapel today. “I’m coming home, Mammy,” she whispered, then started to walk across the fields.
After what seemed like hours, the mountain didn’t seem to be getting any closer. She passed a few people as she walked through the fields. Some had looked curiously, some had nodded, and one shouted a “Hello, girl. Are you alright, there?” Whatever their reaction, Alice kept her head down and walked on.
The drizzle turned to rain, heavy black clouds appeared over the mountain and the wind increased. Still Alice kept walking, sodden, miserable, shivering uncontrollably, barely able to see, but always keeping her face towards the mountain ridge. Darkness came early, brought on by the black clouds that filled the sky. Alice was now so exhausted that she had to find some shelter, but there was nothing that she could see, no building or hedge, that would give her respite from the rain. Then the thunder and lightning started.
Twenty Eight
Alice had always been frightened by thunder, hearing so many stories of animals and people struck down when they were caught in the open. She remembered what her father had instilled into her. “If you are ever caught outside in a storm, find a tree to shelter underneath. The bolt cannot pass through the branches to the ground.”
She spotted the shadows of what could be a clump of trees away to her left and she ran in that direction. As she approached, she saw that they were on the far side of a substantial wall, but it wasn’t too high and she was able to climb it. On the other side, the trees were still a little distance away. It was pitch black between lightning flashes, the rain hammering into her body, the thunder rumbling everywhere in the sky.
She waited for a flash of lightning to show her where the trees were again. As soon as she saw, she ran flat out, blinded by the rain and her closed eye, with her heart hammering. Her unshod foot caught on something solid and she catapulted through the air, disoriented and screaming, before she landed in water.<
br />
Her body sank quickly as she flailed around, trying to find something to catch onto. Panicking and terrified that she was going to drown, she held her breath as she thrashed. Then her hands felt mud, firm enough to allow her to push up away from, and her head surfaced. Scrambling her feet down, she found that she was only thigh deep and a flash of lightning showed that she wasn’t too far from a low wall, which must have been what she had tripped over. The flash also revealed the outline of a building, where a light suddenly appeared in a window. Not caring what they might think, she pulled herself out of the water and staggered towards the light.
As soon as her feet hit solid ground, an agonising pain shot through her ankle, but she kept moving. Underfoot was grass. Dragging herself on, Alice realised that she had nothing in her hands but her handkerchief. She had lost her bundle. Everything was gone. Sobbing and crying, she half-limped, half-crawled to the building.
It was a huge place with what looked like hundreds of windows, but she couldn’t see a way in. There was an archway at the end of the wall which led to a cobbled courtyard and, at last, a door. Pulling herself into the doorway, Alice summoned all of her remaining strength and gave one great shout for help. No-one came. Her world shrank to a pinpoint of blackness as she lost consciousness.
At half past five the following morning, as the cocks were beginning to crow and the first wash of grey lightened the sky, the door opened.
Twenty Nine
May 1883
After supper and before retiring John and Ruth discussed what they should do on the following day. John had already told the men that he would be going to chapel with Ruth and the children in the morning, then would make his way down to Newport in the afternoon, to meet with the constables. He hadn’t consulted her on this decision, frustrating Ruth and causing her to initiate a discussion on how they would proceed.
“When I return from Newport, where I expect to find Alice, I will go immediately to ask your mother to return with me. It will be too late to return in the evening, so I shall stay overnight and she and I will walk back here first thing Monday morning.”
She frowned at him.
“It’s the best plan,” he said, looking at the journal on his lap, his way of letting her know that the conversation was over.
She left the room and went upstairs to bed. It was several hours later when she heard him walk quietly up the stairs and into the bedroom.
“Ruth, are you awake?” he whispered softly.
She didn’t move or respond.
As they approached the chapel on Sunday morning, the tension that had grown in the night was occupying Ruth’s thoughts and the journey was mostly silent. As they walked past the school and the chapel came into view, they were surprised to see a small group of people waiting outside. As they drew nearer, it became clear that the crowd was waiting for them. Some moved towards them, patting them sympathetically, shaking their hands, and offering help with the search for Alice. Not everyone, however. As she returned the good wishes, Ruth saw Robert Pugh, the Morris family, and a few of the other deacons standing apart, their expressions conveying irritation towards her and John.
Pugh, unable to contain himself, signalled to the crowd that they should enter the chapel. The assembly filed in, John and Ruth taking their customary places and when all were seated the service began. Robert Pugh mentioned the sad demise of Esme Ellis and asked for prayers for her family. But he said nothing of Alice Jones, nor did he request any help from the congregation in finding her.
Outside in the patchy sunshine, Ruth found John surrounded by a group of men discussing how the afternoon’s search should continue. As soon as he saw her, John excused himself and joined her. William, hovering anxiously next to his mother, spoke to his father as he approached.
“Dada, I have been thinking, instead of going to Sunday school today, perhaps I could come with you to look for Alice?” His gaze, intense and hopeful, moved John to a smile, but he shook his head.
“Thank you, William, but no. I need you to stay with your mother. I am going to lead the men down towards Newport, but then, when I have found Alice and sent her home, I’m going over the mountain to fetch Granny Ruth. I shan’t be back until tomorrow morning, so you must be the man of the house.” He put a hand on his son’s head and stroked it gently. “You are becoming quite a young man, William.”
“Thank you, Dada. I’ll stay, if that’s what you want me to do.”
Ruth opened her mouth to protest that there wasn’t much that an eight-year-old boy could do at the farm and that William was showing signs of real distress that might be relieved by being with his father and doing something helpful, but John went on.
“William will spend his time well at Sunday school. I do not like these things to be neglected.” He smiled at her. “Come, Ruth. I must go now. The men are waiting. I will see you again tomorrow morning. The constables will find Alice at the port this afternoon.”
“If you say so, John.” He waited for more, but when there was none he turned and walked back to the group of waiting men.
She led the children away, carrying Maud on one arm, the other hand holding Walter, with William following a few paces behind.
They ate their lunch in silence in the dining room, after which William took Walter in hand and set off for the chapel and Sunday school, leaving Ruth with Maud. She usually reserved a Sunday afternoon for needlework or reading her Bible, with John at her side. But today, she couldn’t settle. As soon as Maud fell asleep, Ruth went to Alice’s room.
It was neat and tidy because Alice was a neat and tidy girl. She went through the drawers in the tallboy, checking yet again what was missing, although she knew. Alice had taken a dress and the few shillings that she had saved, plus one of her clean handkerchiefs with her embroidered initials – her Christmas gift from Ruth. “My lovely, foolish little girl, even running away from home you took a handkerchief.”
Alice’s few remaining possessions were in one drawer. The fact that she had left them behind gave Ruth hope that Alice intended to return. But, like the first time, and every time since, Ruth knew that something else was missing, something important to Alice. She sat on the bed, trying to recall conversations between herself and Alice, and between Alice and Essy, but nothing came back to suggest what it might be. She stood and walked downstairs. As she reached the bottom step she heard footsteps at the front of the house. It was five o’clock. She had been sitting in Alice’s room for over two hours. The boys should have been home over half an hour before. Panic seized her – wild, mad panic.
She flung open the front door, dashed through the porch and found Arthur Ellis with William and Walter, crouched down on the flagstones in front of the door, peering at a small object on the ground.
“Where have you been? Why are you late?” she screamed, who, with Arthur, jumped to their feet. The boys were frightened into silence by her wide-eyed terror, but Arthur replied.
“When they returned, I believe they were unable to rouse you, Mrs Jones, so they found me in the yard. We have been looking at this caterpillar.” He pointed down to the small wriggling insect on the floor at their feet.
“What do you mean? How dare you suggest that they couldn’t rouse me. I was not sleeping.”
“They didn’t say that you were sleeping, Mrs Jones, but that you didn’t respond to them.” Arthur spoke gently, averting his eyes and clutching his cap between his hands in front of his chest.
“Thank you, Arthur. Come inside, boys.” The boys walked uncertainly past her, into the parlour, glancing up at Ruth, who kept her eyes fixed on Arthur Ellis.
“What news do you have for me, Arthur?”
“No news of Alice, Mrs Jones. A search is being carried out around the port by the constables and they’ll report back to Mr Jones tomorrow. He has walked over the mountain to fetch Mrs Evans.”
Ruth showed no emotion at his news, but dismissed him with a nod and the expectation of seeing him the following morning. As she walked into
the parlour both boys jumped to their feet.
“We didn’t mean to upset you, Mammy!” William began. Ruth held up her hand.
“No need to apologise, William. You must have been concerned when I didn’t speak to you.” She smiled at them. “I was very deep in thought about your sister.” She put a hand to her stomach to quiet the fluttering sensation that had returned. “Now, Nanny Ruth is coming to visit tomorrow. Dada has gone to bring her. She will help look after you whilst Dada and I continue to search for Alice. I know how much you both love Nanny Ruth.” Smiles lit up their faces and Walter clapped his hands. “They’ll arrive in the morning. Now, let’s continue our Sunday, as we always do.”
Thirty
By eight o’clock on Monday morning Ruth and Gwen had already boiled two washing coppers and were starting on the third when John walked in with Ruth’s mother. John often teased Ruth that in physical appearance no-one could ever have guessed that they were mother and daughter, and that Ruth had a way to go to match her mother for toughness and resilience.
Ruthie Evans, at fifty-five, was deceptively short, pale and frail in appearance. She was a quick-witted woman, who had birthed nine healthy children. She now took one look at her eldest daughter, gave her a short, questioning frown followed by a perfunctory hug, and said, “You need to rest. Give me that dolly.” She took the washing stick out of Ruth’s hand and turned to John. “Take her to the kitchen. I’ll speak to Mrs Ellis, then I’ll join you.”
John’s momentary annoyance was balanced by acknowledgement that Nanny Ruth put the welfare of her children above all else, and that there was no point in arguing. He took his wife by the arm into the kitchen. They sat at the kitchen table in silence. John looked at Ruth, who stared at the table. In the background, they could hear Walter, complaining to baby Maud that she would tear the arm off Alice’s rag doll if she pulled any harder.
