Three Times Removed

by M K Jones

“If you please, ma’am, send a message to my husband to say I’m detained overnight. Please don’t tell him why.” She smiled a thin, grim smile.

  Despite her reluctantance to leave the bedroom, Moira knew that she was at the point of collapse and would likely fall asleep during the night anyway, so she consented to honora’s instructions.

  Her first visit was to the butler. Mr Hughes immediately arranged for one of the junior footmen to visit Mrs Fitzgerald’s house to give the brief message. He asked no questions, although his disapproving expression suggested that he knew more about the seamstress’s strange expertise than he was prepared to admit. But he was pleased to hear that Moira intended to get some rest.

  “A good idea, Mrs Davies. If the child survives the night, there’s still going to be a job to bring her back to her strength.”

  The kitchen was dark and silent as she walked past back to her sitting room. Someone had lit the fire and she was grateful for the thought. In her bedroom, she washed and changed into clean clothes, then went back to her armchair in front of the fire, intending not to sleep but to rest. On the table next to her were photographs of her husband and herself taken at the servants’ holiday the previous year in Porthcawl, just weeks before the discovery of his illness.

  “How happy we look,” she thought, closing her eyes to recall the moment when the photograph was taken on the esplanade, on a warm summer’s day. The wind had blown her hat off, she remembered, and Arthur had jumped to catch it. Then someone was shaking her arm.

  “It’s dawn, ma’am. I thought you should know.”

  Honora was gently shaking her arm, her expression blank. For a few seconds Moira struggled to understand where she was and why Honora Fitzgerald was there. Then it came back with a wave of gut-wrenching panic and she jumped up out of her seat.

  “She’s still with us, ma’am. I think, a little better. Come and see,” said Honora encouragingly.

  As soon as she entered the bedroom, Moira could sense the change. Alice’s breathing had lost its rattle. The rancid smell was gone, although it wasn’t possible to see if there was any lessening of the swelling, because the thick paste blanketed the blackness.

  “I’m about to clean her face, ma’am. Shall we see if there is any improvement?”

  Moira nodded and watched as Honora peeled back the slick brown paste, once again muttering an incantation. It came off the child’s face with a slurping sound and Moira gasped when she saw what was underneath. The blackness and swelling had receded to leave the skin looking bruised, but certainly more recognisable as a girl’s face. Honora nodded approvingly, then began to clean off the remainder of the paste with a cloth and steaming water. Moira watched, transfixed, as the little face was made completely clean. The smell of sweet honey filled the room as fresh paste was applied.

  “The wound is still dangerous and will take some care. But I think another twenty-four hours will do it.” She looked quizzically at Moira. “What are you going to tell the doctor?”

  “The truth, Mrs Fitzgerald. I owe you nothing less.”

  “I would prefer you said nothing, ma’am.”

  “Whatever you wish, Mrs Fitzgerald. But knowledge such as this is extraordinary! Can’t it be put to good use elsewhere?”

  “No, ma’am.” Honora said adamantly. “It goes no further than me. It’s the old ways. I haven’t taught my children and it’ll die with me. There’s more to it than just mixing herbs. It’s old ways. People don’t like it. My husband doesn’t like it.”

  “I see. Well, we’ll have time to consider this when Esme is fully recovered. What, are you still concerned?” She had seen a wary look in the seamstress’s eyes.

  “Sure, it isn’t over yet, ma’am. Another twenty-four hours. Then she’ll still need much more care. She hasn’t woken at all, and that’s not good. It may be some time, and there’s no knowing what has happened to a brain struck by such a grievance.”

  Moira’s sense of relief at the girl’s apparent improvement was tempered now with fear.

  “Are you saying she might not wake up?”

  “No, ma’am. I believe she will wake, in her own time. But I don’t know if she will be… sensible, when she does wake, if you understand my meaning.”

  “That would be a great blow. But, she is my only flesh and blood now, and I’ll do whatever is necessary. Now, you need some rest, Mrs Fitzgerald. Tell me what I must do and I’ll take over.”

  “Something very wicked has troubled this child, ma’am. Very wicked. I felt it when I spoke to her. She escaped it, and my labour will help, but it will find her if it can. You must protect her.”

  “I don’t understand. Her mother was murdered. Is that what you mean?”

  “No, ma’am. Worse. Much worse.”

  Honora left. Moira waited for the doctor. She now understood the implication of Mrs Fitzgerald’s “knowledge” and she was concerned about the real extent of what she had exposed her niece to. But what was done, was done, she should concentrate on Esme’s physical well-being.

  Cook brought her a cup of tea and three slices of bread and butter. She realised that she hadn’t eaten in two days.

  A few hours later the doctor arrived. His surprise that Alice was still alive was followed by anger at the sight of the brown paste across her face.

  “What is this… this… mess?”

  Moira carefully peeled it away, exposing the now normal-shaped, but bruised-looking face. Without speaking, she carefully washed the remainder of the paste away. The head wound was still ugly, but the redness around it had reduced and the smell had gone. Moira watched the changes of expression spread over his face as he stared, open-mouthed at the transformation.

  “You will also note, doctor, that her breathing is easier. Not entirely normal, but improving. I believe the lungs are drying out. However, I will not be satisfied that she’s entirely out of danger for another day.”

  “Whose work is this?”

  “I would prefer not to say. I can understand that you’re not happy that I took alternative advice,” she was trying to placate his angry countenance, “but you can see that there’s a notable improvement.”

  He nodded, reluctantly. He was not an unreasonable man and besides, professional interest moved him to hope for more information.

  “I would be very grateful if you would continue to watch over Esme. Once she is indeed out of danger I will need your help and advice to manage her further recovery.” She looked at him with an expression that she hoped conveyed contrition.

  The doctor looked from Moira to the child and back. He mused for a moment. “Very well, Mrs Davies. Of course, I’m delighted that the child seems, to be improving. But as you say, it’s still early days. I shall visit again tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  As soon as he departed she went to the kitchen, where Cook informed her that Mr Hughes had taken advantage of a ride with the doctor into Newport and that Mrs Fitzgerald was waiting in the servants’ dining hall to speak to her, before going home.

  Moira crossed the open courtyard from the kitchen and went down the steps into the large dining hall, where Honora sat at the end of one of the long benches. The hall was cold as always, due to its sunken floor and its thick walls. It was the original and oldest part of the house, the medieval hall, with a high ceiling and the remains of a minstrels’ gallery. Although it had a row of tall, wide windows facing the courtyard, the sun never shone in here. After eating with the servants, Moira was always glad to retire alone to her comfortable sitting room to take her pudding and coffee. She shivered.

  “Thank you for waiting, Mrs Fitzgerald. The doctor has gone, but will come back tomorrow. I think more from fear of offending the countess if he refused. But he will return and continue to care for Esme.”

  “Sure it’s right that he should, ma’am.”

  “Indeed. But I will never be able to thank you.”

  The Irish woman shook her head, put her hands onto her knees and pushed herself to her f
eet. “Please, ma’am, I don’t want thanking and I would prefer it that we don’t discuss it. I’ve looked at your girl. I think she’ll live, but I can’t answer for her mind. The doctor must do that. Now, I would like to go home if I may be excused?”

  “Of course. I’ve asked Cook to make up a basket of food for you to take with you. A small thanks. Please don’t refuse. I shall respect your wishes and not speak of Esme with you again, but you must take this small token of my thanks. I’ve arranged for a carriage to take you home. Alfred is waiting in the back yard now, as soon as you’re ready.”

  Honora thought for a moment then nodded. Moira guessed that she was thinking about how to explain to her husband where she had been. They walked together up the steps and out of the hall, then separated as the seamstress waddled down the hallway to the back entrance and Moira returned to the sick room.

  Forty

  May 2015

  As she had anticipated, shortly after she arrived home with Alice, Jack, and Alice’s two friends, Fiona arrived. The girls ran upstairs into Maggie’s room and began to examine the clothes from the trunk. Maggie had reluctantly agreed that Alice could try them on if she wanted, but she had to do so very carefully. Maggie wasn’t convinced that Alice, despite her promises, could remember to be careful if she got over-excited.

  Maggie and Fiona went into the kitchen, Maggie listening out with one ear to the shouts and exclamations coming from upstairs as she made two mugs of tea.

  “Well?” Fiona asked immediately. “Did you get a reply?”

  “Yes.”

  “And was it a positive one?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, are they going to interview you?”

  “Yes. Next week, Monday.”

  “So soon! They must be keen. Aren’t you excited?”

  “No. You’re excited enough for both of us, Fee. That’ll have to do.”

  “For goodness sake, Maggie! You’ve got two children and very little money. How are you going to keep them and this house? You have to be practical. It may not be exactly what you want, but responsibility to your family comes first.”

  Maggie exasperation turned to anger. “Do you think I don’t know that?” she snapped. “Do you think I don’t spend nights worrying about how I’m going to manage? You think I haven’t learned anything after what we’ve been through? You’ve had it easy, Fee. You have no idea what it’s been like for me.” She paused, leaned against the dresser and folded her arms. “Look, I know you mean well, but I don’t need a lecture. I have an interview on Monday. I’ll put on my best suit and my best smile. I may even get the job. I’ll be miserable but solvent. OK?”

  She knew that she had hurt her sister, knew that Fiona meant well. But she also knew that she was still holding out hope that something would turn up that would solve her money worries. It was like trying to win the lottery, an impossible madness, but still one hoped. But she couldn’t admit this to her sister.

  Fiona lowered her voice. “I’m only thinking about your welfare. I worry about you. You know that Graeme and I will help…” she put up a hand to halt Maggie’s protest, “…which I know you don’t want, but you know that the offer is there. You have to help yourself and be practical, Mags.”

  Maggie sighed. “Thanks, Fee. I’ll let you know how the interview goes. There’s something else I want to ask you. Did Mum or Dad leave any papers that you know of, anything about the family?”

  She was expecting the usual brush off from her sister, but Fiona’s response surprised her. “Yes, Mum left some stuff. Some of it was hers but mainly it was Dad’s. How about coming over later, for supper? We can get it down and see what’s there.”

  “That would be great, thanks. I’m taking Alice’s friends back at six. Shall we come straight after?”

  Maggie knew that Fee had no interest in old papers and was indulging her, but that was fine. She hadn’t expected there to be anything, assuming that she would have thrown out anything that held no apparent value. This was a huge bonus and there might be some information that would help her to find out what had happened to Alice and Ruth. Fiona left, and Maggie went upstairs to see how Alice was getting on.

  Just before six they delivered Alice’s friends home and were driving towards Fiona’s village up the valley. As they drove, Maggie told Alice and Jack that she had an interview for a job on Monday and would likely be returning to full-time work. She was surprised that both were disappointed. Alice immediately worried about how she would get to school.

  “That will be a condition of taking the job,” Maggie reassured her. “I’ll be able to take you, but I’ll have to find someone to pick you up and stay with you ‘til I get home.”

  “Ugh, another childminder. Why can’t we look after ourselves? We’re old enough.” Jack complained.

  “You don’t want to be looked after like small children, I get that. I promise I’ll find someone you like. In fact, you can interview them with me. I’ll only hire someone you choose. How about drawing up a spec for me of the person you’d like? Not too Mary Poppins, please!”

  “Cool! Thanks, Mum. It might not be so bad. Not as good as having you at home, though.”

  Maggie was touched. Jack rarely said anything spontaneously nice to her since becoming a teenager.

  “What about you, Alice? Can we find someone you’ll get on with?”

  “I guess I’ll have to try, won’t I?” The tone was resigned. “I wanted you to pick me up right to the end of term.”

  “If I’m offered this job, and it’s not a certainty, I don’t know when I’ll start. I told them I was available immediately and I can’t put it off for a couple of months. But I will tell them I need time to find someone to pick you up.” It will give me more time to finish off the research, she thought. “Next term, you and Jack will be in school together so one pick up will be easier that two.”

  “Please try to keep picking me up to the end of this term, Mum.”

  “I’ll try. Is there a problem, Alice? Are those girls bothering you again?” When they had first arrived, Alice had been picked on by a group of girls. This included teasing her at the school gate and, although it had been sorted out, Alice was still nervous whenever she couldn’t see her mother waiting.

  “No, it’s not them.”

  Maggie heard Jack’s whisper, “Tell her.”

  “Tell me.” She said to Alice in the rear view mirror.

  “I keep getting DTs.” This was detention, which Alice hated. Maggie was surprised, not just because Alice hadn’t told her, but because she had always been well behaved in school. Parents’ evenings had consistently confirmed that Alice was a model pupil.

  “What’s been happening”?

  Jack replied. “They’ve got a new teaching assistant, who doesn’t like kids… or teaching.”

  “I can see that that would be difficult,” Maggie joked, “but it doesn’t explain the DTs.”

  “She picks on everything we do. If we whisper or laugh, or drop a book, she gives out a DT.”

  “What does Mr Rees have to say about that?” Maggie had found Alice’s class teacher pleasant enough. Alice liked him, too.

  “He’s away on a course for a couple of weeks and we have a supply plus her.”

  “I know you don’t like DTs. But is it fair, what’s she’s doing?” Maggie asked.

  Again Jack replied. “No, Mum. She picks on them too. This week, it’s been Alice’s turn.”

  Maggie could see in the mirror that Alice was close to tears. “Right, I’ll go in and…”

  She was interrupted by Alice’s nervous reply. “No! I’ll deal with it. Speaking to her will just make things worse. Believe me, other mothers have tried.”

  Maggie felt guilty that she hadn’t known what was going on. She’d been so caught up in what she was doing that she hadn’t noticed that Alice was anxious at school.

  “If you don’t want me to, I won’t. But you mustn’t allow a teacher to make your life miserable. They can, I know. When is Mr
Rees back?”

  “In two weeks,” Alice replied. “We all know it’ll be better when he’s back. That’s why I can manage for now. Anyway, we’ve got a nickname for her.” She checked her mother’s profile in the mirror, a naughty grin on her face.

  “Do you want to hear this? She’s a funny shape and she’s got a big bum so we call her Miss Bigbutt,” she laughed.

  “Well, make sure she doesn’t hear you, or she’ll have the last laugh.”

  They arrived at Fiona’s house. As they got out of the car, Maggie whispered to Jack to keep an eye on Alice. Maggie wouldn’t hesitate to go into the school if Alice wasn’t coping, but she’d leave it for now.

  Fiona greeted them enthusiastically and they sat together on the decking in the evening sunshine. A question that Maggie had been pondering for some days, now came back to her and it occurred to her that Fiona or Graeme might be able to help.

  “Fee, do you know of a place up the mountain near us, where children play sometimes, called The Pond?”

  “I know it,” Graeme grinned. “I used to go up there with my gang. We used to make boats from bits of old pram and corrugated iron and see if we could sail them. It was great!” His face was flushed with excitement, until Fiona pointed out how dangerous it must have been. “You’d never allow our children to go there!” she finished accusingly.

  “No, I don’t suppose I would. No-one got hurt, though!” he replied cheekily.

  Maggie jumped in before Fiona the argument escalated. “No, we all did things when we were kids that would horrify us if we found ours doing them now. Remember the rope swing over the river, Fee?” Fiona blushed.

  “Where exactly is it, Graeme?”

  He described the road leading to it from Maggie’s house. There was now a car park that allowed visitors to enjoy the view, and a path that led to The Pond.

  “It’s about five minutes from the car park. Used to take us at least an hour with all of our bits of boat.”

  Maggie grinned at him, then changed the subject.

  Over supper, Maggie replied reluctantly to Graeme’s questions about her prospective job. He was surprised by her lack of enthusiasm, saying that she needed to show commitment to get it. Maggie agreed, although she knew that she wasn’t committed and was hoping that could find some enthusiasm on the day.