by M K Jones
Alice loved travelling of any kind so she bounded up the stairs two at a time, but Jack stood his ground.
“What happened at the school, Mum? Why are we going away?”
“Alice is having a bad time there, so I want to give her some room. I’d like a break before I start work. The weather’s looking good from tomorrow, so let’s not waste it. OK?”
“I thought you were going to ask me first.”
Maggie handed him a rucksack. “Yes. I’m sorry. Are you OK with this? It’s only until Monday. You can have the rest of next week with your friends.”
“Suppose so. I was going to look after her, you know.”
Maggie had been trying so hard to keep the children from realising how angry and upset she’d been, that she hadn’t considered why Jack had met her at Alice’s school. The realisation dawned that she had practically knocked him out of her way, and with it how much she had hurt his feelings. She reached out and put her hand on his cheek, stroking it gently.
“Jack, I’m so sorry. I know you were there for her. But I sensed something when I saw her in the classroom that made me rush to get her out of there. I didn’t mean to ignore you, really, I didn’t.”
The anxious look went. “Fair enough. Is she all right?”
“I think so. I’ll talk to her about it while we’re away. Let’s just go away together and have a good time, eh? Get the barbeque out, and your surfboard. OK?”
“I suppose.” As he turned away and dragged his feet slowly up the stairs it occurred to Maggie that maybe she was being impetuous, acting from panic as well as anger and that she would regret this sudden decision.
Fifty
June 1909
Accompanied by Richard Robinson, Ruth arrived at the cemetery just before noon. Despite the bravado she displayed in front of Cerys, she was aware of how she would be watched and her every move judged. So in the end she decided to ask Richard to go with her to visit John’s grave.
She had thrown off concerns about the strange feeling she had had in the graveyard during the burial, and arrived with anticipation. But as soon as she began to walk towards the grave, it seemed that this had suddenly become a strange, airless, overcast day and she walked with dragging steps.
Richard accompanied her to the chapel, but she stopped him there.
“I would prefer to be alone, if you don’t mind, Richard.”
“Of course. I shall wait here. Take as long as you need.”
Ruth didn’t look back as she walked off the path and across the short stretch of grass, but she felt the minister’s eyes watching her. When she came close to the grave itself there was an atmosphere, a warmth that wasn’t in the air. Slowly she put her hand out towards the granite and marble.
“Just a few weeks, John. But it seems a lifetime.”
Her outstretched hand hesitated, then touched his name on the headstone. As her fingers made contact, the stone felt surprisingly warm and Ruth thought she felt again the touch of his hand on hers. Then she realised that she was touching something that felt like flesh. Her first instinct was to withdraw her hand but, although it was a strange sensation, it wasn’t unpleasant and after the shock felt benign. She deliberately didn’t look around, in case her face betrayed her and brought Richard over. Instead, Ruth leaned over the headstone.
“John, I am going to search for her. You will think I am letting you down. But I must go.”
She bowed her head and waited, for what she wasn’t sure, but convinced that she would sense something emanating from the grave. But there was nothing, which was frustrating. She had come to believe, after recent, events, that she was still somehow connected to him. Uncertain of what to do, she decided to try again.
“John, you must not deny me this, not after all this time! I have always needed to know.”
The sound of the voice next to her ear, just as it had been on the day of his funeral, froze her to the spot.
“It’s not John, Ruth. You don’t know who I am, but I know you. I’m your friend. I’m more than your friend, I’m family and I’m trying to help, please believe me. We will find out what happened to your Alice.”
It was a woman’s voice, again. Ruth’s head swam and she let out a long sigh. Fear clutched her stomach and quickly rose to her head as she turned and walked as quickly as she could, without running, back to where Richard was waiting. Any hope of keeping the panic to herself was dashed as she approached him.
“Ruth, whatever’s the matter. Your face is white!”
She stumbled and half collapsed against him, shaking. “I heard a voice at the graveside. What is it, Richard? Who is it? Is this just grief? It spoke of Alice!”
He took her shaking hands and helped her back into the cart. As they drove back to Garthwood House she said nothing and Richard, watching the turmoil pass over her face, kept silent until they arrived at the door and he called to Cerys.
“Mrs Jones is unwell. Please make her some tea and bring it into the parlour. I’m going to send for the doctor.”
“No!” Her firm exclamation stopped them. “I’m in no need of his attention, thank you. Just a cup of tea and I shall feel well again.” She put up a hand to stop him saying more.
Maud came running down the stairs. She took Ruth’s arm and led her into the sitting room, to her chair in the window. Richard followed. Ruth sat, breathing deeply, then she smiled calmly at Maud.
“Just a little overwrought, I fear. Nothing to worry about. Do go back to whatever you were doing, my dear. I really don’t need you.” Her voice was dismissive enough to make Maud stand, hover uncomfortably, then disappear back upstairs, but not without giving Richard a stern look of disapproval. He sat opposite her and waited until she finished her tea.
“Would you like to explain to me? That dismissal of Maud is quite unlike you. You hurt her feelings.”
She looked directly at him. “Richard, we’ve known each other for a long time. Am I a woman given to hysteria? Am I likely to be unable to cope with my husband’s death? Tell me, honestly, what you believe.”
“Ruth, I have always judged you to be a most sensible woman. I saw how you coped with John’s illness. You knew his death was coming and you were prepared. Why are we having this conversation?” He leaned closer to her. “What is happening here, Ruth? What did you mean when you said that you heard a voice at the graveside?”
“Actually more than one voice. It started at the burial, Richard. I actually saw Alice, as a child, standing looking at me. And a woman’s voice said, ‘Say hello to Ruth, Alice.’” She said this so matter of factly that Richard was nonplussed.
“Then, later, I saw a face in the window, that window, there, staring back at me. It was my face, but not my face. I was crying. She wasn’t.”
Richard was still stunned. “What do you think is happening, Ruth?”
“I don’t know, Richard. I’ve thought over it at length and I’ve been considering the past. I do believe that it’s connected to Alice; that’s the only certainty I have.” Her emphatic expression told him not to argue with her certainty. “I dismissed Maud because I don’t want any of them to know what I’m about to do. Which I will need your help to do.”
“You know that I’ll always be pleased to help you, Ruth. But this worries me deeply. I would hear everything from you. What is this plan of yours?”
Slowly and carefully, she told him everything from the day of John’s funeral onwards, plus her memories of the events during and after Alice’s disappearance. Finally, she told him her theory of what had really happened, and her plan. He sat for a long time, considering his response.
“What do you want me to do?”
She looked determinedly back at him. “I want you to accompany me to Hereford, to visit Robert Pugh. I have written to him to request a meeting at his convenience.”
He looked shocked at the proposal. The idea of a widow undertaking such a journey so soon after her husband’s death was unnerving, as she had known it would be.
“This is not the time, Ruth. You should wait at least six months. It’s not possible now.”
“I’ve waited over twenty-five years, Richard!”
“Then another six months won’t matter.”
“Every day that passes without knowing matters.”
“You are my only hope. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to be tainted by such shocking behaviour. I had thought that your attendance would afford me some respectability, but I am determined to go and I shall go alone if you feel that you can’t accompany me.”
“I don’t think I can, Ruth.” He shook his head. “Not because of what you’ve told me, but for your sake and your reputation. You cannot do this.”
“I’ll not force you, Richard. I had hoped to convince you, but I see that I haven’t succeeded. So, let me tell you some more of what I believe.”
Fifty One
June 2015
The moment they arrived back in the house after their break in Cornwall, the phone rang. Maggie dropped one of the holdalls and ran to answer it.
“Hello, Mrs Gilbert? It’s Nurse Crowley at Clytha Nursing Home. About tomorrow?”
“Yes. What, is there a problem? Sorry, we’ve just got in from a weekend away.”
“No, no problem. I was just checking that you’re still coming, actually. Mrs Jenkins has perked up in the past few days and she’s looking forward to seeing you.”
“Oh, good. Is it still OK for us to come at eleven?”
“That’s fine. See you tomorrow. Bye.”
Maggie and Alice left Jack in bed the following morning. The nursing home turned out to be a large converted house on the edge of Newport, on a hill with views over the Bristol Channel, with wide, manicured flower beds, and benches under the trees on which a number of the residents were braving the heat, were sitting with nurses.
Nurse Crowley met them in the foyer and led them to Mrs Jenkins’s room.
“Likes her privacy, but she can still get outside now and then. Not today, though. Too hot. You won’t be able to stay long. She can’t concentrate.”
They entered a large room on the ground floor that immediately took Maggie back to an inter-war era. The room was furnished with Mrs Jenkins’s own furniture, masses of it, so much that it was difficult to find floor space. It was all lace and chintz with mementos and photographs everywhere. A set of double doors opened onto a walled garden at the side of the main house. One of the doors was open, allowing a gentle breeze and a waft of lavender into the room.
In a large upright chair, with a shawl over her knees and another around her shoulders, Louisa Jenkins sat with her head forwards, snoozing in front of a large unlit fireplace. Maggie felt Alice take a step behind her at the sight of the old lady, and Maggie put her hand back to reassure her.
“Is she alive?” Alice whispered.
Maggie grinned and turned away from the nurse, who was now gently shaking the old lady’s arm. Louisa Jenkins grunted a few times, and opened her eyes. Through opaque slits she looked slowly at the nurse, who was shouting at her that she had visitors. She looked up at Maggie. Her old eyes widened in surprise.
“I’m your visitor, Mrs Jenkins. Margaret Gilbert,” Maggie said loudly. “Before I married I was Margaret Jones. Are you OK? Is she all right?” she asked Nurse Crowley, as the old lady continued to stare at her.
“Are you the one? She said you’d come.”
“I’m Margaret Jones. I believe we’re related.”
“Looks like she’s seen a ghost,” the nurse said, tucking in the blanket that had slipped, exposing the old lady’s reed-thin ankles. “Perhaps you’d better leave for a minute, so I can settle her.”
“Ah,” Maggie understood. She moved closer to the old lady, “I believe your grandmother was Ruth Jones and I look like your grandmother, is that it? I look like Ruth. But I’m not Ruth. I’m her great-granddaughter. Do you understand that? I’m not Ruth.”
Louisa Jenkins seemed to struggle with some fleeting memory, turned her eyes away, then back directly at Maggie.
“You look like her. Just like her. I knew you were coming.” Her voice was shrill. She put a skeletal hand on Maggie’s arm. “Who did you say you are?”
“I’m Margaret Gilbert. My father was John Jones, but I believe you knew knew him as ‘Cyril’ and he was George and Agnes’s son. They would have been your aunt and uncle. My dad was your cousin.”
“Aunt Aggie? She’s gone now. Like my Sidney.”
“Yes, she died thirty years ago.” Maggie was beginning to wonder if this was going anywhere.
“You’re family! I haven’t seen anyone. I’ve been waiting for years. Lovely to meet you, Margaret.” Louisa smiled at Maggie, who pulled over a chair in front of her and signalled to Alice to do the same.
“This is my daughter, Alice.”
Alice leaned forwards and smiled uncertainly. “Hello.”
“You’re pretty, aren’t you? Got a boyfriend yet?”
“No. I’m a bit young. I’m ten.” Alice pulled a face at her mother.
“Met my Sidney when I was fourteen. Married at sixteen. Just children, both of us, my mother said.” The old lady closed her eyes and Maggie pitched in.
“Your mother, that would be Maud? And your father was James?”
“That’s right. How do you know? Who are you?”
Maggie told her again and added, “I’ve been doing some research about the family. I bought your grandparents’ house, Garthwood House. Do you remember it?”
“Garthwood House? I was born there. So were my brother and sister. I thought it was long gone.”
“No. It was in a state, but I’ve made it look good. I’ve brought pictures. Would you like to see them?”
Louisa nodded and held out her hand to the nurse, who produced a hefty magnifying glass.
“Cataracts,” she whispered to Maggie. “Don’t know how much she’ll be able to see.”
Maggie and Alice handed the photos one by one to Louisa, who hunched over close to each one, peering through the outsize glass.
“Hasn’t changed much, has it? Just like when I was a girl. Who lives there now?”
Alice stifled a giggle.
“I live there now, Louisa. I’d like to know about your grandmother Ruth. Do you remember her?”
“Of course I remember her. She chose my name. Mother wanted to call me Eliza, but Nanna said I had to be Louisa. I was her favourite. She talked a lot to me, ’specially when I was growing up, before I met my Sidney. She didn’t mind when we got married. I knew my own mind, but she liked that.” As she spoke the old lady gazed around the room, smiling to herself.
“What sort of person was your grandmother, Louisa?”
“Nana? She was a lovely woman, fair, kind. Could be angry though, when we were naughty.” She leaned forwards conspiratorially. “Never let us in the attic. Got angry with Elwyn when he tried to open those trunks. Thought she was going to beat him.”
Maggie sat up. “What trunks, Louisa?”
“Like I said, in the attic. Forbidden, it was. Never tried again. Too scared.”
“Were they brown trunks? Two of them?”
“That’s right. How do you know?”
“Because they were still there when I moved in. They’ve never been moved. Did you know that they were left there?”
“Hid them, she did. Told me one day. At the back of the attic. Wanted me to go back for them when she died. But Sidney said best left alone. ‘Family secrets, don’t disturb them,’ he said.” Louisa nodded with a conspirator’s smile, pulling at her thin, short, white hair.
Maggie was breathing quickly. “Do you know what was there, Louisa?”
“No, never found out.”
“They were full of the clothes of a child.”
“Ah,” Louisa paused and nodded again. “That would be the one they didn’t talk about.”
“What do you know about that child?”
“Went missing, Nana told me. After her best friend got drowned.”
“About ten or eleven, I believe. Mustn’t talk about it, my mother said. Stir up old bad things. But Nana told me. Said we all had to be careful. She found out…” she stopped suddenly. “I’ve been expecting you.” She nodded at the nurse. “She said you’d come.”
“Careful of what… of who? Do you remember anything about the story?”
“What story?” The old lady turned her attention back to Maggie.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” She looked up at the nurse with a fearful expression.
“I think that’s as much as Mrs Jenkins can manage today.” Nurse Crowley moved to stand next to her patient.
“Thank you so much for speaking to us, Louisa. It’s been wonderful to meet you.” She reached into her bag. “I found some old family photos for you to look at.” She handed the package to the nurse. “Perhaps I can come again soon.” Then to Louisa, “If you’d like to take a look through the photos, perhaps you can tell me who some of these people are.”
“That would be lovely,” the nurse enthused, “but time to go now.” She lowered her voice. “She’s asleep again. Sleeps a lot now,” she added, nodding meaningfully.
“Does she have any other visitors?” Maggie asked.
“No. Her lawyer calls every couple of months, when she decides to make some adjustment to her will. And the vicar of St Cadoc’s calls in occasionally. That’s where she used to live. But no family. She’ll be talking about this for weeks, if she remembers.”
She led Maggie and Alice out of the room back to the entrance hall.
“Do come again. She’d like it.”
“Thank you. We will. How about Thursday?”
The nurse nodded dismissively and trotted back in the direction of the bedrooms. Maggie and Alice walked outside and across the lawn to where they had left the car. There were still a few people around, but most were making their way back to the main house.
