Three Times Removed

by M K Jones

  “I’m so sorry, Alice. You’ve been so patient. I’m going to tell you all about it when we get home. But there’s some explaining to do here, first.”

  The three Gilberts stood together. As Maggie went towards the headmaster’s office she found that her legs were still like jelly, each ankle and knee wavering as she applied weight. In the middle of the corridor she stopped to rest against the wall, and as she did so, she saw the gallery of pictures, portraits of the staff painted by one of the younger classes in thick, vibrant colours. Real people, important in their everyday lives. Eira Probert wasn’t there.

  She tried to assemble a story for the headmaster and the police, who she could see waiting in the office. Any explanation she could think of seemed preposterous. As soon as they saw her, two police officers hurried towards her to support her. They were halted by something, or someone behind Maggie and her children. With a wave of relief, Maggie knew that Zelah had arrived.

  Seventy Four

  “Let me speak to her!” Zelah pushed her way past the headmaster and marched up to Maggie. “Did you see her?”

  Maggie nodded. She tried to talk but found that her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth, so she licked her lips.

  “Get some water!” Zelah barked at Mr Philips over her shoulder. “This woman has had a shock, can’t you see that?”

  “Yes, but…” He was drawing himself up to his full height and bristling, when Zelah turned round to face him. “I’ll get it now,” He said, running away down the corridor.

  She turned to Maggie. “Do you want to sit down? You’ll have to speak to them,” she lowered her voice, flicking her head at the policemen hovering behind.

  Maggie nodded. “What am I going to tell them?” she whispered, her voice beginning to quaver with alarm, now that her adrenaline was subsiding.

  “As you know, I always go with the truth,” Zelah spoke softly. “A lot of people think I’m crazy, but of course I don’t care what people think.”

  “Not helpful,” Maggie muttered.

  “I agree, Mum, tell the truth. Ask how Big Butt got to teach here. She’s not even a real teacher!”

  “I’m not sure. She’s not as clever as she thinks but she is devious. We have a lot more security and protection for her to get past these days, but she seems to have succeeded.”

  Jack had taken one arm, and Zelah had the other, as they helped Maggie into the office. As she leaned on his shoulder Maggie became conscious for the first time that her son was now as tall as her.

  Mr Philips rushed into his office with a glass of water. As soon as Maggie was seated, with Zelah, Jack and Alice around her like a human shield, she began to talk.

  As soon as she explained that Eira Probert was an imposter, the senior of the two officers stopped the interview and made a call to the county administrator.

  “They say it won’t be difficult to check. The references seemed to be acceptable and her criminal records check came back OK. But they’re calling the schools, and a children’s home now.” He turned to Mr Philips. “Do you have a photograph, sir? That will help with the ID.”

  The man thought for a moment, a series of conflicting expressions passing over his face. “No, we don’t. She was never around for any of our school photographs.” The last part was spoken questioningly, as much to himself as to them.

  “You’ll also find,” Maggie interjected, “that her portrait isn’t among the staff portraits that the children painted in the corridor.”

  “I have a picture.” She took her car keys from her pocket and gave them to Jack, with a nod. “Go and get the photo, please.”

  “So, what’s happened? Why have we been called exactly?” one of the officers asked Maggie.

  No-one else spoke as Maggie recounted the story. Part way through, Jack returned, but didn’t interrupt. After the story had been told, both police officers appeared incredulous. Their increasingly impatient and aggressive questioning made Maggie uncomfortable, but she stuck to her story. As she finished, she turned to Jack and held out her hand. Instead of giving the photograph to either of the police officers, she handed it to Mr Philips, who studied it carefully.

  “Yes, that’s Miss Probert,” he confirmed. “But I don’t remember the children being dressed up for this photo.” He scanned it again. “I can see Alice, of course,” indicating her face on the photo to the younger officer, who looked at Alice and nodded back. “But I don’t remember the occasion. The rest aren’t our children.”

  “You won’t recognise them,” Maggie replied. “It was taken in 1883.”

  She watched the expressions of Mr Philips and both police officers, as they looked from Maggie to Alice, to the photo, and back again.

  “Is it definitely your supply assistant, Mr Phillips?”

  He hesitated, unsure of what was going on. “Yes.”

  Zelah spoke to the police officers. “Can I make a suggestion?”

  They both nodded.

  “I suggest you let us all go home now. There’s nothing more we can do here. Maggie needs to speak to her daughter. I also suggest a couple of days off for Alice?” She raised an eyebrow at Mr Philips, who nodded. “And let me tell you a few more things, in case you aren’t sceptical enough already.”

  She told them about the family at Carmarthen and the Eira Probert at the circulating school, where two children in Maggie’s line of descendants had also been killed. They all listened attentively.

  The silence was shattered by a mobile phone ringing. The older officer answered it. He listened, nodding and grunting for a minute or so, while everyone else remained politely quiet.

  “That was the county schools administrator. According to her C.V., your supply teacher is supposed to have taught in two other authorities. But they’ve never heard of her. One of the references was handwritten. But the person who was supposed to have written it says he didn’t.”

  “And whatever else it was they said before you hung up?” Zelah demanded.

  He looked curiously at her. “We sent a patrol car to the home address she gave to the school. It’s derelict. Hasn’t been lived in for years, and there’s no evidence of anyone even squatting there.”

  “I’d like to go home now,” Maggie said, then turned to the headmaster. “I’m very sorry, really. This has been a terrible shock. But Zelah’s right. There’s nothing more anyone can do. My suggestion is that you keep this as quiet as you can, don’t upset parents and children needlessly. Eira Probert won’t be coming back and I don’t think the children will mind.” She smiled ironically at him. “They all hated her, you know. Not just Alice.”

  “Yes, you can go, but I’ll want to speak to you tomorrow.” The older officer said tersely, shaking his head.

  She nodded and stood up. She was exhausted. But as they turned to go, he called her again.

  “Mrs Gilbert, I’ll need to speak to your daughter tomorrow as well, to understand why she went with Miss Probert. This is kidnapping! I don’t think you appreciate how serious this is. It’s a criminal matter. I’m going to need statements. There will have to be an investigation.”

  Maggie smiled and shrugged. “She has no idea how she came to leave with Miss Probert, and I’m not pressing charges.” Maggie looked at Alice, who nodded in agreement.

  He waited a moment, shook his head again, then signalled her away and turned back to Mr Philips, as Zelah closed the door behind them.

  “Jack, you come with me,” Said Zelah. “We can put the roof down, and Maggie should go with Alice.”

  * * *

  A very excited Alan Kerr was on the other end of Maggie’s landline. “Maggie, hi! It’s Alan. Fantastic news! I found the photograph in the loft! It was taken in the 1920s, at an outing in a charabanc! Esme is part of a group of ladies standing in front of it.” Maggie pictured the long open topped carriage, the forerunner to the bus, with genteel ladies posing in front of it. It would have been an exceptional day out for them.

  Alan continued excitedly “And – I w
ent to the cemetery and spoke to the superintendent and, guess what? I’ve found Esme’s grave! She’s buried with her husband, Alan.” As he paused for breath, he noticed the silence on the other end of the phone. “Hello, are you still there?”

  “Yes, Alan. Sorry. That’s wonderful news.” Maggie hoped that she was conveying some enthusiasm. At any other time, she would have been excited, but for now, she just felt numb.

  “Can you come and see it and visit the grave with me?”

  “How about tomorrow?” Maggie asked.

  “I finish work tomorrow at four. How about four thirty at the cemetery entrance? It’s on Western Avenue, going out of Newport.”

  Maggie knew it. The cemetery there was bigger, older and better known than the one at Garth Hill. As soon as she had put the phone down, Maggie picked it up again and dialled another number. When she returned to the sitting room, they all looked up at her.

  “That was a long call, Mum.” Jack remarked.

  “Two calls,” Maggie replied. “The first was Alan. He’s found the real Alice’s photograph and her grave. He’s very excited.” She smiled. “I’ve agreed to meet him tomorrow to see them both. Anyone want to come with me?”

  All three nodded. “I’d like to see where she’s buried, Mum,” Alice said. “So I can say goodbye.”

  “I think it will be goodbye for all of us. It feels like we’ve reached the end.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “Zelah, would you like to stay to dinner? We can talk some more?”

  “Thanks, but no,” Zelah replied. “Things to do.”

  Maggie was taken aback. She’d assumed that Zelah would want to stay and support her through the discussion with Alice. But before she could say anything, Zelah jumped up, took her bag and left, calling back that she would see Maggie the following day. Neither of the children took any notice. They were getting used to Zelah’s sudden, unexplained departures.

  “Who was the second call, Mum? Was it Nick?”

  “Yes,” Maggie replied. “He’d warned me earlier in the day to be careful. I wanted to let him know what had happened.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Something rather surprising, actually. He wasn’t surprised. He said that I had fulfilled my duty. Sounded rather Victorian!”

  “What does that mean?” Jack asked curiously.

  “No idea. I invited him to the cemetery tomorrow and he said he’d explain to me then. I suppose I’ll just have to wait. Anyway, I need to explain to both of you about this whole story, without leaving anything out,” she added. “It’s our family history now.”

  Seventy Five

  Just before leaving for the cemetery, Maggie received a call from a police Inspector Pugh. He was curt, clearly embarrassed at what he was having to discuss. Paranormal events were not in the normal line of policing. He’d clearly been briefed by the two officers that had attended the day before, and was, to put it mildly, sceptical. Nevertheless, enquiries had elicited that whoever Eira Probert was, she had invented her persona. There was no record of her birth, and both her National Insurance and passport numbers were inventions, even though she had passed all security checks

  “So we’re ensuring she won’t get onto a teaching register or be able to work with children anywhere in the country, Mrs Gilbert. We don’t know what her motive is, but she has committed a number of criminal acts and she’s officially wanted for questioning.”

  Maggie thanked him, but asked no questions, and gave no more details.

  Despite his urging, Maggie steadfastly refused to allow Alice to be interviewed. She knew that he was only trying to do his job. She told him that if he wanted to go through the motions, he could do so, but she wouldn’t help. They had been through enough, and she just wanted things to get back to normal. Although unsatisfied, there was little that the Inspector could do. He asked that if she did have any information pertaining to the whereabouts of Eira Probert, that she should let him know. She agreed, and the call finished.

  Zelah was waiting inside the cemetery‘s main entrance. As soon as she saw Maggie and the two children, she rushed over to them, looking uncharacteristically untidy.

  “Maggie, I need to talk to you and Nick. It’s urgent,” she whispered.

  “Is something wrong, Zelah?” Maggie was concerned by Zelah’s demeanour.

  “Yes! No! Oh, I can’t tell you now. Can we meet at your house, this evening?” She was out of breath and she held onto Maggie’s arm.

  Maggie looked at her, with concern, just as Nick’s van pulled in and parked next to Zelah’s car, immediately followed by Alan and his daughter. Lucy wasn’t with them. Esme and Alice hugged each other and began to whisper together, as if they’d known each other for years.

  “I asked her not to talk about EiraProbert” Maggie whispered to Zelah. “I don’t think anyone else is ready for it, yet.”

  “She respects you,” Zelah replied. “She’ll ask if she feels the need. How are things with the school?”

  “Well, the decision to keep Alice off for a few days is probably the best one. They can sort out the mess at their end, and hopefully we can all get back to normal. When she does go back, it doesn’t need to be mentioned. She agreed to that, too. The class will simply be told that Miss Probert has left.”

  “She was sent away, by you,”

  “Shhh, not in front of them.” The Kerrs and Nick were approaching rapidly. Alan was holding a piece of paper that Maggie could see was a map of the cemetery.

  “Here we all are then, well, apart from Lucy. She couldn’t make it,” said Alan.

  “What a shame,” said Zelah, looking directly at him.

  Maggie noticed a slight flushing of his cheeks and she said quickly, “Yes, but never mind. We’ve got two cemeteries to visit, then I thought that you and Esme might like to come back to our house, perhaps have some supper? Do you think Lucy might like to join us later?”

  Alan’s blush became more intense. “Um, no, I’m afraid she’s busy and we promised to pick her up as soon as we’ve left Garth Hill cemetery. Sorry.” He didn’t quite look Maggie in the eye as he spoke.

  Zelah was going to say something, but Maggie shot her a look and, for once, Zelah bit her lip.

  “No problem,” Maggie smiled at Alan. “Perhaps we could see the grave first, then we can look at your photograph. I see you’ve got a map.” As she spoke she began to walk up the low rise leading to the inner gates of the cemetery. Nick and Alan fell in beside her, with Alice and Esme, arms linked, behind them, and Jack and Zelah at the rear.

  “Lucy’s trying to avoid us, isn’t she??” Jack asked Zelah when they were out of earshot of the others.

  “Looks like it. But your mother’s got enough on her mind, so I didn’t say anything.” She looked at him. “Some people find this unnatural, this interest in dead people.”

  Alice ears pricked up at Zelah’s last remark and she stopped and turned around, making Jack and Zelah stop abruptly to avoid walking into her.

  “I see dead people; they don’t know they’re dead,” she said, eyes popping and arms out like a zombie.

  For a moment Zelah was flummoxed, until Jack laughed and Alice turned back round and started to walk on again.

  “It’s a line from a film,” he explained to Zelah. “She’s just joking. It’s cemetery humour, that’s all.”

  “Oh. But she has seen dead people. Anyway, how did Alice take her talk last night?”

  “She seemed to take it all in her stride,” he replied, considering. “When mum went through it all, she just listened and nodded. Then she said, ‘I knew I was right. I saw Miss Probert at the funeral, with Alice. She saw me, too.’ It was more about being right than anything else. She seems to accept that being a bit…” he paused, feeling for the right word, “being a bit… psychic is perfectly natural.”

  “Good. For some people it is. It doesn’t disturb them. They just are, and that’s it. If Alice can think like that, then good. But, what about Eira Probert?”

  �
�We talked for a long time. Didn’t really decide anything. Mum said that we’ll have to find a way to keep the story alive, but we don’t need to rush to figure out how, now that she’s gone.”

  “Sensible,” Zelah nodded. They reached the gates and looked out over the vast sea of gravestones that stretched across three small knolls to the horizon. “This is one of the biggest graveyards in Wales,” she explained, amused by Jack’s expression of wonder.

  They caught up with the others and stood surveying the headstones. Alan looked at his map. “They’re in organised rows,” he explained. “Esme is in block five, row seventeen, plot number two hundred and thirty-eight. The warden said the rows are marked with signposts and the plot numbers are on metal plates in the ground, at the start of each row.” He held up the map and Nick and Maggie began to walk with him, checking the signposts.

  At block five they turned left and walked downhill counting the rows off.

  “Here it is,” Nick pointed, row seventeen, plots two hundred to two fifty. She must be somewhere beyond the middle of the row.”

  Now, they had to walk across the grass. Alice took her mother’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Maggie, looking down at her, saw that Alice was suddenly pale. She gave a reassuring squeeze. Nick let the way across the bottom end of the plots, carefully counting, followed by Alan. The ground was uneven and they were careful not to tread on a grave. Above, gulls wheeled and cried and the sudden screech of a crow caused Nick to look up, before moving on, checking each headstone. Then he stopped.

  “Here it is. Alan, Maggie, come and see.”

  Maggie moved to the edge of an overgrown grave. The headstone inscription hadn’t faded, the words were standing out in clear relief to the dark grey background. It was a simple grey stone, about four feet high, shaped to a pointed top.

  Maggie read out the inscription: Alan Edward Hughes. Departed this life Tenth January 1937. And below, in a slightly larger writing: Esme Alice Hughes. Beloved wife of Alan, mother of Esme, Alan and Joyce. Died thirty first October 1950.