Father Peters chuckled. ‘Ha! You have always had a trick up your sleeve, Francis, as long as I have known you.’
Francis Morley’s smile flickered for just a moment. He was too worried to laugh.
‘You are not far behind me, Robert, with your schemes, devising all those holes at the Hall. I swear you are as much a genius as Father Owen. Now you must use that art to hide the children. Cover them well with sacking and straw and then some of my vegetables and fruit.’ He was busy assembling the load. ‘If Griffin has alerted the mob and that man is right, they’ll be looking for Ruth, at least, as Kathleen’s apprentice. Go the back way to the house. It will be rough in places for the wagon but this horse will manage it. The moon is strong but then it could also give you away. You must take care.’
‘Is my mother safe?’ Jack asked Father Peters.
Father Peters hesitated. He’d have to tell them what happened, but now was not the time. God forgive him, he’d have to keep their mother’s fate from them for a while longer.
‘We face dangers Jack; we must do as Father Morley suggests. I will explain later. Quick, both of you into the wagon.’
He ushered them in, looking all around and listening with intent for the horsemen. ‘Stay still, both of you, as if every breath has left your body. You must not be revealed. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Father.’
They climbed into the cart and Father Peters covered them with sacking then lots of straw, vegetables and fruit. He gave them Kathleen’s herb box to hold tightly and keep hidden.
‘Do you really want us to stop breathing, Father? Jack asked. Although he chuckled, Father Peters couldn’t stop the sadness welling within him.
‘No, my son, but you must be well hidden.’ He felt a strong sense of urgency, to get them to the Manor house and then on to the court to avert this dreadful persecution.
Jack was worried about his mother. There was something badly amiss. He had not been reassured that she was well.
Father Peters covered them again, ready to set off on his way.
‘Thank you, brother.’ He leaned forward towards Father Morley and the two friends embraced. ‘Fare thee well, God save thee. I shall see thee anon.’
Father Morley gave a sad nod. ‘Farewell, my good friend. May God be with you.’
Daylight was rapidly fading. Father Morley watched them leave with a heaviness in his heart. The sound of the wagon’s wheels clattering on the stones soon ceased as it disappeared into the trees. It was not long gone when Father Morley saw horses approaching from the opposite direction.
Chapter Twenty-Four
May 1958
Dad’s recovery was slow. I went with her one day, but found it a bit emotional to be honest. Seems sort of abnormal watching a parent in a hospital bed; especially when the weeks go on and on. I also found myself hating Harry and Arthur too, for buying him all that booze. I let Mum sit near him while I stood up, occasionally looking out of the window. Sounds bad, but I didn’t really want to be there, listening to the hissing and puffing of the iron lung, even though I knew it was his lifeline.
Mum sat by his bedside counting the drops of saline that dripped into the chamber of the intravenous tube, keeping him hydrated. Encouraged by the nurses to talk to him, she placed the chalice and the box on his bed. Gran had done a superb job of buffing the silver and the stones, which now appeared as sapphires, pearls and rubies, set with perhaps diamonds. It must have taken a lot of time and patience.
‘Hello, Albert. Isn’t it time you were coming home?’ No response. ‘Tom found these treasures in our house. Well, in the garden and that tunnel. I know you didn’t like it but…’ She chuckled, ‘Tom says the tunnel stinks of the cess pit. I’ve told him, though, he’s not to go in it again… But you know Tom, he’ll do it anyway.’ She studied him. No response. ‘We need you to come home, Albert.’
She held his hand and turned to me. ‘He’s quite cold, Tom. Perhaps I ought to say something.’
‘He looks okay Mum.’ I wasn’t sure what to say to reassure her to be honest, but I did think he looked thin.
Mum shook her head, her voice suddenly unsteady,
‘How life can give you a sudden kicking, when you are plodding along nicely.’ She sighed. ‘I miss you Albert, so much.’ A couple of tears drew a thin line down her foundation cream as they spilled from her pooling eyes.
A nurse came in and comforted her. ‘Go and get some rest, Mrs Winchett, you look worn out.’
‘Aye, my mother is doing a lot of the cooking. We’ll leave earlier today and give her a break. I’ll leave this chalice and box with him, if that’s all right. Err…they’re very valuable. Can you make sure they stay in here?’
‘Of course, Mrs Winchett.’ The nurse’s eyes and mouth opened wide as she looked at them.
I was a bit worried about them staying at the hospital, so I asked, ‘Can they be locked away securely until my Mum comes again, do you think?’
‘Of course. Can I ask you? Where did these come from?
‘We live in a Tudor mansion house. They were discovered…er…underground. Dad might be interested.’
‘Wow! You look after your Mum, eh? I promise these will be kept safe.’
*
Back in school, I entered another restless phase. I was becoming frustrated at the lack of time or opportunities to solve what was going on in my own house and bored with lessons.
Mr Stephens accused me of being sullen, intolerant and downright cheeky. ‘If it wasn’t for your poor mother and what she was going through at the moment I would have you in detention again. You need to pull your socks up, for her sake, lad.’
Deep down, I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying it.
One afternoon, Mr Stephens left the classroom as the whole class were working on science projects. Bored with experiments with dry ice, George and I speculated on the information in the notes from Gran…but eager ears were close by.
‘That tunnel again?’
Mike Thompson.
‘Go and find your own amusement, Thompson. Nosy bastard,’ I growled.
‘Are you calling me a bastard?’
‘I just did! You deaf or something?’
Mike made a fist, lunged over to me and swung his hand forward to hit me square on the face, but I ducked.
He stumbled forward and George put out his foot so that Mike fell over it and onto the desks.
Other boys joined in. The sound of furniture scraping the floor was deafening. The girl who was always smiling at me, Sally, caught the fish bowl just before it crashed to the floor, but she tipped the water and the goldfish deliberately over Mike Thompson’s face. The fish slipped down his blazer just as the door was flung open and there stood Mr Stephens.
His mouth looked like that of the fish. He stood astounded until the class noticed his presence and quietened. The little fish fell to the floor from under Mike Thompson’s blazer but was still flapping. Recovering his voice, Mr Stephens demanded the fish was rescued immediately and put back into some water. Sally made several attempts to grasp it, but it kept jumping and slipping from her fingers.
The others giggled, making Mr Stephens angry.
This time, we were suspended.
*
My mum went barmy. ‘How could you do this? Don’t you think I’ve got enough to worry about? Have you no thought at all? Well?’
‘I’m sorry, Mum. Mike Thompson and his mates are bullies. It’s so bloody irritating that we get punished and it’s all their fault.’
‘Don’t swear, Tom.’
‘Oh, you don’t understand.’
Her eyebrows shot up as her wild eyes fixed on me. There was more yelling to come.
‘I do understand!’ she snapped. ‘I understand that you’re incapable of thinking about anyone else. That’s what I understand! Go to bed! And another thing… I don’t want to hear about that damn tunnel, ’cos you’re never going down it again!’
She
stormed off into the kitchen. Gran placed an arm around me.
‘You know how to pick your times, don’t you?’ she said. I just shrugged and went slowly up the stairs.
The suspension was for three days. Mum went off to work, then she was going to the hospital.
Gran was going into Chesterfield. I gave her the piece of paper on which I had wrote the words, ‘Sancta Pater, Sancta Pater, audi nos, libera nos et nos cum mater nostra.’ I just caught her in the hallway, putting on her coat, ‘Are you going to the library Gran? Please cold you find a Latin translation book and tell me what these words mean?’ She frowned and shook her head, the look was enough to convey that she thought I should give up.
The house was empty. I stared out of the window. I’d read Gran’s notes over and over again and now an image of the priest walking on the garden was before me: the Tudor children were playing and the woman I saw in the bonfire was stood in the corner by a tree. The images sailed in and out of my brain all day.
Could any of it be true? Was the dark shape I saw the ghost of a priest and the whisperings those of the children who originally lived here? The Earl of Becton’s daughter died, so maybe it was her spirit here, whispering to me, but there were two voices, I’m sure.
The library book never mentioned what had become of Oliver or his mother, that Lady Charlotte. Then there were the so-called witch’s children who were assumed to have died in a fire and that bloody raven. Where did he fit?
Just to complicate matters, the whisperings may even be children who had died in this house since the Tudor period, in the Victorian era, for example. My thoughts were circling and getting nowhere.
*
During the suspension from school, Gran had mentioned that I should learn to cook. I had helped to cut chips once, so I found potatoes and started to peel them and did what Gran did: left them in cold water. I then made a salad with lettuce, tomatoes and cucumber and placed it in a bowl. I looked in the fridge, not knowing what Gran had planned for tea, but, as soon as she came home, I would cook whatever it was. I suppose I partly wanted to get back into their good books.
Annabel was first in from school. ‘Hey, lucky you. I wish I could have three days suspension. I’d stop in bed all day. What you been up to? Not gone anywhere near that tunnel I hope?’
‘Nope.’
‘Huh. Find that hard to believe. So you haven’t discovered that the slab we dug up has been firmly put down again and sealed? That electrician, Harry, came here on your last day at school and said he’d put down a heavy iron sheeting. Gran said it took him ages and he was having a good snoop around. Dad had apparently asked him to come and do it before he had his accident.’
I was flabbergasted. Nobody had told me until now. I rushed out. There, over the hole with the steps to the vault under the ground, was a large sheet of corrugated iron set firmly with several bricks. Huh. George and I would quickly shift that, but why did Gran seem to think Harry was snooping?
I set the table when Annabel had gone upstairs.
Shortly after, Gran arrived. She had books in her bag and came up to me, rather furtively, ‘The words you wanted Tom.’ She handed me the paper I had given her. I could see her own handwriting under my Latin words:
‘Sancta Pater, Sancta Pater, audi nos, libera nos, et nos cum mater nostra.’
‘Holy father, Holy Father, hear us, free us and unite us with our mother.’
‘Quite powerful words, Tom, full of emotion,’ she said. ‘Where did you get these words?’
‘They are the whispered words, Gran, uttered by children, in this house.’
She glanced around the hall. ‘Seems really odd to think we’re being watched, but why use the words “‘Free us”? It’s certainly eerie. They want to be reunited with their mother…so is that the Lady Charlotte? Glad I don’t hear them, hope it’s not often, Tom?’
‘No Gran, not often. I’m sure they are the children of Lady Charlotte Her daughter Mary died in this house after all. But I have a question for you Gran.’ ‘Why didn’t you tell me Harry was coming to seal the tunnel entrance?’
‘Ah… Tom, your mum asked me not to. She thought you would protest too much and she couldn’t face it, quite honestly. She has a lot of stress on her plate, Tom, right now. Did Annabel tell you? I thought she overheard.’
‘Annabel said he took a long time and you thought he was snooping?’
‘Well, yes, I did actually. He disappeared from the hole and I saw him walking up and down the garden.’
‘Hmm. Too inquisitive. What was he up to?’
Mum came home from the hospital. At last there had been some progress with Dad’s condition. They had tried weaning him off the iron lung for longer and longer periods and now he was breathing spontaneously. Only the previous evening when Mum visited, he had begun to respond to simple commands such as being asked to squeeze someone’s hand or open his eyes. The nurses were checking these responses frequently and shining a torch into his eyes to check that his pupils were reacting well to light. All in all they were very pleased. The nurse who was present when I went with Mum to the hospital had sat with him, encouraging him to touch the chalice and the box.
Mum said his speech was a bit slurred, but what concerned her was when she gave him a ‘Get Well’ card from Harry and George, he had frowned and painstakingly uttered, ‘Don’t trust them.’
Mum and Gran discussed his suspicions, Gran now telling mum how she didn’t like the way Harry seemed to be snooping around the house. ‘Seemed as if he was up to something, Alice.’
‘Yes, Mum. We must keep news of the box to ourselves. That’s worth something. We still have to get it valued.’ She finally took off her coat and looked at the table, ‘Oh Tom, you’ve prepared some tea. Salad would be nice, dear. I’ll show you how to cook chicken fillets.’
*
After Mum left for work the next day and Gran went shopping, I heard a car pull up. I rushed to the window and saw George’s dad dropping him off and then drive off.
I opened the door. ‘How have you managed to allow your dad to bring you here when we have been suspended? Thought you might be locked in your bedroom.’
‘Ha, no way. I said we had a project and the teacher had told us to get on with it and finish it. Dad’s getting fed up with me around any road and boredom was driving me slowly mad, Tom.’
‘Hey, it’s lucky no one is in. Come in.’
It wasn’t long, however, before Gran came home.
When she saw George, I think she assumed we were up to our old tricks.
‘Aye aye, what have you been up to? You’re suspended from school you know, you’re not supposed to be having fun.’
‘I know. It’s great, eh, Tom?’ George laughed cheekily. Gran usually had a good sense of humour but occasionally it had to be teased out. We both studied her face as we chuckled. She looked serious but then shook her head and grinned. We all giggled, but the sound of banging on the front door ended our bit of fun.
Gran went to open it. Then she came back to the kitchen, looking gloomy and worried.
‘What’s the matter Gran? Who’s at the door?’
‘School inspectors,’ she said, sighing. ‘You two are in deep trouble.’
We looked at one another with raised eyebrows, ready to scarper.
‘C’mon in chaps…they’re in here.’
Strange way for Gran to talk to school inspectors.
Then two workman entered.
‘It’s the men come to put the new oven in.’
‘Gran, that wasn’t fair.’
The two men were shown into the kitchen. One stopped and stared at George.
‘Aren’t you Arthur Howard’s lad? I’ve worked with your dad. We were at a Christmas party together. You won’t remember me, though. I often have a few drinks with your dad in The Old Gatehouse.’
George looked puzzled.
‘I’m Sydney Fielding; just remember me to your dad, eh? I’ll be in The Gatehouse next week, tell him, for a chat.’
Then he introduced his workmate. ‘This is Pete, by the way.’
George simply nodded, so I did the same. It was unlike him not to babble on. Strange.
We went up to my room to discuss our project, but it wasn’t long until the banging from the kitchen was unbearable.
George asked for one of Gran’s sweets. He’d seen them in a jar in the kitchen. He recalled the tale I told him when we first met, about the disappearing sweet.
‘Where did it end up, I wonder? Show me again where it disappeared.’
I showed him.
‘What if I drop another down this hole and we listen to it drop, then go down and try and find it. The workmen are right below us. It could be a good opportunity.’
I didn’t disagree, so he dropped it.
Clunk. There was a distinct sound of the sweet hitting metal, several feet below. The voice of one of the workmen echoed to the fireplace in my room. ‘What the bloody hell was that?’
George rushed out of the room. ‘C’mon.’
In the kitchen, Gran was looking horrified. The men had used pickaxes to clear away most of the bricks from the fireplace where the old range had been. There was a big dust cloud billowing through the kitchen.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Your mum only painted the walls a few weeks back.’ Chipped bricks and mounds of mortar were strewn all over the floor.
‘Did you see anything drop?’ George asked Sydney.
‘I heard something, don’t know how with the racket, but something at that side.’ He pointed to the right side of the fireplace.
‘Isn’t it time you had a break? You should go and have a breather.’ I knew George wanted them out of the way.
‘Ha, cheek of the urchin! Are you our boss? We’ve got to finish this, lad.’ They exchanged glances. ‘But if you insist, we’ll have a walk out. Ere, don’t get touching any of this lot, you’ll hurt yourselves. We will have a break though, eh, Pete? I could do with a fag.’
‘Go and drop another one, George. Quick!’
The Curse of Becton Manor Page 19