‘No, I don’t think so,’ Ellie answered, her heart heavy with worry. It wasn’t often that she saw her father in such a vicious mood; although she had to admit that lately he was more prone to such moods and that, more often than not, it was her brother who triggered them. ‘Johnny was always strong-minded, even as a baby, but I wouldn’t say “rebellious” exactly.’ A coldness settled over her as it all came flooding back. ‘He began to change soon after our mother died… He became withdrawn on occasions… violent on others. He suffered the most awful nightmares. The doctor did assure us that he would get over it all. In time.’ There were moments when she could have gladly thrashed her brother, and other moments, like now, when her heart went out to him.
Rosie went into the cottage first. The lamp was burning softly; the logs were still partly ablaze, sending out a cheery warmth to greet them. All was silent. Rosie began hobbling towards the bedroom. She called ‘George’ just once before saying to Ellie, ‘You never did tell me about your mother, Ellie… how she died.’
‘No.’ Ellie had not been able to bring herself to talk about it. She could not talk about it now. ‘I never did.’
Conscious of Ellie’s reluctance, and partly understanding it, Rosie did not press the matter. Instead, she pushed open the bedroom door. ‘George.’ Her voice was gentle, loving. ‘It’s only me. I’m sorry I’ve been so long, but I’m back now, come to take you to see the bonfire,’ she chuckled. ‘That little bugger Johnny has lit it afore he should have done. By! He’s in for a spanking when his dad gets hold of him, that’s for sure. I can’t help but say it serves him right, though.’ In the half-gloom, she hobbled towards the bed, cursing beneath her breath because the authorities had not seen fit to install an electricity supply into the cottage, when they ran the cable from Redborough to the big house. ‘Penny-pinching weasels!’ she muttered. Now, as she approached the bed, she sensed that something was wrong. What she had taken to be George beneath the eiderdown seemed suddenly too perfectly round, too neat altogether.
In the few moments while she waited, expecting to help Rosie with the transportation of the senile to enjoy the bonfire, Ellie busied herself by putting a few small logs on the fire, just enough to keep it going until late evening. There was nothing worse than coming away from the intense heat of a bonfire, through the damp chill of a November evening, only to find that the house was cold and unwelcoming. Warming her hands and lost in thoughts of Barny, Alec and her family, she was not unaware of Rosie’s voice calling out to George. She wondered whether taking George out in the bitter night air was a wise thing, but Rosie had revealed how George was so excited about the bonfire and how adamant she was that she would keep her promise and take him to see it all ‘go up in flames’.
‘Ellie! He’s not here!’ Rosie’s shriek startled Ellie. But then, as she started forward, another sound drew her attention. Crying. Pitiful, like the wail of a newborn. Coming into the room, Rosie heard it too. Her knowing glance was drawn to the small oak dresser. She looked at Ellie and put a stiff, forbidding finger to her lips, silently entreating Ellie to stay quiet. She went towards the dresser, clumsy in her eagerness, her warm, brown eyes marbled with both fear and relief. ‘Are you hiding behind there, George?’ she teased, ‘you’re never afraid of Rosie, are you?’ The crying stopped. The dresser moved slightly. ‘It’s all right, love… you come out now. There’s only me here, and Ellie. You’re safe. Quite safe.’
‘Won’t hurt me?… punish?’
‘You know I won’t.’ She gestured for Ellie to help shift the dresser forward. ‘The bonfire’s lit,’ she coaxed.
‘Yes… bonfire… lit.’ There was no surprise. No excitement. Only fear. Ellie and Rosie exchanged glances. It was not the response either of them expected.
‘Well then, you don’t want to miss it, do you?’ Rosie asked, ‘so, come on out, and we’ll take you to see it.’ Together, she and Ellie inched the dresser out.
‘No!’
‘Aw, come on, George, you know how much you want to see it burn,’ Rosie reminded him. He was clearly visible now, a wizened, terrified thing crushed against the wall, his huge pale eyes overhung by long tangled brows and his frail, wasted body trembling from head to toe. ‘What on earth made you hide?’ Rosie pressed, ‘you must have known I wouldn’t be all that long.’ No answer. ‘Were you frightened… is that why you hid?’
‘You… left… George.’ The voice was heavy with tears, but the eyes were dry, bulbous. Accusing.
‘I know.’ Rosie reached out. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Won’t leave… again?’
Rosie smiled and shook her head. ‘No, I won’t leave you… for as long… again, but you know I must leave you now and then. I can’t be with you every minute of every day.’ She could see he was not satisfied. ‘All right then,’ she conceded, ‘I won’t ever again leave you in the evening, after dark. Is that what you want?’
The unattractive face half smiled, the head nodding, dripping with sweat. Inch by inch the senile gave himself into Ellie and Rosie’s keeping. As they helped him into the armchair, he began mumbling, telling them in a fearful whisper and all the while glancing furtively towards the window, ‘Don’t leave… me. Bad things. Bad… things happen… when you… leave me.’ He bent his head forward, repeating softly, ‘Bad… things.’ His narrow shoulders were hunched up, his ungainly head buried down, hiding. Only his eyes were raised upwards, staring and awful.
Rosie shook her head, looking at Ellie with a forlorn expression. Returning her attention to the pathetic creature in the chair, she asked kindly, ‘Don’t you want to see the bonfire?’
The head jerked upwards, narrow, suspicious eyes glaring. The head shook vigorously from side to side, cringing now, burying itself deep into the hunched shoulders. ‘No, oh… no.’
‘That’s it then, Ellie,’ Rosie said, ‘he doesn’t want to leave the cottage, and I’ve promised.’ She looked like a disappointed child. ‘Never mind,’ she added, with a sudden smile, ‘you go ahead. Me and George… we’ll watch it from the window.’ The bonfire was just visible from the cottage window – a pyramid of light in the distance.
Disappointed, Ellie hesitated.
‘Go on, Ellie,’ Rosie urged, awkwardly propelling her towards the door.
‘All right then,’ Ellie agreed, ‘I must admit I am worried about Johnny.’ She groaned. ‘I wish to God I’d never allowed him out of my sight.’ Even as she said it, she realised how impossible it would have been to keep him in. When Rosie promptly reminded her of that fact, she felt curiously relieved. ‘Once I’ve got him safe and sound, me and Barny will bring some of the food over… share it with you and George.’
Rosie was delighted. ‘That’s a marvellous idea,’ she chuckled, ‘we’ll look out for you. Oh, and don’t worry about the boy,’ she said, balancing precariously on her crutches in order to hug one arm round Ellie’s shoulders, ‘boys will be boys I expect, and there’s no accounting for them.’
When Rosie had seen Ellie away down the path, she came back into the cottage, her expression stern and suspicious. There were certain matters about which she must question George. Serious matters. Like, what did he mean when he said, ‘Bad things happen when you leave me’? And, why had he been outside, tonight, in the dark, wandering about? There would be no use him denying it. Not when she had already seen the mud on his bare feet. And the telltale guilt in his eyes!
Ellie could not draw her gaze from the Guy Fawkes’ features. For long, agonising moments she had stood in the full heat of the fire, looking upwards at the macabre figure seated above. In the hazy illumination from the fierce, colourful flames that licked at its feet, the rag creation appeared almost human. Alive. There was something uniquely beautiful about the effigy, yet it seemed somehow ugly, and sinister. It was the face which drew Ellie’s fascination. In the dancing, flaming shadows, it was incredibly lovely. Poignantly sad, and familiar. Familiar. Familiar.
‘What is it?’ Barny had been quick to notice Ellie’s
disquiet. Instinctively, he put his arm round her. Her body was stiff and unyielding. ‘Ellie!’ She continued to stare upwards, mesmerised, as though in a trance. Gently, he shook her. ‘Ellie, are you all right, sweetheart?’ The look on her face was one he had never seen before. It shook him to the core. ‘ELLIE!’ His voice became sharp; authoritative. She turned. But her mind’s eye was still looking up, up to the effigy. To the face she had recognised. No. It could not be. It was impossible. Her mind was in turmoil. ‘Take hold of yourself, Ellie,’ she shouted inwardly, ‘take hold of yourself! You’re imagining things.’ Yes. That was it. She was imagining things. It was always the same when she was worried; memories rolled in on her; painful, persistent images filled every corner of her being, making her so afraid, so vulnerable. These things were always with her, even in her deepest dreams. It was always worse when she was worried – about her father, about Johnny. And right now she was desperately worried. Johnny! Where was he? Why had he lit the bonfire in defiance of his father’s wishes, and afterwards gone into hiding? Why oh why was he so hell-bent on clashing with his father at every opportunity? Where was he? Where in God’s name was he?
‘It’s Johnny isn’t it?’ Barny asked now, drawing her closer and filling with pleasure when she let herself be cradled to his heart. ‘You’re afraid of what your father will do when the boy comes home?’ His lips were murmuring into her hair. He loved her so much. And, for some reason he could not yet fathom, he sensed that she was in danger. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart. He’ll come back when he’s ready, and your father will be so relieved that he’ll just pack him off to bed and that will be an end to it.’
‘If you think that, Barny, then you don’t know my father.’ Ellie pulled away from him. ‘This time it’s once too often,’ she warned. She did not explain how the bad feeling between those two had got steadily worse over these past weeks, until now it had deteriorated to such bitter loathing that she feared some kind of awful confrontation was unavoidable. If it came to a confrontation, then she would have no choice but to side with Johnny. After all, he was only a child. In her heart she knew how confused and unhappy he was.
‘No. You’re wrong, Ellie,’ Barny gently assured her, ‘they are father and son. It can be a tricky relationship at the best of times, but, well… they’ll work it out, you’ll see.’
‘Oh, Barny, I hope you’re right,’ Ellie answered. When he took her hand in his, she felt needed. Loved. It was a good feeling. In spite of her intention to let him down as kindly as she could in the morning, tonight she felt lonely and afraid. Tonight, she was worried; unusually apprehensive. Slowly, hesitantly, she raised her eyes. Now, the chair was consumed by fire, a mass of flames. The flames leaped upwards, caressing the figure there. Just for a moment – the briefest and most painful of moments – Ellie’s anxious gaze fell on the face. It was burning. Curling horribly. In its final death throes it looked down on her. A sad, pitiful look that tore at Ellie’s heart. There was something. Something… deep inside. Hurting. Remembering. In the chill of evening Ellie felt the hot, stinging tears against her skin. It was her own mother’s face that had gazed on her! The bright, sparkling eyes; the same unique beauty. In that poor, sad face she had seen her mother. Her mother. Dear God! Ellie steeled herself inside. Was she going mad? Would she never be rid of the awful memories! The horror! She forced herself to watch the effigy burn. Now, it was gone. Gone for ever. Still, she was not comforted. Deeply disturbed, she turned away, roving her anxious gaze towards the house and beyond to the spinney. When she saw the tall, familiar figure leaning nonchalantly against the big barn wall, her heart somersaulted. Alec! In the half-light he was unmistakable; the lean, great-coated figure, darkly handsome and strangely formidable, he quietly surveyed the scene before him. Ellie’s fascinated gaze lingered a moment longer. Then, heavy-hearted and regretful, she looked away. When, unable to resist the temptation, she returned her glance, he was gone. And with him the spiral of joy that had lit every corner of Ellie’s being.
‘You’re quite certain there is nothing else you can tell me?’ the constable said kindly, eyeing Ellie with concerned yet quizzical eyes, ‘any little thing at all, that might have slipped your memory? A remark… something? The slightest inclination as to whether your brother might have run away… or where he might be?’
‘No. Nothing.’ Ellie had searched her mind time and again through the long, anxious night. She could think of no reason why Johnny had not come home. She had deliberately shrugged off the most obvious thing – that of the bad atmosphere which had erupted between Johnny and his father earlier, and the possibility that the boy feared punishment for staying away too long and prematurely lighting the bonfire when his father had expressly forbidden it. But then, Johnny had disobeyed his father before; many times. And, on each occasion, he had never been afraid to face the consequences. Why now? Ellie asked herself. Why should he be afraid now? What in God’s name had possessed him to stay out all night? Where could he be? Was he lost? Hiding? Deliberately staying out of his father’s way until tempers had cooled?
‘So, you would agree with your father’s views when he came to the Station this morning to report his son missing – there was no apparent reason as to why the boy should run off.’ He began scribbling in his notebook. ‘There were no rows… arguments of any kind that might have upset the boy.’ When Ellie hesitated in her answer, he raised his eyebrows and peered down at her. ‘Well, Miss Armstrong?’
Meeting his gaze with strong, steely eyes, Ellie resolved to keep her own counsel with regard to the animosity between father and son. In her deepest heart, she felt instinctively that it had no bearing on the boy’s disappearance. In spite of herself, she could not help but recall Mrs Gregory’s words – ‘Two children… missing. Never found again.’ Her heart lurched with fear. ‘I can think of no real reason why Johnny should choose to go missing, and on Bonfire Night too, when he’s worked so hard for weeks, to build the precious thing!’ She was beginning to tire of all the questions. Wasn’t it the constable’s job to find the boy? Ellie said as much to him now, adding with a degree of reluctance, ‘Isn’t it true that there have been other children missing from these parts?’
The constable’s expression was grave. ‘I’m afraid that is true,’ he conceded quietly, ‘but I really don’t think it’s wise to dwell on such matters… it was some time ago after all.’ Seeing how distraught Ellie was becoming, he smiled, saying, ‘Look here, Miss, I’m sure we’ll find your brother safe and sound. Boys get up to all manner of pranks, as well you must know.’ He was saying one thing and thinking another. Even before Ellie had mentioned about the previous incident when the two children had disappeared, the issue had already been raised, in his mind and in the minds of others. However much he reassured the young lady with regard to her brother’s disappearance, he would not… could not… rule out the possibility that the two incidents might somehow be linked. Although he sincerely hoped they were not!
Having established when Ellie last saw the boy, the constable enquired as to who else was in the house at the present time. ‘It’s important that I speak to everyone,’ he explained.
‘There’s no one else in the house. My father’s been out ever since he returned from the Station… he’s taken Barny with him. They’re searching the grounds now.’
‘Barny?’ The constable scribbled in his notepad.
‘Barny Tyler.’ Ellie was reluctant to expand on that, but when it was obvious that the constable required more, she told him quietly, ‘A guest, well… more a friend of the family. He and I were considering marriage at one time.’
‘I see.’ More scribbling into the notepad, then, ‘So there are just the three of you living at Thornton Place… your father, brother and self?’
‘That’s right.’ Ellie’s patience was fast running out. ‘Constable, with due respect, don’t you think you should be out there looking for Johnny?’
‘I didn’t come here alone this morning, Miss,’ he said with a smile, �
�there are two of us. Constable Rogers is already out there… scouring the area.’ He did not want to alarm Ellie by pointing out that the Station Officer considered this particular situation serious enough to warrant two constables; especially in view of the previous disappearances. He turned his attention to the woman in the chair. He knew her of old. ‘Now then, Rosie, you say you can’t throw any light at all on the situation?’
She shook her head, looking up at him with worried, nut-brown eyes, the multitude of wrinkles surrounding them seeming more deeply etched this morning. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘but, if I’m to tell the truth, I reckon the little bugger’s hiding… taking delight in worrying everybody half out of their minds!’
The constable merely smiled and nodded his head. It was a known fact that Rosie could be cantankerous as hell when she took it to mind. It was part of her charm.
With the constable’s departure, Ellie grew increasingly anxious. Until Rosie told her sharply, ‘Come on, my girl! It’s no use you staying here, crucifying yourself… imagining all manner of terrible things.’ She scrambled from the chair and hobbled across the room to Ellie. Fastening the large bone buttons on her tweed coat, she told Ellie, ‘Get your overcoat… you and me will have a look around. I wouldn’t mind betting he’s holed up in that spinney somewhere. There ain’t a soul alive as knows them woods like I do. Come on! We’ll flush the little bugger out.’ She nodded her head in approval when Ellie made off towards the kitchen. ‘That’s it, my girl,’ she declared, ‘you get your coat… and when we find that brother o’ yours, I hope you’ll give him the thrashing he deserves!’ When Ellie turned to say something, Rosie rightly anticipated it. ‘Oh, it’s all right. I know you feel you should stay here in case the boy comes back, but we’d both do more good out there… helping to find where he’s hiding! If he does decide to come back, well enough, but… he’s not likely to run away again just because he finds there’s nobody here, now is he, eh!’
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