Watching her eyes turn to the colour of steel, I saw behind them to her turmoil. And for the first time, how like him she was, an edge of cruelty disguising her own vulnerability. If she took my side, her own fate was surely sealed. In her own way my mother was as much a victim as me.
As my brother disappeared, and in spite of my distraught state, my mother offered no assistance, only bade me make myself presentable.
Had she really made the choice to abandon me?
For weeks, other than the niceties of civilised discourse, she barely spoke to me. By the time I began to suspect the consequences of my brother’s assault, I knew she did too and there would be no comfort.
As the shocking truth of my condition slowly dawned on me, deprived of pride, beset by despair and revulsion, I had nothing to lose.
I sought him out and told him.
For a second, I felt a frisson of power. I saw shock on his face and genuine fear, but in a moment he recovered, resorting to his usual arrogance.
He warned me if I disclosed the truth no one would believe me. He would bribe some idiot village boy to say I had lain with him willingly.
Present
There were, I believed, only two kinds of sky: a town one fighting for space with rooftops and false light, and a wider one that only fitted in the countryside.
Outside Gull House, this sky is an elemental wonder, like nothing I remember. It’s vast and constantly shifting, the colours swirl like Allegra’s paint water. The air is filled with more unshed Welsh rain. (It’s a cliché I cleave to – the idea Welsh rain isn’t like any other kind.)
I step over molehills, past tall thistles and the ubiquitous ragwort. The shrill call of the gulls sounds edgier and agitated. The sight of the flattened grass, like the cigarettes stubs, has unsettled me. Allegra worried about intruders although the worst I recall was the occasional tramp looking for a free sandwich or a bowl of soup before tipping his hat and taking his leave. When we were little, Nain never turned anyone away. Allegra was less trusting, and she didn’t like her privacy being invaded.
In the stillness, I wonder about vagrants. Would a tramp smoke filter-tip cigarettes? Possibly – these days’ people are poor in a different way. Necessity has made them more opportunist, too, and less respectful.
I don’t like myself for thinking this way.
Wondering about intruders my eyes scan the wood behind me. For a moment, political correctness deserts me and I imagine a gang of modern-day travellers crashing through the trees; dismissing soup, demanding money.
There is nothing to be afraid of. I’m quite alone.
The sun comes out again and if it does rain there’ll be a rainbow and I realise how much I want this. I can hear waves shushing in the distance. Although I’m tempted by the sound of the sea, it feels too soon.
Whenever we went to the beach, Meredith insisted we took buckets and spades and fishing nets. The first time we went fishing for shrimps by ourselves, I was seven and she was nearly six. We filled the bucket with the tiny transparent creatures and back at the house Nain said she wasn’t sure they were shrimps. When we looked it up in a book, we discovered we’d caught prawns.
Ever after that we went ‘prawning’.
It was one of our secrets – a small one, like most of them were. Until an act of curiosity and my sister’s kindness woke the ghost of Angharad Elin Lewis and she began revealing her huge, forbidding secret.
Thirty-one
Some days you had to listen hard to hear the songs of the small birds.
The gulls ruled their fine rooftop roost, quarrelling and strutting with the certainty of possession. Their cries clung to the air; rooks joined in, hurling sharp words with an equally determined arrogance at trios of crows. The voices of less vocal birds existed in the spaces in between.
After the heat of the day, Verity breathed in the cooling air, listening as the sweet birds made the most of it. She wandered across the lawn, the impulse to go into the blue garden hard to resist. Despite her fear, and an underlying resentment towards the intrusive nature of the ghost, Verity needed to see it again. That way she could believe her sister without prejudice.
As if stilled by an invisible baton, the birdsong ceased. In the shadows, although there was no wind, the trees rippled. Underneath her cardigan, goose bumps slid along her skin like a rash.
‘Come on, you thing – whatever you are – show yourself.’ Her voice trembled and faded into the dimness. The quiet spread around her like water in a lake. Everything stilled, even the sky.
Ragged in the evening light the ghost’s pale eyes were a blur; the silent mouth once again mime-speaking words Verity couldn’t hear. The look of desolation on her face was heart-breaking.
Don’t faint, don’t fall.
Verity looked up again and the figure and the unheard words had vanished, there was no one in the garden apart from her and the dew on the grass.
‘What’s up, Verity, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Verity thought she might be sick.
‘It’s okay, I’m joking.’ Meredith was playing solitaire at the kitchen table. The glass marbles clicked against one another, in and out of the wooden holes. ‘If you can see it, it isn’t a ghost.’
You have no idea what you are talking about.
Allegra, wandering into the kitchen, let out a sharp laugh. ‘Honestly, Meredith, you do say the most extraordinary things.’
‘It’s true.’ Meredith’s calmness and apparent absence of fear was almost more unnerving to Verity than if she had been in a flat panic. ‘The ghosts people believe they see are mostly a figment of their imagination.’
You have to tell her.
Allegra said she needed to talk to Mared and would they please not disturb her.
As the door closed behind her, Verity stared at her sister. ‘What was that about?’
Meredith held her gaze. ‘We can’t give her so much as a hint. I said it to put her off.’ Bright spots of excited colour touched her pale face. ‘I know what she’s up to.’
‘Who? Mam?’
‘Don’t be dull.’
Verity said nothing.
‘Real ghosts, Verity; they do things differently. They play tricks.’
‘What?’
‘I saw something, behind me in the mirror the other day. It might have been the ghost.’
The sick sensation came back.
‘Please stop, Meredith. I can’t bear this anymore. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Even though you know it’s true and I’m not making any of it up?’
‘It’s dangerous.’
Meredith’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why would you keep saying a thing like that?’
‘It just is.’ Verity recalled the silent, moving mouth and shuddered. She closed her eyes, tried to blot out the image. ‘I don’t know.’
She was in the garden again, with the ghost’s blank, hopeless eyes on her. ‘If you’ve changed your mind, it means you’re saying I’m a liar.’
‘No it doesn’t.’
Meredith’s shoulders drooped. ‘You don’t get it do you? I have to look out for her; she chose me. We know the truth now, or at least we’re getting close. If you could only hear her, you’d understand what I mean.’
I don’t need to hear her; I’ve seen her.
The other night Verity had been scared witless, and earlier, moved beyond words. She shut both feelings away. Nothing on earth would persuade her to make it any more real by telling her sister. Meredith already believed the house was alive. During the day she was wild and erratic, at night, black-eyed with exhaustion.
If we add a ghost, goodness knows where it will lead. And even though Meredith doesn’t want Allegra to know about Angharad, sooner or later, even Mam’s going to notice something’s up and then all hell’s going to break loose.
‘Verity?’
‘Whatever, Meri; I believe you, okay? I just don’t want to talk about it.’
Thirty-two
The onl
y room in the house no longer affected by the heat was Meredith’s.
She woke up night after night, shivering, knowing she had been dreaming, still with only fragments of the ghost’s voice in her head. Any thoughts of a story-writing competition had been abandoned and she no longer wrote anything down.
Instead, she willed herself to memorise as many of Angharad’s words as she could.
My mother let me know I could not say it…
She burrowed under the bedclothes, goose-bumped with cold and into another dark dream.
Do not trust the mothers … mothers are deceitful and treacherous…
Verity’s dream was visited by a tall dark man in a black coat. He had her by the arm and no matter how she fought, refused to let her go.
She woke before the birds, faint with the heat. Her hair stuck to her scalp and her skin itched. The air was thick and oppressive and made everything smell of cinders and smoke.
Meredith crashed through the door, her morning hair a riot of red. She had two books under her arm: Emlyn Trahaearn’s and another one Verity didn’t recognise.
‘It was him. It was her brother.’
Verity groaned and rubbed her eyes. ‘What are you on about now?’
‘I told you it was a terrible thing. Her own mother didn’t believe her. Except I think she did.’
‘Meri, slow down.’ Verity threw open the bedclothes to make space. ‘Did Angharad tell you this?’
‘Yes. He did it – her brother.’
The skin under Meredith’s eyes was contused; she looked as if she’d been punched.
‘Her brother?’
‘Yes. Stop repeating everything I say.’ Meredith was almost hyperventilating. ‘He took her against her will.’ As she said the words, her face flushed. ‘Don’t look so mortified, Verity, I’m not a baby. I’m fifteen, I know what rape is. I know as much as you do about the facts of life, even if they do sound disgusting.’
‘Yes, of course you do. But, her brother?’
‘Oh, Verity, it’s worse than we thought.’ Meredith’s hand shook as she opened one of the books. ‘See? It’s about the Victorians. I found out some more about why they sent girls to those places; the asylums. It would explain why Angharad’s parents got rid of her.’
‘Where did you get it?’
‘Verity, there’s loads of books in Rapunzel’s room.’ She flipped through the pages. ‘Taid was a very well-read man.’
Verity shifted to get a better look.
‘It says here,’ Meredith said, ‘one of the reasons a girl might be diagnosed as mad, was if she had a baby out of wedlock.’ She paused. ‘That means, not married. Now, listen to this. “Young women were often diagnosed with melancholy and hysteria and those unfortunate enough to find themselves with child were accused of moral depravity.”’
Meredith pushed the book across her sister’s lap. ‘There you go – there it is again.’
The hairs on Verity’s arms stood on end.
Melancholia and hysteria … moral depravity…
‘If it’s true…’
‘Oh, it’s true,’ Meredith said. ‘I know it is.’
‘Okay, let’s say you’re right. We still don’t know what actually happened. If she did get sent to an asylum, it could have been for all sorts of reasons.’
‘We do though, Verity. He raped her, made her pregnant, they had her locked up and she had a baby.’ Meredith closed the book. ‘It’s what happened, she told me and I know it is and eventually she’ll tell me the rest.’
If Verity hadn’t imagined seeing a ghost, then Meredith probably hadn’t imagined hearing one. If she told her sister she thought it was real, would it make things better or worse?
And what if I told her Allegra might want to leave Gull House?
Both scenarios were impossible and equally irrational.
Was it better to tell Meredith she believed her and accept the fact she had seen a real ghost?
If my sister’s crazy, then so am I.
Other than her grandmother, Verity couldn’t think of anyone more sensible than herself.
‘If I tell you something, will you promise not to over-react?’
‘Is it about the ghost?’
Verity nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I knew it. You do know something don’t you?’
‘I’ve seen her. Or at least I might have.’ She swallowed. ‘No, I have. I’ve seen her.’
Instead of squealing or leaping up and down, Meredith simply smiled. ‘Oh, Verity, that’s sweet of you, only I told you, you can’t see ghosts. I probably imagined what I saw. It was the light…’
‘I think you can see them.’
A frown crossed Meredith’s face and her mouth fell open. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
Verity nodded again. ‘You know I wouldn’t lie to you, Meri, and unfortunately, I’m far too sensible to either make this up or imagine it. I wasn’t sure and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now. I’ve seen Angharad’s ghost in the blue garden.’
‘Well, there’s a thing.’ Meredith pushed her hair off her face. ‘I don’t usually like it when I’m wrong; in this case, I’m prepared to make an exception. If there’s one thing I know about you, Verity Pryce, it’s that you couldn’t tell a lie to save your life.’
Verity laughed. She couldn’t help it.
‘And you reckon this revelation is going to make me over-react?’ The smile split Meredith’s face. ‘You’re saying you believe me?’
If Verity nodded any harder, her head would fall off.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.’
‘I had to be sure.’
I’m sorry I didn’t trust you…
‘Oh my god, Verity, what does she look like? Fancy that, I did see her! What was she wearing? Is she—’
‘Slow down.’ Verity tucked her arms round her knees. ‘Yes, I believe you. I’ve seen her a several times now. I wasn’t sure at first only who else would it be?’
‘One ghost is enough. Of course it’s her.’ Meredith held her hands to her face, grinning behind them. ‘Well done, Verity.’
Meredith’s acceptance of Verity’s volte-face was touching and utterly naïve. If Verity had told her she believed in Pin and Stinky Minky, her sister couldn’t have been more delighted. She explained what had happened, how she’d first seen a shadow, how the cold had surrounded her. She left out how terrified she’d felt.
Meredith’s face was glowing. ‘Oh, wow, Verity, I wasn’t imagining it.’ She hesitated. ‘I wonder why she lets you see her and I don’t?’
Verity said she didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.
‘You’re right,’ Meredith said. ‘What matters is we both believe in her now and it means we can help her.’
At some point my father was informed.
He stared at me for an age, contempt masking his face.
Summoning what little courage still remained to me, I stammered my brother’s name.
‘He…’
My father silenced me with a thundering denial. ‘Do not add to your depravity with despicable accusations. Your brother has already informed me of his suspicions, how he has noted your behaviour around delivery boys and riff-raff from the village.’
I wept and pleaded but he was adamant and when I tried to say more, slapped me hard across my face.
‘Your wickedness shames the family. Leave my sight.’
I was confined to my room, watched, almost every second of every hour. Mama timed any absences to the second.
My brother went away, to the army I overheard a servant say, and I never saw him again. This confirmed, if nothing else did, that my parents suspected the truth. Appalled they could cleave so determinedly to their perceived version of respectability, with no regard for me, I first thought to kill myself. Starve myself to death or fling myself from a window. I lacked the courage for either and with no friends, who would I run to? I could only weep like a scared child, dreading what fate my father surely had in store for me.<
br />
On one occasion, creeping past the parlour I overheard my parents talking. I recognised my mother’s plaintive tone, could almost see her wringing her hands.
And Papa’s interrupting growl, as if he was as angry with her as he was with me.
‘How could you allow this to happen … my mother warned me: your sister went the same way … bad blood will out and isn’t from my side of the family. I have my position to think of, my reputation … I will not have it, the girl will have to go…’
Eavesdroppers, so my mother insisted – rarely hear any good of themselves.
If I was bad blood, it begged the question, what kind flowed through my brother’s veins? And was my mother’s somehow tainted too? I knew nothing of a sister; she was never spoken of.
A few days later, unable to sleep I woke at first light. Hearing a carriage scrape its way up our narrow driveway, I peered from my window. A man alighted, severe and dark with purpose. Some premonition caused me to risk discovery, make my way to the terrace; listen at the open French window.
The words I heard drew horror into my heart.
My father and the strange man he addressed as ‘doctor’ spoke in lowered tones of moral depravity, hysteria and melancholia.
‘Where, Sir, do I sign?’
That was all it took. My life, signed away with the scratch of a pen by my own father.
I fled, horrified and unwilling to hear more. There was no need. I knew my fate was sealed and soon after they came, two tall men and a woman with red hands and the coldest eyes I had ever seen. At my parent’s behest I was taken away. Because what else could they do with my disgrace, my soon-to-be bloated body announcing my shame to the world? A woman is her reputation and mine would be destroyed.
My father left the final wickedness for Mama to oversee. Before they took me, I tried one last time; pleaded with her, and as she turned her unblinking eyes on me, the last shreds of hope died. I fought then, for the second time, to no avail. It was my last protest and I determined my mother’s final sight of me would be my defiance.
‘This is wrong; you know it is! You know the truth.’
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