by Helen Watts
‘What was that?’
‘I’ve been to the Records Office,’ she said a little louder, sneaking a look up at her teacher through her fringe. ‘I’m so sorry. I was just so curious. I couldn’t wait. I knew I wouldn’t have time after school. Please don’t be mad.’
‘Kelly, as much as I admire your enthusiasm and your dedication to your homework, playing truant is a very serious matter. You know I can’t let it slide.’
Kelly nodded. Her face burned red with embarrassment and her eyes welled up with tears. She knew what was coming next.
‘Detention. Monday after school. And I shall be telephoning your parents.’
Kelly bit her bottom lip.
‘Now where should you be right now?’
‘French, sir.’
‘Then you’d better get moving, before you get into any more trouble.’
That evening, Kelly had to endure another grilling from her parents. Sure enough, Mr Walker had phoned them and explained that Kelly had left the school premises without authorisation, and that she had missed a lesson. Kelly was pretty sure that her mum and dad were more angry about her wandering off into Stratford-upon-Avon on her own than they were about her missing classes, but either way they were furious, and she was sent to her room straight after dinner.
Lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, Kelly wondered what Ben was doing, and if he was okay. She wished she could phone him, but she had no idea what his number was. Perhaps she should just go round to his cottage tomorrow. Surely he must have told his parents about her by now. They wouldn’t mind, would they?
She leaned down over the side of the bed, pulled out her treasure chest and slid off the lid. The old boot was right on the top, and considering its age, and the fact that Tyson had been carrying it around the night before, it looked as good as new. She picked up the matching boot that Ben had left behind that morning, and held the two up alongside one another. Yes, they were a perfect pair.
Suddenly, she heard a movement outside her door, so she quickly dropped the boots into the box, replaced the lid and kicked the chest back under the bed.
‘Whatcha up to, Trouble?’ asked Mum as she opened the door.
‘Nothing.’ Kelly shuffled across the bed to make space for Mum to sit down.
‘I would have hoped you’d been using the time to think about what your dad and I spoke to you about over dinner. Why playing hooky isn’t on, that is.’
‘I have,’ Kelly assured her. ‘And I know you’ll say I’m being cheeky, but don’t you think that you guys have changed your tune a bit? You didn’t even want me to go to secondary school, and now you’re hopping mad at me for missing a lesson.’
‘It’s the lying and the sneaking about that bothers us, Kelly. Your dad and I are worried about you. Ever since you met Ben, you’ve hardly been here. You’re always off to meet him here, there and everywhere and all you focus on is that flippin’ history project.’
‘Well, it’s important to me. So’s Ben.’
‘I know. And I know we should be proud of you, really, for taking your school work so seriously. Lord knows it’s something I never had the chance to do. But we don’t want you to forget everything else, you know…forget your roots. You know what I’m trying to say, Kel?’
‘I won’t, Mum. I love the life you and Dad have given me.’
Mum rubbed Kelly’s arm fondly.
Kelly hadn’t finished. ‘And this quarry story. The mystery about what happened in that accident on the railway. I know I’ve been spending a lot of time on it, Mum, but there’s something keeps drawing me back to it. I think it’s because the answers are so hard to find. It’s like a challenge. Apart from that tiny news clipping, there’s nothing else written down anywhere—certainly not on the internet. That’s why I risked going to the Records Office.’
‘I get you. But stories don’t always need to be written down to be remembered, Kelly. You should know that. Storytelling’s part of our culture. Perhaps that’s what you need to find for your Wilmcote mystery, a local storyteller. If any facts have been passed down over the years, they’ll know about it.’
It was a long shot, thought Kelly, but Mum might be on to something. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll do some asking about. Ben might know if there’s anyone around here like that.’
‘Well, okay, but promise you will tell us what you are up to, from now on, young lady. And no more sneaking off from school, all right?’
PART 6
Chapter 29 – 28th September 1860
It had only just got light when there was a knock on the door of Stone Pit Cottage. Billy stirred, yawned and rubbed his eyes, but remained quietly in his bed, hoping to hear one of his parents heading downstairs. His room was cold and he had no desire to get up earlier than was necessary. But when no one in the cottage stirred, the knocking came again, louder and more insistent this time. Sighing, Billy threw back his blankets, sat up and fumbled around in the gloom for his dressing gown. The wooden floor was chilly under his feet as he padded across the room and out onto the landing. He paused briefly at the top of the stairs then, convinced that he was the only one who had heard the knocking, hurried down and pulled open the front door.
Standing there sheltering in the porch from the rain, blowing on his cold hands, was one of his father’s workmates, George Banks. He looked surprised to see Billy.
‘Oh, it’s you, Billy. Sorry if I woke you. Where’s your father?’
Billy shook his head, confused. George looked agitated. ‘I told him I’d be waiting at the end of the lane at quarter to six sharp. There’s some more ballast needs packing in the track on the Bishopton Hill bend. We’ve got to get it done by lunchtime. The foreman warned us last night and we promised we’d meet up with him at first light at the station. If we’re a minute after six we can wave goodbye to that bonus—to our jobs, even.’
‘Father must have overslept,’ croaked Billy, worry creeping into the pit of his stomach. ‘Wait just one minute, please!’
Billy ran upstairs and opened the door into his parents’ room, knowing even before he looked that his father’s side of the bed would be empty. He had heard the front door slamming late the previous night, and had tried to block out the sound of cursing as his father staggered drunkenly up the stairs. Clearly he had been banished to the boxroom again.
Alice stirred when she heard the bedroom door opening. ‘Everything all right, Billy?’ she mumbled.
‘It’s fine, Mother, don’t worry. It’s just George calling for Dad. They have to go to work early. I’ll get him. You stay there. Go back to sleep for a bit.’
Alice nodded and turned over, pulling her blanket up over her head.
Billy closed the door gently then crossed the landing to reach the boxroom. His heart sank as he pushed the door open. The rank smell of stale beer and sweat filled his nostrils and a deep, rattling snore rose from his father’s unconscious form. He was sprawled diagonally across the small bed, on top of the covers and still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.
Billy tried to rouse him, shaking him by the shoulder and tugging at his shirt sleeve. ‘You’ve got to get up, Father. You’ve got to go to work. George is here.’
William groaned and tried to swat his son away.
This was not going to be easy. Billy wanted to shout at his father to pull himself together and get up, but he didn’t want his mother to wake and see him in such a state.
He ran back down the stairs as quietly as he could. George was pacing back and forth outside. ‘He’s overslept but he’s awake now. He’s getting dressed,’ Billy lied. ‘He said you were to go on ahead. No point you all risking being late. He’ll meet you there. Can you tell the foreman he’s on his way?’
George readily agreed, looking relieved. As soon as he was gone, Billy dashed back upstairs and tried again to rouse his father.
‘Father, please. You’ve got to wake up. It’s nearly six.’
‘Leave me alone,’ William slurred. ‘Lemme just stop ’ere.’
>
‘Just think about that bonus you’ve been promised, Father,’ Billy coaxed. ‘Just imagine the smile that’ll put on Mother’s face when you get it.’
‘Mmmm, Alice. My Alice…’
For a moment Billy thought he had got through to him. But when his father turned and he saw the clownish grin on his face, the half open, unfocused eyes, he realised William was still inebriated.
His pleas became more desperate. ‘Come on, Father. Can’t you see? You’re going to lose your job. Then everything Grandpa’s been saying about you will be true. All you’re doing is proving him right. You’ve got to get up.’
Harnessing all the strength he could muster, Billy dragged his father into a sitting position, pulling his legs over the side of the bed and heaving him upright by his arms.
William groaned. ‘Urgh! I don’t feel so good, Billy.’
Billy let go of his hands. His father slumped forwards and his chest heaved. He dropped his head between his knees and vomited uncontrollably onto the rug.
Billy stepped back in horror. All traces of sympathy turned to red hot anger. ‘Father, how could you? You’re disgusting! Why do I keep defending you?’
William groaned and collapsed sideways, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Sorry, son,’ he mumbled.
Billy shook his head in despair, and snatched up his father’s work jacket from the chair beside him. ‘Don’t think for one minute that what I’m going to do is for you!’ he spat, turning on his heel.
He stormed out of the room and back into his own bedroom where he pulled on some old overalls and shoved his arms into the sleeves of his father’s jacket. Then he ran downstairs and out into the back porch where he stepped into his brown work boots. As he tied the laces, he gritted his teeth and cursed his father’s drinking. He knew what he had to do, and he knew that it was the only way to save the family from ruin and protect his mother’s pride. Finally, he reached for his cap, which hung on the coat rack next to his father’s, and pulled it down low over his eyes. Then he closed the door quietly behind him and ran off up the damp, muddy lane.
Chapter 30 – September 2012
Just as the kind lady in the Records Office had promised, an envelope with Kelly’s name on it was waiting in the Hearns’ post box on Friday morning.
‘That document you were waiting for has come, love,’ called Mum from the caravan as Kelly made her usual fuss of Tyson when she got home from school.
‘This is it, Tyson,’ Kelly whispered to the little dog as she scratched behind his left ear. ‘Hopefully I’ll get some of the answers I’ve been looking for.’
She skipped into the caravan and plonked herself down at the table where the envelope lay. Savouring the excitement, Kelly gazed down at it while she took off her coat and made herself comfortable. She picked it up carefully and ran her thumb under the flap.
Her initial reaction was surprise at the quality of the document that had been photocopied for her. Somehow she hadn’t anticipated the certificate being quite so neat and efficient looking. But there it was—a certified copy of an entry of death for the Stratford-upon-Avon Registration District. Handwritten at the top, in a beautifully formed script, was the date 1860, and columns two and three of the form confirmed that the deceased was male, aged 35, and that his full name was William Thomas Denton. The memory of Ben saying that name in the graveyard came back to her, and, once again, Kelly wondered how he knew what those initials on the gravestone stood for.
Kelly’s eye was then drawn to the column headed ‘When and where died’. Under the date of 28th September 1860, the location was given simply as Wilmcote. Kelly let out a little sigh of disappointment. But then, as she tracked across the sheet with her index finger, her heart leapt. William’s occupation was listed as Railway Labourer. This was it. She was certain that what she was about to read next would confirm exactly how William had died.
But the cause of death was recorded in just three words: ‘Killed on railroad’.
‘Any use?’ asked Mum, sliding into the bench seat next to her.
‘I’m not really sure.’ Kelly turned the sheet over in the vain hope that there would be more information on the other side. ‘It’s pretty clear that this William Denton is the man buried in the churchyard, and he definitely worked and was killed on the railway. And the month and year of his death is the same as the accident mentioned in that newspaper clipping.’
‘Well, that’s good then, yes?’ asked Mum.
‘Yes, kind of. But this doesn’t tell me how he died. Don’t you think that’s a bit suspicious? Wouldn’t you expect the death certificate to say more than just killed on the railway?’
Mum shrugged. ‘I don’t know, love. I don’t think it necessarily would.’
Kelly pursed her lips and blew out, disappointed. ‘I kind of hoped this might tell me where William lived, too, but there’s no home address for him.’
She sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the certificate, then her eyes widened.
‘What is it?’ Mum asked. ‘Spotted something else?’
‘No, but I’ve just thought of something else. Census records. There was a poster about tracing your family history in the Records Office. It said something about doing it online. I might have enough information about William Denton to track him down that way. But I need to borrow your laptop. Can I, Mum? I’ll need the internet.’
‘Sure, love. Just don’t mess anything up. You know how confused I get if you move things about on there.’
Kelly giggled. Mum was useless with computers. She only used her laptop to look at photos and play music and games. But at least she let Kelly borrow it now and again.
As soon as she had opened up the browser, Kelly searched for Census and clicked on the National Archives website. ‘Yay!’ she cried, clapping her hands. ‘It says that census records for England and Wales are available online for the years between 1841 and 1911.’
She scrolled down and clicked on the records for England, 1851. ‘No good looking at 1861, he was dead by then,’ she said out loud. She entered all the information that she had about William Thomas Denton hit search and held her breath.
A list of all the William Dentons recorded in England in that year appeared on the screen, but only one name had the right county next to it. His year of birth was given as 1825, which was spot on for the man Kelly was looking for. With excitement bubbling up inside her, she clicked on his name.
‘Oh damn!’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t see the record without signing up for a free trial. And I have to give credit card details.’
Mum peered over her daughter’s shoulder. ‘Well, I don’t mind you putting in my details, if it’s just a free trial. Don’t forget to cancel it afterwards though.’
Her mum was as curious as Kelly to find out how far they could follow William’s trail. They activated the free trial and before she knew it, Kelly found herself looking at the family details of William Thomas Denton, age twenty-six, quarryman and head of the household at Stone Pit Cottage.
‘Oh my God!’ shrieked Kelly. ‘Stone Pit Cottage. That’s Ben’s house. Ben said the cottage had been in his family for years. William really is his relative! I knew it!’
‘I wonder what kind of relative,’ said Mum. ‘A great-great-grandad or uncle or something maybe? Does it say whether he was married or had any kids?’
Kelly scrolled down the record to the list of Household Members. ‘Yes. Here. It says Alice Denton, age 21. She’s listed as his wife. And there’s a son, Billy Denton, age four. Wow!’
‘So that means Alice was seventeen when she had him.’
‘She was quite young, then.’
‘I reckon it would depend on your circumstances. I’ll bet people lower down in society had kids much younger than the toffs.’
‘The census says that William was working in the quarry in 1851. That’s pretty low down in society, I guess. I wonder if moving on to being a railway labourer was seen as a step up?’
‘Ma
ybe. I certainly think I’d prefer it. But then again, it didn’t bring poor William and his family much luck did it, if he ended up getting killed?’
Kelly shook her head. She was lost in thought. This family were just names on an old census record, hidden away in some huge, faceless database, but it felt like she knew them, and she was surprised how sad she felt, especially when she tried to visualise little four-year-old Billy, whose father would be dead by the time he reached his teens.
Kelly was glad that the next day was a Saturday. She hadn’t seen Ben for a week, since that misty morning in the churchyard. She had wanted to give him time to sort out whatever it was that was bothering him. But she had hoped he would make the first move and get in contact with her. So far, nothing. Even so, Kelly might have left things a little longer to calm down had she not managed to lay her hands on these documents. News of a death certificate and a census record was too much to hold in. She had to share it with Ben.
The next morning, as soon as all her jobs were done, Kelly set off for Ben’s cottage, with Tyson in tow and her notebook and copies of the records in her bag. It was a beautiful morning—clear sunny skies and crisp underfoot. The unexpected sunshine filled Kelly with positive energy. She couldn’t wait to see Ben.
And she didn’t have to wait long. She saw him the moment she started along the footpath into the woods, walking towards her. He was wearing the same old trousers he always did and, Kelly noticed, in spite of the chill in the air, he had no jacket on top of his favourite green checked shirt. Although Ben looked quite relaxed and happy, Kelly felt a strange sense of disquiet. It seemed so odd that after a whole week of silence, there he should be, walking towards the campsite, as if he knew she needed to see him. She wondered if Ben had come this way at other times during the last seven days, waiting for her to go for a walk with Tyson. Or was it just a happy coincidence that they had decided to find one another at exactly the same time?
Tyson began to yap and pulled at his leash. Kelly tried to rein him in, embarrassed that a little dog could drag her along in such an ungainly fashion, but her feet were slipping on the fallen leaves so she had no choice but to break into a jog.