A Baby's Bones

by Rebecca Alexander

‘Then she bears his child. You of all people, Uncle, must see that the child is well cared for.’

  It stings that she touches on my illegitimacy, a wound my whole life. Viola is frozen in an attitude of boldness that I feel a night of reflection might soften.

  ‘Perhaps you should go to bed and allow your elders to consider the case. My Lord Anthonie?’

  ‘Yes, yes, go to bed. And tomorrow your uncle and I, we, mark you, will decide your future.’

  She opens her mouth but then catches my eye, and closes her lips tight.

  I reach for her hand again, and after a moment, she takes it. I kiss her on her cheek, feeling her tremble like a bird. A brave sparrow to stand between two hawks.

  ‘God bless your sleep, and bring you wisdom, child,’ I murmur, and she smiles though her eyes are wet with tears.

  She kisses me back, but does not answer, as she always does: what do I need of wisdom when I have you?

  Vincent Garland, Steward to Lord Banstock, His Memoir

  29

  Wednesday 10th April

  Wednesday was grey, mizzle drifting over the esplanade to Sage’s flat. She looked out at the sea while cleaning her teeth, watching the gulls try and balance on the streetlights opposite her window. The hovercraft from the mainland, though noisy, was obscured by mist and the pier extended into the fog as if going nowhere. Portsmouth was lost in the drizzle and rain.

  Sage’s to-do list included an antenatal appointment at the hospital and arranging for an osteoarchaeologist to look at the skulls. The shape and weight of the adult skull confused her. Even on the scanned images, it seemed to jut out of the screen; heavy teeth in a prominent lower jaw looked as if they were about to shout something. They had estimated the woman as around five-nine, very tall for a woman in the era. Sage didn’t like looking at the baby’s skull, with its huge eyes and tiny, slashed jawbone. Infants always looked like tiny aliens anyway, there was nothing to say what he or she would have looked like. She rubbed her belly, to quiet her own somersaulting baby. Thirty weeks, so the books said he or she was nearly three pounds in weight. It felt more like ten, as it squirmed into her bladder.

  She had given the nanny-cam footage to the police but there was no way to be sure the time stamps were correct, or who had been fleetingly caught by the camera. They took the memory card and gave her back the nanny cam, but she was concerned about worrying James further. The police had reassured her and as they couldn’t rule out James as the person on the footage there was nothing they could do. Nothing had gone missing, nothing was disturbed. Because the family were vulnerable and had a child, they promised to check in from time to time, but couldn’t offer any more help.

  * * *

  The parking lot at the hospital was more crowded than usual, and Sage struggled to park the van. Sitting in the antenatal clinic, she was relieved at the excuse just to stop, and she was relaxed when she went in for the ultrasound.

  The normally chatty sonographer wasn’t so chatty. The baby looped the loop, forcing a mouthful of stomach acid up Sage’s throat, but she started to feel cold as the woman pressed a button and another woman – a doctor – came in. They turned the screen away from Sage.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Sage asked.

  The doctor smiled in the dim light, the glow from the screen making her teeth gleam. ‘Don’t worry.’ She pointed to something, and the sonographer typed away on the keyboard.

  ‘I wasn’t. Now I’m starting to get nervous.’

  The two women swapped places. The doctor turned the screen towards Sage. ‘Here is your baby – perfect size, healthy heartbeat, looks just right.’

  ‘OK.’ It was hard not to get gooey about the shadowy imp on the screen, caught as it rested a hand by an ear, the hatched ribs around the heart. ‘So…?’

  The doctor clicked her keyboard and ground the transponder against her overloaded bladder. ‘At your first appointment, we noticed your placenta was a bit low. Which is why we recommended this extra scan.’

  The baby squirmed in and out of focus. ‘They said it would probably come up as my womb grows.’

  ‘Well, it did, to a degree. But it’s still lower than we like.’

  A wave of cold adrenaline shot through Sage, making her heart beat faster, less regularly. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Possibly nothing. You might deliver normally, if you go to full term. But if you experience any bleeding, at all, you must come in.’ There was an authority in the doctor’s voice that scared Sage more than anything.

  ‘OK.’

  The doctor clicked for a final still, and pointed out a grey blob amongst other grey blobs. ‘This is your uterine wall. This,’ she indicated a line, ‘is the edge of your placenta, lying low, possibly over the cervix. It’s called placenta praevia.’

  ‘I know. It’s one of those complications you skip over in the books.’

  The doctor smiled at her, and switched the light on, then pulled off a swathe of blue tissue from a roll on the wall and wiped some of the gel from Sage’s stomach. ‘It’s borderline, and we’re not worried just yet. But I’d like to see you again in a few weeks to see how it’s going. Any bleeding, even spotting, is serious. You would need to be seen, and if the bleeding didn’t resolve, I’m afraid you would be on bed rest.’

  Sage stood up, and pushed her feet into her shoes. She was shaking, and the doctor touched her shoulder with a warm hand.

  ‘It’s just—’ Sage could feel tears prickling behind her eyelids and thickening her voice. ‘I’m being silly.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. This is your baby; you’re allowed to be emotional. But unless you have a bleed, I wouldn’t be too worried. Most of these cases resolve by forty weeks. We’ll just keep an eye on it. We’ll make you another appointment for a month’s time.’

  Waiting in outpatients, Sage let the noise of children, mothers and midwives wash over her. The pregnancy had been unplanned, unwanted, then just a part of everyday life. The reality of the baby’s existence was somehow brought into focus by a threat to its survival. The pathetic face of the infant in the well crept into her memory, somehow mixing with the grey shadow on the screen.

  * * *

  Sage phoned Elliott to say she wouldn’t be back all day, and took to her sofa to watch TV and huddle under a throw with a box of sweets. After Steph left three messages, she picked up her phone to call back. Somewhere between meaning to return Steph’s call and actually dialling the number, she found herself calling Marcus’s mobile.

  ‘Hello?’ he answered, his voice warm. It made Sage’s eyes fill up with tears. ‘Hello?’ He sounded puzzled. ‘Sage?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’ Her voice was, in her own ears, unrecognisably husky.

  A tinge of something sharpened his voice. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine, I’m just—’ She swallowed hard, wiped her sleeve over her eyes. ‘I had a scan this morning. The baby’s fine, it’s just the placenta’s too low, well a bit too low, they said…’ She tailed off, waiting for a reaction.

  ‘But you’re OK. You’re both OK.’ For a moment, she wondered if his flat tone was relief or disappointment.

  ‘Yes. I was being silly.’

  His voice dropped. ‘I should come over.’

  ‘No, no. I was just worried today. I didn’t think what it would be like if something didn’t go right, you know?’

  He sighed, and she could imagine the wry smile on his face. ‘Fliss had that with Tom – no, Ivy. It worked out fine, it just grew up or something. You can always have a caesarean.’

  Sage could feel irritation settle on her like dust. ‘Well, if Fliss had to have a caesarean section, it wouldn’t be such a big deal. I mean, between her husband and the nanny and the cleaner, she would probably be fine.’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’ She could hear him cupping his hand around the phone, hollowing his words. ‘If you needed it, I’d get you some help over the first few weeks, you know that. Or maybe your mum would stay.’ There was a note in his voice
she hadn’t heard before.

  ‘You should never have tried to split up with me.’ There it was again, that sharp edge.

  ‘I did split up with you, Marcus. It really is over.’

  ‘But you call me the second you have a problem.’

  She frowned at the strange tone. ‘It’s your baby. I just thought you would be interested.’

  She could almost hear his teeth grinding. ‘I’m concerned. I may not have wanted this baby but you do. And I want you to be OK.’

  She ended the call with a stab of a finger and turned her phone off. She hadn’t worked out how Marcus fitted in with the baby, yet. She wondered again what life as a county archaeologist would be like with a newborn, a toddler, the school run. Each encounter with the baby seemed to make it more real. She had started to notice tiny babies, even exchange smiles with new mothers who nodded at her bump as if she was part of a club that she hadn’t noticed before. She took heart from the ones that looked busy, like they still worked, like they occasionally slept.

  * * *

  By late afternoon, she was reviewing the measurements from the face of the adult skull in the well. The arched palate and projecting teeth, heavy features and powerful jaw made for a plain woman. Her phone rang.

  ‘Hi. It’s Nick. The vicar.’

  She smiled, stretched her aching back. ‘Hello, Nick the vicar.’

  His voice had a soft rumble in it she was starting to like. ‘You weren’t at the dig today. Your male student said you were taking the day off sick.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ She stood up and went to the window, staring out at the rain-swept esplanade, cars splashing through a huge puddle by the roundabout, by the dark green sea. ‘I’m not sick, I just—’

  ‘Just what?’ His voice was soft, concerned. ‘Is it the baby?’

  ‘The baby’s fine. I just had a scan that suggested I have to be careful, that’s all.’

  ‘What’s wrong? You can tell me, I’ve got three older sisters.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s fine, really. The placenta’s a bit low. It will probably be all right, but I may need a caesarean.’ The tickling under her eyelids started again and she sniffed them away. ‘I’ve been catching up with paperwork instead of fretting about it.’

  There was a long silence at the end of the phone. ‘I was wondering if you would like to go out for some food tonight.’

  Her stomach rumbled at the thought. ‘Actually, I’ve just realised I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’

  ‘A friend of mine runs an Italian restaurant in Ryde. Francesco’s, do you know it? It’s on the Esplanade. I promised him I would stop by at some point and try his sea bass special. I could pick you up.’

  ‘I know it well, it’s just around the corner from my flat. I’ll meet you there.’ The restaurant was so close she could smell the food in the summer, when windows and doors were left open. ‘It’s one of my favourites. When can you get away?’

  ‘How about six-thirty? I’m between committee meetings and visits at the moment.’

  She agreed, and rang off. She pulled her sweatshirt out from her chest to examine it. It was dotted with smudges of melted chocolate, and a splash of tea from trying to drink lying on the sofa. Her T-shirt still had a smear of ultrasound gel on its hem. Time for a shower and a change of clothes.

  * * *

  Francesco’s was half empty but filling up as Sage and Nick made awkward small talk over their menus. The place, formerly two shops, was decorated in earth tones, and copper pans gleamed on the walls.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ Nick nodded at her bump. ‘I suppose you don’t want a bottle of wine, and I’m driving back to Banstock.’

  ‘Water’s fine. Still, though.’ Sparkling water gave her heartburn. In fact everything was starting to give her heartburn, and the menu was full of rich dishes. She sighed, and ran her hand over her stomach.

  When she looked up, Nick was watching her, smiling. ‘So, how are your investigations going?’

  She had another look at the menu. ‘One of my friends uses software that can estimate how someone used to look. I’m hoping to get a facial reconstruction done of the woman – if it is a woman.’

  ‘You’re still not sure?’

  ‘The pelvis says she’s more likely to be female, but it’s ambiguous. She was tall, with a strong, heavily featured face. So I can only say that the evidence leans more towards female, when the pelvis ought to clinch it for us.’

  ‘Can’t you look at DNA?’

  Sage grinned wryly. ‘It’s expensive, difficult and will take a while. I don’t know if a body essentially immersed in salty mud for four hundred years would have any DNA that wasn’t too degraded to test.’

  Nick nodded, then waved at someone behind her. ‘Francesco!’

  ‘Nicky! Finally you come to the restaurant.’ The voice stretched the vowels and lilted the words with a hint of the Mediterranean.

  Nick stood, and the two men hugged before the short, heavyset restaurateur turned to Sage.

  Nick waved a hand. ‘This is my new friend Sage.’

  ‘Dr Westfield, we know.’ The man beamed at her. ‘Ah, our Nick has good taste – wait, you not tellin’ me something, Nicky?’

  Sage intervened. ‘Nick and I are just friends.’

  Francesco turned to Nick, and then to Sage. ‘OK. You tell me that story, I believe it. But she’s very pretty, Nicky – maybe you need a few pointers? You know, if you’re out of practice.’ The Italian wore a half-sad, half-rueful smile. Clearly, he knew Nick’s wife had died. Sage felt a ripple of something – jealousy? She realised how ridiculous that was: she was pregnant by a married man and had a crush on a vicar, for God’s sake.

  Nick sat down and worked his way through the menu with Francesco, occasionally glancing up at her. She agreed to share a starter, and chose the sea bass special. When Francesco left, she topped up her water glass.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Nick said.

  ‘Of course. DNA might be possible if I could organise some funding and there was useable DNA in the teeth, but it’s a long shot.’

  He reached over the crisp tablecloth and touched her hand. ‘I was really wondering if you are all right.’

  She sighed. ‘Nick, what are we doing here? Is this related to the bodies, or is it more personal?’

  He withdrew his hand. ‘I hoped a bit of both. I think you are—’ he seemed to be struggling to find the right word ‘—fascinating. You’re beautiful, of course, but so bright, so interesting.’

  Sage held her palms in front of her, then pressed them to her bump. ‘I’m in no position to have a personal relationship with anybody. Not a serious one anyway.’

  ‘Not even the father?’

  ‘Especially not him.’ She looked down at her hands, suddenly embarrassed. ‘He’s a bit possessive.’

  Nick took a deep breath. ‘Well, let’s at least enjoy the food. And we do have the well to talk about.’

  The antipasti was delicious, salty and rich, and since Sage seemed to end up with most of it, satisfyingly filling. Nick kept up a flow of small talk: amusing anecdotes about the parish; his training; his three young nieces. By the time the waiter took their plates away, she felt able to tackle more taxing subjects.

  ‘How have the phone calls been?’ She nibbled on a breadstick.

  ‘They seem to have tailed off a bit. I didn’t get any last night.’ His face fell. ‘James took a turn for the worse yesterday. I think there are nurses going in day and night now.’

  The news was a jolt. Emaciated as James Bassett was by the cancer, he had a vitality that had struck Sage.

  The main course was presented to them like two works of art, to be smiled and exclaimed over by Francesco and the waiter, then explained to Nick and Sage. When they left, she concentrated on dissecting the fish. She thought of James and the sad, grey woman and her child. ‘James said something odd to me.’

  ‘Oh?’ Nick was concentrating on his food.

  She put her cutlery down and opened
her bag. ‘I checked the nanny-cam footage and it seemed to show a man in the living room. Here, I printed out a still.’ She opened her bag and handed the sheet to Nick. In the low light the figure looked shocking, as if the man was made of black vapour. ‘It’s not James, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘That’s creepy. Have you told the police?’

  ‘I have, but they just suggested the Bassetts change their locks. They think it could be James.’

  Nick held the still up to the light. ‘I don’t think that’s James. And who has their hood up in their own living room?’

  Sage shivered. ‘It’s an odd house.’

  ‘True. It is also the coldest house I’ve ever been in. Have you seen the size of the fireplace? You could stand up in it and it’s like being in front of an open window.’

  ‘I wonder if we’re all letting the bones in the well and the phone calls get to us.’ Sage lifted her glass. ‘I just keep thinking that someone must have missed her, not to mention the baby, if they accidentally fell down the well or were murdered and hidden down there. To have just disappeared like that.’

  ‘Disappeared.’ Nick put his cutlery down. ‘Hang on a minute. I may know something about a missing woman: when the main road was widened twenty-odd years ago, it cut the edge of the churchyard off. They had to move a memorial to the new graveyard.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There was a lot of correspondence about the importance of the monument, because it commemorated the disappearance of the rector’s sister. I can’t recall the details, but I have a whole folder of letters and council records about it. I didn’t think of it because it’s a Victorian monument, but I think it was made to replace an earlier stone.’ His eyes were shadowed by long, dark lashes that distracted her momentarily. He looked up. His voice softened. ‘Then you look at me like that…’

  She could feel a lopsided smile creeping across her face. ‘You might be onto something, that’s all. This monument, do you remember the name?’

  His eyes narrowed again as he tried to remember. ‘The rector’s name was Matthew Waldren, he’s got a plaque inside the church. The sister who went missing – Alice? No, Agness. Her name was Agness.’