She smiled as she watched the moving pictures in her mind’s eye.
‘Abel, Abel! Thank God you’re home… Eugenie’s gone!’ Hortense had cried as her husband had walked into the parlour.
‘What? What do you mean she’s gone?’ he’d asked.
She saw again the concern that had etched his face.
‘She’s gone! As in, she’s not here! She’s disappeared!’ Hortense had made a show of being the distraught mother – a standing-ovation performance in fact.
‘Calm down, woman, and tell me what’s happened.’ Abel had guided his wife to a chair.
‘I put her in the baby carriage in the garden for some fresh air and when I went to fetch her back in… she wasn’t there! The gypsies must have taken her!’
‘Right,’ Abel said as he strode out of the room, leaving Hortense with a sly smirk on her face. Abel had mounted his horse and ridden to the newly built police station in Holyhead Road. The police had been given all the details and Abel had returned home saying the search for his daughter had begun. The police were out in force, asking questions everywhere and of anyone in an effort to glean any information that would lead to the missing child.
But the police had found nothing to lead them to the whereabouts of Eugenie Buchanan.
Abel had sunk into a depression when the police gave up the search for his daughter, saying the case would remain open, but they had no leads to follow. He had blamed Hortense for the child going missing: she should have looked after the child better; she should not have left her out in their garden alone.
Hortense’s face took on a sly grin as she thought, I didn’t leave her in our garden; I left her in someone else’s. The pictures moved on and she recalled how it had been four years since the last time she had seen her first child when she discovered she was pregnant for the second time. Her social status had prevented her from seeking out help to rid her of the unwanted child; elevated to the higher echelon by marrying Abel had its drawbacks. She had tried the old wives’ tale of sitting in a hot bath and drinking gin, but still the child grew inside her.
Orpha Buchanan had arrived, despite Hortense’s best efforts, and was the spitting image of her sister and father. Abel had watched her like a hawk, hardly letting his new daughter out of his sight. Hortense found herself unable to dispose of this particular disruption to her life.
Fourteen years Orpha had lived under her roof and as a sick feeling came over Hortense, she raised her eyes to the ceiling.
Casting her mind further back into her own childhood, Hortense grimaced. Every day of her life from her earliest memory she had been blamed for her mother’s distress and pain during childbirth. Hortense knew the story well. It had been told to her at every given opportunity. It had been an extremely difficult birth as Hortense was breach. The doctor had been unable to turn her and she came into the world feet first. According to her mother, her body had all but been torn apart whilst giving birth, which had left her almost dead.
Hortense had suffered her mother’s wrath over the years of her growing. Beaten often for the merest indiscretion, the child had learned quickly to stay out of her mother’s way as much as possible. It made little difference, her mother would seek her out and mete out more punishment.
A shudder ran over Hortense’s body as she remembered the hours she spent crying and the pain inflicted by one who should have loved and protected her.
Then a smile settled on her face as she recalled the day her mother had died. Looking at the woman who had abused her so badly and so often, she’d laughed loudly as she watched her mother’s life ebb away. Hortense had been sixteen years old and had shed no tears. Casting her eyes to the ceiling once more she revelled in the fact it was now her turn to be the tormenter.
She saw in her mind’s eye Orpha sitting in her room crying. Hortense could not help herself, she felt she had to punish her daughter as she, herself, had been by her own mother. What’s in the tree comes out in the branches. The saying swirled in her brain. Hortense was bullied as a child and now she was doing the same thing, and like her own mother – she didn’t care.
*
It was later in the parlour with her husband that Hortense snapped, ‘I can’t put up with her temper tantrums any longer, Abel! She’s driving me mad with her constant arguing; she won’t do as she’s told… you must speak to her!’
‘Yes, dear, I will,’ he said wearily. Anything to keep the peace. Hortense knew he was trying to placate her, but she’d had her say and would leave the rest to him… for now.
Nodding, Hortense sat. Sighing, Abel stood. Walking through the parlour door, he closed it quietly behind him.
The following morning as the three sat down to breakfast Hortense asked her husband what his plans were for the day. Dressed in his best clothes, Abel said, ‘I’m off to the bank, dear, I have a meeting with Messrs. Williams. What about yourself?’
Hortense had no intention of revealing her true intentions to her husband, so she had said, ‘I thought I might travel to Birmingham myself to do some shopping.’
‘Good, good,’ Abel said absently, then looking at his daughter, ‘And you sweetheart, what will you do today after your studies?’
Orpha shrugged as Hortense cut in, ‘Mr. Stanley won’t be coming to tutor Orpha today, dear, he has caught rather a nasty cold… he sent round a note.’
Orpha and Abel shared a glance. She wanted so desperately to confide in her father about the way she was being treated by her mother, but she couldn’t find the words. She knew that her parents would fall out over it and then her life would be made even worse by Hortense.
Suddenly her opportunity was gone when her father said, ‘Well I must be off… I don’t want to be late.’ Leaning down to kiss his daughter on the cheek, he walked round the table and squeezed his wife’s shoulder before leaving the room.
Hortense bristled. Not even giving her a kiss before leaving was the last straw. Dragging in a breath she felt unappreciated, unwanted even, and her anger rose. She would not be made to feel inferior in her own home!
An uncomfortable silence hung between mother and daughter and Orpha could feel Hortense’s eyes glaring at her. After a while and without looking up, Orpha stood.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Hortense said sharply.
‘I was going to my room.’ Orpha’s eyes met those of her mother.
‘Oh no… no… no. You are not going to your room. You are going out of the front door. I want you gone from this house! You are to leave with nothing but what you stand up in, and you are never to come back!’ Her patience had finally snapped.
‘Why? What have I done now? What is so bad that you are throwing me out?’ Orpha’s voice cracked as she spoke, hardly able to believe what was happening to her.
‘How dare you question me?!’ Hortense yelled as she stepped forward, slapping the girl hard across the face. ‘Isn’t it as plain as the nose on your face, you are not wanted here! Now get out! I never want to see your face again! You remember this girl… if I do ever see you again… it will be for the last time… I will kill you! Now get out!’ Hortense raised her hand to deliver another blow, but Orpha dodged it, and grabbing a shawl from the coat stand in the hall, she ran out of the house.
Hortense watched through the window as Orpha Buchanan ran down the drive and out of her life. Laughing out loud she realised that finally, after years of trying to drive the girl away, she had accomplished her goal.
Sitting again with tea, Hortense congratulated herself. At last she was free of the Buchanan girls, and now her thoughts turned to ways of relieving herself of the burden of an unwanted husband.
*
That same evening, Abel Buchanan watched his wife’s face as she told him again, ‘She’s gone, Abel!’
‘What do you mean she’s gone?’ he asked, horror etching his face.
With a loud exasperated sigh, Hortense answered, ‘She’s gone! As in… she isn’t here!’
Abel stared in disbelief,
he’d heard those words before, many years ago.
‘Gone where?’ Abel stood before the woman he called his wife.
‘How the bloody hell should I know?’ Hortense snapped, clicking her teeth in annoyance at her husband riling her to such an extent that she cursed and struggled to maintain her high and mighty ways.
‘Where did she go? Did she take anything with her?’ His voice rose with obvious distress.
With a tsk sound, Hortense replied nastily, ‘I don’t know and… I don’t know!’
Running his hands through his hair, Abel paced the room, going over what Hortense had told him. Orpha, in a fit of temper, had stormed from the house after breakfast and had not returned. Hortense had said she didn’t know what had sparked the girl’s temper this time, but it had blazed fiercely as she had run from the house.
It was getting late and darkness had begun to descend. Abel had to go and look for his daughter. Running from the room to the stables, Abel helped Jago, the stable lad, saddle his horse and he galloped down the gravel driveway. All the time he searched the crowded streets he felt the despair build inside him. He had lost Eugenie, his first born, for which he had never forgiven himself despite it not being his fault, and had never stopped looking for her. Every available opportunity he had gone in search of her; to no avail. She had simply disappeared leaving him in torment. Now Orpha, who had been like a blessing when she arrived, had gone missing too and Abel felt his heart would surely break. Choking back the sobs threatening to erupt, he rode onward, looking desperately for the easily recognisable raven black hair of his daughter who had filled his world.
Abel searched up one street of Wednesbury and down another until the darkness drove everyone indoors. Riding to the police station on the Holyhead Road where he had gone eighteen years earlier in a horrifically similar situation, he tearfully reported his daughter having gone missing to the officer in charge. Then he made his way slowly through the cobbled streets back to his home in St. James’ Street. He cried openly and allowed his tears to flow freely down his cheeks and drip onto the saddle.
Sitting before the fire, Abel spoke quietly to his wife, ‘I couldn’t find her, Hortense… I couldn’t find our daughter!’ Tears formed and lined his lashes as he wondered where a girl of fourteen years could possibly be, out alone in the town late at night.
‘She’ll come back when she’s hungry!’ Hortense said nonchalantly.
Looking up, Abel caught the quick smile before it left her lips. He knew his wife had a sharp tongue when it suited her, but this seemed different. That one action caused him to suspect his wife knew more than she was letting on about the whole affair. For the first time, Abel saw a slyness in her he didn’t much care for. ‘Hortense,’ he said, his voice thick with tears, ‘what have you done with Orpha?’
‘You what!’ Abel’s wife stood up and walked to stand in front of him. ‘I haven’t done anything with your precious daughter! How dare you accuse me, how dare you lay the blame at my feet!’ Turning from him, she marched from the room, her indignation evident.
*
For days, Abel trawled the streets looking for Orpha. All the searching brought him no information as to the whereabouts of his daughter. No one had seen her. No one had any idea where she might be. The police were searching too, but their enquiries around the town brought no word of the missing girl.
Abel now sat in his study as exhaustion and distress washed over him. Two daughters lost to him… and he had the overwhelming feeling this was no coincidence.
Looking at the velvet bag lying on his desk, Abel touched a finger to its softness. The box it had lain in beneath the floorboards was open next to it. Opening the bag, he tipped the contents onto the desktop. A little part of his treasure lay before him. Running his fingers over the contents, Abel felt his tears again begin to fall.
Crystal tears fell from emerald eyes onto emerald gems which lay scattered on a mahogany desk.
Staring at the emeralds spread out before him, Abel recalled the adventure he had undertaken to acquire them. As a young man he had secured a working passage on a ship sailing to a foreign land. He had felt the urge to see the world as well as get himself far away from the monotonous grind and filth of industry in his home town. He needed fresh air in his lungs rather than the dense smoke-filled air of Wednesbury. Months of sailing had taught him the ways of the ship and the sailing of her. Eventually the ship had docked… at Colombia.
Taking himself off the ship without telling its captain he would not be sailing home with them, Abel had managed to secure a job on a team who were mining for emeralds. The work was deep underground, which was dusty and dirty and took strength and determination to strike the hard granite with a pickaxe to loosen the gems. When the emeralds fell from the rock, they were jagged and dull but he soon learned they could be cut by an experienced jeweller to make them sparkle as brilliantly as any diamond. The company Abel worked for were naturally insistent on filling their quota of emeralds mined… and they were extremely harsh on anyone digging out the gems from their mine for themselves. A man could go missing in the dense jungle and no one would be any the wiser. This threat kept the workers in line; no one wanted to die out there. Abel, however, was wily, and knowing he would never become wealthy from the wages paid for his hard work, he had struck a private deal with the foreman in charge of the workers. They had agreed for a percentage of what Abel earned from the gems he collected to be given over to the foreman, he could sneak back to the area and then find himself a spot away from the company mine to dig where he wouldn’t be seen by anyone. Night after night he dug for the tiny emerald chips, muffling his chisel with rags in order that his banging with a hammer would scarcely be heard in the quiet of the night. He’d also squirrelled away the tiny jewels that the other workers left behind, deeming them not big enough to be worth their efforts of collecting them; within a year he had gathered enough of these rare gems to make him a very rich man indeed. Staying true to his word regarding paying the foreman, Abel swiftly booked a first-class passage on the next package boat to England, and returned home in search of a wife to share his good fortune.
Dropping the emeralds back into the bag and then into the box, Abel replaced them in their place of safety beneath the floorboards. On his return from Colombia, Abel had sought out a gem expert in London to broker deals on his behalf for the sale of a few emeralds now and then when the price rose to its highest. The remaining jewels were kept in the bank for safety as well as easy access should he decide to retrieve them in order to sell them on. His broker kept him abreast of the fluctuating market in precious gems and at the moment the price was extremely high. However, the sale of these emeralds would have to wait a while; his first priority was to find his daughter.
Pouring a brandy, he sat again at his desk. Abel had his health and wealth but not his daughters. Eighteen years ago Eugenie had disappeared and now Orpha was missing. On a sob, he thought, ‘I would give up all of this wealth to have my daughters back with me once more.’ His gut tightened as he wondered again if Hortense had anything to do with it.
Sipping his brandy, savouring the burn of it in his throat, Abel suspected his wife knew far more than she was saying, and he made up his mind to discover exactly what that was.
*
Earlier in the day, Hortense had enjoyed her ride on the heath, especially as she’d picked some mushrooms for Abel’s evening meal. It was the maid’s day off and Hortense had not found a suitable cook as yet, so finding an old pan she had cooked the mushrooms over a gentle heat; they would go very nicely with a piece of lamb… Abel’s favourite.
Singing softly, she peeled potatoes, scraped carrots and putting them in a pot with the lamb, she pushed the pot into the oven. She had heard Abel come in earlier, after another day searching for Orpha, and retreat straight to his study where he would sit until it was time to eat.
Going to the fire, she poked it with the fire dog, making sure there were no traces left of the gloves she had burned
there moments before.
Making tea, Hortense sat in the parlour and looked around her. It wouldn’t be long now before this house belonged to her. Leaning back in her chair, she smiled; in a few weeks Hortense Buchanan would be a merry widow and a very wealthy one at that!
Hortense served Abel his meal without a word said between them. Sitting opposite him, she watched him push his lamb stew and mushrooms around the plate with his fork without having taken a bite.
‘Not hungry, Abel?’ she asked.
Abel just shook his head, continuing to push the food around.
‘But it’s your favourite…!’ She tried again feeling the irritability build inside her.
Nodding, he muttered, ‘I ain’t got no appetite,’ and dropped the fork on the plate with a clatter.
‘Abel, you have to eat something!’ Her voice was sharp as she slammed her own cutlery onto the table.
Abel shot back, ‘No, I don’t have to eat anything! I said I’m not hungry!’ With that he picked up the plate and threw it against the wall, shattering it and scattering food and broken crockery all over the floor.
Hortense stared – at the mushrooms. Such a waste of her time preparing them!
Standing, she strode into the kitchen, returning with the hand brush and dustpan. Brushing the mess together onto the dustpan, she returned the whole to the kitchen thoroughly annoyed at having to do this cleaning up which should be the servant’s domain, but then it was the maid’s day off after all. As she stuffed the food, broken plate and dustpan and brush into the fire in the range she was fuming.
What a waste of perfectly good poison mushrooms!
*
Hortense had watched her husband slam the door behind him as he left the house. The time had come to confront the man she called husband. He was hiding something and she determined to discover exactly what it was. Her instinct was sharp, and she knew it was somewhere in the study where he spent so much time.
The Lost Sisters: A gritty saga about friendships, family and finding a place to call home Page 2