Louise sat down on the tired old floor, and burst into tears. The tears soon turned into racking sobs. She’d given up what she’d won for this, a world without Tom.
When Jake came back and shook his head she got to her feet and ran outside and around to School Lane, glancing up high at the schoolhouse windows, looking in vain for Tom, her friend. She knew he wouldn’t be there, of course. Then she turned around and ran back down the road to the churchyard, crying as if there was no tomorrow. Her sobs resounded around the streets. He must have felt like this, she thought, when I went missing, without any warning. But at least he’d had a job and a home. Unlike her.
A few minutes later, she dried her tears. I have to talk to Carol Islip. She dragged herself through the gate to the alley and then past the church hall to Pasenheuse Road. As she approached it she noticed a girl, standing on the pavement. She went to walk past, but the girl grabbed her arm.
‘I bet you’re Louise.’
‘So what if I am? Let go of my arm.’ Louise shrugged her off, the girl talked posh, but Pasenheuse Road was posh for round here. Yet she looked like a scruff. ‘What’s it to you? I’m in a hurry.’
‘If you’re going to the pub to look for Tom, you’re wasting your time. Tom isn’t there.’
‘How do you know?’ Louise said, sharply, her heart was thumping as if it would burst.
‘My name’s Alice, I’m a friend of Tom’s.’
‘Oh, are you?’ Louise said, feeling resentful. ‘I bet you don’t know where he is, all the same.’
‘Of course I do, and I’ll take you to him, he’s staying at the house of a friend of mine. But you’ll have to promise me something first.’
‘I’m not in the mood for playing games.’
‘This isn’t a game, I swear it isn’t. Don’t you want to see Tom again?’ Louise frowned and stared at Alice.
‘You’d better not waste my time, Alice. What have I got to agree to then?’
‘Once you’re there, in this place with Tom, you can’t come back to the Low, ever.’
‘I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous,’ Louise said sharply, pushing the younger girl out of the way. ‘Leave me alone, you silly cow.’ She started walking towards Croston.
‘If you don’t come now, you’ll never see Tom, ever again.’ Louise couldn’t help it, she stopped abruptly and turned back to Alice. Her head was throbbing, really stinging. ‘Don’t even think about threatening me. You’re just a kid.’ She turned away, started walking again.
‘Do what you like, but you’ll live to regret it.’ Alice’s words had the ring of truth. Louise paused and looked at the girl. She no longer cared about living in the city, all she wanted right now was Tom.
‘Very well, Alice, I’ll do what you want, but if there’s no Tom, you’ll be the one who lives to regret it.’
Alice grinned, broadly. ‘Like brother, like sister.’
‘What did you say?’ Louise said, stunned.
The girls stood in the narrow alley, right by the exit, peering out onto Scriveners Road. Louise was amazed, she couldn’t believe it.
‘Where have the church and the graveyard gone?’
‘It’s all been demolished,’ Alice said coolly. ‘All that’s left is the old brick wall. The graves are still there, with their now flat headstones, see over there, by those three benches. Round the corner is Aleph’s house, you can see the back of it there, look.’
‘That’s the schoolhouse,’ Louise insisted.
‘Was the schoolhouse,’ Alice informed her. ‘Now it’s Aleph’s and that’s where Tom is.’
‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’
‘You don’t,’ said Alice, ‘but you’ve seen all this, how things have changed and the church has gone. Only Curdizan Abbey is left. Just go and find out.’
‘But if I go, I can’t ever come back?’
‘No,’ said Alice, ‘I can’t be taking you back and forth, I have to find somewhere new to settle. But what you have got to stay here for? There, there’s Tom and a brand new start. Why would I lie?’
Louise swallowed and stared at Alice. She’d left before, she could leave again. Especially for Tom.
She took a deep breath and left the passage, sensing Alice was right behind her. She walked up the road, which was almost the same, except that the trees seemed larger and lush. The courtyard was posh, the door to the workshop no longer existed. She’d only seen Jake minutes before and now he was gone. Gone as in dead. She turned the corner.
The school seemed much the same as before, if somewhat shabbier with flaking paintwork. She stared at the steps and saw the pair of boots at the top.
‘They look like mine,’ she said, amazed, glancing at Alice. Alice just smiled.
‘They’re very small.’
‘They were my boots, from years ago. I always wondered where they’d got to. Now I know.’ She glanced at Alice. What to do now?
‘You’re not going to stand there all day, waiting?’
‘Aren’t you coming with me, then?’
‘No,’ said Alice, ‘not today. There’s somewhere else I have to be.’ Then she turned away and was lost in the crowd.
Louise sighed and shook her head. What a very strange girl. Then, slowly, she climbed the steps of the schoolhouse.
Alice weaved her way through the alley, along the streets and down Croston, coming to stop on Dogleg Lane. She pushed at the door of the Keepsake Arms.
It was still early and apart from a lad who was sweeping the floor and an older man who was putting out ashtrays, the place seemed empty, deserted, almost. She saw the woman standing in the corner. The woman looked tired and worn with care.
‘I’m guessing you’re Miranda’s mother. My name’s Alice, I’m a friend of Miranda’s.’
‘Miranda’s not here, she’s gone away.’
‘And Tom as well,’ Alice observed.
‘Quite a few people, altogether,’ the woman said, slowly, taking a drag on her cigarette. ‘It’s all very odd, I have to say. I’m missing Miranda sorely, Alice. So, what can I do for you, young lady?’
‘I was thinking you’d need a new barmaid now,’ Alice informed her. The woman laughed, loudly, in spite of herself.
‘You’re a little too young for that, sweetheart.’
‘I’m sure I’ll get better, as I get older. And didn’t Miranda start very young? I heard she used to stand on a box, to serve the ale, because she was small.’
‘That’s right, she did. But how in the world did you know that? You’re not from round here.’
‘Miranda told me,’ Alice explained. ‘And I can tell you more, if you’d like, like where she’s gone, and who she’s with.’
The woman’s eyes grew wide with longing. ‘Can you Alice?’ she said to her, slowly. ‘Can you really?’
‘Yes,’ said Alice, ‘though I can’t bring them back, they’ve gone for good. But I can stay and help you out. Tom used to wash the glasses, didn’t he?’
‘He did, yes, he was good at it, too. I expect you could learn to be just like him.’
‘I expect I could,’ said Alice, smiling. ‘I was told I was good at washing up. Before I left home.’
Alice could see the woman considering. She could hear the sounds of the men laughing, as they came in and ordered their pints. She could hear all their jokes and smell all the ales and imagine the songs of the Keepsake’s singing nights. She imagined it all and waited to see. Mrs Collenge smiled at Alice.
‘I’ve given your offer some thought, my dear, and I think I’ll accept, just for the moment.’ She threw a large cloth across to Alice.
‘You can start with all these.’
Epilogue
In the late 1980s, Curdizan Low was mostly demolished. They kept the pub and a couple of smarter, larger houses, one of which once belonged to a merchant.
‘All of it built on shoes,’ said Dave, nodding at Jim and kicking some rubble out of the way.
‘Aye, but he died too young to en
joy it.’ Jim was a local history bore, his wife had started her family tree and that was where it began for him. Now he read that stuff all the time. They walked across the rubble slowly, stopping outside another house.
‘I know you’ll tell me what this was.’
‘It used to be the old coach house once, where people would set off on their journeys, and after that it became a workshop.’ Jim gave a smile.
‘Bit of a wreck inside, isn’t it?’ They looked around the remains of the room, the rotten wood stacked up against the wall, some chisels and other tools still hanging up.
‘Kind of creepy,’ Dave agreed. ‘I reckon a carpenter worked in here.’
‘Or something else,’ said Jim, grinning. ‘Some of those lids look coffin-shaped. This was the local funeral home.’
‘No,’ said Dave, but he knew Jim was right, although given its age and the limited daylight, it was hard to be sure.
‘What’s in here?’ said Jim, musing. He pushed on a door which seemed to be locked.
‘We haven’t got time to be messing around,’ Dave said, sharply.
‘Sure,’ said Jim, ‘but I want to have a look and then we’ll go. I know it’s probably only a cupboard. But all the same…’
‘You’re only bothered because there’s a lock. Here, have the torch, you’ll need it in there.’
Jim took the torch and messed around with the lock for a while. It finally gave way. Then he shoved on the door and went inside, with Dave following, vaguely curious. They studied the room in the flickering light.
‘It is a room,’ breathed Jim, slowly. ‘Not just a cupboard.’ The tiny space had a wooden bench and on the bench was an old grey mug. Next to the mug was an empty packet, Dave suspected it might have held fags.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he said, shortly, swivelling round towards the door. He noticed something hanging behind it and reached out a hand, to touch some cloth.
‘It’s a jacket,’ he said to Jim, behind him, feeling the wool, all shabby and worn. ‘A bloke’s jacket.’
Jim nodded and grinned at his mate. ‘You know what I reckon?’
‘No,’ said Dave, for once not amused, but caught up in the web of the past, there in the room.
‘It’s like a bloke stepped out of his life, just for a moment, and never came back. Maybe to go to war or something.’ Dave considered.
‘Yeah, perhaps, or maybe,’ he said, feeling the sense of something other, something he didn’t quite understand, ‘maybe the bloke’s still alive somewhere and living a very different life.’
‘He’d be dead by now,’ said Jim, laughing. ‘Well dead, mate, for decades, I’m sure.’
‘Maybe,’ said Dave as they closed the door and went on their way up Blackberry Close. ‘Or maybe he isn’t.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks are due to Pat G Nightingale for her insightful information on the Inner Voice of Truth and Reverse Speech – a fascinating topic. I am also indebted to my marvellous readers and proofreaders, Jann Tracy and Sarah Davies, whose valuable comments and eagle eyes have helped me avoid numerous errors.
Thanks also to James Allwright, who yet again has provided an evocative cover.
I’d also like to add my thanks and appreciation to David Gaughran, Guido Henkel and Mark Coker whose works on publishing and formatting, I couldn’t have managed without. Thanks guys!
Lastly, my appreciation goes to the City of York (UK), and its inhabitants, past and present. Curdizan, in which this novel is set, is a fictional city, but draws for its essence on historic York. Who’s not to say that if you wander around York in the evening, you might not come across Alice and Thomas…
RESOURCES
As part of the research for this novel, I read numerous books on historic York, especially those covering the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Those listed below were amongst the most useful, and gave me a real flavour of life at the time.
Hall, R (2004) Bedern Hall and the Vicars Choral of York Minster, York Archaeological Trust (Exploring York, 1).
Knight, C B (1944) A History of the City of York, 2nd ed. Herald Printing Works.
Rowntree, B Seebohm (1903) Poverty: a study of town life, new ed. Macmillan.
Webster, A E (2006) Looking Back at Goodramgate & Kings Square York, Reeder Publications.
Wilson, V (2007) Rich in All but Money: life in Hungate 1900-1938, rev. ed., York Archaeological Trust (Oral History Series, 1).
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ellie Stevenson is the author of Ship of Haunts: the other Titanic story, where ghosts, ships and child migration intermingle and Watching Charlotte Brontë Die, a collection of surreal, scary and sometimes spooky short stories. She has also written 70+ articles for magazines and websites on history, careers, travel and the arts. Ellie is a member of the Alliance of Independent Authors and is currently working on her third novel, fuelled by inspiration, determination and plenty of coffee.
Visit her at:
Blog: http://elliestevenson.wordpress.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/Stevensonauthor
Twitter: http://twitter.com/Stevensonauthor
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/stevensonauthor
Want to read more of this author’s work? Read two extracts here:
Extract from Ship of Haunts: the other Titanic story – Chapter 1
Carrin’s Story – 2012
Not every girl gets stalked by a ghost. Or haunted by a ship.
The ghost was called Lily but the ship came first. It always did. The ship was Titanic. I drowned on that ship.
I was up on the deck, right at the top, running and running, as fast as I could, towards the stern. Away from the water, around my feet. I wasn’t alone.
And though I ran fast, as fast as I could, the stern rose up, out of the water, and we rose with it, slipping and sliding on a frigid deck. Not everyone made it.
I grabbed for a railing and held on tight, feeling the steel dig into my skin. I knew it was hopeless. Many more people did just the same. And then the stern shifted, twisted and turned, a corkscrew ride, high in the air. We held our place, just for a second. Then down she fell, faster and faster, heading for the bottom, where no-one ever goes. And then I fell off.
My arms flailed and I let out a scream, one more voice, in amongst the rest.
‘I’m going to die. I’m going to die.’
And die is exactly what I did.
But unlike the others, I had help.
I said there was a ghost and her name was Lily. Not that I knew she was called Lily to begin with, she was just a voice, driving me crazy.
I first met Lily in 1912, when I lived before. Now you know it. I am crazy.
Well maybe you’re right, but why don’t you ask me where we met?
We met on Titanic, which sank in the night on her maiden voyage, in 1912.
Such a beautiful ship, sailing the ocean, and then – nothing.
So many died – fifteen hundred people, it was tragedy, failure, on dozens of counts.
And the last sentence, very important.
I was there.
Chapter 2
Lily’s Story – 1911
I was proud to be called a Yorkshire girl, Yorkshire had made me what I was. I never wanted to leave the north. But since I had…
When Mother gave me the crumpled letter I knew it was bad. Give it to Maddy, is what she said. Maddy will help. I didn’t care. I knew it was bad, without the letter, her white, pinched face and the constant cough. I opened the letter. Just as I thought.
Lucie and I had to go south. To a place called Southampton.
Three days later, my sister emerged from Mother’s bedroom. Her face was pale, as pale as a ghost. ‘Mother’s gone,’ she said to me sadly. ‘What will we do?’
I pulled the letter out of my pocket. ‘We’re off to Southampton, to stay with our aunt, Madeleine Rawlins. Mother arranged it.’ Lucie blinked.
Lucie was distant, dark and plump, not a bit like
me, although we were sisters. I was tall and fair, with thin skinny bones and flyaway hair. Lucie was pretty, I had to protect her. I thought Southampton would keep us safe, keep the old wolf away from the door. How wrong can you be?
Aunt Maddy’s house was a total shock. We’d lived in a farmhouse, out in the fields, in a place called Linsit. Linsit was vast, with moors and the cliffs, and the Bay below us, with us in between. We were renting a farm and managing somehow, then Mother died. Aunt Maddy’s house was completely different, right in the town, it was tall and thin, just like her. She didn’t seem all that pleased to see us.
‘So you’re Lucie?’ she said to my sister, her cold eyes sharp. Lucie just stood there, silent, as always. Maddy was dark, like Lucie was dark, but Madeleine Rawlins’ face was cold. She was watchful and wary and didn’t look like my mother at all. I didn’t warm to this woman one bit. But I had to try.
‘Good to meet you at last, Aunt Maddy,’ I said to her, taking her hand. She didn’t bother to look my way.
‘I’m not your aunt,’ she insisted sharply, looking at Lucie. ‘I’m far too young to be anyone’s aunt.’ It was true she was, being barely thirty, and now expecting a child of her own. But she was my aunt, my mother’s sister. I also thought she was Lucie’s aunt. My mistake.
Her man, Joss Rawlins, who she called her husband, when he wasn’t, had just got a job. He was a stoker by trade, he worked on the ships, shovelling coal. Or at least, he had, until the coal strike started. No-one had worked on the ships in months, because of the strike. For a place like Southampton, which lived by its docks, the strike was bad news. And it made Joss restless, hungry for change.
I knew how he felt, I was restless too, I wanted a life, a world full of colour, not grey, grimy streets and second-hand clothes. I had my adventures, stealing mostly, we needed the food, that was my excuse. The truth was, I loved the excitement. I also stole things I could pawn later.
But a new dawn was coming, a ship called Titanic, and Joss signed up, Aunt Maddy couldn’t stop him. I could see it in his eyes, he was eager to leave, his woman expecting and two teenage girls who weren’t his own. It was then I had my fatal idea.
Shadows of the Lost Child Page 33