Alice's Secret

by Lynne Francis

  Moira laughed again. ‘Indeed, she was. You’d never know it now, although she’s good at getting her own way, of course. I can remember a few terrible rows when she was a teenager, even plates breaking if I remember rightly. I think it was fairly standard teenage stuff: wanting to stay out late, go to see bands in Leeds on a school night, wearing skirts that Dad thought were too short, having unsuitable boyfriends with cars. That sort of thing.’

  This was surprising news. Kate had always come down very hard on Alys if she’d shown signs of stepping out of line. You’d have thought that she’d be more lenient, if she’d been rebellious herself, Alys thought. But perhaps it had the opposite effect? Perhaps she remembered what she’d been getting up to at that age and was determined that Alys wouldn’t do the same? None of this answered the question of Kate’s ambivalence towards her childhood home, though, as Alys pointed out to Moira.

  Moira considered. ‘I’m not sure if I can put my finger on it. But when Kate met your dad, she was working as an air hostess. She was such a glamorous creature, and I suspect she’d probably invented a whole new history for herself that didn’t include living in a small terraced house “up North”. So, I guess she wasn’t keen on coming back here to show David, and he was so heavily rooted in the South that the question probably never even arose.’

  Moira looked with mild amusement at Alys’s face. ‘Don’t look so disappointed. There aren’t any skeletons in the cupboard. Just a case of a bit of reinvention, and your mum preferring her new life, I suppose.’

  ‘I was wondering,’ said Alys, then paused, unsure of how to phrase her question. ‘Was I named after my great-great-grandma Alice? Only, there’s a bit of a mystery about her, and I sense that she might have been a bit of a black sheep of the family …’ she tailed off.

  ‘Oh, but you weren’t.’ Moira replied. ‘It was David’s mother’s name, too. I think Kate was too terrified to let on that there might be anything in her family background that would make it a less than ideal choice. So, she compromised by settling for a more unusual spelling.’

  Moira stopped, seeing Alys’s face change. ‘Oh, Alys,’ she said. ‘I’ve put my foot in it. I didn’t mean that to come out as it did. It’s a lovely name. And I have a feeling there might be more to the whole family story than meets the eye. My mum always said that her mum, your great-grandma Beth, wouldn’t hear a word said against Alice, even though she died when Beth was still a baby. You know, if it’s troubling you, why don’t you see if you can find out a bit more?’

  ‘You don’t have a picture of Alice, by any chance, do you?’ asked Alys.

  ‘No, I think only the wealthy sat for their portraits, painted or photographic, in those days,’ said Moira. ‘I don’t suppose a mill worker like Alice would have been likely to have had a photograph of herself. But I do have a box of things passed down the line – don’t get too excited,’ she warned, as Alys gasped. ‘There’s not much in there apart from some old book, as far as I remember. I had a quick look at it years ago, then put it in the loft. You can help me get it down tomorrow.’

  Chapter Five

  Could this really hold the clues, maybe even the answers? The box looked insignificant – it was made of cheap plywood, which had split in places – with an ill-fitting lid and an old paper label, mostly worn away. It looked as though it might once have held cotton reels. It spoke of a life spent scrimping and saving, of making do. To Alys, it was as exciting as if it was a treasure chest made of beautifully seasoned wood, and containing the rarest jewels. She hardly dared open it.

  Alys sat on the edge of her bed and gazed around. She had always found her room at Moira’s calming, peaceful. She would unlatch the door, step in and instantly feel it – like a big sigh leaving her body, her shoulders dropping, relaxing. She’d always assumed the paint colour to be responsible, or put it down to the light in the room, the direction the windows faced.

  Perhaps she hadn’t fully appreciated the sense of history in this room before? The stripped and polished floorboards and old, pine chest of drawers must have dated back generations, to her great-grandmother Beth’s time and even well before that. She’d always assumed that the patchwork quilt on the bed, its faded cotton squares in every shade of blue, must have come from a later era – Moira and Kate’s mother’s, perhaps? Or perhaps it, too, dated back even earlier? The view out of the window, though – fields stretching out to the distant moorland – must have been the one that Alice saw each day, and Sarah before her, Elisabeth after. The path that Alys took to Nortonstall must have been the one that they had trodden so many times before her, through trees of every season. She felt a sense of anticipation as she turned back to the box. She wasn’t sure what she would find in there, only that her instincts told her that it was going to be significant in some way.

  Alys expected an aroma of dust and mildew as she lifted the lid away. Instead, the smell of herbs that rose to greet her transported her instantly to sun-drenched meadows. Nestling on a bed of dried foliage that had long ago lost its colour but still held onto a faint scent, was a leather-bound journal, quite obviously handmade. A solid rectangle of brown leather was folded around yellowing pages, which protruded beyond the edges of the cover and were held in place by rough stitches through the journal’s spine. A thin leather cord bound around the cover kept it all together.

  Lifting the journal from its resting place, she discovered a small, cream fabric bag beneath it, hand-embroidered with a sprig of lavender in greens and purples that had kept their vibrancy over who-knew-how-many years. A dull gleam amongst the papery dried foliage led her to an oval locket, minus its chain and rather battered and misshapen. Front and back were etched with tiny ivy leaves, and a scroll on the front contained the date, 1894, in tiny writing. She tried to open it to see whether it held any photos, to give a clue as to its owner, but the damage it had suffered meant that it remained, frustratingly, clamped shut. Alys was struck by thoughts of who might have placed these items there, before closing the lid and putting the box away for safekeeping. On an impulse, she slipped the locket into her pocket, intending to ask Moira if she knew anything about it, before turning her attention back to the journal. Tugging at the leather cord, she paused to wonder whose hands had tied the loose knot over the years. Sarah? Alice? Elisabeth, perhaps? As the cord fell away and she opened the pages with great care, Alys saw at once the names of herbs, in a neatly drafted ledger of prescriptions, of doses. The names of the patients treated were followed by their ailments: ‘Albert Parkin – bronchitis; Florence Broadhurst – rheumatism’, along with details of the remedy dispensed, how much they had been charged and whether they had paid. Turning the pages, Alys noticed that some patients had paid their bills in pennies and farthings at different dates, clearly scraping the money together as and when they could. Against the entry for ‘Molly Ramsay, daughter of Ivy – lobelia syrup, once daily’ there was the sad legend: ‘No charge. Beyond help.’

  Totally absorbed, Alys went on turning the pages. The herbal described treatment for everything from the mundane: ‘John Arkwright – warts upon the hands and nose; bloodroot and tincture of Echinacea’ to the more serious ‘Margaret Clark – weekly poultice of figwort applied to leg ulcer’.

  The centre of the book held a plan of what appeared to be a garden, with herb borders named, and the months for harvest, or perhaps flowering, inked in against each name. A list ran down the side of the page, of place names that Alys recognised from the locality, such as Tinker’s Wood. More herbs, ones that weren’t named in the garden, were listed here.

  Towards the end of the book, Alys found remedies copied out in a careful hand. Some of these pages were clearly much used, being creased and spotted with liquid turned all shades of brown by the passage of time. Amended amounts and faded pencil scribbles were testament to ongoing revisions to the remedies. Two pages were clearly so frequently used that Alys found that she had to peel them apart, terrified of damaging the brittle paper. The remedy on the left-hand pag
e was for a rosemary tonic shampoo, the title of the one on the right read ‘Heart tonic’ and beneath, in brackets ‘Alice’s remedy’. Alys started, and nearly dropped the book. She read on through the list of ingredients: skunk cabbage, valerian, hawthorn, pulsatilla, skullcap.

  There was a murmur of voices, then footsteps on the wooden stairs. ‘Darling, are you up there?’ It was her mother’s voice.

  Alys snapped the book closed, wound the cord loosely around it and pushed it and the embroidered bag back into the box. She put on the makeshift lid, then looked wildly around for a hiding place. Shoving the box underneath the bed, she stood up and prepared to greet Kate, trying not to look as guilty as she felt. Although she had no reason at all to feel that way, it was just that her mother’s presence frequently made her feel somehow in the wrong. And today was no exception.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Alys! Alys, darling.’ The door opened and Kate was on the threshold, her loose white-linen trousers combined with a simple knit of a subtle sheen in one of those indeterminate grey-blues that she so loved.

  ‘There you are! Didn’t you hear me arrive?’

  Alys, engrossed in reading through the herbal remedies, hadn’t heard a thing until a few moments ago. She knew that Kate was coming, of course. Moira had told her, or should that be, warned her? Alys feared that her mother would be intent on getting her back to London, and would have a trick or two up her sleeve, no doubt. She’d have to be on her guard. At least Kate was staying at a guest house in Nortonstall and not in Moira’s house. With no suitable hotel to be had for miles around, this was the best that Moira had been able to come up with, after Kate had declined the sofa bed, or a swap with Alys that would have given Kate her bedroom and Alys the sofa bed.

  ‘I simply have to have an en-suite, darling,’ explained Kate. ‘Had one for years now and just can’t imagine managing without.’

  Alys could visualise Kate’s theatrical shudder as she conducted the telephone conversation with Moira. She would have come off the phone saying to David, ‘Imagine, she suggested I slept on the sofa bed and shared the bathroom. I might as well take a tent and camp in the woods!’ David would have held his counsel, used to Kate’s exaggerations. He’d found himself edged out of the en-suite some time ago, forced to trek to the family bathroom when his age-weakened bladder – or perhaps it was the volume of wine that he consumed every night – sent him stumbling to relieve himself in the early hours. He had thought the en-suite would be available to him once a day, but no. ‘The floor, David, the floor,’ Kate had said briefly. She slept too lightly for secret mutiny to be possible. In fact, Alys guessed that her father had been looking forward to Kate’s absence, and would be making full use of the facilities, as well as dropping socks and pants wherever he felt like it, and leaving used plates and dishes stacked in the sink until Kate was due to return, when he would finally get round to stacking the dishwasher. Evenings would, no doubt, be spent stretched full-length on the sofa, wine bottle at his side, cricket on the TV. Unless, of course, it was so long since he’d had the chance to behave like this that he’d forgotten how?

  Alys dragged her thoughts back to the present to listen to Kate, who had moved over to the window to gaze out over the fields. ‘Moira and I used to share this room when we came to visit Grandma Beth,’ she said. ‘It’s hardly changed at all – and the view certainly hasn’t. Nothing but fields for miles around.’ It was apparent that she didn’t think this was necessarily a good thing.

  Alys took a deep breath and decided that she was going to behave beautifully. ‘Come on, Mum,’ she said. ‘Must be time for tea and cake. Moira was baking all morning – I’m pretty sure she made her extra-special layer cake, and there’ll be hazelnut brownies too, I expect. We’re going to go to the café and have tea there, so you can see the place.’ And she linked her arm through her mother’s and led her downstairs.

  Kate was delighted by the café and exclaimed constantly, and gratifyingly, over the cakes and the china, the wall colour and the wings, the cushions and the courtyard. Moira was quite pink with pleasure and Alys insisted that they sit down together and have tea while she and Flo served the other customers. It wasn’t long before a familiar chugging sound in the road outside told her that a tractor was about to pass through – no doubt Rob, who’d already stopped by that morning for his coffee. She looked up, ready to wave if he should glance in but to her surprise he pulled into his usual parking spot outside.

  ‘Well, to what do we owe the honour of this visit?’ she asked, as he came in. ‘Twice in a day? It must be a record. Coffee?’

  She had picked up a takeaway cup and moved towards the coffee machine when Rob said, ‘No, it’s cake I’m after, actually.’

  ‘Oh.’ Alys was taken aback. Rob didn’t appear to have much of a sweet tooth and never bought cakes or biscuits to go with his coffee.

  ‘Yes, there’s a birthday over on the farm today. One of the stable lads and no one has done anything about a cake. He looked a bit disappointed so I told the others I’d see if you had anything left as I passed through.’

  ‘That’s a lovely idea.’ Alys immediately looked for something suitably celebratory among the day’s remaining cakes. ‘It’s been a busy day, I’m afraid. There’s not much I can offer you. How about some of Moira’s layer cake? She only just brought it in so there’s nearly half left. I might have some birthday candles somewhere.’

  Alys bent to rummage under the counter and when she raised her head again her mother was standing beside Rob.

  ‘Alys, you must introduce this young man.’ She gave Rob a dazzling smile.

  Alys took in Rob’s puzzled expression and said hastily, ‘Rob, meet my mum. Mum, this is Rob.’ Kate was looking at her expectantly so she added, ‘Rob’s a friend of Moira’s. He’s been kind enough to show me around the area a bit.’ She was aware that this sounded a bit lame but Kate clearly had her own agenda that she was intent on pursuing.

  ‘Well, I’m delighted to meet you. Can I repay your kindness to my daughter by asking you to join us for a meal tomorrow evening? I was just discussing with Moira where we might go and it would be lovely if you could come along and make up the numbers.’

  Alys could barely hide her astonishment – was this a scheme that Kate had just cooked up or was it something she had talked about with Moira. She glanced back at her aunt who shrugged and gave a wry smile. In the meantime, Kate had extracted a promise that Rob would join them, and had seen him to the door. He was clutching his cake box and rather pink in the face.

  ‘How charming!’ Kate exclaimed, watching him leave on his tractor. ‘I must say your young man seems very nice. No wonder you were in such a hurry to get back here.’

  ‘He’s not my young man, Mum,’ Alys protested, but her words fell on deaf ears. Kate had made up her mind that there was something going on and it was going to be hard to dissuade her.

  Chapter Seven

  By day two of Kate’s stay, Alys’s intentions to be on her best behaviour with her mother were being sorely tested. Kate had vetoed a meal at The Old Bell in favour of a restaurant in Nortonstall, and the minute that Alys walked through the door into the hushed atmosphere the following evening, her heart sank. This was clearly the venue for special celebrations, if the scattering of couples, all dressed up and honouring birthdays or anniversaries in more or less unbroken silence, could be said to be celebrating. Kate’s party was ushered to a window table – no doubt to make the place look full to any passers-by – presented with leather-bound menus with a flourish, and offered aperitifs. Alys gratefully ordered one, feeling as though she was going to need some extra help to get through the next few hours. They all studied their menus in silence for a while until their drinks arrived and created a diversion. Rob was already looking uncomfortable, tugging at the neck of his shirt as if his tie was choking him. She saw him make a determined effort to be charming as he turned towards Kate.

  ‘So, Mrs Harper, Alys tells me you’re originally from th
is area?’

  Alys winced. Not the best start, perhaps, as Kate was notoriously dismissive of her northern roots. But she needn’t have worried. Kate had clearly made enquiries from Moira as to Rob’s character, and had approved of what she’d heard. Either that, or the few sips of gin and tonic she had taken had gone straight to her head. It seemed she had decided to put a positive spin on what she normally viewed as one of the great handicaps of her life. ‘Please, you must call me Kate,’ she declared. ‘Yes, Moira and I were brought up not far from this very spot,’ and she waved her hand vaguely out of the window. ‘It was idyllic in many ways,’ Kate went on, as Moira’s eyebrows shot up. ‘But you know what teenagers are like. Can’t wait to get away – bright lights, the big city and all that. I headed off to Leeds when I was seventeen, then to London a couple of years after that. I’ve stayed down south ever since.’

  ‘So, you’ve not been back until now?’ Rob enquired.

  ‘Well, I’ve visited Moira a couple of times’ – Moira’s eyebrows rose a fraction more – ‘no, let me see, just the once, a few years back. I chose mid-July, banking on good weather, and it poured every day, didn’t it?’ She turned to Moira, who half smiled. ‘I ended up going home early. Not a great one for walking in the rain, you see.’ Kate sounded almost apologetic, to Alys’s surprise. She’d always felt herself a duck out of water with her mum, but wondered for the first time whether Kate had, in fact, struggled with her active, outdoorsy family. Her husband was generally to be found out on the golf course, while her kids took to the moors for their Duke of Edinburgh’s Award schemes. Kate’s idea of a good day out was a successful shopping trip, returning with a car boot loaded with bags from Bluewater or Westfield. Alys suspected that her dad had been drawn to Kate for her style and beauty, but once captured, Alys could see he had become impatient of it and reverted to a life that mostly excluded Kate.