The Shrouded Path

by Sarah Ward

  Mina found Malcolm Cox sitting on the bench outside his garden in the same position as the previous week. His only concession to the chill was that he had swapped his khaki shorts for a pair of old corduroy trousers. He watched her approach and moved up along the bench.

  ‘It doesn’t look like you’ve come to do the hedge.’

  She took the place next to him and regarded the church opposite, more visible than the previous visit after the tall beech trees had shed their leaves. ‘You were the naked man who used to roam the fields, weren’t you?’

  He grunted in amusement. ‘The Peaks have always been a bit alternative but I think it was a first for here.’

  ‘You were a naturist?’

  ‘We all have strange ideas when we’re younger. Mine was naturism. I was into the writings of George Bernard Shaw. Have you read any of his books?’ He turned to her and, in his hopeful expression, Mina saw a glimpse of the younger man.

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry. I’m here because I need your help. Can I show you something?’ She handed him her phone and enlarged the photo of the girls so they filled the screen. ‘I guess you recognise some of the girls here. Can you tell me what happened in the Cutting?’

  ‘It were 1957. I’ll never forget the year because I’d just turned twenty-one. I’d finished university, had money in my pocket and I was in full bloom of taking my clothes off. I used to wait until it was getting dark. I didn’t want to frighten anyone.’

  ‘You made it into the paper.’

  ‘I got a sense people weren’t happy with it. I used to avoid where others might see me but my land adjoins the Cutting so I was entitled to go there.’

  ‘Even though there was a railway line?’

  ‘One train an hour, each way. We all knew the times. Well, on this November day, I saw this girl in the grey uniform of Bampton Grammar. You should have seen how the kids dressed in those days. None of this shabby stuff you get these days with their hems hanging down, either that or their skirts hoiked up to their armpits. No, all the girls looked neat as a pin. But not this one when she came out of the rabbit hole.’

  ‘Rabbit hole?’

  ‘The shaft that leads down into the tunnel.’

  ‘How did she look?’

  ‘She smelt bad. That’s what I remember. I think she’d been to the toilet on herself. She also …’ He glanced across at Mina. ‘She couldn’t speak so I took her back here. I held her by the arm and she kept falling over like she’d lost the use of her legs. So I had to prop her up but she’d fall again.’

  ‘You didn’t recognise her?’

  ‘No, and I couldn’t get a word out of her to get her home. She told me her name was Valerie. So I took her back here and the first thing she did was take all her clothes off.’

  ‘What?’ Mina’s voice was full of disbelief.

  ‘Not in front of me or anything. No, she went to the front room, the nice one that my mother used to keep as a parlour, and I gave her a blanket. I took her clothes and I burnt them on the fire. She dressed herself in the clothes I gave her, a pair of tweed trousers and a flannel shirt. Funnily enough they fitted her.’

  ‘Did she say anything?’

  ‘I got dressed and put her in the back of the tractor. She hardly spoke the whole time, just said her name was Valerie, and pointed the way home. Her parents opened the door and took her off me. I told them where I found her and they shut the door. No time for me. They looked at me as if it were me that attacked her. Bampton lot. They’re funny buggers there.’

  ‘But, hold on. I thought Valerie lived in Hallows. That’s where everyone has been telling me Valerie Hallows lived. Up on the farm at Hallows Hill.’

  ‘You mean Grace Hallows in the photo? What’s she got to do with it? Why would I go up to Hallows Farm?’

  ‘Grace Hallows. Who’s she?’

  ‘Buried in the churchyard.’

  ‘Valerie Grace Hallows.’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘She’s Valerie!’

  ‘She wasn’t called Valerie. She went by her middle name, Grace.’ He pointed at the image on Mina’s phone. ‘That’s Valerie.’

  67

  Friday, 9 May 1958

  The Peak District Pauper Lunatic Asylum had been renamed, after much debate, the Margaret Drake Hospital for the Mentally Insane. Margaret Drake was a wealthy benefactor, still living, who had donated a large sum of money to bring the huge Victorian building into the twentieth century. Rumours swirled of a mentally deficient brother locked up in an institution in Scotland but no one was sure of this. The Derbyshire hospital now boasted a heated swimming pool, refurbished tennis courts in the garden and the once shabby ballroom had been refitted to look like the one at the tower in Blackpool. However, the tall clock tower in the middle of the building continued to brood over the patients. A place where time stood still but inmates were reminded of life’s passage by the arms of a clock that had continued to move for two centuries.

  A radiogram had been set up on one side of the room, overseen by a male nurse, an elderly gent who preferred the music of Acker Bilk, or Billy Acker, as he renamed him, to the more modern swing music or, God forbid, Elvis Presley. The taffeta in Valerie’s underskirt stood out stiffly from her body and the starched lace rustled against her stockings as she walked. She was aware of eyes swinging to watch her progress, and dropping when she met their stares with one of her frowns. A row of men idled on the other side of the room, many of them smoking, giving the impression of coiled anger. She walked past them, avoiding the row of chairs where she could sit waiting for a partner, and, instead, sat down at one of the small round tables and reached for a fairy cake. It was a delicate thing, the butter icing deliciously sweet in her mouth.

  ‘It’s all right for you, you’re so tall.’ Melanie, a recent arrival at the house, looked enviously at the cakes.

  ‘I’m like a beanpole. I’d rather have your curves.’ She didn’t sound convincing even to her own ears.

  ‘No you wouldn’t. You can eat what you like. I can feel my bottom getting bigger just looking at that cake stand.’

  Valerie smiled and reached for another. ‘It’s better than dancing.’

  ‘The foxtrot not to your taste?’

  ‘Not when you’re taller than most of your partners.’

  ‘Oh well, perhaps they’ll start playing rock and roll. That’d be progress.’ She eyed Valerie. ‘It’s not that bad here, is it?’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that.’ Valerie looked down. ‘What treatment are you going to have?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Why?’

  Valerie thought about the ECT. The cold metal trolleys that she was strapped to, making feeble jokes with the other patients. The subsequent blinding headaches and upset stomachs. She also remembered the crushing routine. Making beds, washing, playing cards. She turned to Melanie.

  ‘The nurses are nice. And the grounds. You can walk in the gardens. Get some fresh air.’

  ‘I heard that there was film night. I don’t want anything too scary. Maybe Cary Grant.’

  ‘Probably. I’m not into films.’

  ‘I simply need a rest. My nerves were shot. The doctor suggested here. I’d heard about the dances and the art classes. It seemed like a good idea.’

  ‘You had a choice?’ asked Valerie.

  ‘Well, no. When I couldn’t stop crying one day, they sent me here. But I don’t mind. It’s not like they never let you out. I mean, you’re leaving soon, aren’t you?’

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘Well. There you are. You must be feeling better.’

  ‘Yes, I must be.’

  ‘Will you have to carry on with treatment? Take the medicine?’

  Valerie thought of the small white pills. Some good, some not. ‘It depends.’ Never, she thought. I’m never taking one of those tablets again in my life.

  ‘My mam told me to think of it like a fresh start. When I leave, I’m not going to tell anyone where I’ve been. Certainly not a man. You
know what they’re like.’ Melanie gave Valerie a sideways look. ‘Best not mentioned.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell anyone at all.’ The vehemence in Valerie’s voice surprised them both.

  ‘Well, no. New start and all that.’

  ‘Valerie’s going to be left behind. I’ve decided to use my middle name when I leave here.’

  ‘Ooh that’s a good idea. I’d like to do that, except my middle name’s Gladys and that’s ever so old-fashioned these days. It’s worse than Melanie. I would if I could, though. What about you? What’s yours?’

  Valerie looked at a man approaching the table and took another cake. ‘Virginia. My middle name is Virginia. I’m going to be Ginnie.’

  68

  Wednesday, 8 November 2017

  As Connie sped towards the figures, she lost sight of which one was Ginnie. They were both tall, wearing long coats that covered them like shrouds. Standing on the brow of the hill, they faced each other. Fragments of conversation came across the air to her as she puffed towards them, glad of the recent bouts of running she’d forced her idle body to endure. One of the figures turned at the sound of Connie’s approach, the shock on her face turning to fury.

  ‘Who’s this? Who’ve you brought with you?’

  Ginnie turned to Connie, her eyes calm. ‘I think it might be over.’

  ‘Over?’

  Monica launched herself at Ginnie, who lifted her arms to defend herself, her limbs taking the force of the blows. Connie saw in horror that one of the sleeves of Ginnie’s raincoat showed a slash of red. She hauled Monica away from Ginnie, forcing the knife from her hand, and pushed the squirming figure onto the ground. Putting her knee on Monica’s back as she applied the handcuffs, she turned the body, partly so her captive wouldn’t suffocate but mainly so she could take a closer look at the woman in whose eyes she’d spotted the gleam of the fanatic.

  Ginnie had taken off the mac and was wrapping it around her arm, blood mingling with the soft mist of rain that had begun to fall causing a pink stream to drop to the ground and mix with the earth.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Ginnie nodded and Connie turned to wave at the figures running up the Cutting from the road below.

  Sadler made it first and ran towards his mother, taking off his jacket. Dahl hauled the still wriggling Monica to her feet.

  ‘Be careful.’ She was too late. Dahl got an eyeful of Monica’s spit and, as she felt her tension dissipate, Connie was seized with the desire to laugh.

  ‘I’ll take her down to the car.’ Dahl looked at Sadler. ‘Does your mother need an ambulance?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I’ll call it.’ Connie took out her mobile.

  ‘No, Francis. Please. I’m all right.’

  ‘You’ve been—’

  ‘No!’ Ginnie’s vehemence shocked them all and even the retreating Dahl looked back briefly. ‘I have some bandages at home. Let me wrap up the wounds with them. If I can’t staunch the blood, then we can go to hospital. Will you take me home?’

  At Sadler’s nod, Connie put her mobile away. ‘I ought to go with Dahl. I don’t think Monica will make an easy passenger.’

  ‘Take her to the station and call a doctor. I want a preliminary physical and mental health assessment after she’s charged.’

  Connie looked at the pair. ‘What about you two?’

  Sadler nodded to the car that had just drawn up to his. ‘Camilla’s here.’

  *

  Ginnie’s house was freezing as usual and Sadler went to the control panel and overrode the settings. The radiators sprang to life as Camilla helped her mother into a chair. Sadler found the first aid kit and applied TCP to Ginnie’s slashes. Ginnie was right about her injuries; the blade had only skimmed the skin. She winced at the sting from the antiseptic but allowed her son to minister to her.

  ‘You’re lucky she didn’t kill you. She managed it with Nell Colley.’

  Ginnie closed her eyes briefly. ‘Monica was always slightly unstable but she’d not have taken me, or, for that fact, Emily Fenn. We’re both made of stronger stuff.’ She looked up at her son. ‘You know.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Know what?’ Camilla sat in the chair opposite and looked pale. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute but, before I start, just tell me. How did you discover I was Valerie?’

  Sadler held out his hand and briefly touched his mother’s shoulder. ‘The drowning.’

  ‘The drowning?’ Ginnie smiled. ‘Of course. If it’s got to be something that gave me away, I’m glad it’s that.’

  Sadler moved across to the sofa and sat down. ‘You were from Derwent village. Camilla and I were brought up on the story you told us. How the village had been drowned to make way for the Ladybower reservoir and your family moved to Bampton. A few years later, you went to see the demolition of the church spire that during dry seasons would reveal itself.’

  Camilla said nothing, her eyes on her brother.

  ‘You talked about it a lot to us and as children we were entranced. So much so that we never really noticed that you never spoke about your school days.’

  ‘She went to Bampton Grammar,’ said Camilla. ‘When I went there, I knew it was Mum’s old school.’

  ‘But that’s about it. That’s all we did know.’

  ‘Mum was always busy, out and about.’

  ‘She was. She’s always had a huge group of friends and has always made friends easily. Some of the friends we do know are from when we were young but why are there no school contemporaries amongst them?’

  Camilla turned to her mother. ‘Mum?’

  Camilla held out Ginnie’s arm as Sadler applied gauze to the cuts and began to wrap around a crepe bandage, ignoring the fact the use-by date was ten years old. ‘I’ve always avoided gangs, tribes, in whatever I do. The minute a group gets cliquey, I leave. I prefer dealing with people on an individual level.’

  ‘But it wasn’t always like that, was it?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. At Bampton Grammar there were six of us in the same year who went around together. Me and five friends. We gravitated towards the village where two of the girls lived. Emily Fenn, whose grandfather ran the pub, and Ingrid Neale who lived in the manor house. The Neales have been there for generations.’

  ‘And Grace Hallows lived on nearby Hallows Farm.’

  ‘Grace,’ Ginnie smiled, lost in thought. ‘I’d quite forgotten about Grace.’

  ‘It’s caused a lot of confusion. Sharing the same first name. Valerie Grace in her case and Valerie Virginia in yours.’

  ‘It’s only in novels where people aren’t allowed to have the same name. I was known as Valerie. Grace, whose mother had aspirations of grandeur, preferred to call her daughter by her second name. It was considered the posh thing to do.’

  ‘I don’t understand what this has to do with anything. Is it to do with the tea dance leaflet that I found in your bed?’ Camilla took the bandage off Sadler and kneeled at her mother’s feet to secure the ends.

  ‘The tea dance comes later. There were six of us. The three I’ve already mentioned – Emily, Ingrid and Grace. The other two came from Bampton like me, Hilary and Nell.’

  ‘What about Monica?’

  ‘Monica was three years younger than us. A baby, or so I thought. And yet Monica’s love of the railway meant that she knew about the tunnel shaft and the way in.’

  Camilla looked up. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I can piece together a lot of it. I can start the story if you want,’ said Sadler.

  Ginnie shook her head. ‘No. I’ll tell it. It started one November. The six of us were walking along the railway track and when we were inside the tunnel, the girls shoved me into the ventilation shaft. Six of us walked into the tunnel and only five came out. I was left inside.’

  ‘My God. How long were you in there for?’ Camilla looked horrified.

  ‘A few hours. Five, six. It’s difficult to tell as it was
getting dark. I managed to climb the ladder, though, and I reached the top. A man found me and took me home to my parents.’

  ‘A stupid joke.’ Camilla was outraged. ‘A stupid childish prank.’

  Ginnie shook her head. ‘It was nothing of the sort. It was premeditated and done out of spite and hate.’

  ‘Why? Why would they hate you?’

  ‘Because,’ Ginnie looked at her daughter, ‘I was young, naive and fell in love with the wrong man.’

  69

  ‘But I don’t understand. That’s Valerie.’ Mina, her head pounding with confusion, took the phone from Malcolm and pointed at the girl on the left of the photo, small and thin like her granddaughter.

  ‘That’s Grace Hallows. Lived up on Hallows Farm and buried in the churchyard over there.’

  ‘Then who’s this Valerie?’ A tall girl with long blonde hair and a confident half-smile. Mina remembered Sadler’s shock at seeing the photo. Oh no, she thought, and felt her hands begin to shake.

  ‘She lived down in Bampton. That’s where I took her home. Away from the spite of this village. They were evil, them girls.’

  ‘They were young and stupid.’ Mina’s voice cracked.

  ‘You been in that tunnel?’ Mina nodded. ‘Fancy yourself stuck inside there in the dark, do you?’

  ‘No.’ Mina was in tears. ‘It was a cruel and horrible thing to do.’

  ‘Now you’re talking sense. I know what it’s like. You see it with the animals. One takes the lead and the others follow suit. It was like that there.’

  ‘Who was the ringleader?’

  Malcolm shrugged. ‘I don’t care. Makes no difference. It wasn’t that lass they shoved up the shaft. And not one of them sorry, I bet.’

  ‘Hold on.’ Mina felt a well of grief rise up inside her. ‘My mother was sorry. She spent her life being sorry. It’s what she asked me to do. Find Valerie and check she was all right.’

  ‘She’s not going to be all right, is she? I heard she were in a mental home for a while.’

  ‘You didn’t check to see if she was okay afterwards?’