by Pam Weaver
‘I have no reason not to believe her, sir,’ said the policeman. ‘I can’t just go barging into people’s homes with no good reason.’
‘But what if she is in there?’
‘I’d need a warrant, sir, and there’s no reason to suppose that even if she is in there that she’s come to any harm.’
‘Did you ask to see Saul?’ Eugène asked.
‘He wasn’t there.’ Noble turned his bicycle round and touched his helmet. ‘I’ll be keeping an eye out, sir, don’t you worry. Now if I was you, I’d go home. She’s probably there waiting for you.’
Roger hit the steering wheel in frustration.
‘She’s still in there,’ said Kez.
‘You heard the man,’ said Roger. ‘She left. She probably wandered off somewhere to think.’
‘You’re not going to leave it at that, are you?’ cried Kez. She climbed down from the motor. ‘We have to make sure.’
Roger wound down the window. ‘Let’s go back to the nurseries and make sure she hasn’t gone home first.’ He started up the car.
‘I’m going in there,’ said Kezia, producing a few tired looking sprigs from her skirt pocket. ‘I’ll make out I’m selling lucky heather.’
‘No,’ said Roger firmly. ‘I think my idea is better.’
‘Fine,’ said Kez. She turned towards Eugène and her brother. ‘If I’m not back in an hour, come looking for me.’
‘Don’t be such an idiot,’ cried Roger. ‘You can’t go barging in there.’
‘Watch me,’ said Kez.
Roger watched her walk up the lane, turn onto the path and knock on the door. Mrs Saul, he presumed it was her, opened it and Kezia offered her the heather. The older woman shook her head but Kezia kept talking. A couple of seconds later, Kezia went inside. Eugène and Isaac used the opportunity to creep around the side of the house. Roger stared at the front door anxiously. What now? Kezia was gone for ages and by the time the door opened again, he was beginning to think he would have to drive back to the police station and get Noble again.
‘What on earth were you doing?’ he gasped as Kezia returned to his car and climbed in.
‘Telling her fortune,’ Kezia grinned. She opened her palm and showed him the ten bob note Aggie had given her.
‘For God’s sake …’ Roger began crossly.
‘You don’t think I believe in all that stuff, do you?’ she said. ‘I told her a load of rubbish and then Stan come in and turfed me out.’
‘So he was there!’ cried Roger. ‘Did he recognise you?’
‘Why should he?’ said Kez bitterly. ‘How many of them remember the kids they ruin? I was only eight when he got me.’
‘I’m sorry, Kez,’ said Roger genuinely. ‘That copper is a bloody idiot. He said he wasn’t there.’
They were quiet for a second or two, and then the door of the car opened and Eugène slid in the back seat. ‘What the hell …’ Roger began.
‘Are you all right, girl?’ Eugène’s voice was quiet but full of concern.
She shrugged. ‘If I’d had a knife, I’d have stuck it in his black heart.’
Eugène gripped her shoulder. ‘If Connie is in there,’ he said, ‘she’s most likely in the attic. Isaac’s gone to take a look.’
‘She’s in there all right,’ said Kez. ‘I saw her cardigan on the arm of the chair.’ She grinned. ‘I didn’t say a dicky-bird and it’s obvious they haven’t even noticed it’s still there.’
‘But you haven’t seen her for months,’ Roger protested. ‘How do you know it was hers?’
‘In case you haven’t noticed,’ said Kezia good-naturedly, ‘we girls don’t have a lot of clothes these days. Believe me, it was hers.’
‘Well spotted then,’ said Roger grudgingly. He turned towards Eugène. ‘You obviously know the woman. Why don’t you go in and demand Connie back?’
‘There’s no love lost between me and Aggie Saul,’ said Eugène with a shrug. ‘She was very upset when I refused to let her have extra coal during the big freeze.’
‘So what do we do now?’ said Kez.
‘My guess is he’ll get her out of there tonight,’ said Eugène.
‘Do you think he’ll kill her?’
Eugène nodded. ‘Yes but he’ll do it somewhere else. He’ll want it to look like suicide or something, especially now that he knows the police have been around.’
‘But she’ll kick up a fuss,’ said Kez. ‘How will …?’ She stopped in her tracks as if remembering and added, ‘He’ll give her something to drink. That’s what he did to me.’
‘You mean he’ll drug her and then carry her out?’ said Eugène.
‘Don’t you think that’s all a bit far-fetched?’ said Roger.
‘I can’t risk hanging about,’ said Eugène opening the car door again.
‘You can’t risk hanging about?’ Roger snapped. ‘I care about her too you know.’
Eugène hesitated. ‘Then help me find her!’
It was getting more difficult to see in the light. The sun was going down and the amber dusk was giving way to evening. Connie thought she heard a strange rustling sound and hid. Stan was coming back. After a minute or two of hiding under the stairs, she realised it wasn’t Stan. Perhaps it was an animal creeping about in the undergrowth outside. She wasn’t sure if the noise came from outside the door at the top of the stairs or the little window but when she came out of hiding, she called softly at the window a couple of times but it was quiet as the grave. It must have been a cat, she told herself. She’d spent some time looking at the book in the drawer and quickly realised that it contained a list of names. They didn’t mean anything until she came across two names she recognised, Sally Burndell and then her own. Her heart sank as she realised that these must be the people who had been the victims of the poison pen letters. On closer inspection she’d come across Mrs Ranger. Connie lowered herself onto the chair. Mrs Ranger had jumped off the end of Worthing pier at high tide. No one knew the reason why. She’d always seemed such a contented woman. There was no note either. It was a mystery. Could it be that … no, no, it didn’t bear thinking about. It would have been easy to give way to tears at that moment but instead, Connie pulled herself together. She still needed to find something, anything which would help her fight Stan when he came back. He would come back, she was absolutely sure of that and she had to keep hold of this book. It was evidence.
She looked at the preserves. She could throw a few of them at him, but she had a rotten aim. She looked around again. There was a low table under the stairs. She noticed a draught as she walked there and wondered if there was an opening somewhere. The air circulated nicely just here. The walls seemed solid although there was an air brick higher up the wall.
She lifted the cloth on the low table and discovered it wasn’t a table but a blanket box of some sort. Perhaps she could hide the book in there. Aunt Aggie mightn’t miss it straight away and with a bit of luck, Connie could get it to the police before she knew it was missing.
It wasn’t locked. Connie threw it open and jumped back, grabbing at her throat and stifling a scream of horror. The shock was immense. Even in the failing light she could see what it was straight away. A dull musty smell filled the air as Connie trembled uncontrollably. She was looking at the mummified remains of a man.
Thirty-Four
Kez was the only one who kept her cool. It was obvious that both Eugène and Roger were in love with Connie. ‘Pack it in you two,’ she snapped. ‘This is neither the time nor the place.’ The two men settled into an uneasy truce.
Isaac came back a few minutes later. ‘I’ve found a way to the roof and there is an attic all right.’
‘Is she there?’ Roger asked anxiously.
Isaac shrugged. ‘I’ll need something to open the window,’ he said.
Roger was feeling very uncomfortable. Breaking and entering wasn’t his style.
Connie heard the key turn in the lock and Stan tried to push the door open but the letter ope
ner did its work. She heard him curse her through the wood. Connie looked around wildly. Where was the best place to be? If she was to get up the stairs without him seeing her, she had to be close enough to make a dash for it and yet hidden enough so that he wouldn’t spot her straight away.
He came back a few minutes later and took the wood axe to the door. Connie’s heart was in her mouth. This was it. This was the moment when she started to fight for her life. It didn’t take long to break the latch and the door flew open. Stan swung a torch around the cellar.
‘I’m coming to get you,’ he called as if he was playing a child’s game. Connie shuddered as he began walking down the stairs. ‘Ready or not, I’m coming.’
She waited until he had entered the cellar and was walking towards the desk then scrambling on all fours she came out from under the stairs, stood up and made her dash. She was halfway there when Stan roared in anger. Panic constricted Connie’s throat. The man of her childhood nightmares was right behind her and her legs couldn’t move fast enough.
Connie’s heart was thumping wildly and she could hardly breathe for the panic that seized her at that moment, but somehow she managed to reach the stairs and began the race for the top. Terror was making her whimper now. Her eyes were wide with fear, her head hurt and she had developed a discernible tic on her cheek. Her only thought was getting through the door, a mere eight steps away, and out of the house. She could almost feel Stan’s breath, cold on her neck but that was imagination because all at once something stopped her in her tracks and she couldn’t move her foot anymore. Connie looked down and realised Stan had reached through the open stair and grabbed her ankle.
Connie snatched at the rails and clung on for dear life as Stan’s fingers dug deep into her flesh. Then he shook her ankle like a dog. It was becoming impossible to stay on the stairs. She could feel her body titling towards the floor again and the rickety frame wobbled alarmingly. As the pair of them wrestled to gain mastery over her leg, Connie found her voice again and screamed. Stan uttered not a sound.
Try as she may, Connie couldn’t get away from him and she knew if she let go of the handrail there was every possibility she would be pulled off balance and catapulted over the side and onto the flagstone floor beneath. If the fall didn’t kill her the madman holding her heel most certainly would. Whatever happened, she couldn’t let Stan grab her other leg either.
Connie lay on the stair face down and tried to press Stan’s fingers against the wood. Her assailant had his mouth open and he had bared his teeth. The fear of being bitten gave Connie renewed strength. Her fingers found the umbrella and she poked it through the stairs, managing to jab him in the neck. It only took a second, but Stan let go of her foot and grabbed the umbrella.
Connie didn’t wait. She gathered herself together and made another dash for the top. Three rungs from the door she felt Stan’s weight on the bottom of the staircase. He was right behind her.
Connie burst into the kitchen and grabbed the cellar door. Splintered and broken as it was, she had to get it shut before Stan came into the room. She almost made it … almost … A black leather glove had grabbed the edge of the door and Connie couldn’t get it shut. She had all her weight against it but Stan was too strong for her. She could feel her foot slipping on the linoleum so she turned her body until she had her back to the door. That’s when Auntie Aggie laid into her with a broom.
‘You wicked, wicked girl. You hurt my boy with your wicked lies.’
‘No, no …’
‘You’re evil, Connie Dixon. Evil.’
It was hard for Connie to fight her off but somehow she managed to keep herself on the other side of the door and away from Stan.
‘Connie …’
Connie held her breath as she thought she heard someone in the distance calling her name. Auntie Aggie stopped hitting her and turned around.
‘Connie, are you there?’
It was Roger. Thank God. Thank God … Roger …
‘Roger,’ she screamed at the top of her voice. ‘Oh Roger, help me. I’m in the kitchen, help me …’
‘We’re coming, Connie, we’re coming.’ That was Kez and she heard them banging on the front door. A wave of relief flooded over her but from behind the door, Stan found new strength. He had become Samson. Connie slid a little further forward. Whatever she did she couldn’t let Stan win now. If he got into the kitchen, Connie knew she’d be dead long before Roger and Kez managed to get to her.
‘Mum,’ Stan shouted. ‘Stop her. Stop her.’
But Aunt Aggie had dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and was sobbing.
Far away down the hall, Connie could hear thumping and banging and the sound of splintering wood. It was becoming harder to stay upright. If Connie’s feet went any further forward, she would land on her bottom, and yet if she relaxed her grip so that she could reposition herself, Stan would come in. Connie could hear Stan’s laboured breathing right behind her ear.
‘Roger!’ She was almost hysterical now but then she heard a noise coming from upstairs.
‘Connie!’ It was Eugène. Connie almost lost it then. She was sobbing and her panicking heart was pounding so hard in her chest she thought she would die anyway.
‘Help me … I can’t,’ she choked, ‘I can’t …’
Someone was thundering down the stairs. For a split second, Stan stopped pushing and Connie snatched at a heavy saucepan right by her hand on the shelf. She missed and the lid clattered to the floor.
‘Mum!’ cried Stan.
Out of the corner of her eye, Connie saw Aunt Aggie jump to her feet and with a primeval scream, swing the broom one more time. Behind the door Stan used all his strength to push it open and Connie’s feet began sliding at an alarming rate across the floor. At the last second, Connie ducked and the emerging broom hit Stan full in the face. There was a sickening crunch and Stan roared. At the same time, Connie was jolted onto her bottom as the remains of the cellar door slammed shut again. Eugène and Isaac burst into the kitchen just as on the other side of the door, Stan let out one last frantic cry as he overbalanced and then they heard a series of loud cracks as the stairs came away from the wall. The pounding at the front door stopped and Connie heard more footsteps coming towards them. Roger and Kez stumbled into the kitchen but by then Connie was already in Eugène’s arms.
‘Oh God, what have I done?’ Aggie dropped the broom and ran to the cellar door. She opened it and Roger only just grabbed her in time to stop her falling headlong on top of her son. ‘Stan,’ she shrieked. ‘Stan. Can you hear me, son?’
But Stan didn’t answer.
Epilogue
Connie leaned back in the passenger seat of the car and smoothed her bump. It was the summer of 1951 and she was expecting her first baby. Hot and swamped under the yards of material in her maternity dress, the novelty of being pregnant was beginning to wear off. She was excited about being a mother and couldn’t wait to meet the first of her husband’s promised fourteen kids. The nursery had been decorated, the cot was in place and the pram would arrive as soon as the baby was born. Any sooner and everybody deemed it bad luck.
Eva climbed into the driver’s seat. She and Connie had just had tea with Sally Burndell and her husband Terry. Their friend stood in the doorway of their sweet and tobacconist shop to wave goodbye.
‘She’s bigger than you,’ Eva remarked out of the corner of her mouth.
‘She’s only got a couple of weeks to go,’ Connie reminded her.
‘Well, all I can say,’ Eva smiled, ‘is that it’s a good job you’re not driving, Connie Étienne. I don’t think you’d get your arms up to the steering wheel.’
Connie waved to Sally and then stuck her tongue out at Eva.
They were on their way to the church at Patching with the hope that this trip would clear up the rift between their two families once and for all.
The past few years had been momentous to say the least. Aunt Aggie and Stan were put on trial for concealing the body of L
eslie Saul, their husband and father, and for Connie’s false imprisonment. At first Connie and the family were upset that the pair were not tried for Leslie Saul’s murder, but the pathologist couldn’t find an actual cause of death. The body had obviously been in the cellar for some time and the dry cold and free movement of air meant that rather than decompose, Leslie had been preserved in a mummified state. Stan had broken his back in the fall from the stairs and would be confined to his bed for the rest of his life. At least Connie, Kez and Gwen had the satisfaction of knowing he no longer posed a threat to children and Mandy had been spared a police interrogation. Over time, Connie and Kez compared notes and found a great deal of help and consolation in talking to each other about their experiences.
‘I was dead lucky to find a man like Simeon,’ said Kez. ‘I told him what happened and he still wanted to marry me. Any other gypsy girl in my position would have been mullered.’
Largely through Eva’s efforts, and a campaign in the local paper, Connie had been vindicated. Of course, Matron never apologised for believing the letters she’d received nor for judging Connie so harshly but it was enough that Connie was allowed to continue her nursing. Several other people came forward as victims of Aggie’s poison pen but because she was already in prison on a much greater charge, no case was brought against her. Connie and Eva had passed their exams at the end of 1949 under the umbrella of the new National Health Service but Connie didn’t stay long at her post. She had married in the summer of 1950. Eva had to wait another year until her fiancé would be a fully qualified doctor and then they could marry, but at last her wedding plans were underway.
Connie continued to visit Kez and the family and it was during a meal with them that Peninnah began her family discourse again. Connie had heard it many times before but this time something resonated with her. ‘Little Mac took the tattooed lady’s mare,’ Pen recited, ‘and Abe gave Little Mac a piece of bread and a quart of ale but there was none for ’e, so he died …’
‘Can you say that again?’ said Connie. Pen went back a further couple of generations and returned to the same sentence. Connie could hardly breathe. Didn’t Cissy Maxwell once tell her something about a Little Mac in her family? How did the same name belong in both stories? Or was it only one story? As far as she knew, Cissy and the gypsies weren’t related and yet this incident had apparently had a big influence on them both. But who was the tattooed lady? And more to the point, who was Little Mac? She and Eva had gone back to Cissy who had filled in some of the blanks. She had explained to them that Little Mac was Tobias Maxwell who had lived in the last century. A small, vain and greedy man, he had been ostracised by his community but even though they’d probed her with questions, Cissy didn’t know why. Cissy had dug out some old photographs and Connie and Eva were surprised to see that in quite a few of them, both of their families were together. They found pictures of the Maxwells and the Dixons on picnics, on an outing somewhere in a large farm cart together and as part of a country dancing troupe.