by Rachel Hore
She began to write.
‘An Account of Esther Wickham…’
For three days she wrote out the details of her short brave existence, lived as it had been within the confines of Starbrough Hall and the village. In her fifteen and a half years she had hardly been beyond it, never seen Norwich and its fine Norman cathedral, never visited Yarmouth to see the herring boats come in, never seen the vast North Sea crash on the shingle. But she had surveyed some of the greatest secrets of the universe, had studied the infinite skies above all, seen other planets, seen stars winking at her from who knew how many millions of miles and millions of years away. She was young in years but old in knowledge and wisdom. She was a girl who’d lost her beginnings and might soon know her end. She finished her account with a terrible sense of grief; she’d lost the man she’d come to love as her father, and who had rescued her and learned to love her. She’d probably lost the home he’d intended be hers for ever. She remembered with a terrible pang of anticipated loss that today was the day Josiah Bellingham said he’d come—he’d go without seeing her or learning more about the great discovery she and her father had made. She’d lost that, too.
Finally, as dusk gathered and the third night fell, she put down her pen. She had one candle left and a little oil. She would stand the lantern on the roof tonight and hope someone would see it.
Outside, in the caravan, Summer was dreaming, too. She cried out once, but the others merely stirred in their sleep. And Summer’s dreams and Esther’s began to merge …
* * *
And in the morning, when the women awoke, Summer Claire Keating had gone.
CHAPTER 31
Daylight. Jude heard Claire stir, then unzip her compartment and crawl out. She eased herself uncomfortably over onto her back—the air mattress had definitely leaked air in the night—and willed herself to get up. It was hot in the tent and her sleep had been troubled; unrecognizable remnants of dreams still floated through her mind, dreams full of violence and howling loss. She remembered suddenly the uncomfortable scene last night, when she’d gone in to find Claire curled up, tired and emotional, on Euan’s new sofa, empty glasses everywhere, and Euan standing awkwardly by the window, a bottle of lager in one hand. Neither said what had happened, but Jude was still sure something had. Both parties had seemed relieved when she decided to go to bed and they’d followed her example.
“Darcey, where’s Summer?” she heard Claire ask outside. “Has she gone in to the loo?”
“I dunno,” she heard Darcey reply.
“I’ll go and look.”
A worm of worry started to gnaw away in Jude’s mind, something to do with her dream. She disentangled herself from her sleeping bag and, shuffling into her sneakers, crawled out of the tent in her pajamas. She went to the door of the caravan, where Darcey was sitting up in bed, her thumb in her mouth.
“Hi, did you sleep well, darling?” she asked the girl.
“Mmm,” Darcey replied. “Where’s Summer?”
“I think—” Jude started to say, but Claire’s voice cut across hers.
“Jude, I can’t find Summer.” Claire was loping toward them across the meadow.
“Is she not…?”
“She’s not in the cottage. Euan hasn’t seen her.” As if at the mention of his name, Euan appeared, in jeans, pulling a T-shirt over his tanned chest, his face tired and unshaven.
“Have you found her?”
Claire shook her head quickly. She looked anxious.
“Summer?” called out Jude, and she started searching the perimeters of the meadow. Suddenly they were all calling and searching.
“The animals,” Jude cried, and ran over to the cages to see if Summer was studying the grass snake or talking to the owls. She wasn’t.
“Summer? Come out now, please, you’re frightening us.” Claire’s face was pale, her voice trembly, full of unshed tears. Jude felt a cold touch of dread.
They searched the cottage again, then Euan combed the grounds, Darcey trailing after him, whining tearfully. Claire was manic, limping up and down the lane, calling, her breath in whooping pants. Euan phoned his sister, who said she’d be along at once. Then he took Darcey back over to the caravan, and Jude brought her something to eat and they gently questioned her. Had she seen Summer at all that morning? “No.” Had she, Darcey, woken up at all in the night? “Yes, no, maybe.” When Euan persisted, she turned her face into his chest and shook her head fiercely. “I don’t know,” she wailed.
Euan looked up at Jude. He seemed to have aged years in a few minutes, but managed to stay calm. He tried again.
“Darcey,” he asked gently, “did you see Summer at all after Jude left you last night? Did she say anything to you?”
“I don’t remember, I don’t remember,” said Darcey, and she began to weep noisily and messily. Euan cuddled her and dug a paper serviette out of his jeans pocket to clean her up.
“Don’t worry, darling, we’ll find her,” Jude said. “Euan, I must go and help Claire,” she said, getting up. “Do you think it’s time to ring the police?”
Euan nodded once and said in a low voice, “In these cases there’s no time to be lost.”
In these cases. Jude felt the blood rush from her face. That meant he thought Summer had been … No, surely she’d just wandered off.
“Here’s my phone,” she said, her voice croaky with emotion. “Do you mind doing it? I must tell Claire.” She ran out of the meadow just as Fiona’s car pulled up outside the house.
Claire was standing by the gate, her face drawn, her slender body trembling. “Claire, dear,” Fiona said, starting toward her.
“Claire, Euan’s calling the police,” Jude said quietly, putting her arm around her sister, thinking how light and thin she was. Claire didn’t resist as they drew her back into the meadow to the caravan.
“They’re on their way,” Euan said crisply. Fiona took Darcey from him and cuddled her. “Look,” he said, “can we go over what you think happened? Who was last to see Summer?”
“We looked into the caravan when we went to bed, didn’t we, Claire?”
Claire nodded, glassy-eyed, her gaze roaming the trees around the meadow as though hoping Summer might emerge any moment, her pretty face stained with the juice of early blackberries, her honey hair in a glorious tangle, a dewy bunch of wildflowers in her hand. But no one came.
“And were they both there?”
“Yes, I think so,” Jude said. She tried hard to picture what they saw—yes, two little heads on the pillows, an arm flung across the edge of the bed, the fingers limp in sleep.
“Had she been nervous about anything before she went to sleep?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Jude shook her head. “I read to them both. Here.” She leaned into the caravan and rescued the book from the top of a little cabinet. “Rapunzel.” She turned to the story. There was the wicked witch with her pointed chin and hooked nose. There was the beautiful innocent girl and then, yes it was a bit gory, the prince with his face being torn by thorns.
Claire let out a cry. “You read her this!” she said. “No wonder she gets nightmares.”
Euan looked from Claire to Jude, surprised at Claire’s outburst. “Claire, ssshhh. It doesn’t help to blame anyone.”
Jude felt stunned. Could the story really have upset Summer so much that she ran away? If she had run away. If she had run away she would be found and brought back. Jude wouldn’t mind taking the blame, as long as Summer was brought back. But the thought that her sister was blaming her in any way was still horrible. She couldn’t look at her. Her eye fell instead on the book. The pictures were a bit scarier than others in the book, she thought now. Suppose Summer had had bad dreams after seeing them last night and it disturbed her? But surely in that case she’d have cried out for help, not run off somewhere. She’d be too frightened to do that, surely.
* * *
The police came: a woman sergeant, oddly called Bride, and a constable who looked little m
ore than a boy. They went over the story several times with Claire, Jude and Euan, asking many questions and conducting their own painstaking search of the premises. “Look, for goodness sake,” Euan said, his cool cracking. “She’s not here, damn it, and we need to be out looking.”
“Of course, sir, we’re merely trying to establish what we’re dealing with here,” said Sergeant Bride.
She and the constable went off to look in the trees beyond the meadow. Soon Euan came back into the room to say he’d heard the woman speaking urgently on the telephone.
“We need to be out looking,” said Claire, standing up, a wild look in her eyes.
“Sit down,” ordered Euan. “You’re in no state to go rushing off.” She struggled briefly with him then gave up.
“I’ve got an idea,” Jude said quietly. All through the questioning, her mind had been working away. It was something to do with her dream, but she couldn’t remember properly. “Could she have gone up to the folly?”
“Why would she have done that? She was frightened of the place,” said Euan.
“I know, but I thought … reading about Rapunzel and the tower last night. Perhaps there’s some connection. I mean, if she had one of her nightmares.”
“She’s never done that before, though, has she? Gone off, I mean.”
“No, but then we’re much closer to the folly here.”
“You mean it’s calling her or something,” said Fiona, with a humorless laugh.
“It doesn’t sound very likely to me,” said Euan heavily.
“Oh, who cares?” Claire cried out. “It’s a bloody awful idea, but it’s an idea. Let’s go and look.”
At that point the police officers reentered the room. Sergeant Bride said, “I’ve been speaking to HQ. They’ve recommended bringing a unit in.”
“Oh God,” said Claire, slumping in her chair.
“We ought to visit your neighbors, sir, and ask them to search.”
“I don’t really have many,” said Euan, then he said, “Well, there’s Starbrough Hall, then Starbrough Farm on the road toward the village. And another cottage between the farm and the village. I don’t know the names of the people there.”
“I’ll take Claire up to the folly,” said Jude. “We’ll walk in case we see … anything on the way.” She then felt she had to explain to the police officers about the bad dreams. “We’re afraid she might have sleepwalked,” she told them. They looked a bit skeptical, but the sergeant told the constable to accompany them. “It’s the only lead we have,” she told him.
Claire said suddenly, “We haven’t checked if any of her clothes are missing. She couldn’t have walked off in her bare feet, could she?”
Jude wondered briefly whether sleepwalkers ever stopped to put shoes on, but when Claire, with a sudden spurt of energy, hurried outside, she followed. When she got to the caravan she saw Claire was sitting on the bed with Summer’s capri pants and T-shirt laid across her lap. She was holding the little girl’s cardigan to her face and her eyes were closed. Hearing Jude, she opened them again. “Her sandals are gone,” she said happily. “That’s good, isn’t it?” Then she looked desperate again.
“I’m sure it’s good,” Jude said, soothing. “Come on, let’s go and look.”
The constable seemed to have vanished somewhere, so they set off alone.
* * *
They half walked, half ran up the lane, Jude holding Claire’s hand, until they came to the footpath sign. Jude hesitated. Would the child really have taken this wild and difficult path, or would she have hung on until she got to the easier lane to the folly? “Think,” she told herself. Perhaps the thing to do would be to go up this footpath and come back by the lane.
“Up here,” she ordered Claire, plunging down the overgrown path.
It was even more overgrown than when she’d been down it last, and, stung by nettles and prickled by brambles, she came to doubt that Summer would ever have ventured this way.
Claire obviously felt the same. “This isn’t right. Can we go back?” Jude stopped, considering the path ahead. It didn’t look as though anyone had passed through here for ages.
From behind there came a shout, and Euan came crashing through the vegetation. “You might as well keep going,” he said. “It’ll be quicker now than going the other way round.”
As Jude had found last time, the going got easier as they passed into shady broadleaf woodland, and the loamy path widened. When they reached the gamekeeper’s grim gibbet, Claire recoiled with a squeak of horror. “Oh my God, I hope she didn’t see that,” she whispered. “It would have really freaked her.”
But they saw no clue that the little girl had passed this way at all. It was with some despondency that they came out into the sunlight of the clearing, but then Jude’s heart leaped with hope.
“Look,” cried Euan.
The door of the folly was hanging open.
Claire started toward it, in her funny, hopping kind of run, and ducked inside. Euan caught up with her and started to climb the stairs first, while Jude helped her sister, not knowing whether to hope or to dread what lay ahead. When they staggered up around the final bend to meet Euan at the top, his face told his news. Summer wasn’t there.
“Oh no,” cried Claire, collapsing on the floor, her breath coming in great rasping sobs.
As Jude tried to comfort her, Euan checked the roof. “I shouldn’t think anyone’s been up here, but I’m just making sure.”
He pushed open the trapdoor and a shaft of sunlight fell down across the two women, like the hand of God in a medieval painting, Jude thought, dazzled, feeling transported into some other reality. A terrible other reality if Summer wasn’t ever found. She had a sudden vision of the new course their lives would take if …
“No, no one,” grunted Euan. She heard, rather than saw him close the portal, and when the gold swirls faded from her retinas, she found herself staring at a point in the wall behind the bookshelves where a brick had been pulled aside. The hiding place.
“She has been here,” Jude cried, getting up and hurrying over to the hole. “We left it closed. But how did she know about this?”
“I don’t know,” Euan said, stepping off the ladder and coming to join her. “I never told her.”
He peeped inside. “There’s nothing there,” he said. “What would she be looking for?”
“And how do we know it was Summer anyway?” Claire cried out harshly. “It might have been someone else altogether. Summer was frightened of this place. Surely she wouldn’t come alone and willingly…”
Her words hung in the air. Everyone thought at the same moment: what if she hadn’t been alone? What if someone had brought her here … by force?
“Ludicrous…,” he muttered to himself under his breath. “Who else knew about this place and the hideaway. It’s totally ridiculous to think anyone…”
Jude thought. Who else knew, indeed, apart from Gran? She cast her mind with difficulty over all the people she’d met at Starbrough. Who would know about the hideaway and to whom would it matter anyway? None of this made any sense.
Claire was clearly thinking the same thing, though, since she’d never been up here before, she was even more at sea than Jude.
“We still can’t definitely say that Summer came here last night, can we?”
“Or this morning,” Euan said absently. He started hunting around the place, looking for clues no doubt, Jude thought. But he found nothing. No trace of a little girl in Barbie-pink pajamas.
Jude stepped over to help Claire to her feet. Her sister was silent, disconsolate, staring at the floor. As Jude put out her hand her eyes followed the direction of Claire’s gaze. There was a small patch of crumbled mortar dust by the wall near the top of the stairs. In the middle was planted the perfectly formed print of a very small shoe.
“Don’t touch it,” Jude whispered urgently as Claire put her hand out toward it. “Look, we’d better get out of here in case the police…”
The others both looked at her, as through fog. The fog cleared.
“I think Jude’s right,” Euan said slowly. “Claire, we ought to go back without disturbing anything further.”
They both helped Claire down the stairs, then, each holding a hand, led her out of the clearing by the route that Euan had taken Jude that first time they met, to Foxhole Lane and down to the road. Jude’s gaze flittered as they walked, looking for … well, anything that might say what had happened to Summer. As they reached the junction of the lane with the road a police car drew up and two officers, one the very young constable, got out. Euan took them back in the direction of the tower to show them what they’d seen. The women continued down the road to the cottage.
* * *
When they arrived it was to find the house transformed into an incident scene. There was a police van, another police car and several other vehicles, a German shepherd on a leash, and the sergeant was organizing a team of local people, including Robert and Steve, the farmer, to start searching the area. Fiona had been allowed to take Darcey home. Claire was sent to find an item of Summer’s clothing to give the dog a scent, then she and Jude were told to sit on the sofa in the living room while a detective asked them more questions, and tried not to listen to the people all around them studying maps, talking about ditches and storm drains, the crackle of police radios, the endless recitation of the meager scraps of information about Summer’s movements of the night before.