Father Unknown

by Fay Sampson

‘Oh . . . But you’re Mr Gamble’s partner, right?’

  ‘What’s that to do with you? And I’m sure if Tamara wants to get in touch with you, she’ll do that herself.’

  The phone went dead.

  Millie looked up at them, crestfallen. ‘I’m sorry. I messed that up, didn’t I?’

  ‘No, you didn’t, love,’ Suzie soothed her. ‘I don’t think any of us would have done any better.’

  ‘She didn’t exactly say whether Tamara was there or not, did she?’ Tom frowned. ‘She could have been keeping it secret, but from her tone of voice, I’d say this Petronella Gibson isn’t exactly enchanted with the idea of a teenage stepdaughter.’

  ‘Tamara’s father went off with some singer from a girl group,’ Millie said. ‘But that wasn’t her name. From what Tamara said, he swapped her for a younger model. But you can understand why. I’d have run off with him.’

  ‘Millie!’ Nick exclaimed.

  ‘But there are children,’ Suzie reflected. ‘So the receptionist at the agency said. Persephone and Calliope, poor things. I wonder if they’re hers.’

  ‘What now?’ Tom said. ‘Since the phone number didn’t produce a result?’

  ‘There’s only one option, isn’t there?’ Nick said. ‘Try the address.’

  ‘You mean you really will go to Warwickshire?’ Millie was suddenly half out of her chair. ‘Can we?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure about the “we”, but I don’t see any alternative. This has gone on long enough.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s a school day,’ Suzie pointed out. ‘And your father and I have to work.’

  ‘Saturday! Mum! You’re only doing that to stop me going to that dance with Dan Curtis.’

  ‘You’re not still thinking of that?’ Nick protested. ‘We told you. He’s twice your age. The fact that he even asked you says enough about him. Sorry, I’m putting my foot down. You go straight to that phone and tell him you’re not coming.’

  ‘You’re just prejudiced. You’re as bad as Mr Dawson. You won’t let me do anything.’ Millie made for the door, her eyes dangerously bright.

  ‘I sure wish I could go back to Warwickshire with you guys.’ Prudence’s warm, level voice flowed across the tense room. ‘I feel I’m missing out on the action. It’s quite a story. I came looking for drama in my family history, and I’ve found it in the twenty-first century too. It’ll be something to tell your kids, Millie.’

  ‘I only hope this has a happy ending,’ Nick said.

  The past plucked at Suzie’s memory. Johan Clayson, dead before the three men signed the bastardy bond for her child.

  ‘Did you tell him?’ Nick demanded, when Millie came back.

  She nodded, though her expression was mutinous. ‘I’m not going to forgive you for this, Dad. Anyone else in my class would kill for a date like that!’

  ‘See sense, love. It’s for Tamara’s sake. We’ll go up to Warwickshire on Saturday. You, Mum and me.’

  ‘Hey, that’s not fair!’ Tom exploded. ‘You can’t leave me out.’ He sounded like a mutinous small boy.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ Nick said. ‘But this isn’t a family day out. Millie has to come, to reassure Tamara, if we find her. And we obviously need a woman, so Mum’s a given. And I’d rather be the one to drive them and deal with any awkward customers we may meet.’

  ‘Are we expecting any?’ Suzie asked. ‘He’s her father, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘We’re only guessing that she’s there. I don’t know where this trail may lead.’

  ‘It’s a five-seater car,’ Tom insisted. ‘Even if you bring Tamara back, there’d be room. And I need some practice in motorway driving.’

  ‘Tom,’ Nick said patiently, ‘just imagine the scene. A whole family party marching up to the front door. Let’s keep this low-key, shall we? Unthreatening.’

  ‘I’m threatening?’

  Suzie saw the disbelief in her son’s bright blue eyes. Tom Fewings, who had teenage girls swooning in his path.

  ‘It’s just a question of numbers.’

  ‘I know how you feel, Tom,’ Prudence said quietly. ‘I’ve gotten so caught up in this story, I’m dying to be there myself. But I certainly would be one too many. So I’m reckoning on spending my last few days in England in your wonderful old Library and Record Office. I guess I need to find all I can before I go.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Pru.’ Suzie felt a pang of a conscience. ‘I wish I could stay and help.’

  ‘No, girl. You’ve got more important things to do. My Johan’s safely dead and buried, poor soul. It’s young Adam I need to trace now. And his forebears, if I can. But you just have to find Tamara, and see she’s OK until her baby is born.’

  ‘Don’t they have women’s refuge thingies?’ Millie turned from the window. ‘Couldn’t she be holed up in one of those?’

  ‘Maybe. But I’m not sure whether they’d take in someone Tamara’s age.’

  A car drew up outside. Millie swung back to look as the door slammed. ‘It’s that Rev Taylor from church. The one Tamara said was a bundle of fun. What’s he doing here?’

  ‘I talked to him.’ Suzie got swiftly to her feet. ‘I told him about Tamara being missing. He was going to try the Sally Army, without telling the Dawsons. I expect he’s got some news.’

  She flew to the door and opened it before Alan Taylor could ring the bell.

  ‘Hello!’ he said, with a surprised grin. ‘The clergy aren’t always this welcome.’

  ‘Come in. Have you got any news of Tamara?’

  The minister checked as she ushered him into the room full of people. He looked at Suzie for guidance.

  ‘It’s all right. Everyone here knows about Tamara. Nick you know. And these are our children, Tom and Millie.’

  ‘Hardly children.’ Tom was taller than he was. ‘Hello, Tom. Good to meet you. I gather you’re celebrating the end of exams. Good luck with the results. And Millie. You must be worried about your friend.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘And this is Prudence Clayson,’ Suzie went on. ‘She’s over from Pennsylvania, researching her ancestors. But she knows all about Tamara.’

  ‘It’s been the strangest thing.’ Prudence got up and held out a hand to the minister. ‘Thanks to Suzie here, I’ve found this Johan Clayson, from Corley, very close to your city. She was in the same trouble as Tamara. A single mother. I guess it was a whole lot harder for a girl back then.’

  ‘It was common enough,’ Alan Taylor said, shaking her hand. ‘But you’re right. Society was a lot less forgiving. Premarital sex wasn’t so bad, but you had to tie the knot once there was a baby on the way. You’ve heard all about having to do penance in a white sheet, I suppose?’

  ‘Suzie’s gotten me into all that. She and Nick even took me to see the church.’

  ‘But Tamara?’ Suzie begged. ‘What have you found about her?’

  ‘That’s what I came to tell you.’ Five expectant faces turned up to him. ‘Nothing, I’m afraid. No word of her on the streets or in the hostels where a runaway teenager often turns up. She doesn’t seem to have used her mobile.’

  ‘She threw it away,’ Millie burst in. ‘She was afraid someone could trace it. That’s why she had to write to me.’

  A startled change came over Alan’s face. He swung round on Suzie. ‘She’s written? You know where she is?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Suzie said carefully. She paused, then made a decision. ‘Tamara sent Millie a card. Presumably, she got it from the person she was staying with. It had a picture of Anne Hathaway’s cottage.’

  ‘And you think that’s where she is? Stratford-upon-Avon?’

  ‘Or somewhere close.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Tom objected. ‘Might have been a pack someone picked up on holiday.’

  ‘True, but then, you see . . .’ Suzie turned back to the minister. ‘Tamara’s father lives in that area. Her real father. Look, you won’t say anything to the Dawsons about this, will you? I was
going to tell Lisa, but she’s terrified that Leonard would get it out of her. She acts as if she’d rather not find Tamara than have her brought back here.’

  Alan’s face looked oddly drained of colour. ‘That’s a terrible thing to think. Poor Tamara.’

  ‘How well do you know her?’ Nick asked.

  ‘She’s been coming to our youth group lately. I think Leonard Dawson insisted on it. Nice girl. But I don’t know anything you don’t, if that’s what you mean. And where exactly does Mr Gamble live?’

  Suzie shot a look at Nick. How much more should she tell him?

  But there was something reassuring about Alan Taylor. He was a man whose daily work was sharing other people’s problems. And if it gave the Salvation Army another clue to work with, it would do good, not harm.

  ‘Burwood. It’s a little village six miles from Stratford. We’re going there on Saturday to see if we can find her.’

  His eyes held hers. ‘If you do find her, you’ll let me know, won’t you? I’ve been really worried since you told me.’

  ‘Of course. Would you like some tea or coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ve got a church council meeting.’

  She saw him to the door.

  When she returned to the sitting room, Millie turned a bright face to her. ‘Tamara was right. He’s not bad, for his age, is he? Not like the last one. And he sounded like he really cares about her.’

  ‘But still no hard facts,’ Nick said. ‘We’re on our own.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘I wonder if we should have taken Millie out of school and gone to Warwickshire straight away. I have a sinking feeling that every day Tamara is missing, she’s in greater danger.’

  Suzie had borrowed the car from Nick. She was filling the time by driving Prudence to Corley again, but it was hard to concentrate on the troubled history of a teenage girl two and half centuries ago. Still, she owed it to Prudence to make the most of the few days remaining before she flew home.

  The narrow lane was climbing, round tricky bends. They must be near the village now.

  ‘You don’t think she’s safe where she is? Her father’s evidently got money. If he’s that famous, he’ll have a full-on security system, where he is.’

  A shiver ran through Suzie. ‘I don’t know exactly what it is I’m frightened of. It’s just that Tamara is terrified. You could read it in her letter. But she’s miles away from Dawson now, and he’s tied up with his school.’

  ‘But she seems to have found sanctuary somewhere. Maybe it’s her father’s house, maybe not. As long as she’s safe, it might be better to leave well enough alone.’

  Suzie was startled by a tractor appearing round the bend. She hit the brakes. There was clearly no room to pass, and the tractor was still coming steadily towards them.

  She racked her memory for passing places behind her. Nervously, she began to reverse. With relief she negotiated a bend and spotted a splay for a field gate. She pulled on to the grass. The tractor lumbered past, and the driver lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

  Suzie steered back on to the lane. ‘You think she might not be with her father? In spite of that card?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know any more than you do. Just let’s not jump to conclusions, is all.’

  They reached the village green without further incident. The two women got out and looked at the imposing house that was Corley Barton.

  Prudence gave it a grim smile. ‘You know, I was really glad when we found that bastardy bond. I’d hated to think of Johan inside there, being abused by the master of the house. Just for a while, I could imagine it was a teenage romance with a young workman . . . until you found he was married. Then you spotted that Mr and suddenly it all seemed back to the same old story. Somebody with power was taking advantage of an innocent girl.’

  ‘You don’t think it could have been a romance?’

  ‘She was either a partner in adultery or the victim of abuse. Either way, it’s not a pretty picture. This is going to be a hard story to tell the folks back home.’

  ‘I’d like to think that there was love in it somewhere.’ Suzie sighed, scuffing at the cobbled pathway in front of the church. ‘But that still wouldn’t make it a happy story, would it?’ She looked around at the huddle of cottages, the scattered farmhouses, the big house. ‘Michael Atkins had to bring up his family here. Everybody would have known what happened. His wife, his children. Johan’s family. You couldn’t stop people talking.’

  ‘But my Johan was spared all that, poor girl. After she confessed who it was, and the baby was born.’

  ‘And little Adam was left an orphan.’

  ‘What do you suppose happened to him? Would his father have taken him in, along with his other kids? Or did Johan’s people give him a home?’

  ‘He was apprenticed out at the age of eight. And not even to his father’s trade. Farm work.’

  ‘But he might have lived down at this Hole place. With his grandfather.’

  ‘Shall we go there now?’

  ‘That’s why we’ve come.’

  They got back into the car, and Suzie spread out the map. ‘It’s down at the bottom of the valley, as you’d expect. This looks like the road we need, round the back of the church.’

  The lane plunged steeply through banks bright with red campions. At the bottom there was a brook shaded by trees. A narrow, humpbacked bridge led over it.

  Suzie stopped the car. ‘It should be on this side of the stream, but I can’t see anything, can you?’

  ‘Those are apple trees, aren’t they? Do they grow wild here?’

  ‘No. Or not in rows like that. You’re right, it’s an orchard.’

  They got out and inspected the scene. Ancient fruit trees sprawled over the long grass. The half-formed apples were small and green.

  Suzie lifted the rickety gate aside and walked in. ‘I was wrong. You know, I do believe there is a house here, or was.’

  The gable wall facing them was so smothered in ivy that it was hardly distinguishable from the foliage of the trees. There was no roof. Two chimneys rose above the gaping void, one at each end.

  Suzie and Prudence walked round to the front of the ruined cottage. On the ground floor, window holes were still visible in the crumbling cob. Brambles and willowherb were all the furnishings inside.

  ‘Must have been a pretty cottage once,’ Prudence said.

  ‘We call these cottages now, but really, the cottages the poor lived in have mostly vanished without trace. This may be a wreck now, but not long ago it was a snug little farmhouse. Do you see how it was twisted away from the road to face south? They wanted what sun there was, for the women to do their work by. Not that they’d get much sun, deep down here in the valley.’

  ‘And my Johan lived here? Ran about among those apple trees?’

  ‘Well, not those actual ones. It was nearly three hundred years ago. But the ancestors of these trees. Now we’ve seen that bastardy bond, I’m sure the Adam and Robert Clayson who held the lease to Hole have to be her grandfather and father.’

  ‘So maybe she came back here. When she knew she was pregnant. Somewhere quiet, out of the way of gossiping tongues. If she had her parents here, she’d feel safe.’

  ‘If they didn’t throw her out,’ Suzie said.

  The two women fell silent.

  Prudence looked at the deep shadows under the oak and hazel trees along the brook. The brown water caught only a hint of sunlight as it slipped past. Above them was the long climb to the village. The church and houses were hidden from view. She shivered. ‘You’re right. It’s not exactly a homely place. I sure hope she was happy here. It’s a long ways from any neighbours.’

  Suzie was silent for a moment. This might once have been a bright and busy place: children tumbling in the orchard, women busy cutting vegetables or carding wool. And not just women.

  ‘I’ve just remembered. Robert Clayson wasn’t a farmer, was he? Not even a humble husbandman. According to the bastardy bond, h
e was a woolcomber.’

  ‘What’s that, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘He’d have taken the fleeces from the sheep farmers and combed the wool out into hanks, ready for spinning. It was a skilled job, with special tools. This was great wool country once. There were serge-makers all over the county. They exported cloth to the continent. We were the richest county in England in Tudor times.’ She pulled a face. ‘But the cotton industry put an end to that.’ She laughed. ‘We can blame you American settlers for that. You shipped the cotton from your plantations to Lancashire and put us out of business.’

  Prudence bridled. ‘You won’t find cotton plantations in Pennsylvania.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was only teasing. Shall we go?’

  As they walked through the tangled grass to the gate, Suzie turned and looked back. Had Johan been happy here as a child? Had she found comfort here when she needed it?

  There was nothing in the records about Johan’s mother.

  An isolated house, far from the prying eyes of the village. There were stories about such lonely farms. Things that never surfaced in the parish registers. Incest between brother and sister. Fathers conceiving children on their own daughters.

  Perhaps the stonemason was not the worst thing that could have happened to Johan.

  ‘It’s not fair.’ Millie trailed a sweatshirt across the floor in her wake. ‘What does it matter if I miss a day’s school? Honestly, Mum? We could have been up to wherever it is her dad lives, found Tamara, and been back in time for the weekend. Sorted.’

  Suzie looked up from her laptop. She scribbled a few notes of what she had just discovered, before she forgot. The registers for the Presbyterian chapel at South Farwood, the nearest town where Johan might have worshipped, were lodged at the Record Office.

  ‘Mum!’ Millie’s hand crashed on the coffee table. ‘You’re not listening!’

  ‘I am. You think we should have gone to this Burwood place today, and not waited till Saturday. Millie, she’s been gone a week. She seems safe for the moment. Another day isn’t going to make any difference.’

  ‘It is to me!’

  Suzie was suddenly aware that there were tears beading Millie’s eyes. Knowledge dawned. ‘You’re not still thinking about that invitation from the tennis coach? What was his name . . . Dan Curtis? Millie, you have cancelled it, haven’t you? You’ve told him you can’t go?’