Three Times Removed

by M K Jones

  At midday, Bessie wasn’t waiting, much to Ruth’s relief. She took William’s hand and they walked home. “No, Mammy, no-one said anything horrible. Sara Morris pulled a few faces at me, but the other children were kind. They asked if Alice was home. I said no, but…” He looked at Ruth hopefully, but she shook her head.

  “It’s too early yet, William. Dada said he would send word early afternoon.”

  “Can I do any work this afternoon, Mammy?”

  “Yes, William, some of our friends have sent their men to help us out and there’s a great deal to do, so I’m sure they’ll welcome your assistance.”

  As they reached the front of farm a man in police uniform appeared, walking towards them. Ruth froze.

  “That’s not our local constable,” said William.

  “I know.”

  Ruth walked quickly up to the policeman and stopped in front of him.

  “I’m Mrs Jones. Do you have any news for me?”

  “No, ma’am. May we return to your home?”

  “Of course.” Ruth led the way to the door into the kitchen, where Gwen was working. The constable motioned them to sit down.

  “Your husband’s search party has not found your daughter, ma’am, and he has asked for additional help from the constabulary. Our officers are going to make enquiries in Newport. I have come to ask you some questions about recent events, anything you can tell us that might assist our search.” Ruth took him to the sitting room.

  Following Ruth’s discussion with the constable, he had wanted to question William who, although nervous, did his best to answer the questions put to him about what Alice had said going to school. Ruth thought that she had managed to keep the tensions at school and chapel out of her responses, and was alarmed when the constable said that he would be going to interview the schoolteacher. She reluctantly told him about the confrontation the previous morning.

  “So, Mrs Jones, relations are not good between your daughter and some of her schoolmates? Might this have caused her to run away, in your opinion?”

  “I think not,” Ruth replied. “She never spoke about their treatment of her before, but she was very frightened about something or someone.”

  “Very well, thank you for your time. I’ll let you know if we receive news.”

  She showed him out, indicating the way to the school and chapel. Feeling unable to continue her work, she sat in the parlour and waited for John to return.

  In the hours that followed, the first seeds of doubt crept insidiously into her head and heart. She tried to push them away and make herself believe that Alice would be found alive and well. But she was only distracted when the sound of voices in the kitchen told her that John had returned. By then the sun had gone down and the sky was turning pink. She walked quickly to the kitchen where John was talking to Arthur Ellis.

  “The constable has been here, I understand, my dear?” John asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then you know that there is no news. The constabulary believes that Alice is heading towards Newport, so they are going to commence a search there at first light.” He stopped. “Ruth?” He moved towards her and took her trembling hands in his. “We will find her. You must keep strong!”

  She nodded, turning to Gwen to discuss arrangements for the next day. John watched her with a grim expression. He had seen the doubt, and she knew he had seen it.

  Twenty Five

  May 1883

  No-one passed by as the afternoon progressed, so Alice didn’t have to hide. She closed her eyes now and then, but couldn’t sleep for fear of tumbling into the water. The pain in her head had increased, although the bleeding had stopped under the pressure of the handkerchief. This was so soaked in blood that Alice considered throwing it away, but as she had nothing else for her wound and it had been a present from her mother, she tried instead to rinse it out in the canal and press it to her forehead to cool down the fire that burned there.

  The cool cloth helped and she decided to try walking again. When she stood up she swayed so much that she was afraid that she wasn’t going to be able to carry on, but her vision settled enough to allow her to start the walk towards Newport. She stopped several times to drink from the canal. On one occasion she saw a small fish at the edge and tried to catch it, but it slipped easily through her fingers.

  As day faded into evening, the effort of walking, and the pain in her head, became too much. She had to find a ditch for the night, praying that it wouldn’t rain again. Her prayers were not answered.

  By dawn, Alice knew that she was sick. Her vision was so blurred that she could barely focus, even if she concentrated. The wound on her head felt puffy and the area of sensitivity had spread out, reaching her cheek and her eye. Her feet were sore and swollen.

  Around mid-morning, after making little progress, she spotted activity in the distance. Pressing herself as close into the hedge as she could, she crept cautiously around the bend until the hum of voices became audible. She had reached a lock where a bargeman was struggling to coax his reluctant horse along the narrow path to steer the barge in through the lock gates. The man swore and cursed at the horse, using words that Alice had never heard before, but sounded sufficiently violent and intemperate as to have surely shocked her parents. The lock-keeper stood at the nearer gate with his back to her, offering advice to the bargeman.

  “A bit more, that’s it. He’s nearly in. Hold his head! Hold it! No. Yes! That’s it!” As the stern passed into the lock the lock-keeper turned the paddles that closed both giant gates. Alice had always loved watching the passing of a barge through a lock and this was a much larger lock than the one just by the chapel. She moved from the hedge to the centre of the path.

  When the gates were shut the keeper strolled to the front gates and opened the paddles. She could hear the roaring of the rushing water as the barge sank slowly out of sight. What caught Alice’s attention was that the bargeman had taken a hunk of bread and cheese from his pocket, eating it with one hand while he steadied the stumbling horse with the other. After a few mouthfuls, the horse suddenly reared its head and the man dropped the food. As it fell to the ground the horse’s restless hooves stamped on it and the bargeman, cursing the horse, kicked the whole lot into the hedge.

  It was all Alice could do to contain herself. It seemed an age until the horse pulled the barge out of the lock and she prayed that no rat got to the food first. Rocking with anxiety, she waited as the men spoke.

  “Be there by tonight, then.”

  “’Spect so. Bit of rain to come, though,” replied the bargeman, glancing at the sky.

  “Aye. Got to get back up by Thursday. Regards to Fred. He’ll be through before evening. Tell him I said I hope his missus is better. Now come on, you great bugger! Pull!” With a final curse he urged the horse forwards. The lock-keeper went back into his cottage. As soon as she heard the door slam Alice ran past the lock to the hedge. The food was still there, dirty but otherwise untouched. She quickly wrapped it into her bundle, checked that the lock-keeper hadn’t come out, and ran onto the path.

  When she could no longer see the lock and was sure that no-one else was coming, she stopped, sat down against the hedge and took out the food. Once she had picked out as much of the dirt as she could, Alice stuffed the food into her mouth and thought about what she had just overheared. She was close to Newport now and would be able to see it by nightfall. She also needed to keep moving, as another barge was coming.

  Tomorrow she would buy her ticket for the paddle steamer and escape to Weston-super-Mare, which gave her momentum to get up. She had become stiff and cold sitting by the hedge, although her headache had eased a little. The food was gone. Time to move on quickly, as it looked like rain again.

  She met no-one all afternoon. She’d glance back from time to time, to make sure she was keeping ahead of the next barge. The trees crowding overhead cast shadows on the dark water, but there was no wind to disturb the dull black surface. The only sounds were the twitter
ing of birds in the trees and hedgerows, and the occasional baaing sheep. The sky had been mostly clear since her lunchtime encounter with the bargeman and the lock-keeper, but now a sharp breeze cooled her face and the inevitable clouds arrived overhead. It was time to find shelter.

  Ahead there seemed to be a gap in the hedge into a field. Approaching cautiously Alice saw what looked like a shepherd’s shelter. With her heart beating she pushed through and peered into it. It was empty and looked disused. Probably a winter shelter, she thought. Ifor had something similar. There was some old straw, dirty but not smelly. She put her bundle of clothes down and returned to the canal for one more drink, before settling in for the evening.

  She fell asleep immediately and awoke suddenly, instantly alert. But there was nothing. Peering out of the shelter she saw the lights of Newport. At last, she was close. Although the pain in her head had returned and now burned fiercely, Alice lay down and slept.

  Twenty Six

  The bleating of sheep woke her early the next morning. It had rained in the night and haze was rising from the grass. The sun was just visible and it was going to be a reasonable day. Alice jumped up, ready for the next part of her journey, but the sudden movement caused a ripping pain through her head and she stumbled, putting her hand up to her wound. She felt a swelling, agony to the slightest touch, and her right eye was completely closed. Her legs were shaking and she feared that she wouldn’t be able to stand. By holding on firmly to the door jamb she managed to pull herself to her feet. With a deep breath, she upwrapped her bundle and spread out her dress. It was dry and relatively clean, but creased. She changed and smoothed it out as best she could. The shawl was dirty and damp, but she needed the scant protection it could give her against the early morning cold. Wrapping up her remaining possessions and putting the newspaper page and her coins into her pocket, she returned to the canal for a drink and tidied her hair as best she could.

  About an hour later she reached a fork in the canal path. This was unexpected. As she stood puzzling, the sound of voices made her dive for cover. There wasn’t time to look and her dress snagged on the briars, but she thought she was well-enough hidden. The sound of hooves, footsteps, and the movement of water came closer, then stopped.

  “This is where I’ll be leaving you, then.”

  “And thank you for the company, sir. It’s good to ’av talk. Damned ’orse don’t have much to say for ’imself!” Two men laughed.

  “You be enjoying your day, sir. Sounds like a rare treat.”

  “Indeed. The steamer is said to be an amazing sight. My friends and I have been looking forward to it. Right. I’m for the shortcut over the hill. I must hurry now, only an hour to boarding. Good day to you, bargee. An easy journey back to Blaenavon, I hope!”

  “Indeed, sir. Perhaps one day I may see that Weston-super-Mare as well.”

  Alice had to move fast. Scrambling out of the hedge, her hand caught in the rent in her clean dress, but that didn’t matter compared to the opportunity to follow the man who knew the shortcut to the port and the steamship! It was hard work keeping up with him as he left the canal path and followed a lane that ran steeply uphill. Already exhausted and dizzy Alice stumbled several times as they made their way up the hill. Once or twice the man looked back over his shoulder, puzzled by some noise behind him, but each time he carried on, impelled by his need to reach the port.

  At the top of the hill, Alice saw that she had no further need of him. She stopped to catch her breath and marvel at the sight before her.

  The Bristol Channel filled the view, the hilly contours of Somerset shimmering pale white in the weak morning sun on the opposite side. She had never imagined so much water! On the near side she could see where the river fed in, and following loops of the river upstream, there was the port, great ships nudging the banks on either side, and finally, Newport itself, a bridge at its centre spanning the river next to an ancient castle. There, in the sunshine, tied up next to the bridge, the Waverley, sat sedately, the occasional puff of smoke belching out of its tall black funnel.

  Breathing more evenly, clutching her bundle to her chest and her handkerchief to her head, Alice walked quickly down the path. She soon lost sight of the bridge and the ship, but at the bottom of the hill the footpath reached Bridge Road. She had only to follow it. As she walked she gave some thought to what she would say to the ticket seller, if questioned about her journey. She decided that she was going to see her sick grandparent, who had sent her the fare. That would do. Questions then crept in about what she was going to do when she got there. Where would she sleep? What was she going to do about her wound? She banished them unresolved. When she reached Weston-super-Mare, she could not be found and her family would be safe and everything else would resolve itself. Somehow.

  As she neared Newport there were more people and Alice noticed that a few looked and nodded in her direction, their faces puckering with distaste. It must be her eye. She smoothed her dress again as she walked and tried to hide the tear. She tidied her hair as best she could but a hand touched to the top of her head told her that her hair was stiff and sticky. She probably didn’t look right. Well, there was nothing she could do about that. She could fix it when she got to England.

  Bridge Street widened into a two-lane road, big enough to allow carts and horses easy passage. More people were walking here, and no-one was taking notice of her. She could hear the blasting of a ship’s horn close by. Another bend in the road and there it was!

  She took in the dockside scene. The ticket vendor was in a tall striped wooden box with a picture of the steamer fixed to its pointed crown. People had already boarded and were strolling around the decks. There were children on board, hanging over the side to watch the great paddle wheel, guarded by frowning parents.

  There were stalls around the dockside, doing a brisk trade in cakes and lemonade, small knick-knacks, and food of all kinds. Evidently, people took picnics with them when they crossed the Channel. Alice knew that she would have some money left over when she had bought her ticket. After two days without proper food the smells tempted her to buy something first, but she controlled herself, took a deep breath and headed for the ticket stall.

  “Any more, now? Any more of you fine ladies and gents? Come and marvel at this wonderful experience – a great paddle ship, the most modern of its kind – and the wonderful town of Weston-super-Mare, never before available to visit for just a day. See its pier, its great sands, the exotic pavilion. Come on, Ladies and Gents, you can’t fail to enjoy yourselves!”

  A crowd had gathered on the quayside to get a good vantage point of the ship as it departed. Some of them shouted back to the ticket seller.

  “What if it sinks, mate? Not much of an experience, then?”

  The crowd laughed and the ticket seller wagged his finger. “Safest vessel on the seas, my guarantee. Now, come on, Ladies and Gents, last chance now! It’s high tide and the ship must leave. Only ten shillings, there and back.”

  Alice had edged her way to the ticket stall when a man and woman stepped out from the back of the crowd in front of her. The crowd cheered them as they bartered with the ticket seller for a reduction. Alice, standing behind them, her fare in her hand, swayed from side to side, worrying that she wouldn’t have time to buy her ticket and some food. And she was finding it difficult to remain on her feet. At last the couple moved away. She stood in front of the ticket seller and held up her coins.

  “I wish to buy a return ticket to Weston-super-Mare, if you please, sir.”

  “What did you say, girl?” The ticket seller glared at her, shouting.

  Anxiously, she repeated her request, but as she did so, she knew that the words weren’t coming out, just a guttural growl from the back of her throat. Her eyes widened in desperation as she tried to make the man understand her and with a huge effort she growled, “A ticket, sir.”

  “What, you want a ticket! Filthy little vagabond, you want to get on my nice clean boat!” He was shouting as m
uch for the entertainment of the crowd as for her. The closest people on the quayside heard and turned to watch. Tears stung her good eye. “Please, sir!” she begged. “I must get to Weston-super-Mare. My family!”

  She knew her words were garbled noise. The man reached out a hand as if to take her money but instead pushed her in the chest and she fell backwards, dropping her bundle and her money. It clattered in the gutter as the crowd laughed uproariously and several ragged children ran forwards to grab at it. She scrambled around with them, but was no match for their experienced gutter-cunning. Her precious coins were gone. She had no ticket.

  The ticket vendor closed his window and was making his way to the boat, where activity had begun to cast off. A great vent of steam rose from the funnel and the hooter gave three long blasts. The crowd lost interest in Alice and surged to the edge of the quay. In a flurry of shouted orders and warnings, the paddle began to turn and, as Alice watched in despair, the steamer inched away from the quay.

  Twenty Seven

  The steamer was leaving without her. This was not how it was supposed to be. Desperation launched her to her feet. If she ran quickly, maybe she could jump across the small gap onto the entrance to the boat, which the sailors had not yet secured. She was about to try when she stopped dead in her tracks. It was the smell, the reek of rotting flesh that she had smelled at school. That meant only one thing. Her tormentor was here, had known where she was going, and followed her here.

  The boat was now six feet away from the quay. She could never jump that distance. She had failed. The pain in her head seared and she swayed, but knew that she had to hide at once and pray that she hadn’t been seen. Although the smell was vile, there was no immediate sign of its source.

  There were a number of stalls at the back of the quayside against the wall of the bridge, some of which had curtains covering their lower half. The proprietor of one of these had moved to another stall to speak to his neighbour and she seized the chance to dive under the cover. Just in time, as the stallholder’s feet appeared. Alice sat hugging her knees, and what was left of her possessions. The stench became unbearable, until she thought she was going to be sick, then a second pair of feet appeared at the front of the stall.