by M K Jones
Then he began, and spoke of everyone in the family, except Alice. Ruth knew that this was his final sign to her. Alice’s name would rarely, if ever, be spoken again between them. She was never to enquire. Alice had gone from their lives.
When the children were asleep and John was reading in the parlour, Ruth excused herself and went into to Alice’s room, for the first time in months. Maud was sleeping there and all of Alice’s few possessions were gone. She searched around and found them in a small trunk under the tallboy. Ruth went to her bedroom, took a small package from the bottom of a drawer and crept back along the landing. In the trunk she placed the set of new handkerchiefs that she had been embroidering with Alice’s initials as a Christmas present.
“Happy Christmas, my beautiful girl, wherever you are. I know you are not dead and one day I will know what happened to you.” She kissed the soft linen, closed the trunk, and went to bed.
Forty Five
June to October 1883
After they had lunched quietly and Alice had slept for a while, Moira returned with the wheelchair. She began the tour with the five rooms that made up the kitchens, just around the corner and along the corridor from her sitting room. The servants’ hall and the kitchen rooms formed two sides of the square house around an open courtyard, which was paved and had a central well that dated from the original medieval building. From the kitchen, they turned again. The third corridor ended in a short flight of steps that led down to the cellars.
Mrs Davies explained that the cellars at Knyghton ran through two sides of the house and had an ancient spring and stream running through them, the latter having had a conduit built to conduct its passage through the various underground rooms. The cellars housed the earl’s extensive wine collection, as well as acting as a cold room for the storage of meat, poultry, and dairy products from the home farm.
Before the cellar stairs, there was a short, wide flight of three steps going up to the main part of the house. One of the footmen came to carry the chair and Alice.
Then they began the tour of the most magnificent rooms. Alice saw with wonder the two dining rooms, the smaller one panelled in oak, the larger in cedar. They passed through the ballroom where Knyghton held its famous Yule Ball, on Christmas Eve. Finally, the countess’s favourite sitting room, exquisitely gilded from floor to ceiling, with inlaid paintings of gods and goddesses from ancient times. The little girl’s face had shone throughout the hour or so that it had taken to go around the building.
“So, this is to be your home, Esme. With me. We don’t often visit these rooms unless summoned when His Lordship and Her Ladyship are here. Most of the servants never come here at all, except to clean. But I can wander as I please.” She paused for a moment, before asking what she had been leading up to all day. “Shall you be happy here, Esme?”
“Oh yes. Safe. Can’t find me here.” Her expression changed for a moment. “No water?”
“No, Esme. You need not go near the lake.”
The girl nodded happily. Moira quashed her desire to probe for what could be so terrifying about water.
“Now, to finish our tour, we’re going to visit Mr Hughes, in his pantry. That’s what we call his rooms.”
Mr Hughes had been waiting in his room, occupied with bringing out the silver plate for the coming weeks’ entertaining, and supervising the two junior footmen who were diligently polishing.
“Welcome, Miss Esme. Have you enjoyed your tour?”
“Yes. Thank you, Mr Hughes.”
“We visited the gardens earlier, as you know, Mr Hughes. Esme thinks she will be very happy here.” He heard the warning note in her voice.
“Let me show you my treasures here.” He raised his eyebrows and Moira nodded.
For five minutes he showed Alice silver treasures from the Knyghton collection.
“We’re very proud of this one, Miss Esme,” he said, holding up a salt and pepper shaker. “It’s believed to be over three hundred years old, bought in Ghent by an earl who served King Henry the Eighth.”
“Six wives.”
“Why, yes.” He paused and looked speculatively at Alice. “Do you know where Ghent is?”
“Belgium.”
“You are a bright one, Miss Esme. Well now, I need to get on with our preparations here, so I must bid you farewell,” He turned to one of the junior footmen and wiped a finger critically on the silver plate he’d been polishing. “More effort, Edward.”
* * *
Dinner that evening was a rushed affair, the servants hurried back and forth with each new instruction from Hughes and Moira, but once the meal was finished, the two retired to her room for a discussion of the state of their preparations.
Knyghton is ready, I think, Mrs Davies?”
“Just the flowers tomorrow morning, Mr Hughes, and we shall be ready to welcome His Lordship and Her Ladyship back.”
“And your niece is well enough to cope alone when you are occupied in the coming weeks?”
“She’s almost ready to walk, I believe. Thank you for asking.” She smiled at him and went to speak again, but he interrupted her.
“I have some family news of my own.”
“My nephew, Alan, has just turned fourteen and is ready to begin his service. His Lordship has agreed that he may join me here as a junior footman, under my care. As you know, Edward is leaving us.”
“How wonderful for you, Mr Hughes! It’s good to have family nearby, especially young ones.” She spoke so genuinely and with such feeling that he hesitated to say what he had been planning.
“Esme is a great comfort to you, Mrs Davies.”
“She has saved me, Mr Hughes.”
“I understand how much you care for her. She hasn’t turned out to be the ‘big stupid lump of a girl,’ has she? The girl is intelligent.”
“I’ve thought a great deal about that, Mr Hughes. I have to face the galling fact that my sister was not a good person and was a poor mother.”
She pointed to a small pile of papers on the table under the window.
“The poor house and the constabulary have both written to me with details of my sister’s death. The information is distressing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I value your friendship, Mr Hughes, and I know that I can trust your confidence. The truth is, my sister was… a woman of the streets… a prostitute. Little wonder that she cared so little for her child!” A sob caught her breath.
“She lied to me, you know. She told us that her husband, Absolom Peach, was a sailor who drowned at sea shortly after Esme was born. Sailor, my foot! At our parents’ funeral, she’d been drinking. She admitted to me, laughing, would you believe, that she’d found the name in a church graveyard. She had no idea of who Esme’s father was!” Tears ran down her cheeks. “That poor little child must have had a terrible life. It might have been her mother who gave her that terrible wound, or the man who killed Margaret. Her head was held down in a drinking trough, you know. Perhaps Esme was there when it happened. That thought keeps me awake at night. And I could have done something. But I didn’t know, Mr Hughes. I didn’t know!”
Hughes watched her, uncertain how to proceed. He had intended to tell her what he had found out about the farmer’s daughter who had gone missing, but this felt cruel in the face of her obvious anguish.
“You must be quite devastated, Mrs Davies.”
“More than I shall ever be able to admit, apart from to you, Mr Hughes. But I trust you to keep this secret with me. Especially from Esme, who must never know what her mother was.”
“Did you receive your sister’s belongings?” He knew that a parcel had arrived for Moira
“Yes. The poor house sent me hers and Esme’s clothes. I burned them.” She didn’t tell him that the clothes that she had received that had belonged to her niece were several sizes too large for Alice.
“So is the subject closed? You were expecting to go to Weston-super-Mare, were you not?”
“The m
urderer has been apprehended. A drunken regular. There was no service and the burial was undertaken by the poor house, for which I paid.”
He sensed that there was more, and waited in silence for her to make the decision to continue, or not.
“They wrote to me about the body of a girl found in the sea at Weston-super-Mare, in case it was Esme. But I wrote back to explain that she had come to find me and is now living with me. They expressed themselves satisfied, so there’s nothing further to do.”
“I wonder who the girl in the sea was, then?”
“It must have been the poor farmer’s daughter.”
“Yet when I was in Newport I heard that the constables are still searching.”
“Then it must have been some other poor child,” she replied impatiently. “Please excuse me now, Mr Hughes. I must check on Esme again before I meet with Her Ladyship’s personal maid and the head gardener.”
She stood, but he remained seated, his fingers knitted under his chin. Moira watched him intently, neither spoke. At last she could no longer contain herself.
“Is there something that you want to say to me, Mr Hughes?” Her tone made it clear that he should speak now, if he was ever going to do so.
“No, Mrs Davies.”
With a faint sigh of relief she walked to and opened the door to her sitting room. “I shall look forward to meeting Alan. When does he arrive?”
“In September.”
“Perhaps he and Esme can become acquainted? It will be good for her to have a friend who’s also new to the house.”
“Indeed. So, a busy month for both us, Mrs Davies.”
“Yes, Mr Hughes.” He left the room, defeated.
* * *
Over the next four weeks Moira and Hughes met frequently, but briefly, to speak of domestic issues. Alice’s condition improved daily and the doctor pronounced himself satisfied o limit his visits to once a week. Moira felt that she no longer required intervention of any kind from Honora.
By the end of the Earl and Countess’s visit to the house Alice still only spoke rarely, but had been enthralled by stories Moira had told her at bedtime, about the guests, the dinners, the clothes, and the jewels. Her appetite had improved but she was still unable to stand unaided. The earl and countess left Knyghton House at the beginning of September to visit their villa in the south of France, and Mr Hughes’ nephew, Alan, arrived to take up his new position.
Alan turned out to be a shy boy, tall, bespectacled, blond-haired and gangly. He was also quietly spoken and reticent with his opinions, rather like his uncle, and he possessed his uncle’s quiet firmness. He learned his duties quickly, taking the ribbing of the older junior footmen without complaint, and without telling Mr Hughes, which the other boys respected.
Alice had been introduced to Alan almost immediately and it was clear to Hughes and Moira that within two weeks the two had become firm friends. They seemed to have recognised in each other an ability to keep confidence and absolute trust. Alice spoke to Alan more than any other member of the servant household and while this sometimes gave Moira a pang of jealousy, she knew that it was more important that the girl should speak. And she noticed that the nightmares had diminished since Alan had arrived.
Alan liked to push Alice in her chair into the gardens, to sit with her under the oak tree and talk about their day. He had many stories to tell and she was a willing listener.
By mid-October the weather had deteriorated and the warm evenings that they had enjoyed throughout September came to an end. On a Sunday afternoon at the end of the month, Alan pushed the chair into the garden for the last time.
“Is there anything special you’d like to see this afternoon? How about the orangery? It’ll be warmer for you in there.”
“Yes, I’d like to see how the lemon tree is growing.”
The sun had been just warm enough to heat up the orangery to maintain the wealth of exotic plants that grew there. It allowed Alice to take the blanket off her legs once they were ensconced in the long glass house.
“I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get here in the winter. I shall miss the lovely smells.”
“Are your legs getting any stronger, Esme?”
“I think so. I tried standing by holding onto the bedpost, like you said. It hurt and I wobbled a lot, but I did stand for a minute.”
“That’s good. Keep trying.”
“Yes I will. But Aunt Moira mustn’t know!”
“She doesn’t want to keep you an invalid, Essy!”
“Don’t call me that!” she protested.
“I’m sorry. Why not?”
“I… I…” she seemed to be searching for something. “I don’t know. But I don’t like it.” Her hands were gripping the sides of her chair, her eyes screwed shut.
Alan tentatively placed her hand on hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. You are my friend, Esme.”
She opened her eyes. “My friend Esme.” She slowly repeated the phrase as if savouring it like a new dish.
She began to sob, “I see a face in my dreams. A girl. Like me but not me. She’s trying to call for help, but she can’t speak. She’s underwater and I’m looking at her as she opens and closes her mouth.” She had confided before that she had nightmares, but never their content.
“Perhaps it’s a memory of something that happened to you on your way here. You know that no-one knows how you got here, or how you got your wound.”
She put her hand to her head. The swelling had gone, but a thick scar remained.
“I see faces, Alan. But I don’t know who they are.”
He was uncertain whether to let her keep talking or distract her from what was clearly a distressing subject. He was very fond of her but his uncle had communicated doubt about this strange little girl, albeit vaguely.
“Do any of them mean anything to you, Esme?”
“No. There’s one that’s very horrible and I wake up crying under my covers. It’s a face that’s falling apart, the skin melting and dripping off, with a terrible smell.”
Alan pulled a sympathetically disgusted face.
“Do you ever have nice ones?”
“Yes, sometimes a man with a moustache. He’s shouting at me, but not in a bad way, like when something’s just missed you, and your family is relieved. And a little boy with blond hair. He’s crying. And children playing.”
“Do you recognise anything about them?”
“Nothing at all. I don’t know who they are. And I don’t know who I am!” At this, she began to cry.
“You are Esme Peach.” He spoke assertively but gently, then added. “Mrs Davies’s niece, her beloved niece. And I’m your friend Alan.” His reassurance helped her.
“My aunt is wonderful, I know. And this house is like a fairy tale. But none of it seems right. I just wish I could remember something, anything about my old life. Make sense of the faces, at least.”
He had heard snatches of her mother’s fate. “Perhaps it isn’t worth remembering, Esme. From what my uncle has told me, you would not have been as happy as you are here.”
She nodded uncertainly.
“I think that one day more of it may come back to you. If it does, you can talk to me. I’ll always be here for you.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad you came to work here.”
As he handed her the blanket, she looked at him, a lost look on her face, and whispered, “I just don’t remember.”
Forty Six
May 2015
As soon as she was clear of the main doors of the glass-fronted building, Maggie picked up her pace. Back straight, chin up, and looking ahead in case anyone was watching, she reached her car at a smart trot. Checking right and left, she unlocked the car, threw in her briefcase and coat, plonked herself down in the driving seat, and let out a lengthy shriek, banging the palms of her hands on the steering wheel. When there was no more sound left, she let her head rest on the wheel until she felt back in control. She fished her mobile phone out of her ba
g and turned it on. It rang immediately.
“Maggie? It’s Zelah. Do you have time to talk? Hello, Maggie? Are you there? Have I got the right number?”
“Sorry, Zelah. Yes, it’s me. I’m just a bit… never mind. I was about to call you. How about coming out to my house this afternoon?”
There was a moment of hesitation. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, really. I’ll tell you later. Can you come?”
“Yes. But you’ve never given me your address.”
“Haven’t I? Oh. I’ve talked so much about the house I assumed you knew. Well, it’s about time you came to see it.” She rattled off the address and directions. “What about some lunch, say in an hour?”
“Yep.” Zelah finished the call.
Maggie stared across the car park to the two storey corporate headquarters, pulled a face, then started the car and drove too fast out of the car park.
Once home she had changed out of her corporate black suit and into shorts and t-shirt, and prepared lunch. She set it out in the garden down by the canal and waited for Zelah. While she was waiting, she turned on her laptop. After speaking to Zelah at the library the previous week she had checked out a couple of websites and posted her story on two. There hadn’t been any replies and there were none now.
The sound of a roaring car engine caught her attention and she walked to the front window. There, in front of her house, peering up at the house name carved above her front door, was Zelah at the wheel of a snazzy, red sports car. Grinning, Maggie opened the front door.
“What is this?” She walked round the car as Zelah hauled herself out from the low slung seat.
“It’s an Audi R8 Spyder.”
“I don’t know why now, but I saw you in a Mini or an estate.”
“Who the hell drives one of those?”
“Me?” Maggie led the way into the kitchen.
“Oh.” Zelah shrugged her shoulders. “Well, you need room for passengers. I don’t.”
“How fast does that thing go?”
“Very,” Zelah replied.
“My son will go wild if he sees it. He’s going to have his licence ready and waiting on the morning of his seventeenth, and expect me to pay for his lessons and insurance. That’s boys for you.”