by M K Jones
“Is this a diamond?” he asked sharply.
“Yes. They all are. Give it back, please.”
He examined her head. “Then, you’re wearing about ten grand’s worth of jewellery on your head?”
“Probably.”
Maggie bit her lips at his expression.
Zelah snatched the pin and started to talk again as she pinned her loose strand of hair back up. “I’m not apologising for what I’ve done, Maggie. Well, maybe just a bit,” she conceded, seeing Maggie worried expression. “Genealogy is a real growth area. We’ve all seen the TV programmes like Who Do You Think You Are we’ve talked about the shows and fairs around the CountryIt’s a good business to be in. For all of us.”
But Maggie was still focused on the revelation of the website. “I’m going to see what you’ve done.” She stood up and marched into her office. Jack was coming down the stairs, but she ignored him. She jabbed so viciously at the computer keys that he walked up behind her, intrigued.
“What’s up, Mum?” It was startling to see his mother so angry.
“Ask her,” she muttered, not looking up from the screen. She searched for the website and the front page appeared.
“Wow, that’s a great page!” Jack commented over her shoulder. “Whose is it?”
“Ours,” said Zelah. As she and Nick entered the room he flicked on the light switch.
“Yours!” Maggie stated.
“No… ours!” Zelah flung back. “I hadn’t finished. It’s gone beyond just a website. The interest has been amazing. I’ve sold the story to a family history journal and arranged talks and interviews. I thought you could do the press and radio interviews, Maggie. Nick can help out with the family history societies. There are twenty booked so far.”
“What!” Maggie exploded, spinning round on her chair and jumping to her feet. “You’ve told the whole world about Eira Probert and what has been happening to me and my children? Without my permission? How bloody dare you?!”
Zelah was taken aback by Maggie’s anger. “No, wait,” she said. “I haven’t told all of. Just enough to tell the story, but without actual names. What do you think I am?”
“I thought you were my friend!” Maggie yelled.
“I am your friend,” Zelah growled. “That’s why I did it.”
By this time they were an arm’s length apart, both breathing heavily, neither prepared to back down, like two lionesses waiting to see who would attack first. The only sound in the room was a rhythmical clicking of four beats, then a pause, then four beats. It was getting louder. Maggie glanced to see what it was.
“Glad to have got your attention,” said Nick, lifting his hand from where it had beat out the rhythm on the desktop. “Now, if you’ll both take a step back, perhaps we can hear more about what Zelah’s done, and why.”
The tension broke. Maggie, lips pursed, sat back down at the computer and folded her arms. She indicated another seat to Nick, but left Zelah standing.
Zelah drew herself up to her full, short height, raised her chin and spoke again. “I haven’t mentioned Eira Probert by name, but I have put enough detail about what she might have been. It’s been left vague, but it’s the hook. It’s the part that has intrigued people enough for our site to have become a sensation.”
There was a sound of footsteps on the stairs. No-one had noticed that Jack had left the room when the shouting began. He returned with Alice in tow. In response to a finger to the lips from their mother, they both stood quietly by the door, all eyes fixed on Zelah.
“I’ve offered our services as genealogy detectives, to solve strange, unexplained mysteries from people’s family history. That’s the commercial side. On the marketing side, as well as the website, as I was trying to say, I’ve sold the story to a journal, set up some interviews with local radio and press, and arranged a series of talks around England and Wales. And one in Dublin. We get a fee for some, expenses for others. For now.” Zelah took a breath, seeing that at least everyone was listening now. “Maggie, I truly believe that we can make this work. I’m the expert, Nick is the solid, if dull, researcher, and you’re the front.”
Nick shuffled in his seat. “Cheers. I think I’m solid. But not dull.”
Zelah huffed in his direction. “You don’t have the personality to go in front of the press and talk on the radio, is all I mean. But Maggie does.” She turned back to Maggie and jabbed her finger. “Look how easily you get on with people. You put up with me, for a start. You managed to get through to me and tell your story and I was hooked, not just by the story, but by how you told it. You can do that. I can’t.”
“We don’t have the expertise,” Maggie said. “We’re just amateurs. How can we gain any credibility or respect in the genealogy world?”
“Don’t call me an amateur! Just because you’ve only dealt with me on your story doesn’t mean I don’t know anything else! I’m an accredited genealogist. I have lots of contacts and my name means something,” Zelah snorted.
“Sorry. But I still don’t see how this can be anything else but a bit of fun.”
“But you are interested!” Zelah’s eyes gleamed. “You’ve stopped shouting at me and you’re asking questions.”
Reluctant to admit she was interested and unwilling to let go of her anger, Maggie didn’t answer.
“OK,” Zelah conceded. “You’ve every right to be angry and I’m sorry about that. I knew you would be. But if I’d consulted you, you’d have said no. Anyway, you had other things on your mind. Don’t deny it! I saw how much you hated the thought of going to that soulless new job. Anyway, if you’ve got to work why not have fun doing it? Do something you love – and you do love this – and earn your keep at the same time. To me, it makes perfect sense. Same goes for you, Nick. You spend all of your time at Knyghton and almost nothing on your business. Face it, we make a good team. And I don’t need the money.”
“But I do need the money, Zelah. So does Nick. A couple of radio spots and some talks won’t pay the mortgage. I’m sorry to rain on your parade, but I can’t see how it will work.”
Again, Zelah huffed impatiently. “Didn’t you listen? Those are just marketing and publicity. The meat comes from selling our services. We’ve already got commissions, at up to five thousand pounds each, including expenses. All from abroad. I’ve run through them and they are difficult, very strange in fact. But do-able.” She raised an eyebrow with a knowing look. No-one took the bait.
“We need to get started!” Zelah glared at them both, willing them to cave in, desperate for their approval. She looked at Nick, quizzically, then at Zelah with a frown.
“You are an impossible woman,” Maggie said. Then her face relaxed. At this, both Jack and Alice bounced of the wall and began talking at the same time.
“Am I going to be famous? Jack said I was going to be famous? Am I?”
“This is fantastic, Mum. You’re really good at this stuff. And just think, you won’t have to put up with us moaning about Aunty Fee every day!”
“No, you won’t be famous,” Maggie said to Alice, whose face fell,“and if that’s supposed to help persuade me, dear son, you are well short of the mark.”
“OK,” Jack retorted in what he hoped was his how-to-deal-patiently-with-a-stupid-parent voice. “You don’t want to start that job next week. You’ve said so often enough. You’re just doing it for the money, for us. Well,” he nodded at Alice, who nodded back, “we’d prefer you to have less money and be more happy. We can cope. We prefer you to the stuff you buy us.”
There was nothing she could say to that.
“Take the risk, Mum. Aunty Fee will have a heart attack, but it’s worth it.”
Unconsciously pushing her chair around with her feet, Maggie moved slowly from face to face. Zelah, belligerent; Nick, hopeful; Jack and Alice, excited. But how did she really feel about this? Being honest, now that she had got over the shock, both excited and worried. It was a big risk. And would have to keep Zelah on a leash if this partnershi
p was going to work. Maggie suspected that Zelah had a lot of ideas and plans, but she’d have to get used to working in a team. She’d probably find it frustrating to accept that she couldn’t do what her partners didn’t approve of. But, Zelah had got this far alone and the website was worth a second look. And the clincher, Nick looked really interested.
She stood up and walked in circles around the room, watching them all stare at her.
“All right, I’m prepared to give it a go, but,” she put her hand up like a traffic policeman, “there’s a lot of talking to do, about working together and no-one going off on their own.” Zelah nodded. “I’m prepared to give it three months. Even if we’re a hundred percent successful with these first cases, it still isn’t a lot of money to split between three of us.”
“Two of you,” Zelah corrected. “It’s my company – for now – that’s going to change, but I’m not taking a salary. How do you feel about us working out of this office, Maggie? It’s bigger than my flat and it is an office, which I don’t have. Unless you have a better suggestion,” she asked Nick, being deliberately inclusive.
“No,” he grinned. “But thank you for checking. I’m in, too. But we have lots to talk about.”
“We have lots to do!” Zelah said, waving her hands around. “We can work out the detail as we go along.”
Maggie sat back on the chair. “This has been quite a night. But for now, I’m going to ask you all to leave. I have to go into work in the morning and I’m absolutely exhausted.”
Their faces fell. “I thought you just agreed to give it up?” Jack asked anxiously.
“Yes, and I’m going to tell them face-to-face. I’d prefer that, I don’t want to hide behind the telephone. That’s not brave. I’ll do it myself, tomorrow.”
“Fantastic!” Jack yelled. Zelah and Nick smiled and went back to the kitchen to collect their things, ready to leave.
“What about Aunty Fee?” Alice asked.
Maggie thought for a moment. “I’ll phone her in the morning.”
Seventy Eight
July 2015
Lying exhausted in bed on the night of Zelah’s revelations, after Zelah and Nick had gone, it occurred to Maggie that history was repeating itself. She had acted entirely on impulse, rejecting the safe, steady path, choosing the risky one, again.
And she hadn’t questioned the role Zelah had set for her, being the front person, the face of Maze Investigations to the public. In fact, she relished the thought, but worried that she might not do a good job. She’d got up in the middle of the night and trawled through Zelah’s site. That gave Maggie the reassurance that it wasn’t a completely mad idea.
“It’s wonderful,” she murmured. “No wonder people are flocking to it.” She would have done herself, if she wasn’t part of it. And that thought gave her a thrill. “I’m part of it. Wow.”
The meeting to quit before she’d started hadn’t gone well, but she’d never expected it to. Strong words had been spoken and she had had to bite her tongue and keep apologising.
But that was nothing to the reaction from her sister. Fiona had been incandescent. If they hadn’t been sisters Maggie thought that Fee would probably never have spoken to her again. They didn’t speak for the whole of the following week. Maggie was content to let it be so. Some of Fiona’s comments, although spoken in heat and anger, had been hurtful. Maggie would forgive her, but had decided to let it simmer.
The following days had been made up of meetings and discussions, arguments, on the whole professionally conducted, and decisions made. They now had a plan for the next three months and the amount of work was overwhelming. One of the clients that Zelah had signed up was on the phone twice a day, demanding to know progress, which Nick had already started. But it still stretched all of Maggie’s PR skills to keep the man content and off the phone.
Zelah, once she had her plan, kept in the background, using her contacts, helping Nick to do the research and coaching Maggie for the interviews.
“Don’t tell them everything at once. Keep some mystery. That’s who we are! Get rid of the nuisances as quickly as possible on the phone-in. Why are looking at me like that?”
Even Zelah had to admit that Maggie had handled the first two radio interviews brilliantly. The audience response had been enthusiastic. Maggie had managed to direct people to their website. Although Zelah knew that Maggie was going to be good at it, she couldn’t help pointing out that it had been her idea.
“I told you so. You’re a natural. People like you. They don’t like me, but they don’t need to meet me, do they?”
* * *
Maggie found herself pacing the lounge of the largest local radio station. She was due on in five minutes. This was the important one. The others had been fun and had provoked a good response from the public. But this was the one that would take them to a new level. In discussion with the producer the previous day, he had broached the possibility of a regular spot for Maggie to talk about what they were doing and to offer advice to people searching for their long-lost relatives. This she was nervous about, still feeling like an amateur. But no-one else had been offered this opportunity, it was hers to lose.
Two minutes to go. She was in the studio, headphones on, contorting her face with stretching exercises to limber up. She had been to the hairdresser the night before, and had come home with a drastic new hairstyle, and a manicure. Alice had been very admiring and even Jack had ventured a “you look great, much younger!”
“But it’s radio, isn’t it, Mum? So it doesn’t matter how you look.”
“It matters to me,” Maggie replied firmly. “And that’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say.” She wondered if Fee would be proud of her.
One minute to go. The producer was signalling to her.
Counting down: five, four, three, two, the fingers disappeared one by one.
“Now, as we promised you earlier, we have a very special guest this morning. Maggie Gilbert from the exciting new genealogy company, Maze Investigations, is here to tell us about the strange secrets that might be lurking in our past. Maggie, how did this all begin for you?”
“Well, Roy, it all started when I moved back to Garth Hill and found that I had bought my great-grandfather’s house! What an amazing coincidence, or so I thought…”
Epilogue
21 November 1936
Three men stood around the bed, staring down at the face and hands above the multi-coloured eiderdown.
One checked a pulse as the other two watched. “Still hanging on. Incredible!” he whispered. “Don’t know how she’s doing it.” He shook his head. “No point my staying. Call me when… well, you know. Any time now.” He smiled reluctantly at the youngest man, who smiled back a sad, knowing look, and led the way to the bedroom door.
The woman in the bed groaned, then opened her eyes.
“Have they gone, Richard?” The voice was barely audible.
“Yes, Ruth. Just you and me now. And before you ask, no visitors yet today.”
She closed her eyes again. “I can wait.”
Richard Robinson gazed down at his friend of over fifty years, with a contorted smile. Almost ninety and equally frail, barely managing to get up the stairs, yet a regular visitor, he truly wondered at Ruth’s constitution.
“I believe you can, Ruth. I believe you can. How much longer you can go on staring at these walls is a mystery to me, though. William tells me you haven’t eaten anything for days. The doctor says it would be good for you to try something. I think…” He was interrupted by the sound of the bell jangling in the passage below.
“Aah,” sighed the tiny, white-haired figure in the bed. “At last, perhaps.”
“Probably the butcher, or the baker or the candlestick maker.”
“You’re a disrespectful old man, Richard.”
Then she heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. William came into the room.
“Richard,” he began with a puzzled expression. There’s some
one would like to see Mammy. A woman. She says she knew Mammy a long time ago.”
Richard turned to Ruth, who opened her eyes wide. William saw a tear run from the corner of one eye.
“Let her come up,” said Richard. “I think your mother would like to see her.” He took Ruth’s hand, squeezing it and smiling.
“We don’t know who she is,” protested William but the sound of light footsteps came up the stairs, then hesitated outside the door.
“Come in,” Richard called quietly.
A woman of around sixty, grey-haired, and petite entered the room. She was dressed in a black coat and carried a small black bag decorated with pearls. In her hand was a grubby piece of cloth, which seemed at odds with her neat appearance. She looked uncertainly Ruth.
To Ruth, it seemed like the world had suddenly stopped turning: that the two of them stood frozen in time.
“I knew you would come,” her voice rattled. “I knew.”
She nodded at Richard, who took William by the arm and led him firmly to the door. As William turned to protest, he saw a tear run from Richard’s eye down his cheek and into his beard. Then for a reason he didn’t understand, William closed his mouth and walked out of the room. As he turned, he saw the woman sit on the bed and take Ruth’s hand. As the door closed, she laid her head down on Ruth’s breast as Ruth stroked her head and murmured to her.
“My darling girl, you came back. I waited, like she told me. I knew you’d come.”
* * *
Downstairs in the sitting room the family sat in silence, watching each other.
“May I get you a cup of tea, Mr Robinson?” a tall, youngish girl asked, jiggling the toddler on her lap.
“No, thank you, Louisa. I think I shall just wait. I should like to see our visitor before she leaves.” He sat down in Ruth’s chair and the silence returned.
Over the next hour, conversations started up, faltered and died away. William was lost in thought, having to be recalled twice by his wife. Louisa sat with her husband while her mother entertained the baby. The clock in the hall had never sounded so loud.