The Grave Tattoo (20 page)

‘How are we going to do that?’

‘We’ll hire a professional to search the records in London.’ Caroline was brisk and businesslike.

‘Where would we find one of those?’

‘I know a probate lawyer at Lincoln’s Inn. He’s always having to track down stuff like that. You’ve no idea how people lie when there’s money at stake. So where is she now?’

‘I don’t know. I tried to follow her this morning but I lost her thanks to some roadworks.’

‘Never mind. At least you’ve got something to show for the day. I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything from London. And good luck with Jane, darling. Do what you have to do.’

The rain that drizzled relentlessly over the Lake District was also soaking Derbyshire. Tenille was oblivious to it. Her backpack was a pillow between her head and the rain-spattered window of the bus that dawdled up from Ashbourne to Buxton. It was her fourth bus of the day and she was weary to her bones.

Oxford hadn’t had much to offer in the way of shelter. Because there were people on the city centre streets well into the small hours, there were also police officers patrolling. The few possible places she spotted in the area round the bus station were already occupied by people she didn’t want to doss down next to, even if they’d been willing to share. She didn’t want to go too far from the bus station either, in case she couldn’t find her way back for the early bus that would take her on the next leg of her journey. She’d ended up in an alley behind a restaurant, squeezed in between two dumpsters that stank of rotting food. Her sleep had been fitful because she was so cramped that she kept waking with pins and needles in her legs. The night had seemed to go on forever.

By the time Tenille dragged herself back to the bus station, she was seriously questioning the wisdom of her plan. Maybe she should just head for the nearest cop shop and hand herself in. It couldn’t be more uncomfortable than last night. But by the time she’d breakfasted on a bacon butty and a can of Coke, her resolve had reasserted itself. She’d climbed on board the 7.22 to Banbury, determined to make it to Fellhead. She wasn’t sure what Jane would be able to do. But Jane was the only adult in her world that she trusted to be able to do something. And besides, it was Jane who had got her into this mess. It was Jane’s job to get her out of it.

20

Matthew couldn’t hide his pleasure at Jane’s absence when he arrived at the farm with Gabriel for their regular Friday teatime visit. With Jane not there, he was deferred to, his opinion seldom challenged, his presence welcomed gratefully as if he were bestowing a precious gift. Which, of course, he believed without reservation that he was.

And so he enjoyed bringing Gabriel for tea with his grandparents. Naturally, they fussed over the baby, but Matthew regarded that as releasing him from any tedious aspect of Gabriel’s care. He loved his son, no question of that. He simply wasn’t very keen on the practical application of that love, particularly where it pertained to the changing of nappies and the preparing of feeds.

‘Jane gone back to London, then?’ he said, almost as soon as he’d settled Gabriel on the ragrug on the kitchen floor with a clutch of toys around him. ‘I thought she’d soon get bored back here.’

‘She’s anything but bored,’ Judy said. ‘She’s making real progress. She found a letter at the Jerwood Centre yesterday and she went off first thing to the County Records Office at Carlisle to try and track down some woman who worked for the Wordsworths.’

‘Waste of time,’ Matthew scoffed. ‘But that’s academia for you. Any will-o’-the-wisp that catches their attention and they’re off, grant application in hand, desperate to talk it up.’

‘Jane’s not like that,’ Judy said, sitting down on the floor beside Gabriel and tickling his tummy. Gabriel gurgled and laughed, squirming under her fingers. ‘She really believes in what she’s doing.’

Matthew rolled his eyes. ‘She should try working in the real world for a week, see how she liked that. Doing what I do would have her on her knees in a day.’

Allan Gresham walked into the kitchen in time to hear his son’s words. He didn’t have to be told who he was referring to. ‘Jane does work in the real world, Matthew. She serves behind a bar, she teaches students. She’s never gone a summer without having a job. And on top of that, she does her own work. You can’t accuse your sister of sitting back and taking handouts.’

‘Maybe not. But she gets to do exactly what she wants. Always has. She doesn’t have responsibilities like I have.’

Allan said nothing. He had learned to ignore his son’s perennial discontent. Engaging with it only reinforced it. He walked across the kitchen and put the kettle on as Jane walked in. Her face lit up when she saw her nephew waving legs and arms in the air. ‘Hello, Gabriel,’ she said, crossing straight to where her mother was playing with him. She squatted down and held out a finger for him to grasp. ‘God, he’s gorgeous,’ she said. Her voice changed to the register people adopt with babies. ‘You are gorgeous, aren’t you, Mr Man?’

‘And hello to you too, Jane,’ Matthew said.

‘Did you have a good day?’ her mother asked, stepping into her familiar role as buffer zone before Jane could respond.

Jane sat back on her heels. ‘Disappointing. It’s bizarre. It’s as if this woman disappears into thin air. I’ve got the birth certificate, I’ve seen the letter from Mary saying she was leaving in 1851 to get married, but there’s no trace of the marriage certificate. I searched all the registers up to the end of 1853, but not a sign. And no death recorded either. Dorcas Mason vanished without trace.’

Matthew hid his surprise at a name he’d seen only that day. ‘Who?’ he said.

Jane picked up her nephew and got to her feet, smiling into his face. ‘Dorcas Mason. She worked as a maid for the Wordsworths.’

‘Why are you interested in a maid? Was old Willie having a bit of hanky panky with the serving girls?’

Jane glared at him. ‘Even if he hadn’t been a devoted and faithful husband, by the time she came to work for the family I think he was well past being interested.’

‘So what’s the big deal about Dorcas what’s-her-name?’ Matthew persisted, pretending uncertainty.

‘Mary Wordsworth found some sort of manuscript after William’s death. Whatever it was, it upset her. She sent it to her son John because she said it touched him and his family. John was married to Isabella Christian Curwen, the daughter of Fletcher Christian’s cousin.’

‘So you think this manuscript is your fantasy poem?’

‘I don’t know. But it might be.’

‘Interesting.’ Matthew accepted a mug of tea from his father. ‘And where does Dorcas come in?’

‘Dorcas brought the manuscript to John, who didn’t want it in his house, not after the grief Isabella had brought him. So he told her to dispose of it. And that’s the last we ever hear of it.’

Matthew’s eyebrows rose. ‘So she either used it for kindling or hung on to it, is that what you’re saying?’

Jane nodded. ‘If it survived, it’s been a well-kept family secret. Always supposing they know what it is they’ve got.’

‘Anybody mind if I turn on the TV for the news?’ Allan said, hand poised over the remote control for the portable that sat on the kitchen worktop.

‘No, go ahead,’ Jane said absently, her mind still on her work. ‘I don’t honestly have high hopes, but I can’t just leave it like this. I have to try and find out what happened to Dorcas.’

Matthew began to say something but his mother spoke over him. ‘Of course you do. Will you go back to Carlisle next week?’

‘No point, I’ve looked through all the relevant material. My only hope now is that Dan can find something at Family Records.’

The news came on in the background, the volume loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to disrupt conversation. ‘That’s where you live,’ Allan exclaimed, reaching for the volume button on the remote. ‘Marshpool Farm Estate.’

All eyes swung round to the TV set, where the newsreader was giving the camera her best serious stare. ‘…two nights ago. Police are anxious to trace the whereabouts of a thirteen-year-old girl who had been living with her aunt in the flat where the murder took place.’ The screen changed and a school photograph filled the screen. Jane gasped. ‘Oh my God,’ she said.

The newsreader continued: ‘Tenille Cole has not been seen since fire ripped through the sixth-floor flat where the murdered man, Geno Marley, was found.’ The screen changed to the talking head of a police detective framed against the familiar grey concrete of the Marshpool. ‘We are very anxious to trace Tenille,’ he said. ‘She has not been seen since the shooting and the fire and we are extremely concerned for her welfare. We would urge her or anyone who knows where she is to come forward.’

Back to the newsreader. ‘The government has announced new measures to deal with…’ Allan muted the sound and turned to Jane. Her face was white and she clutched Gabriel so tightly that he had begun to whimper.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ Matthew said, standing up and reaching for his son. ‘You’re scaring him.’

Jane handed Gabriel over without a word, her eyes wide and her teeth biting her lower lip. Judy took one look at her and hurried to her side, putting her arms around her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘That’s London for you,’ Matthew said. ‘If it’s not suicide bombers, it’s murderers. You’re not safe even in your own home.’

Allan shook his head. ‘Thank God you were up here, Jane.’

Jane let her mother hug her. ‘I knew it was bad, where you live,’ her mother said, her voice heavy with self-reproach. ‘We should never have let you take that flat. We’ll have to see what we can do about getting you somewhere else to live.’

Jane disengaged herself, patting her mother on the shoulder. ‘It’s not like that, Mum. Someone like me, I’m not at risk. This kind of thing, it’s contained. It’s people dealing with their own. Their lives, their world–it doesn’t touch mine.’

‘So why are you acting like you’ve just seen a ghost?’ Matthew asked, for once not unkindly. ‘What are you not telling us, Jane?’

She visibly pulled herself together. ‘I know Tenille, that’s all.’

‘That black girl in the photo? You know her?’ Her father sounded bewildered, as if an alien world had reached out and touched his own. ‘How do you know someone like that?’

‘You mean because she’s black or because she’s a teenager?’ Jane asked, showing a rare irritation with her father.

‘Because she’s mixed up with a murder, your father means,’ Judy the peacemaker said. ‘And it’s a good question. How do you know a lass who’s wanted by the police in connection with a murder?’

‘She’s not wanted by the police like you make it sound. They’re concerned about her,’ Jane said defensively.

‘Which is what they always say when they’ve got a suspect on the run,’ Matthew pointed out. ‘So how do you know her?’

‘She lives in the same block as me. We got talking one day and I discovered that she loves poetry. She lives with her aunt who doesn’t give a toss about her and she doesn’t get much encouragement at school so she comes round to my flat to borrow books and talk about poetry.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I can’t believe this.’

‘You’re saying she’s the one black kid on your sink estate who’s managed to keep her hands clean?’ Matthew sounded incredulous.

‘Oh please, spare me the parochial prejudice,’ Jane said, exasperated. ‘There are a lot of perfectly decent people, black and white, who live on the Marshpool. Frankly, given the lack of opportunities she’s had, I think it’s a miracle Tenille has turned out as well as she has.’

‘What? The target of a nationwide police hunt?’ Matthew snorted with derision. ‘She’s obviously got a whole other side to her life that you don’t know about.’

‘This is nothing to do with Tenille,’ Jane said impatiently. ‘The murdered man, Geno Marley, he’s her aunt’s boyfriend. Whatever trouble he brought in his wake, it’s nothing to do with Tenille.’ Jane turned away abruptly, not wanting her mother to see her face. Judy had always had a knack for spotting lies. ‘I’m going upstairs. I want to check this story out online, see what I can find out.’

‘Jane…’ her mother said fruitlessly as she left. Judy looked helplessly at Allan. ‘We can’t let her go back there. It’s bad enough worrying about her being blown up, without this.’

‘I don’t see how we can stop her. She’s a grown woman, Judy, she makes her own choices.’

‘Hasn’t she always?’ Matthew stood up and handed his son to Judy. ‘I need to be getting back,’ he said, gathering together the baby paraphernalia that accompanied him everywhere he took his son and packing it into his buggy. ‘Oh, and I’m off to Hadrian’s Wall with the kids tomorrow. Diane said she’d definitely be home in the morning if Jane wants to come down for coffee. Maybe you could pass the message on when she’s finished trawling the London underworld?’

But as he pushed his son downhill towards the village, it was not murder that occupied his thoughts. Dorcas Mason’s name had been a bolt from the blue. He’d have to check when he got home, but he was pretty sure he knew exactly where he could lay hands on Dorcas Mason’s descendants. If he helped Jane find her precious manuscript, he’d share in the glory. And it would put an end to her paranoid complaints that he was obsessed with getting at her. Deep down he was as tired of their constant fencing and bickering as Jane was. This could be his big chance to show he was a good brother after all. One she’d never be able to twist to show him in a bad light. The sunny smile lit Matthew’s eyes again and he began to hum softly under his breath as he walked.

The bus to Lancaster had been late, and Tenille had missed the connection that would have taken her to Kendal, the gateway to the Lake District. She had found a burger bar near the bus station where she was trying to spin out a cheeseburger and a Coke for as long as possible. But the skinny lad behind the counter kept staring at her. At first she wondered whether he’d rumbled her disguise, but as time crawled by and she had the chance to check out the rest of the clientele, she realised it was more likely because she was the only black teenager in the place. She’d always known that outside London there weren’t so many black people, but that hadn’t prepared her for feeling this conspicuous.