The Strange Fate of Kitty Easton (20 page)

‘What makes you think that?’ Laurence asked.

‘Stands to reason. People up at Hall go missing.’

‘But that was a little girl and before you were born,’ Frances said.

The older girl was walking towards them and Frances wanted to get the younger children’s opinions first, in case her presence inhibited them.

The girl in plaits struggled to retain her authority. ‘And they’d think old Walter could give ’em pots of money to get her back? They’d have to be soft in the head.’

The boy was ready for this. ‘But them at the Hall have got plenty—’

The older girl interrupted. ‘You don’t know anything,’ she said, with a slight wobble in her voice.

Laurence was surprised. Perhaps Maggie did have friends in Easton. The older girl put her arm out as if to herd the smaller children back towards the cottages. When the girl with plaits stood her ground, she said, ‘Annie, your ma’ll have tea.’

‘Not my ma, she won’t.’

‘What’s your name?’ Frances asked the older girl.

The girl looked at her, only tiny movements of her facial muscles indicating that her silence wasn’t rudeness.

‘Eth,’ she said, finally. ‘Ethel Kilminster.’

‘Ethel, we could do with your help. Could we talk to you, just for a minute? We won’t keep you from your tea.’ Frances indicated the pond, the bench and the tree. ‘We could talk out here.’

It was obvious she wanted to get the girl away from her companions. Ethel looked doubtful, while the two smaller boys had lost interest and were wandering away. The older ones were murmuring to each other. Only the girl with plaits was still concentrating on every word they were saying.

Ethel glanced back towards the cottage where she just been chatting but the woman had gone inside. She tucked an imaginary strand of fair hair behind her ear, then rubbed one black-stockinged leg down the back of the other. The thick fabric had a large hole in it. She was fine boned and already showed signs of being a good-looking woman, Laurence thought.

‘Might Maggie have run away?’ Frances said.

‘She didn’t say to me.’ Ethel’s expression was sad. ‘She said old Walter needed looking after. But my ma says he’s an idle—’

‘So Maggie said nothing about leaving Easton?’

Ethel shook her head, looking bewildered and suddenly younger. ‘Her grandad wouldn’t even let her go to the Mop Fair,’ she said plaintively, ‘in case the man who took her ma, took her too. Though sometimes she crept off. He wouldn’t let her do anything, go anywhere outside of Easton. But because it was the Hall he couldn’t say no to London.’

‘What did Maggie say about it?’

Ethel looked down, describing a circle on the grass with the toe of a scuffed shoe.

‘Don’t know.’

When she looked up, Frances raised an eyebrow, which appeared to make Ethel uncomfortable.

After a bit she said, ‘We wasn’t speaking.’ She fell silent but Frances didn’t push her. ‘She didn’t talk of nothing else when Mrs ... the red-haired lady with the little boy...’

‘Bolitho,’ Laurence said.

‘When she said first Maggie could go to London. I said to Maggie to see if I could come too but she wouldn’t.’ She rubbed her nose vigorously. ‘She said she was going along to help and I was too young and they didn’t want another child with them and it wasn’t for the village.’

‘So you’d had a bit of an argument?’

The girl nodded miserably, her eyes on the ground.

‘We’ll try to find her,’ Frances said.

Ethel looked up. ‘You don’t think she’s dead then? Or with slavers?’

Her eyes filled with tears and this time she wiped her nose on her sleeve. Frances handed her a small folded handkerchief. Ethel stared at it and touched the border of tiny forget-me-nots, her expression doubtful, but eventually she used it to wipe her nose, then kept it clutched in her hand.

‘I thought she might have run off because I said I didn’t want to be her friend ... And that only would’ve left daft Ruby.’

She appeared to be studying her shoes, wrapping the handkerchief round her fingers as she did so.

‘But I didn’t mean it,’ she said eventually.

‘Of course you didn’t. Everybody says things they don’t mean when they argue.’

‘If she’s dead it’s my fault ... and I miss her. Because now I’ve just got the little ’uns.’ She looked towards the playing children with resignation.

‘When do you leave school?’ Frances asked gently.

‘I could leave now. I’m just helping Miss with the small ones.’

‘What if I were to ask Mrs Easton if we could find a place for you at the Hall?’

Ethel looked up sharply. ‘Instead of Maggie?’

‘No. As well as Maggie. When she comes back. She has too much work. Maybe that’s why she wanted to go away for a bit.’ Frances faced Laurence. ‘Don’t you think that would be a good idea?’

‘I think Ethel would be a huge help to Mrs Easton. Would your mother allow it?’ He could see the eagerness in the girl’s eyes.

And you wouldn’t have to sleep at the Hall. You could stay at home and still help your mother with your brothers and sisters,’ Frances added.

‘Brothers,’ said Ethel, wearily, then added, ‘Would I be paid? Just it would help my ma.’

‘Of course you would. Not very much but you’d get your dinner too and sometimes there’d be bits you could take home.’

Ethel smiled, and was transformed from pretty to beautiful. Just for a second Laurence felt uneasy. Easton had not been a happy place for so many who’d lived there. But at the sight of Ethel’s face lit up with excitement, the thought vanished as swiftly as it came.

‘I’ll get Mrs Easton to speak to your mother, then,’ Frances said and turned to go. Ethel held out the crumpled handkerchief.

‘Why don’t you keep it?’ Frances said.

As they walked on through the village towards the Hall, Laurence said, ‘Do you feel as positive as you sounded?’

Frances shrugged. ‘Probably.’

He nodded.

‘On one ridiculously superstitious level, I feel that Easton is a benighted place from which people disappear or die, but more rationally, inasmuch as any utterly innocent country girl would be all right in London, I suppose I think Maggie thought she knew what she was doing.’ She didn’t sound entirely convinced. ‘Realising that she probably planned to go surprises me but it’s infinitely better than her just wandering off.’

‘You don’t think it was an assignation, then?’

‘No. I mean, who with? Her grandfather scarcely let her out of his sight. Her mother’s been gone ten years or more without a word. Who knows if there are really any other living family? There are no young men here and, anyway, I don’t quite see Maggie as an object of lust.’

‘So you think she ran away?’

‘She didn’t seem the type. It sounds cruel now, but I wouldn’t have thought she’d have that sort of initiative. She’s always been a bit awkward, but diligent, and she loves Mrs Hill. But until today I’d never been inside the cottage.’ She made a grimace of regret. ‘Now I can see she might have become desperate to get away.’

Chapter Ten

Although they kept doing their work, there was a tension in the house over the following weeks that was not helped by the sweltering heat, Lydia’s continuing non-appearance, and Julian’s obsession with the water levels. He was always alone now, Laurence noticed, trudging back and forth to the river, as David kept his distance. Now that Nicholas was back in London, it was Eleanor who helped William into the garden and into the village. The one time that Laurence had bumped into David as he crossed to the church, the man looked preoccupied and was thinner than ever, with dark smudges under his eyes. Laurence was more and more convinced that Maggie had gone away deliberately but the toll on David was heavy. Even the cheerful Susan seemed fretful.

When Laurence passed the kitchen a week or so later, Mrs Hill, at least, seemed to have cheered up. The first thing she told him was that it was St Swithin’s Day.

‘And look what a day it is,’ Susan said. ‘Flaming July. And if it’s fine today it’ll be fine for forty days. That’s nearly the end of August. And in my state I’m too hot to move. David likes walking at night when it’s cool and nobody’s about but I’m frightened of the dark and all the noises.’

Then she looked more solemn.

‘I hope by then we’ll have found Maggie. It’s six weeks away. She’s a good girl. I’m sure she didn’t mean to worry her grampa, but she must miss her ma and pa. I was an orphan so I know.’

Her hand instinctively cupped her stomach.

‘And David’s taken it so bad,’ she said. ‘He knows what it’s like for the Eastons. He came over from West Overton—his ma was dying—when they were searching for the little girl, Kitty. Ever since Maggie went, the first days he was just upset and talking of it all the time, but now he won’t hardly eat. I wake up and he’s just staring up like he’s dead. Won’t talk at all.’ She suddenly looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, sir, I don’t know what come over me—you don’t want to hear all our troubles.’ She started busying herself at the sink. Even Mrs Hill looked startled by her outburst.

Only William and Eleanor were at breakfast. Julian, aiming to travel in the hours when it was cooler, had already left early to see the police and then attend an agricultural meeting and dinner in Devizes. With obvious reluctance he had decided to stay the night afterwards. How rarely anyone left Easton, Laurence thought, as Julian had announced his plans the day before. Laurence had himself planned to go to London in a day or so to see if he could find out more about St Barbara’s in the archive. Now, even as he wondered if his timing looked clumsy, he knew he had never wanted to get away more.

Tiny storm flies circled overhead. Eleanor was uncharacteristically quiet but William hardly waited for Laurence to help himself to his poached eggs and bacon before he opened a letter that was lying by his plate.

‘They’re finally coming to prepare for the window installation next week. Two of them. That’s something positive, don’t you think?’

Eleanor said sharply, ‘When there’s a child missing, it’s hard to think anything’s very positive.’

William put the letter down, the excitement fading from his eyes. ‘Yes, selfish of me. It’s just been a long time arranging it all. Do you think we shouldn’t go ahead right now?’

‘No. I’m just being peevish,’ Eleanor said. ‘I feel responsible for Maggie as it was me that was so keen she should go.’

‘And Patrick,’ William said. ‘The whole thing was Patrick’s idea.’

‘Her being in the car was my idea. I can’t help thinking that she never intended to be left with Nicholas, that she thought she might be free to explore alone.’

‘She’ll come back,’ William said and he reached for her hand, but she made no attempt to clasp his.

After breakfast Laurence walked out into the garden, hoping to find David. He thought the man needed a specific task to take his mind off recent events and it was easier to talk to him in Julian’s absence. He made for the overgrown kitchen garden, where David had cleared a patch and begun to grow vegetables. David wasn’t there but Laurence liked the tidy way the man had put straw under the marrows, and had staked the peas and the runner beans, in even rows. Raffia ties secured each stem to their canes and their bright-red flowers reminded him of allotments seen in his childhood. Between the rows, David was growing flowers for cutting for the house. He had repaired one of the glasshouses and when Laurence opened the door, the green smell of tomatoes was almost overwhelming. The heat was already building and there was a greyish tinge to the cloudless blue of the sky.

As he came along the terrace he saw David coming uphill from the generator shed. He appeared deep in thought and started when Laurence greeted him. His face shone with sweat.

‘Oiling the parts while the generator’s off,’ David said defensively. ‘Can’t see it’ll be on for a while. With no rain the water’s too low. The mill up river, that’s closed too. Should be all right at the Hall as it’s still light late and it’s full moon tomorrow. They can do without electricity.’ There was something desperate in his tone. He scanned the horizon. ‘Mind, I reckon the weather’ll break any day soon. You can feel it coming.’

‘Your wife thinks it’s going to be dry until August.’

‘St Swithin’s Day.’ David forced a smile. ‘She’s a superstitious one.’

‘Actually, I came to find you because we need to clear the west end of the church soon,’ Laurence said.

David’s expression was wooden. ‘But we finished the floor.’

‘That’s the east end. We need to clear the other side.’

‘It’s the window,’ David said. ‘I forgot all about the window.’ He seemed to be speaking to himself more than answering Laurence.

‘If you’re free tomorrow it would be good to get a clear space for them to take out the old glass. Then they can assemble the new. I am afraid it will make the most fearful mess however careful they are.’

‘I didn’t think Mr Julian would be wanting all that with Mrs Easton ill and Maggie gone.’

He could see David was unhappy. He had worked hard on the old floor, asking William’s advice on how to bring it to its best condition without damaging it. Now attention would move to the west window and the exposed area would unavoidably get covered in debris. But mostly he was still bearing the burden of his poor judgment at Wembley, Laurence thought.

‘Well, he’s away and Mr Bolitho says the glaziers are coming next week. Tomorrow at eleven, then? Unless you’ve got other chores?’ Laurence said briskly.

David nodded but he wouldn’t meet Laurence’s eyes. As Laurence walked away he had the feeling David had not moved. But when he reached the terrace and looked back, David was gone.

‘Thirteen and a half hours of sun,’ Mrs Hill said as she served up the haddock that evening, as if the weather was something else she had laboured over. She set down a tureen of disintegrating potatoes with a crash. ‘David grew ’em.’

However, it was not the sun but the heat that was extraordinary. When Laurence went to bed, he lay in his pyjama bottoms on top of his blankets until they irritated his skin and he pushed the whole mass of bedding to the floor. He had thrown open both sash windows and left the heavy curtains slightly apart but the room still felt airless. After a while he thought he’d read and felt for the light, forgetting the generator was off. It clicked uselessly. He lit the oil lamp instead, but heavy-bodied moths were soon thudding against the glass shade. Eventually he turned it out, expecting darkness, but the moon was almost full and the bedroom was surprisingly light. An owl hooted. He looked at his watch: it was one-thirty.