Chapter Thirty

The Forest, 1907

T hey have found Aaron, of course it is him. The faded, handwritten letter is confirmation.

When the girls are settled at the table with Hester, peppermint teas in hand, the range stoked and Hester calmer, she tells them how their grandmother had spoken of Eccleshall rather than Coppenhall as she lay dying. She explains how she had not thought anything of it until two weeks ago when talking to Catherine, and about Cornelius sending a man to the town to see if, after ten years, he could find any trace of their Papa.

Rose stretches out a hand towards the envelope, the typed and handwritten pages lying on the stained and scratched wood beside Hester’s tea. She pulls her hand back, places her fingers to her mouth. ‘Yes?’ she says.

Hester’s heart fractures at the restrained yearning in her daughter’s voice. She glances to Ellen who sits with her palms steepled under her chin. The gold flecks in her dark eyes glint in the darkening room.

‘He has.’ Hester strokes the pale mauve writing as if the words were a sleeping cat.

Rose gives a short clap and squeals, which causes Pumpkin to stir on his rag rug by the range. The cat blinks, lifts a paw, and rises to pad the coarse materials before sinking into sleep

‘Wonderful news, Mama.’ Ellen’s statement is a question. ‘Isn’t it?’ Her voice falters.

‘Let me read you this first.’ Hester gently lifts the creased, handwritten page and angles it to catch the last of the thin light from the kitchen window. Squalling rain streams down the glass, a mirror of her own emotions. ‘You can hold the words in your hearts, as I will,’ she says, and reads, softly –

My dear Hester, I have completed my duty, and not to my satisfaction I am unhappy to say. I am eager to be on my way home to you and our beloved girls. Give them a kiss from their loving Papa. I miss you badly, A

‘He wanted to come but he didn’t?’ Twin lines pucker the delicate skin between Rose’s dark gold eyebrows.

‘Does it mean he’s dead?’ Ellen’s lips tremble with anticipated grief.

‘No, no.’ Hester lays the letter by her tea and lifts the first page of the typed missive. ‘Ellen, light the lamp please and I’ll read you what Cornelius’ man found.’

Ellen removes the shade from the paraffin lamp, checks the level of oil and uses a taper pushed into the stove’s coals to light the wick. She is deft, quick in her movements, anxious for what is to be revealed. The gloom lifts, and deep shadows grow in the corners of the room. Ellen brings the lamp to the table and the shadows waver, morph into different shapes before they settle.

Hester reads, this time with less emotion.

Dear Mr Schill

As requested by you, I travelled to Eccleshall on the 6 th inst, discovered there is indeed a hostelry of the name The Royal Oak here, where I booked myself a room. I was able to confirm through the innkeeper allowing me to search his guest register that Mr Aaron Appleby stayed there at midsummer 1897. Unfortunately, the owner of the establishment at the time retired the same midsummer, selling the Royal Oak and believed to be residing in a coastal town on the southern coast.

However, on the following day, as you suggested, I enquired at various churches if they had knowledge of a Reverend and Mrs Ward, likely originally of the town and possibly later retired here. On each occasion I showed your letter of introduction stating the reasons for my visit. This was well received.

It wasn’t until my fourth visit, to a Reverend Allen of Holy Trinity Church, that I came across important information. Reverend Allen has been the vicar of this parish since 1883, and he well remembered the Wards as parishioners when he arrived. Both have now passed, leaving no descendants Reverend Allen is aware of, although he did mention he believed there was a daughter and some tragedy associated with her.

Hester pauses. She is aware of Ellen’s and Rose’s mystified faces, and does not relish answering questions about the Wards and their tragic daughter. Marianne! How long will her shadow fall over Hester’s family? She grimaces, and continues.

When questioned if he had any memory of a gentleman of Mr Aaron Appleby’s description asking after the Wards ten years past, the Reverend said he was certain he did have such memory. Particularly because the gentleman came to him a day after the old Queen’s jubilee, which fits with the timing of his stay at the Royal Oak.

‘He went to the right town,’ Ellen says. ‘I wonder what sent him there?’

‘Does the letter say, Mama?’ Rose lifts herself slightly from the wooden chair to peer over Hester’s hands and read the letter for herself, albeit upside down.

‘No.’

‘We’ll ask him when we see him.’ Rose nods sharply. This will be a simple mystery to solve.

‘Wait.’ Hester pulls in her lips to stifle tears, lets them go with a soft implosion, and continues.

With both Wards passed, but with confirmation Mr Appleby had indeed been in Eccleshall, I then visited various establishments such as a gentleman might patronise in the hope he had stayed in the town for a period of time, or maybe had remained here. I included the three doctors who attend the sick in the town, which proved fruitful.

‘Doctors?’ Ellen. ‘Did Papa fall ill?’

‘He can’t have been ill for ten years.’ Rose’s protest falls hard on the heels of Ellen’s question.

‘I need you to be patient one minute longer, please, Ellen.’ Hester’s own patience is pressed. She shakes the letter and carries on.

The third doctor I approached became most excited when I told him of my mission and described Mr Appleby.

It seems, sir, that Mr A was involved in an accident late in the day he spoke with Reverend Allen. He was thrown from his horse in the act of stopping a bolting pony and cart, thereby doubtlessly saving the life of the driver. Unfortunately, however, Mr A was afterwards affected with deep memory loss. There was nothing on his person or his small amount of luggage to identify him, other than the letter which I enclose here and which I obtained from the doctor, who has kept it in the hope it might be claimed one day.

‘A hero?’ Rose.

‘No memory?’ Ellen.

‘Yes and yes.’ Hester folds the letter without reading the separate paragraph Cornelius’ man typed at the direction of the doctor.

‘He will come home and we will be as we were before.’ Rose.

The cracks in Hester’s heart widen. She presses her hand to her ribcage to ease them closed.

The sentences she fails to read out loud warn of possible adverse effects of a rapid reversal of amnesia, such as might be brought about by seeing a loved person from the past. Headaches, panic, confusion, strain on the heart. The doctor, a P Collins, has provided his address and invites Hester to come to him. He will arrange for her to identify the gentleman in a manner which will avoid these dangers.

Her and the girls’ long wait is by no means over.

When Hester fails to respond to Rose’s statement, she repeats it as a question. ‘You will go, Mama and bring Papa home?’ She bounces on her chair like a five-year-old on Christmas Eve.

Ellen tips her head to one side in silent reinforcement.

‘Yes.’ Hester folds the letter, slips it with the notes from Aaron and Cornelius, inside the envelope. ‘I will go. We need to be certain the man is Papa.’

‘The note, the use of Hester …’ Ellen holds out her palms.

‘I agree, it’s highly likely it’s him.’ Hester stretches her arms across the table, fingers curled up, inviting her daughters to grasp her hands. ‘Until I have laid eyes on this man I will not give in to hope.’

And until she has fully grasped the dangers to Aaron, she will not let caution be overwhelmed by love, by her desire to have him with them in the cottage. This time, Hester determines her love will be selfless.

***

Weary of its intemperate squalling, the rain has settled to a soft drizzle which soaks the fallen leaves under the oak and adds to the muddiness of the narrow path along the stream. Hester pulls the hood of her old cloak over her head and, with the lantern held high, picks her familiar way to the river. Rain or no rain, darkness or not, she craves the goddess’s whispers.

When she reaches the cleft where she and Ellen grasped the gift of Rose from the luminous arms of the nymphs, Hester throws back her hood and stares out over the swollen waters. The tide is high. The rain, wind and the falling dusk paint the river tarnished pewter.

Hester’s body is motionless, while her mind summons the memories: of Aaron hauling her up the cliff path out of the way of the rushing tide; of him asking her – what does the goddess say? when Mother would have married her off to the salmon-stinking fisherman with his fancy house and his smuggled ribbons and laces. She closes her eyes, raises her arms and relives her flight above the star-dappled river, hair shining silver in the gleaming moonlight … And the night they – Hester, Aaron, Marianne and Sabrina, goddess – battled the fisherman’s lust for revenge, the nymphs enfolding him in their watery, airless embrace.

‘Goddess,’ Hester murmurs, ‘tell me what I should do.’

You are strong, Hester, you are wise , comes the refrain sung her entire life. You must do what you must do.