No Stone Unturned (29 page)

‘Oh Ben,' she said out loud, although her throat felt so tight that the sound which came out was barely a whisper. Her eyes filled with tears.

Determined to quash the crazy theories which had begun to race around her mind, Kelly rushed up to the front door, clamped the doorknob with both hands and tried to wrestle it open. The door wouldn't budge.

‘No!' she cried. ‘Ben!'

Perhaps there was a back door. Kelly ran around the side of the cottage and through an old wrought iron gate, now hanging off its hinges, which led to the back yard. The scene there reminded Kelly of
The Secret Garden
. The wall that surrounded it was low, not like the high one that enclosed Mary's garden in the book, but the plants inside it were certainly as overgrown. No one had tended this garden for a very long time. Yet dotted here and there were hints of a time when the garden was once loved and cared for. A stone bird bath lay on its side, there was an old potting shed in the far corner, and ensnared in a mass of knotted shoots and branches were the skeleton-like frames of a former rose garden.

Built against the back wall of the cottage was a small lean-to with a glass door. The glass in the door was so mouldy and dirty that Kelly could not see through it, but she could see that it was open. Stopping briefly to look around her, she gathered herself then stepped over the threshold into a tiny boot room with a row of coat pegs on the wall.

‘Who's there?'

A voice. A woman's voice, with an accent of some kind.

Kelly froze. She breathed deeply then said, in a small voice, ‘It's Kelly. I'm Ben's friend.'

‘Well, you're welcome to come on in, but I'm not sure who Ben is.'

As Kelly went through the next door she saw the source of the voice. An elderly but sprightly woman, dressed in jeans and a sky-blue turtle-neck jumper. She was standing in the centre of a dusty old kitchen with a large rectangular pine table in the centre. Kelly guessed that she was in her mid-sixties, and sensed straight away that she need not be scared. The lady had a kind, open face. Her skin was tanned and healthy looking, and her fair hair was cut into a neat bob, held back by a lavender chiffon scarf tied into a floppy bow which framed the top of her head.

‘Ben lives here…I think,' said Kelly, her uncertainty causing her voice to sound a little shaky.

‘No, I don't think so,' replied the lady. ‘This cottage has been empty for years. There
was
a family who rented it and lived here during the war, but no one's lived here since then.'

Kelly's mind was racing. If no one had lived here for years, then where on earth was Ben? Perhaps it was the old lady who was confused. ‘Are you Australian?' she asked.

‘I am. That's right.' The lady held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Kelly. I'm Alice. I've lived in Australia all my life, but this place used to belong to my great-grandmother before she emigrated. I'm named after her. I inherited the cottage when my mother died.'

‘Woah,' gasped Kelly. Of course. Alice was the name on the census record, William Denton's wife.

Unsure how to read Kelly's reaction, the lady went on with her story. ‘I always dreamed of coming to England one day to check out my roots. I had a feeling that now was the right time.'

Kelly inclined her head to the pots of paint on the sideboard. ‘Are you going to do the cottage up and come and live here?'

The lady shrugged. ‘Oh, I doubt it, I'm happy in Australia. I couldn't stand the cold winters you get here. But whatever I do decide to do with this place, I think I owe it to my great-grandmother to tidy it up, don't you? Mind you, I'm told that she didn't have many happy memories of her time here.'

‘I know,' said Kelly. ‘I've been learning all about it, you see, with…' She paused. ‘With my friend Ben. For a school local history project about the quarry which used to be open here. And I've been trying to find out what happened when they first built the railway through Wilmcote, and how it changed things.'

‘So you live in Wilmcote, then?'

‘Just on the edge of the village. On the other side of the railway.'

‘And you're going to write about the history of this place?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, I can't tell you where your friend Ben lives, but I might be able to help you with some details on the history of this cottage. If you're going to write about it, it's important you get the story right. It's about time the truth was told.'

Kelly smiled and nodded. This was music to her ears. ‘It sure is. Ever since I started this project, it's felt like a big mystery puzzle. And a flippin' difficult one!'

Alice laughed. ‘Perhaps I can provide the final pieces. Would you like some juice?'

‘Yes please.'

Alice opened a cool bag on the old kitchen table, and took out two cartons of apple juice. ‘I came prepared,' she said with a grin. ‘I guessed that there wouldn't be much chance of a cup of tea when I arrived. Here, have a seat.'

She wiped the dust off one of the kitchen chairs and gestured to Kelly to sit down. Because the light was fading fast, she also lit some candles, which cast a warm glow about the room. Then she sat on the other side of the table from Kelly. ‘Cheers!' she said, lifting her juice carton in salute and taking a long pull on the straw. Kelly followed suit.

‘If you've been researching the history of the railway, I take it you know about the railway accident?' Alice began.

Kelly, who was still sucking on her straw, nearly choked on her juice. She hadn't expected the old lady to come right out with that. ‘Yes,' she spluttered, dabbing her mouth with her sleeve. ‘I have. That was so sad, and so awful how the railway company tried to cover it all up.' She looked again at the lady across the table. ‘Hey wait a minute, if your great-grandmother lived here, does that make you a Denton? Was William Denton your great-grandfather?'

‘No, it's a little more complicated than that. Alice Denton
was
my great-grandmother, but she didn't marry my great-grandfather until a few years after she arrived in Adelaide. It was her second marriage, and she'd already made a new life for herself in Australia by the time she met him. She was a seamstress, you know, and my great grandfather was one of her customers.'

Alice took a sip of her juice. Kelly remained silent, trying to take it all in. She still didn't understand why Alice wasn't familiar with Ben if he was a Denton, but the old lady seemed in full flow, so Kelly didn't interrupt.

‘They had my grandfather in 1875. They called him Billy in memory of Alice's first son. The one who was killed in the rail accident.'

Alice stopped speaking, noticing the surprise on Kelly's face.

‘Her…her son?' Kelly stammered. ‘You mean, it was Billy who was killed? He was working on the line? Wasn't he only about twelve or thirteen in 1860?'

‘Just thirteen. And yes he
was
working, although he wasn't supposed to be there. I'm not surprised you didn't find that out. My great-grandmother had her reasons for keeping that a secret.'

‘But I saw the gravestones. They are still there, in the churchyard,' said Kelly, breathlessly. ‘The initials on the footstone are W. T. D.'

‘Everyone called the boy Billy, but he was christened William Thomas, like his father. So the footstone was accurate. Everyone just believed it was for William senior.'

Kelly shook her head. She was having trouble understanding it all.

Alice leaned forwards, folding her arms and resting them on the table. ‘My great-grandmother started a diary on her crossing to Australia. She had lots of time to kill on that ship. And she began it by explaining the background to her decision to move to Australia. She never spoke about it to anyone. She wanted to start a new life and put it all behind her. But she obviously wanted the truth to be recorded somewhere. My mother used to read the diary to me when I was younger, and it's mine now, of course, along with the cottage.'

‘So did your great-grandmother say what happened to Billy?' asked Kelly, fascinated.

‘Well yes, but a lot of the details about the accident itself were a result of her putting two and two together. She believed that Billy went to work in his father's place that day because he found him drunk and hungover from the night before. The Dentons didn't have much you see. Times were hard, and there were plenty of men ready to take your place if you lost your job. If you didn't toe the line and do a good job, your boss would sack you as quick as look at you. So turning up late because you had a hangover wasn't going to cut the mustard.'

‘So, what, Billy went to work so that his father would keep his job?' asked Kelly, leaning forwards into the candlelight.

‘So my great-grandmother believed, yes. Plus, the railway line they were building was nearly complete, and they were due a bonus. The only man, besides the other victims, who saw Billy on the morning of the accident was the foreman, and he obviously mistook him for his father. Then of course, after poor Billy was dead, no one could tell
who
he was…'

Kelly finished her sentence. ‘Because the bodies were so badly mangled.'

‘That's right. Horrible, hey?'

Kelly nodded, suddenly feeling incredibly sad. ‘Your poor great-grandmother. And poor William! He must have felt terrible. In bed with a hangover while his son is getting killed to protect his job. It should have been William who was killed.'

Alice tutted. ‘Exactly. My great-grandmother reckoned that William must have woken up later that morning and gone down to the railway to look for his son. When he got there, he must have realised his son had been killed.'

Kelly kept shaking her head. She couldn't imagine how guilty William must have felt. ‘So what did he do then, Billy's dad?'

‘My great-grandmother found him in a goods shed. It's not surprising that he blamed himself for what had happened. It wouldn't have mattered to him whether or not the railway company had been negligent. All he would have been able to think about was the fact that it should have been him, not his son, who was killed. The shame and the pain of that must have been too hard to take.'

Kelly was starting to feel a bit sick. ‘What do you mean?' she asked, petrified that she already knew the answer.

‘He took his own life. Hung himself. In a shed, somewhere near the railway line.'

Kelly could hear it again. That dreadful creaking sound of rope rubbing on wood in the shed that Ben wouldn't enter. The mysterious photograph. She shuddered as the memory of the chilly air inside the shed brought goosebumps to her skin. Kelly looked down at her hands. They were trembling.

‘Sorry, love,' said Alice. ‘It's a bit cold in here, isn't it?'

When she next spoke, Kelly had to fight to control the quiver in her voice. ‘So there must be another grave somewhere. William's grave.'

‘I'm afraid not,' replied Alice. ‘You see, back then, suicide was considered a very shameful thing, Kelly. It was seen as a crime against the state
and
against God. For my great-grandmother, with a vicar as a father and a strongly religious upbringing, the thought of everyone knowing what William had done was too much to bear. And she was angry with him too, for what had happened to Billy.'

‘So what did she do?' asked Kelly.

Alice cleared her throat, evidently feeling less comfortable sharing this part of her family history. ‘My great-grandmother didn't record all the details in her diary, but she said enough to convince my mother and me that she hid the body somewhere.'

‘I think I know where,' whispered Kelly, sitting back in her chair and putting her hands together and up to her mouth as if in prayer. An image of a deep, dark hole in the ground filled her mind. ‘There's an old shed in the woods, between the canal and the railway. I've been there. I think that might be where Alice found William. And there's an old disused well right by it. Do you think he's down there?' Kelly gasped, appalled by her own theory. ‘Urgh! What a horrible thought!'

Alice blew out. ‘I don't know. He
could
be. Not that there would be much left of him now.' Then, seeing the revulsion in Kelly's expression, she added, ‘Look, I don't think that hiding the body was something my great-grandma was very proud of. Perhaps that was why she could never bring herself to tell anyone, or write more in her diary about it. Perhaps it was just easier for everyone if he remained unfound.'

‘So…' Kelly slowly picked up the thread. ‘Alice never told
anyone
what had happened to Billy? It was covered up?'

Alice nodded. ‘That's about the size of it. Keeping it all a secret was made easy for them. The railway company knew that they could have prevented that accident on the line but they had the power and the means to keep that quiet. So it was hushed up. And from Alice's point of view, there was nothing to be gained by the world knowing that William had committed suicide. What good would have come of dragging her family's name through the mud? So she told everyone that she had sent Billy away. Then one day, after the inquest, she simply disappeared. She didn't even tell her father where she had gone. I don't suppose he would ever have dreamed that she had gone to the other side of the world.'

‘I can't believe it,' said Kelly, shaking her head.

‘No,' agreed Alice. ‘It's quite a story. But I think Billy would like it to be told, don't you?'

Kelly nodded, a lump building in her throat.

‘In fact,' added Alice, ‘one of the things I want to enquire about while I'm here in England is whether I can put a new stone on the grave, showing Billy's full name and age. It seems only right, don't you think? It might not be possible, but I feel I should at least try.'

‘Oh, yes,' croaked Kelly, swallowing hard. ‘I think he would like that. The headstone says
rest in peace
. I think he would have more chance of doing that if his life and his death were acknowledged in some way. Otherwise it's like he never existed.'