40

June 16

My name is Mabel Close. I used to be scullery maid at the manor ’til I fell in love with the third son, David. Our dalliance was forbidden by class status, society, and every other rule known to man. We hid our love for a time, playing with fire. We’d meet on my half day, several towns over, where he’d help me with my spelling and letters. Sweet, stolen moments in the orchard, the attics, or the caves.

We were seen by Michael, one of the servants. He’s a sly man, always sneaking about trying to get people in trouble. He’s valet to Mr. Close, David’s father, and must have told him. Mr. Close forbade us to see each other. He threatened to give me notice without reference, said I’d never work around here again.

David stood up to him. He told him we were getting married. That only made things worse. His father threatened to disinherit him if we married. He sent David away to medical school, hoping the five-year separation would cure him of his infatuation with a servant.

It didn’t. He wrote to me and spent time with me when he came home for holidays. Our love grew greater. He graduated and had plans to work in a big hospital in London.

We were going to leave together, marry, and set up home miles away from here. But both older brothers died leaving only his sisters, who could not inherit, David had no choice but to return home.

David kept seeing me. Things went too far, and when I found myself expecting, we had no choice but to marry. His father was furious and threw him out. Said he’d inherit over his dead body, and he never wanted to see him again. Then he sacked me.

We eloped, married over the anvil in Gretna Green. I’m not sure why, but we ended up back here in Abernay. David rented a small cottage opposite the church. He doctors from the back room. It’s not ideal, but it will do for now.

June 17

Mabel makes my father sound like an ogre. He is just not as forward thinking as some of us. He still does not agree with women having the vote. He insists the classes shouldn’t integrate, but I disagree. Mabel is all I want in a wife and always will be.

The villagers are beginning to attend my clinics and surgeries. I fear that half of them come through simple curiosity and to find out if the rumours are true.

This journal is running concurrent to the one in the main part of the house, with extra details where necessary. I don’t want this one found. Neither do I agree with the decision to flood the villages. I may have come out publicly to agree, but having met privately with Tully Belton, my eyes have been opened to what is really happening here.

No one wants to leave. And why should they? They are being forced to sell their homes, having been told they will lose their employment if they do not. As most of the villagers are employed either by my father or by CS or at the mill owned by James Chapman, there can be no doubt in my mind who is behind this, as those three men will gain most from the dam and new power station being built there.

Lou picked up her cup. “This journal starts before the one you had in the safe. There must be another one somewhere.”

“That one is pretty old and in a much worse condition than this one. The pages might have been lost or damaged over the years. Or removed for one reason or another,” Evan glanced down. “The next bit is yours.”

June 24

There is a protest meeting tonight. David is insisting he attends. I don’t want him to go. What if things get violent and he gets hurt? What will become of me then? His parents are still not speaking to us, and it’s been four months now. Despite the fact David is the village doctor, we are essentially outcasts.

The position in London is looking like a good option. He has telephoned the hospital there and they are going to get back to him once the board has convened next week.

The babe within me is uneasy tonight. I don’t want to stay here. There have been too many accidents on the construction site. It won’t be long before someone is killed up there. The work progresses in the dark and the fog, as well as during the day.

The fog. A strange, unearthly mist that covers the dam each night. Never seen fog in June before.

June 25

Last night’s meeting went well. Frank Philips chaired the meeting with Tully Belton as his second. Despite Mabel’s misgivings, we remained more or less as gentlemen, although tempers were high and voices raised.

A picket has been planned for the dam each day with placards. A petition will be raised to my father, though I have advised I cannot sign it. At least not yet.

June 30

Another meeting and, again, David insisted on attending. This time, I can hear the shouts from the hall across the street. The situation is becoming untenable here.

Mrs Teague, a widow of some sixty years, has sold her home and moved to be with her daughter in Dorset. She received only a fraction of what the house is worth. Those in the tithe cottages have no choice but to leave.

July 3

David was been called to the dam despite the late hour and the fog. Another accident. This time a young lad of nineteen, John Perkins, crush injuries they said. David was almost in tears when he came back. He could do nothing to save him.

July 8

I am attending the rally in London. Mabel is refusing to come. I am unhappy at the prospect of leaving her here alone, but this is something I have to do.

July 9

David is away in London. The fog is thick tonight, so unlike July. The sounds are muffled, yet up at the dam, work continues. I have signed the petition against the dam and flooding on behalf of us both. One day all this land will belong to David. It is only right that history knows he wanted nothing to do with it; they should know his stance was firm against.

He wants no part of this dam or the flooding. No part of the destruction and loss that will accompany it. People will lose their homes, their livelihoods. We lose everything so a few men can profit.

July 10

The Prime Minister said he can do nothing. He didn’t even come to the door, only sent an assistant to take the box containing the petition from us. We are betrayed by those meant to protect us.

Frank Philips is dead. Murdered. Again the police will do nothing. They are paid by my father to do what he wants.

That would change under my tenure, but once the village is gone, so will the position of squire. I will not inherit the title, for which my father is probably pleased. The land will belong to us but nothing more.

Tully Belton, Forest Phillips (Frank’s son), Jonathan Keene, and I will meet in the church just before midnight. We will not let the village fall without a fight. We must come up with a plan and soon.

July 23

Our child, a daughter, came too early, barely six months. She did not survive. Mabel is doing as well as can be expected. I am…also. We named the baby Elizabeth, after Mabel’s mother. She was born on July 12. We buried her in the church yard under the cover of the fog. Under the law, she would not receive a funeral as she was not deemed to be alive. There was another funeral the following day; we merely used the same grave. I am sure that God will not mind.