Before she shared what she’d discovered in that last entry in Ted Morgan’s diaries, Tilly thought she should find the whole truth. All of it – what happened to Ted after his arrest, what became of Annie Galbraith and her baby. Once she had worked it all out, she could gather everyone together and tell them what she’d uncovered. She put the diaries to one side, opened up her laptop and began searching newspaper archives again, typing ‘Edward Morgan’, ‘trial’ and ‘Lynford’ into the search box. There must be a write up of it somewhere. Ted had been arrested on suspicion of murder, after all.
At last, Tilly found a brief account of Ted Morgan’s trial, tucked away at the bottom of a page of a national newspaper. As she read the article her heart sank in dismay. Frederick Wilson had testified, saying that he’d seen the defendant tussle with the deceased, and that Mr Morgan had purposely pushed Mr Clarke-Watson down the stairs. Wilson had, the paper said, run to the unfortunate man’s aid, only to discover his neck was broken and he was dead. He’d then tried to comfort the deceased man’s fiancée and had also telephoned the police.
There was no mention of any testimony from Annie Galbraith.
Tilly opened a new browser tab on her laptop, and searched a site that listed births, marriages and deaths, for the name ‘Galbraith’. There was just one in the Michelhampton area – a girl, born to Anne Galbraith, and given the name Ena.
And there was the truth, that Tilly had already begun to guess at. Ena Pullen must be Annie and Ted’s child. How then did she end up with the surname Pullen? Annie must have married. Tilly ran a few more searches and yes, there it was, a wedding between Anne Galbraith and a George Pullen, in Michelhampton not long after the birth of Ena. George must have been a good man, devoted to Annie, to take on another man’s child in those days, Tilly thought.
She remembered that Ena said her mother blamed the railway for the death of her father. Tilly went back to the newspaper report and read the last few paragraphs.
‘Oh, Ted, you poor thing,’ she whispered, as she read that the stationmaster had been found guilty of murder and sentenced to death by hanging. ‘What a sad end.’
She found a tear running down her cheek. She’d grown to like Ted very much, through reading his diaries. He came across as a kind, simple man who wanted very little from life – just to be able to be with the woman he loved.
Why hadn’t Annie testified? She could have saved him, possibly.
Tilly noted down all the details she’d found and then realised that Ena had been born on the very day that Ted had been found guilty. Perhaps that was why Annie had not testified? If she’d been in hospital, in labour, she would not have been able to attend court. Would they not have delayed the hearing to wait for her? Or perhaps for some reason they’d discounted her evidence before the trial. Whatever the reason, it was clear that Annie had moved on pretty quickly, marrying George Pullen so soon after the trial, and presumably before Ted’s hanging.
Maybe Ena knew more. It was time to go and see her again. But first Tilly should talk to Alan.
*
‘I don’t know why you think my presence will help this woman change her mind about the railway,’ Alan muttered, as Tilly drove him and her father to Ena Pullen’s house. She had telephoned Ena and asked if she could visit again, to outline the results of her research. And she’d asked permission to bring ‘two members of the railway restoration society’ with her. Ena had grumbled a bit but then agreed. But whether she’d invite them all inside, or turn them away on the doorstep, was yet to be seen.
Ken knew the results of Tilly’s research, but Alan didn’t. It was going to be a tricky, but interesting, encounter.
It was a beautiful sunny day when Tilly drove into Ena Pullen’s farmyard and parked in front of the barn, as she had on her previous visit. She climbed out of the car, stretching her back. Now that her pregnancy was further progressed, she was beginning to feel some aches and pains. But she welcomed them – they were proof the baby was still there, growing, and that every day was a step nearer to becoming a parent at last.
Alan and Ken followed her to the farmhouse door, where she rang the bell. ‘I still think it’s a bit heavy-handed,’ Alan said, ‘three of us turning up at once.’
Tilly began to answer, but at that moment the door opened and Ena peered around, unsmiling. ‘You’re here. Better come in, then. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Let me help,’ Tilly said, following Ena to the kitchen. Her father and Alan scuffed their shoes on the mat and shuffled along the hallway, like two naughty schoolboys. They were nervous about what reception they’d get from Ena, and Tilly knew Alan was worried she’d become even further opposed to the railway if they played their cards wrongly in this meeting.
A little later, with introductions out of the way and a pot of tea brewing, they sat around the kitchen table and Tilly began telling Ena what she’d discovered.
‘Your mother was Annie Galbraith, I believe,’ she began.
Ena nodded. ‘Yes, and she was a fine woman. Very beautiful when she was young. I wish I’d taken after her, but she always said I was more like my father.’
‘Your father. You told me when I was here before, that the reason you were against the railway reopening was because your mother told you it had caused the death of your father.’
Ena sniffed. ‘That’s right. It was the death of him, she always said, though she wouldn’t tell me what she meant. She’d tell me when I was grown-up, she said. And then she died, you know. When I was 17. And my father – adopted father, that is – died not long after, and I’ve been here ever since. My friend Sheila moved in with me. We ran the farm together for years. Sheila died about ten years ago, and I sold off most of my land and retired at 70.’ She sat a little straighter in her chair, clearly proud of her achievements.
‘That’s impressive, running a farm till that age,’ Ken said. ‘I retired at 60.’
‘What did you do?’ Ena asked.
‘Area manager for a railway company. I managed half a dozen stations. Glorified stationmaster, really.’
‘Which makes me a stationmaster’s daughter,’ Tilly said. ‘Just like you, Ena, I suppose.’ She smiled at the older woman.
Ena twisted in her seat and stared at Tilly. ‘What do you mean? My father wasn’t a stationmaster. He was a businessman. A very successful one, even though he was so young. Who knows what he could have been, if he’d lived?’
It was Tilly’s turn to stare. ‘Who are you talking about?’
‘My father, of course. Bertram Clarke-Watson. Who died before I was born.’
Tilly glanced over at Alan, who’d sat quietly throughout, a frown on his face. ‘Ena,’ she said gently, ‘I don’t believe Mr Clarke-Watson was your father.’
‘Of course he was. My mother had been engaged to him. She must have jumped the gun a little, and fell pregnant with me. You know how it is. Obviously.’ She nodded at Tilly’s rather obvious bump and then at her bare ring finger.
‘Ena, look at this a moment, would you?’ Tilly brought out the final notebook of Ted Morgan’s diary, the one in which Annie had written the true events of that fateful night. ‘Is that your mother’s handwriting?’
‘Ye-es, looks like it,’ Ena said. She flipped back a few pages, then jabbed at Ted’s spiky hand. ‘That’s not, though.’
‘No, that’s Edward Morgan’s handwriting. He was Lynford’s stationmaster.’
‘Never heard of the fellow.’
‘He was my uncle,’ Alan said, and gazed at Ena, still frowning slightly. Tilly gave him a small smile. He was beginning to put two and two together.
‘Ena, did your mother tell you how your father died?’ Tilly asked, gently.
‘No, she never did.’ The old woman looked at Tilly with watery eyes. ‘Did you find something out?’
‘I did, yes. It’s all in here.’ Tilly tapped the diary. ‘It seems that while your mother was engaged to Bertram Clarke-Watson, she spent a night at Lynford station when she could not get home due to a huge storm. Somehow …’ Tilly hesitated, wondering how best to put it. ‘Somehow, she ended up in bed with Edward Morgan. He was very much in love with her, and it seems she cared for him too.’
‘She slept with another man while she was engaged? I can’t believe she was sleeping with two men before she was married!’
‘She broke off the engagement with Mr Clarke-Watson. And as far as I can work out, she only slept with one man – Ted Morgan – and only that once.’
‘Are you saying … that I’m the result of that night?’
‘Yes. It’s all in here. According to Ted’s diary, Annie told him he was the father of her child.’
‘So how did he die – this Ted Morgan? My real father, if what you are telling me is true, though I’m not at all sure it is …’
Tilly paused for a moment before she answered. ‘I think first you should read your mother’s words for yourself.’ Tilly pushed the diary across the table. ‘But I must warn you, some of this may come as a shock.’
Ena stood and fetched a pair of glasses from a drawer, then sat down again. She picked up the diary and read it carefully. Tilly found herself holding her breath, looking from Ken to Alan as Ena read it. Alan was still frowning and biting his lip. It was the first time he’d heard any of this story, and Tilly knew he must be bursting with questions.
Sunday, 20 September 1936
I am waiting in the station house at Lynford. It is the day the last trains ran, the day the station closed for good, and the day that Bertram Clarke-Watson, my fiancé, died from a fall down the stairs. My father is driving now from Michelhampton to collect me, so I only have a short time to set down the truth. Ted, dear Ted Morgan, always said that writing things down helped him make sense of things, helped him understand what was important, and get things straight in his mind. So I too shall try it. It shall also be a confession, though one I hope no one will read.
There was a fight, tonight. I had told Bertram about Ted’s baby that I am carrying and broken off our engagement. He was angry and followed me here. He picked the fight with Ted, at the top of the stairs. Ted did not want to fight. I went upstairs too, to try to stop them, and at one point I lost my footing. I thought I was going to fall, but Ted reached for me and held tightly on to me, saving me from falling. It was at that moment that I suddenly saw that if only it could be Bertram who fell, as an accident, then maybe Ted and I could have a future together after all. At that exact moment I admit that I wanted Bertram dead. And so I lashed out. Holding on to Ted I shoved back against Bertram with all my strength, and down he went.
I had not expected that boy, Frederick Wilson, to be a witness. I don’t know what he saw or thinks he saw, or what evidence he will give. I thought we would be able to tell the police it was a tragic accident. But Ted has shouldered the blame, confessing to the police to having pushed Bertram. He told me that I must take care of our child, that our child is the most important consideration, no matter what. So I know I must keep quiet about my part in Bertram’s death. I can only say there was a fight and that he fell, and I do not know quite how it happened. Because if I confess the truth then I will go to prison and our child will be born in prison, and that is not giving him or her a good life, as I promised Ted when he was taken away. I have a choice of either exonerating Ted or keeping my promise to him. I cannot do both. It is a terrible choice to make, but I must do what Ted, my own love, wants.
Annie Galbraith
At last Ena finished reading and put the book down with a little gasp. Alan reached for it. ‘May I read it too, now? Ted Morgan was my uncle.’
‘Yes, you said that …’ Ena replied, and then as though a light bulb had switched on in her head, she looked up at him. ‘You’re my cousin, then. I never had a cousin.’
‘Neither did I,’ Alan said, softly. ‘There were four of us, Ena. Three left. One day I hope my brother and sister can meet you too. They remember your father. I never met him, being the youngest. I was only a baby when he died.’
‘You’re my cousin,’ she said again.
Alan reached across the table and took her hand. ‘Yes. Pleased to meet you, cousin.’
‘You need to read that, now,’ Ena said, pointing to the diary. ‘The poor man. And Mother … how could she …’ Alan picked up the diary and began reading while Ken looked over his shoulder. Ken already knew the gist of the story but had not yet read it in detail.
‘She loved him, didn’t she?’ Ena said. ‘Ted, I mean. What happened to him?’
‘It took me a while to find out, as the Dorset Herald archives were lost years ago in a fire. But I eventually found something.’
‘Go on,’ Ena said.
Tilly glanced at Alan. He was still reading the diary, but he quickly finished and put it down. ‘So did Annie Galbraith keep her promise to my uncle, in the end?’
Tilly took a deep breath. ‘She did. The case went to trial. The porter, Fred Wilson, who Annie mentions in the diary, stated that he’d seen a fight and seen Ted Morgan push the other man down the stairs, on purpose. Annie didn’t testify at the trial. She was in hospital, giving birth to you, Ena.’
‘So Ted Morgan was found guilty?’
‘Yes. And then a few months later, he was hanged for murder.’
‘Oh my.’ Ena clapped a hand to her mouth.
Alan stared at Tilly. ‘No wonder my mother wouldn’t talk about him, if she thought he was guilty of murder. The most unforgivable crime, she always said. And hanged for it. But in this book, it’s clear he didn’t do it.’ He looked sideways at Ena.
‘She should have testified! She should have told the truth.’ Ena thumped the table. ‘The poor man! She always told me it was her fiancé who was my father. Clarke-Watson. She never told me she’d broken it off, never told me about Ted Morgan, or any of the rest of it. She lied to me!’
‘She’d made a promise to Ted Morgan. I’m sure she did everything with your best interests at heart.’ Tilly patted the older woman’s arm. But Ena shook her head.
‘No, whatever she did, she did for one person only. And that was Annie. She was a selfish woman. She was bitter, too. I think she’d wanted better for herself than to be a farmer’s wife. I always suspected she’d only married my father – I mean George Pullen – because with a small baby no one else would have her. Her mother had died when she was a teenager, and her father was by all accounts a strict, old-fashioned man, who I suppose would have been furious at her for getting pregnant outside of marriage. My father – George, I mean, I will always call him father and he was a good man –adored her. She could do no wrong in his eyes, but even as a child I could see she treated him badly. Always nagging him, saying she wondered what she’d ever seen in him, saying he was lucky she stayed and didn’t leave him for someone better. Then she’d look at me and mutter something about it being all my fault, and she’d stare across at Lynford and say, “That bloody railway, that was the start of it all”. So now it all makes sense.’ Ena picked up the diary, turned to Annie’s words and then went backwards, frowning at the difficult handwriting of her biological father. ‘Look how much he cared for her. He was besotted.’
‘Yes, he was,’ Tilly replied. ‘And she loved him too – you can tell from that last diary entry that she wrote. It must have been difficult for her, being pregnant and unmarried, back then. There was a real stigma attached to it in those days. Engaged to one man but pregnant by another, who she obviously loved. I do feel sorry for her.’
‘But then she found someone else in the end,’ Ken said. ‘Your stepfather, Ena.’
‘I suppose she did what she thought was best,’ said Ena, grudgingly. ‘She had something about her, that made men fall at her feet. Well, whatever it was, I never inherited it, and perhaps I’ve been happier for it. I was never interested in men, anyway. Neither was Sheila.’
Alan grinned. ‘Good on you, cousin.’
Ena smiled, shyly at first and then broadening. Her face lit up when she smiled, Tilly thought. Not just her face. Ena had one of those smiles that seemed to light up the room. It was a pity she used it so rarely.
‘We should shake hands properly, cousin,’ Ena said. ‘And I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what you said your name was?’
Alan stood and came round to Ena’s side of the table. ‘I’m Alan Harris. Stand up then, and give me a hug. We should have grown up together. We could have been great friends.’ He cleared his throat. ‘We still could.’
Tilly watched, her breath held, as Ena stood up and wrapped her arms around Alan. She barely reached to his shoulder, but he bent his head down so that his cheek rested on the top of her head. They stayed like that for a moment. Tilly reached for her father’s hand. He’d been quiet throughout, but she saw now there was a glistening in his eye as he watched the cousins’ reunion.
At last they broke apart, and Ena sat down again, looking flushed and slightly embarrassed. Alan on the other hand was still grinning broadly.
‘So, cousin Ena, may I ask you what your feelings are about the railway restoration project now?’
Tilly held her breath again. What a direct question! How would Ena take it? She could easily be offended that Alan would use his kinship with her to attempt to change her mind.
But it seemed she had nothing to fear. Ena threw back her head and laughed. A young, tinkling laugh that was a joy to hear. Soon they were all joining in, chuckling away, looking at each other and waiting to hear how Ena would answer.
‘Oh dear me, cousin Alan! I can’t very well refuse to sell up now, can I? Not now I know my father spent his life working on that railway and loved it as much as he loved my mother. After all, I suppose it’s what he would have wanted, the poor dear man.’