25.

Belle stood in the porch outside the hotel in a desultory mood, watching guests arriving and leaving. Two businessmen first, wearing pale linen suits, who both nodded at her as they headed out. They were followed by an overdressed middle-aged matriarch dragging an unwilling child by the hand as she marched into the lobby. It was already mercilessly hot, and Belle knew she really ought to find somewhere to sit beneath a fan, but she felt confused by Oliver’s recent revelations about her father and mother and couldn’t settle. Oliver was proving to be a true friend, but she was still no closer to uncovering what had happened to the baby and felt unsure of her next move. After a few minutes she noticed the Indian doorman was watching her with a curious look on his face so she walked up to him.

‘Can I assist you in any way, Miss Hatton?’ he said in a lull between guests needing his help.

She considered it. Could he help her? Guests sometimes forgot the staff were people and a man in his position might well hear gossip.

‘Maybe.’

‘If you do not mind me saying, you do look rather troubled.’

‘I didn’t sleep well.’

‘That is a shame. Would there be something particular on your mind?’

She gazed at him, sniffing air laden with the smell of salt and oil from the docks. ‘Well, yes, there is.’ And, after a momentary hesitation, she went on to explain about her parents and the baby who disappeared in 1911.

During a short silence, his brow furrowed.

‘She would have been my sister, you see,’ Belle added by way of explanation. ‘I’d like to find out what really happened.’

He nodded, and she thought that was that, but then he spoke. ‘My father worked here before me as night watchman. He used to tell a story about a baby he heard screaming one night. Terrible screaming it was. He had been drifting off, I imagine, and the baby’s cries had woken him. For a few minutes he felt disorientated and thought it must have been a nightmare. But the screaming continued. At first, he couldn’t make out where the baby was, but as it went on he realized the cries were coming from somewhere inside the back entrance of the hotel. By the time he ran round there, he saw nothing except a black car accelerating away at breakneck speed. He often spoke of that night. Said it haunted him. That screaming baby.’

Belle stared at him. Could it have been Elvira? Or was she being ridiculous? There might have been several babies staying here.

‘There had been no babies staying at the hotel,’ he said, answering her question before she had posed it.

‘Was it definitely 1911?’

He nodded. ‘Oh yes, I remember it most distinctly.’

‘Did he tell the police or ask the other staff about it in the morning?’

‘He asked, of course, but no one knew anything and if anyone did know they were not saying. Of course, he’d seen the story about the missing baby – it was in all the papers – but my mother convinced him not to involve the police. Worried for his job, you see.’

‘Is your father still alive?’

‘Yes, but he is not well. And I don’t think he would be able to tell you any more than I have. He recounted the story many times. He had no proof, but instinct told him something had not been right. The expensive car racing away. The distraught screams. The time of night it happened. There had been something clandestine about it.’

She nodded and thanked him, her thoughts churning. What if Elvira really had been kidnapped, and by somebody wealthy? At least that might mean she was still alive, though how Belle would ever find her, she didn’t know.

She was about to go back inside when Fowler, the assistant manager, stepped out looking puffed up and self-important.

‘Miss Hatton. You may have friends in high places, but we do not encourage staff to gossip on the doorstep in full view of the guests.’

‘It was quiet.’

He inclined his head. ‘Well, off you trot now. We have some important guests arriving any minute.’

She glanced at the doorman and winked, then turned back to Fowler. ‘Don’t blame him,’ she said. ‘It was entirely my fault.’

‘I don’t doubt that,’ Fowler said, casting her an annoyed look, and then he turned his back on her to greet a newly arrived guest in his usual sycophantic manner.

Later Belle went to the reception desk to see if there had been any post for her. The head receptionist, a smart middle-aged Glaswegian man, handed her an airmail envelope postmarked Oxford. At last this was it – a reply from her mother’s old friend Simone. She took it straight to her room, hopes rising. Much as she liked Rebecca now, Belle wanted privacy to read this and luckily the girl wasn’t there. She unfolded the letter and, scanning the tiny handwriting, devoured every word. Then she read it again more slowly.

Dear Annabelle,

It was a great surprise but also an enormous pleasure to hear from you. How extraordinary that you find yourself in Rangoon. Life can be so strange with all its twists and turns, don’t you agree? But what am I saying? You are still a girl and, although I’m sure parts of your childhood may not have been easy, you cannot have experienced many twists, as yet. Thank you for informing me of dear Douglas’s death. He, like my darling husband, Roger, was a fine man.

Now on to the main topic of your letter. Yes, I do remember when baby Elvira disappeared. How could any of us forget? It was a desperate time for all of us, but most of all for your mother who suffered terribly at the hands of the police. My husband and I were outraged that a woman such as your mother could have been accused in the way she was. Of course, we both did what we could, with Roger going through all the official channels, while I did my best to comfort Diana.

She had been unwell during her pregnancy with a terrible sickness that continued virtually all the way through, but it was after the baby was born when things went so badly wrong. It was as if the birth had drained Diana of life. It worried me. She hardly ate, could not sleep and cried all the time. The baby cried too, incessantly Diana said. Roger gave her something to help her sleep, but her mood remained desperately low. Nothing seemed to help, and I was concerned for her sanity. It is true some women go through a difficult time after giving birth but, Roger assured me, this was far worse. It was as if Diana had completely given up on life. The light had gone from her eyes and all she could see was darkness. Douglas could be a difficult man, stubborn, and I believe he became increasingly so as he grew older. Like so many men, he found emotions impossible to deal with and thought he was always in the right, no matter what, so there could be no arguing with him. I’m sorry to speak of your father like this. At heart he was a good man who did what he could, but he simply did not comprehend how the birth of their longed-for child could have brought about such a drastic change in his wife. Nor did he understand his role in it all.

On the day it happened, as far as I can tell, Diana had been alone in the garden while Elvira slept in her pram. One of the servants spotted your mother kneeling on the grass in her nightdress beside a recently planted flower bed and reported that she had been digging up the earth with her bare hands. This was the reason she was later accused, along with her inability to care for the baby. The police concluded that Diana wanted the baby dead, and when they began digging up the garden they found one bootee exactly at the place where your mother had been digging. She never could give a reason for her actions that day, which to the police was highly suspicious, but to me were a direct consequence of a troubled and distraught state of mind.

The questioning went on for days and then suddenly your mother was let go and your parents left for England in the middle of the night without even packing up the house. I always felt they had been ordered to leave from somebody right at the top. Oh, I almost forgot, there had been an incident with the Governor’s wife. Douglas had dragged Diana, while she was pregnant and feeling unwell, to a dinner at the residence. The Governor’s wife, a stupid, vacuous woman in my opinion, had made a remark in Diana’s hearing about how pregnant women should put up and shut up. Nobody believed in their stories of extended sickness. Diana marched up to her and threw a glass of champagne in her face. Oh, the hue and cry! though privately I thought the woman deserved what she got, but it didn’t do your mother’s reputation any good. Even before the baby she had become regarded as unstable.

After your parents left I realized your mother’s name had not been cleared. The case remained open for a short while and in the end was never resolved. My suspicion was somebody had to know what had happened but had made sure the whole awful affair was hushed up. In my opinion your mother was simply a scapegoat.

Anyway, dear Annabelle, that’s all for now. I hope you can read my writing.

With best wishes for your health,

Simone Burton