‘Where is she? You must find her!’ Temperance Angel screamed. Eli stood white-faced in the doorway of her bedchamber. He had spent three days looking for Alice. Three days searching the back alleys, the lodging houses and the poorhouses of Bridgwater. He had ridden out to the place where Alice had jumped from the carriage and searched barns and ditches and village inns. But there was no sign of her. No one had seen a thing. She must have headed to Bristol, Eli decided. And if she had been swallowed up in that city, there was little chance of him ever seeing her again.
Eli had never seen his mother like this. She was shaking with rage. Her face had twisted and contorted like some demon. His beautiful, composed mother had gone, and he didn’t know how to deal with the creature that had taken her place.
‘I will find her, Mama,’ he said. ‘I will keep on looking until I do.’
‘The disgrace! The disgrace! If someone should see her!’ Temperance ranted.
‘But it would be good news if someone were to see her,’ said Eli, trying to soothe her. ‘We would know where to find her then.’
‘It would be better if she were dead!’ screamed Temperance. ‘Already they are shunning me. I am the woman whose daughter jumped into a grave! They only come now to mock me and to scorn and to walk away all high and mighty. They do not come to pay their respects. They come to gawp! If they knew she was walking the streets … ’ Temperance collapsed into her chair, the thought too terrible to contemplate.
Eli tried again. ‘It is Alice we must think of now, Mama. She is all alone out there, and unwell. She has no money … nothing. If you would agree to put a notice in the Bristol Gazette, I think we might have a chance of finding her … ’
Temperance glared at him; sinews throbbed in her neck, the skin stretched tight across her face and for a brief moment, Eli glimpsed the hard outline of her skull and the gaping holes of her eye sockets. She bent suddenly and pulled the slipper off her foot. ‘Get out!’ she screamed. ‘Get out!’ And the slipper flew across the room and hit Eli squarely on the jaw.
He stumbled into the corridor and stopped to catch his breath. His jaw throbbed, but his pride hurt even more. He’d always been Mama’s favourite, and although he’d felt sorry for Alice, he had secretly relished being the one Mama loved. Eli rubbed his jaw. Was this what it had been like for Alice? And would Mama truly wish her dead rather than it become known that she had run away? No. Surely not. It was grief talking. That was all.
Eli made his way slowly down the stairs. What would Papa do? he wondered. The answer was easy. He would be out there now, still searching. He would be doing everything in his power to find Alice.
Eli hovered outside the study. It was time, he decided. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He took a deep breath and opened the door. It was dark inside, the curtains drawn, and just as he had feared, there were shadows of his father everywhere – hovering over the leather chair, brushing against the bookshelves and whispering in the corners of the room.
Eli strode quickly to the windows and tugged the curtains open. Daylight flooded in and helped to ease the ache in his chest. It was only a room, he told himself; it was only a desk and a chair and a pile of papers.
He moved to the chair and sat down. The leather creaked and settled, adjusting itself to a new occupant. Eli placed his hands palms down on the desktop and saw how they left imprints in the dust. He picked up a glass, sticky with the remains of brandy, and put it to one side. Then he gathered the strewn papers and put them in a neat pile next to the ledgers that he knew were filled with neat rows of figures and letters. With the space in front of him clear now, he selected a clean sheet of paper and picked up his father’s pen.
I’ll do my best, Papa. I’ll do all that I can.
Then he dipped the pen in the ink pot and began to write.
Personal Notices
INFORMATION concerning whereabouts of Alice Elizabeth Angel, missing since July 27th, 16 years of age, 5 feet 2 inches, dark hair, dark eyes, fair complexion, will be thankfully received. E. Angel, Lions House, Bridgwater.
He blotted the ink and blew it dry. Then he reached over and rang the servant’s bell.