Lynne Francis - Alice’s Secret - A gripping story of love, loss and a historical mystery finally revealed

After that, Williams had started to lie in wait for Alice: pouncing on her in dark storerooms where she’d been sent on pointless errands, trying to corner her on her way home. For weeks, she’d had to submit to his pestering, sickened by his actions, furious with herself. Then she’d found the strength to fight against him, to threaten to report him, to stand up to him. Williams didn’t take kindly to having his advances spurned. He made a point of picking on Alice: for faults in her spinning, for talking too loudly, for smiling. She’d shrunk in on herself, making sure that she didn’t set a foot wrong, that she left each evening along with Ivy and Betty, parting ways a little further up the path. Williams still found fault. He dropped the coins in her hand on pay day now, glaring at her. He watched her like a hawk, checking to see what time she arrived each morning.

Alice picked up her pace, trying to lift her skirt clear of the bracken. She’d been late twice already this week, her mother too sick to get the children up in the morning. Williams had warned her that one more day’s lateness would mean the loss of her job. This morning, she was late again. It was too dangerous to run, the grey stones slippery after the rain, the surface uneven. She’d reached the Druid Stone, only a short distance to go now. She knew every twist and turn of the path, had names for the landmarks along the way. Just the Packhorse Steps to negotiate now. Maybe Williams would be distracted this morning? Maybe she could slip in, unnoticed?

At that moment, her feet flew from beneath her. It was a hard fall. Alice’s basket bounced down the steps, her lantern smashed, bread flung into the bracken. The rushing tumble of the river over the falls sounded loudly in her ears. Sharp stones pressed into her cheek; cold, damp moss pillowed her neck. Alice lay still.

‘Oh, my goodness.’ Kate, Alys’s mother, had stopped, cup halfway to her lips, peering at the screen over the top of her glasses. She’d got a new pair of those ready-readers, Alys noticed. Bright-green frames this time: they worked rather well with her silver hair. Kate said that she kept losing them, so that was why she needed to buy more pairs, but Alys suspected that they were a fashion accessory rather than a necessity. Alys had once picked up a pair belonging to her mother and looked through them. The lenses could just as well have been plain glass for all the difference they seemed to make.

‘What’s up, Mum?’ Alys was only half interested. She was used to her mother’s exclamations. Kate had a tendency to be alarmed by the warnings of fraud scams or deadly computer viruses emailed to her by her friends.

‘It’s your Aunt Moira,’ said Kate, glancing up at her youngest daughter over the top of her laptop screen. She paused a moment, arrested – as usual – by Alys’s appearance. Wild hair, scraped back into an elastic band, from which crinkly blonde curls escaped at random. Forget-me-not blue cardigan, rather shrunken, buttoned over one of her signature crêpe-de-Chine dresses, orange flowered this time. 1940s vintage, surely. Where did she get them from? Kate wondered. And not a scrap of make-up, at a guess. Kate favoured the woven- or knitted-linen look once spring had arrived, in the sort of tasteful shades that also graced her walls. She couldn’t understand her daughter’s taste and style – or rather, her lack of it. She must have inherited it from her father’s side of the family, Kate decided.

‘She’s had a bad fall. Hurt her hip and shoulder and put her back out. The doctor said she’ll need to rest for a couple of weeks at least, but she’s got the café to run. Looks as though she might have to close it, just as the holiday season is about to arrive. It’s her busiest time – she sounds pretty upset.’

Kate chewed her lip and frowned. She really ought to offer to go up and help her sister out. She mentally ran through her diary for the next few weeks. Since she’d retired, it seemed as though she was busier than ever. Voluntary work at the hospital, her book group and walking group. The garden-committee trip to Sissinghurst, planning and preparations for the village carnival. Kate smiled wryly to herself. When had she become so middle class? ‘Must have been when I married David,’ she thought, then was dragged back to the present by Alys, saying ‘Mum? What should we do?’

‘Well, I really should go up and help her,’ said Kate, picking up her cup and absently sipping the cooling tea. ‘But I’ve got so much on over the next few weeks. And you know how I feel about Yorkshire …’ She tailed off, expecting Alys to laugh, but instead her daughter was gazing into space, clearly caught up in her own thoughts.

‘I’ll go,’ she said, unexpectedly.

Kate stared at her. ‘But darling, do you have any holiday owing to you? You’ve only just come back from your trip with Tim? I’m sure Moira would be grateful, but by the sound of it a week, or even two, won’t be enough. Although I suppose I could take over after you leave?’ Kate mentally prepared herself to go into martyr mode.

‘The thing is, Mum – ’ Alys suddenly looked apprehensive. ‘I came here today to tell you something.’ She paused. Kate looked at her expectantly, her mind racing ahead. Could Alys and Tim have decided to settle down together at last, start a family? Alys was in her mid-thirties now – she really couldn’t afford to leave it much longer. Of course, she’d have to sell that tiny house of hers, lovely garden or not. Heaven knows Tim must earn enough, with that job of his in the city. Maybe Alys was already pregnant? Kate tried to see if there was a bump in evidence, but that shapeless dress made it impossible to tell. She calculated rapidly. It would be an autumn baby, so that would work perfectly. She’d have time to rearrange a few things and she’d still be able to help out at the Christmas Fair, the carol concert, make the mulled wine and mince pies. The run-up to Christmas was always such a busy time.

‘Mum!’

Kate snapped back to attention again. Alys had been talking. ‘Mum, did you hear me?’

‘Yes, no – sorry, darling. So, where will you and Tim live?’

Alys looked at her blankly. ‘Mum, you really weren’t listening, were you? I told you. I’ve given up my job. I need a break from Tim, from London. I hadn’t planned what I was going to do. A bit of travelling, perhaps. I can delay that, though, and go and help Aunt Moira for a couple of months. I’d be glad to. You know I’ve always loved it up there. And, of course, I wouldn’t expect any payment.’

Alys felt a small burst of excitement at the thought. She’d given up her job as a graphic designer almost on a whim, although the plan had been taking shape in the back of her mind for some time. Days spent staring at a computer screen held no joy for her, and that tricky work issue had finally helped to make her mind up. She’d been putting money aside for a while now, supposedly so she could move from her little house – the closest thing to a cottage that she’d been able to find in London – but really with half a mind to doing something completely different. Travel, voluntary service overseas, who knows? Alys was restless. She knew Kate would say that it was her biological clock ticking and that it was time she settled down and started a family. But she wasn’t entirely sure that Tim was the right person for her.

Nice, well-brought-up Tim, with his warehouse flat and a good job in the city that took him abroad a lot. Great salary. Good prospects. She’d purposely set out to look for someone other than the sensitive, creative types that she normally fell for. She’d succeeded. Tim was stable and solvent but he was also boring.