Father Unknown (13 page)

Of course, she had no proof of that. It could just as well have been any of the young men in the village, with Johan a willing partner.

But then, why had it not ended in marriage?

A thought crept up on her. Was she projecting her theories about Johan Clayson on to Tamara?

She ordered both the second and third documents and waited for the librarian to bring them from the storeroom.

As she let her gaze roam over the book titles around her, she caught the eye of a fellow researcher further down the table. There was a start of recognition between them. It was Alan Taylor, the minister of Springbrook Methodist. She gave him a slightly guilty smile. Every time she went to Springbrook she wondered why she didn't go more often. He always made her feel so welcome.

They were too far apart to talk, or she would have told Alan how much she enjoyed his service yesterday . . .

She felt the smile leave her face. It had been a good sermon, full of modern relevance, and the full-throated singing was a joy. But that was not what she remembered most about yesterday. There had been that confrontation when the service ended. Her attempts to talk to a nervous Lisa Dawson, and then Leonard Dawson seizing her arm, warning them off.

It cast a long shadow. The wound under Lisa's fringe had been more than a bruise.

The librarian was at her elbow, with the books she had ordered. She found some paper in her handbag and settled down to make notes.

Where to begin? The ancient geology of the hilltop village and the valley below? The Palaeolithic flints? No trace of the Iron Age or Romans here. The story picked up again with the Saxon settlement. Frustratingly, this was too early for common people to have surnames yet. Walter of Sheepdown might or might not be related to the Claysons. She made a few notes and moved swiftly on to later medieval times.

Hole. Her eye was arrested by the name of the little farmstead in the valley. The name they had found on the lease, rented out to an older Adam Clayson in the early 1700s, and later to his son Robert. No proof that these were Johan's direct forebears, but it was a reasonable presumption.

Now here it was again. From the manorial court records, 1462.
Robert of Hole was distrained to answer to the lord because on Tuesday, in the feast of St Katharine the Virgin, he broke and entered a close of Simon Marsdon lord of this manor called Corley and then and there killed and took away 12 gooseanders without the leave of the said lord to the prejudice of the said lord
.

The lord of the manor, sitting in judgement on a case in which he himself was the plaintiff. What chance did Robert of Hole stand?

Was there a possibility that this Robert was related to the Robert Clayson who had been named in the lease of Hole in 1716? Did tenant farmers have that sort of continuity? She suspected not. But Prudence would like this story.

She wished now they had made the time to visit Hole as well when they went to Corley.

She looked at her watch and closed the book. She hadn't even started on the typewritten manuscript. But she ought to go. Millie would be back from school soon, probably full of indignation.

Her spirits lifted. Tom might be home.

She was crossing the room towards the desk, to hand in her documents, when there was a light touch on her elbow. Alan Taylor had turned from his book as she passed his chair.

‘Hi, Suzie. Don't tell me you're a family history nut too?'

She smiled. ‘I'm afraid so. Is that why you're here?'

He threw back his head and laughed uproariously, making other researchers turn to stare at them. ‘Some chance! Being a Methodist minister is a twenty-four seven job.' He turned over his book to show her the cover.
Methodism in a Cathedral City: 1757–1900.
‘Mugging up for next Sunday's sermon, would you believe? But my wife's been bitten by the bug. Who hasn't, these days? Her problem is that most of her family are from round Barnsley, and I've dragged her down here to the rural south-west.'

‘I'm lucky,' Suzie said. ‘Pretty well all my father's family were born in this county. So I've got the resources on my doorstep.'

‘Good for you.' He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Look, Suzie, I'm glad I've got the chance to talk to you. Is it OK if we have a word?'

‘Yes.' She raked her mind to think what he wanted to say to her. Was he going to ask her to get more deeply involved in church activities?

‘Maybe outside, so we don't disturb these good people.'

He steered her across the gardens behind the library to the Arts Centre café, bright with posters of shows. He set down a cup of tea in front of her and frowned thoughtfully over his. After a few moments, he raised his brown eyes to meet hers. ‘I'm sorry about yesterday.'

‘Why? I thought it was a great service. I meant to thank you afterwards.'

‘But you got waylaid. I saw.'

Suzie felt a flutter of nervousness in her throat. He was treading on delicate ground. How much was it safe for her to say? ‘I was talking to Lisa Gamble . . . sorry, Dawson. Our daughters are friends.'

‘Tamara, yes. Nice girl. She's been coming to Young Church lately. She's a real asset.' His eyes crinkled with appreciation.

‘Yes. I'm sorry. Millie stopped going when she was younger. Perhaps I ought to have . . .'

‘Don't worry. She's not the only one, by a long way. There are a lot of things competing for teenagers' time and interest. But at least you've given her a good grounding. Something to hold on to when she's older. No, that wasn't what I was getting at. I was just sorry that you were on the receiving end of Leonard Dawson's attentions. Look, he's a great guy. He pretty much masterminds our finance committee at Springbrook. And they say he runs a tight ship at Briars Hill. They get great results. It's not easy being a headmaster these days. So don't get me wrong, I'm not running the guy down. But he's under a lot of pressure. He can be a bit . . . forceful.'

‘I know.'

‘I wouldn't want that to put you off coming again.'

‘It's all right.' But she could visualize the trepidation she would feel, going there next time. She studied her saucer for a while. When she looked up, Alan Taylor still had those brown eyes fixed on her face.

‘Do you want to talk about it? If I'm putting my big foot in it, just tell me to shut up. But it was something about Tamara, wasn't it? Is she all right? Since Len and Lisa married, he's been making her come to church with them. She's a joy to have, though I don't think she was any more keen at first than your Millie. But she wasn't there today. Is something wrong with her?'

Suzie met his eyes. The friendly humour had died. It was replaced by a look that was deeper, more compelling. She felt something tug at her guts. He was a minister. Someone people turned to when they were in trouble. She could trust him, couldn't she?

As if he had read her thoughts he said quietly, ‘We don't do confessions in the Methodist Church, but we understand about confidentiality.'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘It was about Tamara. And no, she's not all right. For days, Millie had no idea what had happened to her. Now Leonard Dawson says she's been overworking and they've sent her away for a rest. He won't say where. But her mother thinks she's run away. And then this morning, Millie got a card. Tamara's in hiding. She says he threatened to kill her.'

Concern furrowed Alan's face. Then he smiled. ‘Why? Look, Suzie, you've got teenage kids. You know the score. They say that sort of thing all the time: “He'll kill me!” It's not meant literally.'

‘Because – look, I don't want this to go any further – she's pregnant.'

This time the look was consternation. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Poor old Tamara. That's tough. But it's still not the end of the world, is it? It isn't a hanging offence, thank God.'

‘She's fourteen.'

He winced. ‘Point taken. Still, that happens oftener than it should, more's the pity. I doubt if they'd send the boy to prison, even if is a criminal offence. But I wouldn't like to be in his shoes when Leonard finds out.'

‘If it is a boy.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘There's something you're not telling me, isn't there? Go on.'

‘Do you think it could have been serious? The threat to Tamara? After all, Mr Dawson has his reputation to think of. He might think she'd made a fool of all his moral lectures to his pupils. But . . .' She played nervously with her teaspoon. ‘What if it's worse than that?' He waited. She was unwilling to meet his eyes. ‘What if Leonard Dawson is the baby's father?'

She heard the intake of breath. There was a moment's silence.

‘That really would throw us in the deep end, wouldn't it? Have you any evidence of this?'

‘N–no. But it's beginning to be the only answer that makes sense. Tamara practically implied it.'

‘You say she's run away, but he hasn't reported her missing? Well, no. Come to think of it, he was behaving normally in the vestry yesterday. Not a word about Tamara being ill, let alone missing. That does sound odd, on the face of it. I'm usually one of the first to hear if someone's in trouble.'

‘You don't think I'm being hysterical? Like Millie?'

He swirled his teacup slowly between his hands. ‘I wish I did. In my line of business you learn a lot about what goes on under the surface. Even in a church like Springbrook. Salt of the earth, most of them. They'll go the extra mile to help other people. But some of them have stories to tell of what they've suffered that would make your hair curl. It's not all tea and jumble sales. You'd be surprised what goes on behind some very respectable doors.'

‘So you do believe me? You think Tamara really is in danger?'

‘Let's say, there are some serious questions to be answered.'

‘We're desperate to help Tamara. But we don't know how. We've no idea where she is.'

‘You said there was a letter. Wasn't there an address, a contact number?'

‘Nothing. She was too afraid to tell Millie where she is. And she's thrown away her mobile, in case it's traced.'

‘A postmark, then?'

‘She said she was getting someone to post it in London. It sounds as if she's somewhere out in the country. She talked about “going into the village”. But it could be anywhere. And we're afraid to go to the police, in case they find her, and Mr Dawson rubbishes her story and they bring her back.'

Alan Taylor thought about this. ‘As I said, Len can be a pretty forceful character. Her word against his? I see what you mean. Listen, what about the Salvation Army? They have a Family Tracing Service.'

‘We thought about that.' Suzie sighed. ‘But they're not going to take her case up on our say-so, are they? If her parents haven't reported her missing? We're not even related.'

‘I see your point. I suppose the same might apply to the Missing Persons Helpline.' His grave face relaxed into a grin. ‘This might just be one time when a dog collar comes in handy. Leave it with me. I think I can sweet-talk the Sally Army into doing their stuff. They're very good at it. They have an amazing success rate with finding runaway teenagers.'

‘And when they find her? If they do?'

‘Yes. That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? How do we make sure what the truth is, and that it's safe for her to come home?'

The grin had gone. His eyes were troubled.

SIXTEEN

S
uzie walked from the bus along the avenue towards home. There was a spring in her step which had been missing for days. She had not expected that talking to Alan Taylor would lift such a weight from her. It was probably something ministers were trained to do.

It was, surely, only a small hope though. He might persuade the Salvation Army to search for Tamara, without her parents' knowledge, but would they succeed? Yet he had seemed so confident.

And then what? Suppose they found her. They'd preserve her confidentiality, wouldn't they? If she was safe where she was, they would leave it to her to decide whether she wanted to get back in contact with family and friends. And, from her letter, Tamara certainly wouldn't want to come home.

Would she risk telling the Fewings where she was? When she had been so careful to keep this information even from Millie?

Her spirits were sinking again, the nearer she got to home. Nothing had changed. Tamara was still on the run from an intolerable situation. Still afraid.

There was a turning ahead. Maple Lane. The road where Tamara lived . . . had lived. Suzie's gaze went along the first detached houses in their mature gardens. Tamara's father's royalties had made sure they could continue to live there after the marriage broke up.

Where had Leonard Dawson been living before he moved in? Suzie hadn't given much thought to that before. Was he divorced, a widower, a middle-age bachelor, when he married Lisa?

If the police shared the Fewings' suspicions about Tamara's baby, they'd be interested in Leonard Dawson's first family, wouldn't they, if there was one? What other children might he have been preying on?

She was crossing the junction now. From here, she could see Tamara's house.

Her heart quickened. There was someone walking up to the gate. A girl in a grey school uniform.

For a crazy moment, she thought it must be Tamara.

But the figure was too slight. The sunlight fell on a crop of white-blonde hair.

Millie.

Suzie halted in the middle of the road. Then she shook herself. The moment of panic subsided in a shiver. There was an obvious reason why Millie should call on her friend's mother. In fact, that was just what she
would
do. Suzie scolded herself for not thinking of it herself. Millie must be going to tell Lisa Dawson the news that Tamara was safe. That she had had a letter from wherever she was hiding.