Morris, of course, never did return to Monnington Street. Some weeks after his disappearance, an elderly lawyer produced faded documents claiming to prove his identity. They weren't wonderfully convincing to the police but amongst them was a will that left everything to 'The Lady of the House.' It didn't specify the name of this 'Lady' and Monica wondered how many other women it could have applied to over the years. The police grumbled about how they should be seizing the assets of criminals, but as their evidence had melted away and in the absence of any challenge, the will was accepted and the house and shop were hers. Even the old Allegro made it home on the back of a pick-up truck.
Geoffrey managed to fix up his precious Austin Princess. He searched scrap yards for a new door, and with the enthusiastic help of his new housemate, an eccentric Mister Le Clerc, brought the old car back to its immaculate best. The two of them frequented the vintage car rallies together and even started a small market stall selling whatever items happened to come their way, cash only.
Elvis returned to school. The whole terrorist scare and scandal that followed had earned him a little street cred at least. He wasn't sure if that was why the bullying had stopped or whether they were worried that the police might have been right after all and maybe he had a direct line to al-Qaeda. Either way, school life was more comfortable even if it was no more interesting. He managed to locate Alan on Facebook and they talked often, though kept strictly secret from Mister and Misses Singh.
Henry appeared occasionally, much to Elvis's delight, and updated him on Nya's new pregnancy, the progress of Leeds United and the stress of his impending exams that he hadn't studied for. He'd managed to persuade Nya to stay put in England, for the moment at least.
The young vicar across the street called in to say good-bye. He'd decided to have a break from the church and pursue his football career instead. Last Elvis heard, he'd reached the lofty heights of left wing for Leyton Orient reserves.
But Elvis wasn't happy. He moped around the house. He still searched the internet and the library for any missing leads that might explain what had happened to Mary. But he found nothing. As time went on, he began to doubt his recollection. Had he imagined the whole thing? Had Mary ever even existed?
A year rushed by. It was summer again and Monica was lying in the garden studying for her Open University examination. The history of popular music might not be a real subject to some, but to Monica it was a perfect next step to who knows where. She sipped on her white wine spritzer. She allowed herself one bottle a week. It worked well. Monica was in charge of the wine now, not the reverse. The sun was hot and burning her shoulders. She pulled the umbrella around her back. The sun-bed collapsed and landed on the cat's tail. It screeched, tore out and darted behind the overgrown bush at the front of the house.
'Elvis. Be a dear and make sure the cat's OK. Thanks sweetie'
Elvis sighed. 'Don't call me sweetie.' he grumbled then squeezed behind the bush. The cat crept further in. Elvis pushed the branches out of the way. He hadn't been back here since the night it all happened. He remembered the grid, the tunnel. He scraped at the dead leaves and dirt under his feet. They were still there, the old iron bars and the dark hole beneath. The ground moved a little. Elvis grabbed at the bush for support. The grid gave way and disappeared into the drain. Elvis seized hold of a branch but it was too thin. It snapped in his hands and he fell through the hole and onto the soft mud below.
'Elvis? Are you OK sweetie?'
'Yes Mum, I'm fine.'
Elvis picked up the frightened cat and dropped him outside the hole. He reached his hands onto the side of the drain to pull himself up. He hauled up his weight and scrambled for a foothold with his good leg. He found a space for his toes and pushed himself up. But the brick slipped from under his foot and fell out. Elvis landed back on the dirt with a hefty thud. He picked the brick up angrily. But before he hurled it away he noticed something etched into the clay face. He scraped away the dirt and squinted to read it in the gloom. It was capital letters. It read 'MY EK'.
His heart began to pound. He stood back up and peered into the hole it had left behind. It was too dark to see anything. He reached a hand inside and felt around. It was damp and grimy inside the space. At the back of the hole Elvis's fingers felt something different, a rectangular block covered in cloth. Elvis pulled it out. It was a piece of cracked old leather wrapped around something. Elvis quickly tore away the decaying hide. Inside was a long rusty metal box. Elvis reached up and placed it carefully on the ground outside of the tunnel. He clambered out of the hole and dashed around the side of the house.
'Elvis. Where's the cat? Is he OK?'
'He's fine Mum.' shouted Elvis and disappeared inside.
Elvis sat on his bed and tried to open the tin. It was rusty and stiff. He took his penknife and gently prised off the lid. Inside was a small, crudely carved wooden figure with 'Sam' burnt into the base. There was a small black book. Elvis carefully lifted it out and placed it on his desk. With a trembling hand he lifted the front cover.
16 October 1665
Dearest Elvis
How are you? Did you get back all right? Did they lock you up again? I can't sleep for worrying. I hope so much that one day you find this book. You know, it's a bit strange writing a letter to someone not even born yet! Sam made you a present. Don't laugh cause it took him ages to carve it. He says you better like it - it's supposed to be a soldier. I told him it looks more like a pig.
Remember that day Elvis, that last day when we stood on the tower together? I wish you could have stayed to see them soldiers' faces. When they saw you disappear they got scared. They thought I'd done witchcraft! Then they saw the hole that Brock had gone through and they thought I'd done it to him too – that's when then they got real scared! They ran down the stairs screaming witch, witch! When I got to the bottom they all ran and hid. That old bloke was still there. He showed me a way out and I ran til I got home.
We've been waiting for Mister Jarvis to come back. Most of the rich folk who went away have sent someone back to check on their houses and pay bills but nobody has heard from Mister Jarvis (or Miss P). I told Mum and Dad about him being in the courthouse, but they think he's still out in the country and will come back one day. The neighbours are starting to say that he's dead. At least it means we still got the house to ourselves for now.
Fran's boys live here most of the time too. They drive me nuts. Sam says they're our servants but they can't be cos they do no work.
How do you like my writing? No, just kidding. Me and Sam are doing some work for Mister Wiseman in his shop and when it's quiet he writes for me. He doesn't believe what I told him about you but he likes a good story. He's going to teach me to write one day.
I'll never forget how brave you were Elvis. I wish things were different and you'd stayed here with me. When I close my eyes I still see you sitting here next to me, laughing and joking. I'll always think of you.
all my love
Mary.
At the bottom of the page a lock of hair was glued to the paper. Elvis caressed it gently with his fingertips, careful not to dislodge the fragile strands. A tear ran along his nose and dripped onto the yellowed paper.
He carefully turned the page.
26 November 1665
Dearest Elvis
Sorry it's been so long between writing. Mister Wiseman is so busy he hardly has any time left to help me. All his workmen are gone. Nobody has heard from Mister Jarvis still. He has a warehouse full of stuff on the river and they say he hasn't paid them for it. They're going to send someone out to the country to find him. Everyone says he's died of plague.
The city is still real quiet. Houses and shops are boarded up and some whole streets have got no one in them. I don't like to go out after dark.
Remember Nick from next door? His uncle has thrown him out for being lazy. He comes begging for food some days. I feel real sorry for him.
Alice is sick again. Dad thinks its consumption. Mum sits with her all ni
ght. We're scared for her.
Take care Elvis. I hope life is treating you well. Do you ever think of me?
All my love
Mary
4 December 1665
Alice's funeral was today. It rained and rained. We had to travel miles to find somewhere to bury her. Dad made a small coffin from wood and painted it black. Mum hasn't spoke since she died. She just sits in the front window of the house and stares across at the church all day. Her face looks like snow. Dad says her heart is broke in two. He asked me to pack away Alice's toys and clothes but I couldn't do it. I've come to the shop to get away.
I can't write no more today.
my love
Mary
29 December 1665
My Dearest Elvis
Amazing news! They never found Mister Jarvis so the people with the warehouse went to the court and they said he's dead. An old man turned up at the court with some papers. He brought a will from Mister Jarvis. It said that he left everything he owned to the 'Lady of the House' but didn't give her a name. They said he used to have a wife but she's been dead for years. Miss P always thought she was the lady but no one knows where she is (shame!). So that just left Mum. Everyone in the court laughed when the old man said about Mum getting everything. People said it should go to the King or the church and that a servant could never be a lady. But then the judge got real angry - remember that same one that we saw in court when they said we was witches? He banged his hammer so hard he nearly broke the table! He told them all be quiet and that the will stands and Mum gets his stuff. He said great wrongs had been done that must be put right! Turns out the warehouse is packed full of tea and cotton and Mister Jarvis had two houses in the country as well! It makes my head spin just thinking about it!
Mum says they could keep it all if she could just have Alice back for one day. Dad says I can start real lessons with a tutor soon if he can find one, and Sam too, though he doesn't seem very keen.
I'd best go. Mister Wiseman says he's lots of jobs for me to do before I get too posh to speak to him! I told him I'll still keep coming back, even when I am posh!
I think of you a lot Elvis. I wish there was some way I could see you again, hear your voice.
Take care
all my love
Mary
2 February 1666
My Dearest Elvis.
It was my birthday yesterday. We got up early and took the carriage to one of the country houses. It took hours and hours to get there. It was beautiful except it smelt like cow poo. Everywhere was covered in snow and there was a frozen duck pond. The caretaker tried teaching me and Sam to skate but we weren't very good.
I'm having classes from my tutor Mister Sharpe now. He says I'm a quick learner and I should be able to write my own letters soon. He's not so sure about Sam. Dad tried getting him to teach Isaac, William and Matthew too but Mister Wallace said if he had to keep teaching them, he'd leave. Dad's got them learning how to look after the horse and stables now instead. I still come to see Mister Wiseman. He says he going to start charging me money for writing these letters!
Judge Collins calls. He's been helping Dad to sell the stuff from the warehouse. Wooldridge comes with him - do you remember him? He still scares me. Annabel, the judge's daughter, she never comes. Some people say she's in an asylum for mad folk, but I don't reckon the old judge could ever do that.
It's snowing again outside. It's icy cold and the river is still froze.
Take care
All my love
Mary.
The next page was stained and the words only partly illegible.
3 April 1666
............................................................................................. I don't want to live out there! It's all hay stacks and smelly barn yards!
Dad's given Nick a job. He felt sorry for him. He's thinking he might train him to help run the business. He...........
Me and Sam went to the river today. So many houses and shops are still boarded and there were beggars everywhere. We had to fight them off and run! Beggars have broken into some houses and are living in them. I don't think we'll go there again for a while.
My writing is getting better. I promise next time I'll write you.
I hope you are well dear Elvis.
All my love
Mary.
6 June 1666
Dearest Elvis,
This time I write my own letter. Im sorry if there are mistakes.
Mum found Nick steeling from the house last week. Dad was out so she sacked him and made him leave. Nick got really angry and tried to hit Mum. She whacked him with an iron poker from the fire then Dad came back and Nick ran off. We haven't seen him since.
Dad has bought a big warehouse and shop with Judge Collins. It was real cheap cos the owners died in the plague. He's put Fran's boys in there to work and carry stuff around. I'm glad cos at least it gets them away from here!
My lessons are good. I didn't know the world was so big! I asked my tutor if he thought we would ever fly. He said only if God chose to make us grow wings. I was dying to tell him about those flying carriages you showed me but he'd just think I was mad.
I have to go. Mum wants us to take tea with some new friends she's made. She's made Sam promise he'll behave but I'm not sure I believe him!
Take care Elvis.
Thinking of you
love Mary
15 August 1666
Dearest Elvis
Life is so busy now. My tutor says me and Sam should study from 7am until 6pm to catch up because we have so much to learn. Sam told Dad he's just trying to get more money from him so Dad said no.
Isaac set fire to the warehouse last week. It was huge and it took a whole day to put it out. Dad said it was lucky it didn't set fire to whole city. The Judge says he wants Fran's boys out of there but Dad says he'll give them one more chance.
Dad had a man come to the house and engrave my portrait into the wood on the side of the staircase. He said he wants everyone in the future to know how beautiful I am. It makes me look like a proper lady! Sam says he could have done the same thing much cheaper. Is my face still there now? I tell myself it is and imagine staring at you all those years ahead.
The city is busy again now. Most of the closed up shops are open again and selling stuff and the streets are full. There's still lots of boarded up houses though and I wonder what will ever become of them. Mum took me to the city today and bought me a dress. It's beautiful with long white lace and fancy sleeves. I wish you could see it. We're having a big party here on Sunday in two weeks when I'll wear it. Mum wanted me to have this awful old thing but I said no. The party will be huge. I can't wait! I'll write you again after that.
Thinking of you always
all my love
Mary.
Elvis turned the page again. It was blank. He carefully turned over every sheet, each one yellowed and brittle, but he found no more writing.
Perhaps there was another book he'd missed. He dashed back down the stairs. His mother's study group were arriving as he charged out of the front door. They were a mix of young and old, men and women. They wore turbans, sunglasses and pork pie hats.
'Elvis! What's the hurry?' shouted his mother.
Elvis squashed himself behind the bush and dropped back into the tunnel. He shoved his hand deep into the hole again. It was definitely empty. He scratched and pushed and pulled at other bricks but there was nothing else that was loose.
He climbed back out and returned to the house again. The study group had assembled in the living room and 'LA Woman' was now rattling the downstairs windows. Why had the letters suddenly stopped? Had she found herself a man? Had she got sick and died, like Alice? Why would she write for nearly a year and then stop? He remembered how she'd written about an engraving on the wood panel at the side of the staircase and went to look. There were no wood panels these days, just plaster and wallpaper. Elvis took out his penknife and du
g a small hole through the pink rose-pattern paper. It was dark beneath. He slid his knife deeper under the layer of plaster and levered it back. A large fragment crumbled away and exposed a dark oak panel. Elvis pushed his fingers into the space under the plaster and pulled. A huge chunk tumbled to the floor and an oak panel saw daylight for the first time in centuries. Elvis pulled away more and more, huge chunks tumbling to the floor as the hall filled with a cloud of white dust.
The living room door opened.
'Elvis! What are you doing?' Monica charged up the hall and pulled him away. 'What is wrong with you?'
'Look at the wood!' said Elvis, reaching out to pull away another chunk.
'You promised me you'd behave!' she hissed.
Elvis looked at the half dozen people now stood in the hall clutching books and notepads and cringed. She was right, he had promised to be quiet. He looked back at the wooden panels. His last handful of plaster had exposed an arch of intertwined vines carved into the wood.
'Look!' he pointed and ripped off another huge chunk.
'Stop it!' Monica grabbed his arm.
'No Mum. Look!' He pulled off another slab. Underneath was a precisely carved face, a girl's face. It was unmistakeable. It was Mary. Elvis dusted the plaster delicately away from the carving before gently running a finger over her cheek and lips.
'It's just a picture Elvis for heaven's sake. You'll have to clean this up.' she added, pointing at the mess.
'Yes Mum.' said Elvis, still transfixed by the portrait.
'Who is that Elvis?' Monica leant forward and wiped the dust away from a small inscription beneath the image. She squinted as she tried to make out the ornate letters. 'Mary Young.... Lady of the House. August...August 16...66, I think it says. Who's she?'
'A girl … a girl I used to know Mum.'
'That's her Elvis, isn't it? She's the one?'
Elvis nodded. 'I found a book Mum. She wrote to me for nearly a year then nothing. Why would she do that?'
Monica placed an arm on her son's shoulder. 'Who knows Elvis? Many things can happen to a girl.'
Elvis ran a finger over Mary's cheek again,
'Maybe there's more clues under there.' Monica squeezed her fingers behind the plaster and pulled away a slab as big as her head. Elvis joined in and the cloud of dust quickly consumed the entire hallway.
'Is the study group over Monica?' Half a dozen bemused faces were watching them from the living room door.
'Oh I'm sorry. I got carried away. I'll be right...' Monica hesitated as she looked back at her son. His hair and face were ghostly white with plaster dust, his attention transfixed by the carved image. Elvis pulled his sleeve down and gently cleaned Mary's face again. 'Yes, you're right.' Monica's tone was decisive. 'The group's over this week. I'm sorry.'
'Emergency decorating?' asked a man, pulling on his brown leather jacket.
'No. I...we have to find something. Next week, same time?'
The group gathered together their notepads and laptops and drifted out of the front door. Two of them remained behind, an older man with neck decorated in bird tattoos and an ear cluttered with rings and studs, and a short, dark-skinned woman in long dress and hijab. The pair wandered curiously through the cloud of dust to investigate.
'You lost something, darl?' the man asked in an Australian drawl.
'I'm sorry about the group today. I didn't mean...'
'Nah, na worries. You wanna bit a help 'ere?'
'Well, I'm not sure...;
Before she could finish her sentence he had his jacket off and his fingers behind the plaster, pulling chunks away.
'What are we looking for?' asked the woman, crouched on all fours attacking the lower wall.
'Something... well anything...' explained Monica, 'anything like that.' she pointed at the image of Mary watching them.
'Like this?' The woman pulled her head-dress back from the rubble and with the other hand pointed to a crudely carved stick man with a large, balloon-shaped, grinning face. Beneath it was scratched 'Lord Sam, 1666 '.
Elvis looked at it and smiled. 'Yes, like that.'
They continued to attack the side of the hall stairs until the wallpaper and plaster lay entirely on the carpet. Then they began searching the rest of the house. Eventually their two guests made their apologies and left; but as night fell, Elvis and Monica were still looking. They tore house apart that night, ripping up floorboards, making holes in walls, pulling out cupboards. They were still laughing and telling stories as another dawn broke over 28 Monnington Street.
They didn't find any more images of Mary, no more letters or notebooks. Monica did finally take the chance to tell Elvis her story, the truth of how she'd run away from a miserable home and into the arms of the first person to show her affection. Of how Elvis had been a surprise that had brought her and Elvis's father together before splitting them apart. She told him of the accident and her awful, stomach-wrenching guilt when the police told her of how she'd failed to fasten Elvis into the car properly, a guilt that kept her awake night after night and was only calmed by ever more white wine. She told him of the lonely, poverty-stricken years as a single parent in Bolton and why she took the risk of chasing an internet romance. She didn't quite manage to apologise for the years of blaming Elvis.
Not in so many words at least, but Elvis could read between the lines.
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