Selina slowly closed the hatch as she read through the letter addressed to Dr. Camberwell. The page was covered on both sides in a small script that made use of every inch. She had been reminded constantly about the sin of waste since coming to the village, though this page was an astounding testament to it. How must the author have felt to have scribbled out so much of the text in their attempt to get it right?
‘Are you ok down there?’ She heard Priya call, and she folded the page and slipped it beneath the cord around her waist. She had no idea what the contents of the letter meant, though she knew without doubt that Priya would use it as an excuse to escape Mortehoe, and she wasn’t prepared to go through that again. Not just yet.
‘I’m just coming,’ she replied, ‘you know, I’d really be happy if you stayed here with me, this place is too big. It scares me at night.’
Priya was touched by Selina’s tenacity, and they finished the bottle before heading into a calm pink evening toward the pub where the villagers continued their erratic stream of questions.
Tinder North sensed the irritation growing in Priya, and stood to announce his opinion that they had answered enough for one day. He requested people allow ‘the girls’, as they were known collectively, to finish at least one drink unhindered. Reluctantly his words were adhered to, and Selina crept to the bar while Priya gave a curious bow before joining her.
‘Strange isn’t it?’ She whispered, her hand draped across Selina’s shoulder.
Selina concurred, slurring her words. ‘I can’t believe we’ve found this place. It’s like when... Cortés discovered El Dorado!’
Priya was in the unfortunate position of being half-draught and choked on her drink. Selina looked confused, then tried to subdue her giggles, and before long they were in tears while the rest of the pub looked on, bemused. Betty appeared at the bar and asked what the joke was, and Selina wiped her eyes. ‘Nothing,’ she replied sincerely, ‘I just can’t believe we found this place. It’s amazing.’
Betty frowned, though it was difficult not to smile, and Selina turned back to Priya. Let’s get one thing straight.’ She garbled, her pale face growing rosy, ‘If we’re going to live together you need to be comfortable with the fact that it’ll be me,’ she tapped herself on the chest, ‘who’ll be wearing the trousers.’
Priya smiled, still flushed from their laughter. She finished her wine before hissing through her teeth and winking, ‘I’m sorry, honey, I’m a giver not a taker.’
Betty listened to them with a scowl reserved for the sober judging the drunk, and shook her head at the conversation before leaving them be.
Eryn replaced her and pushed a rag glumly across the bar. They had come to know her quite well in the weeks after their arrival. Though considerate and amicable, she had a morose air about her, and was by far the most reserved of the teenagers in the village. They had been assured by others that this was exceptional to her normal character, that she was normally bright and engaging. Since both could recall, however, she had kept herself to herself and would exaggerate busyness, or try her best to leave the room altogether, especially if anyone tried to engage her in conversation.
‘Evening, Eryn.’ Priya said.
Eryn nodded in reply and smiled faintly, as though to do more would open an old wound.
‘What’s wrong, love?’
Nothing,’ she replied. The smile broadened, but her eyes remained sullen.
Priya smirked devilishly at Selina before disappearing into the next room. Moments later she appeared behind the bar.
‘No, you mustn’t…’ Eryn said, making sure her father wasn’t about. ‘Pa get’s mad if anyone else comes behind here!’
‘Where is he?’ Priya asked, her hands on Eryn’s shoulders.
‘Down in the cellar. He could be back any moment.’
‘Baron!’ Priya called across the room. Baron turned from a flirtatious conversation with Jocelyn Sayer as George stood between them like an intermediary - as though brokering a deal. Baron looked slightly affronted to see her behind the bar. ‘Come and fill in for a minute or two, will you?’ She gestured for Selina to follow. ‘I think our worldly wisdom is needed.’ He looked back to George, who offered a wink and nearly shoved him toward the bar.
Priya lead Eryn from the bar to the quietness of an adjacent room that was rarely used. Selina stood and followed, somewhat clumsily.
They sat her on a stool and regarded her with sympathetic expectation, Eryn looked back defensively, and then burst into tears. Selina took her in her arms and held her. She looked up at Priya, who rubbed Eryn's back and waited patiently.
Eryn strived to talk, though a month of suppressed emotion overwhelmed her. Selina ‘shhh’d’ her until the tears had dwindled.
‘What’s wrong, dear?’ Priya asked, and Eryn moved away from Selina’s neck, leaving a blotch of tears on her skin.
‘I’m sorry…’ Eryn said, wiping her puffed eyes. ‘I just don’t know who to talk to.’
‘You can talk to us,’ Selina reassured, touching Eryn’s hand. ‘You know you can.’
‘It’s pa… After what we did. He won’t let me out.’
‘What do you mean? He won’t let you out of the pub?’
‘Since he found out about me and Boen, he hasn’t let me out of here, and no-one’s seen Boen at all.’
‘Since when?’ Priya sat at a table and hooked her hair behind her ears.
‘Near a month. I didn’t mean to get him into trouble...’
‘But what were you doing with him that’s caused such a fuss?’
Eryn expurgated the events of the former month in a frantic monologue. The ambiguous death of Richard Kelly, the outsider Boen had seen, their night at the Marisco Tavern, the papers she had stolen from Red Sawbone’s room. At the mention of the papers she closed her eyes, exasperated. How could she have been so stupid?
‘Did they shed light on anything?’ Priya asked.
‘Nothing. It was so stupid. It’s just a load of numbers - like it’s something, I don’t know, banking details or something... And sketches of birds and letters about things that are meaningless.’
‘Your pa is punishing you for stealing?’
She cuffed her eyes and sniffed. ‘He is, though not for the papers. God, I managed to hide them before he returned home.’ She rolled her eyes and shivered somewhat comically, cursing. ‘If he thought I’d stolen from Lundy, if he thought we’d even been to Lundy... I don’t know what he would have done. He took a belt to me and hasn’t let me out, and that was because he thought we’d taken the boat on some kind of romantic jaunt. If he’d known about Lundy and the papers...’
‘And Boen?’ Selina asked. She suspected she hadn’t even encountered him since their arrival if he’d also been grounded for a month.
‘Baron teases that something terrible has happened to him, but no-one will give a straight answer.’
‘We’ll find out for you,’ Priya said, standing.
‘No, please. Don’t make it obvious that I was thinking about him. Pa wants to make me forget about it by working me to the bone.’
‘Jeez,’ Priya sighed. ‘The more I know about your father, dear, the more I dislike him. We won’t make it obvious.
‘We won’t ask tonight,’ Selina continued, ‘but we’ll find out for you nonetheless. Subtly.’
Eryn looked uncertain for a moment, and then hugged Selina, ‘Thank you. Boen was terrified his pa would find out but I ignored him. God knows what he did to him. I’m so bloody selfish...’ The image of the scars she had seen across his back brought new tears to her eyes.
Selina’s former thoughts of paradise were checked as Eryn held onto her fiercely. ‘I just wanted to know for sure what had happened to Kelly.’
For a moment Selina didn’t think much of the name, she had heard it several times during their stay in the village, and even more so in the last minutes of Eryn’s ranting. It wasn’t until that moment that she was reminded that she had been given Richard Kelly’s house to live in
. She thought of stepping through the ivy laden door for the first time, Semilion telling her of its previous occupant and how pleased she would be if she loved books – the upstairs rooms were filled with them.
She hadn’t thought of it before, so consumed was she with stifling her fears of dead men hiding in the shadows, but Richard Kelly was the author of the letter she had found in her cellar. The man who refused to “play their final game”.