Denny heard the mattress army marching up towards him, and settled into listening to it before he was even fully awake.  It felt right.  As long as he was here, listening to them, he knew he wasn’t causing any trouble.

But then there was another noise.  Little, scurrying steps from up above him.  A duck?  A squirrel?  Denny listened to the steps and tried to work it out.  Ducks didn’t run that fast, did they?  If they wanted to move fast, they flew.  At least, that’s what he assumed.

He got up, opened the window and tilted his head so he cold see up onto the roof.  Maybe if they came back this way, he’d be able to see what they were.

*

(From “On the Trail of Kelpie and Silkie” by Rosalyn Pepper, published 2012)

The story Judith had told us somehow found its way into my thoughts about Kelpie and Silkie.  The two little girls hearing voices from the fireplace and seeing their mother’s leg hanging down from the chimney.  It made me think of another story I’d read, about the man who’d promised his daughter to the water spirits, only to have her stab herself to death before he could hand her over.  There’s a common theme there, of fathers selling out their daughters for their own benefit.  The whole thing made me think of Bernard French again.

(It also made me think of something Natalie had told me, about fathers in America who took their daughters to “purity balls” where they dressed in white and pledged to stay virgins until marriage.  That whole tradition of parents treating their children like property.)

According to the story, when the girl stabbed herself, her blood turned all the waterlilies in the area red.  I hadn’t had a chance to check the plants around this lake yet.

*

They’d started watching a film over breakfast, and now they were engrossed.  It was one of those corny American films they showed on TV sometimes, where there was always a big game tomorrow and gentle wind instruments swelled whenever two characters had a heart-to-heart.  This was the first holiday Judith had been on without family, but they were all settling into the same routines as usual.  It was as if nothing was different.

There had been a time- not long after they’d gone to live with their uncle- when Judith wouldn’t have dreamt of spending a night away from her sister.  She’d been anxious when Harriet so much as stayed out late on an evening.  It had taken a while to break her out of that mindset, but at least Harriet had been understanding.  She hadn’t liked to be away from Judith for too long, either.

Harriet had moved up to Cambridge last winter.  It had been a bit of a wrench, but it had to be done.  They couldn’t spend the rest of their lives in each other’s pockets.

Judith reached out and put her arm around Rosalyn’s shoulders, and felt Rosalyn reach up and hold it in place.

*

(From “On the Trail of Kelpie and Silkie” by Rosalyn Pepper, published 2012)

Two weeks into our stay, I found something interesting.  While I was looking through the newspaper archives in the library, I found Bernard French (October 1993- ‘Questions raised over local man’s drowning death’) and Alison Winters (August 1972- ‘Girl killed in lake tragedy’).  But while I was trying to track down Siobhan McCluskey, I came across an editorial.  It was from March 1958 (a month after Siobhan’s death, as it turned out), and the title was “Elm Gates Staff should clean their own house before lambasting others.”

_{For five years, this community has lived with the knowledge that criminals were being housed within a few miles of our homes.  Despite this, we did not grumble.  We continued to live our lives, as honest and unafraid as we had before.  Some local businesses even offered work-placement schemes, giving dozens of troubled girls the opportunity to pay their debt to society.}

_{And how has the Elm Gates Reform School thanked us for our kindness?  With accusations, threats and bitterness.}

_{The staff at Elm Gates would do well to remember that their residents are in their care because they have stolen, lied, cheated and even attempted to kill their fellow human beings.  They are there because society has given up on them.  If somebody is generous enough to offer them a second chance, one would think that their reaction would be one of sheer gratitude.  Clearly, though, this is too much to expect.}

The article was credited to a reporter named Raymond Underhill.  I looked through the rest of the issues that month, and I couldn’t find any indication of what he was talking about.  There was no other mention of Elm Gates Reform School.

I also didn’t have any evidence that this was connected to Siobhan McCluskey.  But I couldn’t help wondering.

*

“It reminded me of a few things Pinder used to say to me,” Denny told Judith.  They were walking by the banks of the lake- after spending so long hearing stories about it, it seemed high time they actually took a look at the damn thing.  “You know- ‘How dare you complain?  How dare you be ungrateful?  Don’t you know you’re lower than dirt?’”

Judith nodded.  “And what sort of things were you complaining about?”

Denny shrugged.  “Not being fed.  Having to sleep on the floor when everyone else at least got a mattress.”  He gave a harsh laugh.  “Apparently I should have been grateful for being taught a lesson.”

Judith nodded.  It was alarming to hear his voice so full of anger- so full it practically shook with it- but she knew it helped to talk about it.  Denny needed to be brought out of himself.

The lake looked pleasant, cool and calm under the oppressive August sun, but it was hard to trust it after everything they’d heard.  Maybe it hadn’t finished giving up its dead.  Still, Rosalyn was like a dog with a done, checking every plant and every piece of litter floating in the shallows as if it might be a vital clue.  She glowed with purpose.  It was impossible not to admire her.

There wasn’t much information about the Elm Gates Reform School online- just that it had existed, and done so from 1953 to 1962.  Rosalyn hadn’t let that put her off.  If they didn’t find anything here, their next move would be to try and track down the man who’d written that article.

“Do they know whether Pinder will be put on trial yet?” Judith asked Denny.

“No-one’s said anything.  I don’t think they can work out what to charge him with.”  He looked sideways at the bright, silvery water, a couple of feet away.  “No-one’s mentioned the bombs.”

“Are you going to?”

“No.  That’d get Alex in trouble.  That’s the last thing he needs, on top of everything else.”

Judith didn’t like it much, but she accepted Denny’s logic.  “What about everything he did to you?”

Denny laughed.  “I don’t know if any of that even counts as a crime.”

“Well, if it doesn’t, it should.”  Judith looked at Rosalyn, a few yards ahead of her on the path, and felt something loosen in her chest.  It felt like putting a burden down at the end of the day.

They’d been staying in the same house for two weeks now.  If Judith was a man, she’d call it “being a gentleman.”  Deep down, she wondered if she was just too scared to say anything.

(To be concluded)