Found

Wednesday 16 February: Hide and Seek

“I know you’re in here,” Molly called out as she pushed open the oak door, her cheery voice floating on the hollow feeling that she ought not to be doing this.

For that matter, neither should Mary, whose feet Molly had spotted, under the curtain. Holding her breath, she padded across the faded rug and jerked the velvet aside, to expose her sister’s hiding place.

But Mary was not there. Just her shoes, the glossy leather reflecting the window’s wan light.

A hand clapped down on Molly’s shoulder. “God, Mary, don’t do that,” Molly expostulated as she turned. “It’s not fair. You didn’t give me long enough. I knew you must be in here. You left the door ajar.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Course I did, stupid. If I don’t give you a clue, you take ages.”

Molly mock-pushed her sister, who pretended to stagger backward, cartoon-style. Together, they clumped across the room until they landed on the sheeted bed, panting and laughing.

Catching their breath, the girls scanned around the spacious bedroom. Mary frowned. “Why does Grandma keep this massive place? She doesn’t actually live here. Must cost her a fortune.”

“She told me she’d never sell,” replied Molly. “As for the cost, it gets used for making movies. They pay Grandma a lot for that.”

Summer seemed an age away. Already, the February day was fading, the leafless trees a wintry avenue down the snow-covered garden, on either side of the pond and patio, where icicles hung from the stone sundial.

“This was a girl’s room,” remarked Mary. “I can tell.”

Molly sniffed. “Pretty obvious. Dressing table with mirror, pink floral wallpaper, porcelain dolls. Where were you hiding?”

Mary inclined her head, indicating the walk-in closet in the corner. The girls moved quietly across the rug to the doorway. Mary clicked the light switch. Nothing. The bulb must be blown. Pulling out her phone, Mary clicked the torch button and cast around. A winter coat, wool and faux fur, hung from a rail. At the far end of the closet was a small metal safe, with a single keyhole. Mary wondered what was inside. It was locked.

Molly lifted the coat down. It smelled of mothballs and old roses. Molly tried on the coat, which was a little too long for her.

“Take it off, Molly,” said Mary, her voice earnest. “It’s not ours. We don’t belong here.”

Molly said plaintively, “What’s this?” She had slipped her hand into the coat’s fur-edged pocket, where she had found a folded slip of paper. With bated breath, Molly opened it out, taking care not to tear it.

The handwriting was beautiful, but of an ornate style that the girls found hard to read. By the phone’s light, they picked out the words: To find me, take good heed, and note this rhyme. The next clue lies without, beneath the time.”

“Without what?” Puzzled, Mary spoke for them both.

“Ah, there you are. How do you like my room?”

Mary and Molly’s eyes snapped toward each other, guilt and apprehension plain on both faces. Resigning themselves, Mary leading, they came round-shouldered out of the closet, to face the elderly lady in the bedroom doorway.

“Molly, you know you should ask before you go off exploring the parts of the house that are closed and sheeted,” she admonished.

There was a brief, awkward silence. “Er, Grandma, I’m Mary,” stumbled Mary, to whom the newcomer had spoken.

“Ah yes, of course,” she nodded, unfazed. “In this winter half-light, it’s so hard to tell you apart. And you are the elder, if only by minutes, so you should not be leading your sister astray. You are twelve now and ought to know better. Now, please wash your hands and faces. It is almost three and they will be serving tea in the morning room.” The lady swept out, leaving the two bemused thirteen-year-olds in quizzical silence.

Saturday 12 February: Arrival

The gravel crunched as the black BMW 5-Series came to a halt at the dark stone portico, the stately house grand and imposing beneath the threatening winter sky. As the car doors opened, a smartly suited lady descended the steps in greeting.

“Talbot, is everything ready?” inquired the tidy, elderly lady who had just closed the driver’s door, her distorted reflection in the polished bonnet like a silent, malevolent twin.

“Why yes, mam,” replied the housekeeper. “Two rooms in the east wing for the misses; your own room is still unsheeted from your last visit, mam.”

“My last visit? That was more than three months ago,” the old lady retorted.

The housekeeper seemed about to argue, then bit her lip. “Miss Mary, Miss Molly, welcome to Moorheath House. Let me help you with your things.”

The girls glanced at each other as their grandmother disappeared into the house. Mrs Talbot didn’t look all that much younger than she did. “It’s OK,” said Mary. “Molly and I will bring in the suitcases. Thanks for getting everything ready for us.”

“You’re welcome, miss,” replied the housekeeper, lowering her head in unaccustomed gratitude.

Wednesday 16 February: Afternoon Tea

Molly watched Mrs Talbot set down the heavy tea tray.

“Mam, I have put electric blankets on the misses’ beds; yours is still in place from your previous visit,” said the housekeeper. “Shall I switch them on at eight as usual?”

Grandma looked as though she was sucking lemons, Molly thought. “Mrs Talbot, you know perfectly well that I have not set foot across the threshold of this house since early November. It is my sincere hope that nothing at all is still in place from that visit and that you have cleaned and bottomed the rooms with your customary thoroughness.”

There was an icy silence. Molly noticed Mrs Talbot’s eyes narrow slightly. “Quite understood, mam,” the housekeeper replied; then she nodded politely and withdrew.

Mary poured the tea, under the approving gaze of their grandmother. Milk first, then half a cup each, then all topped up.

“Grandma, I’m sorry we went exploring without asking first. You were quite right to tell us off,” said Molly, her tone diffident.

The old lady’s eyes widened. “Tell you off? What can you mean? I don’t believe I’ve spoken to you since we got out of the car. I bathed, and Talbot helped me unpack; now here I am.”

The twins caught each other’s eye.

Mary spoke up. “Oh, don’t mind Molly, Grandma. She’s had a long day and she’s a bit muddled.”

Molly looked daggers at her sister, who continued, quickly, “We are all tired. I’m sure we shall all be able to think more clearly in the morning.”

The conversation continued, with the girls thanking their grandmother for picking them up from school and taking them to her country house for the half term break. The old lady replied that it was her pleasure, and she hoped the girls’ parents would have a good time in the United States. Both girls were relieved when she rose and excused herself.

Mrs Talbot returned, to clear away the tea tray. The housekeeper winced as she stooped to pick it up. It must be quite heavy, Molly thought. Mary read her mind and leapt to her feet. Before Mrs Talbot could protest, Mary had the tray in her hands. Molly took up the heavy teapot to lighten her sister’s burden.

In the kitchen, at the end of the stone-flagged passage, Mrs Talbot flashed into role as mistress of her domain. “Thank you, misses,” she said, with authority. “Run along now.”

Molly watched Mary stand her ground. “Actually, Mrs Talbot, Molly and I would like to stay for a bit and have a chat. Is that OK?”

A nod. The housekeeper motioned to the eight wooden chairs, four on either side of the scrubbed table. They all sat.

Mary came straight to the point. “Our grandmother seems quite confused. I think you’ve noticed. When we got out of the car, and again at tea.”

Mrs Talbot looked down at the table, then met Mary’s gaze. “Yes, miss. The thing is, I don’t like to contradict madam, but she was here just last week. Stayed five days, then off she went again. Now she insists she’s not been here since November.”

Mary nodded. “I’m worried about her too. She caught us today, in the sheeted wing. We were playing hide and seek, in a girl’s bedroom. The one with pink wallpaper that looks out on the ornamental garden.”

Neither girl missed the housekeeper’s wide-eyed, shocked reaction, before she regained her composure. 

“Grandma seemed to have no memory of seeing us in there,” continued Mary, “but she caught us red handed and gave us a proper dressing down. She got our age wrong, although she knew I was the elder. Then she told us to be in the morning room for tea at three. Come to think of it, I’m surprised how fast she must have got into that long dress. We were no more than two or three minutes, getting ready for tea.”

Mrs Talbot nodded slowly, then raised her chin and stood. “Thank you, misses. I’ll be back to my work now. You’re welcome to stay but I must get on.”

The housekeeper turned to leave. “Mrs Talbot,” called out Mary. “In the bedroom where Grandma caught us, there’s a locked safe, in the closet. Have you any idea where the key might be?”

Mrs Talbot shook her head. “It’s been locked as long as I can remember. The key is probably lost. Sorry, miss.”

Thursday 17 February: Treasure Hunt

Molly threw back the curtains, blinked and shivered, barefoot on the frigid floorboards. Bright sunlight glittered from freshly fallen snow. The icicles on the sundial shone and dripped in crystal splendour.

“Mary! Wake up! This room has the same view as the one Grandma caught us in. It’s beautiful! Come and see!”

Mary grunted and sat up in bed, collecting her senses. “Please don’t forget, dear sister, that this is my room, and you barged your way in here last night. Now you blast me out at the crack of dawn, as though you own the place.” She swung her legs out of bed, grimacing at the cold. The radiator was barely lukewarm.

Molly dropped her gaze, conceding the point. “Yeah, sorry. Nightmare. I dreamt someone was hiding in the house, impersonating Grandma. Couldn’t deal with being on my own. And your room has a nicer view than mine. All I’ve got is the driveway.

Mary joined her sister at the window. “Bloody hell!” she burst out, clapping her hands to her mouth.

“What’s up, sis?” Molly was puzzled.

“God, sis, the note in the coat! The next clue lies without, and under time!Look! It’s right there! Without can mean outside! I looked it up! Come on, get dressed! Let’s go!”

Molly gawped, thought hard, and there it was. The sundial, icicles splitting the morning sun into rainbows. Mary was already half way into her clothes. Molly scampered across the landing in search of hers.

Moments later, they were racing down the grand stairs and out of the garden door. They pounded over crunching grass and frosted stones, skidding around the pond with its thin coat of ice, arrived and panted before the sundial, breath fogging and misting in the winter air.

Under time. Under the sundial. They searched the flat top, with iron gnomon and inlaid Roman numerals, and the cemented, cobbled column, to no avail. No trace of a message or further clue. Then Mary drew a sudden breath. “Look! Get down level with the top; you can see daylight where it meets the pedestal. Quick, lift it! Come on!”

On either side, legs splayed, both girls heaved upward. The top of the sundial came off with surprising ease. They set it down carefully on the stones, gasping and grunting.

The exposed top of the pedestal was hollow. With eyes like saucers, the girls stared at the small, neat, wooden box, nestling within the recess. Molly’s hands were there first. The box came out quite easily, although, Molly thought, it must have been in there for some time. Its lid opened without protest, to reveal a small, iron key, with oval bow, simple cylindrical shank and tidy, compact bit.

There was barely room for Mary and Molly, kneeling side by side as if at the altar, the hem of the hanging coat brushing lightly against Molly’s shoulder. Mary slid the key into the lock, surprised at the steadiness of her hand. The key turned with no resistance and a satisfying click. A quick glance into each other’s eyes, then Mary gave a gentle tug and the door swung smoothly open.

At first, they thought the safe was empty. It almost was. At the bottom was a leather-bound book, deep blue and shining in the light of Mary’s phone, the word DIARY in bold, gilt capitals across the cover. 

Molly lifted the book from the safe, using just her fingertips, almost reluctant to touch the polished leather.

“Molly, no.” Mary shook her head. “It’s someone’s diary. It’s private. It might be Grandma’s. We can’t open it. We mustn’t.”

Molly’s expression was of one in despair of her sister’s brainlessness. “Mary, it’s been in here for ages. Mrs Talbot told us no-one’s opened it in years. Whoever wrote in this diary is probably dead now. It’s our family’s history and we’ve every right to take a look.”

Before Mary could offer further protest, Molly had lifted up the front cover. Before them was the same ornate handwriting as had been on the note in the coat’s pocket. Dear Diary, I do solemnly pledge to record, herein, only my truest thoughts. Clara Moorheath, 25 December, 1961.

At the distant sound of the breakfast gong, Mary slammed the book shut, almost trapping her sister’s fingers. Back into the safe went the book, and the wooden box that had contained the key. Mary locked the safe with a decisive twist, slipping the key into the pocket of her jogging pants.

Thursday 17 February: Breakfast

Grandma looked, Molly thought, more elegant and serene than she had done for months. The old lady lightly buttered a slice of toast, spread a thin layer of marmalade and took a large bite, showing white teeth with a discreet gold filling between incisor and canine. The girls had finished their breakfast and waited in polite silence.

After Mrs Talbot had cleared away all but the teacups and left the room, Molly asked, straight out, “Grandma, who is Clara Moorheath?”

Mary’s eyes almost popped out and her face suffused a deep red. Their grandmother calmly set down her teacup and looked at them in turn. “Clara was my cousin. She has my family name; we are related on my father’s side. She left England to marry as soon as she was of age. As far as I know, she has never come back. I have not heard from her in years.”

Molly seemed about to ask another question, when Mary’s shoe connected sharply with her shin, under the table. The meal ended with their grandmother draining her teacup, reminding them to play safely in the house and garden, and to keep away from the closed rooms, whereupon she took her leave.

Thursday 17 February: Clara’s Diary

By mid-morning, Molly and Mary felt they knew Clara rather well. Better, in fact, than their grandmother appeared to know her.

They doubted Clara had left England to marry. It was clear from her diary entries that, in the nineteen sixties, marriage for Clara would have been out of the question, unless forced upon her, for Clara was gay. Her thoughts and musings, set down page by page, spoke of her growing and undying love for someone named Colette, and her desperation at being unable to share her feelings with the object of her heart’s desire. Clara lived in constant hope that her love was reciprocated: there were many entries like this one: 3 July, 1963. Colette was radiant at dinner. She sat opposite me; I was quite hypnotised. Papa asked me if I was daydreaming about a young man. If only he knew. I know Colette knows; her foot brushed against mine and she did not withdraw it. One day... we shall be so happy. I know we shall.

A few pages later, the entries stopped. When Molly and Mary read the final page, they first stared in utter disbelief, then raced off to find their grandmother.

The found her in the drawing room. Mrs Talbot was apologetic for the interruption; the old lady waved her away.

“Grandma,” began Mary, “we know Clara is your sister. You’re twins, like Molly and me.”

Their grandmother’s face remained impassive. Molly burst out, “Clara tells in her diary that she’s gay. It’s all there. She fell in love with her second cousin, Colette. The family found out and sent her away to boarding school. She never saw Colette again. But she’s here - now, in the house! Listen to this!”

Thursday, 17 February, 2022. Thank you for finding the note and the key, where I left them for you a few days ago. It’s not hard for someone to hide in a big place like this. I’m sorry for confusing Talbot, and for posing as your grandmother, when I spoke to you in my room yesterday. Like many, Colette had to hide her true sexuality and marry. She has children and seems content. It’s best that you’ve found out my secrets this way, through your own efforts. CM.

No-one was really surprised when a carbon copy of the twins’ grandmother, except her smile showed no gold filling, slipped quietly in, and sat down on the sofa next to her sister. Molly and Mary were extremely surprised when the two sisters embraced, and everyone’s happy tears began to flow.