Having made a quick final check of thestark room, Edith picked up her small suitcase and made her way down the darkstairs. She had settled her bill last night and had no need to disturbanyone this morning therefore. She quietly closed the front door behindher and stepped down onto the cobbled pavement.
The streets were black, peppered with themuted amber hue coming from the gas-lamps dotted at regular intervals. Inthe distance, tall chimneys pumped grey tendrils of smoke into the nightsky. Edith drew in a long, steady breath and considered what she wasabout to undertake. After years of searching as to the whereabouts of hertwin sister, the answer had been close by all along. And now, in justseven days’ time, the twins would be reunited.
Two round white lights suddenly appearedat the end of the street, growing in size as the vehicle appeared from thegloom. A blue and black Austin Seven drew alongside Edith and, leavingthe engine running, a man popped out from the driver’s door. ‘Morning,madam!’ he chirped in a thick Liverpudlian accent. ‘Off to thewaterfront?’
Edith nodded. ‘Yes, yes please.’
The driver scuttled round and opened thepassenger door for her, allowing her to step inside before shutting it tightbehind her.
Edith’s excitement grew as the cab pulledaway into the quiet street; it was her very first ride in a motor cab andsomehow it made her adventure seem all the more important.
‘Where you off to, then, love?’ the driverasked.
‘Canada. I’m going to see mysister,’ Edith answered.
‘Ah, that’ll be lovely, that will,’ hesaid. ‘Has she been out there long?’
‘Fourteen years,’ Edith said. Fourteen long horrible years. Not a single day had passed when she hadn’tthought about her. She pulled out a small piece of white paper handed toher a few days ago by the private investigator, whom she had hired to searchfor Mary. She unfolded it and read. It simply said, ‘4 West Street,Halifax.’ She had read the address a dozen times and had no need to bringthe piece of paper, but it made it all the more real for her. That waswhere her sister was now residing, having taken the name of her long-deadschool friend, Martha Stone.
As Edith looked out of the cab window atthe rows and rows of terraced housing, she thought about how she had searchedhigh and low for Mary. She had tried every conceivable avenue, neveraccepting, but always expecting failure. She would have saved a fortunein money and precious time with her sister if she had known that the answer wasunder her nose all along. The answer was spat at her by her drunkenhusband when they were in the midst of an angry row. Joshua had knownwhat had happened to Mary ever since the day that she had disappeared in1911. A secret that he had harboured for fourteen years.
Almost four weeks ago, Joshua had arrivedhome at gone-midnight, having spent the evening drinking with LordRothborne. The abhorrent sight of her husband drunk had been one that shewas growing increasingly accustomed to seeing. She despised the totalshift in his personality when he was drunk: he would leave their home at PeaceCottage as the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago but he wouldreturn a foul, spiteful man with an unpredictable temperament.
When he had arrived home that night, Edithhad been knitting in front of the glimmering fire in the sitting-room. She had learned from painful experience that pretending to be asleep when hearrived home often resulted in him forcing himself upon her. Much betterwas to defuse the situation and pack him off to bed first.
‘You waited up again,’ Joshua had saidjovially as he closed the front door.
Edith had seen instantly that he was drunkto the point of being unable to stand properly. ‘Yes, I waited,’ she hadsaid, mustering a false smile. ‘I think you need to get to bed, Joshua.’
Joshua’s smile had turned into a tiger’ssnarl. ‘Why? You think I’m bloody silly, don’t you, Edie?’
Edith had set her knitting down into herlap. ‘No, Joshua, I don’t think you’re silly; I think you’re tired andneed to get to bed.’
‘Come on, then, let’s go to bed,’ Joshuahad challenged.
‘You go, I’ll be up in a minute,’ Edithhad answered, trying to hide her nervousness about where this conversation washeaded.
‘No, you come now!’ Joshua had shouted.
‘Shhh, you’ll wake Charles,’ Edith had said.
‘Oh, your poor son,’ Joshua hadreplied. ‘Let him live a little. You protect him like he’s aporcelain doll. You parcel him off to bed like he’s a baby. Cecillets Georgie stay up with us.’
Edith had looked mortified. ‘Notdrinking and gambling, surely? He’s only fourteen.’
Joshua had rolled his eyesscornfully. ‘He’s a grown-up lad—more of a man than your wet Charlieupstairs,’ he mocked, before mumbling, ‘which is odd.’
‘Why’s it odd?’ Edith had retorted. ‘I look after my boy.’
‘They’ve got the same blood, though,’ hesaid.
Edith had stared at him, wondering at hislast remark. Had he just said that her son, Charlie, had the sameblood as George Mansfield? ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Are you really that bloody stupid andnaïve?’ Joshua had whispered, moving closer to her face. ‘They’recousins! Mary had a little lamb.’
‘You’re lying!’ Edith had snapped.
Joshua had laughed and made his wayupstairs.
Edith had wanted to call after herhusband, but knew there would be no point. The next morning would be likeevery other following his drinking; he would remember nothing of it. Edith had intended to keep it that way. She knew that if she wanted toever see Mary again, she needed to be clever about it. It had become hersecret. Her mystery to solve.
‘Here we are then, love,’ the cab driversaid, bringing the car to a sudden stop. ‘The Aquitania Pier.’
Edith lurched back to reality. Thedriver opened the door and she stepped out into another world. Despitethe subdued dawn light, Edith could see a hive of industry taking place witheverything revolving around the magnificent ship which loomed large in thebackground. She suddenly became aware of her immediatesurroundings. More cars and horse-drawn carriages than she had ever seenin one place were lined up at the edge of the road, spilling people and luggageonto the slipway beside them. People, seemingly of
