Mary shook his hand. ‘Martha.’ She took a breath and, with one last look at the grave, began to turn. ‘It was nice to meet you, Ray.’
‘Likewise.’
Mary ambled through the churchyard and hadalmost reached the gate when she spotted something from the corner of hereye. It was a large stone tomb with a life-size angel perched on thetop. It hadn’t been there when she was a child, so she was intrigued totake a look.
Mary gasped and clutched at herchest. It was the grave of Lady Rothborne, Cecil and PhiladelphiaMansfield. The very people who had blighted her whole life. Theinitial revulsion that she had experienced quickly turned into relief. They were gone and had no hold over her.
Mary left the churchyard without lookingback. It would be her one and only visit. She walked down Friar’sRoad, absorbing every detail of the passing houses. Very little hadchanged in the fifty-one years that had elapsed. She stopped outside herformer home and stared up at her bedroom window. Memories of that fatefulday in 1911 when she had accompanied Edith to her job interview returned. It was the one day in history that, if she could, she would go back andchange. She would have stayed at home, curled up in front of the firewith a good book and never set foot in Blackfriars.
Mary continued her journey down the roaduntil she reached the back entrance of Blackfriars. The large black gateswere now rusted and set permanently open. Apprehensively, she walked inand began her journey down that familiar path, as if only a few months hadpassed since the last time. The orchard came into view and Mary stoppedin her tracks. She had to visit the abbey ruins one last time.
Crossing through the orchard, Mary reachedthe ruins. She entered them, half expecting to see Edward’s beaming smileappear from behind the archway. But it was deserted. She noticedthe slab of sandstone where she and Edward had often sat was still in roughlythe same position. She crouched down and carefully ran her fingers overits surface. Fifty years had weathered away the carved initials, leavingonly an indistinct indentation where they had once been. She smiled asmore memories poured into her mind. The mental wall that she had raisedagainst her past was beginning to crack. Time was running out. Shebent down and gathered up a handful of large pieces of sandstone and beganfilling her pockets until they bulged, like ripe fruit about to burst open.
Heading back to the main path, Mary saw Blackfriarsfor the first time. She shuddered and stared. Somehow it seemedlarger and more terrifying than it had once appeared.
With the building in front of her, sheturned and could see the lake. In the centre was the folly that had heldher captive for so many months. As if being operated like a puppet, Marywalked towards the water in a trance.
The past was returning.
She reached the water’s edge and,oblivious to the members of the public milling around her, placed a foot in thewater. Spikes of freezing pain bit at her ankle, but she did not feelthem. Putting her other foot in, she began to wade into the lake. The water rose, quickly climbing over her stone-filled pockets up to her chest.
‘Hey! What are you doing?’ a shockedvoice called from the bank. ‘Someone get help!’
‘What’s she doing? She’s going todrown!’ another voice cried.
Mary didn’t hear the voices; the coldwater had risen over her ears. Yet she kept moving on, stumbling overdebris on the lake bed, onwards. She opened her mouth and allowed thewater to rush inside her, expelling the last remnants of air from her lungs.
The wall in her mind cracked and she wasback in the harrowing dark days of 1911.
She had packed up her suitcase and lefther room empty, her employment at Blackfriars over. She had no idea whyLady Rothborne had encouraged her to try on Philadelphia’s dresses only to denyall knowledge. Of course, she knew now. As she had left thebuilding and made her way back home, Bastion and Risler had gagged her then draggedher into a boat where they had incarcerated her in the folly, locked away likesome helpless princess. The folly. It had been her prison for somany months. Nobody had visited her, only Risler had brought her food anddrink and Dr Leyden had come to check on her pregnancy. One night shethought she had heard Edward calling her name. She was sure it had beenhim. Then Risler had said that Edward was dead. When the day came,she had been carried into the main house to give birth. It was only thenthat she had heard the word ‘babies’ used for the first time. She hadbeen carrying twins. Edward’s twins. Just when she had given up anyhope of being able to keep her children, Caroline had arrived and held her handthroughout the birth. She had just caught a glimpse of a shock of redhair on her boy’s head as he was handed over to Philadelphia Mansfield. The second baby, a girl, had been handed to her elder sister. She hadlost her Edward and now she had lost her children. She had no fight in herand the thought of the workhouse was always at the forefront of her mind. She would rather die than end up there. She got herself a passport inMartha Stone’s name, packed her suitcase and left Bristol on a ship bound forHalifax, Nova Scotia. A new life beckoned.
MaryMercer heard the words this time.
‘Somebody get an ambulance!’ the man’svoice shouted.
She opened her eyes and saw a blurredimage of Edward. She smiled. Then her vision cleared and she couldsee that it wasn’t him. She was in the arms of a man on the river bank.
‘Hello, are you okay?’ the voiceasked. ‘Thank God, I got you out in time. You were about to drown.’
Mary knew. ‘My son,’ she said softlyand then closed her eyes.
The man—George Mansfield—watched as the womanin his arms quietly faded away. ‘Will somebody get an ambulance!’ heshouted.
But he knew it was all too late.
He cradled the woman’s head in his lap andgently stroked her red hair.
Biography:
NathanDylan Goodwin was born and
