The Outcast Dead (34 page)

Cathbad waves and Ruth makes her way over to him. Cathbad introduces the clergyman as Father Tom Douglas. ‘Father Tom’s just going to say a few prayers over the body.’

Ruth doesn’t question why Cathbad has decided to bring along a priest – or a vicar, whichever he is. It’s typical of Cathbad to introduce an element of mysticism but not, Ruth acknowledges, entirely inappropriate.

‘If we find a body,’ she says.

Ted starts to trowel. The last two days have been wet and the earth crumbles easily. A yellow moon appears fitfully from behind the clouds and somewhere nearby an owl hoots.

‘Bloody hell. That scared the hell out of me,’ says Ted cheerfully.

Cathbad has identified Saint Rowan as the statue with a faint tracery of leaves around its brow. Ruth has found the same adornment on the head of the figure in the medallion. Saint Rowan holding a child. Why did Jemima Green have such a fondness for this particular saint? Was it because of the statue here, in the ruins of her parish church? Did someone tell her that Saint Rowan would protect the dead children, like Jemima’s little sisters who are also (they assume) buried in his shadow?

‘Cut!’ shouts Martin. ‘Can I have a close-up of Ted’s face?’

‘Fame at last,’ says Ted.

It’s ironic, thinks Ruth, watching an assistant holding a light-meter next to Ted’s gleaming bald head, the programme is now the one that Dani always wanted to make. Frank will sift the evidence and come to a considered historian’s conclusion. There will be no melodrama and no hook-handed monster. Even so, this scene, with the silhouetted figures digging in the shadows of the old church, will add a Gothic touch to the proceedings. Ruth wouldn’t put it past Martin to add spooky sound effects either. And
Carmina Burana
in the background … ‘I think we’ve got something,’ says Ted. ‘Over to you, Ruth.’

Ruth climbs into the trench and sees the little bones – so fragile and white – outlined in the dark soil. She works slowly to expose the skeleton, conscious of all the eyes (not to mention the cameras) upon her.

‘It’s a child,’ she says.

‘How do we know it’s not one of the sisters?’ asks Martin.

‘We can’t be sure yet,’ says Ruth. ‘With pre-pubescent skeletons it’s hard to determine gender. We may be able to get some DNA from the bones though.’

Even after this note of caution, the atmosphere around the grave is tense. Ruth has already recorded the skeleton in plan. Now she excavates the bones one by one, placing them in marked plastic bags. Ted fills in the skeleton sheet. The only sounds are the scratch of Ruth’s trowel and the night noises in the woods behind them.

‘Father Tom,’ says Cathbad. ‘Could you say a few words?’

Father Tom steps forward. For such an elderly man his voice is surprisingly powerful. It echoes around the shadowy stones. The sky above is clear and full of stars.

‘Lord, you told us that not a sparrow falls without Our Father in heaven knowing.’

Ruth is surprised to recognise the words from the service for the Outcast Dead. She supposes that these are all-purpose prayers for bodies in unmarked graves. Even so, they seem particularly appropriate here.

‘We pray for the souls buried beneath this soil. We know that they are known to you and loved by you.’

They were certainly known and loved by Jemima Green, thinks Ruth, lifting the little skull from the earth. She thinks of Jemima’s poem.

And when the good Lord calls me from this life of pain

I will lie beside you and hold you in my arms again
.

Frank wants the posthumously pardoned Jemima Green to be re-buried in consecrated ground. Perhaps Joshua – if this is Joshua – could be buried with her? But then Ruth thinks of Anna Barnet, Joshua’s mother. Is it fair that she should lose her son to Jemima Green for a second time? Surely Joshua belongs with his mother, presuming they can find her grave. Ruth makes a silent promise to the ghost of Anna. If I can find you, I’ll reunite you with your son. It wasn’t Anna’s fault that society wouldn’t let her bring up her own child. And she hadn’t given him up for adoption. She had always meant to come back for him.

‘I am the resurrection and the life says the Lord. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies.’

Ruth thinks of the Resurrection Men, of Mr G, cheated of this body at least. Why does it matter what happens to our bodies when we die? Surely Ruth, as a good atheist, should be happy to leave her body for medical research? But Ruth knows that, if she wants anything for her remains, it’s this – a lonely churchyard where Kate and her children can visit and bring flowers. Bloody hell, what a morbid thought. She’s been seeing too much of Cathbad.

At last the exhumation is complete and Ted’s ‘Amen’ is ringing into the night. Ruth climbs out of the trench and takes off her coveralls. She feels the need for some space and walks a little way away from the group around the skele box. She jumps when a tall figure appears next to her. It’s Frank.

‘You OK?’ he asks.

‘Fine,’ she says. ‘I hope it’s him. Joshua, I mean.’

‘So do I,’ says Frank. ‘I think it is, don’t you?’

‘Yes I do.’

‘Another lost child found.’

‘Is that what you’re going to say in your voice-over?’

Frank laughs. ‘I’m not always practising my lines, you know, Ruth. There are some things I mean.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like I’d like to see you again. Before I go back to the States.’

Ruth feels her cheeks lifting in a smile but, before she can speak, Nelson comes striding through the derelict archway.

‘Are you two planning to stay here all night?’

Frank grins. ‘It’s a thought.’

Nelson scowls. Behind him Martin is still filming spooky shapes and ghostly sound effects, Ted is drinking from a hip flask, Cathbad and Judy are laughing softly together.

‘I need to get back to Kate,’ says Ruth.

‘So we can say, with ninety percent certainty, that the bones are those of a pre-pubescent boy who died about a hundred and fifty years ago. His body shows no signs of trauma and it is likely that he died of natural causes.’

The monstrous creature looms out of the screen. Ruth shrinks back in her seat. She thought the camera was meant to put on ten pounds. Elephant Woman up there looks about three stone heavier than Ruth. It’s the last five minutes of the
Women Who Kill
screening. Ruth has enjoyed a few scenes: Ted sitting on the edge of a trench like Humpty Dumpty; Phil in a dazzling white coat asking her about Carbon 14; a moody shot of the castle with the English Heritage sign creaking like a gibbet. She is less sure about the decision to use actors to tell the story. The woman playing Jemima Green is far too glamorous. She wields her hook like a fashion accessory. The actor playing Mr G is suitably sinister though.

Thankfully the camera pans away from the huge figure in the laboratory. Now it is following Frank as he walks along the bridge to the castle.

‘So Jemima Green, the woman who so loved the children in her care, is on her way to a posthumous pardon. Little Joshua died from natural causes and Jemima’s only crime was to bury him in a secret place, away from the clutches of the Resurrection Men. Jemima was condemned by her appearance. Put simply, she looked like a murderess, and for over a hundred years we have believed her to be one. Now, perhaps, the legend of Mother Hook can die and the story of Jemima Green can take its place. The story of a woman, disabled in a dreadful accident, who made a new life caring for the abandoned children of Norwich. She clothed them, fed them and loved them. And if they died – as children did tragically often in those days – she wrote poems for them and treasured their memories. Perhaps she will be remembered as the first modern childminder, who really tried to create a loving home for her charges. She will be buried next to her parents in the beautiful countryside that she loved so much. There, Jemima Green can rest in peace at last.’

He smiles sadly into the camera as it backs away. And now the screen is full of the beautiful Norfolk countryside: wide beaches, meandering rivers, crumbling red cliffs, cows knee-deep in green pastures. The credits go past so quickly that Ruth hardly takes them in. Directed by Danielle White and Martin Glover. Presented by Dr Frank Barker. Special thanks to Dr Ruth Galloway and Dr Phil
Trent from the University of North Norfolk. Across the aisle she can see Phil swelling with pride. The small audience in the lecture theatre bursts into spontaneous applause. Phil rises in answer to a non-existent call for a speech and talks for ten minutes about his contribution to the film. He does mention ‘our Ruth’ in the way that politicians mention their pets, expecting an indulgent laugh. Some of Ruth’s friends cheer ironically. Then, mercifully, the doors are open and Ruth can escape.

Outside it’s cold and bright. It’s two weeks before Christmas and the campus is strewn with the relics of end-of-term parties. Streamers hang from the trees around the lake and the statue of Elizabeth Fry is wearing a fetching paper crown. People are standing around talking and laughing, their breath billowing around them. Ruth can see Shona, wearing what looks like a real fur jacket. Irish Ted is also there, she can hear his laugh from across the quad. She thinks that she can see Maddie Henderson standing with a slim, short-haired girl. Maddie must be back for the holidays. She wonders if that’s Justine Thomas with her. According to Judy, Justine is now living with Bob Donaldson.

Shona waves and beckons. Ruth’s also dimly aware that colleagues who wouldn’t have given her the time of day before now seem anxious to talk to her. She supposes that now she’s been on TV she’s a woman of substance. You can say that again, she thinks with a shudder. Putting up her hood, she sets off for the car park. She’s halfway there when she hears footsteps behind her.

‘Ruth!’

Ruth turns. It’s Janet Meadows, resplendent in a patchwork coat.

‘Rushing off?’

‘I need to get home.’

‘Can I walk with you?’

‘Of course.’

They walk past the Natural Sciences block. Someone has sprayed ‘Happy Xmas’ on the double doors but the X has already disintegrated. Janet says, ‘I enjoyed the film.’

‘I enjoyed it except when I was on screen,’ says Ruth. ‘I looked like I’d escaped from one of those documentaries. “The World’s Fattest Academics.”’

Janet laughs but doesn’t exactly disagree. ‘I hate seeing myself on TV,’ she says. ‘I did a local history series once and I looked just like Alan Rickman.’

Ruth rather fancies Alan Rickman but she can see why Janet, a male-to-female transsexual, might not like the comparison.

‘What happened to that poor woman?’ asks Janet. ‘The director.’ Dani’s arrest was front page news for a while but now seems to have been forgotten. The local papers have been full of flooding in Lowestoft and the possibility of snow at Christmas. Ruth imagines that they’ll regain their interest when the case comes to trial in the spring.

‘She’s pleading guilty,’ she says. ‘I think there are a few mitigating circumstances. Judy and Darren have been really forgiving. Cathbad even went to see her in prison.’

As time has gone on, Judy, who once would have torn
Dani’s heart out of her body, has softened considerably. ‘After all,’ she said to Ruth, ‘Dani did look after Michael really well. I feel sorry for her, I really do. Cathbad says it’s all to do with karma.’

‘Are Judy and Cathbad living together now?’ asks Janet. She knows Cathbad of old.

‘Yes,’ says Ruth. ‘They seem really happy.’

‘Well, Dani made a good film,’ says Janet. ‘I’m glad that Jemima Green’s name has been cleared. It’s so terrible to think of her being hanged for a crime that she didn’t commit. I hope her soul can rest in peace now.’

Ruth thinks of a strange conversation she had with Clough a few weeks ago. It was at Judy and Cathbad’s Hallowe’en party. Cathbad has sold the caravan and bought a cottage in Wells-next-the-Sea. Ruth knows that he came into some money last year but was surprised to see him spending it on something as conventional as a mortgage. Still, it was good to see him celebrating All Hallows Eve in the traditional way. Ruth has quite a fondness for the day as it was on Hallowe’en that she went into labour with Kate. Even so, she was glad that Kate held out for November 1st, All Hallows itself. A far more respectable birthday.

This party was, in itself, fairly conventional. Lots of beer and mulled wine, very little communication with the dead. At the end of the evening, Ruth got trapped with Clough on the sofa. Ruth was too tired to move and Clough seemed set in for the night. They were watching Cathbad showing Michael the bonfire in the garden (Cathbad hasn’t
changed in this respect; he still loves lighting fires). Michael had just woken up and Cathbad had brought him down to ‘commune with the friendly spirits’.

‘Hope the spirits don’t get too friendly,’ said Ruth, reflecting that she would probably have put Kate back in bed. What a kill-joy parent.

‘There’s more in this spirit bollocks than you realise, Ruth,’ said Clough, looking into his glass. ‘More than you’ll ever know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know when Michael was missing?’ He pointed at the little boy laughing delightedly at the flames. ‘Well, I consulted a psychic. Judy asked me to. I thought it was odd at the time but if she was involved with Malone it makes sense. Anyway, I saw this woman, Madame Rita her name was, and she told me to look for a red heart and a white lady. Well, you know where we found him? In a pub called the Red Hart. And he was with a woman called White, Danielle White.’

‘I did hear some of this,’ Ruth admitted. Nelson has succeeded in keeping the psychic out of the papers but couldn’t resist telling the story to Ruth.

‘But you didn’t hear this,’ said Clough, ‘because I’ve never told anyone else. Madame Rita said that Michael was with “a woman from the spirit world”. She said that this woman loved children and was looking after him. Well, when I heard about your film I thought it might be her, Mother Hook, Jemima Whatsit. Nelson says that you’ve proved that she was a goodie all along.’

Was Jemima Green looking after Michael? On one level, Ruth doesn’t believe a word of it. Jemima Green is dead, and if Frank has saved her reputation that’s satisfying to him but not much good to the woman hanged outside Norwich Castle a hundred and fifty years ago. But, on another level … She thinks of the lights on the Saltmarsh at night, of the time when Cathbad claimed to have visited the underworld in a dream, of the saints and the spirits, of the many times when her foolish heart has overruled her scientific head. The best that she can say now is that she isn’t sure. About anything.