Forgotten

June, 2017

The cottage had stood derelict for many years. The auction gave little information, just a paragraph reading:-

‘Lot 118 - quaint thatched cottage, dating from the early 17th century. 2 bedrooms, large open plan downstairs. Requires full refurb. Bids over £40,000.’

Derek was sure it was a great investment. “We’ll spruce it up, bung in some central heating and a new kitchen and voila, we can sell it to the second home market. I can’t understand why it hasn’t been snapped up already, God knows the market is desperate for places like this.”

Niamh wasn’t so sure. “Must be a reason it’s so cheap.”

“Don’t be such a grump. It’ll be fun – we’ll fix it up on the weekends. And when we resell it we’ll finally have the cash to add that nursery on the back of our own place…”

The auction was busy, and they were both nervous as the room filled up with contractors and investors. They watched the other lots sell, each one fetching several times the starting price. Derek squeezed Niamh’s hand so tightly it hurt.

“Lot 118 - Do I hear £40,000? 40? On the right there, 45? 45, 47! The gentleman in the green jacket, any advance on 47? No? Going once, going twice… sold!” The auctioneer slammed his gavel and moved onto the next lot.

“Well, you did it,” Niamh whispered. “I hope it was the right decision!”

That weeken they rose early, heading straight over to the new property. The key was an old iron one with a large loop at one end.

“We’ll have to change that,” Derek muttered. “Unless we want squatters.”

“I like it, we should take the door off and use it inside, maybe on the bathroom.”

“Yeah, good idea. Turn it into a focal point.”

They pushed open the creaky door, surprised at how dark it was inside. The air was stale and damp, and 10 degrees cooler than outside. Derek went straight to the fireplace.

“Look at this beauty! It’s a proper inglenook – just what I was hoping to find! And the walls, wow, their almost two feet thick! They don’t make homes like this anymore.”

“No, these days they come with windows,” Niamh teased.

“Once we’ve got rid of the cobwebs I reckon this place will have plenty enough light. We’ll whitewash the walls too, add some spotlights in the rafters. It’s going to be a beauty! It’s got great bones.”

Derek was so happy, Niamh didn’t want to spoil the mood. The cottage gave her the creeps though, she couldn’t quite place why. She went into the back garden, forcing the rotting door open against the tall weeds and wildflowers.

It was pretty out here, she had to admit. Foxgloves stood tall against a cobbled wall, their purple flowers buzzing with fat bumble bees. Honeysuckle fell over the grey stone, scenting the air with its heady perfume. Above the door she saw numbers, carved into the eaves.

“1627 – wow, it really IS old!” She called out to her husband, but he’d disappeared up the creaky staircase, tape measure in hand. There seemed to be some kind of light red stain on the cottage wall, near the door. Niamh rubbed at it, but it didn’t budge. It looked like an ‘X’, faded from years of sunlight, about a foot tall. How strange. Nothing a lick of paint wouldn’t hide, though.

Back in the house she went over to the fireplace. She remembered her grandmother telling her that when they were young, back in Ireland, they used to hide their treasures on the little shelf just inside the chimney. She reached up, feeling along the dusty walls, smiling at her own silliness. Then her fingers grasped something… something cold, hard and small. She pulled it out, and gasped. A tiny locket! Tarnished almost black from years of soot and smoke. The delicate heart was engraved with a word, or a name perhaps. She couldn’t make it out, not covered in dirt like this.

Derek came back downstairs, a massive grin on his face. “There’s another fireplace in the front bedroom, that one has Victorian tiles around it! It’ll be dead pretty when we’re finished with it. I think we can just about fit a bathroom upstairs, without losing a bedroom. Honestly Niamh, it’s really everything I hoped it would be. These flagstone floors look original, too! Wouldn’t you think over the centuries someone would have ripped them up, replaced them with shag carpeting or something?” He looked at her hands. “What’ve you got there?”

“A locket – it was hidden inside the fireplace. I think it might be silver.”

“Cool! We can clean it up and you can wear it. A gift from the house.”

Later that day, armed with a pile of measurements and sketches, Derek and Niamh headed back home, grabbing fish and chips for supper on the way. They watched television for a while, and it wasn’t until bedtime that Niamh remembered the necklace. She took it out, filling the sink with water, and began to scrub it gently with an old toothbrush. To her surprise it scrubbed up nicely, the silver showing through. To her surprise, the back was glass, and it looked like a swirl of blonde hair was coiled inside. The letters were visible now, she traced them with her fingers, admiring the elegant calligraphy. ‘Hope’, it said. Niamh wondered if it was the name of the owner, or simply a good luck charm. Maybe the hair belonged to a young man, this locket a love token for his beloved. Whatever it was, she liked it. She found a chain in her jewelry box and slipped it round her neck.

“It suits you,’ Derek said, giving her a kiss before he turned out the light.

***

October 1666

It was early in the morning, the sun barely peeking over the hedgerow. Faith crawled out of her narrow bed in the garret, walking bleary-eyed to the top of the ladder. Downstairs Ma and Da were talking in harsh whispers, their voices panicked.

“Are you sure, love? Let me have a look, mayhap tis just a wart.”

“Tis no wart, wife. See? You know full well what it is.”

“I thought you were careful? Didn’t I warn you not to go to market last week? We’re doomed, Henry! Doomed!”

“Don’t cry, Bess. I was careful, Lord knows I was! Didn’t get within spitting distance of anyone, so help me. I told ‘em to leave the money on the table, even soaked it in vinegar afore I came home.”

“What will we do? They’ll lock us up, you know the law! We’ll be boarded in with you, and the great pestilence be upon us all! I already lost one bairn, Henry… I can’t lose another!”

Faith ran down the stairs, frightened. She’d never heard her Ma sob like this before.

“No! No Faith, keep back, my love. Stay where you are, there’s a good girl.” Her Da looked blotchy, red patches on his cheeks. She saw he was crying, too.

Bess grabbed the hatch to the cellar, heaving it up and hurrying down the rickety ladder. “There’s supplies here, Henry. Dried apples, and saltpork. Cider. Faith can stay here, she’ll be safer in the cellar, away from us, until the sickness passes.”

“You should go with her, dearheart. You haven’t any signs yourself, mayhap it’s only me what’s been blighted.”

“No, then who’d care for you? Whisht, man. I’m your wife, for better or worse, that’s what, and besides, haven’t I laid with you this whole week? If you’re marked, what chance is there that I’ll be spared?”

Henry turned to Faith, who was stood in her nightgown, looking frightened. He sat down. “Faith, child. Run upstairs now little dove, fetch down your quilt and your prayer book. Your Da’s caught sick, and we need to hide you away for a bit, keep you safe.”

Faith returned, struggling with the weight of her patchwork quilt. “Must I really go in the cellar, Da?” She asked fearfully. “It’s dark down there. I don’t like it.”

“Yes, petal. Just for a little while, I promise. You’ll go down there and have all the dried apples you can eat, and no chores neither! You can sleep and read your prayers, and Ma’ll make sure you have plenty of candles. It won’t be dark, pet.”

Bess took the quilt down the ladder, making a cozy nest in the corner of the cellar, and uncorking the cider jugs. She lit a candle, leaving the flint and the rest of the box on a low shelf where Faith could reach it. She longed to hug the child, but dared not go closer.

“Down you go now, poppet. Hurry along, now! We’ll just be up here, you can still talk to us through the hatch. There’s a good girl. Your sister Hope will watch over you, remember, she’s an angel now.”

The hatch swung closed, and Henry moved heavy flagstones from the yard to cover the entrance.

“Must we do that, Henry? It feels like we’re burying another child.”

“Yes my Sweet, I’ve heard the black death sends men crazy, and I won’t be the one to give it to our little girl. I’m afraid if we leave the hatch open, we’ll be unable to stop ourselves going to her.”

“I can hear the town crier in the street, that’s his bell now… must we tell them, Henry? Couldn’t we just stay inside and wait it out?”

“You know the law, love. Think of our friends in the village. Your sister, my Uncle… no. We have to do what’s right.”

***

June, 2017

Niamh woke up in a pool of sweat. The dream was already fading, no, not dream – nightmare. She found herself running to the bathroom, pulling off her pajama top and searching her body for buboes and pustules. She turned on the shower, standing under the cold water and scouring her body till it hurt. She knew she could never fall back to sleep, so headed downstairs to make some tea and calm her nerves. It had seemed so real…

When Derek came down, he was surprised to see her already dressed. “You’re up early,” he said, grabbing a coffee from the pot.

“I couldn’t sleep. Can we go straight to the cottage?”

“You’re eager! I knew you’d come round soon enough. Alright, give me a minute to get dressed first.”

They pulled up outside the cottage and Niamh flew out of the car before it had even fully stopped. She rushed to the front door, frustrated as the old key refused to turn in the lock.

“Chill out, woman, there’s no hurry” Derek told her, taking the key from her trembling fingers.

“I have to check something,” she said, pushing past him and crawling over the floor, pulling at the flagstones with her fingertips. “Give me a hand, Derek, we have to get these stones up!”

“What on earth for? They’ve been there for centuries not bothering anyone,” he replied, concerned.

“Just help me, will you?” Niamh was desperate. She clawed at the ground, heaving one of the heavy stones aside.

“Why, there’s a trapdoor under here! How in hell did you know that?” Derek tugged at the hatch, heaving it up to reveal a dark void beneath.

“Give me your phone, quick, put the flashlight on! Can you see her? Can you see the little girl?” Niamh was frantic now. She clutched the locket tightly, the sound of a small child’s terrified cries filling her head. So little, so alone. Trapped forever in the darkness.

“My God,” Derek said, his flashlight wavering around the small cellar. In the corner lying on a bundle of tattered fabric, a small skeleton lay curled up, her outstretched hand reaching towards an empty flagon. “Who is that?!”

“Faith,” Niamh answered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“How did you know she was here?”

“Her sister sent me,” she replied.