Jules returned to Stepney a few days after the New Year. Although she had enjoyed spending the Christmas holiday with Fr Benjamin and his family, she was glad to be back. Fr Benjamin, of course, was kept busy over Christmas, so they could not spend as much time together as either of them would have liked. His parents, Judith and Michael, were like a second mother and father to her, but, as a result, Jules occasionally felt smothered by their affections. But Aloysius, a short, dark haired, rounded, brick layer and plasterer, the antipodes of his elder brother, sharing with him only his kind grey eyes, was, just as Jules remembered him, great fun, good company and a willing drinking partner. The three of them had sat up well into the early hours of the morning on several occasions, talking over glasses of the potent cocktail which Fr Benjamin had learned to make whilst he was in seminary.
The house was cold, dark and empty when Jules returned that wet afternoon. Although far from palatial, 24 Bermondsey Lane seemed large, vacant and unfriendly without Shelagh and Patrick. It was the quiet which Jules found most perturbing, and with no-one at all to speak to for three days, she felt terribly lonely. She tidied the house, stocked up the fridge, baked, and sorted out the pile of letters, newspapers and junk mail which had accumulated on the doormat while they had all been away. When Shelagh, Patrick and Timothy eventually arrived back, Jules was buzzing with excitement.
"Did you have a good time? How are the grandchildren? Tell me all about Cumbria."
Shelagh and Patrick could not help smiling, "All in good time," Shelagh giggled.
After Timothy had left again, over tea and one of Jules' homemade sponge cakes, Patrick and Shelagh relayed the story of their Christmas break.
"So that was what we got up to," Shelagh said, a wide grin and a sparkle in her eye lighting up her entire face.
"I'm so glad you had a lovely time," Jules replied, half pleased, half relived.
"How was your time with your nice young man?" Patrick asked.
"You know full well that he's not my nice young man," Jules replied crossly, but, seeing that Patrick was smirking, softened her tone, "he was very well, as were his family, and I had a lovely time, doing very little, and eating and drinking far too much. Though, it was nice to get back."
"Have you been bored by any chance since you got back?" Shelagh asked, "I see you've been tidying up."
"Was that a subtle way of saying I'm messy?" Jules grinned.
"No, not, exactly!" Shelagh said, slyly.
"Good! Oh that reminds me," Jules said, getting up from her chair and walking over to the kitchen hatch, where a pile of unopened post stood, and, rummaging through, continued, "this arrived while we were all away, it looks important," she added, handing it to Shelagh before returning to her chair.
Shelagh took the letter from Jules and, noticing the postmark, her heart skipped several beats.
"Is everything alright?" Jules asked, noticing the worried look on Shelagh's face.
"I don't know," Shelagh replied honestly.
She said no more as she carefully opened the thick white envelope, her hands shaking as she did so. Unfolding the now, unfortunately familiar, white, Government headed paper, she began to read:
Dear Mrs. Turner,
The Department for Home Affairs writes in response to the inter-department memorandum received from the Department for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs on November 25th last year, concerning the current whereabouts of your daughter, Miss Angela Grace Turner (D.O.B. 31/10/1959) The Office would like to assure you that we, in partnership with our colleagues at the Metropolitan Police, have carried out a most thorough investigation into what must be a distressing issue for you.
Regarding this issue, a Mrs. Christine McMahon, who gave her occupation as Mr. Aston-Fitzwilliam's housekeeper and cook, told the investigating officer that, on December10th last year, she witnessed Mr. Aston-Fitzwilliam engaged in what she described as "a fierce argument" with a woman matching Miss. Turner's description in the street outside his home. Although Mrs. McMahon confirmed that she had met Miss Turner on a number of occasions prior to December10th last year, she was unable to confirm the identity of the woman whom Mr. Aston-Fitzwilliam was arguing with on December 10th. She however stated that the woman that visited on December 10th, as far as she was aware, had not returned to the house since that day.
When interviewed, Mr. Aston-Fitzwilliam declined to comment on whether he had argued with Miss Turner, stated that he knew Miss Turner, but could not remember the last time he saw her, and claimed that he was unaware of her current whereabouts. Although currently there is no evidence to suggest any suspicious circumstances, on the advice of the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, Sir David McNee, Mr. Aston-Fitzwilliam was subject to a period of low-level surveillance, but as of the date of this letter, this surveillance has proved unremarkable.
The Metropolitan Police have also carried out a thorough investigation of boarding houses, lodgings, letting agents and youth hostels across London, but none report renting accommodation to anyone matching your daughter's description. A wider search of the country will now be undertaken, so if you know of any places your daughter may go to, please inform the Department for Home Affairs by telephone or post to the contact details at the top of this page.
Please be assured that, despite these initial setbacks, the Department for Home Affairs is doing all it can to resolve this issue, and hopes that it can be carried out in a satisfactory manner.
Signed on behalf of The Right Honourable William Whitelaw, Her Majesty's Secretary of State for Home Affairs.
Shelagh hands continued to shake as she lowered the letter and her eyes began to sparkle with tears. All her instincts were telling her to leave the room as fast as she could, but the two pairs of eyes watching her, kind and loving as they were, rooted her to the spot with fear.
"Who was your letter from?" Patrick asked.
Shelagh looked from Patrick, to Jules, to the letter and then back to Patrick again. Patrick looked on expectantly, Jules, who had previously seen the official-looking post mark, avoided Shelagh's gaze, fiddling with her hands nervously.
"It, was," Shelagh began, her breath hitching and her voice crackling as she said it.
"Do you want me to go?" Jules asked, beginning to get up from her chair.
"No," Shelagh said, "I mean, you don't have to. I want you to stay," she finished.
Jules lowered herself back into her chair looking suspiciously at Shelagh. Patrick, although he could not clearly see the expressions on his companion's faces, was acutely aware that all was not well.
"What's happened darling?" he asked, reaching out to stroke Shelagh's arm.
Shelagh took a deep breath and began,
"Back in August, while I was in Chichester, I told Sister Julienne for the first time the truth about Angela. She asked me whether I had done anything about trying to find her. It seems so stupid now, thinking about it, why did I not think to try and find her before? Sister Julienne suggested contacting the Foreign Office, which I did. They wrote to me in November, telling me that Angela had arrived in London from Buenos Aires a few weeks earlier."
"You didn't tell me that," Patrick snapped, "Why not?"
"I didn't want," Shelagh began, unwilling to admit to him the true reason, "I should have done, I'm sorry."
An awkward silence descended. After what seemed like several minutes, Jules, unable to stand the atmosphere any longer, plucked up the courage to say,
"So what happened next?"
"The letter from the Foreign Office said that Angela and Matthias had travelled home separately, she arrived back over a week before he did. The case was then passed onto the Home Office, and this is the letter from them."
Shelagh's voice began to crack again and, try as she might, the words that were in her head, would not form into coherent speech.
"And what does that letter say?" Patrick asked.
"It says that, they haven't found her, at least not in London. The police have questioned Matthias, and it seems they've been together since they flew home, but he doesn't know, or won't admit to knowing, where she is. They've searched boarding houses and hostels, places where a young girl might stay, but nothing. The trail seems, for now, to have gone cold. They've asked if there are any places outside of London that she might go to, but I can't think of any."
"Would she go to Chichester?" Jules suggested.
"I doubt it," Shelagh replied, "if she won't come to us, she certainly won't turn to her godmother. Sister Julienne tried to talk to her when she first starting getting into trouble at school, and, well, it would be an understatement to say that it did not go smoothly. I don't think they've spoken for years."
"Did you ever go anywhere special on holiday, somewhere where she was really happy?"
"I don't think so," Shelagh answered, "I think she was only really happy when she was with him," she finished, as a tear began to run down her cheek.
"Hey, don't cry," Jules said, putting an arm round Shelagh, and gesticulating to Patrick to join them, put her other arm around his shoulder, "with parents as kind, loving and caring as you two, it is impossible that she could have been unhappy."
Shelagh and Patrick looked at the girl who was sat between them, as though unconvinced of what she had said. Unperturbed, Jules continued,
"They'll find her, she can't be too far away, and there is always hope."
"I do hope you are right," Shelagh replied, drying her eyes and curling closer into Jules.
"Hmmm," Patrick agreed, but seemingly without any real conviction.
"Yes," Jules thought to herself, "so do I."