Private Sorrow, A Read Online Free Page B

she passed a few buildings before coming to the last tenements, which faced a grassy area bordered by a wall. Vera lived on the top floor. There were three houses on the plattie and Vera’s had a colourful striped canvas curtain to protect the woodwork from the warm sun, but now it was pulled to one side. A window box filled with a few withered pansies was a reminder of the summer.
    Vera must have been looking out of her window because the door opened before Molly could knock. She was shown into a cosy kitchen, which had a brightly lit fire warming the room.
    ‘Thank you for coming,’ said Vera, ushering her visitor into one of the chairs that flanked the fireplace. A kettle began whistling on the gas cooker but Molly declined a cup of tea. Vera moved swiftly over and switched the kettle off, leaving the room with a quiet hush.
    Suddenly she spoke, her words tumbling out as if she had to let the whole story out in case she forgot any of it. ‘My husband died in an accident in October 1930 and the next day my daughter Etta disappeared. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.’ Vera’s voice broke but she continued. ‘I would like you to take on this case and look for her.’
    Molly was taken aback. ‘Oh, I’m sorry Mrs Barton but I only take on secretarial and domestic work. Don’t you think you should get the police to try and trace her?’
    Vera shook her head. ‘They investigated Etta’s disappearance at the time but because she was sixteen they said she was an adult and had probably ran off with some boyfriend. They did question some of her friends but nothing came of it and they just dropped the case.’
    ‘But it was so long ago. I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ said Molly. ‘What made you come to me instead of the police?’
    ‘I saw your picture in the paper last year when you solved that mystery and I thought you could help me find Etta.’ She looked at Molly as she wiped away tears. ‘I’m not getting any younger and this is my last chance to find out what happened to my daughter.’ She went over to the sideboard and returned with a cardboard folder and a large photo frame, which she handed over to Molly. ‘This is our wedding photo taken in 1914. I was only seventeen and Dave was eighteen.’
    Molly looked at the photo, which showed a very young couple standing with their backs to a picturesque scene of snow-covered mountains. The bride was dressed in a simple shift dress with a huge fox fur around her shoulders and an even larger bouquet of flowers and trailing ivy, while the groom, who looked like a schoolboy, wore his army uniform with pride.
    ‘We only spent two weeks together before Dave was shipped off to France. He knew I was expecting a child but she was five years old when he finally came home. In 1915, I got word that he was missing presumed dead and it was a dreadful time in my life. I had no money but my family tried to help me out and I managed to get some part-time jobs. I also took in a lodger to help with the bills. Then, in 1919, Dave reappeared. He had been injured, he said, at the Battle of Loos and had been taken prisoner. He was then taken to a German military hospital before being sent to a prisoner-of-war camp.’ Vera opened the folder. It held a few newspaper cuttings and another photo. ‘This is the only photo I have of Dave and Etta. It was taken not long after he came home.’
    She handed the folder to Molly. The man in the photo looked much older than in the previous one, but then he had just experienced a dreadful war. Molly gazed with interest at Etta. A plain looking child with large ribbon bows in her hair. Both figures posed for the camera with serious expressions and Molly suddenly felt sad at the loss of Mrs Barton’s entire family.
    The cuttings were old and yellow with age. They nearly all told the same story …
    M AN D ROWNS
    There has been a dreadful accident in Arbroath. Mr David Barton, a native of Dundee, was presumed drowned yesterday as he