The Years of Riddle

Chapter Thirty | Lewes, July 1963

Chapter Thirty

Lewes, July 1963

          The Lacroix cottage sat nestled between three large, twisted oak trees, just off the lane. It was a drizzly day, and the children had the house to themselves, as Anthony had work. Violet was drawing in the living room, while Silas was standing under the attic stairs.

He had been waiting for a day that no adults were stopping by to check on them, and it had taken over a week before there was no chance of being caught. They weren't forbidden from going into the attic, but Anthony would have preferred if they didn't. Silas knew many of his mother's belongings were up there, things from her childhood – that's what Silas wanted to see.

Checking once more that Violet was occupied, he pulled down the stairs from the ceiling, climbing them and coughing as he inhaled a large breath of dust. No one had been up here in a while, not since Anthony had put most of Gwyn's things away.

The attic was full of various boxes and chests, and Silas knew just where to go – the trunk that his mother had been given when she left the orphanage at eighteen. It was almost falling apart, with a buckle missing from one of the straps. Opening it, the smell of his mother's cream wafted over him. She had never been one for perfume, instead always dabbing a bit of vanilla extract behind her ear – as a teen in the orphanage, it was easy to take a little bit, except during war time. Gwyn had laughed, saying the matron was always wondering who was baking.

Silas shifted through the papers and few books; most were old essays from her time at school, ticket stubs and newspaper cuttings. He removed the top half, revealing her clothes, all neatly folded and packed away. They were soft, many with little hand stitched details that Gwyn had done on rainy days to make her plain clothes more interesting. Many of Violet's frocks had the same detailing, from small flowers and birds to delicate bits of eyelet lace sewn onto collars and hems.

There didn't seem to be much in the trunk, so he moved to the boxes. They too were full of old clothes and papers, mainly surrounding the search for Gwyn's family. Soon, he was covered in dust and exhausted. If one were to only go off these papers, it would seem that Gwyn only existed past late 1947. It couldn't be possible – where had everything from before gone? Gwyn had had a life before, people had known her. She had rarely spoken of it, but it had happened, but where was the proof?

Thinking he may have missed something, he removed all the clothes from the trunk, hoping something was buried beneath them. Upon reaching the bottom though, he found nothing – and then he saw a small tab, a scrap of ribbon really, poking up by the side.

"What..." Silas pulled, and to his surprise the bottom lifted out, revealing several stuffed envelopes. The top one looked very heavy, and he lifted it out carefully, letting its contents slide into his palm. It was a round medal, and turning it over, Silas could hardly believe his eyes.

Special Services Medal

Bestowed upon Tom M. Riddle in his fifth year,

For his immense bravery and intelligence

1943

~*~

          Inesa Fawley stood in the dusty attic of the Lacroix Cottage, studying the medal in her hands. Her honey hair was shorter and put up in a smooth ponytail. However, a few unruly curls had begun to form at the base of her neck and around her forehead.

"This is certainly odd." She said finally, handing it back. "Why would your Mum have it though?"

Silas shrugged, still shocked. He had owled Inesa the second he found it, then waited impatiently as she got out of a family luncheon. One of her older brothers was getting married, and his fiancée was a complete bore. She was happy for an excuse.