Blackbriar (2 page)

“What?” Danny said. “Quit your job? Oh, no.”

“Yes,” she said, “I couldn’t quit. Of course, if one had money,” she added dreamily. “If one had money, and servants too, the way one grew up . . .” She was always “one” in the past; but she never said any more than a few words about it, always finishing, as now, with “But that’s the past. No use thinking about that,” and going on. “No, I couldn’t quit my job. Not that I wouldn’t be overjoyed never to set foot in that bloody school again. I’d adore dashing off into some new, wild life, far away from this awful dirty noisy city. And Islington, poor darling, cooped up inside all day, never out chasing mice and things, he could do with a change. I’ve been in such an awful rut, never . . .”

Danny returned to his thoughts. He never knew what to say when she went on like this, because he was positive she would never have the nerve to quit her job. But sometimes he wondered what would happen to him if she did leave London. At the least, it would mean that he would no longer have to live with her, something he often longed for. He knew that it was useless for him to suggest that perhaps he should move out, for he would be unable, as always, to stand up to the threats and cajolings and protestations she would make. But if she should leave London . . . She’ll never leave, he told himself.

He remembered how it had been when he first came to live with her. He had never known his father, who had died shortly after he was born. His early childhood, with only his mother, had been warm and very sheltered. But when he was seven his mother had died suddenly, leaving him a small annuity, no relatives, and a busy, indifferent lawyer as his guardian. Philippa Sibley, the secretary at his school, had always befriended a certain special few of the younger children; and though Danny was not a particularly good student, his wild imagination had intrigued her. On that awful day, when word had come to the office that he no longer had a mother or a home to go to, it had been the most natural thing in the world for Philippa to take him back to her large kitchen, give him hot chocolate, and talk to him in a rich, soothing voice. Since there was nowhere else for him to go, there he had stayed. And when Mr. Bexford, the lawyer, finally found time to deal with Danny, it had been the simplest (and quickest) solution to allow him to remain with Philippa.

She was certainly qualified to bring up a child. Not only had she worked at the school for many years, but she had had her own family. She was a widow now, and her only child, a daughter, had gone to South America at eighteen and never returned. Philippa assured Mr. Bexford that Danny would certainly not be a bother, that his annuity would be ample for room and board, and it had all been settled. The check that arrived punctually once a year was all they had heard from him since.

As Danny had grown older he had become rather dissatisfied with the arrangement. And now, at fifteen, he saw that other children were beginning to grow away from their parents. Philippa had met the few token attempts he had made at semi-independence with hysterical scenes, threats, and accusations. He had given in quickly, vaguely resentful, but unwilling to continue to provoke her anger. It was so much easier and less painful simply to adjust. And there
is
a lot that’s good about her, he would tell himself. Any other place I lived would probably be worse.

He had grown quite used to her, after all.

“. . . trudging back to this dreary flat on this dreary street. Never admitting to myself how much I really hate this kind of life. But now that I’ve found out about this place, it might be possible to break away.” She sat down across from him. “Danny? Didn’t you hear me? I said, now that I’ve found out about this place, it might be possible for me to break away.”

“What? What place? What do you mean?”

“I never mentioned it before because I didn’t know if I’d ever have the nerve to do anything about it. But I suppose I might as well tell you anyway.” She paused, as if she were about to reveal something precious and very secret. She looked away from him for a moment, then pursed her lips.

“There’s a little house, a cottage, far away from London, near the sea. It’s very old, no one knows how old, and very secluded, miles away from the nearest tiny village. Nobody knows why it is there, so far away from everything else, with only a rough road leading to it. And no one has lived there for as long as anyone can remember. It’s on a wooded, rocky hillside, and the farmer who owns the land is looking for someone to buy the place so he can get some profit out of it. But no one will live there, I suppose because it is so secluded.”

“But how did you find out about it?”

“The farmer advertises it in
Country Life
. The ad has been running there for years and years, and I never paid much attention to it. But then, a few weeks ago, Mr. Braintree from the school, who also gets
Country Life
, told me he’d seen the place, quite by accident, when he was on holiday. He was out walking and saw this strange little house, and realized it must be the same place. You should have heard him go
on
about it—”

“I hear him go on plenty in biology every day.”

“But oh, it sounds so beautiful! It’s on a high ridge, and you can see the ocean and miles all around. It has flint walls, yellow lichen on the roof, and a huge chimney. He looked in through the windows, and he could scarcely see for the dust, and of course the place was a
mess
, but he could make out a huge stone fireplace, and thick beams, and a narrow, winding stairway. He would have taken it himself, he said, but it wasn’t big enough for his family. “Oh,” she sighed, “if only, if
only
I had the nerve to do something about it!”

“But why do you want to live so far away from everything?”

“Why, I love the country! It’s so much nicer than this awful dirty noisy city. You’ve always lived in the city, you have no idea what the country is like.”

“And you’d really like to live in such a secluded place all by yourself?” he said skeptically.

“I’d have Islington.” She lowered her eyes. “And of course,
you
could come too, darling, if you liked.”

“Me?” Then he noticed the expression on her face, and suddenly began to be afraid. Could she really mean it? Then I’d
really
never be able to live anywhere else, he groaned inwardly. And how cold and uncomfortable it would be! “But this is ridiculous,” he said. “You couldn’t afford to buy a house.”

“Perhaps I could. I have been putting a little away over the years. And your annuity would help.”

“But . . . but I couldn’t go with you. I have to go to school. I don’t exactly love it, but it would be rather hard to get out of, wouldn’t it?”

“We could work it, dear. You’ve passed your ‘O’ levels, after all. A lot of boys your age take a year’s holiday. You could certainly use it. And I could certainly educate you as well as any of those so-called teachers.”

“But what about Mr. Bexford?” He was trying to keep his voice down. “What would he say? He wouldn’t let me leave school. And anyway,
I
like London,” he said helplessly. “I don’t
want
to go hiding away in the country!”

“Islington’s hungry,” Philippa said. The cat was pawing at her lap, whining for his fish. The room had become very dark, and they could hear the clatter of dishes from the apartment across the way. “I suppose it’s time for us to eat, too,” she added, standing up.

The train pulled slowly away from Victoria Station. From inside the compartment Danny watched porters, baggage carts, and iron pillars slide by. In a moment they were outside, the vast, arching black cage diminishing behind them. Even more quickly they passed the Battersea power station, darkening the sky with its dense, billowing clouds of filth. Rows and rows of tenements, crouching up against the track, whizzed by, twisted and crowded together into one continuous, miserable pattern. And though the train had gained considerable speed, for a long time the tenements did not let go, but kept clutching at the train for mile after mile, trying to pull it back into the city.

“I can’t understand why it takes so long to get away,” Danny said, “why places like this go on and on, almost as if people
liked
them.”

“
We
got away,” Philippa said from across the aisle. “We got away, incredibly enough, and I, for one, am going to stay away. I already feel ten years younger.” She was surrounded by bulging canvas bags containing blankets, sheets, curtains, and tablecloths from the London flat. Cardboard boxes full of crockery, silverware, and glasses rattled precariously on the rack above her head. Battered suitcases, splitting at the seams, took up most of the other space in the compartment. Islington prowled on the floor, sniffing at the feet of the other occupants of the compartment, three uneasy people whose baggage lay outside in the corridor. They were an elderly couple and a prim young lady, who had already established a kind of rapport, and regarded Philippa and Danny with wary curiosity.

Philippa reached over and patted Danny’s wrist. “I’m sure you’re going to love it in the country,” she said. “Don’t sulk like that.”

“I’m not sulking,” he said, drawing away his hand. “I’m just wondering what’s going to happen when Mr. Bexford finds out about this.”

“But what can he do, darling? He’ll never find us.”

“I’m sure he’ll get in touch with the school.”

“They won’t even know you’re gone until winter holidays are over, and by that time they’ll never be able to trace us. And anyway,
I’m
going to educate you, so they really have no reason to object. Cheer up! It’s ridiculous for someone of your age to be so worried. I’ll be held responsible, after all. Just look at the whole thing as an adventure.”

The tenements had finally fallen away, and the winter landscape outside was beginning to shake off the city grime. A black frozen river twisted between brown hills, occasionally spanned by a crumbling stone bridge. Groups of barren trees stood naked under the heavy sky, as if huddling together for warmth; but the clusters of fir trees that seemed to be everywhere gave the scene an uncanny feeling of green.

Danny and Philippa gazed out of the windows, absorbed by the open landscape, by a sky not hidden behind buildings and smoke. But Islington did not care about the sky, and poked restlessly about the floor of the compartment. Suddenly he leapt up onto the young lady’s lap and crouched there, staring intently into her face. She coughed, and shifted about, and tried to look away from his burning eyes. But, fascinated by this new human being, he did not move.

She coughed again. “Excuse me,” she said, “but your cat . . .”

Philippa turned from the window. “Islington!” she barked. “Islington, get down! Bad boy!” The cat spun around, hesitated, and jumped down. Philippa picked him up and shook him gently. “Bad boy!” she said. “Bad, bad boy. I’m
so
sorry,” she said to the young lady, without a trace of apology in her voice.

“It’s quite all right,” the lady said, brushing silvery hairs from her blue coat. The elderly couple looked at each other, then into their laps.

The train rumbled and shook. A tiny stone village rushed by. No one said a word.

“He’s hungry,” Philippa said suddenly. “That’s what’s wrong with him. Poor thing, cooped up in this compartment. Danny, get down that box up there on the left. It has the food in it.”

Swaying, Danny stood up on the seat. He stretched to reach the heavy box, and barely managed to set it down next to her without dropping it. Philippa dug into the box and finally unearthed a round plastic dish with foil over the top. She uncovered the dish and set it on the floor near her feet. A rank, fishy smell filled the compartment. The young lady looked away, dusting her nose with a white handkerchief. But the elderly couple were watching Islington. He sniffed at the fish, poked it with his paw, and tasted a bit. But soon he turned away restlessly.

“
I
know,” Philippa said. “He has to go to the toilet.” Danny quickly turned and stared out the window. He tried to keep sulking, but it was almost impossible not to laugh. Philippa, in a very business-like manner, covered the fish and put it away, then spread newspaper on the floor between her and Danny. The young lady and the old couple could not keep their eyes away, and watched, transfixed with horror, as Islington circled around on the paper, then settled down comfortably.

But in a moment he was up and walking around again, and the paper was clean. There was an audible sigh of relief from the other side of the compartment. Philippa folded the paper, and then held Islington on her lap, stroking him.

The train began to slow down, and came to a stop beside a small wooden platform with a slanting tile roof above it. One or two ruddy-cheeked people with steaming breath stood about on the platform, searching the train windows for expected faces. In a moment they were joined by their friends, there was a distant, unintelligible shout, and the train creaked to a start, slowly gathering momentum. More fields flashed by, and then suddenly a gray, walled castle clinging to the pinnacle of a steep hill. Below it a wide river ran past a timbered inn and a small cluster of wooden houses.

Danny found that he was fascinated by the scenery. Why did it seem so beautiful, so mysterious? It was only farmland, but to him it was a wilderness. Were those the eyes of a wolf pack glittering behind that clump of trees? Perhaps that bristly shape was a wild boar, sharpening his tusk against a pine. A hut with a sagging roof became the abode of a wizened hag, mumbling incantations over a cauldron. And who knew what strange creatures roamed in the darkness beneath the trees?