Darkwater (12 page)

‘Oh, Papa! Isn’t Grandmamma coming to the picnic?’

It was a warm afternoon. Papa’s face glistened faintly with perspiration. He shut the door behind him with a bang.

‘She’s gone down some time ago,’ he said shortly. ‘And why aren’t you looking after your guests?’

‘Why aren’t you, Papa?’ Amelia retorted.

She had always been able to joke with her father, but she had chosen the wrong moment now.

‘Because I’m a busy man and can’t be at everybody’s beck and call. Where are the servants? No one answered the bell when I wanted someone to go up and see to that atrocious cat. Your grandmother had somehow shut him in the wardrobe.’

‘Was he crying, Papa? I didn’t hear him.’

‘You were too busy listening to your own thoughts, I expect.’ Papa was recovering his good humour. He pinched her cheek. ‘You’re looking very pretty. Who is the toilette for? Robert?’

‘I intend only to practice on him,’ Amelia confessed, and at last Papa laughed.

‘You’re a minx. Then let us go down. Don’t say anything to your grandmother about the cat. She’ll only want to come up and assure herself that he’s all right. We don’t want the picnic spoilt.’

All the same, he was still strangely absent-minded, and she had to make the same remark twice before he heard her. Also, he had spoiled her plans for an impressive solitary approach. But for all that it was a successful picnic.

Three maids, with flying cap strings, brought a succession of trays with hot scones and muffins, strawberry jam, bowls of the rich yellow Devon cream, and, for the centre of the table, an enormous fruit cake. Mamma poured tea from the Queen Anne silver tea service, into the green and gold Dresden cups. The Hadlows, Mrs Hadlow, Anne and Robert, sat on the light bamboo chairs, but Lady Arabella, distrusting their resilience, had had her own sturdy rocking chair brought down. The Chinese windbells tinkled with a tiny glassy foreign sound. Fanny sat on a cushion on the grass, a little aloof from the rest, not bothering for once to fascinate Robert Hadlow who was looking more grown-up and almost handsome. The children sat quietly beside her. Nolly had her quite hideous Chinese doll in her arms. Ching Mei stood a little distance away. George lounged against a tree, watching. Watching Fanny mostly, but occasionally his quick glance darted over everybody. He made no attempt to talk. He behaved exactly as he pleased now. If polite conversation bored him, he remained silent. Sometimes Amelia wondered how much he was shrewdly exploiting his illness.

The sun shone brilliantly. Dragonflies darted over the gleaming water. The trees rustled gently and the windbells tinkled. It was an idyllic English summer afternoon scene. After Papa’s arrival the slightly stilted quality left the party and there was a lot of laughter. Papa adored picnics, and was so good at them. It really was exactly like all the other ones they had had. Even the tiny slender figure of the Chinese woman stopped seeming so foreign and heathenish, and anyway was so unobtrusive among the tree shadows that one could almost forget she was there. Robert Hadlow pretended to think she had been imported to go with the pagoda.

‘Is she real? Shall we stick a pin in her and see?’

Really, Robert was growing quite amusing. But all the same… an older man, more worldly… someone who would kiss her hand…Amelia dreamed, and the shadows grew longer, and the first hint of the rising mist obscured the sunlight.

Presently it was chilly, and the ladies were reaching for their shawls, and preparing to go indoors.

‘Well, children.’ Amelia watched her father take out his fat golden watch. ‘You’ve been as quiet as two harvest mice. So shall we now see if this can make a better sound that those tinkling bells.’

He wound the watch and held it out, smiling at their absorbed faces. The little chiming tune played itself through.

‘Oh!’ whispered Nolly. ‘It’s pretty.’ Marcus put a shy stubby finger on the watch’s plump face. Ching Mei was laughing, a tinkling sound not unlike the windbells, a sound of pure delight.

The mist had rolled up so quickly that it was drifting in opened windows when they returned to the house. The sun had completely vanished, and it was as if it was another day altogether, grey and chilly and filled with the sound of the rising wind. There was a great scurrying to and fro as windows were closed, billowing curtains stilled, and lamps lit. Fogs over the moor were a part of winter, but no one liked the summer ones that rolled up, stealing the light and warmth with sinister rapidity.

Fanny left the children to Ching Mei and Dora, and went to dress for dinner. She had been happier today, because the children had been noisy and completely child-like and even Ching Mei, who had seemed strangely nervous of both Uncle Edgar and Aunt Louisa, but chiefly of Uncle Edgar, had relaxed enough to laugh. All the other days she had been shut in silence. Once she had wanted to write letters to her family and Nolly, who already showed a precocious grasp of her alphabet, had showed her how to laboriously address the envelope, writing the name of her brother in spidery Chinese characters, and the address Shanghai China, in English. Fanny had permitted her to walk into the village to post the letters because it was a pleasant walk for her and the children. It was the only occasion on which she had left the house.

As she went downstairs Fanny heard the hounds barking. It was a far-off sound, fragmentary and melancholy. It made her think of wet heather and scudding clouds, and the smell of fear. Once she and Amelia and George had followed the hunt on their ponies, and seen a fox torn to pieces by the hounds. She had never gone to a hunt again.

Now it was long past the hunting season, and she wondered whose hounds were loose. The baying was so far away that it seemed she might have imagined it. But the prickly sense of apprehension was not imaginary. It stayed with her after the sound of the hounds was lost.

Lady Arabella came wheezing behind her on the stairs.

‘Fanny, that was very naughty of you, letting the children in my rooms to play when I wasn’t there.’

Fanny turned in surprise.’

‘They haven’t been in your rooms, surely!’

‘Playing hide the thimble,’ Lady Arabella grumbled. ‘Things upside down. Poor Ludwig taking refuge in my bedroom.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘When I was down at the lake, I imagine. It was the only time I went out.’

‘But the children were there, too,’ Fanny said. ‘They were with me. Anyway, I’m sure they wouldn’t go into your rooms uninvited. They’re too—’ She stopped. She didn’t want to say they were too frightened. Nolly was unduly imaginative about the empty bird cage and Marcus more than half-scared of the old lady herself.

Surprisingly enough, Lady Arabella had begun to chuckle wheezily.

‘So that’s it, is it?’ she said to herself. ‘Of course, I should have guessed. We’ll say no more about the children.’

‘What are you talking about, Great-aunt Arabella?’

The old lady wagged a thick forefinger.

‘Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman,’ she quoted enjoyably. ‘I’ve been watching the mist rolling up. Isn’t it exciting the way it blots things out, wipes them away? I thought I heard dogs barking a little while ago.’

‘So did I,’ said Fanny uneasily. ‘I don’t like the mist as much as you do. It hides things.’

But it wasn’t until they were all going in to dinner that George came bursting in, his eyes blazing with excitement.

‘There’s an escaped prisoner! They’ve got the bloodhounds out. Did you hear them?’

Amelia screamed.

‘Oh, I knew something would happen. I knew it all afternoon!’

‘It’s because of the mist,’ said George. ‘They always make a break in the mist. If the search comes this way I’ll volunteer to help.’

‘You’ll do nothing of the kind,’ said his mother sharply. ‘You’re an invalid.’

‘I can still fire a rifle and use a sword,’ George said indignantly. ‘Dash it, I’m not going to miss all the sport.’

‘Hunting a fugitive is scarcely sport,’ Uncle Edgar said calmly. ‘And one doesn’t usually shoot the poor wretch down. Anyway, if this fellow has been clever enough to escape, he’ll be miles from here by now. I suggest we don’t let him spoil our dinner. Come, Amelia, my dear.’ Uncle Edgar gave his deep amused chuckle. ‘You look as if you imagine he’s hiding under your bed already.’

‘Oh, Papa!’ Amelia said faintly. ‘How can you joke about it?’

‘I’m not joking. I’m admiring the poor devil’s adventurous spirit. Who wouldn’t make a bid for freedom in similar circumstances?’

‘He may be dangerous,’ Aunt Louisa protested. ‘Really, Edgar, you can carry your philanthropy too far.’

Uncle Edgar chuckled again. His colour was rather high. He looked as if he had been at the whisky decanter more than once before dinner. He was often mellowed by liquor, while never being overcome by it.

‘Don’t be alarmed, my love. I should, of course, hand him over to the authorities if, for instance, I tripped over him in the dark. But let’s admit we all have a lurking sympathy for him. Fanny? Isn’t that true?’

Fanny was remembering the hollowed face and the thin silent figure of the prisoner she had seen on the railway station the other night. She could imagine him now, crouching in the wet bracken, scarcely breathing, praying the hounds would go another way. He was a stranger, yet he had momentarily touched her life, touched all their lives…

‘Hunt him like a fox,’ said George, the excitement burning in his face.

There was a clatter at the sideboard as one of the maids let a dish slip. The curtains were drawn across the windows, a dozen candles burning on the long table. It was warm and safe in this room. No one was hiding, or hunted, or desperately hungry, or afraid…

After dinner Sir Giles Mowatt arrived on horseback. He stopped for a hasty glass of port, and to warn them that he believed the prisoner was hiding somewhere in that vicinity.

‘But if we don’t get him, he’ll make for the high ground, and try to cross the moors to Okehampton. So you ladies don’t need to be nervous.’

‘Was it the man who came down from London the other day?’ Fanny asked.

‘Yes, that’s the rogue. He made a break in the fog, and got over the wall. He’s as slippery as an eel. But we’ll get him never fear.’

‘Does luck never go the way of the criminal?’ Uncle Edgar asked reflectively.

‘Only the ones who never have their crimes brought home to them. And we hope there aren’t many of those. But this is hardly a subject for the ladies. And I must be off. I’ll send word when we’ve made a capture. Good night, all.’

Aunt Louisa rang for Barker to go round the house checking that all the windows and doors were locked. She drew her shawl round her ample shoulders, shivering.

‘I’ve always hated the moors. Who else has to live in danger like this?’

‘Good gracious, my love, the man’s a thief, not a cutthroat.’

‘How do you know what he may become if he’s desperate? Yes, Dora, what is it?’

Dora had tapped timidly at the open door, and now stood anxiously twisting her fingers.

‘Please, ma’am, the children are upset. Master Marcus is crying and Miss Nolly’s in a state about her doll. Could Miss Fanny—’

‘Can’t the Chinese woman control them? Really, Edgar, why are we keeping her here if she can’t keep two small children in order?’

‘But she’s gone to look for Miss Nolly’s doll,’ Dora broke in. ‘It was left down by the lake, and she really won’t go to bed without it. It’s the only thing she makes a fuss about.’ Dora looked round, listening. ‘But Ching Mei’s been gone an awful long time,’ she said uneasily.

Fanny sprang up.

‘She’s lost her way in the fog, I expect. I’ll go and find her.’

Uncle Edgar stepped forward, detaining her.

‘No, you won’t. Not with a fog, and a prisoner at large.’

‘I should certainly think not,’ said George vigorously. ‘I’ll go. I’ll take my rifle.’

‘Oh, don’t shoot anybody!’ begged Amelia.

‘Barker and I will go,’ said Uncle Edgar. ‘We’ll probably meet this foolish woman on the doorstep. How did she expect to find a doll in pitch darkness?’

‘It would have been in the pagoda,’ Dora faltered. ‘She had a candle to light. Miss Fanny—’

‘Yes, I’m coming upstairs,’ said Fanny. She wanted to hurry to the distressed children, but more urgently she wanted to go out and find Ching Mei. She didn’t know how to explain this feeling of urgency, except that she could have sworn Nolly had had her doll when they had returned from the picnic. Uncle Edgar, in high good humour after his success with his chiming watch, had carried Marcus up to the house on his shoulder, Nolly clinging to his hand. There had been shrieks of excited laughter. One might have known they would later turn to tears. But Uncle Edgar had scored a very big success indeed if he had succeeded in making Nolly forget her beloved doll.

She was thinking of the eerie tinkling of the windbells in the mist, and of the ineffectiveness of one feeble candle in a whole world of darkness. The mist always wreathed closely over the lake, disguising the water as effectively as the water-lilies did. Supposing Ching Mei, unfamiliar with the paths, missed her footing…

‘How long has she been gone?’ Fanny asked, following Dora’s little scurrying figure up the stairs.

‘Oh, I couldn’t say, Miss. Before the children began their bread and milk, and I’ve bathed them since.’

‘But, Dora, that must make it nearly an hour!’

‘I wouldn’t know, miss. I hadn’t thought about it until Miss Nolly wouldn’t go to bed without her doll. Then I forgot myself and said the silly woman must have tumbled in the lake, and Master Marcus began to howl.’

Marcus was still crying, though less uproariously, when they reached the nursery. Sheer exhaustion had left him with only breathless hiccuping sobs. There were no tears on Nolly’s cheeks. She was standing at the window, the curtain drawn back, to peer out. When Fanny came in she turned, and Fanny saw her face as white as her. nightgown, her eyes angrily accusing.

‘What’s everyone done with Ching Mei, Cousin Fanny?’

‘Everyone, as you say, hasn’t done anything with her. She must have lost her way in the fog. Uncle Edgar has gone out to find her. She’ll be here presently. Now I want you two children in bed.’