Marlford (10 page)

‘But all this time?' Dan narrowed his eyes, pushing at the rim of his spectacles, still doubtful.

‘We regard it as time well spent. We couldn't have done better,' Ata replied. ‘What could we have done that would have been better?'

‘You could have gone somewhere. Got jobs. Lived lives – man, I don't know. Surely there was something you wanted to do?'

The men sat back in their chairs. There was a moment of quiet.

‘There is nothing we have ever wanted more than this,' Hindy said.

Gadiel spoke quietly, with reverence. ‘I can't imagine what it'd be like. To be here all that time.'

Hindy smiled. ‘We've rather enjoyed it.'

‘Oh, come on!' Dan slapped his palm against the
bedpost, affronted by their games. Tiny flakes of rotting fabric floated around him. ‘How could you enjoy it? You said you were prisoners.'

‘Indeed. We were.' Hindy stretched, preparing to rise, a signal. The other men shifted in their seats. ‘But that was a long time ago. I was simply recounting our history for you. As a matter of interest. But you should know that we really are quite happy with arrangements as they stand. Quite happy. Our freedom is in no way curtailed.' He looked at his watch. ‘Now, we should report your presence to Mr Barton.'

Dan slid from the bed with a thud. ‘Wait! When I brought you up, you said you wanted to talk.'

‘We've decided the best thing is to tell Mr Barton,' Hindy continued.

‘What do you mean? You can't have decided! There's not been any kind of discussion, man.'

‘We've seen enough,' Luden said.

‘If we told you about ourselves, perhaps…' Gadiel began. ‘Would that help? If we explained our intentions?'

‘I don't think that interests us,' Ata answered.

‘Your intentions are clear,' added Luden.

‘How? How can they be? If you won't talk – if you won't listen…' Dan flapped a frustrated hand at them. ‘Why did you bother coming up if you're just going to sit there?'

‘We wanted to see what was going on. We wanted to consider. And we've considered,' Hindy explained, evenly. ‘And now we shall inform Mr Barton of your presence here, and recommend action.'

‘No way! You've no right to do that, man.'

‘Isn't the purpose of a squat to confront ingrained social customs? To publicly advocate an alternative means of domestic organisation?' Hindy smiled. ‘And isn't the effectiveness of such a gesture rather diminished if the existence of the squat remains a secret?'

‘More like a camping holiday,' Ata said.

‘It's not a gesture, it's more than that and' – Dan tugged at the bridge of his spectacles – ‘we're just starting. We're the advance guard, that's all, man. There are others coming.'

‘We hadn't decided how to tell them – Ellie and Mr Barton,' Gadiel explained. ‘You see, it's not a personal attack on them in any way…'

Luden stretched out the stiffness in his hands. ‘I don't want to waste time. I want to get this finished; it's dragged on long enough.' He glared at Dan. ‘You're intruding.'

Ata stood now, too. His keys clinked.

‘But you don't have the right to do this,' Dan protested. ‘It's a betrayal – of our efforts, of our common situation.'

‘We have very little in common with your situation,' Hindy replied.

‘But you do! Don't you see? You're the oppressed, man, like us. You explained – you're prisoners here.'

‘You don't appear very oppressed,' said Ata.

Dan was loud. ‘You don't know what you're doing. Come on, think about it. You haven't thought it through.'

‘You'll find we've thought it through entirely,' Luden replied.

The men smiled at Dan's anger, a ripple of shared satisfaction.

Dan scowled. He looked at Gadiel, but Gadiel was
standing quietly by the window, his arms folded and his feet planted, watching the men quite calmly.

‘We will wish you a good day.' Ata moved away, his keys rattling quietly. His companions followed him from the room. They did not wait for a reply.

Dan kicked at the bed frame. ‘Man, why didn't you say something, Gadiel? Why did you let them get away with it?'

Gadiel looked at him steadily. ‘They're probably right, don't you think? Don't you think Ellie and her father should know?'

‘But they're holding us to ransom, man. It's not fair. It's not… it's iniquitous, that's what it is.'

‘It won't be so bad.' Gadiel sat down wearily on the bed, waiting for the creak of the springs to subside before speaking again. ‘It'll just mean everyone's straight with what's going on, that's all. Anyway, what could I have done?'

Dan snorted. ‘You're the strong one, aren't you?'

‘And what do you want? Do you want me to beat up three old men?'

‘Don't be stupid, man. But we're supposed to be in charge here. We're squatters, man – we've got the power of the people.'

Gadiel lay back, his sigh swallowed by the puff of the old mattress. ‘Perhaps they're bluffing. Perhaps they won't go through with it. They seemed weird enough.'

‘We need a plan of campaign,' Dan said. ‘I'll come up with something. I need time to think, that's all.'

Ellie was surprised to find the men in the study at this hour. She paused at the door. ‘Is something wrong?'

‘It seems we have interlopers, my dear,' Ernest replied, turning slightly to acknowledge her arrival. ‘Those blighters with the van.'

‘They're squatting,' Hindy said. ‘Occupying the house. Apparently it's a political statement. They've taken root in the kitchen and disordered the bedroom corridor. They have established some kind of headquarters in the room with the gold four-poster.'

Ellie tried to keep her voice calm. ‘Well, they could stay for a while, couldn't they? Since we know them.'

‘They have to go, Miss Barton.' Luden narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Immediately.'

Ernest could not stay still. His hands ran over chair backs, the table; he pulled at his trousers. ‘It does seem rather absurd,' he offered, gingerly.

‘Absurd?' Hindy was scathing. ‘Mr Barton, it's insupportable.'

‘They deserve to be flogged,' Ata added, amiably.

‘Oh, now wait—' Ellie began.

But her father was already taking his cue from the men. ‘It's true.' His tone was hardening. ‘I don't want yobs traipsing round my house. It's my bloody house. It's Marlford, after all.'

‘After all,' Hindy agreed.

‘But, Papa, you know they're not yobs. You met them yesterday. They're perfectly nice.'

Ernest glanced across at Luden. ‘They're trespassing. They shouldn't be here. Should they?'

The old man shook his head slowly, with mechanical regularity.

‘Exactly.' Ernest spoke too quickly. ‘Exactly.'

‘They might find out what happened here,' Hindy said. ‘They might begin to ask awkward questions, Mr Barton.'

Hindy's suggestion seemed to unleash sudden energy in Ernest. He began to dart from side to side, in case the squatters were hidden perhaps, tucked away in dark corners, or cowering behind the sideboard. ‘I'll get the police.' He slammed his fist against a section of empty shelving; the split wood moaned. ‘I'll get the bloody army.'

The three men shuffled more closely together, closing ranks. Ellie stepped forwards from the doorway, but they turned their faces towards her. She took it as a warning and stopped.

‘Better to deal with the affair yourself,' Hindy suggested, calmly, directing his attention back to Ellie's father.

‘Indeed,' Luden agreed. ‘Better get rid of them our own way.'

Ernest bit his nails.

‘Haven't you always kept Marlford safe?' Hindy went on.

Luden fixed Ernest with a steady gaze. ‘More or less.'

‘And you could secure it – everything,' said Ata.

Luden snorted. ‘Or you could stand there and let them rampage, and lose it all.'

Ernest looked hard at the men, his resolve stiffening.

‘Mr Barton, out of respect for the family legacy, and as master of such a place…' Hindy did not need to finish.

‘I'll shoot the lot of them.'

He announced his intention quietly. There was no reply. He raised his voice. ‘Ellie – get me my gun.'

She did not move. She was pale and fixed, insubstantial against the stones of the long wall.

‘Ellie! Gun! I will not have strangers in my house.'

With a sudden lunge, Ernest pushed past Ata, grabbed the poker from the set of irons at the fireplace and strode towards the door, brushing his daughter aside.

‘Papa! Wait!'

Hindy restrained her. ‘I should be careful, Miss Barton. We shouldn't get involved.'

By then Ernest was out of the study and in the hall, the poker fixed at a defiant angle, an old soldier.

Ellie groaned. ‘You've made him do something terrible,' she snapped. ‘How can you just stand there? You've set him off again and now—'

‘We simply made him aware of his duty,' Hindy replied, amicably.

‘No. No, you know that's not it – you know.' She felt them moving towards her, in a line, impregnable. She backed away. ‘If something terrible happens, it will be your fault… if he does something terrible…' But her accusations deflected back, like water running against a dam, and the men were still advancing. ‘Please – don't…' she pleaded. ‘You know what I've said is true.'

‘Miss Barton—' Hindy began.

‘No.' Her ferocity silenced him. ‘I'm going for Mr Quersley,' she said. ‘I'm going to the farm.' And she slipped away from them, hurrying across the hall as her father had done.

But Oscar was not to be found. She searched the yard and the barns, completed the perimeter of the farmhouse,
scrambled over the gate that led to the wood store, and ran to the hay meadows through the flat moan of small insects. Standing on top of an old stile, balancing herself with one hand against a tree, she willed the slight, black slice of him to appear against the mottled summer foliage. But there was no sign of him: just a glimpse of the mere, and the church beyond. Only the idea of him remained, a tiny kink in the familiar panoramas, as though he were just passing through.

All she could do was return to the house alone and wait.

Her father came home a long time later, after dark. She heard the air sigh as the front door was pushed open; a few moments later, her candle flame convulsed. She left her bedroom, stood in the corridor and listened. There was just the blunt sound of Ernest's unhurried footsteps on the stairs.

Her bedroom was at the very end of the corridor, no more than ten yards from the squat. As the flame from her candle leapt and flickered, her shadow cavorted against the barricade. Even though she was motionless – stretched taut by the sounds of Ernest's arrival – the spectral girl behind her danced, unstable, frolicking against the newer bricks, edging into the cracks and joints, beckoning. Ellie felt the movement like the flit of a bat or a bird. She tried not to look at it. As soon as she returned to her room, she closed the door and extinguished the candle, preferring to undress in the dark.

The room was as it had been since she was a child: clean and plain, more or less empty; the single bed, pushed into
the corner by the window, a heavy wardrobe occupying the wall opposite. A photograph of her mother stood in front of the mirror on her dressing table, her hairbrush to one side and a small sheaf of banknotes tucked behind. Her shoes were at the foot of the bed, where a rag rug pulled up towards the faded green counterpane; on the wall was a sampler worked at Marlford many years before, in tiny confident stitches, knots of faith in the future.

Ellie sat at the dressing table to pull the pins from her hair, her features barely visible in the dark mirror, a breath across the glass. She touched the photograph, imagining Elizabeth Barton, the warmth of her mother's face against her fingers.

The manor creaked. She undressed and slid into bed. But the night seemed strange; everything had changed. There were people in the house now, not far away. She thought of them playing cards, or dominoes, or dice, perhaps reading by the poor light from their candles. She thought she began to catch the faint, alluring smell of them, a warmth, the tingle of their breath.

She sat up, unable to sleep, the dark congealing about her. She felt her heart pumping hard; she could hear its rhythm in the empty spaces of the house. She was consumed with a sudden loneliness that was entirely new.

When Ellie finally lay down, she pushed her face into the mattress, forcing the pillow over her head. But even with the familiar smells of old linen and the comforting grumble of the oak beams, she had the queasy feeling of being thrust far away in a tin rocket, piercing the fabric of space, hurtling along at enormous speed, the stars and
the moons shivering in her wake, her velocity so great that she was conscious only of a thick, buoyant slowness, an elongation of time, glutinous and distorted.

Eleven

G
adiel came to the edge of the portico and leaned on a column, sheltering from the steady rain, waiting. Beyond, at the bend in the drive, where the soaked grass hung long over the gravel, he saw the three men. They seemed unperturbed by the weather. They did not move and made no attempt to signal to him. They simply watched.

He tried to ignore them. As Ellie came round from the stable yard, her face hardly visible under the droop of her mackintosh hood, he jumped forwards, springing towards her.

‘I'm not supposed to make friends with you,' he announced.

She pushed her hood from her face and looked at him coldly. He had not expected this, and for a moment he hesitated.

‘Apparently people like you have privatized the country for your own benefit.' His enthusiasm sounded too strained now, rehearsed, but he pressed on. ‘For generations, you've taken food from the mouths of the disenfranchised poor by
monopolizing the best land for your own use and luxury.' He shook his head in mock disappointment. ‘So now we're not allowed to be friends.'

‘You didn't tell me,' she replied. ‘You didn't tell me that you'd come to Marlford. You didn't tell me about the squat.'

Gadiel's smile finally drained away. ‘You know? They told you?' He nodded towards the men.

‘They've told Papa to get rid of you.' Rain dripped from the bottom of Ellie's mackintosh, darkening the fabric of her skirt.

‘Oh, no, he can't do that. You see, squatting's a right—' He caught sight of her expression and stopped. ‘I'm sorry,' he went on, weakly. ‘I did want to tell you.'

Now that he was in front of her, she found that her disappointment at his betrayal stung more than she had imagined: it was physical, engrossing, like bees beneath her skin.

‘You didn't tell me about Neil Armstrong and Apollo 11, did you? Even when we went to the pet cemetery together and… and now this, about the squat, when you could have told me.'

‘It had to be a secret, Ellie. Dan wanted it kept a secret. I'm sorry.'

She did not acknowledge the apology. She was determined to maintain her composure, her distance. She had expected too much of him, she knew that now.

Gadiel saw the way her hands were clasped in front of her, curled tight, her nails digging into her palms. ‘Look, Ellie – it doesn't matter. You know now, that's the main thing, and it needn't make any difference. We can—'

‘Of course it matters. Don't you see? I invited you to Marlford, as guests. I accommodated your needs with regards to the van. And that implies a certain amount of trust, and you have thoroughly betrayed that trust.' She glared at him through the rain.

He wondered, for a moment, if she was beginning to weep; it was not clear with the drops falling so steadily on her face.

When she spoke again, her voice had lost its tone of reprimand. ‘I thought you were taking account of me,' she said, softly.

He scuffed the gravel with his boots.

She was suddenly frightened that he might try to touch her, perhaps hold her. The idea came unbidden, unwanted, settling timorously like a mayfly over water. She stepped away.

He started, as though her retreat had pricked him. ‘Come on, Ellie. Cheer up! Let's make the best of it. I'm bored to bits being stuck indoors. Let me do something to help you. You're always trudging past going to work. Let me help you.'

‘Thank you, I'm fine.'

‘Surely there's something?'

‘No. Thank you. I greatly appreciate your offer of assistance, but there's nothing to be done.'

Her hauteur was unassailable again; Gadiel could not find a way to answer it. ‘Come on, Ellie. Don't be like this. Don't hold it against me. It was Dan's idea. It wasn't up to me. And, besides, we're not doing any harm up there. We've not damaged a thing. You can come and see for yourself, if you like.'

‘Thank you. I'd rather not.'

‘Oh, Ellie, come on. This is stupid, being like this. Let's be friends.'

The rain still fell heavily between them. Ellie pulled up her hood again, over her hair, allowing it to fall low on her forehead so that her expression was obscured. ‘I'm mistress here at Marlford,' she said. ‘I have a right, I have a duty, to know what happens.'

‘Ellie, I've known him a long time. We've always been mates. I couldn't just blurt it out – I had to stand up for him. I've always done that.' He paused and smiled an apology. She did not say anything. ‘I've never let him down, Ellie.'

‘Very noble.' Uttered so scathingly, the word unsettled her, drawing her eyes somehow towards the broad sweep of his shoulders. She looked away quickly. ‘But you've put me in a very difficult position,' she continued, sharply. ‘With the van in the stable yard – and the invitation to supper. I could be seen to be complicit. They'll think I had something to do with it.'

‘What? Who will?'

Ellie inclined her head very slightly towards the three men. Her hood slipped.

‘Oh, come on, Ellie. No one will think it's your fault. How can it be your fault?' Gadiel stepped towards her.

They were close now. She could see the flecks of colour in his stubble; she knew how softly his eyes had settled on her, how hopefully.

She concentrated on the patchy gravel between them.

‘You didn't think about me at all, did you, when you intruded into Marlford like that – unfairly?'

‘Yes, Ellie, I did, I honestly did. Dan will tell you…' Gadiel reached out and drew her to him for the slightest of
moments; so short a time that she was never sure whether she had actually lain there against the damp cotton of his T-shirt, or whether she had pulled away at his first touch.

She shook herself hard, her hood falling down and raindrops scattering from her. ‘I'm afraid I can't overlook what's happened. You should have told me about the squat. I should have known.'

When Gadiel looked at her, his face had taken on an odd, aged sternness. ‘Yeah, well, I've said I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do.' He kicked at the gravel again. ‘Look, never mind. Forget it. I've tried to explain, but you won't have it. I'll go and see if Dan wants anything in town.'

She heard his footsteps, too brisk. She slapped her wet fringe from her face and stuffed her fists into the pockets of her mackintosh. One of the seams tore. With a quick movement, she ripped the rest of the pocket from its stitches and flung it away from her. It settled in a clump of dandelions, a false yellow.

When Gadiel had gone, and Ellie had walked on towards the hutments, the men held a conference of some length. Luden threw several stiff gestures at the front of the manor, although there was nothing obvious to prompt his anger; just broken panes here and there, and an accumulation of moss, pigeons nesting on the wide sills, feathering the grainy stone and staining the wall below. There might have been a moment of disagreement, Ata turning his back on his companions and walking away to the edge of the drive, but if that was the case, it was quickly resolved, and, at the end of it all, the men took the track towards Home Farm
with new determination, their age no hindrance despite the ruts underfoot. They linked arms as they walked, celebrating, as though they had settled a conundrum, or won a wager.