Marlford (14 page)

Seventeen

O
scar Quersley took the shotguns to Marlford at the end of the morning, when the chores at the farm were finished. He found Ernest kneeling in an overgrown flower border at the front of the manor, half-hidden behind a gushing purple buddleia, squinting at an upstairs window.

Ernest signalled to Oscar to duck down alongside him. ‘I've been speaking to the men, Quersley. There's been a development. They tell me the squatters have taken the girl hostage.'

‘Ellie?'

‘They're right – she's not in her room, she's not anywhere in the house. Hasn't been seen since some time yesterday.'

Ernest had a new energy; an elasticity. He seemed to have cast off his age. ‘It's decided at least – we've got to go in – they leave us no choice. You'd better get those bloody guns loaded. I'm not having my daughter in danger. Not that.'

Oscar remained standing, despite Ernest's invitation.

‘I'm sure she's busy somewhere, that's all,' he replied, coolly, looking away to the mere. The water lay shiny and still, as though covered by a brittle film of unseasonal ice. ‘She may have simply – gone off, to reflect, perhaps.'

‘That's rubbish. Utter poppycock. She's not busy anywhere – she wouldn't just go off. Never. All this time she's stayed, Quersley. Why would she go off now? But I've done a full recce. The men are right – she's gone. Those blighters have nabbed her.'

The edge of anxiety in Ernest's voice made Oscar begin to doubt himself. He propped the guns side by side against the wall and edged closer.

‘She can't have gone.' He tried to make it sound certain. ‘It's not possible.'

‘Of course it's bloody possible, man. For goodness' sake, pull yourself together and pay attention. The girl's gone – vanished. Not a sign of her. They've stolen the initiative, Quersley – we've got to get a move on. We've got to get her back.' Butterflies skittered round his head. He flapped a hand at them distractedly. ‘They told me this would happen. They warned against intruders. The men knew, all along – they saw it all. All I have to do is this one thing. All I have to do is protect Marlford – we all know that. And now, Ellie…'

Oscar saw Ernest's drawn, anxious face; he saw that Ernest believed completely that Ellie had been taken. There was an odd sensation in his stomach, like the plop of a flat pebble into deep water.

‘How long, then?' He found that his throat was suddenly dry; the words came stiffly. ‘How long has she been missing?'

‘At a guess, over night. At least. The men weren't clear. I can't say exactly.'

‘What do you mean, you can't say?' Oscar's panic overtook him all of a sudden. ‘Why didn't you come straight away, when you knew? Why didn't you come and fetch me?' He did not give Ernest time to answer any of the questions. ‘How can you fail to know how long she's been gone? If you'd simply acted promptly, if you'd come for me, we could have—'

‘Pull yourself together, Quersley – you're here now. Soon enough.' Ernest spoke loudly over Oscar's garbled interrogation, but his voice wavered. ‘I didn't know myself. The men came this morning, first thing – gave me a start, I can tell you, creeping through the house like bloody cat burglars. They said they had news. Information. They said Ellie was with the squatters.'

‘But what if we're too late?' Oscar moaned quietly.

‘Oh, damn it, man. We couldn't have done anything before we were sure she was gone – and, last night, you had the frog patrol to see to. Can't do everything at once.' Ernest sat back on his haunches and stared up again at the line of deep, stone sills poking out above their heads, but there was nothing there except the clouded sky cracking above.

‘She must be up there – in their den. Bloody squatters.'

Oscar shivered. ‘She's a sensible girl – she might just come back. She might… I don't think Ellie would—'

‘She's not gone of her own accord, Quersley – haven't you been listening, man? She can't come back. She's been taken. A hostage. A bargaining chip. They're sneaky buggers, Quersley. Sneaky buggers.' Ernest drove his
hands into the flowerbed, his fingers grazing against stones and roots, chafing on the sharp edges of broken roof tiles; his skin tore, a nail split. He pushed further in until he was up to his wrists.

‘I can't believe they'd hurt her,' Oscar said, weakly.

Ernest threw back his head, a plea of some kind to the ageing Marlford stone that rose above him.

‘Look – bring those guns inside. Let's get our act together. I've not been through everything to get mired in this kind of bloody game.' He spoke to Quersley without looking at him. ‘They're making us look like fools.'

The men found Ernest in the dining room, carefully building a tower of cream crackers. The bottom of the tower was stuck directly onto the battered wood of the old table, each biscuit cemented neatly to the one above with meat paste scraped from a series of small jars lined up in front of him.

He began constructing another storey.

‘Ah, gentlemen. You join me when I'm breakfasting.'

His
robe de chambre
hung looser than ever from his shoulders, billowing around his chair. He waved his knife at the expanse of empty table, drawing their attention to its bareness, or perhaps inviting them to take a seat. Tiny drops of meat paste spun off the blade, catching the light; his robe, barely tied, gaped open to reveal the sallow skin over his ribcage and an unexpectedly thick clump of wiry white hair.

‘There're just these damn soggy crackers – and the Shipmans.' He leaned towards them, conspiratorial. ‘Tastes a bit odd, actually – I think it might be off.'

‘It's almost midday,' Ata pointed out.

Ernest looked surprised. ‘Is it? Already? Good Lord! I do seem to have fallen behind. Got an early enough start, but without Ellie… Is that it? Has the morning gone?' His face sunk suddenly, as though its bones had been pulled away. ‘I thought you'd have been back here sooner.'

It was a regret, not an accusation. He took a final cream cracker, layered it adeptly with paste, set it on top of the tower and sat back dolefully to admire the work. ‘Can't bear to think that they've taken her. Got her hostage up there in that damned squat.' He flicked his knife at the ceiling, spattering paste again; shivering, he pulled his robe closed. ‘What would they want with her?' He groaned. ‘Dear God, I'm not having Ellie… I'm not having my daughter… I need her back.'

His voice came tightly, too breathy, as though Ellie had punched him in the stomach before running away.

The men encircled him. Hindy took the meat paste jar from Ernest's grasp and fitted the lid back with a quiet snap; Ata, too, reached forwards and eased the knife from his hand, placing it with care alongside the tower of crackers.

‘Are you ready, Mr Barton?' he asked. ‘Are you ready to liberate Marlford?'

Ernest did not stand up. His reply was subdued. ‘I've got Quersley in the study, casting his eye over the arsenal.'

‘That's very good.' Ata was encouraging.

‘I've got all sorts ready. All sorts.'

‘Excellent. Then we're prepared.' Hindy gestured towards the door. ‘We knew you would rise to the challenge, Mr Barton.'

‘You can take your pick – whatever you fancy…' Ernest's voice still had a dullness to it, an unaccustomed lethargy. ‘Ata, you were always handy with the rifle, I remember.' He was rocking now, slowly, in his chair. ‘We'll have at them, won't we? Right at them – right at the heart of them.'

The men did not respond. Ernest continued to rock, gazing out of the long windows, rolling shreds of meatpaste absently in his fingers.

His change of mood surprised them all: he stood suddenly, pushing back his chair with desperate energy, rattling the table. ‘They'll wish they never saw Marlford. Taking my supper, damn them – sitting at my table – and then… and then… the scoundrels – with Ellie. Come on, let's be at them. Let's get the guns and be at them.'

The men took a step back.

Hindy was stolidly matter of fact. ‘Mr Barton, we appreciate your invitation, but I'm afraid we're not able to join you on this occasion. We've talked about it, of course, and we've decided that enforcement is best left to you, as master here.'

‘We feel the defence of Marlford is best in your hands,' Ata added.

Ernest did not understand. He frowned, tugging his robe across his chest. ‘But you always chip in. Always. And look at it this way—'

Luden did not let him speak. ‘We're quite decided.'

‘But don't you see – Ellie… my daughter…'

Hindy smiled. ‘Mr Barton, we've provided you with information. We feel we've fulfilled our special role. It's
not really our job to rid Marlford of the squatters. That's for you to do.'

‘Just shoot them and have done,' Luden urged.

Ernest stared at them.

‘But I don't see why you won't join me. For goodness' sake, what's happened to you? You used to be… yes, you used to be proper men.'

‘You're very kind.' Ata smiled.

‘We used to do all this kind of thing together. A crack squad. A task force. Don't you remember?'

All three faces regarded him blankly.

‘We're comrades. We're comrades in arms. That's how it all began.' Ernest closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. ‘Hindy – I've seen you fell a deer at a hundred yards, man.'

Hindy gave no indication that he recalled the achievement.

‘And I've got the shotguns from the farm. There's enough for all of us – you can pick your weapons yourself. There's the rifle – damn it, there's a bloody cricket bat if you want to cudgel the blighters to death.'

They did not reply. Luden simply shook his head very slowly, as if the movement pained him.

‘Well, I tell you – I will not be held to ransom.' Ernest slammed his fist on the table. Paste and broken cracker spat into the air. The men did not move. ‘I will not let them get away with this. If you won't join me; if you won't… damn it, I don't know what game you're playing this time, but we can't afford to mess around.' Ernest howled, ‘Do what you bloody well like. I'm rescuing Ellie.' And he strode from the room, his robe floating, flashing scarlet.

In the hallway he paused, expecting them to come after him, to call, at least, to bring him back. But there was hardly a sound from the dining room, merely the slightest rustle of clothing.

Ernest grunted, then he tried to whistle, a jig of some kind, but the notes were desolate and shrill and he let them fade. For a long while afterwards, he felt the grip of the abandoned tune squeezing at his heart, making his blood run slow.

‘Quersley!' He drew himself up and strode on towards his study. ‘Quersley! Load the damn shotguns. Might as well shoot the whole blasted lot of them.' His words were newly savage, echoing.

Eighteen

G
adiel jerked open the door and swung up into the van. Ellie yelped, yanking the sleeping bag up around her shoulders and pulling it tight under her chin, exposing Dan the more: uncovering his torso and leaving his legs bare, a scrap of brown nylon across his thighs and groin.

Dan stretched out, flexing his feet.

‘Are you still part of the squat, or what?' Gadiel spoke only to Dan. ‘Dan?'

Ellie saw the way Gadiel looked around, taking in the disorder already cramping them into the van: flung clothes pressing in around them, a narrow pathway from the door to the makeshift bed.

She noticed that he avoided the slightest of glances in her direction.

Dan picked up his spectacles from the floor and settled them slowly on his nose; he followed Gadiel's gaze, too. ‘Yeah, man, but you see – we're rather marooned.'

‘Marooned.' Gadiel repeated the word flatly.

‘She is all states, all princes, I – nothing else is.' Dan tugged at the sleeping bag.

‘What?'

‘It's poetry, man. Ellie taught me. It's about love.'

‘John Donne,' Ellie explained.

Gadiel ignored her. ‘I didn't know you were in love,' he said to Dan.

Dan reached across to sling an arm around Ellie. ‘We're in bed.' He offered it as absolute proof. ‘Together.'

Gadiel was forced, finally, to look at them both, to look at Ellie. She blushed, tightening her grip on the sticky nylon.

‘Well, I thought you wanted to run a squat, to experiment with a new society, or whatever it is your manifesto is. But if you're holed up here with your' – Gadiel glared – ‘
poetry
, well, that's different.' He threw his head back, despairing. ‘Oh, come on. What were you thinking?'

Ellie could not tell if the question was for her. ‘It's only temporary,' she replied. ‘We're not staying in the van for—'

Gadiel kicked at a shoe. It skidded into the air and hit the side of the van with a clank, silencing her.

Ellie wished he would go away. She knew that much, the hope faintly nagging, as though it might later be important, but it was the feeblest of desires: everything inside her had been doused, the spark of her thoughts entirely quenched, leaving only the incontrovertible weight of her flesh, which seemed overwhelming.

She let the sleeping bag drop towards her shoulders and lay pushed up against Dan, leaning across and kissing him gently on his upper arm, sinking back, tasting him on her breath, the van seeming the complete world, Marlford fading.

Dan inclined his head towards Ellie and winked at Gadiel. ‘The sexual revolution,' he said, quietly.

Gadiel reddened, his features tight. He opened his mouth to speak but no words emerged, only a faint, low moan. He threw a final, vicious glance at Dan and stormed out of the van.

Dan sat up so quickly that Ellie fell away from him. He seemed to be listening hard, trying to hear Gadiel in the yard, perhaps waiting for his friend to shout to him.

Ellie opened her eyes sleepily.

‘He's fed up with me, man.' Dan found his T-shirt by the side of the mattress and slipped it hurriedly over his head. ‘I was only… he needn't rush off like that.' He leaned across and tugged the cover from Ellie with a flourish, the peremptory movement of someone snatching away a tablecloth to leave the tea set undisturbed.

Ellie squealed, clasping her arms over her breasts and slamming her knees up to her stomach.

‘Come on, get your clothes on.' Dan stood to pull on his trousers. ‘You'd better get dressed in case someone comes. I can't leave you here like this.'

‘But where are you going?' Ellie fumbled for her clothes in the mess of sleeping bag and grubby linen. She felt hurried and clumsy, too much aware of her nakedness; she bent away, surprised by the stinging heat in her cheeks, as though someone was slapping her face. She tried to get her dress over her head. When she finally pushed her arms through and pulled it down, all she saw of Dan was a raised hand as he hurried outside. The door slid closed behind him with a hollow smack.

*

Gadiel had not left the yard. He was under the arch, his attention still fixed on the van. He did not seem surprised to see Dan coming towards him, his clothes awry and his feet bare.

‘It's not fair, Dan. It's not fair what you're doing.'

Dan stood on a pebble and yelped, hopping theatrically for a pace or two and then picking his way more gingerly across the cobbles, his eyes fixed to the ground in an effort to avoid more obstacles.

‘I told you yesterday,' Gadiel went on, ‘but you didn't listen. And I never thought you'd go this far.'

The large, flat flagstones beneath the arch were softened with moss, which grew damp and thick near the walls. Dan found a comfortable place to stand and settled his feet, breathing out contentedly as though relaxing after the most strenuous of tasks. Then he looked up and grinned. ‘I went all the way,' he said.

Gadiel shook his head. ‘You're so pleased with yourself, aren't you?'

‘I am pleased, man. It was cool. It was a great night.'

‘And is that all that matters? Is that it, Dan?'

Dan wriggled his toes in the nest of moss. ‘Look, man, be cool. I get it – you want me back on duty at the squat. It's cool.'

Gadiel examined his friend's face, his gaze steady, but Dan's breeziness was unshakeable. He sighed. ‘I just think we should decide if we're going on with the squat, or if we're just… messing about.'

Dan nodded cheerfully. ‘Yeah, I'll come back with you. You're right, man – you're right to keep your eye on the bigger picture. We've got to be steadfast warriors in
the battle for change.' He glanced down at his feet. ‘What about my shoes?'

‘You can go back for them,' Gadiel answered. ‘And check that Ellie's OK.'

Dan wrinkled his nose in the direction of the van. ‘I don't know, man…' His face brightened again. ‘Why don't you carry me, Gadiel? You can give me a piggyback back to the squat, can't you?' He leaned forwards so that he could see the manor, judging the distance across the weedy gravel. ‘It'll be a cinch, man.' He leapt onto Gadiel's back, clamping his legs around his friend's waist. Gadiel puffed at the sudden weight and stumbled. ‘Oh, come on, Dan. Get down. This is ridiculous.'

He flipped his shoulders sharply in an attempt to dislodge Dan's hold, but it had no effect. Dan just giggled, jabbing his heels into Gadiel's thighs in an attempt to spur him forwards, flapping his elbows like a jockey. Gadiel resisted, planting his legs apart to balance himself and then, gradually and purposefully, backing up towards the curved wall of the arch.

Dan complained: ‘Stop it. What are you doing, man? You're trapping me.' He slapped at Gadiel's face but Gadiel kept pushing back, using the strength in his legs, leaning with all his weight so that even when they were tight against the wall he could continue to press, crushing Dan against the bricks.

Dan's protests took on an edge of panic. ‘Gadiel… stop it, man. Come on – it hurts.'

Gadiel did not seem to hear.

In a frantic effort to halt the struggle, Dan pulled at his ears, twisting them hard; when this had no effect, he leaned forwards and bit Gadiel's shoulder.

Gadiel pulled away suddenly, silently, and Dan slipped from his mount. They faced each other, both of them rubbing their wounds, accusatory, and then, without a word, Dan stomped away towards the squat, bringing his bare feet down defiantly on the gravel, exposing the pain of his progress for his friend to witness.

Gadiel waited until Dan was no longer in sight and then returned to the van. He knocked gently.

‘Ellie?' There was a pause. ‘Ellie? Are you all right? Can I come in?' He heard something – it might have been a reply – and he opened the door quietly.

Ellie was straightening her dress, paying attention to the creases, a twist in the narrow belt, the unsteady slope of the neckline. She did not look at him.

‘I just thought… Dan's gone back to the squat,' he said. He made his way further into the van, his eyes on the floor, and bent down to pick up Dan's shoes, hooking the broken backs over his fingers. ‘He – he forgot these.' He held them out to where Ellie was perched on the bed, uneasy, looking at her knees, her hair falling about her face.

‘You should be careful,' Gadiel went on, his words undemonstrative.

‘I'm quite all right,' she replied. ‘Thank you.'

‘No, but, I don't think you understand. Dan's not… we've been friends for ages. But, well, with girls—'

He let the warning ferment.

Ellie raised her head, looping her hair behind her ears and glancing at him finally. ‘I'm not sure it's any concern of yours. But, anyway, as it happens, it's as Dan told you – we're in love.'

‘But love for you and love for him – that might mean different things.' She was so pale and dishevelled, so forlorn. He stepped towards her. ‘Look, Ellie—'

‘Don't be silly. Love is love.'

They faced each other, the stagnant air of the van holding them close, Dan's shoes gaping between them.

‘Really, I'm quite all right. I'm fine.' But some of Ellie's certainty was already gone.

‘Please, Ellie, please. Just think about what you're doing. Just be careful, that's all. You don't know what it's like. You don't know how you might be hurt.'

Ellie pulled her legs towards her, clutching them uncomfortably around the knees. Her face seemed fleshy, loose; Gadiel wondered if it was just the unaccustomed cascade of her hair distorting her features.

‘You'd be surprised what I know,' she retorted. ‘The world's great literature deals with just this kind of thing. I'm quite prepared. I've been prepared for ever.'

He sighed. He had done his best. ‘It's different, when it happens to you,' he said, quietly. ‘That's all. You might find it's different. Not the way you'd thought it would be.'

She smiled at him. ‘Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide late schoolboys and sour 'prentices.'

But he did not recognize the quotation, and he had no reply for it.

‘I've got to go,' he said.

When Ellie finally emerged – stepping down cautiously from the van as though from a very great height – it was several minutes before she began to remember how it had all come about. In the warmth of the day, an unperturbed
quiet hung over the estate, the sun high above the stable roofs, the summer light unusually calm and soft. Swallows twisted in greeting as they skimmed her head, and the lean of the old walls offered a welcome of some kind. It was tranquil and settled, indifferent, as though what she had done was in the order of things. But still, it did not seem quite right. She felt oddly dislocated from it all; she could not tread with any certainty. And she was distracted by the clumsiness of her body, which seemed to drag like an unseasonal coat, stifling.

She took a step or two away from the van under the dilatory gaze of the stable clock. The hands jerked round, making an effort, but it did not feel like Marlford.

Ellie gazed up at the washed blue of the sky and found that she was weeping.