O Caledonia (13 page)

At Christmas Janet read, as she always did, in the village church. She read from Isaiah,
‘
The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them...
'
and Francis sang
‘
O for the wings of a dove
'
. Every year this miracle occurred; cynical, unkind, freckled Francis stood there, his eyes piously raised to the ceiling and, by the beauty of his voice, transported her to that shadowed chasm where the restless dove fluttered and soared, searching, driven by its tragic quest for something it would never find, something which perhaps did not exist. Even the village women were moved; with brightening eyes they leant forward for a moment, their chapped hands gripping the pew front. This year, however, as he sang
‘
In the wilderness, build me a nest
'
, his voice suddenly swooped downwards as though a gramophone needle had stuck and skidded.
‘
And remain there, forever at rest
'
emerged in a jolting, husky baritone. With icy self-control he sang on, and God rewarded him by restoring his soprano until the end of the service.

‘
Never again,
'
he boomed in his new voice as he and Janet trudged homeward through the snow. The others had gone ahead in the car; Rhona was excused from walking because she would be so helpful with preparations for the festive meal.
‘
Never again. This, Janet, is the onset of manhood. I shall grow a beard and keep birds in it, like Edward Lear.
'
For a moment Janet felt sorry for him. But only for a moment. At the' top of the drive his labrador came to meet them. She wallowed joyously in the deep drifts, tunnelled out, flicking the powdery white off her muzzle, then swaggered up, ducking and bowing.
‘
O Celia,
'
said Francis.
‘
What a seal you are!
'
He hugged her. Watching him, Janet felt again that odd flicker of pity. How he loved his dog! How he loved his cacti and his slow-worm! Did he love anything else? She thought not.

 

*

 

After Twelfth Night they took down the Christmas tree which had stood so proudly in the hall, by the foot of the stairs, its gold and blue and crimson lights vying with the great stained-glass window; the dying white cockatoo in his luminous circle of leaves seemed to hover above it like the paraclete and at times the blood drops from his breast were scattered over the piled and gaudy presents. A bonfire was built and Nanny seized her chance to rid the nursery of the dogs
'
armchairs. A couple of days later Hector and Francis had replaced them with others of almost equal dereliction; there was no shortage of such furniture at Auchnasaugh.

One afternoon Janet was returning from the stables through the trodden snow; it was twilight and the sky was the soft intense blue which occurs at the close of sunny days in the cold of winter. The stars and crescent of moon were already brilliant and in the air was a haunting sweetness, no sooner sensed than gone, a harbinger of spring, no matter how long yet the days of darkness. She saw that Lila was sitting in one of the chairs on top of the bonfire, staring at the black humps of the hills. Janet climbed up and sat beside her in the other chair. Lila did not speak; suddenly Janet realised that she was weeping. Great tears rolled down her cheeks, followed by a sooty wake of mascara.
‘
Sorry,
'
she said,
‘
Pay no attention. It
'
s nothing.
'
She took a quarter-bottle of whisky from her pocket and drank straight out of it.
‘
Well, it
'
s almost nothing.
'
Her voice became steadier.
‘
It
'
s only money. I have no money left and I need some.
'
Janet was astonished. Money was never mentioned; she had never thought about it. She never had any herself; Hector and Vera sometimes said mysteriously that they were going to give the older children pocket money because it would teach them about the world, but they never seemed to have any loose change on the appointed day and no one really cared. You would have had to go to the village to spend it and the only things they ever wanted from the village were bottles of Barr
'
s Iron Brew and long black straps of liquorice. These were provided anyhow, in an erratic way, but often on Saturdays. Now, looking at Lila
'
s woebegone face and the bottle gripped in her shaking hand, she could, as so often, think of nothing to say.
‘
Oh dear,
'
she mumbled, wishing that she hadn
'
t climbed on to the bonfire.
‘
Oh gosh!
'

‘
How now, thou secret, black and midnight hag!
'
came Francis
'
voice. They both jumped. There was a small bright explosion in the shadow beneath them.
‘
Thank you,
mesdames,
and God bless you,
'
he said, winding on the film of his new Christmas camera and sauntering off. In time to come he was to make a brief reputation for himself with this photograph, and an accompanying article in which he claimed that he had discovered a place in the hinterlands of the Rhine valley where witches were still burnt.
‘
After all, we know now that we can believe anything of the Germans.
'
The thin moon was lucent in the background, curving beyond the filigree of the giant hogweed grove; the two white frightened faces stared out from the pyre, with gaping mouths and glittering eyes.

Lila said that she was hungry. They went to her room and Janet watched her prepare her frugal meal. First she chopped a wizened tomato on the cover of a handy book; then she removed a grimy tub of cottage cheese from the mantelpiece.

She put a blob of this on the palm of her hand and added the tomato; then she wandered about the room, daintily eating it with her fingers and dripping tomato pips and squelching globules on to the floor. She never sat down to eat. She said that she found it boring, a waste of time. Vera had remarked, not only once, that Lila dwelt in a waste of time.
‘
And spirits,
'
she sometimes added. But Lila had told Janet that meals at tables reminded her of Fergus, and especially of Fergus
'
s last supper. Janet had found this a moving and noble confidence, had felt honoured to receive it.

At dinner that evening, with great boldness, she addressed Hector and Vera.
‘
Lila seems to be very worried. She says she hasn
'
t any money. Couldn
'
t you maybe give her some?
'
Vera
'
s features tightened into icy fury.
‘
Good heavens, that woman has squandered a fortune, and on what, one may wonder. Well of course, it
'
s the whisky. She
'
s better off just living here and doing without it. She has everything she wants here, all provided. She should count herself lucky; not many people would put up with her. How dare she go complaining to you. I shall speak to her about this.
'
Hector supported Vera,
‘
You shouldn
'
t meddle in grown-up people
'
s affairs, Janet. Lila has made her bed and now she must lie on it.
'
Vera stalked off to Lila
'
s room. In a little while she returned, her face slightly flushed, her eyes gleaming with vindictive satisfaction. No more was said.

Janet felt sick and treacherous. She decided that she must apologise to Lila. As she went down the dark stone corridor she heard the door from the boiler room creak open. Someone was moving stealthily along the unlit passage towards her.
‘
Lila?
'
she called; there was no answer.
‘
Francis?
'
No answer. Then she heard the footsteps retreat softly, the boiler room door swing to, silence. She panted into Lila
'
s room.
‘
There was someone out there, they wouldn
'
t answer, and now they
'
ve gone! It was horrible. Do you think we should get the policeman?
'
Lila was standing at the window, clasping Mouflon. She turned and stared at Janet; her eyes were black and opaque.
‘
I
'
ve told you before; it
'
s only the wind. I expect the outside door wasn
'
t shut properly. Do please stop fussing. I have things to do now, and it
'
s time you were in bed. You
'
ve made enough trouble today. Goodnight.
'
Janet withdrew. She was shocked; Lila had never before spoken to her like that. It was clear that there was as little point in trying to help people as there was in telling them the truth. You would be misunderstood or disbelieved and it would all be worse than ever.

One icy January afternoon, under a baleful sky, Lila left Auchnasaugh. All morning, unwilling kitchen staff had been trudging in and out bearing sagging cardboard boxes of books, mildewed hat boxes, brass-bound trunks, the leather frayed and peeling off in strips which flapped in the wind. Then came Mouflon
'
s great pile of fur coats; only Jim could be persuaded to carry these out; he laid them on the back seat of the car, creating an instant and intolerable miasma, whose separate elements could not be defined, but which breathed unspeakable corruption and the mortification of feline skin and bone. Vera, briskly supervisory, shook a whole tin of Elizabeth Arden Apple Blossom talcum powder over them. Francis said that he now knew the perfume of post-lapsarian paradise.
‘
Oh do be quiet, Francis. And stop being so affected. Go and see if Lila
'
s ready; your father will be impatient.
'

Vera had arranged a kind of job for Lila. She was to go to Vera
'
s unmarried Aunt Maisie as a lady companion and occasional cook; for this she would receive a handsome salary; Maisie
'
s family had had enough of her and wished to lead lives of their own.
‘
So really we
'
re killing two birds with one stone,
'
Vera announced in chilling triumph. Maisie lived in a small modern house on the outskirts of Edinburgh.
‘
So convenient and cosy, which frankly is a consideration, Lila, when you
'
re not quite so young as you were. And you can always go and look at
things
in the Botanical Gardens. And there
'
s the theatre, and the Festival! Really I quite envy you.
'
Lila had shown no feeling of any kind, had barely spoken; passively she had stowed away her possessions. Now she emerged, tenderly cradling her cat, who was swaddled in more furs. She had made herself look startlingly different for her new role. Instead of her habitual trailing, flapping garments, black for most of the year, white for summer sunshine, she was attired in twinset, pearls and a lovat-green Hebe Sports suit; its box-pleated skirt swung crisply over her tattered black stockings and stained velvet slippers. She had forgotten to provide for her lower extremities. Her ragged dark locks were confined by a Jacqmar silk headscarf, firmly knotted under the chin. Peering myopically in the mirror, in the dimness of her room, with shaking hand she had applied liberal quantities of mascara, rouge, powder and lipstick, for a healthy competent glow. Her cheeks flamed as though she had just been slapped. Then she had sneezed, so that the mascara made streaks all around her eyes like clown make-up. She looked like a murderous parody of a lady companion.

Vera
'
s cheek hovered a glacial fraction off Lila
'
s.
‘
You must come back, of course, whenever you want to, though I
'
m sure you
'
ll be far too comfortable there to stir! Your rooms will always be here for you.
'
The car moved off, the children waved; Lila ignored them, staring bleakly ahead. Janet went to look at the strange, denuded mushroom chamber, now flooded with harsh winter light. The men were dragging out crates of empty bottles and Vera was telling them that the curtains and carpets were to be put straight on the bonfire.
‘
Everything out. And then we
'
ll have it painted; a pretty shell pink, would you say, Janet?
'
Janet had nothing to say, nothing at all. And indeed she could not speak.