Searching for Shona (8 page)

Her voice trailed off in a sob.

“Maybe she will come back this evening,” Marjorie said.

“Maybe she won’t be able to find her way,” Miss Agnes said in a trembly voice.

They all stayed up late, but at last Miss Agnes said they might as well go to bed. If they could just sleep, morning would come sooner, and then they could all go out and look for Anna. That would be better than waiting.

Marjorie fell asleep surprisingly quickly, only to be awakened by the dreaded sound of the air-raid siren. She lay rigid for a moment, waiting for a whimper from Anna’s bed, because Anna often cried when the siren awakened her. Then she remembered Anna wasn’t there. Anna was outside, lost in the darkness of the night, and wherever she was, she would be hearing the awful wail of the siren.

One of the Miss Campbells came into the room, lighting her way with a small paraffin lamp.

“We’re not going downstairs tonight,” she told Marjorie. “I expect the planes are just passing over as they did the other nights.”

“Anna will hear the sirens and be frightened,” Marjorie said.

“I’d thought of that too,” said Miss Campbell. “Poor little Anna! But we’ll find her in the morning—as soon as it’s light.”

When the wailing siren stopped, Marjorie lay waiting for the drone of the German bombers. She tried to imagine Anna listening for them too, and wondered where she could be. Where would
she
go if she wanted to run away, she wondered.

Then she sat bolt upright in bed. Suddenly Marjorie knew exactly where Anna must be! The little turret room! It wasn’t dark when she left. She would have gone there to get away from all of them and to play with the toys. After it grew dark, she’d be afraid to come home.

Marjorie imagined her now, squeezed up on the couch with the curved arms, waiting for the sound of the bombers, alone in that huge dark house. She must go to her. It was the least she could do.

Straining her ears for any sound from the Miss Campbells’ room, Marjorie pulled on her clothes. Carrying her shoes, she crept downstairs in stocking feet. She took her red coat from the big, shadowy coat stand in the hall and then felt her way to the door.

Once outside, she put her shoes on, but walked on the grass to avoid making any sound on the gravel path. She made her way to the gate and walked quickly down the road that led toward Clairmont House.

Chapter 8

A Long Night

The clouds had thinned and the moon, not quite full, shed a glistening light on the wet hedgerows and fields. Everything looked strange and unreal to Marjorie, and when she heard the droning sound of planes overhead, the dreamlike quality of her surroundings took on the aspects of a nightmare.

Although she knew that the people in the planes couldn’t possible see her, she hid in the shadow of the hedge, wet weeds brushing coldly against her legs. She put her hands over her ears to shut out the throbbing engines, but the sound stayed with her, right inside her head.

They came in waves, three waves of heavy bombers, and then there was silence again. She forced herself to go on until, at last, she reached Clairmont House. The gate was slightly ajar and she squeezed inside. The house loomed up like a huge castle with its turret and sharp roof etched against the sky. The branches of a tree rubbed together in the wind, and drops of rain falling from the wet laurel bushes made a pattering sound like the feet of little animals. Marjorie tiptoed up the driveway.

When she reached the back of the house, she saw that the coal cellar hatch was open. Now she was sure that Anna must be inside. It was so dark in there, so much darker than outside, that it took every ounce of Marjorie’s courage to drop down into the cellar and feel her way across to the door. It was open, and still feeling her way, she went into the kitchen. She bumped against a door and it slammed shut. With a pounding heart, she listened to the dreadful sound echoing through the empty rooms. Did Anna hear it upstairs, and was she, at this moment, crouching there terrified, wondering who was creeping through the house? It was the thought of Anna’s fear that forced Marjorie to go on.

She crossed the hall and climbed the curved staircase. Silvery light from the upstairs landing windows enabled her to see her way, but she had trouble remembering which door opened into the spiral stair. Finding the right door, she climbed the stairs and then hesitated again, afraid of frightening Anna.

“Anna! Anna! It’s Shona,” she whispered softly as she slipped through the door. “I came to find you.”

There was no answer.

For a moment Marjorie felt panic. Had she come so far, only to find no one there? She went over to the window and pulled back the heavy velvet curtains, letting moonlight shine through the curved windows, so that she could now see the shadowy furnishings in the room. At the sound of the rattling curtain rings, something stirred on the couch, and Anna poked her head out from under a quilt, asking sleepily, “Is it time to get up already?”

Marjorie ran over to the couch, stumbling over two dolls, which were lying on the carpet, and knelt down beside Anna.

“Anna! Anna Rae! What are you doing here?’ she asked.

Although she was immensely glad to have found Anna, she was, at the same time, angry to find her asleep and not trembling with fear as she had imagined her.

Anna sat up and looked around, blinking. Then, fully awake, she remembered the events of the day before and cowered back down under the quilt, asking, “Are you still angry with me?”

“Of course not!” Marjorie answered. “I wouldn’t have come looking for you in the middle of the night if I was still angry. I thought you’d be frightened when you heard the sirens and planes.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Anna said.

She had scarcely finished speaking when the wailing note of the siren sounded, and she asked nervously, “Is it the first one or the second one?”

“It’s the second one,” Marjorie answered. “Can’t you tell the all clear from the warning by now? The planes have gone over, but they might come back.We’ve got to get home before they do.”

“I’m not going home,” Anna wailed. “I’m going to stay here.”

“Don’t be silly! What about food?”

“You could stay here, too,” Anna said eagerly. “We could light a fire in the fireplace—there’s still some coal in the cellar, and you could do the cooking.”

“But we’ve no money or ration books,” Marjorie pointed out.

“Then you’ll just have to bring me food because I’m not going back—not ever.”

“Listen, Anna,” Marjorie said patiently. “The Miss Campbells aren’t angry any more. They like you, Anna. They were so worried when they found you’d run away that they called the police, even though they didn’t want to.”

Anna let the quilt slide to the floor and sat bolt upright, her eyes wide with fright. “They told the police!” she shouted. “I’m never going back!”

“They wanted the police to help them find you,” Marjorie explained. “They were worried about you.”

“The police to find me!” echoed Anna, and Marjorie saw that it was going to be more difficult than ever to persuade Anna that the Miss Campbells were her friends and that they were no longer angry about the dress.

Marjorie didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t drag Anna home against her will. She would have to tell the Miss Campbells where Anna was hiding and get them to come and persuade her that everything was all right. But then she thought of having to go back through the dark house and venture out again into the night alone. She couldn’t do that either. She could only make the journey home if Anna were with her.

“Please come, Anna,” she begged.

But Anna reached over and pulled up the quilt and snuggled back down under it. Marjorie, not quite knowing what to do, climbed onto the couch and lay down beside Anna, planning to talk to her, but she couldn’t think of the right words to say. Anna was cozily warm and the little playroom had a strangely soothing quality. Marjorie decided to wait a little longer before she renewed her arguments. They didn’t have to leave right away—just so long as they were home before the Miss Campbells awoke.

From where she was lying she could see that Anna had been playing with the toys in the cupboard. The little desk was now set with tiny china dolls’ dishes, and a bear, a worn pink rabbit, and a jointed wooden Dutch doll were propped up in the wobbly pram.

Was this house really in some way connected with Shona’s past, Marjorie wondered. Could these have been Shona’s toys when she was a very little girl, before she went to live in the orphanage? But then Marjorie decided that the toys were too old-fashioned. They must have belonged to some other little girl long ago.

Anna had fallen asleep, and Marjorie listened to her gentle breathing. Gradually she, too, fell into an uneasy sleep full of disturbed dreams. She was wandering through the rooms of Clairmont House looking for someone, but she wasn’t quite sure who that person was. Sometimes she thought it must be Anna, but sometimes it seemed that she was searching for a child she’d never seen.

The rooms in the house in her dream were richly furnished, and the carpet on the stairs was so thick it was like walking in soft sand. She wanted to go faster because the child she was following had disappeared.

Now she was in one of the big front rooms, elegantly furnished with ornate couches and velvet chairs and a huge grand piano. Sunshine streamed through an open French door. Marjorie thought the child she was looking for must have gone outside and she ran across the room, but just as she reached the door, it slammed shut, and she awoke with a start.

She found, to her dismay, that the sun was shining though the turret windows. It was broad daylight. The Miss Campbells would be awake and would have found that she, too, was missing. She shook Anna.

“I’m hungry,” Anna said, opening her eyes and looking up at Marjorie. “I want my breakfast.”

Marjorie guessed that now it was going to be easier to persuade Anna to go home. Anna always liked her meals.

“The Miss Campbells will have breakfast ready,’ Marjorie said.

“But what will they say?” Anna asked.

“They’ll be glad to see you,” Marjorie promised. “They’re not angry anymore.”

“I wish I hadn’t burned the dress,” Anna whimpered. “I only wanted to help.”

“I know you did,” said Marjorie. “We’ll go home and tell them that. But we must go, or they’ll think I’ve run away, too.”

“Are they really going to send us away?” Anna asked.

“I’m sure they won’t,” Marjorie reassured her. “I think they like having us stay with them. They were worried, not angry, when they found you were gone.”

“I need to find Elizabeth first,” Anna said. “And my suitcase.”

“Maybe we should tidy up a bit,” Marjorie suggested. She began to pick up the scattered toys and put them away in the cupboard. As she did so, a book slipped from one of the shelves and fell open on the floor. Marjorie saw the name “Jane Carruthers” written in large childish handwriting on the fly leaf. Could that be the name of the child who had owned all these toys, she wondered. But there was no time to stop and speculate. They must get home.

Marjorie finished putting away the toys and then, after glancing around the room one more time, followed Anna down the stairs. The empty house wasn’t nearly so frightening now that it was daylight, and the girls walked boldly through it.

On the way home, Marjorie asked, “Weren’t you scared in there all by yourself?”

“Oh, no!” Anna answered. “I go there quite often.”

“You’ve been there other times—by yourself? When?”

“In the Christmas holidays. And once instead of going to school,” Anna said casually.

“But what do you do there?” Marjorie asked.

“I play with the toys.” Anna made it sound as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to go up to the little playroom in the vast empty house and play with those long-forgotten toys.

“They’re not yours. You really shouldn’t go there,” Marjorie said severely.

Anna’s lower lip trembled, and Marjorie decided this was not the time to upset her. They were nearly home and she was hoping to slip in quietly, but they had no sooner opened the front door than one of the Miss Campbells came running through from the kitchen.

“Agnes! Agnes! They’re home!” she shouted. “Both of them.”

Miss Agnes came running down the stairs, and both sisters hugged and fussed over the girls as they helped them take off their coats.

“Where have you been all night?” Miss Agnes asked.

“She was in that big empty house down the road,” Marjorie said.

“Clairmont House?” Miss Morag asked in astonishment. “Why on earth did you go there?”

“To play with the toys,” Anna said in her matter-of-fact way.

Marjorie hurriedly interrupted and said that Anna had found her way inside and had taken shelter.

“Well come through to the kitchen, and we’ll make you both a good breakfast. I’ve got a jar of honey saved for a special occasion. We’ll have honey on our toast this morning.”

While they were eating breakfast Miss Morag asked Anna how she’d found her way into the house, and Anna explained that a little door was open.

“You’d think it would be all locked up,” Miss Morag said. “Though I suppose there’s not much left in there.”

“Whose house was it?” Marjorie asked. She was dying to find out.

“It belonged to old Mr. Carruthers,” Miss Agnes said. “He died back in the spring, and there was a big sale in the summer.”

“We got the coat stand there,” Miss Morag said. “It’s a bit big for our hall.”

“I’m afraid I was the one who bid on it,” Miss Agnes said, blushing a little. “I got carried away.”

“Well, at least you didn’t get that awful birdcage with the stuffed parrot in it! What would we have done with that?”

Marjorie wanted to ask more about Mr. Carruthers and how the house had looked when he lived there, but Miss Morag suddenly glanced at the clock and said, “Look at the time! We must get ready for church. What are you going to wear, Agnes?”

There was an awkward pause, and Anna looked at Miss Agnes with a woebegone expression.