The Emerald Valley (76 page)

Even when she did manage to banish the ugly images for a little while, sleep would not come. For into the void moved the haunting worry as to what the sequel might be to the disastrous events of the evening.

Whether or not he had intended it, Huw had been responsible with the other boys for the fire, and there were certain to be repercussions. Sergeant Eyles'wife had said the police would want to interview him. Might that in turn mean criminal proceedings? Though she had now drawn the covers around her shoulders once more, Amy shivered. Huw must have committed several offences, now she came to think of it, though just what they might be she was unsure. Trespass, certainly. Was that an offence? She didn't know. And starting the fire – arson? Or criminal damage? He was too young to be brought up before the Magistrates'Court, of that she was fairly certain, but there was a Juvenile Court; this was where she would have had to apply if she had gone ahead with her attempts to adopt Huw legally, she supposed. The people who sat on the bench were pillars of the community, known for the severity of their outlook, dedicated to turning what had been known as a lawless area not so long ago, into something approaching respectability.

As she pictured Huw facing them, her heart seemed to fail within her. He would have to admit he was guilty and throw himself on their mercy. But what would they do with him? Suppose they decided to teach him a lesson and sent him away to a Reformatory School? That would not be unheard of, and it was the very place from which she had been so determined to save him. Or supposing …

As the terrible new thought struck her, she went cold again, lying very still. Supposing they decided she was unable to control him – would it be in their power to take him away from her? It might be – she didn't know. But the vulnerability of her position was frightening, since she had no legal claim over Huw at all. For a long while now she had not even thought of it; now she found herself wishing with all her heart that it had been possible to do more than simply take him in. She had given him her love along with a home, looked on him now as her own son, but officially he was not. To the outside world he was an orphan and if the magistrates, those all-powerful guardians of the peace, decided he would be better off somewhere other than with her, she was most dreadfully afraid there would be nothing she could do about it.

First thing in the morning, Amy telephoned Arthur Clarence. There was no delay now, for she was a valued client and instead of being questioned as to her business or requested to make an appointment, she was connected with the solicitor himself immediately.

‘Good morning, Mrs Roberts. And what can I do for you?' Arthur Clarence's tone was formal but cordial.

‘I need your help. Something rather dreadful has happened.' She went on to explain and the solicitor listened in silence, only tutting occasionally to let her know he was still there on the other end of the line.

‘What's the position, Mr Clarence?' she asked when she had finished. ‘Is Huw likely to find himself in court? Is there a possibility I might lose him?'

‘Dear me, what an unfortunate state of affairs!' She could imagine Arthur Clarence drumming with his finger-tips on the desk top, mentally flicking through his dust-dry legal books. ‘Let us take this step by step, shall we? First the matter of trespass. That's a civil matter and the police would not be interested in it. But breaking and entering, maybe. That is a criminal offence and the police might very well ask themselves what the lads were doing in the shed – whether perhaps their intention in breaking in was to help themselves to something which did not belong to them.'

‘Oh no, Huw didn't want to steal anything!' Amy said hastily. ‘There was nothing there to steal anyway, from what I can make out. The place was just used as a store for old records.'

‘Hmm. Well, a charge of arson wouldn't stand up – there was no malicious intent, was there? But nevertheless the boys were responsible for causing a great deal of damage.' He paused, considering while Amy waited. It was not in Arthur Clarence's nature to reach any decision lightly. ‘It is my opinion that the police would be unlikely to take any action unless a complaint is made,' he said at last.

‘A complaint?'

‘If Mr Porter should decide to press charges, then they may be forced to do something. Your best course of action, as I see it, is to have a word with him – throw yourself on his mercy, so to speak. If you can persuade him to let the matter drop, then I think it may all blow over. Otherwise …'

‘I see. Thank you, Mr Clarence.'

‘Not at all. Let me know what happens, won't you? If the worst comes to the worst, I shall do my best for you, of course. But let us hope it won't come to that.'

She replaced the receiver and stood with her hands pressed to her head. It was beginning to ache with the dull heaviness that came from a sleepless night, spreading until she felt as if she were wearing a too-tight cap. So there was a chance that the police would not prosecute. But it would depend on Ralph and she could not guess what his reaction would be. Last night he had been very good, it was true, but by morning light he might be feeling differently. Memories of past encounters rushed into Amy's mind. A man who could double-deal as he had done, over the Frickers Transport contracts, or who could buy a plot of land he didn't really want just to prevent her from getting it, could do anything. Where business was concerned he was unpredictable – no, he wasn't. He was predictable in that, should gain be involved, he would put scruples and personal loyalties firmly aside. And the fire last night had involved him in considerable loss. If claiming on his insurance meant establishing the guilt of the culprits, then Amy felt horribly sure he would do it.

Unless, as Arthur Clarence had suggested, she could persuade him to do otherwise.

The prospect sickened her. Throw yourself on his mercy, the solicitor had said and the very words grated on her taut nerves. She had always hated crawling to anyone and now, after the years of antagonism, to have to crawl to Ralph would be degrading. Strange, she thought, how easy it had been to accept his comforting strength last night. But last night had been different and she had not stopped to think about the niceties of the situation then; she had been too frightened and worried. Today, in the cold grey light of morning, it was a different thing entirely. But still, if that was the only way, she would have to swallow her pride. If it would save Huw, it was worth it.

She reached for the telephone again, then hesitated. Perhaps this would be better done face to face. The girls were already at school, but she had let Huw sleep in. Now she went upstairs to his room.

He was sleeping soundly, his face pink and innocent above the snowy sheets.

‘Time to wake up, Huw.' She shook him. He opened one eye, then as he came awake and remembered the events of the previous night, his face became troubled. ‘Get up, Huw, and get dressed. We're going to see Mr Porter. You are going to apologise for all the trouble you have caused, and I am going to do my best to see the matter ends there.'

A flash of fear shone in the blue eyes. He lay motionless and she jerked the covers off him.

‘Come on, now. There's no point in putting it off. I'll make you some breakfast and I want you downstairs and ready to eat it in five minutes. Right?'

His usually healthy appetite was diminished this morning and he picked at his bacon, pushing it around on his fork.

‘Eat it up,' she ordered, deliberately hard. She saw him swallow it with an effort, watching him in the mirror as she applied lipstick. Then she bundled the dishes into the sink; Rita could wash them when she came. Another quick phone call to the yard to tell her clerk she would be late and then she was ready, waiting while Huw forced his feet into his best boots. Then she inspected him minutely. Clean shirt, clean shorts, clean jersey – at least she had taught him something. When first he had come, he would have climbed back into the clothes he had taken off last night, filthy as they were.

In the car he sat silent, staring out of the windscreen. Her hands trembled on the wheel.

‘Now all you have to do, Huw, is say you're sorry and tell Mr Porter that you didn't mean to start a fire. And then I shall tell him how you tried to put it out. That is the truth, isn't it?'

He nodded, not answering.

‘You'll find your voice when we get there, I hope,' she said.

In the valley, the smell of smoke still hung heavily in the misty air. Amy was glad she could not see the shed or the timber yard; she never wanted to see it again. When she got out of the car, Huw hung back and she waited for him, taking firm hold of his arm.

‘Come on, my lad.'

She led him to the front door and rang the bell. After a few moments it was opened by Mrs Milsom. She showed no pleasure at seeing Amy; it was as if the dinner she had prepared for her on that long-ago night had never been. Now, her chins seemed to wobble with indignation

‘Yes?'

‘Can we see Mr Porter, please?'

‘He's not here.'

‘Oh …' This was the one thing Amy hadn't thought of. ‘Is he at the yard?'

Mrs Milsom's lips tightened, the only firm line in the whole of her jelly-like body.

‘I couldn't say. Though in view of what happened last night, I should imagine it's quite possible.'

‘Thank you. We will look for him there. Come on, Huw.'

They had reached the car when she heard a call and turned to see Mrs Milsom waving. ‘Hang on a minute!'

She stood waiting and the housekeeper puffed over to her. ‘Miss Porter wants to see you.'

Amy was unable to contain her surprise. ‘
Miss
Porter?'

‘That's right. If you'll come this way …'

Amy gave Huw a little push. ‘You go and sit in the car and wait for me,' she instructed him.

Then, puzzling to herself, she followed the housekeeper back up the path. All these years and she had never so much as set eyes on Ralph's sister. Now, at this time of the morning, just when she would have expected an invalid to be resting, she had been summoned to the presence. Why?

The hall of the house was exactly as she remembered it. It smelled of polish, as if someone had already been hard at work, but the faint aroma of cigar smoke still lingered, clinging to the heavy curtains at the door. On one side of the hall a door stood ajar – the housekeeper pushed open wide and stood aside for Amy to enter.

Her first impression was of the lightness of the room compared with the rest of the house. Cream flower-sprigged curtains were opened wide to let in what light there was on this murky morning, and on a centrepiece in the ceiling three bulbs within tinted glass shades cast an additional golden glow.

The room was dominated by a bed, the brass swirls and balls on the ornate head and foot catching the golden light and fragmenting it into small sparkling myriads. A fire burned in the wide and gracious grate and brass fire-irons treated the reflected light in the same way as the bedstead. A cane card-table in front of the window was covered by an embroidered cloth, a tapestry-topped commode occupied a discreet corner, delicate china ornaments and spring flowers brightened every corner. Two high-backed wing chairs were drawn up, one on each side of the fire. The chair facing the door was empty but for piled velvet cushions, but above the back of the other Amy glimpsed the top of a head, dark but peppered with streaks of iron grey.

She crossed the room, her feet making no sound on the rich Indian carpet.

‘My dear Mrs Roberts.' There was warmth in the educated voice. ‘I'm so glad to meet you at last.'

Miss Porter hardly looked the frail invalid Amy had expected. Were she standing, Amy guessed she would be almost as tall as Ralph and her face, though pale and gaunt, was also strong-featured. Her hair, plaited into two thick braids, fell from a centre parting almost to waist-level, her hands lay calmly in the lap of her rich blue dressing-gown. Only her eyes, dark-rimmed, showed the signs of her suffering.

‘You must excuse me for not being dressed yet.' There was a generous curve to the well-shaped mouth when she smiled. ‘I'm afraid it takes me a while to organise myself for the day.'

A week ago – yesterday, even – Amy might have added her own sharp silent aside that Ralph's sister had nothing to organise herself for anyway! But today, face to face with a woman she knew instinctively to be remarkable, the thought never so much as crossed her mind. Miss Porter might see no one, but that did not mean she would not make the effort to live life to her own routine within the confines of her room, and one of her tenets would certainly be that she must be dressed before lunch – probably before ‘elevenses'; but never, ever, before breakfast.

‘Do sit down,' she said now, indicating the chair opposite her own, and when Amy did as she was bid she was treated to a half-curve of Miss Porter's open smile. ‘That's better. Now I can see you properly. And I have so wanted to meet you. I've heard so much about you and I know how highly Ralph thinks of you.'

Amy scrutinised the strong face, looking for signs of insincerity, but there were none. As far as she could tell, Ralph's sister meant what she said.

‘What have you heard of me, I wonder? I think I'm looked upon as something of a mystery in Hillsbridge, am I not?' Again that twinkle, as if she might be enjoying her notoriety.

‘Oh, I wouldn't say that exactly …'

‘Well, I would. At best I expect I am referred to as a recluse – at worst, a witch. The simple truth of the matter is that my health is not good, though I think even the stories of that are exaggerated in the town. I had two bad doses of rheumatic fever as a child and a third when I was in my teens. That left me with a severe heart problem which restricts me considerably. But still I am fortunate in that I have all I need here. I love to read, I write a little poetry – Ralph may have told you. And for the past year or so I have been researching the life of Edith Cavell, with the idea of perhaps writing a biography. I suppose you think it strange that someone as limited as I am should take a woman of such strength and courage as my subject.'