The Big House

by Larche Davies

  *

  “You three big ones will be starting at the school at the top of the hill on Monday,” said Miss Clements at supper that night. “Tomorrow’s Thursday, so you’ve got three days to get your uniforms. I’ve made a list for you. And then, of course, you’ll have to mark your names on everything.”

  “Do you think they’ll let us come back here after the trials?” asked Lucy. “We like it here.”

  “I really don’t know what happens next, dear,” said Miss Clements as she started to collect the plates from the first course. “We’ll have to wait and see. Now, David, would you be a kind boy, and take these to the kitchen and put them straight in the dishwasher for me? And, Lucy, would you please go with him and bring in the puddings? They’re on the kitchen table.”

  As soon as Lucy and David were back in their seats, the conversation returned to the school.

  “It seems a waste to spend money on a uniform if it’s only for a few months,” remarked Dorothy.

  “That’s true, dear. But wherever you go afterwards the uniform might be the same, so it could come in handy. A lot of schools have black, I believe.”

  “I’ll be leaving school soon anyway, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter. But I hate black. They put me in black when I was in the disposal cells.”

  There was a silence.

  “Sorry!” said Dorothy, trying to think of something less harrowing to talk about. “But, what about Paul? Will he go to school?”

  “Yes, I’ll be taking him to the primary school down in the town. Now, pudding anyone? There’s lemon meringue pie or banana cheesecake, or both.”

  *

  Later that night, Miss Clements and her sister were in Miss Marilyn’s sitting room, comfortably settled in two scratched, old leather armchairs and sipping a little drop of port before bed. The walls were lined with books, and the floor was completely obliterated by files and papers.

  “I wish you’d make a bit more space on your floor, Marilyn, dear,” said Miss Clements, putting her glass on a lop-sided stack of files, while she studied her knitting pattern. “I nearly fell over when I came in. They do say that a tidy room reflects a tidy mind.”

  “Huh! Who’s they?”

  “Well, I’m not quite sure, but I’ve heard that somewhere.”

  “Platitudes,” snorted Miss Marilyn.

  “Yes, dear. I expect so. Now tell me what you think of the children.” Miss Clements made herself a little more comfortable and took another sip. “They’ve had a strange life so far, from what that Beverley told me – all that religion and frugality, and uncomfortable way of life. And to think of those poor women being abducted and kept prisoner, just for breeding! They seem like lovely children, but something must have rubbed off on them. They can’t be normal – not like the disaffected youth the Social Services usually sends us. What do you think?”

  Miss Marilyn’s mouth pursed and twitched.

  “I think the whole thing is quite revolting,” she said, “especially that talk about breeding. It’s disgusting! I’ll be glad when they’ve gone. Plus it’s unnatural how that Paul can draw so well. It gives me the creeps. His picture of Donald was almost like a photograph, but better.” She sniffed and added indignantly, “And what’s more, he did a picture of me and it’s exactly like me – except it made me look really cross, which I’m not.”

  “He’s probably got a special talent – one of those gifted children one reads about – and you do look so severe, my love. But they did bring you a present.”

  “Soap! Are they telling me something? And that bold girl, Dorothy. Who does she think she is? So tall and straight and full of herself. At least the younger one’s quiet, though I don’t like that watchful look she’s got in her eyes, as though she can’t trust anyone. And that David’s eyes are too blue for my liking. They seem to pierce like icicles right through you, and now with that dyed-black hair there’s something demonic about him. He’s like an aging drug addict, not a fifteen-year-old boy.”

  If Jesus Christ himself walked in this minute, thought Miss Clements, Marilyn would find something nasty to say about him. She held up her knitting to the light and counted the rows.

  “They’re only children, dear,” she said mildly. “Suffer the little children, and all that. And it’s a nice change not to have foul language, and filth, and things being stolen or smashed up. We’re getting good money. They’re paying us double because of the security. We’ll soon be in a position to retire to our little cottage in a nice warm climate, with groves of oranges or olives or vines, or some such thing to the rear, and the azure sea rippling away just outside our door. And we’ll wear pretty red dresses – at least I will – and you will wear blue, because it suits you better. You’ll look delightful in blue, to match your eyes and the colour of the sky.”

  Miss Marilyn was soothed. It was a dream worth fulfilling. She wondered if they would have broadband. Perhaps she would be able to finish her research over the internet.

  Chapter Four

  Down in the town, in a small terraced house near the station, Mrs Gwen Jones was sitting in her front room, watching her husband sleep. In moments like this his face was peaceful and the lines of sorrow softened. She sighed. If only she could sleep too! Maria’s disappearance all those years ago had broken them both. Now, only weeks after they’d found her, they’d lost her again. What was worse? Years of not knowing where she was, or knowing now that she’d gone forever?

  What did it matter? She and Evan were both dead inside too. She’d have to clear Maria’s room some time. It was no use keeping it ready for her now, because she was never coming back. If they gave it a lick of emulsion, they might be able to take a lodger. They could do with the money, but she couldn’t go back to work yet, not while Evan was so ill. She looked at him in his dreadful cardigan, and tried to remember when they last had new clothes. Even if she took up knitting again, wool was so expensive these days.

  Her husband started snoring, and she leaned over to turn the gas fire down slightly. It made the air dry. She stood up quietly, so as not to disturb him, and tiptoed out to the kitchen, where she filled a bowl of water to put in front of the fire. In a way, his loss of mind was a blessing. At those times when his memory left him, he could be happy. She returned to the sitting room and put the bowl down gently. Picking up a photo that leaned against the clock on the mantelpiece, she studied the lovely, little face – a laughing Maria up on the castle, her hair blown into a thousand kiss-curls by the wind and the rain.

  Evan shuffled a little. Gwen put the photo back and sat down again. She hoped he would sleep a little longer – or at least, if he did wake, that he’d not be in one of his remembering moods.

  He opened his eyes and smiled.

  “Hello, my darling,” he murmured. Gwen smiled back. She could relax a little. He was back in the past. He’d be alright for a while now.

  She hadn’t dared tell him about the children. They must have arrived up at the big house by now. He had refused to meet them in the hospital in London, and she had been so focused on Maria that she hadn’t really pressed it too hard. But, after all, they were Maria’s children and they had saved her from the fire. It wasn’t their fault that they had that evil Copse man for a father.

  Unlike poor Evan, Gwen was still in her right mind and she couldn’t just ignore the fact that, at this moment, two grandchildren whom she had never met were less than a quarter of a mile away. For Maria’s sake, she and Evan should at least make the effort to meet them, and perhaps “help with their rehabilitation” as that Mr Lovett had put it.

  Evan stirred again, and Gwen stood up. It was time for his supper and then bed. She made a decision. Tomorrow, after Evan had taken his morning walk along the avenue and back, and was dozing comfortably in his chair, she would pluck up her courage and go up to the big house – as long as he was in an amicable mood, of course.

  *
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  “There’s a visitor for you.”

  All four faces looked up with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Dorothy flicked shut her magazine, and David placed his new mobile back in its box. They both stood up.

  “No, not you,” said Miss Marilyn. “The other two.”

  Lucy put aside the book she’d been reading with Paul. Her heart pounded. Who on earth? They didn’t know anyone here. She mustn’t panic. Miss Marilyn would have checked. It must be someone quite harmless.

  “If it’s for Paul and me,” she said, quietly but firmly, “it’s for the others too. We do everything together.”

  “Well, you can’t this time. Get a move on. I haven’t got all day.”

  “We’ll all come,” said Dorothy, sailing through the wide-open door, followed by David. Lucy took Paul’s hand, and they sidled past Miss Marilyn.

  “In there,” she said, pointing towards the dining room. Her mouth pursed and twitched furiously as she crossed the hall.

  “All they do is have one visitor, and that’s enough to make them think they’re in charge,” she spluttered angrily, as she entered the kitchen.

  Miss Clements was stirring a pudding in a big earthenware bowl. “Do they, dear?” she said. “It’s such a good thing for children to have a bit of confidence, don’t you think? Did you check that the visitor was unlikely to abduct them?”

  “It’s that Gwen Evans or Williams or Jones or whatever, who’s a nurse up at the hospital and lives near the station.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s harmless if she’s a nurse,” said Miss Clements placidly, “though I don’t really know her. Now the kettle’s boiled, so shall we have a nice cup of tea with one of those caramel biscuits? They’ve just cooled down.”

  In a corner of the kitchen, a large man was poking around inside the boiler cupboard.

  “Do put your tools down for a minute or two, Mr Nicholas, and sit with us,” called Miss Clements. “Marilyn will make you a cup of tea, and you may help yourself to some of these biscuits.”

  *

  In the hallway, the children stood outside the dining-room door.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” whispered Lucy. “They’re supposed to check first before we see anyone.”

  “We’ll never know if we don’t find out,” said Dorothy. “Come on, all of you. Stand up straight, and put your shoulders back. Paul and Lucy, you go first, as it’s your visitor. David and I will follow right behind. I’ll leave the door open for a quick getaway.”

  Calming her own nerves and straightening her back, she turned the knob and waved the others past her, then went in and left the door wide open.

  Gwen rested her hand on the table to hide the trembling. Four youngsters stood in a row near the open door, backs straight and heads held high. She could tell at once which were Maria’s children, but she couldn’t speak. Her ears were ringing, and the room was going round and round.

  Lucy had almost expected to see a stern representative of the Magnifico, come to whisk them away to the fire of the melting flesh. Instead, a tiny, fragile woman dressed in a shabby, beige mackintosh stood by the table. She was staring at Lucy. Her face flushed, then turned an ashen grey. For a moment, Lucy thought she was going to faint.

  “How do you do,” she said rather hastily. “I’m Lucy. We were told you wanted to see us. Would you like to sit down?”

  The woman didn’t move. “I can see straight away who you are.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at Paul who had backed away behind Lucy. “And you too, little boy.”

  Dorothy was the first to gather her wits. It was obvious that the woman was too physically feeble to abduct even one of them, let alone all four.

  “Do sit down,” she said. “My name is Dorothy.”

  The woman sat down. She was trembling. She turned to Lucy. “I’m sorry, love, I must have frightened you.”

  “Not at all, madam,” said Lucy, untruthfully.

  “You rescued Maria from the fire?”

  Lucy was taken aback. What did this woman know about them? She didn’t want to talk about that terrifying night with a complete stranger, but she couldn’t resist saying, “Yes. She was our mother, though we didn’t know it then.” It made her feel tremendously proud to say she’d had a mother.

  “You’re so like her,” said Gwen, “that, for a second, I thought she was still here with me in this room.”

  Lucy was wondering how they could politely escape this crazy woman, when Gwen took a deep breath, and straightened herself up.

  “My name is Gwen Jones, and Maria was my daughter.” She paused. What was she letting herself into? There could be no going back. “I’m your grandmother,” she said firmly. “You have a grandfather too, but I’m afraid he wasn’t well enough to come with me.”

  As the words sank in, a mixture of incredulity and joy swept through Lucy. Then immediately alarm bells rang. A trap? A decoy? She knew Dorothy and David would be thinking the same thing, but, at the sound of the woman’s voice, Paul had moved forward and was standing near her, looking up into her face and examining it intently.

  “You’ve got the same ears as Maria,” he remarked at last. “In the hospital, I noticed her ears, because they were little and so pretty.” He drew a line with his finger down the side of the woman’s ear. It was small and neat.

  The woman relaxed a little and smiled at him. “That’s true,” she said gently. “Maria had my ears. Her father used to tease us both. He said our ears might be pretty, but his were more useful, because they were bigger.” She ran her finger down her neck where Paul had touched it. “Apart from that, she was like him to look at. He used to be a good-looking man, and you’re going to be just like him when you’re grown up.”

  Lucy took in a deep breath, but said nothing. Mr Lovett would surely have told them if there was a grandmother.

  Gwen stood up. “I can’t stay because your grandfather isn’t well, and he’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.” She handed Lucy a bit of paper with an address and phone number, and a pencil-drawn map. “That’s where we live. It’s on the opposite side of the road from the station, but further up. I hope that one day, when your grandfather’s a bit better, the people here will let you visit us. Are they kind to you?”

  “Miss Clements is a really good cook,” said Lucy.

  The visitor gave a shaky laugh. “Well, that’s wonderful. And where will you go to school?”

  “Up the top of the hill. We’ll walk there. Paul’s going to a school down in the town.”

  As soon as she had spoken, she could have kicked herself. Now their routes and routines had been revealed to someone who might be a grandmother but who, on the other hand, might be a trap. She could feel David looking at her accusingly.

  The woman was thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder if they’d let me come up every day and take Paul to school myself,” she said slowly.

  Oh no! The earth seemed to tremble – or was it Lucy’s legs? Who was this woman?

  “He’ll be going to the primary school where Maria used to go, and I’d bring him back, of course. Your grandfather can be left for quite a while before he starts to get anxious, so it could work out. I must get back to him now, but I’ll just have a quick word with Miss Clements about it before I go.”

  Her fragility seemed to have faded as they talked, and some of the dreadful despair in her face had lifted. She stood up straight and put her shoulders back in a manner wholly approved of by Dorothy.

  Lucy pushed Paul firmly between Dorothy and David, whispering, “Hold their hands and don’t let go,” and ran to the kitchen. In the doorway, she stopped short. There was a man there, just in the process of putting the front onto the boiler. Lucy had a good look at him. He had a kind face, but you could never tell. Thomas the gardener had had a kind face.

  Miss Clements was burrowing in a drawer near the sink
and pulling out a wad of notes. Lucy hesitated. She’d already given away enough information for one day.

  “Miss Clements, our visitor would like to speak to you, please, and she has to leave this minute.”

  Miss Clements was counting the money. “Just a moment, dear,” she said. “I’ve got to pay Mr Nicholas for mending the boiler. Go and tell her I’ll be there in a tick.”

  *

  Miss Clements was more than a tick, and the woman was just saying she’d really have to go and would come some other time, when the front door closed behind Mr Nicholas and Miss Clements appeared in the dining room. The suggestion that Paul should be taken to school and brought home was nervously put and, to the children’s horror, Miss Clements accepted at once without query. She was genuinely grateful, because the walk there and back twice a day would have disrupted her cooking programme.

  At last, in a final hurried movement, the woman wound a bright multi-coloured scarf over the shoulders of her dreary mackintosh, and hastened away.

  “We’ll have to be really sure about this,” said Lucy to the others, after they had settled themselves back in their sitting room with the door shut. She tried to quell the hope in her heart in case it was snatched away. “How can we tell she really is our grandmother, apart from the ears, of course? We can’t possibly let Paul go to school with her unless we’re certain he’ll be safe.”

  “Let’s have a look at that map,” said David. “When we go down to buy our school stuff, we could find the house and wait outside, and we might see her husband going in or out. If Maria really did take after him, then he should look something like you and Paul, and we’ll know it’s true.” He looked out of the window. “It’s still bucketing, but it should have stopped by tomorrow, so we can go then. Let’s go even if it hasn’t stopped, because we’ve only got three more days before we start school.”