*
“So you had a visitor! She said she was your grandmother,” said Miss Clements at supper that night, as she carved tender slices of juicy lamb. “Dorothy, would you pass the plates up to everyone, please, dear? It’s Mrs Gwen Jones. I’ve known her by sight for years, though I’ve never spoken to her. If she’s really your grandmother, I’ve got her phone number, so I could check, but I can’t remember where I put it.”
Miss Marilyn rolled her eyes.
“I heard that the husband lost his mind,” continued Miss Clements, “but one mustn’t listen to gossip. Help yourselves to vegetables. Gravy, Marilyn? What a sad world it is.”
*
By the following morning, the rain had stopped, and the sky was a clear blue. At breakfast, Lucy tried to suppress a peculiar combination of excitement and fear. She absolutely must not allow herself to be hopeful. Now that she’d been told she had a grandmother, the disappointment of not having one would be horrendous.
After they had cleared away the breakfast things and tidied their rooms, Miss Clements gave them their instructions. “I can’t come with you, because I bake for the weekend on Fridays, so that Miss Marilyn and I can go to church on Sunday. Dorothy, dear, you’re the eldest, so I suggest that you look after the money. That’s the uniform list, and that’s the list for the other things that you need, and that’s the list of the shops to get it all from. And don’t waste money on trendy rubbish. Make sure that what you get is warm and fits you a bit on the large side.”
Dorothy smiled. As if they’d know what was trendy!
*
Half an hour later, they were in the hall, putting on their outdoor clothes.
“I can’t believe this is happening to us,” said Lucy. “Supposing it’s not a trap? But that would be too good to be true. Do you think the Magnifico is going to spring a nasty shock on us?” She gave a nervous little giggle.
“No,” said Dorothy firmly. “That’s something I do not believe, and you mustn’t allow yourself to think it, even if you’re joking. The Magnifico does not exist. He’s just a figment of the imagination of evil monsters, so they can control people in the name of religion.”
Lucy was pulling Paul’s arms into the sleeves of his coat. “I know,” she said. “But it’s hard not to think of the Mag when he’s been dinned into us all those years. He’s sort of like a habit that’s hard to get rid of.”
“A really nasty habit,” agreed David. “The only way to get rid of it is to think good things. When the Mag comes into our minds, we must think of our housing plan.”
Dorothy gathered herself up. She tossed back her black curls, and her beautiful, brown eyes were alight with determination. “We’ll get there one day. It’s up to us to make it happen. Now, let’s go shopping!”
“Remember lunch is at one,” Miss Clements called after them as they left the house. “Don’t be late.”
Dorothy clutched the communal purse, and the others felt in their pockets to make sure that what was left of their pocket money was safe.
“We need to be careful with our money,” said Lucy, “in case we need it to escape.”
“And to put in the housing fund,” said David. He rubbed his black hair ruefully. “I wish I hadn’t wasted it on that dye.”
“And I wish I hadn’t wasted it on that lipstick now,” sighed Dorothy.
Lucy felt guilty too. She’d managed perfectly well without a watch up until now, and spending money on non-essentials was something Aunt Sarah would have deplored. Still, what was done was done.
“We’ve got quite a bit left between us all,” she said. “I think it was supposed to last us until the trials. If we try not to spend it, it’ll make a good start to the housing fund. We can ask Miss Clements if she’s got a box we can keep it in.”
They embellished their long-term plan as they sauntered down the hill to the shops.
“One thing I don’t want to be when I grow up is a lawyer,” said Lucy, “because Father Copse is a lawyer.”
Dorothy agreed. “And David and I can’t be accountants, because Father Drax is an accountant. Let’s think what we can be, not what we can’t be – positive thinking!”
“Perhaps I’ll be a doctor, then,” said David, “and help people. And, of course, Paul will be a great artist – or a spy or a detective, because he’s so observant. And Lucy can be a dog groomer, because she likes Donald and he needs a haircut.”
He and Dorothy started thinking up the weirdest professions they could possibly imagine, but Lucy couldn’t join in. Her mind was too busy trying to balance the possibility of a trap against the possibility of a genuine grandmother.
“We’ll get the shopping out of the way first,” said Dorothy when they reached the bottom of the hill, “and then we can concentrate on detective work.”
They bought the uniforms and then, studying Mrs Jones’s map, they walked along the street on the opposite side to the station. The houses were terraced, and their doors opened straight onto the pavement.
“They all look the same,” remarked David.
“No,” said Paul, when they reached the right number. “It’s got a blue door and a golden knocker. Nice colours.”
“And it hasn’t got net curtains,” whispered Dorothy.
Lucy was almost afraid to look at the house. If the whole thing was a trap, she and the others would find a way out, as they always did. But if she allowed herself to hope, she didn’t know how she could cope with the horrible disappointment of finding out that she didn’t have a grandmother after all.
They strolled past as casually as they could and peered sideways into the front room. There was nobody there. The room was dark, but they could see a mantelpiece to the left, and the back of an armchair. They crossed the road and studied the house from the pavement opposite. It was a very ordinary house and told them nothing, except that the brass door knocker was highly polished and the door and window frames could do with a coat of paint.
“We need to think,” said David. They turned into a long, wide avenue that ran parallel with the railway line. They threw their bags on the ground beside them and sat down on a bench to discuss the next move. It was decided that they would wait ten minutes by Lucy’s watch, and then she and Paul would walk slowly past the house again and look through the window. Dorothy and David would stroll along a few yards behind, and do the same.
When the ten minutes had passed, Lucy took a deep breath and reached for Paul’s hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s pretend we just happen to be passing.”
They left the avenue and made their way down the street. Surely everyone was staring at them? But, no, the rest of the world was scurrying in all directions, uninterested in two children who might or might not have a grandmother. As they slowly passed the house with the blue door, Lucy glanced in, trying not to look as though she was staring through people’s windows. Paul had no such inhibitions.
“There’s a man in there,” he whispered, “sitting in a chair with his back to the window. I can see the top of his head. He’s got grey, curly hair with a little bald bit at the back.”
Lucy pulled him along hastily, and they waited on the next corner.
“Did you see anything?” she asked eagerly, when the others caught up.
“A man got up out of a chair just as we went past,” said David, “but I couldn’t see what he looked like. Nor could Dorothy.”
“What next?” Lucy asked.
Dorothy stood on the pavement holding three uniform bags. “Perhaps we should take these back to Miss Clements’s house and plan things properly, and come back later.”
“But we’ve got to do it now,” David reminded her, “otherwise they might both be out by then, or gone away for the weekend.”
Lucy’s heart thumped. He was right. They had to do something now.
“You two stay here. Paul and I will go and kn
ock. If the man comes to the door, we’ll get a good look at him, and Paul is sure to notice something about him to give us a clue one way or the other. We’ll say we’ve come to visit Mrs Jones and will come back later. And if she answers the door, we’ll just ask politely when it would be convenient for us to visit them.”
The pavement was narrow, and Dorothy stepped out of the way as a woman with a pushchair tried to pass. “Let’s stand on the opposite side of the road,” she said to David, “so we can watch without being noticed.”
Lucy took Paul’s hand. “Come on,” she said. “Breathe deeply and put on your cap of courage, like that prince in the story I was reading you. They can’t eat us, after all.”
“The witch wanted to eat Hansel and Gretel.”
“That was different – just a fairy story. This is real.”
They stood in front of the door. There was no bell. Lucy lifted the golden knocker and gave a timorous tap.
Chapter Five
“There’s nobody there,” whispered Paul. “Let’s go.”
Lucy lifted the knocker again. Her chest tightened, and she could hardly breathe. “I’ll just do it once more, a little louder.”
They heard someone hurrying down the stairs, and a woman’s voice called out, “Don’t worry, Evan. I’ll get it.”
The door opened, and Gwen Jones gasped as she looked down at two upturned faces, both with olive skin and soft, brown hair that sprang up in curls as though it was alive. She clutched at her chest, and a look of joy passed over her face, only to be followed immediately by one of deep anxiety.
“Oh, how lovely to see you,” she whispered. “You can’t imagine how happy I am that you’ve come, but I’m worried about your grandfather. He might not be ready to cope with seeing you yet. Wait there a minute. Don’t go away.”
The children stood anxiously on the step. They heard the soft murmur of the woman’s voice and then a bellow that made them jump. “Get rid of the scum! I’ll not have that monster’s spawn in my house – veins flowing with the devil’s filthy blood!”
For a split second, Lucy froze. Then she grabbed Paul’s hand and they ran. Dorothy and David watched aghast as they disappeared round the corner.
“Flaming flesh!” muttered Dorothy.
The woman came out onto the pavement, and looked up and down the road. She wrung her hands together and was obviously distressed. A tall man appeared in the doorway behind her.
“Where are they? Have they gone?” he shouted. “Good riddance to scum.”
David thought rapidly. It was a risk, but it might work.
“Come on,” he muttered tersely. “Let’s go over. If they’re not Maria’s parents, we’ll just apologise and say we’ve got the wrong house.”
They waited for a car to pass and then crossed the road. The woman was in tears, and the man, scarlet with rage, stood waving his fist in both directions up and down the street.
David’s insides twisted into a knot of apprehension. “Good morning, sir,” he said in as confident a voice as he could muster. “Good morning, Mrs Jones.”
The man stopped gesticulating and looked at him. “Who are you?”
“I’m David, sir.” He clenched his fists to stop the shaking of his hands. “My sister here is called Dorothy. We were friends of your daughter’s. We used to visit Maria in hospital. We’ve come to say how truly sorry we are for your loss.”
Gwen held her breath. The man stared hard at David and then at Dorothy. His high colour subsided and his face softened. He put out his hand.
“Maria’s friends? My dear boy, come in, and your sister, of course. Any friend of Maria’s is welcome in this house. How did you come to know her? Come in and talk to me about her. She was our jewel, our joy. It’s always good to talk to someone who knew her.”
He put his hand on David’s shoulder and steered him into the house.
Dorothy smiled uncertainly at Gwen. “We can’t stay,” she whispered. “We’ll have to find Paul and Lucy.”
“They’ll be alright,” said Gwen quietly. “It’s difficult to get lost here. Just stay five minutes, so he can get used to you, and then we might be able to make progress from there.”
The uniform bags brushed against the wall of the narrow hall. Dorothy put them down and followed Gwen into a small front room on the left. The floor was almost hidden by shelves full of books, a three-piece suite, two side tables and a piano. A black and white china spaniel sat on each side of the clock on the mantelpiece, and the spaces in between were cluttered with photographs. The artificial coals of a gas fire blazed away, and the man sat down in an armchair next to it, with his back to the window.
Dorothy observed him from the doorway. It was hard to tell if someone as old as he was looked like someone as young as Paul, but, now that the rage had gone from his face, she could see that he had the same olive skin, and that faded brownish-grey curls sprang around his head. Perhaps he wasn’t really old, but his face was etched with lines of sorrow, and the skin hung down in unhappy folds. He reached up and took a photograph down from the mantelpiece.
“There’s our Maria,” he said. “Just a little girl she was then – twelve years old. She was always a little beauty with such a sweet temperament.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Dorothy stepped forward and took the picture from his hand. The girl smiled up at her. A mass of springing brown curls surrounded a charming face. She was so like Lucy that Dorothy caught her breath. David took the photo, and she heard him gasp. The extent of this sad couple’s loss engulfed them.
“She was still beautiful and had a sweet temperament when we knew her,” said Dorothy gently.
Mr Jones seemed to be dozing. Just as Dorothy whispered, “We must go now,” he opened his eyes.
“My great grandfather was a sea captain,” he said, “and he brought back a bride from somewhere, no one was ever quite sure where. Maria took after her, according to my mother. That’s where she got her looks and her pretty ways.”
David handed back the photograph, and Mr Jones studied it fondly. “Will you come again?” he said. “We want to know all Maria’s friends.”
He fell asleep before they had time to answer, and his wife’s face relaxed.
“He sleeps most of the time,” she said softly. “It’s a blessing. Come, I’ll show you out.”
Dorothy picked up the shopping bags and turned to kiss her cheek. “We’ll come again,” she whispered. She followed David out, and the door shut behind them. Shaky with relief, they stood on the pavement and looked at each other with a shared sense of terrible sorrow.
“I wonder how many more mothers and fathers have been made to suffer like that,” said David quietly, “all in the name of the Magnifico.”
Dorothy shifted her bags to one hand and took David’s hand with the other, and they walked silently down the road and round the corner towards the sea. They found Paul and Lucy, ashen-faced and huddled together, on a bench near the bandstand. The sky that had been so blue earlier that morning was now grey and glowering. A sharp wind blew in great gusts, and all four children shivered.
“Let’s get back,” muttered David, and they made their way up to the house in silence. The table was already laid for lunch, and the food smelled delicious, but no one spoke. Lucy couldn’t eat. She burned with the shame of rejection. Scum! That’s what he’d called them!
“Are you ill, my dear?” asked Miss Clements.
“No,” whispered Lucy. “It’s just that my throat won’t swallow.”
“You must have a cold coming on. I should never have let you out on such a nasty day – though it was lovely first thing this morning, so how were we to know? Paul, dear, won’t you just try some gravy and mashed potatoes?”
Paul shook his head. “My throat won’t swallow either.”
“Well, you’d better a have a quiet afternoon in front
of the fire, and we’ll see what you’re like this evening. Dorothy, would you like to be in charge of getting everyone to mark their names on the uniforms? That’ll be a good job done, and will save me a lot of trouble.”
“Miss Clements,” said Paul. “What’s ‘spawn’?”
She looked puzzled for a moment. Children were such strange creatures. Goodness knew what went on in their minds.
“It’s something to do with frogs,” she said. “Now come along, dear. You can lie on the sofa in the other room, and I’ll cover you with a blanket and build up the fire.”
There was no need. Paul’s face had cleared. “It’s alright, Lucy,” he said. “That meat smells nice. He was talking about frogs. Monster frogs had hopped into the house.”
Lucy managed to smile, but she was angry. How dare that horrible man call her little brother scum! She would never, ever go to that house again.
*
Gwen Jones was sitting sadly, opposite her sleeping husband, mentally going over the events of the morning. She should never have taken the risk of contacting the children so soon. It might be months or years before Evan could accept their existence, if ever. But already she longed to see them again, to get to know them and, perhaps, to love them. She wondered if they would ever be able to love her – or at least like her.
Evan opened his eyes. He was animated and his face was slightly flushed.
“I dreamed that Maria’s friends from London turned up, just like that, out of the blue,” he said. “What a wonderful thing it is to know that she had friends right up to the end – even it was only a dream.” He seemed to have forgotten about the two earlier visitors.
Gwen smiled her agreement. “Wonderful! And it wasn’t a dream. They did come, and we told them we hoped they’d come again.”
It was a long time since she had seen him so happy, but her heart was heavy. Maria’s children had been cruelly driven away from her home. She would take Paul to school on Monday as promised, and she would be a grandmother if the children would let her, but she would never be able to take back the hurt of Evan’s words.
The Big House Page 6