I saw Mrs. Nessel tighten her lips to keep back an angry retort.
Before Mrs. Pritchard could say more, Burker announced that Grandfather wished to see us. The Pritchards ascended the stairs, and I lagged along.
Grandfather was sitting up in his chair, a scowl on his face, but he spoke gently to me. “Come here, child. Have you been out this morning?”
“No, Grandfather, but late last night I saw the bats, and just at dawn the skylarks were out.”
He was quiet for a moment. “You must have been up very late and awake very early. I hope there is nothing to bother you.” Grandfather turned to Mr. Pritchard. “Well, Son, so you have decided to pay me a visit.”
I saw that Mr. Pritchard was intimidated by his father’s piercing stare. “We were anxious to see you, Father, and of course we missed Valerie terribly. Now that we are here, we hope to relieve you of some of the responsibility of caring for Stagsway.”
“Do you?” Grandfather asked in a cold voice. “That will be difficult to do from London.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t think of going to London,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “We have no wish to leave you.”
Grandfather stared at her. “I have had Mr. Grumbloch make arrangements for you to stay in London. There is a comfortable flat with every convenience. The car will take you today.”
Mr. Pritchard’s face went very red. “But Father, we have only just arrived. There are things that must be discussed.”
“What things are those?”
I am sure Mr. Pritchard had not meant to rush at the subject so quickly but to lead up to it gradually, over a period of days. Now he saw there might not be another opportunity. “Mr. Grumbloch has told us that you mean to leave Stagsway to the Royal Bird Society. Surely that is foolish.”
Grandfather turned to me. “Well, my dear, what do you say? Am I being foolish?”
The Pritchards were staring at me. Though she wasn’t close enough to touch me, I could feel Mrs. Pritchard’s hand cruelly squeezing my arm. I knew the Pritchards were anxious for me to discourage Grandfather’s plan. They would surely punish me if I did not, but if I had deceived Grandfather once, I would not deceive him again. “I don’t think you are foolish at all. I think it a fine idea,” I said.
Grandfather turned to the Pritchards. “There you are. ‘A fine idea’!”
Mr. Pritchard gave me a killing look. “Valerie is a child. What does she know of such things?”
With a smile Grandfather said, “I believe the Good Book says ‘A little child shall lead them.’” He turned to me. “Your young friend Rachel, as the daughter of missionaries, would surely know that saying, would she not?”
The Pritchards went silent. Their faces were drained of color. They had no idea I had spoken of Rachel, nor did I understand why Grandfather mentioned her name now, but it had a terrible effect upon the Pritchards. They looked flattened, like two paper dolls, as if all the life had been pressed out of them.
Grandfather said, “Now I believe I will rest for a bit. As I said, Nivers will drive you to London as soon as possible.” He rang for Burker.
“You are my father,” Mr. Pritchard said. “Have you nothing more to say to me?”
“Only that should you wish to return to Africa, and I hope that you decide to do just that, I will gladly pay your fare.”
“But we have no wish to return to Africa,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “We despise it!”
“Then perhaps a little flat in London might be possible.” Grandfather turned to me. “I am sure you will miss your parents, Valerie, so I will set you a task this afternoon to keep you occupied. The leaves are beginning to fall. Look up into the bare branches and see what nests you can discover and note their shape and size and how they are constructed. Later you and I will determine what birds built them. It will make a pleasant evening for the two of us.”
The Pritchards were studying the way Grandfather spoke to me, which was kindness itself. Neither of us could hide how we had grown to care for each other. I saw the Pritchards exchange looks, and I sensed danger.
As Burker led us out, the Pritchards ordered me to follow them to their room. The moment we were alone and the door shut, Mr. Pritchard said, “Two things are plain. My father is very fond of you, and in spite of all we have done for you, you do not mean to use that fondness for our benefit. If we are to be sent away, you will come with us. Let us see how Father likes that. I daresay a few days without you will bring him to heel.”
“I won’t leave Grandfather,” I said, surprising myself with my defiance.
“He is not your grandfather, and furthermore you have nothing to say about it,” Mr. Pritchard told me. In a voice full of mockery he said, “Surely you wouldn’t disobey your dear parents?”
Mrs. Pritchard stood over me as I packed, while Mr. Pritchard sent word to Grandfather that I was to accompany them to London. Only minutes later Burker came to tell us Grandfather wished to see me. Though he had not sent for them, the Pritchards accompanied me, determined not to let me out of their sight.
Grandfather gave me so searching a look, it was all I could do to keep from blurting out the truth.
“I understand you wish to go with your parents to London,” Grandfather said.
I took a deep breath. “I would rather stay here, Sir.”
“‘Sir’? That’s a cold word. Why not ‘Grandfather,’ as you always call me?”
Now was the moment for the truth, but before I could say a word, Mr. Pritchard spoke up. “I think, Father, that you of all people would say a child should obey her parents. Disobedience, I believe, is one of the crimes of which you once accused me. We must insist on Valerie’s accompanying us. Of course, should you choose to welcome all of us here, then there would be no necessity for being parted from Valerie.”
Grandfather drew himself up. “You will never be welcome here.” With a final sad glance at me, Grandfather dismissed us.
With Burker supervising and Arthur doing the work, the car was loaded with the Pritchards’ many suitcases and trunks. As we were getting into the car, Burker put his hand out to me. “We are sorry to see you leave, Miss Valerie.” When his hand touched mine, I felt a piece of paper. As I withdrew my hand, I closed my fingers over the paper and slipped it into my pocket.
Moments later we were making our way down the drive, with its row of ancient oaks. I had decided on the truth. If I was to be taken from Grandfather anyhow, I now had no reason to hold back. I settled down and began rehearsing what I would say, only to find there were no suitable words, nor anyone to say them to. Miserable, I sank down in my seat, as far from the Pritchards as possible, and stared out of the window.
At any other time I would have been full of excitement at the thought of seeing the great city of London. Now every mile of the journey was painful, for it took me from Grandfather. The Pritchards had closed the glass window that separated us from Nivers and were making plans, talking as if I were not there.
“Any fool could see how the girl has ingratiated herself with my father,” Mr. Pritchard said. “We sent her to assist us, and she has done nothing but assist herself, worming her way into the old man’s affections.”
“He’ll come around,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “To have the girl back, he must put up with us.”
Just when I felt I could not endure another moment of breathing the same air as the Pritchards, we came to London. I had seen little of England, no more than Southampton and the country villages. When I thought of a city, I thought of Nairobi, with its two or three unpaved roads and its handful of government buildings and stores. London was hundreds of streets and thousands of houses and stores. Cars and people were everywhere. I remembered Father reading a passage from the prophet Isaiah: “Woe unto them that join house to house, that lay field to field, till there be no place, that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth!” Surely in such a city there would be no place where you could be alone. Now that I had resolved on the truth, I would have to find my way in this vast ci
ty, and there would be no one to guide me.
It was only when the Pritchards left me alone in my room, warning me not to leave it, that I was able to read the note Burker had slipped into my hand. It was from Grandfather, and folded into the paper was a pound note. I read: “If you need a friend, you must call upon Mr. Grumbloch in his chambers at Gray’s Inn Square.”
Our flat was on the ground floor. I could easily slip out the window as I once had done in Africa. I was both relieved and terrified. For months I had longed to tell the truth. But what would my punishment be? I quickly packed a suitcase, taking only what I believed I would need in a prison, for when I confessed to Mr. Grumbloch, that was surely where I would be sent. I had some idea that prisons were cold and damp, so I packed a sweater and heavy shoes and stockings; then I raised the window and climbed out into the great city.
TEN
Glad to have the suitcase to hang on to, I walked rapidly away from the flat and the Pritchards. As I hurried along, I saw how people raised their arms to hail a taxi. Taking a deep breath, I did the same. I was amazed to find that the simple gesture resulted in a taxi pulling up beside me. For a moment I forgot the difficulties ahead of me and felt the magic of my being able to bring a car to a halt. “Well, Miss,” the taxi driver said, “now you’ve got me, speak up. Where are you headed?”
I read off Mr. Grumbloch’s address.
“Gray’s Inn, eh? A beehive of barristers. I’m glad it’s you and not me that has to take up with the law. Off we go then.”
I had hoped for an opportunity to arrange my words, but in no time we drew up in front of a huddle of brick buildings.
“That’ll be a shilling and two pence.”
I handed over my pound note and received in return a large handful of shillings and some pence from the driver. I was about to get out when the driver said, “I trust the ride was satisfactory, Miss.”
“Oh, yes,” I said.
“Well, then, since you are young and appear innocent in the ways of taxis, let me instruct you. It’s customary to add a bit to the fare to show your satisfaction.”
Ashamed of my ignorance, I gave the man a shilling.
“Well, that’s handsome, Miss. Good day to you.”
I stood with my suitcase looking at the tangle of buildings. Just as the taxi driver had said, it was like a beehive with dozens of corridors and doorways. A great number of men in black suits and white shirts were hurrying by like a herd of zebras. They gave me curious glances. A man in a uniform walked toward me. At first I thought he was a policeman, and for a terrible moment I believed he was there to arrest me, forgetting that I had not as yet confessed my crime. With relief I realized he was just a uniformed porter.
“Can I help you, Miss?” he asked, a friendly smile on his face so that I was no longer afraid of him.
I read off Mr. Grumbloch’s address.
“Well, you’ve landed near port. That address is just over there. They’ll tell you how to find your man.” He noticed my suitcase. “You’re sure you wouldn’t be running away?” he asked.
“Oh, no, I have an appointment with Mr. Grumbloch.”
He gave me a doubtful look and watched as I made my way to the building he had indicated. A man there pointed to a stairway. At the head of the stairs was a door on which was painted REGINALD GRUMBLOCH, BARRISTER. Now that the doorway was before me, I hesitated. It was not courage that made me walk through the door, but fear of the suspicious porter, who I knew would still be standing there watching to see what I did.
An elderly gentleman greeted me. He appeared not at all surprised to see me and amazed me by saying, “I believe Mr. Grumbloch is expecting you, Miss Pritchard.” He led me through a room that appeared to be furnished with stacks and rolls of paper. He knocked briefly at an inner door, which he opened to reveal Mr. Grumbloch seated at a desk peering over a pile of paper so high, I could just see his eyes. I had rehearsed what I would say so many times that I had been sure I would not forget my little speech, but confronted with Mr. Grumbloch’s perpetual frown and sharp blue eyes, I could only conjure up three words: “I’m not Valerie.”
I was resolved not to give way to tears or to otherwise appeal for pity but to accept my punishment. “You can put me in prison,” I said. “I’ve brought warm clothes.”
“Well, Rachel,” he said, and I jumped to hear my name, “you had better sit down and tell me the whole story.” He pulled out a chair and took my suitcase from me.
Astounded, I managed to stutter, “Why do you call me Rachel?”
“That is your name, is it not?”
“Yes,” I whispered, “but how did you know?”
“Your grandfather and I knew almost from the beginning. He could not believe that you were the same Valerie who had sent him letters full of wheedling requests for money and whining complaints about Africa. The stories you told about Rachel were told with all the feeling of someone telling her own story. At your grandfather’s direction, I contacted the mission board. Over the years your parents had sent them pictures of Tumaini, and you were in some of the pictures. Of course the mission board was under the impression that you had perished with your parents.
“When we learned of the many deaths from influenza, we guessed what had happened to Valerie and why the Pritchards had sent you in her place. I explained to the mission board that you were well taken care of and, for the present, quite happy where you were. Was I wrong in that?”
“Oh, no. But why didn’t you and Grandfather say something?”
“I was all for sending you packing, but your grandfather was curious at first and then grew very fond of you. He believed you would tell us the truth one day. I must say I was not so sure. I am pleased to see that he was the better judge of your character.”
“I won’t go to prison?”
“Indeed not. Your grandfather’s orders are to return you to Stagsway at once, unless, of course, you wish to remain with the Pritchards.”
“I never want to see the Pritchards again, but what will I do at Stagsway?” I think I had some idea that I would be put to work in the scullery, or perhaps, I thought with a little hope, I might help Mr. Duggen. Whatever my task, how grateful I would be to return to Stagsway.
“You will do just what you have always done. You will be a companion and comfort to your grandfather.”
“But he’s not my grandfather.”
“I believe we can do something about that. Now, you had best begin at the beginning and tell me what led you to impersonate Valerie.”
I had been so anxious for so many months to tell my story, the words came pouring out: my love of Tumaini and my work there in the hospital and all the people Father cured and Mother’s school. I told about the influenza, my parents’ death, the fear of the orphanage where they had grown up, the Pritchards’ convincing me that Grandfather was near death and that I would be saving his life. I said they had tried to make me help them take over Stagsway. “I could never let them do that. Grandfather is stronger now, and I had to tell the truth.
“But Mr. Grumbloch, I don’t believe I could face Grandfather. If I’m not to go to prison, I had better be sent to the mission orphanage.”
“What, and make your grandfather miserable? No, indeed. I am a bachelor with no suitable lodgings for you, but I will phone my sister, Frieda. You can stay with her tonight. Tomorrow I will drive you back to Stagsway, but first we must face the Pritchards.”
“Oh, no,” I pleaded. “I couldn’t.”
Mr. Grumbloch’s frown returned. He had been speaking gently to me; now he made his voice very firm. “They must be apprised of your whereabouts.” He put his hand on mine. “I will be there to support you.”
I knew that I must face the Pritchards—that if I could not stand up to them, I would always think of myself as weak.
The Pritchards appeared shocked to see me. I realized that they still believed I was in my room. That I should appear with Mr. Grumbloch made no sense to them at all. They stood side by side
at the entrance to the flat, too confused to invite us in. Finally Mr. Pritchard stood aside, allowing us to walk into their sitting room.
“Valerie,” he said, “I don’t understand. What are you doing with your hat and coat on? Why is Mr. Grumbloch here? You had better go to your room. We have things to discuss with Mr. Grumbloch.”
“I believe, sir, that Rachel has something she wishes to say to you.” Mr. Grumbloch gave me a gentle push forward.
At the sound of my name the Pritchards drew close to each other, so that I had to face a solid wall of fury. “What do you mean, ‘Rachel’? That’s not her name.” There was no conviction in Mr. Pritchard’s voice.
“It was as much my fault as yours,” I said. “I’m very sorry if I have made trouble for anyone. I only meant to make Grandfather happy and escape the orphanage. After I got to Stagsway, I didn’t know how to tell the truth.”
In a weak voice Mr. Pritchard said, “She doesn’t know what she is saying.”
“She knows exactly what she is saying,” Mr. Grumbloch said. “Your father wishes me to tell you that he is very sorry for Valerie’s death. Though he didn’t know her, still she was his granddaughter and he mourns her. Further, he is in your debt for bringing Rachel into his life. Therefore he will try to do his Christian duty and forgive you. But he is not prepared to go so far as to have anything to do with you. He will give you an allowance that will allow you to live here in England if you wish, but the moment you attempt to set foot in Stagsway, or to contact him or Rachel, the allowance will be withdrawn.”
Mrs. Pritchard had gotten over her shock and was shaking with anger. “You little fool,” she spat at me. “You outsmarted us. You mean to have Stagsway and all the old man’s money for yourself.”
I felt as if she had struck me. “No,” I said. “I want nothing for myself. I only want Grandfather to be well and happy.”
Mr. Grumbloch took my hand. “I am not surprised, madam, that you would accuse Rachel of the very thing you are guilty of yourself. We are leaving now. Any further business will be done through me. Do no forget the condition of your allowance. You are not to bother your father or Rachel—not one letter, not one word.” With that we left.
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