The Maker of Swans

by Paraic O’Donnell

  ‘No?’ says Abel. ‘Yeah, well. Maybe when the light is better, eh? Be dark soon.’

  Clara ignores him, continuing briskly through the formal garden towards the maze. It is getting dark – Abel is right about that much – and the air is veined with cold. She was far too absorbed, of course, to stop for a coat. She folds her arms about herself for warmth, pressing her sketchbook to her chest.

  In the maze, it is cooler still. It is not like entering a wood, where the sunlight is gently eroded as you pass from the edges into the shadowy heart. Here, the transition to shade is stark and immediate. There is a lulled hush, too, in the deep passageways, and even the wind seems drained from the air. Clara listens to her breath, to the quiet urgency of her own footsteps.

  From outside, she hears Abel call to his brother, his voice deadened by the great mass of the yews. ‘Hang on, mate. Cavalry’s on the way, innit.’

  Clara stops to listen for John’s answer, but he says nothing. She hopes he will have the good sense to wait for her. If he wanders off again, now that it is growing dark, he will only blunder into some more remote corner. If she is to find him and lead him out, he had better stay put.

  A sound comes from overhead, the abrupt smack and shudder of wingbeats. Looking up, she sees a barn owl cross the channel of pewtery twilight. It is plump but graceful, its underside spectrally pale. When it screeches, the sound is shrill and oddly coarse. Clara has heard it often enough, but to John Crouch it is sinister and unfamiliar. He gives a yelp of fright and begins roaring at Abel with renewed vehemence. He uses words that Clara has not even read.

  Abel shouts something back, but it is lost to the quiet depths of the maze.

  ‘Can’t hear you,’ John calls.

  In Abel’s reply, this time, Clara hears her name, and a skirl of taunting laughter.

  ‘What you saying?’ John moans. In his voice now, there is something helpless and disconsolate. He falls silent again.

  When Clara finds him, he is exactly where he was, though he has climbed down from the ladder and sprawls on the grass at its base. His head is bowed in dejection, and he stares at some bright object on the ground between his knees. Occasionally, he reaches down and fidgets with it, or wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

  Clara coughs.

  ‘Mother of Jesus,’ says John, hauling himself upright as quickly as he can manage. He stows the bright object in his pocket and stares down the dim passageway to where Clara is standing.

  ‘Is that – you’re the little girl? Claire, is it? No, hang on. Clara? Clara.’

  When his shock has subsided, she approaches him more closely, greeting him with a brief smile. On some impulse, she reaches out and squeezes his forearm. John looks at her with embarrassment.

  ‘I was just – well, I was giving the hedge a bit of a trim, and the time must have got away from me. When I looked up, it was getting dark and that.’

  Clara nods gently.

  ‘So, I was having a quick sit-down,’ John says. ‘Just to catch my breath, like. Then we was going to call it a day. I expect you heard Abel. Yeah, we was just about to head for the kitchen. See about a bite to eat.’

  Again, Clara reaches towards him, brushing the furred clump of his knuckles where they hang at his side. She passes him the folded paper, pressing it softly into his grasp.

  He unfolds it hesitantly, keeping his broad thumbs to the edges. Stretching out his arms so as to hold it clear of his own shadow, he studies the carefully rendered pattern of the maze, the thread of soft pencil leading from its centre.

  ‘A map, eh?’

  Clara nods.

  ‘And this is where I am? No, hang on. There’s a “J” and everything. I get it.’

  She offers him an encouraging smile.

  ‘Well, that’s very nice of you, miss. Very thoughtful, I’m sure. Only you didn’t have to go to no trouble.’

  Clara points back along the passageway.

  ‘Of course, if you’re leaving,’ John says, ‘I’d better keep you company. Getting dark and that.’

  Turning from him, she begins to retrace her steps, taking care not to walk too quickly. When she looks back, John Crouch is following at a small distance. He has not stopped for his ladder.

  Nine

  The flowers had come while Eustace was away. They were white roses, as always, and in no mean quantity. Two or three dozen had been arranged in a crystal vase and placed on a table in the entrance hall. Alice, it did not surprise him to learn, could give no exact account of when they had arrived.

  ‘Well, it won’t have been Sunday, of course, so I expect it was yesterday or the day before. No note or anything, and the chap who brought them didn’t have two words to say for himself. Foreign, I think he was. Are they for you, then?’

  Eustace was impatient. ‘Listen to me, Alice. Those who sent these flowers could have seen to it that they came on Sunday. They could have seen to it that each of them was borne up the avenue on its own satin cushion by a pageboy. I must know when they came, exactly when. It is of the utmost importance.’

  ‘Well, really, Mr Eustace,’ Alice said. ‘That’s all fine and well, but it’s not as if you left me with nothing to do. There have been all these preparations of yours to see to – nectarines, and such like. I’ve hardly drawn breath this last week. And if that wasn’t bad enough, each way I turn I am tripping over these new staff you have insisted on, which I don’t mind telling you—’

  ‘The roses, Alice. When did they come? The day and the hour.’

  She drew herself up, her lips crimped with indignation. ‘I’m sure I don’t know, Mr Eustace, why it is that I put up with being spoken to in this way. I could put my coat on, you know, and walk right out that door this minute.’

  ‘Do please feel free,’ said Eustace. ‘Before you leave, however, I’m sure you will do me the courtesy of acquainting me with the books of account you have kept for the kitchens. We must ensure that they are kept in good order in your absence.’

  Alice did not pursue this point any further. Deciding that it was in her interest to seem amenable, she was induced to say – even to affirm with some vehemence – that the roses had come on the morning of the day before. Eustace could see, though, that it was only to satisfy his insistence. It was clear enough, from the confusion in her answers, that her recollection was uncertain. He noticed, too, that she seemed at pains to keep some distance between them. When she spoke, she averted her face from his.

  He took a step towards her. ‘You seem much put upon, Alice. If the arrangements I have called for seem out of the ordinary, it is because the occasion calls for it. The guests we expect are men of a certain rank. They are accustomed to certain luxuries, and I will not have us found wanting. It is a matter of some importance that brings them here.’

  ‘I daresay,’ Alice replied. ‘Though you would hardly know it to look at our master.’

  Eustace allowed a moment to pass in silence, then stooped towards her ear. ‘As for our master’s business,’ he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper, ‘you will, God knows, have little enough to do with it, but if you cannot be called upon, while it is being conducted, to do as you are asked, if you cannot keep your nose out of the bottle and wits enough about you to tell one day of the week from another, then you will not, I assure you, ever again be troubled by his appearance. Is all that plain to you? I have not burdened you with too much?’

  Her face was bunched and mottled, but she managed to govern herself. She gave a prim nod, her eyes fixed on the staircase behind his head.

  ‘I’m afraid I would have you answer yes or no,’ he said. ‘I wish to avoid any further confusion. Is that plain, Alice?’ He drew back to have her look him in the eye. Her voice, when she answered, was kept small and grudging.

  ‘Yes, Mr Eustace. Quite plain.’

  ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Now, I am going to see Mr Crowe. If it does not tax you beyond endurance, perhaps you would be kind enough to ask the Crouch brothers to wait for me in m
y office. You need not bother, at least, about telling one from the other. I wish to speak to them both.’

  Eustace had the leisure, as he followed the sluggish progress of the ball, to inspect the job the Crouch brothers had made of mowing the croquet lawn. The best that could be said of it was that the hoops were no longer entirely hidden by the grass. They had gone about the pretence of gardening with more energy than he had intended.

  He raised his foot and lowered it again, trapping the ball beneath it with a soft tap. Mr Crowe looked up. He had been hunched over Arabella, the better to guide her application of the mallet, though the resulting shot seemed to benefit little from his intervention.

  ‘Eustace,’ he said. ‘Thank God you are back. Look what those navvies of yours have done to the croquet lawn. One might just as well play on a field of barley stubble.’

  Eustace glanced at the champagne bottle that listed in an ice bucket at the far edge of the lawn. ‘I do see,’ he said, ‘how it might be found unsatisfactory by players of your ability. I shall give it my attention, I assure you, when the present matter is behind us.’

  Mr Crowe brought himself upright and leaned on his mallet. ‘The present matter?’ he said.

  Eustace approached them, tossing a single white rose so that it landed with gentle ceremony at their feet. Mr Crowe regarded it bleakly for a long moment before crushing it, with some thoroughness, under his boot.

  Arabella was amused. ‘I must remember that you dislike roses.’

  ‘I have a garden full of roses,’ Mr Crowe replied. ‘Should I be delighted that someone has sent me more?’

  ‘I suppose it depends,’ Arabella said, ‘on who it is that sends them. Was it some secret admirer?’

  ‘It was a gentleman of Mr Crowe’s acquaintance,’ Eustace said. ‘You will have the opportunity of meeting him.’

  ‘How soon?’ said Mr Crowe.

  ‘I cannot be certain,’ Eustace replied. ‘A day. Two days, perhaps. Alice cannot recall the day on which they arrived. I don’t suppose that you or Miss Arabella …?’

  Mr Crowe waved the notion away. ‘We have been much occupied.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Eustace. ‘I would not usually think of asking. And I am afraid I have another unusual request. I must take the liberty, in fact, of asking a small favour of Miss Arabella. If it were not a matter that requires a lady’s judgement, I would attend to it myself.’

  Mr Crowe had begun to issue some rumbling protest, but Arabella cut him short. ‘I’d be delighted to help,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter, Eustace? Are you in love?’

  ‘We shall be entertaining them, the visitors we have spoken of. It will be an affair of some formality.’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid I’m no good at that sort of thing,’ said Arabella. ‘Choosing menus and so on. It’s one of the many gaps in my education.’

  ‘It is nothing of that kind. The child, Clara – she will need something suitable to wear. Something—’

  Arabella laid her hand on his arm as he sought the word. ‘I understand perfectly,’ she said. ‘It will give me a way of making amends. I’m afraid a certain someone has been teasing the poor child horribly.’

  Eustace tensed briefly at this. ‘Clara does not spend a great deal of time in adult company,’ he said. ‘She does not much concern herself with fine gowns and ribbons. She prefers to dress for the outdoors, and somewhat in her own manner. It is something I confess I have rather indulged.’

  ‘She does seem quite the little eccentric,’ said Arabella. ‘But terribly pretty. In the right frock, she’d be perfectly adorable.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Eustace. ‘But she has never wished, as far as I can tell, to play at being a princess. Whatever you devise for her – and I do not doubt the delicacy of your tastes in these matters – do not make her unrecognisable to herself. Her nature makes her susceptible to such things, and I would not have her made unhappy.’

  Mr Crowe emptied a champagne glass with an indelicate gulp. ‘Listen to yourself, Eustace,’ he said. ‘Little girls enjoy dressing up, man. And Arabella knows her way in and out of a nice frock, I can assure you.’

  ‘Alice will help you to find her,’ Eustace continued, addressing Arabella. ‘Tell her that it is something I have asked you to do, for she may well be reluctant – and that she must make haste, that we all must.’

  Arabella glanced at Mr Crowe before turning back to him. ‘You wanted me to do this right away?’

  Eustace inclined his head. ‘I would be very grateful indeed. You will find Alice in the region of the kitchen, if she has not encountered some new difficulty since I left her. There are certain related matters, in any case, that I must discuss with Mr Crowe.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Arabella. Before proceeding towards the house, she stooped to retrieve the disfigured rose from the grass at her feet, raising it to her face to savour what remained of its scent. A bruised petal, its whiteness unrecognisable, detached itself and tumbled gently to the ground.

  ‘Perhaps something in white,’ she said, rising to leave. ‘Yes, I’m sure white is her colour.’

  The Crouch brothers had made themselves comfortable while they waited. John was seated at a small round table, toying with the elaborate device at its centre. Abel slouched at the window.

  ‘You will find it difficult,’ said Eustace as he entered, ‘to replace that item from the fee I am paying you. You would be well advised to treat it with care.’

  John lumbered to his feet. ‘I was only saying to Abel,’ he said, ‘how it was a nice little piece. I come by antiques now and then, so I take an interest. What do you call it, then?’

  Eustace examined John’s features as he took his seat. ‘I was not aware,’ he said, ‘of these scholarly interests of yours. It is called an orrery. It demonstrates the motions of the planets.’

  ‘Funny name for it. It don’t look horrory,’ said John. ‘It’s fascinating, really. The stars and that.’

  Eustace contemplated him frankly for a moment. ‘The device is named for the Earl of Orrery, who commissioned it. This one was not his, but it is by the same instrument maker, a Mr John Rowley. Of course, you may know all this, given your interest in such things.’

  John nodded. ‘You must have piles of this stuff.’

  ‘Myself, no,’ said Eustace. ‘Mr Crowe is the great collector. This was a gift from him, in recognition of an early service of mine.’

  ‘You must have done something right.’

  Eustace used his cuff to rub a smear from the orb representing the sun, then gently pushed the Earth a little way along its orbit. ‘You yourselves have been busy in my absence, I see. The croquet lawn is now visible, which is a great relief to us all. And the parterre has taken on a pleasingly abstract character.’

  Abel chose this moment to interject, shoving himself upright and pacing towards the middle of the room. ‘Most of what we been doing ain’t quite so visible.’

  ‘Naturally not,’ said Eustace. ‘And it is those arrangements I am most interested in. As for your labours in the garden, let us maintain the pretence, at least. If someone is passing, by all means clip something. You need no longer trouble yourselves with the work itself. I will see to it that someone else is engaged.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ said Abel. ‘We never made out like we was Capability Brown. We need to have a word, though. About those other arrangements.’

  Eustace leaned back in his chair. He made a slight gesture towards the other side of the desk. The brothers took their places, and Abel leaned across the desk.

  ‘Those other tools,’ he said. ‘The heavy equipment. It’s all here.’

  ‘Where, exactly?’

  ‘One of the outhouses.’

  ‘A locked outhouse?’

  ‘Of course, locked. But it’s all in this outhouse. My point being,’ Abel went on, ‘there’s nothing in the house, which obviously we was thinking of safety. Children about the place and what-have-you. All the same, it means they ain’t exactly within easy reach
, if the need arises.’

  ‘Most of it may stay where it is for now,’ Eustace said. ‘But you are right, it would be prudent to keep a small number of items in the house. I will show you a place.’

  Abel nodded. ‘Smaller items, I’m assuming.’

  ‘Just so. And you have something, I imagine, that may be kept about one’s person without arousing suspicion?’

  ‘One or two things. This is my person we’re talking about?’

  Eustace nodded. ‘When our guests arrive, you will be introduced in some domestic capacity that allows you to be much in attendance.’

  ‘A butler or whatever.’

  Eustace scrutinised him frankly. ‘As it is, you will persuade no one that you have been long in service. Do not take it amiss, but we shall have to give you some instruction.’

  Abel shrugged. ‘My feelings ain’t hurt. What about him?’

  ‘We need another man to keep watch over the grounds, to observe anyone that might come or go. There will be certain tradesmen, deliveries to the kitchen and so on. I will have Alice make a list of these, but you must treat others with suspicion. John will have access to the larger items, should they be needed. You may also be called on if we should need to prevent our guests from leaving, if for some reason they are reluctant to depart empty-handed.’

  John brought his stout fingertips together in a gesture of ease and assurance. ‘Just say the word,’ he said, ‘and they won’t depart at all.’

  Eustace toyed with one of the outer planets. ‘Let us be vigilant,’ he said. ‘But let us not be too eager to use force. Our business may well be concluded with civility. If you are to stand guard outside, we shall need a signal of some kind, some means of letting you know that matters have deteriorated beyond remedy. It is something to which I must give some thought.’

  He fell silent for a while. Abel occupied himself by trimming his fingernails, snipping fastidiously at each one until he judged its curve acceptable. John nudged his thigh with the heel of a boot.