Midnight is a Place

by Joan Aiken

  Lucas burst out laughing. He found something irresistibly comic about Mr. Gravestone's red face and red hair and blue outraged eyes.

  "All right," he said. "Send us a bill. Come, Anna-Marie."

  But a little farther on, by the swiveler, they walked into a more serious scene.

  Bludward was there in his wheelchair. His pale eyes expressionlessly took in the fact of their arrival.

  Rose Sproggs was standing in front of him, shaking her fists, and shouting, "I don't care who hears me speak! She were a good lass an' a bright lass, an' it was murder, Bob Bludward: there's no oother word for it. Tha's doon it oonce too often. I'll speak my mind if it's the last thing I do—"

  Suddenly she saw Anna-Marie and stopped, struck speechless. After a moment or two she said: "I thowt tha was dead, luv."

  "No," said Anna-Marie. "Luc—" She was unable to go on.

  Scatcherd had come up behind Rose and was facing Bludward over her shoulder. "I towd thee, Bob Bludward," he said gently, "I towd thee before—remember?—when Fred Tebbutt were found i' the dye vat—I said sooner or later tha'd leave tracks behind and then I'd get thee. Tha's gone too far now."

  "Aye, he has!" shouted Rose hysterically. "There's chaps on t'press who'll talk—"

  "Ah, howd thy hush, woman," Bludward said impatiently. He seemed quite undisturbed by these accusations. Looking at Scatcherd, he said, "Tha'll fight, then?"

  "Fight? Who said owt aboot fighting?"

  "Art scared o' fighting wi' a cripple?" Bludward said contemptuously.

  "Nay, no man calls me a coward—"

  "If tha doosn't fight I'll call thee a soft soomph. Well? Bolt guns an' stackpins?"

  "Eh—very well—if tha wants to fight—I'll not say no." Scatcherd seemed to have been shaken from the position he had established for himself. "When—an' where?"

  "Three this arternoon—oop by t'lake i' Midnight Park."

  "Fighting!" cried Rose furiously. "Isn't that men all over! Fighting! What does that get a'body?"

  "Luc," said Anna-Marie in a small voice. "Luc, I am very sorry, but I think I may be sick. Can we go home?"

  But outside the factory Anna-Marie felt a little better. They were amazed to find that it was a beautiful day—fine, and even a little warm. The sun shone. Birds sang in a startled manner. The snow dripped gently off the trees in dazzling drops.

  Near their turning point off Milestone Hill they overtook an elderly man; when they came up with him they saw that it was old Mr. Scatcherd.

  "I'm coom to see thy gran," he said. "'Tis a fine day for a ramble. Reckoned 'twas time I labored oop to put matters straight wi' her."

  "Mr. Scatcherd," said Lucas, as they went slowly on at his pace, "did you know that your son Davey is going to fight Bob Bludward in the park this afternoon?"

  "Nay, is he though?" said the old man with lively approval. "Not before time, either. How? They can hardly fight wi' clogs, seeing Bludward's a cripple."

  "No," said Lucas. He had heard about the duels, often to the death, which the men of Blastburn fought, using no weapons but the steel-tipped clogs on their feet—dancing round each other like gamecocks, hands on hips, till one of them had his legs kicked from under him.

  "Pity," said the old man, taking his pipe out of his mouth and banging it against a tree. "Davey's lightning-quick on his feet; plays goal for the Blastburn Wanderers. Reckon it'll be bolt guns, then?"

  "Yes, that was what they said."

  "That Bludward's a dead shot," the old man said, and relapsed into silence until they reached the icehouse.

  The fresh air and the walk had restored Anna-Marie to something like herself, and this was as well, for inside the icehouse they found another unexpected guest—the lawyer, Mr. Throgmorton, looking, for once, rather less than his customary neat, trim, gray, proper self.

  "I am come in answer to your letter, ma'am," he was saying. "I must confess I was surprised—greatly surprised—to find you installed here. I had believed you dead, firstly! And secondly I doubt if you have any but the barest squatters' rights to take up residence here, in Midnight Park, which as you know, has been sold."

  "We'll come to that in a minute," said Lady Murgatroyd equably. "Why, Mr. Scatcherd! The very person of all others that I could have wished to see. Do please sit down—have a stump.... Now, Mr. Throgmorton—you are acquainted with Mr. Oakapple here—and you know me. Now, we should be obliged if you would be so good as to inform us for what reason you have been withholding from Lucas Bell here—whom we both confirm to be none other than Lucas Bell—the income he should have inherited at his father's death?"

  "Why," began Mr. Throgmorton in a harassed manner, "—if the young man can prove that he is Lucas Bell—and if he can produce his father's will—I do assure you I never had the least intention of withholding anything due to him—er—an income of twenty pounds a year I believe—once a reasonable claim was established of course."

  "I am delighted to hear it. Fortunately we have the will here—together with some documents that you may not have been aware you had mislaid, Mr. Throgmorton—some receipts for payments to various persons."

  The lawyer's gray complexion paled to a greenish color; his mouth opened in dismay as he saw the papers that Lady Murgatroyd held in her hand.

  "Lucas and I will come down to your office and go through his father's accounts with you on Monday, Mr. Throgmorton," said Mr. Oakapple.

  "Yes, Mr. Oakapple—that will be quite convenient," stammered the lawyer. "Happy to see you better of your injuries, sir—happy indeed; I had not understood that you had survived the conflagration—"

  "I should probably not have survived if this boy, whom you so strangely failed to recognize, had not worked as a sewerman to pay for my treatment," said Mr. Oakapple.

  "Now, Mr. Throgmorton," said Lady Murgatroyd gently. "Just one other point. The payments made by Sir Randolph to Scatcherd, Smallside, Towzer, and Garridge. What were they for?"

  Old Mr. Scatcherd got up from his stump and hobbled forward. "Maybe 'tis for me to speak now, my lady. Dear knows, it's been a fidgety thing on my conscience for twenty-odd years. But times was hard, and I'd dunnamany mouths to feed, an' no use chooking away good brass. But if I'd properly knowed i' th' first place what it'd lead to, I'd niver, niver ha' doon it. Joost a bit o' fun, we thowt it were, when we said we'd do it."

  "What did you say you would do?" Mr. Oakapple's voice was very quiet and sad, as if he could see the answer ahead, like rocks.

  "Why, I was to supply a gurt bit o' Clutterby Pie—I was a master baker i' those days—an' Gabriel was to put it in Sir Quincy's bedroom—an' Garridge was to ride woon way through Canby Moorside, dressed like Sir Randolph—an' Smallside, he were to ride back—

  "Eh, but if I'd knowed Sir Quincy would die o' the business, an' young Mr. Denzil go off an' get drowned i' furrin parts—an' you, my lady, we heard tell as you was dead too, otherways I'd ha' blown the gaff long ago.

  "Garridge an' Towzer an' soom other chaps went on an' did anoother dirty job for Sir Randolph, trying to stop yoong Mr. Denzil sailin' off; woon o' them scuttled the boat so it would sink; but I wouldn't have owt to do wi' that; I'd had enow by then. An' they did theirselves no good; two on 'em got killed. An' Towzer's niver been the same since; his heart's gone from him."

  Old Mr. Scatcherd fell silent, staring at the fire, as if he saw a great slice of Clutterby Pie in it.

  "So you see, Mr. Throgmorton," said Lady Murgatroyd, "it is probable that the sale of Midnight Park is null and void, since Sir Randolph had obtained the estate by fraudulent means. If you received any commission on the sale, you would be well advised to return it."

  Mr. Throgmorton looked really appalled. "I very much doubt if you would be able to get other witnesses—" he began.

  "I think we could get old Monsieur Towzer," said Anna-Marie. "I am sure he is very sorry for what he did."

  "And Smallside might consent to help if he knew we had the receipts; Garridge, too—" Mr. Oakapple said. "
Of course, if it was proved that you knew of the original fraud it might be awkward for you—"

  Mr. Throgmorton had had enough. "Well, ma'am, I'll look into it, I'll look into it. I know nothing. I can promise nothing. It is a very complicated legal situation—very. I will bid you good day."

  He departed at great speed, looking, Anna-Marie said, as if somebody had hit him with a sack full of snow.

  When he was gone Lady Murgatroyd turned to old Mr. Scatcherd and said, "It was kind of you to come up, Mr. Scatcherd. I am very much obliged to you. Won't you take a bowl of soup with us?"

  "Why, thank you, my lady." The old man suddenly looked rather tired. "I won't say no. Not so stout on my pins as I reckoned. An' I want to stay on to watch t'fight."

  "Fight?" said Lady Murgatroyd. "What is that?"

  Lucas explained to her why the men were fighting and, like Rose, she sighed and said, "What good will that do?"

  "I do not at all like them fighting because of what happened to me," said Anna-Marie.

  "They would ha' fought onyway, lass, soon or late," said the old man. "Those two has always been at odds. Half the town follows yon Bludward—acos he puts 'em in fear wi' his Friendly Lads—an' the oother half's for my Davey. They even calls theirselves Bluddites an' Scatchers. So it were bahn to coom to a fight i' the end."

  Anna-Marie, who had wandered to the door, exclaimed, "Why, what a lot of people are coming into the park. And, Mr. Scatcherd, there goes your son!"

  She ran out to meet him across the thawing snow.

  "Hallo, lass," he said smiling. "Art cooming to see me fight, then?"

  "Perhaps," said Anna-Marie. "I do not much like it, though. Davey, your papa is here—do you not want to come in and see him?"

  "My dad? Here?" He was very surprised. Old Mr. Scatcherd, evidently somewhat relieved that he had got his awkward confession over before his son arrived, clapped Davey on the back and said, "Now, mind tha doos us all credit, Davey, boy. I haven't alius fought straight, but mind tha do, now. Stick 'im right i' the gizzard, we'll all be watching."

  Lady Murgatroyd said she was not going to watch any fight, but Mr. Oakapple went out with old Mr. Scatcherd. Anna-Marie and Lucas walked with Davey across the park toward the site that Bludward had chosen. The lake was in a dip, at some distance from the ruins of the house, beyond a slight ridge.

  On the ridge they turned to look at Blastburn which lay down below, damp and glittering and smoky, its chimneys black against the unwonted sunshine.

  "Aye, it's a moocky old hole," Davey said affectionately. "There's a lot wrong, but still, it's lively! It takes a howd on ye, if ye live there. Luke, lad, I want to ask thee summat."

  "Yes of course; what?" said Lucas.

  "You're a good friend, I can see that—you an' I might be friends, happen. But if yon Bludward doos me in, I hope tha'll take on the job o' seeing that he an' his mates doosn't have things all their own way i' the place."

  "You're asking me?" said Lucas, surprised. And then he said, "Yes; all right."

  "Shake hands on it," said Davey, and they shook.

  "What about me?" said Anna-Marie.

  "I doubt I don't have to ask thee!" said Davey, rumpling her hair. "Tha'rt a fighter born. I've summat to give thee, though; kind of a keepsake to pass on, ye might say."

  "Oh, what is it?"

  "My mam tells me as tha has a rare sweet voice for a lass thy age. Now, my owd gran, she come of gypsy stock, an' she taught me a way to sing wi' mouth closed, so the sound seems to come from a' round aboot. Like this." And he demonstrated.

  "Oh, it is strange!" cried Anna-Marie. "But I thank you. I am sure not one person in a hundred knows to sing so. Not even Monsieur Ookapool."

  She had several tries at it without success, and then suddenly achieved the knack. "I feel as if the sound was coming in at my ears instead of going out!"

  "That's it," said Davey, satisfied. "Just the way my gran used to do it. I wouldn't like not to have told somebody how."

  By now a large crowd had collected in the park; evidently half the town had got wind of the fight and come out to watch.

  Lucas even observed Mr. Hobday, who, catching sight of him sidled up and said, "Hey, Luke, boy, I've 'eard tell as 'ow your gran 'as a famous owd tuning fork as used to belong to Orlando Gubbins. I know a cove what would be prepared to pay thousands and thousands for that-ere fork; 'ow about it, eh? Think your gran would sell?"

  "No," said Lucas. "I'm quite certain she wouldn't. It is not even worth asking her."

  Mr. Hobday, much dashed, looked as if he intended to try more persuasion, but at this moment they saw Bludward in his chair being pushed over the snow by Newky and his fuzzy-haired brother Joe. They wheeled him to a spot about ten yards from the lake, and then Lucas noticed that Joe went round among the crowd offering odds of twenty to one against Scatcherd. But there were not many takers; Bludward, it seemed, had too high a reputation as a marksman.

  The ground for the duel was marked out: twenty-five yards. Scatcherd, with a little group of friends, stood nearer to the frozen ruins of the Court; Bludward's chair was not far from a big chestnut tree.

  The seconds carefully checked over the bolt guns. These were a kind of metal bow, wound up by a spring; they fired the stack pins, which were used to skewer labels to the big bolts of wool in the mill. They were deadly weapons because the pins, although only four inches long, were fired with such tremendous force.

  Not at all the sort of tool Mr. Oakapple would approve, Lucas thought, noticing the tutor studying one of them.

  "Right? Ready?" called the taciturn Jobson, who was organizing and umpiring the duel. "When I drop this swab, both fire!"

  He dropped the hank of wool. Everybody heard the spang of Bludward's bow, and saw Davey start as if he had been bitten; but he still stood straight, with his bow unfired. Then he began to take aim, very deliberately; Bludward, seeing this, suddenly gave his wheelchair a vigorous shove to shift it out of the line of fire. It catapulted backward down the slight slope, and out on to the frozen lake, where a number of people were standing.

  The crowd scattered—some to one side, some to another—and the chair flew along the lane thus formed. And then an awesome thing happened: jarred by the sudden pressure from the people moving all at once, the ice began to crack down the middle of the lake. A dark, widening gap appeared: Bludward's chair rolled straight into it and vanished from view.

  There were screams and shouts as the people on the sloping ice saved themselves by scrambling to the bank; but by the time anyone had thought to try and rescue the man in the wheelchair, it was too late.

  Then they heard the twang of Davey's bow.

  Anna-Marie and Lucas ran to him. He was leaning against a tree.

  "Oh, are you all right?" she cried. "Did he not hit you?"

  "Nay, lass, I'm doon for. Owd Bob got me right here." And he laid a hand on his breastbone.

  "What for didst tha not fire?" said Melkinthorpe.

  "Nay, I did. I aimed for yon chestnut tree, an' I hit it too!" said Davey grinning.

  Old Scatcherd came hobbling up. "Hang on, Davey lad—tha did well—hang on!"

  "Nay, I can't Dad. Owd Bob's fixed me proper. Give my love to Mam—an' the little 'uns. Remember what I taught thee, lass—"

  "Oh, don't die!" cried Anna-Marie.

  But he did die.

  Sam Melkinthorpe and other friends carried him home, and old Scatcherd walked alongside. The crowd slowly melted away from the park, leaving the snow blackened and trampled and thawing, with patches of green visible for the first time in weeks. Lucas walked slowly after the mourners.

  Anna-Marie spoke to nobody. She walked back to the icehouse with her lips pressed tightly together, and, once inside, sat down on the floor with her arms round Redgauntlet and cried very bitterly for a long time.

  "I don't want him to be dead," she wept.

  Her grandmother and Mr. Oakapple watched her sadly in silence.

  But, much later, she finally
sighed deeply, and sat up, and blew her nose. "Well—he id dead—like Papa and Sidi. So that is that. But it is such a waste! He was so nice. And he p-played for the Blastburn Wanderers—"

  "Yes, it is a waste," said Lady Murgatroyd.

  There was a tap at the door.

  "May I come in?" said a tall thin man, and did so. "I heard a rumor—so I thought, if it was true, that I would come to pay my respects—Why, Eulalia! It id you. What a pleasant surprise. So you have not been dead all these years?"

  "Why, Gus—good afternoon," Lady Murgatroyd said. "Let me introduce my friend Julian Oakapple. And this is my granddaughter, Anna-Marie. My cousin, Lord Holdernesse."

  Dabbing her eyes, Anna-Marie studied Lord Holdernesse and saw that there was a strong family resemblance between him and Lady Murgatroyd. They both had the same tall bony thinness and grayness. But where she looked firm, and full of thought and decision, he looked like a dreamy old scarecrow. He gazed about him absently, murmuring, "The old icehouse; yes indeed. I can remember playing hide-and-seek here with Quincy and his sister when I was eight or nine—now what was her name?"

  "So I hear you have been trying to buy Midnight Park, Gus," said Lady Murgatroyd. "I hope you weren't too upset to hear that the sale was off. I daresay you'll get your money back—if that wretched Throgmorton doesn't abscond with it. You had better watch him pretty sharply."

  "Oh?" he said vaguely. "The sale's off, is it? Why is that, Eulalia?"

  At this moment Lucas came silently in. He looked pale, but collected.

  "Why? Because Sir Randolph won the estate by a fraud."

  "A pestilent fellow; never liked him. I am not at all surprised. So to whom does it belong?"

  "Why—to us, I suppose. All of us here. Let us go and look at it."

  They walked outside, all of them, into the cool vaporous sunshine. Anna-Marie carried Bet, hugging her tightly. The smoke of Blastburn lay like a cushion on the horizon.