Darkwater

by Dorothy Eden

  ‘Your cousin Fanny,’ he said, prompting the children, who reluctantly held out limp cold hands to be shaken.

  The little girl spoke for the first time.

  ‘Are we going to live with you?’

  The unmistakably hostile and perfectly contained voice abruptly brought Fanny to a realisation of what she had let happen to herself. In a moment of emotion and pity and sympathy she had sacrificed her chances of happiness, happiness which for her lay only in living an independent and worthwhile life. She had gone down on her knees on a dusty smutty railway station and promised two strange children that they would be safe with her.

  She never broke promises. She would particularly never break one made to a trusting child. But in the close confines of the cab the strange atmosphere of lostness and danger that had seemed to hang over the children had vanished, and they were just two children like any others, the girl with her cool hostile gaze, the boy not much more than a baby, his nose needing attention, his eyelids beginning to droop.

  They would have been all right at Darkwater, with Hannah and Dora, and the little alien-faced amah who as yet had not said a word.

  But now she had promised, and already they, or the girl at least, odd little precocious creature, was looking to her for reassurance. And anyway this interfering Adam Marsh obviously meant to stay until the moment the train left, with them all safely aboard. It wasn’t any business of his. He was exceeding his duties. But one had to suppose he meant well.

  Fanny’s resentment against the children encompassed him, too. Did he think she looked the kind of person who would be content with living in the background all her life?

  But how could he know she did that? She was the niece of a wealthy man. He probably saw her living a leisured and pampered life. Uncle Edgar had always meant outsiders to see just that.

  Fanny impatiently loosened the fastenings of her fur-trimmed cape. It was hot in the cab. She could feel her cheeks flushed. And she was acutely aware that Adam Marsh was still subjecting her to his thoughtful scrutiny, as Nolly said again, patiently, ‘Are we to live with you, Cousin Fanny?’

  ‘With your uncle and aunt, and your cousins Amelia and George—yes, and me, too,’ she answered meticulously.

  ‘And her?’ She pointed to Hannah.

  ‘Yes, Hannah, and the other servants.’

  ‘It sounds a great many people,’ said Nolly, with her lack of expression. ‘I don’t think Marcus will care for that. He’s shy.’ And suddenly she flung round on the Chinese woman and began a flood of words in a strange language.

  The woman replied sharply. The staccato exchange was over in a moment. Fanny noticed, with some bewilderment, that the amah’s bright slit-eyes had gone over Nolly’s head to Adam Marsh’s almost as if in supplication. She murmured something more, and he nodded, as if he understood.

  ‘What are you saying? What is everyone saying?’

  Adam replied quietly, ‘I think Nolly was begging to be taken back to Shanghai, and of course Ching Mei explained that was quite impossible.’

  ‘Do you speak Chinese?’

  ‘A little. I had a trip to the Far East when I was a boy.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Fanny, satisfied. ‘So that’s why you were chosen to meet the ship today. That was very sensible of the shipping company. It must have made everyone feel much more at home. It’s very kind of you to take this personal interest, Mr Marsh.’

  ‘I think I haven’t mentioned Ching Mei to you, Miss Davenport. She has made a great sacrifice in leaving her country to bring the children safely here. It appears she promised their mother to do this. But you can understand it was a tremendous enterprise for someone who hasn’t travelled before and who speaks little English.’

  Fanny was too warm-hearted to let her own disappointments obsess her. She turned sympathetically to the amah in her high-necked black smock and impulsively touched one of the wrinkled yellow hands folded so quietly.

  ‘You will be taken care of, too, Ching Mei. My uncle is very kindhearted and generous.’

  The slit eyes in the little alien face stared back uncomprehendingly.

  ‘She won’t understand you,’ said Adam Marsh. ‘But may I say to you, Miss Davenport, that if your uncle could find the opportunity to send her home when the children are settled, it would be a great kindness.’

  That was nothing to do with Adam Marsh, either. Uncle Edgar might decide that the cost of an old Chinese woman’s return to her country was too high. But Fanny found herself nodding, and in her high unfamiliar voice, Ching Mei suddenly said, ‘Velly kind.’

  The cab was trundling through the dusty narrow streets that led to Paddington Railway station. In a few more minutes they would be there. If they could find an empty compartment the children could be bedded down on the seats and persuaded to sleep. Because she hadn’t expected to make the long journey home, Fanny was now dreading it.

  For no reason at all she was thinking of the sapphire pendant locked in her jewel box. She had purposely left it behind, disclaiming possession of it. Now she would have to wear it to Amelia’s ball. It would mark her again as one of the family, and this seemed to her to be co-operating in a lie. She was no more one of the family than these children would ever be.

  She realised she had never given a thought to the fact that their skin was as white as her own. She didn’t think it would have worried her if it hadn’t been, but at least Amelia would be profoundly relieved.

  Mr Marsh had found them an empty compartment only one carriage from the dining car. He was efficient to the end. He helped them all aboard. Ching Mei, her bland wrinkled face showing no expression, though this must be one more tremendous ordeal for her, came last. Fanny helped Hannah settle the children then emerged into the corridor to see her lifting an intent face to Adam Marsh. He had just finished saying something to her. She gave the briefest nod, then with her neat silent movements, she left him, and he looked up to see Fanny.

  ‘What were you saying to Ching Mei?’

  He smiled very faintly.

  ‘You’re observant, Miss Davenport.’

  ‘Perhaps. These people are in my charge now. Your duties are ended. There was no need for final instructions.’

  He smiled more broadly.

  ‘The final instructions you assume were merely reassurance. Don’t you realise that poor little creature is scared out of her wits.’

  ‘I don’t see what is so terrifying about Hannah and me,’ Fanny said coldly. ‘Why wasn’t she afraid of you, too? Was that because you spoke in her language?’

  ‘She isn’t afraid of you, Miss Davenport, but of this great monster.’ He indicated the noisily steaming engine. ‘Of the travelling, the strange language, the future.’

  ‘You are very concerned about an old Chinese woman. Why not the children? Everything is strange to them, too.’

  She felt his eyes dwelling with their serious intent regard on her face.

  ‘The children will have a future. They will have you.’

  ‘You have certainly summed up the situation in a very short time, Mr Marsh.’

  He was too observant. He had caught the asperity, or perhaps the undercurrent of grievance in her voice.

  ‘You speak as if the situation isn’t entirely to your liking.’

  Fanny lifted her chin. The momentary impulse to confide in him had been so strong and so surprising that she had to speak sharply.

  ‘As far as it is in my power to make them so, the children will be happy. You have no need to feel so concerned for people who have crossed your path so briefly, and only as a matter of business.’

  He completely ignored her rebuke. He said softly, ‘I think you could make anyone happy, Miss Fanny.’

  To her confusion the colour flew into Fanny’s cheeks. She had been right in her first opinion. This young man exceeded his duties in the most extraordinary way. He assumed a too proprietory attitude towards a strange family and now calmly called her by her first name. This apart from the intimacy of his remark.
And yet…

  ‘I think the porter is about to blow his whistle, Mr Marsh. Isn’t it time you stepped off the train?’

  ‘In a moment. Perhaps we will meet again one day.’

  ‘I should think it quite unlikely.’

  ‘Our meeting today was unlikely. Who knows? I have a great liking for the Devonshire moors.’

  With this remark he did step off the train. Fanny backed away to return to the compartment and the children, one of whom she could hear crying. But for a moment she was held, not quite understanding her upsurge of hope.

  Perhaps there was to be something in her life, after all.

  Because a shipping clerk, someone Aunt Louisa would call a mere nobody, had expressed a liking for the moors?

  But then, if she were ever to marry, she couldn’t expect a husband who was anything but a mere nobody. Unless, of course, he was someone swept off his feet by her beauty and tenderness, to the exclusion of all other considerations…

  Mr Adam Marsh, standing on the railway platform looking up at her so intently, did give a vague impression that this might have happened to him.

  Fanny’s heart was beating uncontrollably faster. Then suddenly, folding the expensive material of her cloak around her, she realised that she looked what she was not, a rich young woman. Certainly rich by the shipping clerk’s standards.

  He was calling something to her.

  ‘Remember—’

  The steam was hissing noisily from the engine. She leaned forward.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Remember me when we meet again.’

  The words made their own beautiful shape in the confusion of sounds. Then a cloud of smoke enveloped the platform and when it cleared the whistle had sounded and the train was moving out. It was no longer possible to see the expression in Adam Marsh’s face. He stood, a tall figure, raising his hand in farewell. He grew smaller and smaller as the distance lengthened, and Hannah was at Fanny’s side saying crossly, ‘Miss Fanny, come in, do. All that dirty smoke over your good clothes. And if you ask me, that young man had a great deal too much to say for someone in his position.’

  This was all true. But for once Fanny was going to be illogical.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. He talked the greatest sense. Where would we have been without him?’

  ‘Where we are now, of course,’ Hannah retorted acidly. ‘And with the boy crying his head off, and that Chinese sitting like a foreign image, I declare I don’t know how this journey is to be got over.’

  (‘I almost think, Hannah—I almost think I have fallen in love.’) Fanny pressed her lips together, keeping back the impulsive confession. But she couldn’t repress the flush in her cheeks, or her surge of gaiety. Now she was glad to be going back to Darkwater. Because if Adam Marsh liked moors he would make a point of spending time on them when he had the opportunity. He was certainly a young man who made his own opportunities. His company would have a ship sailing from Plymouth, perhaps, and he would break his journey down there to make a call at Darkwater to see how the passengers in whom he had taken such an interest were settling down.

  Or he would invent some other reason. She had no doubt as to his versatility. And now his interest in the children and the Chinese amah no longer puzzled her. It had developed, of course, immediately after he had set eyes on her.

  ‘Miss Fanny—’

  ‘I’m coming, Hannah. Why are you worrying?’ Fanny’s voice was gay. ‘We are going to have a completely pleasant journey.’

  The children were sitting bolt upright. Nolly had refused to lie down, it seemed, so Marcus had done the same, a habit of imitation that Fanny suspected was frequent. There were tears still on his cheeks, and his large smoky blue eyes were woebegone.

  Nolly, however, showed no distress. She sat primly, her feet in their shiny buttoned boots crossed, her hands clasped in her lap. She had something of the composure of the elderly amah, a discipline learned far too young, and hiding, Fanny guessed, a smouldering volcano. The black eyes stared with an unchild-like challenge. Small wonder that Marcus was dominated by a sister like this.

  ‘They’re not like children at all,’ Hannah said in an undertone to Fanny.

  ‘Oh, I think they are,’ said Fanny. ‘I expect they won’t go to sleep because they’re hungry. Unpack that hamper, Hannah, and let us have some lunch. Then everybody’s temper will be better.’

  This, however, was not a complete success. Marcus would have nothing more than a mug of milk, and his sister began a chicken sandwich which presently she laid down with the polite remark that she didn’t care for the taste of it. Hannah’s lips tightened, but Fanny merely said pleasantly, ‘Then try one of these biscuits. I assure you they’re very good.’

  Nolly stared.

  ‘Doesn’t Marcus need to eat his sandwich either?’

  ‘Train journeys,’ said Fanny, ‘are occasions when one isn’t forced to eat anything one doesn’t like. Naturally it is different at home. But we’re not at home yet, are we.’

  ‘Home?’ echoed Marcus hopefully.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said his sister. ‘We’re never going home again. You know that Mamma and Papa have gone to heaven and we have no home.’

  ‘And that,’ said Fanny, ‘is something I never want to hear said again. Hannah and I have travelled hundreds of miles to get you and take you home. What a stupid little girl you are. Now will you please ask Ching Mei to have another sandwich.’

  Nolly stared with her disconcerting unflickering gaze. She had a small slightly turned-up nose. Her mouth was soft and childlike. Dark ringlets hung beneath her bonnet. She was only a baby, one realised, if one could ignore her alarming composure.

  ‘I don’t think we care for you, Cousin Fanny.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Do you care for us?’

  ‘Not immoderately at this moment.’

  ‘Then we have no friends.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Fanny exasperatedly. ‘I’m your friend. So is Hannah. So is your Cousin Amelia and Aunt Louisa and Uncle Edgar.’ She spoke firmly, making her words persuasive. But Nolly was staring at her, disbelieving. Perhaps afraid to believe.

  ‘It’s true,’ said Fanny. ‘And now will you please do as I ask. Pass Ching Mei a sandwich.’

  The Chinese woman spoke suddenly in her high voice. Nolly pouted, then grudgingly did as Fanny had bidden her.

  ‘There’s going to be trouble with that one,’ Hannah whispered to Fanny. ‘You can’t have her only taking orders from the Chinese woman.’

  ‘From Ching Mei, Hannah. She has a name. And Nolly’s accustomed to obeying her. She’ll learn to obey us, too.’

  ‘There’ll be tantrums,’ said Hannah darkly. ‘Perhaps worse than yours used to be, Miss Fanny.’

  ‘One only needs to have understanding,’ Fanny said.

  For she knew—Nolly was herself. Uprooted, unhappy, resentful, bewildered, impelled to fight dragons she couldn’t see…The little girl pulled at her heart already.

  Her own rebellion was dead. Or perhaps it was merely taking a different form. From now on she was to be the champion of these two orphans, and do her best to make them happy in an unwelcoming household. That was to be her purpose in life. That, and perhaps the visit of Adam Marsh to the moors…

  ‘I don’t know what’s happened to you, Miss Fanny,’ Hannah muttered. ‘You’re talking like an old woman. And you’re flushed, as if you have a fever. Do you feel quite well?’

  ‘I’ve never felt so well,’ said Fanny, with truth.

  5

  LETTERS ARRIVED FOR EDGAR Davenport late that afternoon. One bore a foreign postmark, one came from London.

  Edgar recognised the handwriting on each. He opened the one with the Chinese postmark first. He believed in facing bad news quickly.’

  It was, as he had suspected, from Hamish Barlow, the attorney who had first written to him about Oliver’s death and the trust imposed in him regarding the two children. He fully exp
ected it to contain a list of his brother’s debts. This was not the case. Although the debts undoubtedly existed, Mr Hamish Barlow was, surprisingly enough, going to acquaint Edgar personally with them.

  By the time you receive this letter I shall be on my way to England. I have a passage on the tea clipper, the Verity, which, all being well, expects to make the journey in something like twelve weeks. So you may think of expecting me about the end of August or early in September. I have various business affairs to attend to, but I will not deceive you that the journey is being made chiefly in regard to settling your brother’s estate. It has aspects which I would prefer to acquaint you with by word of mouth.

  Also, I made a promise to your brother and his charming wife, now so tragically gone from us, that I would satisfy myself as to the safe arrival of the children who should be with you on receipt of this.

  I sincerely trust they completed their journey without mishap. The Chinese woman, Ching Mei, is of the highest integrity, and intelligence.

  I am looking forward, my dear Mr Davenport, to making your acquaintance, and this I propose to do as speedily as possible after my arrival in London. I shall inform you when this event takes place.

  ‘H’mm,’ Edgar muttered, throwing the letter down.

  He opened the other one. It was from his stockbroker. It informed him that much to the writer’s regret it looked as if the Maxim Banking Company, an enterprise in which Edgar had invested a substantial sum of money, was, contrary to paying a dividend, likely to show a loss on the year’s trading. The writer recommended salvaging as much money as possible at once, as he foresaw panic among the shareholders.

  ‘I am sorry to say I predict your loss will be as much as seventy-five per cent, or even more,’ the letter concluded.

  Upstairs, Louisa Davenport was dressing for dinner. Since Hannah was not yet back from London, Dora, the new maid, was called in to help. She was slow and clumsy and terribly nervous. Louisa had little patience with inexperience. She increased the girl’s confusion by ordering her to do too many things.