by Dorothy Eden
‘Come inside,’ said Fanny uneasily. ‘The hot sun—’
‘Yes, yes, I’m coming. When I stop getting these nightmares I’ll be all right. You’ll have patience, won’t you, Fanny.’ ‘Of course,’ Fanny promised. What else was there to say?
In Lady Arabella’s room, with the curtains drawn against the sun because Lady Arabella loved this warm underwater gloom, Nolly stood staring with fascination at the empty birdcage.
Marcus was contentedly stuffing sweetmeats into his mouth, but Nolly held hers untouched in her hand.
‘Where is the bird?’ she demanded passionately.
‘It died, my little darling. I told you. It was ninety-five years old, I believe. And so bad tempered. Although I was dreadfully upset, I was also a little relieved to find it lying in the bottom of the cage one morning. Fanny, these children are charming. The boy’s a poppet, but this one, the questions—’
Lady Arabella shook her head pleasurably. ‘Oh, I shall have some times with her. Look at those bright eyes. They’re going to miss nothing.’
‘You’ve been telling me a lie,’ Nolly said, turning on her. ‘The bird didn’t die in its cage. It was in the chimney.’
Lady Arabella blinked and stared.
‘Oh, no, little love. You’re talking about the white bird that struggles and struggles and can’t get out. Not my scruffy old Boney. He was here, sure enough. He wouldn’t have been up and down chimneys. Had too much sense. No, that was the white—’
‘Great-aunt Arabella!’ Fanny interrupted sharply. ‘Don’t!’
‘Don’t!’ The heavy-lidded eyes looked at Fanny in amazement. ‘You suggest I can’t tell the child a story?’
‘Not that one.’
‘Because the bird fell down the chimney this morning,’ Nolly said flatly. ‘Dora carried it away on a shovel.’
Lady Arabella leaned forward, her cheeks pink.
‘No! The white one? In your room? But what does that mean?’
‘It was a starling,’ Fanny said. ‘It was black. Dora poked it down when she was trying to light the fire. It must have been caught there during the winter. It doesn’t mean a thing. And I do wish you wouldn’t tell the children these things.’
‘So why shouldn’t I tell them stories. I told you plenty when you were this size, didn’t I? And you enjoyed them. You wanted more. Besides, what is this? Are you making the rules in this house now?’
‘Of course I’m not, Great-aunt. But already Nolly—’
Fanny looked at Lady Arabella’s flushed hurt face and wondered what was the use. The old Lady was so vain about her story-telling, she would never be stopped. And now the seeds of fear were planted in Nolly. She was brooding over an empty birdcage and imagining she heard things in the night.
But the sounds she had heard in the night had come before she had heard that tiresome eerie legend…
‘Couldn’t they play with Ludwig?’ Fanny suggested.
‘Ludwig! At his age! What does he care for romping with children? He creaks with rheumatism, the same as I do. But I have it!’ Lady Arabella suddenly clapped her little plump hands. ‘We’ll have a game of hide the thimble. Now that’s something we can all play. Who shall go first? Marcus, of course. He’s the smallest. And we girls go into the bedroom while he finds a hiding place. You understand, dear?’ The old lady had put a silver thimble into Marcus’s sticky hand. ‘Dear, dear, covered in sugar already. We shall be very clever and follow your trail. Now I will tell you a secret. Everyone looks under the clock, but nobody in my workbasket. Call when you’re ready. Be quick.’
Beginning to smile, Marcus looked round the room slyly. It was clever of Lady Arabella to think of something he could do in which Nolly didn’t take the lead. There was no doubt, she could be like an enormous child herself, and throw herself with gusto into any game. This one, at least, seemed to have no pitfalls or sudden shocks.
Nolly was a little put out at not being the one chosen first to hide the thimble, but when Marcus called, she forgot to sulk and rushed eagerly into the room.
It was such a cluttered room, it was almost impossible to find anything that was well hidden. Cushions were tossed about, table-cloths lifted, vases tipped upside down. Nolly had emptied Lady Arabella’s hairpin box, disclosing a fascinating collection of buttons, pieces of false hair, pins, and unstrung beads. Lady Arabella was convinced that Ludwig, much discomposed in his demeanour, was sitting on the thimble, and had Marcus in shrieks of laughter at her antics. Nolly was lifting rugs and shaking the curtains.
‘He’s too clever, your little brother,’ Lady Arabella wheezed. ‘He’s a magician, I believe. Now where is this thimble spirited to? How am I to do my sewing this evening?’ She bustled about, looking in the same place twice, getting on her hands and knees to peer under the sofa and chairs.
‘It’s higher,’ Marcus choked. ‘It’s not on the floor, Great-aunt Arabella.’
‘Then it is on a table. Or on the bureau. Or the mantelpiece. Fanny, what are you doing? Put that down!’
Fanny stood still in surprise, the pincushion in her hands. She had thought the padded top lifted off to disclose perhaps a small workbox. But the change from glee to sharp command in Lady Arabella’s voice immobilised her.
‘It’s full of pins, you’ll only prick yourself.’ Lady Arabella watched until Fanny, somewhat bewilderedly, put the pincushion back on the little table in the corner. Then she said in a changed, tired voice, ‘Well, Marcus, you’ve been too clever for us. We give in. Where is the hiding place?’
‘Here it is, Great-aunt Arabella!’ the little boy cried triumphantly, taking it out of the pocket of his jacket.
‘You cheated, you cheated!’ Nolly shouted. ‘You’re not allowed to hide it on yourself. Is he, Great-aunt Arabella?’
‘He’s very little,’ said the old lady. ‘And suddenly I am very tired. Come and see me again tomorrow. Now be off with you!’
In the morning, when the mail had been brought up from the village post office, as it was each day, Uncle Edgar sent for Fanny to come and see him in the library.
He had a letter in his hands. He looked puzzled and, Fanny thought, perturbed.
‘Fanny, this young man who escorted the children from Tilbury—what did you say his name was?’
Fanny’s heart gave a paralysing leap. Had Adam written to say he was coming to the moors? Written to Uncle Edgar himself? Or perhaps to enquire after the children and Ching Mei?
‘It was Adam Marsh, Uncle Edgar.’
‘And he was a perfectly respectable type of person?’
‘Yes, indeed he was. I could swear to that, and so could Hannah. Why, what has happened?’
Uncle Edgar tapped the letter.
‘Because the shipping company writes to apologise deeply for their man failing to contact the children. He reported that there was no sign of them, and that he had made a fruitless journey.’
‘But that couldn’t be so! Why, Mr Marsh seemed to know about them—he even—’ Good heavens, Fanny thought in horror, he had even accepted her guinea!
‘Then he’s an imposter.’
‘An imposter? How could that be?’
‘Why could it be? That’s what I’d like answered. What was that young man up to?’
8
THE MYSTERY ABOUT ADAM Marsh remained unsolved. Of course he had not given her any address, Fanny said indignantly in answer to Uncle Edgar’s questions. Ching Mei could give no information in her limited English except that the man had been there and offered his help. ‘Him velly kind,’ she said simply, her flat yellow face expressionless. It was impossible to tell whether she was puzzled by a complete stranger’s action, or whether she just didn’t understand what was being explained to her. Yet Fanny found herself remembering Adam Marsh pausing to have that last word with Ching Mei. Had it been as innocent as it had seemed?
‘He spoke Chinese,’ she said involuntarily, and Uncle Edgar looked at her sharply.
‘You didn’t tell me that before.�
��
‘I just remembered.’
Nolly and Marcus were also questioned.
Nolly said in her dispassionate voice, ‘We liked him. Marcus liked him.’
Marcus, prodded into speaking, merely repeated in his parrot-fashion what his sister had said, ‘We liked him,’ clearly without having the faintest idea who was being discussed.
‘Is he coming to see us?’ Nolly asked presently.
‘Not that I am aware of,’ said Uncle Edgar. ‘Although now I begin to wonder. Perhaps this mysterious gentleman will turn up.’
Fanny tried to keep her face as expressionless as Ching Mei’s. She knew the attempt was useless. Her mouth, her eyes, always treacherously showed her feelings.
Adam Marsh had said he loved the moors—not that the moors might be his excuse for coming to see the family from China again.
It was the children he had been interested in, not her at all. How could she keep the devastation of that discovery out of her eyes?
The Chinese windbells had been hung in the pavilion by the lake, and their delicate tinkling seemed the voice of the summer days. For one whole week the sun shone.
Then the wind changed, and the mist rolled up again. But not until the evening. In the afternoon they had their first picnic of the summer by the lake. Uncle Edgar had suggested it at breakfast. The Hadlows from Grange Park were coming to tea, and since it was such a fine day surely they would prefer a picnic to stuffing indoors.
His eyes twinkling with heavy roguishness, he added that Amelia would surely like the opportunity to take Robert for a walk through the woods.
Amelia coloured indignantly.
‘Papa, he’s only a schoolboy!’
‘Three months younger than you, to be exact. I grant you a young man hasn’t the advantage of springing his grown-up personality on the world, simply by the trick of putting his hair up. But he’ll age, my dear, he’ll age.’
Amelia pouted, but kept her next thoughts silent. At least Robert was too young to interest Fanny. In the past, young men had shown an infuriating tendency to desert her side for Fanny’s, and Fanny had blatantly encouraged them, her eyes shining wickedly. She didn’t care two figs for them, yet she thoroughly enjoyed wielding her power over them.
Now that she was grown-up, Amelia thought, tossing her curls, she would prove that she was a match for Fanny. There was this mysterious Adam Marsh, for instance, and the way Fanny had been looking so distrait ever since her trip to London. If that gentleman turned up, as Papa seemed to think he might, she intended to flirt outrageously with him, perhaps even fall in love with him, since he must be quite attractive. She intended to have her own back on Miss Fanny.
Then there was to be Mr Hamish Barlow, the attorney, arriving from Shanghai. He would be here at the time of her ball. One hoped he also would be attractive and interesting, with the glamour of foreign places on him. And he must be a bachelor. It wouldn’t do at all if he had a wife. Altogether, Amelia reflected pleasurably, it was to be an exciting summer. She might even be coquettish with Robert Hadlow this afternoon, simply to get some practice.
She lingered in her room, prinking in front of the mirror, until after the Hadlows had arrived, and their carriage been taken to the stables. She intended to saunter down to the lake in a leisurely manner, being the last to arrive so that all eyes would be on her. She would carry her parasol instead of wearing a hat. Everyone would think what a charming picture she made, Miss Amelia Davenport in her lilac muslin, strolling by the lake on a summer afternoon.
As it happened, she wasn’t the last to go down to the pavilion, for as she left her room and romped along the passage—her graceful approach could be saved until there was someone to see her—she almost bumped into her father coming out of Lady Arabella’s room.
‘Oh, Papa! Isn’t Grandmamma coming to the picnic?’
It was a warm afternoon. Papa’s face glistened faintly with perspiration. He shut the door behind him with a bang.
‘She’s gone down some time ago,’ he said shortly. ‘And why aren’t you looking after your guests?’
‘Why aren’t you, Papa?’ Amelia retorted.
She had always been able to joke with her father, but she had chosen the wrong moment now.
‘Because I’m a busy man and can’t be at everybody’s beck and call. Where are the servants? No one answered the bell when I wanted someone to go up and see to that atrocious cat. Your grandmother had somehow shut him in the wardrobe.’
‘Was he crying, Papa? I didn’t hear him.’
‘You were too busy listening to your own thoughts, I expect.’ Papa was recovering his good humour. He pinched her cheek. ‘You’re looking very pretty. Who is the toilette for? Robert?’
‘I intend only to practice on him,’ Amelia confessed, and at last Papa laughed.
‘You’re a minx. Then let us go down. Don’t say anything to your grandmother about the cat. She’ll only want to come up and assure herself that he’s all right. We don’t want the picnic spoilt.’
All the same, he was still strangely absent-minded, and she had to make the same remark twice before he heard her. Also, he had spoiled her plans for an impressive solitary approach. But for all that it was a successful picnic.
Three maids, with flying cap strings, brought a succession of trays with hot scones and muffins, strawberry jam, bowls of the rich yellow Devon cream, and, for the centre of the table, an enormous fruit cake. Mamma poured tea from the Queen Anne silver tea service, into the green and gold Dresden cups. The Hadlows, Mrs Hadlow, Anne and Robert, sat on the light bamboo chairs, but Lady Arabella, distrusting their resilience, had had her own sturdy rocking chair brought down. The Chinese windbells tinkled with a tiny glassy foreign sound. Fanny sat on a cushion on the grass, a little aloof from the rest, not bothering for once to fascinate Robert Hadlow who was looking more grown-up and almost handsome. The children sat quietly beside her. Nolly had her quite hideous Chinese doll in her arms. Ching Mei stood a little distance away. George lounged against a tree, watching. Watching Fanny mostly, but occasionally his quick glance darted over everybody. He made no attempt to talk. He behaved exactly as he pleased now. If polite conversation bored him, he remained silent. Sometimes Amelia wondered how much he was shrewdly exploiting his illness.
The sun shone brilliantly. Dragonflies darted over the gleaming water. The trees rustled gently and the windbells tinkled. It was an idyllic English summer afternoon scene. After Papa’s arrival the slightly stilted quality left the party and there was a lot of laughter. Papa adored picnics, and was so good at them. It really was exactly like all the other ones they had had. Even the tiny slender figure of the Chinese woman stopped seeming so foreign and heathenish, and anyway was so unobtrusive among the tree shadows that one could almost forget she was there. Robert Hadlow pretended to think she had been imported to go with the pagoda.
‘Is she real? Shall we stick a pin in her and see?’
Really, Robert was growing quite amusing. But all the same… an older man, more worldly… someone who would kiss her hand…Amelia dreamed, and the shadows grew longer, and the first hint of the rising mist obscured the sunlight.
Presently it was chilly, and the ladies were reaching for their shawls, and preparing to go indoors.
‘Well, children.’ Amelia watched her father take out his fat golden watch. ‘You’ve been as quiet as two harvest mice. So shall we now see if this can make a better sound that those tinkling bells.’
He wound the watch and held it out, smiling at their absorbed faces. The little chiming tune played itself through.
‘Oh!’ whispered Nolly. ‘It’s pretty.’ Marcus put a shy stubby finger on the watch’s plump face. Ching Mei was laughing, a tinkling sound not unlike the windbells, a sound of pure delight.
The mist had rolled up so quickly that it was drifting in opened windows when they returned to the house. The sun had completely vanished, and it was as if it was another day altogether, grey and chilly and filled with th
e sound of the rising wind. There was a great scurrying to and fro as windows were closed, billowing curtains stilled, and lamps lit. Fogs over the moor were a part of winter, but no one liked the summer ones that rolled up, stealing the light and warmth with sinister rapidity.
Fanny left the children to Ching Mei and Dora, and went to dress for dinner. She had been happier today, because the children had been noisy and completely child-like and even Ching Mei, who had seemed strangely nervous of both Uncle Edgar and Aunt Louisa, but chiefly of Uncle Edgar, had relaxed enough to laugh. All the other days she had been shut in silence. Once she had wanted to write letters to her family and Nolly, who already showed a precocious grasp of her alphabet, had showed her how to laboriously address the envelope, writing the name of her brother in spidery Chinese characters, and the address Shanghai China, in English. Fanny had permitted her to walk into the village to post the letters because it was a pleasant walk for her and the children. It was the only occasion on which she had left the house.
As she went downstairs Fanny heard the hounds barking. It was a far-off sound, fragmentary and melancholy. It made her think of wet heather and scudding clouds, and the smell of fear. Once she and Amelia and George had followed the hunt on their ponies, and seen a fox torn to pieces by the hounds. She had never gone to a hunt again.
Now it was long past the hunting season, and she wondered whose hounds were loose. The baying was so far away that it seemed she might have imagined it. But the prickly sense of apprehension was not imaginary. It stayed with her after the sound of the hounds was lost.
Lady Arabella came wheezing behind her on the stairs.
‘Fanny, that was very naughty of you, letting the children in my rooms to play when I wasn’t there.’
Fanny turned in surprise.’
‘They haven’t been in your rooms, surely!’
‘Playing hide the thimble,’ Lady Arabella grumbled. ‘Things upside down. Poor Ludwig taking refuge in my bedroom.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘When I was down at the lake, I imagine. It was the only time I went out.’