by Dorothy Eden
‘But the children were there, too,’ Fanny said. ‘They were with me. Anyway, I’m sure they wouldn’t go into your rooms uninvited. They’re too—’ She stopped. She didn’t want to say they were too frightened. Nolly was unduly imaginative about the empty bird cage and Marcus more than half-scared of the old lady herself.
Surprisingly enough, Lady Arabella had begun to chuckle wheezily.
‘So that’s it, is it?’ she said to herself. ‘Of course, I should have guessed. We’ll say no more about the children.’
‘What are you talking about, Great-aunt Arabella?’
The old lady wagged a thick forefinger.
‘Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman,’ she quoted enjoyably. ‘I’ve been watching the mist rolling up. Isn’t it exciting the way it blots things out, wipes them away? I thought I heard dogs barking a little while ago.’
‘So did I,’ said Fanny uneasily. ‘I don’t like the mist as much as you do. It hides things.’
But it wasn’t until they were all going in to dinner that George came bursting in, his eyes blazing with excitement.
‘There’s an escaped prisoner! They’ve got the bloodhounds out. Did you hear them?’
Amelia screamed.
‘Oh, I knew something would happen. I knew it all afternoon!’
‘It’s because of the mist,’ said George. ‘They always make a break in the mist. If the search comes this way I’ll volunteer to help.’
‘You’ll do nothing of the kind,’ said his mother sharply. ‘You’re an invalid.’
‘I can still fire a rifle and use a sword,’ George said indignantly. ‘Dash it, I’m not going to miss all the sport.’
‘Hunting a fugitive is scarcely sport,’ Uncle Edgar said calmly. ‘And one doesn’t usually shoot the poor wretch down. Anyway, if this fellow has been clever enough to escape, he’ll be miles from here by now. I suggest we don’t let him spoil our dinner. Come, Amelia, my dear.’ Uncle Edgar gave his deep amused chuckle. ‘You look as if you imagine he’s hiding under your bed already.’
‘Oh, Papa!’ Amelia said faintly. ‘How can you joke about it?’
‘I’m not joking. I’m admiring the poor devil’s adventurous spirit. Who wouldn’t make a bid for freedom in similar circumstances?’
‘He may be dangerous,’ Aunt Louisa protested. ‘Really, Edgar, you can carry your philanthropy too far.’
Uncle Edgar chuckled again. His colour was rather high. He looked as if he had been at the whisky decanter more than once before dinner. He was often mellowed by liquor, while never being overcome by it.
‘Don’t be alarmed, my love. I should, of course, hand him over to the authorities if, for instance, I tripped over him in the dark. But let’s admit we all have a lurking sympathy for him. Fanny? Isn’t that true?’
Fanny was remembering the hollowed face and the thin silent figure of the prisoner she had seen on the railway station the other night. She could imagine him now, crouching in the wet bracken, scarcely breathing, praying the hounds would go another way. He was a stranger, yet he had momentarily touched her life, touched all their lives…
‘Hunt him like a fox,’ said George, the excitement burning in his face.
There was a clatter at the sideboard as one of the maids let a dish slip. The curtains were drawn across the windows, a dozen candles burning on the long table. It was warm and safe in this room. No one was hiding, or hunted, or desperately hungry, or afraid…
After dinner Sir Giles Mowatt arrived on horseback. He stopped for a hasty glass of port, and to warn them that he believed the prisoner was hiding somewhere in that vicinity.
‘But if we don’t get him, he’ll make for the high ground, and try to cross the moors to Okehampton. So you ladies don’t need to be nervous.’
‘Was it the man who came down from London the other day?’ Fanny asked.
‘Yes, that’s the rogue. He made a break in the fog, and got over the wall. He’s as slippery as an eel. But we’ll get him never fear.’
‘Does luck never go the way of the criminal?’ Uncle Edgar asked reflectively.
‘Only the ones who never have their crimes brought home to them. And we hope there aren’t many of those. But this is hardly a subject for the ladies. And I must be off. I’ll send word when we’ve made a capture. Good night, all.’
Aunt Louisa rang for Barker to go round the house checking that all the windows and doors were locked. She drew her shawl round her ample shoulders, shivering.
‘I’ve always hated the moors. Who else has to live in danger like this?’
‘Good gracious, my love, the man’s a thief, not a cutthroat.’
‘How do you know what he may become if he’s desperate? Yes, Dora, what is it?’
Dora had tapped timidly at the open door, and now stood anxiously twisting her fingers.
‘Please, ma’am, the children are upset. Master Marcus is crying and Miss Nolly’s in a state about her doll. Could Miss Fanny—’
‘Can’t the Chinese woman control them? Really, Edgar, why are we keeping her here if she can’t keep two small children in order?’
‘But she’s gone to look for Miss Nolly’s doll,’ Dora broke in. ‘It was left down by the lake, and she really won’t go to bed without it. It’s the only thing she makes a fuss about.’ Dora looked round, listening. ‘But Ching Mei’s been gone an awful long time,’ she said uneasily.
Fanny sprang up.
‘She’s lost her way in the fog, I expect. I’ll go and find her.’
Uncle Edgar stepped forward, detaining her.
‘No, you won’t. Not with a fog, and a prisoner at large.’
‘I should certainly think not,’ said George vigorously. ‘I’ll go. I’ll take my rifle.’
‘Oh, don’t shoot anybody!’ begged Amelia.
‘Barker and I will go,’ said Uncle Edgar. ‘We’ll probably meet this foolish woman on the doorstep. How did she expect to find a doll in pitch darkness?’
‘It would have been in the pagoda,’ Dora faltered. ‘She had a candle to light. Miss Fanny—’
‘Yes, I’m coming upstairs,’ said Fanny. She wanted to hurry to the distressed children, but more urgently she wanted to go out and find Ching Mei. She didn’t know how to explain this feeling of urgency, except that she could have sworn Nolly had had her doll when they had returned from the picnic. Uncle Edgar, in high good humour after his success with his chiming watch, had carried Marcus up to the house on his shoulder, Nolly clinging to his hand. There had been shrieks of excited laughter. One might have known they would later turn to tears. But Uncle Edgar had scored a very big success indeed if he had succeeded in making Nolly forget her beloved doll.
She was thinking of the eerie tinkling of the windbells in the mist, and of the ineffectiveness of one feeble candle in a whole world of darkness. The mist always wreathed closely over the lake, disguising the water as effectively as the water-lilies did. Supposing Ching Mei, unfamiliar with the paths, missed her footing…
‘How long has she been gone?’ Fanny asked, following Dora’s little scurrying figure up the stairs.
‘Oh, I couldn’t say, Miss. Before the children began their bread and milk, and I’ve bathed them since.’
‘But, Dora, that must make it nearly an hour!’
‘I wouldn’t know, miss. I hadn’t thought about it until Miss Nolly wouldn’t go to bed without her doll. Then I forgot myself and said the silly woman must have tumbled in the lake, and Master Marcus began to howl.’
Marcus was still crying, though less uproariously, when they reached the nursery. Sheer exhaustion had left him with only breathless hiccuping sobs. There were no tears on Nolly’s cheeks. She was standing at the window, the curtain drawn back, to peer out. When Fanny came in she turned, and Fanny saw her face as white as her. nightgown, her eyes angrily accusing.
‘What’s everyone done with Ching Mei, Cousin Fanny?’
‘Everyone, as you say, hasn’t done anything with
her. She must have lost her way in the fog. Uncle Edgar has gone out to find her. She’ll be here presently. Now I want you two children in bed.’
‘Then will you kiss us good night, Cousin Fanny?’ Marcus asked exhaustedly.
‘Of course I will. Don’t I always? Come, Nolly. Into bed with you. You shall have your doll when Ching Mei comes.’
‘Will you watch for her, Cousin Fanny?’
‘No one can see anything in that fog.’ Fanny briskly twitched the curtain into place. ‘Dora, put some more coal on the fire. I’ll sit beside it until the children fall asleep.’
‘Will you blow out our candles, Cousin Fanny?’ Nolly was coming reluctantly to the bedside.
‘When you’re asleep. Not before. I promise.’
‘Will Ching Mei be afraid in the dark?’
Fanny was tucking Marcus in. She said, ‘Ching Mei did a very brave thing coming to England with you. I don’t think she’ll be afraid of a little dark.’ She added offhandedly, ‘Nolly, do you remember leaving your doll in the pagoda?’
‘No, I didn’t leave her there. I had her under my arm all the time. Then we were running up to the house. At least—I think I had her.’
‘Then you’re not sure, so she is down there. Well, she’ll soon be rescued. Dora, you may go now. I’ll be here until Ching Mei gets back.’
Marcus was asleep almost instantly. Fifteen minutes later, just as Fanny was about to blow out the candles, Nolly said sleepily. ‘I hope those dogs didn’t get my doll.’
‘Dogs?’
‘The ones we heard barking. Marcus said they were wolves. Isn’t he silly! Wolves!’
Nolly, too, was sleep, her lashes long and dark on her white cheeks. Neither child stirred when Aunt Louisa came to the door to whisper stridently, ‘Fanny! Your uncle says it’s no use trying to search any more in the dark. He says either the woman will come back, or she’s run away.’
‘Run away!’ Fanny exclaimed in astonishment. ‘She wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing!’
Aunt Louisa was a shadow in the doorway, an enormous domineering bossy shadow.
‘I don’t see how you can claim to know, Fanny, any more than the rest of us how the oriental mind works. I myself have never trusted the woman. I’m perfectly sure she has understood every word we have said. So is your uncle. Now, pray don’t spoil the children by sitting there all night.’
Fanny started up.
‘But is that all that’s to be done about Ching Mei? With a prisoner at large, too.’
‘My dear girl, what do you suggest? That we start dragging the lake in pitch darkness? You may sit up and listen for her if you choose. I for one, am going to bed.’
Aunt Louisa probably didn’t mean to be callous. She just didn’t attach much importance to the safety of one small silent suspicious foreigner, and a servant at that. Uncle Edgar, whose kindness always had a practical element, would be the same. George would think only of discharging his rifle at shadows. So it was left for Fanny to put on her cloak and her outdoor shoes and grope her way across the terrace, past the rose garden, and down the path to the lake.
The wind had dropped. There wasn’t a sound until suddenly the tall outlandish shape of the pagoda loomed up out of the fog and the thin intermittent tinkle of the scarcely-swayed windbells sounded.
She had brought matches. She struck them, one after another, as she went into the pagoda and saw the bamboo chairs and the table where, so long ago, they had had the light-hearted tea party.
She called softly, ‘Ching Mei! It’s me, Fanny. Answer me, if you can.’
The mist formed a halo round the tiny flare of the match. On the lake something made a muted splash. The bells tinkled again, very faintly. There was no other sound, no movement.
Uncle Edgar had been right. There was no use in trying to search in the dark. Ching Mei had obviously strayed out of her way and would shelter beneath a bush until daylight. It was cold, but not dangerously so. She shouldn’t come to any harm.
Reassuring herself with those thoughts, Fanny made her way towards the house. Just beyond the rhododendron bank someone sprang on her, holding her fiercely.
‘There you are at last, you foreign devil!’
‘George! George, let me go at once!’
George’s alarmingly strong hands pressed her head back. He was trying to see her face.
‘George, it’s me! Fanny!’ It was as well she had recognised his voice or she would have been scared out of her wits.
‘Fanny!’ He loosened his hold. The hard substance pressing into her side was his sword, sheathed, thank goodness. Had he had that naked in his hand he could have run her through.
‘I thought you were one of the foreign devils.’
‘Foreign devils?’
‘Russkys, Chinese, what’s the difference? Don’t you know the dark isn’t safe?’
‘I came out to look for Ching Mei. I haven’t been able to find her. Take me back to the house.’
‘Not for a minute, Fanny.’ His arm had tightened round her again. He was pushing the hood of her cape back from her face. ‘I never have the chance to get you alone like this.’
He had kissed her before she could turn her face away, a hard bruising greedy kiss that filled her first with revulsion, then with furious anger. It was the first time she had been kissed. Her first kiss, and it had to be like this! Her eyes stung with angry tears. She wrenched herself free and resisting an impulse to beat and claw at George, she made herself stand still and face him in the darkness.
‘George Davenport, if ever you dare to do that again, if ever you dare—’
‘I told you the dark wasn’t safe,’ George muttered, but the fire had gone out of his voice. Inevitably, the anger in Fanny died, too. She knew how he would look if she could see him, shamefaced, bewildered, sulky, his slowed brain trying to understand the violence that leapt in him.
He wasn’t safe, Fanny was thinking uneasily. And yet the inevitable pity was filling her. It wasn’t his fault that he had become like this. Somehow one had to have patience until he got better.
‘I’m sorry if I hurt you, Fanny. Truly, Fanny, I wouldn’t hurt you.’
‘I’m telling you, George, if ever you do that again I believe I could almost kill you.’
‘But you wouldn’t, would you, Fanny. You only kill enemies, not friends. So stay my friend, Fanny, and you’ll be safe.’
Back in her room, Fanny found Nolly’s Chinese doll lying face downwards on her bed. She stared at it in stupefaction. Had she absent-mindedly put it there herself? Or had Nolly forgetfully dropped it? Anyway, there it was, the culprit.
It was a very small and innocent toy to have caused the death of one old Chinese woman.
9
FOR THE GARDENER’S BOY found her in the morning lying among the water-lilies in scarcely eighteen inches of water. She had been battered about the head. Whether she had been drowned, or had died of those brutal blows, it wasn’t possible to say.
But it was clear her death was no accident. There seemed little doubt what had happened. In her search for Nolly’s doll she had encountered the escaped prisoner. He, as Sir Giles Mowatt confirmed, was a desperate and dangerous man. He couldn’t risk the alarm being given, and had attacked his innocent discoverer violently. A stronger person might have survived his blows, but Ching Mei was a small old woman with fragile bones. She had had no chance.
It was all very tragic, and the search for the prisoner was redoubled. All the comings and goings, men on horseback and on foot, kept Nolly and Marcus at the windows, full of interest, and they even seemed to believe Fanny’s story that Ching Mei had suddenly grown too homesick to stay with them. She had crept away quietly last night to catch the train to London, and a clipper ship to China.
‘Will she write to us?’ Nolly asked. ‘She can. I’ve taught her how to write letters.’
‘Then perhaps she will, later.’
‘That means in years and years,’ Nolly said dispassionately, her nose pressed a
gainst the window pane. ‘Oh, Marcus, do look at that dog with the white tail. That will be mine. You can have the black one.’
‘No, I want the one with the white tail.’
‘You’re a silly baby, wanting it just because it’s mine. You can have the black one.’
‘I want the white one!’
‘Then very well, you can have the white one, and it’s got great big teeth and it will bite you in half!’
‘Nolly!’ Fanny exclaimed, as Marcus burst into the inevitable loud sobs. ‘That wasn’t very kind. Tell Marcus you’re sorry.’
‘Why should I? He always wants my things. He will have to be careful, Papa says, or he will have no mind of his own.’
It was easy enough to see that Nolly’s quarrelsome mood came from taut nerves, but that didn’t make the task of restoring peace any easier. The child was uncannily intuitive. How much did she guess, or know? Her next question froze Fanny’s blood.
‘Cousin Fanny, why didn’t Ching Mei take her sandals?’
‘I expect she did.’
‘She didn’t. Not her best ones. They’re in the wardrobe wrapped in tissue paper. She kept them for feast days and long journeys. That’s why I know she hasn’t gone on a long journey.’
Fanny thought of Ching Mei’s lonely journey, and it was all she could do to answer quietly, ‘Then perhaps one day she’ll come back. In the meantime neither of you must worry because I will take care of you.’
She thought the hideous day would never end. The mist had turned to rain, and this had obliterated any tracks the fugitive might have left.
If he had been this way…Fanny was doing her best to shut out of her mind the episode with George in the dark garden last night. Had she been the first unprotected woman he had sprung on, in his obsession about a foreign enemy?
But surely, surely, what Uncle Edgar, the police, and Sir Giles Mowatt said was true. The prisoner was desperate. In his previous escape from Wandsworth he had bound and gagged a housewife in her kitchen, and stolen bread and half a leg of lamb. There would very likely be more acts of violence in lonely dwellings on the moor before he was recaptured.
One had to believe it was the prisoner who caused Ching Mei’s death.