The Tall Stranger

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘Oh well,’ said Bet with a sigh. ‘I’ll have to wait till I’m grown-up and then I’ll come to London and help you – at Garfield’s.’

  Barbie said Garfield’s would be delighted to have her.

  ‘Really and truly?’ asked Bet anxiously.

  ‘Yes, if you want to come – when you’re grown-up,’ replied Barbie with her usual truthfulness.

  Having settled the matter of Bet’s future career they went on to chat of other matters. Barbie told her young assistant about Agnes – who was the only other child she happened to know – and answered all sorts of curious questions about London. Bet had never been to London so it was a little difficult to describe. In return Bet volunteered information about Oddam Castle and her own affairs, some of it interested her hearer a good deal. It was all mixed up with what they happened to be doing. For instance when they came to a small room next to the bathroom Bet flung open the door and said, ‘We must make this specially nice because it’s the room Uncle Henry always has when he comes to stay. He always has it because he likes the view. I love Uncle Henry frightfully much, don’t you, Miss France?’

  Miss France did not answer but Bet did not need an answer. She took the answer for granted.

  ‘Everybody loves Uncle Henry,’ continued Bet. ‘It’s such fun when he’s here, and of course he’ll be coming to Oddam quite often now that he’s got a job in London – instead of in a ship. Do you know what they call him in the Navy? They call him “Force Eight Buckland.” Force Eight is another name for a gale. Did you know? I think it’s a good name for Uncle Henry because he rushes along like the wind and blows you about and makes you laugh … and of course he’s terribly brave. He’s got the D.S.C. and bar,’ said Bet, nodding portentously. ‘What do you think of that, Miss France?’

  This was easy to answer for, like most of her sex, Miss France admired courage.

  ‘Yes, it’s splendid,’ agreed Bet. ‘So you see we must make his room specially nice. It needs new paper, doesn’t it? And the carpet is terribly shabby. We’ll have to measure it, won’t we?’

  In spite of all this chat the work went on at a good pace and Barbie’s note-books became full of measurements and hieroglyphics which only she could understand.

  On the third day Henry Buckland, who had been shooting in the morning, came back to lunch and was received without enthusiasm by his sister.

  ‘I can’t think what’s the matter with you, Henry,’ she declared. ‘I’ve never known you come back to lunch when there was shooting.’

  Henry looked a trifle sheepish. ‘I thought I could help to measure things –’ he began.

  ‘I’m helping Miss France!’ exclaimed Bet.

  Mrs Scott smiled at all this enthusiasm and said that no help would be needed as she herself had a free afternoon and intended to help Miss France.

  ‘Oh Mummy –’ began Bet in dismay.

  ‘You must go out, darling,’ said Mrs Scott firmly. ‘It’s a lovely day and you haven’t been out all morning.’

  ‘Can’t Miss France come?’

  ‘No, Miss France and I will be busy looking at patterns. I’ve told Annie to take you for a walk. What about a picnic with Annie? That would be nice.’

  ‘It would be horrible,’ declared Bet in mutinous tones. ‘If Miss France can’t come out I’ll stay at home and help her – so there!’

  Mrs Scott was unruffled. She said pleasantly but firmly, ‘Annie will be ready at half past two. Run along like a good girl.’

  Bet said no more. She did not run, nor did she look like a very good girl, but she went.

  ‘And what are you going to do, Henry?’ asked Mrs Scott.

  Henry laughed. ‘Your steam-roller methods amuse me. You lack subtlety my dear. If you think I’m going to run along like a good boy you can think again. I’m going to look at patterns with you and Miss France – so there!’

  Mrs Scott had got her own way with Bet, but Henry was not so easily managed; he had said he was going to look at patterns and he did. The three of them spent the afternoon in close conclave, not only looking at patterns but arranging what furniture was to be assembled for the Cinderella-room. Barbie was amused to find that her name for the new sitting-room had been accepted by the others and already was in common use. Perhaps the name would stick and, years later, somebody would wonder who had called it the Cinderella-room – and why.

  At tea-time Bet did not appear and Mrs Scott went to find out whether she was having tea with the Jardines. She returned looking rather worried.

  ‘They think she’s gone up to the moor,’ said Mrs Scott. ‘Alec doesn’t like her straying about the moor when there’s shooting. He says it’s dangerous. What do you think, Henry?’

  ‘Of course it’s dangerous!’

  ‘So naughty of her! She knows quite well –’

  ‘Perhaps I had better go and look for her,’ said Henry, rising as he spoke.

  ‘You’d never find her. Mrs Jardine says she took a bottle of milk and some biscuits for a picnic. Annie went upstairs to get ready to go with her, but when she came down Bet had gone.’

  ‘Bet didn’t want Annie.’

  Mrs Scott frowned. ‘Annie is a very nice girl.’

  ‘But dull as ditch-water,’ said Henry. He smiled and added, ‘You don’t understand your daughter.’

  ‘I suppose you think you understand her?’

  ‘Better than you do, anyhow, my pet.’

  Barbie left them arguing and went up to her room; now that she had her measurements and notes she wanted to draw up a rough estimate of what the work would cost. It was rather complicated because some of the items were essential and others depended upon how much money was still in hand when she had budgeted for essentials. She sat upon the floor with the pattern-books all round her and worked it out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The day had been warm and sunny but now the weather deteriorated. Stormy clouds gathered behind the hills and spread quickly across the sky; there was a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder and a spatter of rain on the window. Although it was only half past six the night had fallen and Barbie had to switch on the light. She had scarcely done so when there was a tap on the door and Henry Buckland appeared.

  ‘Miss France,’ he said urgently. ‘Bet is missing. I wondered if you had any idea – I mean she was with you all the morning. Did she say anything – mention any plan?’

  ‘No – nothing!’

  ‘The others have all gone out to search the moor. I had better go after them –’

  ‘Wait a minute. What about Bogle’s cottage? Could she have gone there to see the kittens?’

  ‘No,’ said Henry quickly. ‘I thought of that first thing. I went up to the cottage, but Bogle hasn’t seen her for two days – not since the morning she was there with you.’

  ‘The island!’ cried Barbie.

  ‘The island? But there isn’t an island – at least there is a small island in the middle of the loch, but nobody ever goes there.’

  ‘Bet goes there.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Barbie was not sure. She tried to think what Bet had said. ‘She talked about an island. I don’t know how much was real and how much was “just a story.” It was all mixed up with Mary Rose. She said she went to the island to play with a little girl called Rose Anne.’

  ‘Then she knows!’ exclaimed Henry in dismay. He hesitated and then added, ‘My sister had twins and the other little girl died when they were a few days old. They called her Rose Anne. I thought they should tell Bet about it when she was old enough to understand – but Jennifer wouldn’t. Who can have told Bet?’

  So it was true, thought Barbie … and perhaps the rest of the story was true. She sprang to her feet and seized her waterproof out of the cupboard. ‘Bet’s there – on the island!’ she cried.

  ‘I’II go,’ said Henry. ‘It’s no good your coming in all this rain.’

  Barbie was putting on a pair of heavy shoes. ‘I’m coming,’ she declared.
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  Henry did not argue – perhaps he realised it would be useless – he went to get his torch and they ran downstairs and out into the storm.

  The wind was strong and gusty and filled with fine rain. The trees with their overladen branches bowed before it and creaked alarmingly. It was not really dark but a sort of grim twilight – a queer ghostly light. Every now and then there was a flash of lightning, and a peal of thunder rolled round the hills.

  It was difficult to walk, for the gusts came suddenly and with terrific force; it was almost impossible to speak, for the wind took the words out of your mouth and blew them away.

  ‘I should have told you before,’ Barbie shouted. ‘I didn’t know – how much of it was real. I thought – it was just a fairy-tale.’

  ‘You couldn’t know,’ replied Henry.

  After a few minutes they came to the edge of the loch. It stretched before them, dark and forbidding and ruffled with waves which broke upon the shore in white splashes. The path led to a small boat-house. Henry paused here and stooping down moved a stone and found the key.

  ‘She can’t be on the island,’ he muttered … but all the same he opened the door and they went in.

  It was sheltered in the little hut and Barbie was thankful to stand there and recover her breath.

  ‘She can’t be on the island,’ repeated Henry. ‘There’s the boat.’

  The boat lay, rocking gently on the troubled waters; it was fastened with a chain to a hook in the side of the shed.

  ‘Is there only one boat?’ asked Barbie.

  ‘Yes. Alec uses it for fishing. She couldn’t have got across to the island without a boat.’

  ‘Bogle may have taken her –’

  ‘No, Bogle hadn’t seen her. He said he had been at the cottage all day.’ Henry turned and added, ‘We had better go back –’

  ‘I know she’s there!’ cried Barbie, clutching his arm.

  ‘How could she possibly be there?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ cried Barbie frantically. ‘I only know she’s there – in all this storm – frightened and miserable – soaked to the skin! If you won’t come with me I’ll go myself.’ It was an absurd boast. She had no idea where the island was!

  ‘Look here, Barbara, you’ve got this island business on the brain. She couldn’t have gone to the island and brought the boat back. Don’t you understand?’

  Even at that hectic moment Barbie noticed he had used her name. It sounded odd to be called Barbara, but she liked it.

  ‘I must go – really,’ she declared and began to fumble with the chain.

  Henry watched her. He noticed that her hands were shaking, and when she had climbed into the boat she seemed extraordinarily clumsy in unshipping the oars. He was rather annoyed with her for her insistence, but it was obvious that she could not go alone so he jumped into the boat beside her and pushed off.

  It was not far to the island and the loch was somewhat sheltered by the surrounding hills so the voyage was not as bad as he had expected. Certainly it was wet and unpleasant – small boats are always wet and unpleasant in the rain – but there was no danger in it for an experienced oarsman. He rowed with short sharp strokes (as sailors row) which drove the boat powerfully through the choppy water. Barbie, less experienced, was considerably alarmed but she said nothing. Quite soon the boat was floating comfortably in the lee of the island.

  Henry jumped ashore. He noticed as he did so that there was a stake in the ground and made fast the painter. The stake was new and sound – not weather-worn as he had expected – so it looked as if somebody really did visit the island. Perhaps this was not a wild-goose-chase after all.

  ‘Now look here,’ he said. ‘You’re to stay in the boat. There’s no object in your coming with me. I’ll find the child if she’s here. I don’t want to have to look for you as well.’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ said Barbie meekly. She added, ‘There’s a hut, I think.’ She had just remembered about the hut.

  He did not ask how she knew about the hut. ‘You’re not frightened, are you?’ he said. ‘It’s quite a small island, so I won’t be long.’

  ‘Don’t hurry – look everywhere,’ said Barbie.

  She watched the tall figure disappear into the tangled thicket of bushes and trees. She could see the faint glow of his torch and hear his voice.

  ‘Bet!’ he shouted. ‘Bet, it’s Uncle Henry! Bet, where are you? Coo-ee, Bet!’

  The storm was passing over and the ragged clouds were flying across the sky. Now and then the moon shone out for a few moments and lighted up the scene. Now and then there was a distant roll of thunder like the roar of a dying beast. The hills had looked friendly in the sunshine, but in this wild weather their aspect had changed. They were not so much unfriendly as indifferent – old, grim and enigmatical. They made one feel that human life was a precarious thing. They made one feel helpless and ephemeral as a butterfly. It was a horrible feeling –

  The wind whined through the trees. The water lapped against the sides of the boat. Barbie was cold and rather frightened.

  At last, when it seemed as if she had waited for hours, she saw a light glimmering amongst the trees.

  ‘I’ve got her,’ said Henry’s deep voice. ‘Pull in the boat a bit … that’s right. Can you take her?’

  Barbie held out her arms and received the cold wet bundle.

  She hugged it to her heart.

  ‘Oh, Miss France,’ said Bet in a queer husky whisper. ‘I’ve been years and years on the island – like Mary Rose. He didn’t come back. It rained and rained. There was thunder and lightning –’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Barbie. ‘It’s all right, darling.’

  ‘Goodness knows how I found her,’ said Henry as he took up the oars. ‘She wasn’t in the hut. I searched all round. I’d have given up before, but I found a bottle of milk in the hut – it was empty but quite sweet – so I knew she must have been there. Then I found a shoe. I called to her but she didn’t answer. Then at last I saw something white amongst the bushes – and there she was lying in a heap! She wasn’t unconscious. I don’t know why she didn’t answer when I called.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ whispered Bet. ‘I shouted and shouted until I couldn’t shout any more. He didn’t come back.’

  ‘Never mind, you’re safe,’ Barbie told her. This was no time for explanations. The child was shivering violently with fright and cold.

  ‘Hold me tight,’ whispered Bet in the queer husky voice. ‘Hold me tight. I can’t help shaking. Hold me tight.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The castle was all lit up, but there was nobody in the place except Mrs Jardine. Everyone else was out searching the moor (the police had been summoned to help; the men from the surrounding farms had come with hurricane lamps – they all knew Bet). Henry carried Bet upstairs and then went out to call off the search.

  It had been Barbie’s intention to put the child straight into bed wrapped in blankets and surrounded with hot-water bottles, but, now that she could see Bet clearly, she realised that they would have to bath her first. She was dirty and bedraggled, her clothes were in rags and she was covered with scratches. Her feet were bare and muddy and her hair was entangled with thorns and pieces of twig.

  ‘Gracious heavens!’ exclaimed Mrs Jardine in horrified tones. ‘It’s like as if she’d been fighting with wild cats. What happened you, Bet?’

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ croaked Bet. ‘It was the brambles tore my dress. I didn’t mean to be naughty. I just wanted to play with Rose Anne –’

  They peeled off the soaking wet rags and bathed her like a baby and put her into Barbie’s bed. This seemed the best thing to do, for if they had put her into her own bed somebody would have had to sit up with her; it was obvious she could not be left alone. She chattered in an incoherent way all the time.

  ‘I was years and years on the island,’ she kept saying in that pathetic husky voice. ‘I shouted and shouted, but he didn’t come back. There was thunder
and lightning. Did you hear the thunder? Don’t leave me, Miss France. Promise you won’t go away. I thought nobody would ever come – I didn’t mean to be naughty – I was playing with Rose Anne but the thunder frightened her away. She left me alone in the dark – it rained and rained and a bear ran after me – a black thing – a bear – and I ran into some brambles – and my shoe came off – and I shouted and shouted. I was years and years on the island –’

  ‘Oh goodness!’ cried Mrs Jardine, wringing her hands. ‘The bairn’s demented. What’ll we do! What’ll we do!’

  Mrs Jardine was almost demented herself, and was doing the child no good by her tears and lamentations, so Barbie sent her away and told her to make a bowl of bread and milk.

  ‘Miss France, don’t leave me,’ whispered Bet. ‘I’ll die if you leave me –’

  ‘I won’t leave you,’ said Barbie soothingly. ‘I’m going to sit here and hold your hand – and presently, when you’ve have your bread and milk, I’m coming to bed – here, beside you –’

  Bet did not listen. ‘Why didn’t he come back?’ she croaked. ‘He always does what I tell him – why didn’t he come back? I saw him fishing, like he always does, and then there was thunder and lightning and it got dark and it rained. I shouted and shouted but he didn’t come back and I was all alone. I was all alone in the dark and there was thunder and lightning –’

  ‘Listen, Bet,’ said Barbie. ‘When I was a little girl I stayed with my Aunt Amalie – and we had a donkey. Most donkeys are called Neddy, but we couldn’t call him that because my uncle’s name was Ned – so we called him Amos. He had a soft velvety nose and he used to push his nose against me when he wanted a carrot – or an apple –’

  She went on talking nonsense. She hardly knew what she was saying. She only knew that she must try to stop that hoarse croaking voice. At first Bet took no notice but after a few minutes tension slackened and the shaking grew less.

  ‘Amos?’ said Bet.