Ghost

by Louise Welsh

  “Jerusalem,” said Celia.

  “Now now, it’s not as easy as that.”

  “The Kings of Israel,” said Celia, and began to stare round the room rather desperately. “I say, the charlady has left a packet of sandwiches in the curtain loop.”

  “Good heavens!” said Sir Sefton absentmindedly. “The Kings of Israel, the Kings of Israel?”

  “Stead,” said Sir Sefton. “I asked Jacky Sparrow about it, as a matter of fact; he’s a dab at these things.” He grinned delightedly. “‘And Jeroboam reigned in his stead.’ Smart, isn’t it?” he said. “Well, well, Miss Phoze, I think I’ll buzz off now. I’m going to this lecture on Oil Surrogates at the Institute. Thought I’d take Bozey with me – cheer him up you know – he’s never been the same since his wife died. I said to him: ‘Bozey, your good lady’s gone, hasn’t she? Very well, then, she’s gone. No good moping, is there, we all have to go some time.’…”

  “Don’t forget the hare,” said Celia, as Sefton padded towards the door.

  This was a large, dead animal, half wrapped in brown paper, that lay across the floor. Augustus had brought it up for Sefton from his farm (the beastly Augustus, thought Celia, for neither she nor Tiny could stand him). All the same, it was a fine animal, the hare, and stretched right across the room.

  Sefton picked it up and went out rather burdened, with the creature trailing over one arm, and his umbrella on the other.

  “God bless you,” he said, with a happy smile. “God bless us all and the Pope of Rome.”

  There was a message from Jacky Sparrow on Celia’s desk, to say that he would not be able to lunch as he had to rush off to the dentist’s.

  Celia and Tiny decided to have lunch in their room, and Celia went to get it from the canteen, because Mrs Bones always gave her more ice-cream than Tiny. Halfway through their picnic lunch, Augustus came into the room with a made-up boisterous expression on his face.

  “Hallo, you two, pack up there; we’re off to the countryside for an excursion.”

  Hand in hand Tiny and Celia went and stood in the garden of the square while Augustus went to get the car out. The garden now stretched for miles and was more full of flowers than it had been in the morning; indeed there was a rather alarming air of quickly growing vegetation.

  “Perhaps we had better make a move,” said Celia.

  They walked together down a narrow pathway, between the giant blue flowers which grew and flowered high above their heads. Suddenly, coming round a hairy oriental poppy plant, they ran full tilt into Sir Sefton.

  “Good heavens,” he said, “I must hurry, or I shall be late for the meeting. I shall see you next week at the Ministry, Miss Phoze? Ah, howdedo, Loop? So long, all.”

  He went off in a fuss in the opposite direction.

  “Next week?” said Tiny. “What can he be thinking of? – the poor old gentleman.”

  “Why, this week is the holidays, of course,” said Celia. “We are going to stay with Uncle Heber.”

  “Oh yes,” said Tiny, “I’d forgotten. How quickly the time comes round.”

  “Well, we’d better be getting on,” said Celia, disengaging her foot from a young oak tree that was shooting up from a split acorn.

  “But Augustus told us to wait for him.”

  “I don’t care about Augustus,” said Celia recklessly, and tossed back her fine dark hair. “After all, he can soon catch us up in his motorcar.”

  “Perhaps we had better keep to the pathway,” said Tiny slyly.

  The pretty grey grass was soft under their feet, but there was hardly room for the two of them to walk abreast.

  “Yes, perhaps we had,” said Celia, laughing. “It will save a lot of bother.”

  “Why, look,” said Tiny, “here comes Jacky Sparrow.”

  Jacky came running along the narrow path towards them, jumping gracefully over the young shoots as he ran. He was carrying his harp in his outstretched arms.

  “Hallo, hallo, hallo,” he said, “can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop. Sorry about the lunch, Celia; got to get me harp-string mended, got to catch the old chap before he lies down for the afternoon.”

  “Phew!” said Tiny, as Jacky disappeared from sight. “Everybody seems to be going in the opposite direction.”

  The vista now opened before them upon a slight decline. There was a fine white marble viaduct down below them to the right, and upon the viaduct was an old-fashioned train, with steam coming out of the coal-black engine and the fire stoked to flame upon the fender.

  “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” cried Tiny, catching Celia by the hand. “We have just time to take the train!”

  The train was beginning to move as they tore up the steps and into the last carriage.

  “Jolly good show,” said Tiny; and then he said, “I hope Uncle Heber will be pleased to see us.”

  They both lay down on the carriage seat, and ate the sandwiches which Celia had brought with her from Sir Sefton’s room.

  The train was now running between high embankments. On the top of the embankment and down the side was the soft grass waving like beautiful hair; also on the top, against a Cambridge-blue sky, there were some poppies.

  “Beautiful,” said Tiny; “might be Norfolk.”

  “One always comes back to the British School,” said Celia dreamily.

  “What a dreamy girl you are,” said Tiny.

  The train, gathering speed at the bend, shot through an old-fashioned station. There were rounded Victorian window-panes in the waiting-room and a general air of coal, sea, soot and steamer oil.

  “What station was that?” asked Celia.

  “Looked like Dover,” said Tiny.

  “Can’t be Dover,” said Celia. “Dover isn’t on the way to Uncle Heber’s.”

  After another mile or so the train pulled up with a jerk and they sat up quickly to look out of the window. It was an enormous, long, busy station. People were hurrying down the platform towards the refreshment-room; soldiers, sailors and airmen stood about in groups drinking cups of tea from the trolleys.

  “Just time to get dinner if you hurry,” sang out a familiar voice, and there was Sir Sefton carrying a couple of bottles of hair-oil as well as the hare and the umbrella. “So long,” he said, raising his hat to Celia and dropping one of the bottles, which smashed against the platform and released a beautiful odour. “So long, all, see you later.”

  “Must be Perth,” said Tiny. He pulled the blind down with a snap, and pushed Celia on to the bunk.

  Celia looked round the carriage, at the wash-basin, the lights just where you wanted them, the luggage-table, the many different sorts of racks, the air-conditioning control, the neat fawn blankets and clean pillow-cases.

  “What a good thing we managed to get a sleeper,” she said.

  “I fancy we have to thank Sir Sefton for that.”

  “I think Sefton is simply ripping,” said Celia.

  “One of the best; jolly good show, sir,” said Tiny.

  “Can’t be Perth,” said Celia. “Perth isn’t on the way to Uncle Heber’s.”

  “We shall be in the mountains soon,” said Tiny; “the mountain air is always so delicious. I trust that we shall catch a great many trout. It is a pity that we left the landing-net at home.”

  “Uncle Heber’s country,” said Celia, “is as flat as a pancake.”

  Tiny said, “We must continue steadfastly to look on the bright side of things,” and promptly fell asleep.

  There now came a great pounding at the door. It was Jacky Sparrow with his harp in his hand, and an inspector’s cap on his head.

  “All change, all change, all change,” he cried out. Then he said, “So long, I simply must fly.”

  Celia and Tiny got the suitcases shut at last and tumbled out on to a grass-grown platform. There were a couple of donkeys grazing on the siding, but no people at all. The train gave a shiver and a backward slide, then it pulled itself together and rushed off, leaving a patch of black smoke hanging in mid
-air. The smoke bellied out and hung, first black, then grey, then white, against a pale-blue sky.

  “Thornton-le-Soke,” read out Tiny from the station nameplate.

  “You see,” said Celia, “no mountains at all.”

  The station was set in a beautiful sunbaked plain under a wide skyline. The sea could be seen in the far distance, and a soft fresh wind blew inland over the samphire beds.

  Tiny looked very happy. “We have arrived,” he said. “It is curious, do you know I have not thought of Augustus for several moments?”

  “I fancy,” said Celia, “that Augustus has taken the wrong turning.”

  “Indeed?” said Tiny.

  “Augustus was looking rather weird,” said Celia in her dreamy way. “There he was, sitting high above the road in his old-fashioned motorcar, with his dust coat and his goggles, and the dust flying up behind the car and the chickens running away in front of it.”

  “Oh, did you see him?”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I did see Augustus in his motorcar. I said nothing about it,” said Tiny kindly, “because I did not wish to disturb you.”

  “Oh, not at all,” said Celia; “thanks awfully all the same.”

  They now sat down on their suitcases like a couple of schoolchildren waiting to be fetched.

  “Do you know who will fetch us, I think?” said Celia.

  “It will be Uncle Heber for one.”

  “Uncle is an old and established person, he may not come, but if he comes there will also be another one, and that other one will be our cousin, Casivalaunus.”

  “Good heavens!” said Tiny. “He was seconded to Intelligence, was he not? I fancied he was in the mountains.”

  “You seem to have got the mountains on the brain.”

  Celia began to count the wooden palings opposite, counting aloud in German, “Ein, zwei, drei, vier, fünf.”

  “Mark my words,” said Tiny, “that car of Augustus’s will konk out on the hills.” He coughed. “If you will excuse the expression.”

  At this moment a long, thin person came in an elegant stroll along the platform towards them; he was wearing the uniform of a high-ranking British officer.

  “There you are. What did I tell you?” said Celia. “It is Cas.”

  “I can’t stand these clothes,” said Cas. “You’ll have to wait a minute while I change. Uncle’s down below in the pony-trap. We drove it under the bridge, as Polly likes the shade. I’ll just pop into the waiting-room, I won’t be a tick.”

  “I do think our cousin has a vulgar parlance,” said Tiny.

  Celia tore down the station steps and climbed into the pony-trap beside Uncle Heber, and put her arms round him. Heber was wearing his shabby old clergyman’s clothes, a clerical grey ankle-length mackintosh and a shovel hat. He was crying quietly.

  “We must get home quickly,” he said. “I have set the supper table because it is Tuffie’s night out, but there is much to do; we must hurry.”

  He pulled gently on the reins and Polly moved off at an amble, with the grass still sticking out of her mouth. Cas, in a light-green ski-jacket and flannel trousers, came running with Tiny. They caught hold of the trap and jumped in.

  “All aboard,” said Heber in a hollow voice.

  As they drove the quiet country miles to the rectory, Celia began to sing, “Softly, softly, softly, softly, The white snow fell.”

  “Now, Celia,” said Cas, “we can do without that.”

  They were bowling along the sands by this time, bowling along the white sea sand down below the high-tide level where the sands were damp and firm. The sea crept out to the far horizon, where some dirty weather was blowing up; one could see the line of stormy white waves beyond the seawhorl worms, and the white bones and white seashells that lay in the hollow.

  “There’s some dirty weather coming,” said Tiny.

  “True, Tiny, true,” said Cas.

  “I hope we shan’t be kept in,” said Celia.

  “I am sure we shall be able to get out of the wind under the breakwater, and that we shall be able to go for a stretch, a blow, a turn, a tramp and a breather,” said Cas, giving Tiny a sly pinch.

  When they got to the rectory they had some sardines, some cheese, some bread, some margarine and some cocoa.

  “There are some spring onions in the sideboard cupboard, if any person cares for such things,” said Heber.

  The dark fell suddenly upon them as they sat at supper, and the rainstorm slashed across the window-pane.

  “Off to bed with you all,” said Heber. “There are your candles, take them with you. You are sleeping in the three rooms on the first floor at the back of the house overlooking the beechwoods. The rooms are called Minnie, Yarrow and Florence. You, Celia, are in Minnie. The boys can take their choice.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir, thank you so much,” said the boys.

  “I must buzz off now,” said Heber, “I have some business to attend to.”

  He took his white muffler from the chest in the hall where the surplices were kept and a horn lantern from the porch. “So long, all,” he said.

  Tiny looked rather frightened.

  “He is certainly going to the church,” said Celia.

  They spoke in whispers together, and together went up the shallow treads of the staircase to bed.

  Tiny pushed past Cas and went into the Florence room.

  “Just what one might expect,” muttered Cas furiously. “You know perfectly well, Tiny,” he called through the door, “that I detest Yarrow.” He turned to Celia. “I shall not be able to sleep a wink.”

  Tiny sat on the window-seat, crying. He leant far out into the night and his tears fell with a splash into the water-butt that was under the Florence window.

  Then he got up and went into Celia’s room. “I keep thinking of Augustus,” he sobbed.

  “Now, Tiny, now, Tiny,” said Celia, “why do you do such a foolish thing?” But she was crying too.

  “Then why are you crying, Celia?”

  “Since I thought of Uncle going alone to the old, dark, cold church,” said Celia, “I have had a feeling of disturbance.”

  “One must continue to look on the bright side of things,” said Tiny.

  As he spoke they heard the church bell tolling.

  “It is tolling for the dead,” said Celia.

  She went and stood in the middle of the room with her fingers in her ears. Her white cotton nightdress flapped round her legs in the wind that blew in from the open window.

  “Be sure Augustus will not come,” she said. She stood quite still in a dull and violent stare. “Do you not remember,” she said, “what Augustus did to Brendan Harper the poet?”

  “No,” said Tiny, cheering up a bit. “What was that?”

  “If you do not remember, then I shall not tell you. All that,” said Celia, “belongs to the dead past.”

  “To the living past,” said Tiny, rather to himself.

  “Augustus is an abject character,” cried Celia, her voice rising to a high-pitched scream that quite drowned the wireless coming from Yarrow, where Cas sat sulking. “Do you suppose for a moment that our uncle would have such a person to darken the threshold?”

  “Well, it is already rather dark,” said Tiny. “I say, Cas has got the radio on, I do think he’s the limit.”

  He began to pound on the wall.

  “Starp that pounding!” yelled Cas.

  “How vulgar he is,” Tiny sniffed in a superior manner. “Well, so long, Celia, I’ll be off.”

  The next morning, after a broken night, they assembled early for breakfast. Tuffie, who had spent her evening at the pictures, brought in a large jorum of porridge and set it in front of Heber, who was looking rather severe in a shiny black suit and a pair of black wool mittens. The three visitors lolled in their chairs waiting for the porridge to be served.

  Heber looked severely at Celia. “Instead of lolling forever with your cousins in a negative mood, you s
hould strive to improve. Do you all want to be sent back to school?” he inquired.

  “Oh no, Uncle – oh no; oh, rather not!”

  “Oh, Uncle,” said Celia, “I will try.”

  Heber gave them an equivocal look and rapped the table with a small silver crucifix. “You will please stand,” he said. And then he said, “For what we are about to receive.”

  Cas intoned “Et cetera” on a bell-like note, and they all sat down.

  “What did you see last night, Tuffie?” inquired Celia politely.

  “It was a lovely piece, duck,” said Tuffie; “it was called Kingdom Kong.”

  “Thy kingdom kong,” said Tiny with a giggle.

  Cas kicked him under the table and turned to Heber.

  “Who was it that arrived so late last night, sir, and was bedded down not without disturbance?”

  Heber, who at Tiny’s words had turned quite pale, spoke in a reedlike whisper.

  “Sir Sefton Choate,” he said, “has honoured us by an unexpected visit.”

  “My word!” said Tiny. “Not old Sefton? Well, I never!”

  “Shut up, Tiny!” said Cas.

  “You are so frivolous, Tiny,” Celia sighed. “It is something one does not care to think about.”

  “Will he be making a long stay, sir, and where have you put him?”

  “To the first part of the question, I do not know,” said Heber in his ghostly voice. “To the second part, in Doom.”

  “Good heavens!” said Tiny, his mouth full of porridge. “Not in Doom?”

  “And why not in Doom, pray?” said Heber. “Is not Doom our best bedroom, and does it not look out upon the cemetery?”

  “It may be the best bedroom,” said Tiny, with a wink at Celia, “and it may look out upon the cemetery, but the bed is pretty well untakable, sir, since Celia broke the springs last hols.”

  “Shut up, Tiny!” said Cas, but they all began to giggle furiously, stuffing their handkerchiefs into their mouths.

  “Poor old chap,” said Tiny, who was purple in the face by this time. “He won’t get a wink.”

  “Not a wink, not a wink, not a tiddly-widdly wink,” sang Celia, beating time with her porridge spoon.

  They all joined in.

  Celia said, “Mark my words, he’ll be up all night.”