‘Rub her feet,’ said Kate, ‘and we should call Doctor Jarvis.’
Freddie knelt down and found Tessa’s cold little feet under the covers. He rubbed them vigorously with his big hands. Kate drew Tessa close, and held the sleeping child against the beat of her heart, and Tessa gave a sigh, her head snuggled on Kate’s cushiony bust. ‘Mummy’s here. You’re home now, home safe,’ Kate murmured. ‘Are you awake, Tessa?’ There was no answer, and she felt the child slipping deeper into stillness. Instinctively, Kate searched her small wrist for a pulse. It felt steady, but without her nurse’s watch she could only guess that it was slow, too slow. She knew that hypothermia could lead into coma, and coma into brain damage.
‘Will you telephone Doctor Jarvis, Freddie, please,’ she said, looking up at his worried face. ‘And bring the hot water bottles upstairs for Annie. And – Freddie – no one must ever know. Whatever has happened to our daughter, Lucy mustn’t know. And I don’t want Tessa to remember it – the shame of it – it could ruin her life.’ Tears glimmered in the corners of Kate’s eyes.
Freddie went downstairs, the words cutting into his heart. That man. That evil man at the mill. Had he ruined Tessa’s life? Freddie wanted to kill him. Strangle him with his bare hands. He told himself to calm down, told himself it was no good thinking like that. But this was justified rage. It smouldered while he made the phone call. He was awkward on the telephone at the best of times, embarrassed by the authoritative female voice saying, ‘Number please.’ He mumbled the three digit number, and she snapped, ‘Speak up please, will you. Hold the receiver closer to your mouth, sir.’
He was glad to hear Doctor Jarvis answer his telephone in a reassuring tone. ‘Yes, I’ll come down now, of course,’ he said immediately. ‘Just keep her warm.’
‘Thanks.’ Freddie put the mysterious black Bakelite telephone back on its pedestal.
Then something happened that reminded him of the owl who had helped him find Tessa, and how sometimes, in our blackest moments, we are given a gift.
He walked into the kitchen and looked at Annie who was putting cups of steaming cocoa on a tray. She held her finger to her lips. ‘Listen!’ she said. ‘What’s that?’ Outside the kitchen door something was whimpering in the night. Freddie crossed the kitchen in two strides. He opened the door cautiously and a small white dog trotted in, wagging its stump of a tail, its pointed face clearly happy to be let in. Overjoyed, it ran ecstatic circles round the kitchen table.
‘Where did you come from?’ Annie said, captivated by the bright friendly little dog.
‘Oh, ’tis you, is it?’ Freddie said, and squatted down to pet the dog, pleased when it squirmed with joy and licked his face. ‘He was following me,’ he said to his mother, ‘when I was carrying Tessa. He followed me home. Lovely little dog.’
‘Perhaps he’s lost?’ Annie said. ‘I’ve never seen him before; have you?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I’ll give him a plate of scraps and let him go out in the morning,’ Annie said kindly. ‘Perhaps he’ll find his way home. He’s got no collar.’
But the dog had another surprise in store. When Freddie took the tray of cocoa and opened the hall door, the dog shot past him and up the stairs, straight into Tessa’s bedroom. There was a cry of surprise from Kate. ‘Well, you’re a dear little dog. Where did you come from?’
‘He followed me, when I was carrying Tessa,’ Freddie said again. ‘Better not have him in the bedroom, had we?’
The dog jumped straight onto the bed. He wormed his way on his belly until he was close to the sleeping child, making conversational whimpering sounds in his throat. He put his chin quietly on Tessa’s arm, and looked up at Freddie appealingly. And Tessa stirred gently. She lifted her hand and put it over the dog’s neck, and the corners of her mouth curved in a silent smile. But she didn’t wake.
Freddie and Kate looked at one another, and the air around the bed seemed to shimmer.
‘I think – maybe – our Tessa has found a friend,’ Freddie said thoughtfully. ‘A friend who won’t let her down.’
‘I’m not going to try and examine her down there while she’s sleeping,’ Doctor Jarvis said, folding up his stethoscope and putting it back in its box. ‘If she woke, that could frighten her, especially if she has been . . . interfered with. I’ll come in the morning and we’ll talk to her together, Kate. See what she has to say about it. Let’s not assume the worst.’
‘Do you know Ivor Stape?’ Kate asked.
‘I do, yes.’
‘Do you think he’s . . .?’
Doctor Jarvis held up his hand. ‘I’m sorry I can’t comment,’ he said. ‘Professional ethics. I’m sure you understand that.’
Kate stared at him. ‘I know – but if I find out he has hurt my daughter, I shall go down there myself, and confront him,’ she said courageously. ‘He won’t get away with it.’
‘Let’s wait and see what Tessa tells us, Kate.’ Doctor Jarvis looked at her kindly, his grey halo of hair backlit by the yellowy electric light bulb which hung from the ceiling on a twisted brown cable. ‘You’ve done a good job, getting her warm. Stay with her in case she wakes in the night. Looks like the dog is going to stay too.’
‘He’s a stray,’ Kate said. ‘Do you know where he lives?’
‘No – never seen him before.’ Doctor Jarvis stood up, his knees cracking. ‘I wish you – and young Tessa – a peaceful night.’
Kate tucked Tessa in tightly and spent the night in a chair close to the bed, her head on a pillow propped against the wall. The child slept deeply, hardly moving, and the dog snuggled close to her on the eiderdown, only once getting up, turning round and sitting down again. Kate was restless, and every time she moved, the dog wagged his stump of a tail and looked at her, his eyes reflecting the moonlight.
Through the open sash window, Kate could smell the roses in Annie’s small garden, and the pink lilac which overhung the ‘Anderson Hollow’. She listened for the nightingales, but there were none. It was too early in the year, Freddie said. She heard the church clock chimes, the shuffle of a hedgehog working its way through the garden, and the huff of the night express train steaming over the viaduct on its way from Paddington to Penzance. She didn’t sleep at all. Her mind was full of anxiety about Tessa.
‘Why?’ she kept asking herself. ‘Why is my child suffering so much? Why is Tessa like this? Why can’t she be like Lucy? What will happen to her when she grows up?’ For once in her life Kate began to feel she couldn’t cope. What if Tessa couldn’t go to school? Her mind replayed the conversation with Miss O’Grady. Monterose School was a two teacher school. Tessa had been fine in the first class with Mrs Robbins. She’d learned to read quickly, eagerly devouring books. She’d read the original Peter Pan by herself, and The Secret Garden. ‘I haven’t got enough books to satisfy her,’ Mrs Robbins said. So Kate searched the jumble sales, always coming home with a few books. One day she found a scruffy little book with a brown cover, Freckles by Gene Stratton-Porter. ‘It’s not a children’s book,’ the stallholder told her, ‘but it’s lovely. It’s about a lad who became the guardian of a beautiful forest in Indiana, called The Limberlost’. Kate left Freckles on the table, and Tessa picked it up, silently, and curled up in a chair, her eyes racing across the text. When she was reading, Tessa didn’t like to be disturbed and would fly into a rage if Lucy pestered her to play, or if Kate wanted her to eat a meal.
So why should a teacher be actually refusing to have such a bright, interesting child in her school? It was shocking. And not fair. Kate spent the night drawing up a battle plan. She even planned what to wear. Her jacket with the big shoulder pads. Her scarlet blouse. Her black court shoes. She would march into school and demand an explanation. She’d insist that Tessa was given another chance. And if they refused, Kate would take it to the board of governors, in person.
But first she would head down to the mill and knock on Ivor Stape’s door until he answered. She would be courteous but assertive.
She’d ask for Tessa’s clothes and demand to know what he had done to her daughter.
Kate was desperately tired, but the maternal savagery kept her awake for most of the night. Finally she fell asleep at three in the morning, and woke at seven to see Tessa’s pale blue eyes wide open, watching her in silence.
‘Tessa! My love,’ Kate wanted to cry, especially when Tessa got out of bed and sat on her lap, leaning her head against her mother’s ample breasts, listening to her heart beat. Kate had gently unravelled her plaits the night before, and her chestnut hair was wavy and still damp. ‘Thank God you’re safe,’ Kate murmured. ‘You’re home now, darling, safe in your own bedroom. And you’re nice and warm now.’
Tessa’s face had a reserved expression, a slight pout, and the eyes of a soul in recovery, eyes ready to close and retreat into trance if disturbed. Even the sight of the dog on her bed didn’t seem to register as a surprise. He was a wise dog. He kept looking at Kate as if telling her not to disturb Tessa. She needed stillness and quiet.
Silent contemplation didn’t come naturally to Kate. She was bursting to ask questions, give advice, and move things on into brighter times. She wanted to talk with Tessa the way she talked with Lucy. But it wouldn’t work. She wanted Freddie to wake up and come into Tessa’s room, but a glimpse through the open doorway showed him still peacefully asleep, the white rays of the early morning sun spilling tablets of light onto the scarlet bedspread.
She could hear Annie down in the kitchen, up early as always, and humming hymn tunes to herself. She heard her go out and feed the chickens, hearing the corn being scattered like hard rain, the clucking and the heavy flapping of wings as they jostled for food.
‘Granny’s feeding the chickens,’ she said, and Tessa’s eyes changed for the merest fragment of a moment, a glimmer of light which quickly sank back into the reserved expression, into the nothingness of not sharing.
Kate winced when she heard Annie unplugging the new electric kettle, then the blast of water going into it, the struggle with the unfamiliar plug, and the predictable complaint. ‘Damned silly contraption.’ She wondered uneasily why Annie was doing so much clattering around in the kitchen. When she heard her coming upstairs, Kate braced herself for trouble in the form of recriminations aimed at Tessa.
‘Can I come in?’ Annie asked, pushing the door open. Kate looked at her in astonishment. Annie was smiling. She wore a snow-white apron and carried a tray with an even whiter cloth. It was laden with a wholesome breakfast. Boiled eggs under hand-knitted cosies, a pot of tea, and a toast rack crammed with toast, a pat of butter and a jar of marmalade. She’d brought Tessa’s favourite glass, filled with creamy milk and one of the red and white drinking straws left over from the tea party.
‘Annie! What a lovely, kind thing to do.’ Kate’s eyes filled with tears, and Annie looked pleased. She set the tray down on the bedside table. ‘Breakfast in BED!’
‘I thought it might help you,’ Annie said, and she peered at Tessa. ‘How is she?’
‘Just quiet,’ Kate said, praying that Annie wouldn’t start a diatribe on Tessa’s shortcomings. She was pleased when Tessa held out her hands for the glass of milk and drank it straight down, through the straw.
‘So what happened?’ Annie asked.
‘We still don’t know,’ Kate said. ‘I’m sure it will all come out in time.’
‘You look tired out, Kate.’ Annie sat down on Tessa’s bed, and Kate felt glad to have her there, glad to see kindness in her eyes and remember who this woman actually was.
The dog was whining and looking expectantly at the food. ‘He’s hungry. Dear little dog,’ said Annie, fondling the dog’s silky head.
‘He’s my dog,’ Tessa said, unexpectedly. ‘His name is Jonti. AND – he taught me to swim.’
Kate and Annie stared at each other.
‘SWIM!’ Annie said in a sepulchral whisper. She opened her mouth to say something else and shut it again when she saw the warning glint in Kate’s eyes.
‘So – how did he do that, dear?’ Kate asked, gently.
‘He jumped in the pool and showed me how he kicked his legs and kept his nose out of the water,’ Tessa said. ‘And then I copied him. I swam across the pool.’
‘What pool?’ demanded Annie.
Tessa stopped eating. She dumped her piece of toast and glowered at Annie. ‘I’m not telling you.’
The sparkle vanished from Annie’s eyes and, in a moment of insight, Kate finally understood that Annie felt rejected by Tessa.
‘Let’s just enjoy our breakfast,’ Kate said. ‘We can talk about it later.’
But Annie was on the warpath.
‘It’s not your dog. How can it be your dog?’
‘He IS my dog,’ Tessa’s eyes blazed. ‘The man gave him to me.’
‘What man?’
‘I’m not telling you. I’ll NEVER tell you.’ Tessa got back into bed, curled up in a ball, and pulled the covers right over her head.
But later, when Annie wasn’t there, Tessa did want to talk about Jonti. Kate had found him a tennis ball to play with, and Tessa seemed happy, throwing it across the lawn and squealing with delight when Jonti brought it back and dropped it at her feet. The little dog was exactly what Tessa needed, and Kate was reluctant to tell her Jonti might have to go back to whoever owned him. She made a card to put up in the Post Office, and Jonti sat looking at her, his head on one side. It stirred a memory of a dog Kate remembered seeing in a photograph. She went indoors and found the old brown photo album. Tessa always enjoyed looking at it, and she came straight away and sat next to Kate on the wooden garden seat. Jonti jumped up beside her, his head in her lap.
‘Auntie Ethie!’ she said, smoothing the photo of Ethie sitting on top of a hay cart. ‘Did she drown, Mummy?’
‘Yes, she did.’ Kate turned the pages on, not wanting to dwell on the subject of Ethie. ‘This is Granny Sally – my mum,’ she continued, ‘and this is me on my favourite horse.’
‘Daisy!’ said Tessa. ‘She’s enormous.’
‘Here we are. Look!’ Kate found what she’d been looking for, a sepia picture of her father, Bertie, as a young man, smartly dressed in breeches, long boots, a tweed jacket and cap. At his feet was a small white terrier, exactly like Jonti.
Kate watched Tessa’s expression and saw a smile of delight come as she stared at the old photograph. She looked intently at Kate. ‘That’s the man who gave me Jonti,’ she said firmly, ‘and his eyes sparkled, Mummy, like yours.’
Kate felt goosebumps prickle her skin. ‘So . . . where was Jonti when you first saw him?’
‘In that man’s arms,’ she said, ‘but then he was waiting for me on the lawn when I escaped.’
‘You escaped?’
‘I climbed out of the bathroom window,’ Tessa said, and her eyes changed. ‘I’m not telling you any more, Mummy. I want to play with Jonti.’
Kate wheeled her bike into the road. It was a new bike, a Raleigh, with a basket on the front and a Sturmey-Archer three speed. Freddie had given it to her for Christmas and she’d hardly used it. She felt conspicuous on it, sitting up so straight and high above the road, dressed in her black jacket with the wide shoulder pads, her red, ruffled blouse, black skirt and black court shoes.
‘Don’t you go down there on your own,’ Freddie had said. ‘That would be madness – asking for trouble.’
But Kate didn’t care. She intended to confront Ivor Stape while the maternal savagery was on fire inside her mind. She was used to dealing with all sorts of characters from her nursing days. She’d thought about asking Joan or even Lexi to go with her, but Kate worried about gossip. If Tessa had been raped, Kate wanted it kept a secret. She didn’t want it haunting Tessa’s life, bringing shame on the family. So, with Lucy in school, and Freddie up at the quarry, she’d cajoled Annie into keeping an eye on Tessa, and Annie had promised not to question her.
‘So where are you going, dressed up like that?’ Annie asked suspiciously.
�
�It’s private business. I won’t be long,’ Kate told her.
Kate was so angry that she pedalled energetically, and sailed down to the mill. With her dark hair flying and her cheeks rosy, she swept over the millstream bridge and around the corner to the entrance, skidding to a halt outside the high wrought-iron gates. They were closed, and apparently locked. She searched for a bell to ring but there wasn’t one. She propped her bike against the wall, and looked through at the gloomy garden. Had Tessa really swum across that sinister pool? And why? It was still a mystery. Tessa had been silent all the morning, talking only in whispers to the dog. She’d refused to talk to Doctor Jarvis and allowed him only to feel her pulse and listen to her breathing. Wisely, he hadn’t put pressure on her. ‘She seems all right,’ he’d said. ‘We must give her a chance to rest and recover.’
Kate loved Tessa, but she also wanted to shake her. Instead, she shook the iron gates. ‘Hello,’ she called. ‘Mr Stape. Are you there?’
Silence.
Kate unclipped the tyre pump from her bike and used it to bang the iron gates. It made an arresting kind of clang. From inside the house, the basset hounds set up a booming, howling bark. She saw them standing up against the window sill, their throats lifted like wolves. A movement deeper inside the room caught Kate’s eye – a bobbing, evasive shadow of someone who wanted to hide.
Her heart pounded hard against the iron gates. She wasn’t going to give up. ‘Will you come out please, Mr Stape? I want to talk to you.’
No response. She heard Ivor Stape roar at the dogs. ‘Quiet!’ They stopped barking instantly, and disappeared from the window. Kate pictured them slinking under the furniture, their tails drooping.
‘I’m not going to go away, Mr Stape,’ she called, ‘and if you don’t come out and open these gates for me, I shall climb over the wall and come in.’
Silence. Kate looked up at the wall and noticed a place where a stone was missing. She could put her foot in there, hold on to the clump of valerian growing at the top, and swing herself over, like mounting a horse, and she’d done enough of that in her life.
The Girl by the River Page 11