‘To influence us, yes, of course,’ William said with a nod. ‘But then it’s up to us what we do with the knowledge. I just wish I could see what we’re supposed to do with this!’ And he held out the Bill of Sale document towards the girls.
‘Couldn’t we . . . by mistake . . . happen to drop it somewhere where someone would be sure to find it?’ Alice asked, hopefully. ‘Preferably someone like Uncle Jack, say?’
‘It should have been burnt in that fire,’ William insisted, doggedly. ‘That’s what really happened – until we came along and, with the help of magic, saved it.’ He sighed. ‘We’ve done what he warned us not to. We’ve changed events. We’ve altered history. No, not we – me. I did it. I was so determined to prove the Crawdens wrong. It’s my fault.’
‘But, you’re not doing it for yourself.’
‘I am, Mary. I want us to win – no matter how we do it.’
‘You mean, it’s all been a waste?’ Alice asked. ‘You mean we can’t use the truth – just because we got it by magic?’
‘Maybe not that exactly,’ William said. ‘We can’t produce this document . . . but we could . . . let them know that we know what it contains.’
‘Why would that be any different?’ Mary asked.
‘You see – they have a copy of this,’ William said, holding up the folded paper in his hand. ‘And they are banking on the fact that Meg Lewis doesn’t possess the one that her grandfather, Jonas Lewis originally had. And, of course, they’re right. But – if we somehow . . . made them think that Meg did have a copy . . .’
‘But, if she had a copy, surely she’d just produce it?’ Mary said.
‘Which she can, if we just give it to her,’ Alice agreed.
‘Only really it was burnt,’ Mary said, quietly. ‘What are you going to do, Will?’
‘Well, I can’t do anything without both of you agreeing. But I think . . .’ as he spoke he produced a box of matches from his pocket, ‘it has to be burnt.’
They were silent for a moment then first Mary and then Alice solemnly nodded their heads.
‘Should we try and learn the words by heart first?’ Alice suggested, eagerly.
‘I don’t need to. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the words,’ William said.
They went to the flat rock, jutting out into the water, where they often in the past had picnicked, and William crouched down, facing the lake.
‘Are we sure?’ he said, quietly.
‘Go on, Will,’ Mary told him.
‘We won’t ever save Goldenwater now,’ Alice said mournfully. ‘We can’t possibly.’
‘We might,’ William said, sounding far from confident. ‘But, if we do, we must do it ourselves,’ and he struck a match and set fire to the corner of the document. Mary and Alice knelt on either side of him, watching as the flame grew in strength, reducing the paper to thick grey ash.
‘I hope we’re doing the right thing,’ Mary said.
‘Too late now, anyway,’ Alice observed, watching as the last of the flames licked up towards William’s finger and thumb.
‘We’re doing what we believe to be the right thing,’ he said. ‘Maybe that’s all anyone can hope for.’ Then he dropped the corner of the paper he was holding and the flame flickered and burned itself out.
A gentle breeze was blowing. It gathered up the grey ash from the rock and wafted it away over Goldenwater until it disappeared from their sight.
‘We’d better go,’ William said, rising. ‘We’ll be late for the others.’
Mary and Alice also rose and Alice turned to walk with William towards Four Fields. But Mary hesitated. The beams of the setting sun were staining the surface of the water a rich, honey-gold. The ripples sparkled in the evening light. But what had caught Mary’s attention was the glitter of another gold, a sharper, brighter, more brilliant light, that flashed beneath the surface of the lake, right there at her feet.
‘William! Alice!’ she shouted, excitedly.
Her brother and sister turned back, enquiringly.
‘What, Mare?’ William asked. He still sounded subdued. It had been hard for him, burning the only proof they needed to defeat Morden’s plan.
‘Look!’ Mary exclaimed. And, as she spoke, she knelt down on the edge of the rock and put her hand into the lake. Then rising, she held out in front of her the golden chain with the smooth nugget hanging from it that they had last seen falling into the lake at the Battle of Goldenwater.
‘The Magician’s pendulum!’ she said in amazement.
‘But – how did it get there?’ Alice asked. ‘When it fell you and the crow were miles out over the lake, Mary.’
‘Don’t let’s ask how,’ William said. ‘Let’s just be glad we’ve got it.’
‘Oh, Will! D’you think it’s a sign from him?’ Mary pleaded. ‘D’you think he’s telling us that we did the right thing burning the document?’
‘I don’t know,’ William said with a sigh. ‘I don’t know anything. You keep it, Mary . . .’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You, Will. This is your story really.’
‘Why d’you say that?’ William asked. ‘It’s all of us.’
‘But you’ve worked things out, Will. I mean really worked things out. You keep it – at least until it’s all over.’
‘All right,’ William said, taking the pendulum on its golden chain from Mary and putting it in his pocket. ‘But it isn’t mine. I’m just looking after it.’
When they reached Four Fields the evening was filled with birdsong. Rooks were cawing noisily and a blackbird, perched on a gate post, was singing his heart out to the approaching night.
Jack was pushing Meg in a wheelchair round the ruin of the cottage and Phoebe was standing under the apple tree in what had been the garden, holding Stephanie in her arms.
‘Is Meg all right?’ Mary asked, following Spot as he raced across the meadow.
‘As right as she can be,’ Phoebe told her. ‘She was so insistent on us all coming here tonight – so she must want to be here.’
Spot, meanwhile, continued to race across the field, passing Phoebe and going in the direction of the forest track where they could just glimpse Jack’s Land-Rover by the gate. He was barking in an agitated way and his hackles were up.
‘What’s wrong with Spot?’ Jack asked, emerging from the blackened front door of the cottage, pushing Meg in front of him.
‘Someone coming, I think,’ William said, as the sound of a car was heard driving towards them. They all walked a few paces towards the track and then stood in a group waiting to see who it was who was approaching, so late in the day.
The car that drew up beside the Land-Rover was large and opulent. Out of the driving seat climbed Charles Crawden. He went to the boot, from which he produced a folded wheelchair. Martin Marsh emerged from the passenger seat and then, as the group in the meadow continued to watch, the two men, helped Sir Henry Crawden out of the back of the car and settled him in the chair.
This whole procedure took place without a word being spoken. It was so silent and slow that it was almost like watching a dream.
William put his hand into his jeans pocket and gripped the pendulum without knowing quite why he did so other than because of an acute feeling of nervous anticipation.
Sir Henry, once settled, stared from one to another of the group standing in front of him. Finally his eyes came to rest on Meg, who was sitting upright in her wheelchair, her hands clasped on her lap, her head held high.
‘Miss Lewis, we have come as you instructed,’ Martin Marsh began, then he was interrupted by Jack, who turned to Meg with surprise.
‘You instructed him, Meg?’
‘I wrote to Mr Marsh, yes. Your young builder posted the letter for me. I felt we had to have a meeting, all of us. I thought that here would be the most suitable place.’
‘We were sorry about your accident, Miss Lewis. And very distressed about what has happened to your house,’ Mr Marsh continued.
‘Thank you, but i
t could have been worse,’ Meg answered him. ‘After all, I could have been in the house when the fire started.’
‘My clients wish you to know that they are willing to meet your higher figure for the purchase of this property . . .’
‘Higher figure?’ Jack said. ‘You’ve made a deal with them, Meg?’
‘It seems that I have,’ Meg replied, looking at Jack with clear eyes.
‘Without telling us?’ Jack asked her, not disguising the hurt he felt.
‘I couldn’t tell you, Mr Green. You have all been kind to me . . . so kind. But I can’t live on charity and the offer that these gentlemen are making will allow me some independence. I will find a place to live . . .’ she looked slowly round at the long shadows and the gathering dusk. ‘But not near here. I would rather remember this place as it’s always been.’
‘We will draw up the necessary papers then,’ Martin Marsh continued.
‘Your hand on it, Mr Crawden,’ Meg said, proffering her hand and forcing Charles Crawden to walk across the grass towards her.
He shook the hand with a stiff awkwardness and then retreated to his father’s side as though he felt more comfortable in the company of his own kind. All the time Sir Henry remained silent, sitting and staring at Meg.
‘You should have warned us, Meg,’ Phoebe said bitterly. Stephanie was whimpering and Phoebe rocked her gently as she spoke. ‘I was really hoping that you’d stay with us at Golden House, at least for as long as we’re there. I was looking forward to having another woman around the place. You could even have babysat, once in a while. Jack and I never go out . . .’
Meg looked at her.
‘I don’t belong there, dearie. Much as I’d like to.’ she said. ‘It doesn’t feel right my being there . . .’
‘But it is,’ William said, surprising himself with the sound of his own voice. ‘The place should have been yours. Or rather you should have been asked if you wanted to buy it back from the Crawdens before they sold it to anyone else.’
‘What are you talking about, William?’ Jack said. ‘We bought the house in good faith. . . .’
But the reaction of Martin Marsh and Charles Crawden was so remarkable that Jack was silenced. They both swung round, looking at William. The colour of Martin Marsh’s face had gone chalk-white and Charles Crawden raised his hands as though warding off a physical attack.
‘Where have you got this nonsense from?’ he demanded.
‘Am I not right in thinking that a Bill of Sale was drawn up between Meg’s grandfather and Sir Henry’s uncle, Edmund Crawden?’ William replied, gripping the pendulum in his pocket for dear life.
‘Bill of Sale?’ Martin Marsh gasped. ‘What Bill of Sale? You have no copy of such a document. If you have then you must show it to us . . .’
There was a long, electric, silence as the two men tried to out-stare William. Mary and Alice closed in on either side of their brother. The three of them stared back at the men.
‘You want me to tell you precisely what is in the document?’ William asked. ‘How the house went to you Crawdens and how Jonas Lewis retained the estate . . .’
‘We must have further private consultation,’ Martin Marsh blustered.
‘You have seen a copy of this document?’ Charles Crawden gasped.
‘Wasn’t it agreed that all the land should remain the property of the Lewis family?’ William insisted, ignoring the question and trying not to let his voice tremble.
‘This is all highly irregular!’ Martin Marsh stormed.
‘You will have to prove all this in a court of law,’ Charles Crawden said savagely. ‘Produce this document, prepare your case! Even if it exists, which I deny – you will never make it stick. This land is ours. We have always used it. It is ours by common consent. Ours by adoption. I will do with it as I like.’
‘No, Charles,’ Sir Henry said quietly, his eyes still on Meg. ‘If the land hereabouts could possibly be proved to belong to the Crawden family – then it would still belong to me . . . I am, after all, still the head of this family.’
‘We have drawn up papers, Sir Henry,’ Martin Marsh interrupted him, shrilly. ‘You have agreed to relinquish your rights. You said you would allow your son to administer the estate.’
‘You may have such papers, Mr Marsh. But I have not, as yet, signed them,’ Sir Henry rejoined irritably, ‘as you very well know. Nor, incidentally, did I shake my hands on the deal – as my son has done with Miss Lewis. It seems to me that you have a sale on your Four Fields, Miss Lewis. I’m sure my son would not go back on his word as a gentleman, certainly not when he gave it in front of so many witnesses. As for the rest of the estate, it is obvious that the boy knows what he is talking about. I have no intention of dragging the family name through sordid litigation in a court case that we would certainly lose for if any court of law found in favour of the Crawdens, then it would prove for ever that the law is an ass.’
‘Father!’ Charles Crawden exclaimed.
‘Shut up, Charles! You’ve been outmanoeuvred by this child. At least have the grace to lose with a certain amount of dignity.’
‘Father,’ Charles Crawden pleaded. ‘All our plans depend on this land.’
‘Find another place for your funfair, Charles. The Goldenvale is not suitable. Now let this be an end to it; to it all. I will have this matter finished, as it should have been finished many years ago. Golden House and the valley have all but destroyed our family as it destroyed the Lewis family. Now it must end. There will be no building up here. Not while I am alive and before I am very much older, I will see the estate returned to its rightful owner.’
‘Father, you are ruining me,’ Charles Crawden cried.
‘You are ruining yourself, my dear boy,’ his father said, speaking gently. ‘We have a copy of the Bill of Sale, Charles. We know what they’re talking about. You gambled that the Lewis family no longer had their copy in their possession. You lost the gamble. Do let it go now, Charles. Please, just . . . let it go.’
‘So your family really did know all along, Henry,’ Meg said, quietly. ‘It was true what my father told me. You never came to pay court to me – it was only my property that you sought.’
‘No, Meg,’ the old man said in a tragic voice. ‘It was you I came to see. But you would never believe it. And, in the end you turned me away. It has been a long life, Meg Lewis. A long life without you.’
The old couple stared at each other across the gathering gloom, each in their wheelchair, surrounded by their memories.
‘Miss Lewis,’ Sir Henry said at last, speaking very formally, ‘you will hear from my solicitor. Not this cheapskate, but the family’s usual firm. Any claims that the Crawden family may have harboured in the past for The Goldenvale estate will be formally relinquished . . .’ Then he gestured with an impatient wave of his hand. ‘Take me home, Charles. The matter is finally closed.’
26
Mary Sees the Next Step
THERE WAS GREAT jubilation at Golden House on the night after the meeting with the Crawdens and Martin Marsh at Four Fields. Jack was particularly impressed with the way William had handled the affair.
‘How did you know what that Bill of Sale would contain?’ he cried as he pulled the cork on a bottle of wine and filled glasses for Meg and Phoebe.
‘Yes, Will,’ Phoebe said. ‘How could you possibly guess?’
William felt himself blushing and, searching for an answer, he dug his hands deep into his jeans pockets. His fist closed round the Magician’s pendulum and once again he felt some comfort from holding it tightly.
‘Of course,’ Jack said suddenly, ‘we knew there was some sort of document in existence from Jonas Lewis’s book – and Meg, you said that your father knew of one. I suppose a calculated guess would have come up with what you said, William. But I must say I’m very impressed!’
‘Actually, I didn’t say very much really, you know. They did most of the talking themselves.’
‘That’s right,’ Jack s
aid, remembering. ‘Brilliant, William! Maybe you should go into the law. You have a perfect legal mind! Say as little as possible and let the other party hang himself with his own words!’
‘Well, Meg,’ Phoebe said. ‘So now you’re the landowner round here!’
‘Yes, dearie,’ Meg said, quietly. ‘A landowner without a house!’
‘I wish you’d think about staying on here,’ Phoebe said. ‘We really have so much room and – even if we ever get to the point where we open the hotel, there would always be a place for you.’
‘It’s odd being here . . .’ Meg said, looking round at the kitchen.
‘Don’t rush her, Phoebe,’ Jack said, gently. ‘Just know that we would love to have you, Meg.’
‘Thank you, dear,’ Meg said.
‘And you would be near the badgers,’ Alice said quickly.
‘It’s up a steep hill, though,’ Meg said with a smile. ‘I’ll have to get on my feet again if I’m to see them each night. No more sitting about in a wheelchair. I’ve got exercises that I’m supposed to be doing . . .’
And mercifully the conversation moved away from William and he was spared the ordeal of having to answer any more questions until the children went up to their rooms. Then his sisters started to interrogate him.
‘I thought we weren’t supposed to say anything about the legal papers?’ Alice challenged him as soon as they were on their own. ‘I thought that was the whole point of burning them and everything.’
‘So did I, Al,’ William replied. ‘Don’t be cross with me. I was as surprised as you were. I was terrified that someone would ask a question that I couldn’t truthfully answer without blowing the whole thing.’
‘But no one did,’ Mary said, thoughtfully. ‘It was perfect. They did what Jack said just now . . . they condemned themselves – because they thought you knew more than you were prepared to say.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ William admitted. ‘When I saw that vile man . . .’
‘Which one, Will?’ Alice asked eagerly. ‘I think they’re both vile.’
‘Martin Marsh is the one I really detest. He’s slimy, like a slug,’ William said.
The Tunnel Behind the Waterfall Page 21