Sun and Candlelight

by Betty Neels

  The sweaty little hand returned her squeeze and withdrew. ‘I’m heavy…’

  ‘Isn’t it lucky I’m tall?’ she reassured him, and steadied herself on the rubble once more and braced herself to lift him. It was far worse than Jacomina; she thought that her arms would break in the few seconds before Sarre caught Sarel’s upstretched arms and hauled him up beside him. But she forgot the pain in a rush of panic. It was hideously dark and the loose stones were shifting under her feet again. If Sarre wasn’t quick she might disgrace herself for ever and scream. She swallowed terror as best she might as he spoke again.

  ‘Scared, Alethea?’ His voice was warm and reassuring. ‘We’ll have you out in a few seconds now, just do exactly as I say.’ She lifted her aching arms above her head and tried not to think of the emptiness below her.

  ‘And when I say so, jump, my dear.’

  ‘Jump?’ her voice rose. ‘I can’t—oh, I can’t! Suppose you don’t catch my hands? I’m lower than the children were.’ Somewhere below her the rubble slid and settled again. ‘Sarre, I’m frightened.’ Her voice, which she had managed to keep steady until now, wobbled badly.

  ‘Of course you’re frightened,’ his voice soothed her, ‘but I’m not going to let you go, that’s a promise. Now take a nice deep breath and when I say so, jump. Do as I say, Alethea.’

  His calm had rubbed off on to her—besides, he had promised. When he said ‘Now!’ she jumped, her arms stretched to their utmost, and felt the stones beneath her scatter as she did so.

  His hands were like iron bands round her wrists, her arms were being pulled from their sockets.

  ‘Relax, my dear,’ said Sarre in a perfectly ordinary voice, and then began to haul her up inch by inch, working his hands slowly up her arms until they were below her elbows. She hung like that for a second or two while he pulled himself to his knees and then to his feet and then swung her up and out to hold her close in his arms. He was breathing hard and his heart was pounding. She could feel it under her ear; it was comforting and made her feel safe again. When he asked harshly: ‘Are you hurt?’ she mumbled into his shoulder that she was fine, fighting a desire to have a good howl.

  ‘The children?’ she asked then.

  ‘Over in the corner.’ The torch he was holding suddenly went out. ‘Damn!’ He let go of her and fished out his lighter. Its tiny flame made the horrible bare little room even more horrible, but by its light Alethea had seen something—candles in two broken-down enamel candlesticks. She flew across the room and carried them back to Sarre and when he had lighted them held them triumphantly aloft, debating where to set them. She heard Sarre saying something, but she wasn’t attending; she was elated at their escape and all she wanted now was to find a safe place for their lighting so that they could get out of the house as quickly as possible. There was a shelf against one wall, sound enough still. She put them down and asked him: ‘What did you say?’

  He was kneeling by the children, making sure that they weren’t hurt, but he turned to speak over his shoulder. ‘I said “By Sun and Candlelight,” Alethea.’

  Something in his voice made her look at him, but although she knew vaguely that it was from some poem or other, she couldn’t be bothered just then to think about it. ‘Are the children all right?’ she asked.

  ‘I believe so—bruised and a cut or two. And you?’

  ‘Never better,’ she lied cheerfully; her arms ached so much she could hardly move them, but if he stopped to examine them now they would never get away. There was an ominous rumble from somewhere beneath them and Sarre said: ‘I think it’s time to go.’ He blew out one of the candles and picked up the other and gave a hand to Jacomina who was snivelling unhappily. ‘Sarel, stay close to Alethea and right behind me.’

  They negotiated the rickety stairs safely and gained the narrow passage, and Sarre opened the door and blew out the candle. The evening was still bright. Jacomina, catching sight of the scratches and bruises on her small person, broke out into fresh sobs. Sarel didn’t look much better, but it was Alethea who had come off worst; she had cut her hand quite badly when she had jumped down to the children, her tights were in tatters as well as her dress and her hair was full of dust and cobwebs and over and above that her arms, where Sarre had hauled her up, were already an angry red. And as for Sarre, he hadn’t escaped scot free either. He had taken off his jacket the better to rescue them and his shirt was torn and stained. Once in the dreary little alley, he tossed the jacket into the back of the car, lifted Jacomina, still howling, into the back seat, told Sarel to get in after her, and opened the door for Alethea. One glance at her and he picked her up and tossed her gently into the seat beside his: ‘You look all in,’ he murmured, ‘your arms must be painful.’

  She mumbled that they were all right without looking at him and sat silent while he drove home. Only when they were within sight of the house did she ask: ‘How did you know?’ She stirred to ease her aching legs. ‘Where we were…’

  ‘I didn’t, at least not for a time. I tried all the usual places—the children’s friends, your friends, anywhere that Nanny and Al suggested, and then I remembered hearing Sarel talking about the old cottage which had belonged to Nanny. It was a shot in the dark…’

  He stopped the car and got out, and at once the house door flew open and Al, closely followed by Nanny and Mrs McCrea, came down the steps.

  Sarre had picked up Jacomina after he had helped Alethea out of the car and handed her over to Al, then led the procession back into the house.

  ‘Hot baths,’ he ordered, already halfway up the staircase with his daughter. ‘I’ll look you over afterwards, and give Mevrouw some brandy, Al, she’s in need of it.’

  He had disappeared as he spoke and Alethea was sat down tenderly in one of the chairs in the hall and made to drink the brandy while Sarel stood close by, looking anxious and describing with a wealth of detail to Nanny and Mrs McCrea just how awful it had been. Al took the glass away presently and said: ‘Now, ma’am—upstairs to your room, like the guv says.’

  She felt peculiar and a little sick, but she managed to say: ‘Sarel, you’ll do what Papa says, won’t you? A bath and then jump into bed so that you can be properly looked at.’ She managed a smile. ‘You were a brave boy,’ she told him, ‘and thank you for wanting to stay behind in that awful place.’

  He said something then to send her spirits soaring. ‘I wished to do what your son would have done.’ He grinned at her, looking exactly like his father so that her insides melted. ‘I shall call you Mama.’

  She thanked him and then turned away quickly before he should see the tears pouring down her dirty face.

  She had a good cry in the bath so that by the time she was sitting obediently in a dressing gown while Sarre examined her hurts, she was admirably composed once more. True, her eyes were dreadfully red, but he wasn’t likely to notice that; she had washed her hair and even done something to her face, happily unaware that it had in no way disguised the fact that she had had a good howl. Her arms were swollen now and the redness was turning purple, but the ache was better, she assured him as he closed the cut on her hand with butterfly plasters, gave her an ATS injection and then gently removed some grit from one eye. ‘Are the children all right?’ she asked once again.

  ‘In splendid shape. Nanny’s giving them their supper and then they’re going to their beds. They want to see you before then if you could manage it. I’ve asked Mrs McCrea to throw away our dinner and get us some supper instead.’ He touched her cheek gently. ‘You are a very brave girl, my dear, we are all deeply in your debt.’

  Alethea wanted to catch hold of his hand and hold it against her cheek for ever, but all she said was: ‘The children were splendid, you must be proud of them.’

  He said slowly: ‘What did you think about while you were waiting down there?’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘You,’ but that would never do. ‘Oh, the children, and I made plans for Christmas although it’s a bit early f
or that, and whether Mrs McCrea would make an extra chocolate cake because the children have friends coming to tea on Saturday. We talked a lot, too—I told them about Theobald’s…’

  His voice was so soft she hardly heard it. ‘And did you think about Penrose?’

  It seemed a funny question for him to ask, but she answered it at once. ‘Well, yes as a matter of fact, I did—I tried to imagine what he would have done if he’d been there.’ She laughed a little. ‘He didn’t…’ She wasn’t given the chance to finish what she had intended to say—that he hadn’t even seemed real to her, certainly she wouldn’t have been so sure that he would come to their rescue—Sarre interrupted her: ‘I’ve been very selfish.’ He was bending over her arm, feeling the bones gently. ‘Why don’t you go to England for a week or two, visit your grandmother and look up your friends at Theobald’s?’ His voice was very level.

  She gave him a surprised look and felt her heart sliding down into her slippers. He wanted her out of the way—probably she bored him stiff when they were alone together; indeed, she reflected, that must be the case, for they were so seldom alone nowadays. Pride stiffened her, it stiffened her voice too. ‘I’d love that—just for a few days. Would you mind if I did?’

  She wasn’t looking at him, and only heard his voice, bland and impersonal. ‘Not in the least.’

  They had their supper presently, fussed over by Al, each course served with an urgent message from Mrs McCrea that they were to eat all of it. They talked about the evening’s happenings and Sarre told Alethea that he had already telephoned and arranged for the ruined old place to be boarded up and locked. ‘Before someone else does the same thing,’ he explained. ‘I can’t think what got into the children…’ He sighed. ‘I suppose they will have to be punished.’

  ‘No, please don’t—I expect it was curiosity, you know what children are, and they were so frightened, that was punishment enough.’

  ‘Very well, if you say so, my dear. Presumably in their own good time, I shall discover the right of the matter.’

  Sarre discovered it sooner than he had expected. Alethea had gone upstairs and wished the children goodnight and although they had begged her to stay and talk she had kissed them fondly, pointed out that their father had said that they were to stay in bed and go to sleep, and promised that they would all have a nice talk in the morning. She had barely regained her own room when they were out of bed and, dressing gowned and slippered, on their stealthy way down to their father’s study.

  Sarre was sitting at his desk when the children knocked on the door, and although he had said that they were to go to bed some hours earlier, he didn’t look surprised. His ‘Hullo there,’ was cheerfully welcoming as he waved them to a big armchair opposite the desk. But the children refused.

  ‘We must stand, Papa,’ declared Jacomina. ‘We have things to tell you.’

  ‘I thought perhaps you might.’ Sarre switched to Dutch. ‘Go ahead, then. Sarel…?’

  ‘It’s about Alethea. It was our fault that she was with us in the old cottage. You see, we wanted to frighten her.’ He paused and his father begged him to go on with an impassive face.

  ‘And suppose you begin at the beginning,’ he suggested.

  ‘We didn’t want a mama. We thought that we were quite happy without one, Papa, and when you told us about Alethea we said that we wouldn’t like her, so we did not try to be friends with her.’ He added in a small voice, ‘We were not rude exactly, but she wanted to be friends and we did not allow ourselves to like her. Only then she didn’t mind about Caesar in her bed and she didn’t tell anyone either, and she found Neptune for us and she was kind, but we still did not want her for our mother. Anyway, she wasn’t like a real mother, more like a visitor, for she sleeps always alone, not like our friends’ mothers and fathers, and they kiss good morning and laugh together and…’ He stopped because Sarre was looking so grim.

  ‘Go on, Sarel.’

  ‘And then we made this plan—to frighten her just a little so that she would go away, although I think we didn’t really want her to go, only we’d said that we weren’t going to like her. So we went to Nanny’s old cottage and left a note for her and of course she came after us. We thought we’d just lock her in for a little—just for fun…’ He faltered under his father’s eye. ‘But when we got inside it was dark and the floor gave way and we fell into that cellar.’ He shivered. ‘It was so very dark, Papa. And then Alethea came and she didn’t make a fuss or tell us we’d been naughty, but tried to get us out, and when she couldn’t she said she would go for help, only she’d left the key on the outside of the door and it banged shut so that she couldn’t get out. So she said she’d climb down to us and see if she could get us out. She found an old chair, but it broke when she tried to stand on it and she said that would be no use, so she jumped down. She was very brave, Papa.’

  ‘Just like a mama,’ wailed Jacomina in a tearful voice. ‘She told us stories and talked and said if we had patience you’d come. We all had to keep very still because when she jumped she fell in some water and the floor started moving. Papa, we want her to stay with us for always and be our mama. We are very fond of her and we are sorry that we have been unkind to her.’

  ‘We would like her to stay, do you wish that too, Papa?’

  Sarre’s eyes gleamed beneath their lids, but all he said in his calm way was: ‘I think that tomorrow morning you must go to Alethea and tell her just what you have told me and ask her if she will forgive you and stay with us all.’

  Sarel asked uncertainly: ‘You are angry, Papa?’

  ‘Not with you, jongen.’

  Alethea was sitting up in bed, drinking her morning tea and fighting a headache while she examined the livid marks on her arms, when there was a tap on the door and the children entered.

  She had thought just for one lovely moment that it was Sarre, but she hid her disappointment quickly and bade them sit on the bed. ‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked, conscious that the atmosphere was heavy. ‘There are a couple of tooth glasses in the bathroom.’

  They shook their heads, looking so glum that she said: ‘What is it, my dears?’ At the same time she pushed the little plate of tiny biscuits Mrs McCrea had made specially for her between them. It was Jacomina who began, only to dissolve almost immediately into a series of snivels, so that it was Sarel who embarked on the long, rather incoherent tale; how they had made up their minds before they had even seen her that they would not like her. But somehow it hadn’t worked, Sarel admitted, a little red in the face. ‘You didn’t mind about Caesar and you never told anyone either, and you found Neptune and you never told when I spoilt your new dress—not even when Papa asked.’ His voice became urgent. ‘Please will you stay with us? We should very much like to be your children if you’ll have us.’ He gulped. ‘We don’t want you to go away, ever.’

  Alethea forgot about her stiff arms; she put them round both children and hugged them close. ‘Oh, my dears,’ she cried, ‘you don’t know how happy you’ve made me. I shall so enjoy having a son and daughter—we’re going to be very happy!’

  Jacomina smiled at her from a blotchy face and Sarel grinned. ‘Oh, super!’ He ate a biscuit and Jacomina ate one too. Alethea was so happy that she recoiled only slightly when Caesar’s ratty face appeared from under Sarel’s pyjama sleeve. She recovered at once and gave him such an enthusiastic greeting that Sarel insisted that the beast should sit on her hand. She bore this high honour with fortitude until the children went away to dress, bearing Caesar with them, much to her relief.

  She was drinking another cup of tea to restore her nerves when there was a second tap on the door. Surely this time it would be Sarre?

  It was Nanny. She came and stood by the bed and burst into speech, repeating herself so often that Alethea managed to understand her quite well. Nanny was deeply sorry for her manner towards Mevrouw. She hoped that she wouldn’t be sent away, if Mevrouw could understand that she loved the children. She had been a wicked old
woman and only now did she realise how wrong she had been to reject Mevrouw’s kindness and friendship.

  Alethea caught her hand and held it, frowning over her Dutch, anxious to get it right. ‘And they love you, Nanny. You must never leave us, it’s unthinkable—you’re important to them and we trust you, you must know that.’ She paused to dig up a few more words. ‘If I had been you,’ said Alethea, ‘I should have done exactly the same thing.’

  She leant up and kissed the old woman’s cheek. ‘Friends,’ she said.

  Two difficult tears rolled down Nanny’s cheeks. ‘Friends, Mevrouw,’ she repeated, ‘for always.’

  It was still quite early. Alethea got up and dressed and went downstairs to find Sarre and the children already at their breakfast. Sarre got to his feet at once. ‘My dear, I expected you to stay in bed…’

  ‘I’m not ill, thank you,’ she gave him a sunny smile, ‘only sore.’

  The children rushed to get her coffee and toast and she watched his mouth curve in a faint smile although he didn’t say anything, only presently he excused himself with the information that he would be home for lunch and perhaps they could have a little talk then.

  Alethea agreed happily; her day was perfect, or almost so. Nothing would be perfect of course unless Sarre loved her, and as he wasn’t likely to do that she would have to make the best of a bad job, but to have the children’s affection was something…and Nanny. She felt as though she had conquered Mount Everest.

  Her state of euphoria lasted until lunchtime when Sarre came home, inspected her cuts and bruises, pronounced them satisfactory and then, over lunch, informed her that he had her tickets.

  ‘My tickets?’ Alethea gaped at him. She had quite forgotten all about his suggestion that she should go to England; indeed, she hadn’t really taken it seriously, only agreed with it out of pique. She said now, a piece of toast poised halfway to her mouth: ‘You weren’t serious?’

  He nodded. ‘By boat—you prefer that, don’t you?’