The Door In the Tree

by William Corlett

  ‘This way, Uncle Jack,’ Mary answered, and she led the way across the open ground towards the yew.

  21

  The Storm Clouds Gather

  AS THE RAIN lashed down around them, Phoebe, Jack and the children ran for the cover of the yew tree. Jack held Stephanie close to his chest, with his thick woollen sweater covering her head and shoulders. She had woken from a happy burbling slumber and was whimpering miserably.

  ‘I don’t think our daughter likes rain much!’ he said with a laugh, as they all reached the shelter of the thick branches and pushed through into the dark interior.

  ‘She hasn’t got wet, has she?’ Phoebe asked in a worried voice, as she reached out to take the child from him.

  ‘No. The sweater took most of it.’

  Under the tree it was quite dry. Phoebe sat down, with her back to the trunk, and cradled Stephanie in her arms. The thunder, which had been distant, rumbled more closely and a sudden wind sprang up. Jack and William peered out through the hanging branches at the pelting rain. It bounced up off the earth and made puddles in all the hollows. Mary and Alice stamped their feet and shook themselves, trying to get dry.

  ‘It shouldn’t last long,’ Jack said.

  As he spoke a crack of thunder exploded above them and a livid flash of lightning turned the world momentarily to the colour of sulphur.

  Jack whistled!

  ‘That was close!’ he said. ‘It must be right over us. It blew up so quickly.’

  More thunder crashed. It was so loud that it shook the tree and made the branches tremble. Phoebe put a hand over one of Stephanie’s ears and pressed her head gently to her breast, rocking her and soothing her as she howled fearfully.

  Alice crouched with her back to the trunk, next to them. She didn’t like thunder much either and could have done with a bit of comfort herself. But she was trying hard to be brave, so she just pursed her lips and hummed quietly and tunelessly to give herself some courage.

  Mary, meanwhile, ran her fingers through her short hair, combing it dry. When William cried out, as a stream of water found its way through the tangled branches and went straight down the neck of his shirt, she squealed and dodged away from him.

  ‘Oh, William!’ she gasped. ‘You gave me a fright.’

  ‘That rain is very cold,’ he said, trying to wipe his back dry with his hand.

  Then Phoebe looked up and stopped the comforting noises she was crooning to the baby.

  ‘Listen!’ she said, urgently.

  Another crash of thunder reverberated round the valley, and more lightning crackled and flashed.

  ‘Listen!’ she said again and, as she spoke, she pressed Stephanie closer to her, muffling her cries a little.

  ‘What?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m sure I heard . . .’

  ‘Help!’ a faint voice cried, seeming to come from somewhere above them. ‘Can somebody, please . . . help me?’

  ‘Did you hear?’ Phoebe said, breathlessly.

  ‘Yes,’ Jack replied and he gazed up into the tree in a puzzled way.

  ‘Come on,’ Mary said, running to the trunk. ‘Up here, Uncle Jack!’ and, as she spoke, she started to climb the lower branches, on the other side of the trunk from where Phoebe and Alice were sitting. As she did so, Alice scrambled to her feet.

  ‘Ah! Is this the tree house you told us about?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Just follow us,’ William told him. ‘You’ll see.’ And he started to climb after Alice, who was already following Mary up the tree.

  ‘You’d better stay here,’ he told Phoebe, ‘we can’t carry Steph up as well . . .’

  ‘Help me, please . . .’ the voice called again.

  The higher they climbed, the more the tree shook in the wind. When they came to the iron ring, William had to hold on to Alice and practically pass her across the gap to Mary. Jack, of course, found the going much easier because of his height.

  ‘How on earth did you discover this place?’ he asked William, as he stepped across the gap with the aid of the iron ring, and joined him on the platform.

  ‘It was an accident, really,’ William answered. ‘It’d take a bit of explaining.’ They edged their way to the overhanging branch and ducked under it. Here Jack’s height started to be a disadvantage and when he finally followed the children into the tree house – gasping with surprise at the sight of it – he had to stoop low to avoid hitting his head on the door frame.

  The house swayed and shook in the wind and the noise of it tearing at the open shutters, making them bang and swing, was how it must be in the crow’s nest of a ship in a gale. The space inside the room was limited and with them all there it was difficult to move. Mary, ahead of the others, knelt down and only then were they able to see, over her, a figure lying on the floor. In the half light, it was just possible to make out a shock of white hair crammed under an old hat.

  ‘Meg!’ Mary cried. ‘What’s happened to you?’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness you came, dear!’ Meg exclaimed. ‘I’ve been like this since the middle of last night. D’you think you could untie me?’ And, as she spoke, she rolled over on her side, revealing that her arms and legs were tied securely behind her back in such a way that her legs were doubled under her.

  ‘Let me, Mary,’ Jack said and he squeezed past, producing a penknife from his pocket. With it he cut swiftly through the thick string, releasing her.

  ‘You’ll be the uncle, are you?’ she said, squinting closely at him.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’m Jack Green. I live in Golden House. And you are . . . Meg?’

  ‘Meg Lewis. That’s right. Can you help me to stand up, please? I’m afraid I’ve been in one position for so long that I’ve got a bit stuck.’

  ‘Who did this to you?’ Jack asked, continuing to cut at the string.

  ‘Who indeed. I didn’t see the face, of course. Took me completely unawares. I’d just come here. The next thing I knew there was a gag in my mouth and I was being trussed up like a chicken. I managed to bite through the gag – but I couldn’t get my hands or legs free.’

  As she spoke, Jack cut the final pieces of knotted string from her ankles. There were dark red marks where it had bitten into her flesh. Meg massaged her wrists and ankles and stretched her limbs.

  ‘You must be terribly shaken . . .’ Jack said, helping her to her feet. She stood, precariously, waiting for the circulation to return to her cramped body.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said. ‘It’s the badgers who were in real danger.’ Then she pushed past them, making for the door, and disappeared from view along the platform and under the branch.

  Phoebe was standing at the foot of the tree, holding Stephanie and peering up, trying to make out what was going on. She was surprised when the first person who appeared, climbing rapidly and with great expertise down the trunk, turned out to be not one of the children or Jack but a little old lady in a long mac and a man’s hat.

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, as Meg pushed past her without a word and went out, through the green screen of branches, into the still streaming rain.

  A moment later, Jack appeared followed closely by William.

  ‘Where is she?’ Jack asked.

  ‘She went that way . . .’ Phoebe replied, pointing vaguely in the direction that Meg had taken.

  ‘Come on,’ William said. ‘I know where she’ll have gone,’ and he ran out into the rain.

  Meg was kneeling in the mud, a little way down the steep side of the valley. The rain deluged round her, but she seemed not to notice it. When they reached her, she seemed equally unaware of their arrival. The ground around her was broken up and trampled – as though much digging had taken place. She held in her clenched hand a tuft of grey fur and, when she turned, her face was wet not just with the rain but with her own tears.

  ‘Oh, my little ones! Oh, my dears! I’ve failed you,’ she said, in a broken voice. ‘I’ve failed you,’ and then, unable to contain herself any longer, she leaned forward on th
e wet earth, sobbing painfully.

  Alice slid down the steep bank and, kneeling, she flung her arms round Meg hugging her close.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t cry, Meg. We know who one of the men is . . .’

  ‘Too late, dearie. They’ve taken the badgers.’

  ‘All of them?’ Alice asked, appalled.

  ‘No. They won’t have bothered with the little ones or the old sows. I dread to think what’s happened to them.’ She wiped her cheeks with the back of a hand and, in doing so, smeared wet mud across her face. ‘What beats me is – how did they know where I was?’

  ‘Tell us what happened,’ Jack said.

  ‘I was up in the hide. I hadn’t seen a sign of lamps.’ She closed her eyes, trying to remember. ‘There was a noise behind me. I looked round . . . it was dark, you see, and I never use a torch, for fear of giving myself away. Next thing I knew – someone jumped on me. I was gagged and trussed up before you could say “Hollyhocks”.’

  ‘How long had you been up there?’

  ‘No time. I’d spent most of the night down here, at the sett. But the wind was cold and there didn’t seem anyone about. Besides, I get a much better view from up there. I can see if anyone’s coming from either direction. No, I’d scarcely climbed the tree and got myself settled when it happened.’

  ‘So, whoever it was could have been watching you for quite some time and followed you up there?’

  ‘Could have, I suppose,’ Meg agreed, reluctantly. ‘But I’m usually so alert. I’m used to the dark, see. It’s no different from daylight for me . . .’ She fell silent again, stroking the tuft of fur in her hand.

  ‘Come back under the tree, out of the rain,’ Jack said, raising her up.

  Mary and William were standing just behind her. Mary took her hand and helped her to climb back to the top of the bank. William, meanwhile, reached down and gave Alice a pull up.

  ‘If only . . .’ she said, quietly.

  ‘What?’ he asked, half knowing what she was thinking.

  ‘If only I hadn’t lost my temper with the Magician. He’d be able to help us. I’m sure he would too, if he knew what was going on. Don’t you think so, Will . . .?’

  But William didn’t respond and so they continued up the hill in silence. The rain was lighter now and the thunder sounded more distantly. When they reached the yew the others were preparing to leave.

  ‘Come with us, Miss Lewis,’ Phoebe was saying. ‘We’re much nearer to Golden House now than to your place and we can take you back in the Land-Rover . . . There is a road to you, is there?’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ Meg answered. ‘There’s a track through the forest, takes you out on to the moor road. I hardly ever use it now. I don’t go to the town much. Don’t really fit in there any more.’

  ‘Please come with us,’ Phoebe repeated, gently, and Stephanie reached out with her hands and stroked Meg’s cheeks.

  Meg smiled, sadly, and took the little fingers in her hand.

  ‘A Lewis going back to that place?’ she said to herself. ‘Maybe the time has come. For my badgers at least.’ She looked into Phoebe’s eyes. ‘For them, shall I forget the past? Forgive . . . and forget?’

  Phoebe frowned, not understanding what Meg was talking about, but troubled none the less by her words.

  ‘Do you hate our house so much?’ she asked.

  ‘Not the house itself, more what it does to people.’

  ‘Come on,’ Jack interrupted them, stopping any further conversation. ‘We’d better hurry, while the rain has stopped.’

  As they left the cover of the tree, Mary and Alice ran to Meg, each taking one of her hands and drawing her along after them. Phoebe lifted Stephanie higher in her arms, covered her with Jack’s sweater, and followed the others through the wet grass to the edge of the valley.

  ‘Well, I mustn’t be long,’ Meg told the girls, still sounding unsure. ‘There are the cows to milk . . . the animals will wonder where I’ve been.’ Then a sudden thought made her look back towards the yews. ‘Did you see Gypsy? I thought I heard him, not long after dawn. You’ll know where he is if anyone does,’ she added, turning to Alice.

  ‘I haven’t seen Spot for ages,’ Alice replied, unable to call him by any other name. ‘He’s gone off me, I think.’

  ‘Never, dear!’ Meg told her. ‘When you win the love of a dog, you win it for life. He’s probably been a bit busy. The animals have a life to lead as well, you know. We don’t know the half of what they get up to!’

  ‘This way!’ William called from ahead of them and he disappeared down the steep path.

  Meg took a deep breath, as if steadying her nerves.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘it’s come at last. A Lewis returns to Golden House.’

  22

  ‘A Lewis Returns to Golden House’

  AS SOON AS they arrived home, the children all went upstairs to change and Jack took Stephanie to their bedroom. Meanwhile Phoebe led Meg through the hall to the warmth of the kitchen.

  ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t like something to change into yourself?’ she asked. ‘A dressing gown, perhaps?’

  But Meg just shook her head and took off her raincoat.

  ‘Thank you kindly, dear, but I’m more often damp than not, you know,’ she told her, shyly. ‘You can’t help it when you live out of doors. I never notice the wet to tell the truth. It’s all one with me, rain or fine.’

  So Phoebe drew up one of the chairs to the kitchen range and left Meg warming herself, while she went up to put on a dry dress. When the children came down they found Meg sitting on the edge of the seat, staring into the flames.

  ‘Funny, me being here,’ she said, in a dreamy voice. ‘Funny! My family used to own all this, you know. But my grandad lost it. Gambling. That’s what I was told – that was his vice. He never seemed like a gambling man to me. ’Course I was only little when he died. He was a haunted man. We’ve all been haunted – by this place. Golden House!’ she said the words with such bitterness. ‘Golden House! It was ever gold that was man’s undoing. I’ve never set foot inside the place till now, but I could tell you every corner of it. Every nook. Every cranny. I know about rooms here you’d never even dream existed. Grandfather Lewis spent all his days sketching maps and diagrams. I can see him now, poring over bits of paper, doing sums, rubbing out, starting again, throwing sheet after sheet of paper on the fire. All the time, shaking his head and muttering to himself. Poor man. This place destroyed him, yet – even after he got away – he couldn’t let it alone. And my father too. The memory of it drove him into an early grave. Mother and I were left to fend for ourselves. And then, one day, I came home from the market – I’d been to sell a bull calf, I remember – and Mother had passed away as well; carried off by worry and a broken heart. And there I was, left alone at Four Fields, who should have been the mistress of all this.’ She became silent again, staring into the glowing fire.

  ‘D’you still have the sketch maps?’ William asked her. ‘The ones your grandfather did of the house.’

  Meg looked at him, as if surprised not only by his question but that he was there at all, so lost had she been in her thoughts.

  ‘What, dear?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you still have the maps that he did?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ she replied. ‘I burnt them with all the other stuff – I sold what I could and burnt the rest. But you can’t burn the memory, can you?’ She tapped her forehead. ‘I have them in here,’ she said. ‘Nice and safe in here. No one will get them out of me. Not ever. They destroyed him – I wouldn’t want that to happen to someone else, would I? And have it be my fault.’

  ‘D’you know about the room at the top of the chimney?’ Alice whispered.

  ‘I tell you,’ Meg whispered back. ‘I know everything.’

  ‘And yet you’ve never been here?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Not in the flesh. But my mind has brought me here most days. The mind travels far swifter than the body. I sit in that
tree house and stare at this place. I’m glad children are living here again. It needs laughter and warmth. It was a sad house when the Crawdens were here. He was a terrible cruel man. He drove my granded and grandmother out for a debt of money, when he already had more than enough. My daddy was two years old at the time. But they had to get out, taking him – a little babe-in-arms – with them and nowhere but a poor tumbledown cottage in the middle of the forest to call their own. Hard times. Still, all things come to those who wait. Eventually the house became empty – that was after old Miss Crawden died – and we were the only two left in the valley, this house and me. I’ve watched it, day after day, slowly falling into ruin. It’s what our family wished for, you see, that one day Golden House would be no more and that its power would . . . fail.’

  ‘What power?’ William whispered, as the children all sat, wide-eyed, listening to her.

  ‘I think you know well enough what I’m talking about,’ Meg said, looking at them.

  ‘The Magician isn’t really bad,’ Alice said. ‘Honestly, I’m sure he isn’t. It’s just that – he’s a bit stern sometimes and he gets cross when we ask the wrong questions.’

  ‘He destroyed my grandad,’ Meg said, bitterly.

  ‘But I think . . .’ William told her, trying hard to remember, ‘I think we read all about it in a book Uncle Jack brought back at Christmas. He’d borrowed it from some woman at the museum. Was your grandfather called Jonas Lewis?’ Meg nodded. ‘Then the book was written by him . . .’

  ‘I know the book,’ she said, briefly. ‘It was ours once, but I sold it. I needed money to keep Mother and me alive and what did we need with a book full of Granda’s blessed drawings? We’d seen enough of them over the years . . .’

  ‘Well if you’ve read the book, you’ll remember . . . it was because he’d made gold for his own use that the Magician was angry . . .’

  ‘Yes. I remember,’ Meg said, after a moment. ‘I remember that story. But – just supposing it was true – would it have been such a crime? He’d used up every penny he had on those blessed experiments. Every penny. Need he have been so sorely punished for his deed? Wasn’t the object to make gold? Poor man, didn’t he suffer enough? Was there to be no forgiveness . . .?’