Clouds among the Stars

by Clayton, Victoria

  When I saw Maggie’s kind face, bright with pleasure, I felt a tightness in my throat.

  ‘An angel.’ Sir Oswald’s raddled cheeks flushed. He fidgeted about in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs.

  After a few minutes Rupert returned, followed by Annabel. She seemed subdued. I watched her as she tore the paper from a small square parcel and saw a tear fall, which she brushed away with the heel of her palm. She looked at the contents then got up and walked over to Maggie.

  ‘Thank you,’ She pecked her stepmother’s cheek. ‘It’s a very nice sponge bag.’ It was a pale copy of Cordelia but it was something.

  ‘I hope it’s what you like, dear,’ Maggie said humbly.

  It was a perfect example of people taking one at one’s own estimate. Maggie thought nothing of herself and expected that others would discount her. So naturally they did.

  I unwrapped a lovely calf-bound copy of Byron’s poems.

  ‘Dear, dear Maggie.’ I kissed her heartily. ‘You’re so good to everyone. You should be canonised.’

  ‘A charming thought – but you must be bones and worms first, I’m afraid,’ said Archie, rather spoiling the compliment. ‘It may be that a more immediate treat would be preferable.’

  ‘I asked Rupert what you’d like.’ Maggie looked pleased. ‘It was his idea. I hadn’t never heard of him.’

  In the last days before leaving London, not knowing anything about my hostess, I had been much exercised about a suitable present. I had finally settled on an antique spectacle case, embroidered with flowers, hearts and doves. It was a little faded but extremely pretty. I saw Maggie pick it up more than once and stroke the flowers admiringly. I have always thought that there are few pleasures to equal that of giving, when you happen to have hit on the right thing.

  Rupert’s present to me was unconditionally the right thing. It was a Georgian inkstand. Two cut-glass inkwells with silver lids shaped like lions’ heads fitted snugly next to a pen tray. The whole thing was mounted on silver lion’s paws. Remembering that Rupert was apt to be annoyed when thanked effusively, I moderated my expressions of gratitude. But for many days afterwards, whenever I looked at it, I felt a sense of wonder that this lovely thing was actually mine. My present to him was meagre by comparison, a shagreen vesta case for keeping matches in, that I had found in an antique shop near the Brixton Mercury. Rupert thanked me and kissed me politely and briefly, much as one might kiss an ancient and slightly repulsive aunt.

  For Archie I had found a wooden paperknife with a carved handle shaped like a dolphin. He gave me a beautifully illustrated copy of Adam Bede. ‘I always give this novel to young women,’ he explained. ‘It’s a very moral tale and shows what a bad end you’ll come to if you allow gentlefolk have their wicked way with you.’ He looked significantly at Max and then back at me. ‘For your birthday, if things haven’t improved, I shall give you a copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles.’

  Annabel looked sick with envy when Cordelia unwrapped the shoes Ma had given her. They were from Charles Jourdan, black suede with tiny heels. Cordelia put them on, pointed her toes and paraded about the room, to the evident delight of Sir Oswald, who seemed to be having trouble with the bottom buttons of his waistcoat. Annabel, her expression appalled, held up a grey dress with pink flowers embroidered on the collar and yoke. It was old-fashioned and childish.

  ‘Isn’t it right, dear?’ Maggie peered through her spectacles at it. ‘I got it at Tarrant’s in Derby.’

  ‘It’s –’ Annabel glanced at Rupert – ‘OK.’

  ‘It’s very good quality wool,’ said Maggie. ‘I thought it would keep you warm next term when you’re allowed to change out of school uniform.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly wear it at school. The other girls would scream with laughter.’

  Cordelia examined it critically. ‘Do you know, Lady Pye, I think this could be a lovely dress. What it needs is a little of what Ma calls a soupspoon d’élégance. That’s French for a hint of elegance,’ she explained kindly. ‘If you took off the collar and cut the neck down into a wide scoop, unpicked all the flowers, took out the gathers and made just a few wide pleats, with, um – let’s see – perhaps a narrow scarlet sash over the hips, I think it would really be very smart.’

  There was no doubt that Cordelia had inherited my mother’s visual flair.

  Annabel looked doubtfully at Maggie. ‘Perhaps Mrs Whale could do it.’

  ‘Bless you, my chick,’ said Maggie holding out her hand for the dress. ‘I don’t like to put more on her, being as it’s Christmas. But if it’ll please you, I’ll make the time myself. I see now what the young lady means. It is a bit old-fashioned. Those assistants in Tarrant’s are that superior you dursn’t go against them.’ She took up the scissors from her work basket and began at once to unpick the flowers.

  Freddie, who had only just returned to the drawing room, gave me a rectangle of white tissue paper. ‘Oh!’ I said. ‘I haven’t anything for you!’

  ‘Of course you haven’t,’ she replied. ‘You didn’t know I was going to be here. This is an improvised present. The ink’s hardly dry.’

  I opened the parcel. It was a fine pen-and-ink drawing of a girl skating. Her long dark hair flew out behind her.

  ‘How clever,’ said Rupert bending over my shoulder to see. ‘That’s Harriet to a T.’

  ‘Is it?’ I studied the drawing, hoping to discover what was me, exactly. I caught Freddie’s hand and pressed it. ‘It’s just marvellous! I simply love it!’

  ‘There’s one more present under the tree,’ said Cordelia coming in with a small parcel in her hand. ‘It wasn’t there a minute ago. It’s for you, Hat.’

  I undid the white tissue paper, watched by the rest of the party who were suffering the anticlimax of having opened all their own presents. I lifted from the paper a gold necklace like a snake. Its body was made of finely wrought overlapping links that made it as thick as a man’s finger, yet as flexible as a real snake. Its eyes were rubies.

  ‘Crikey!’ said Cordelia. ‘Put it on! Or shall I?’

  I felt self-conscious beneath the gaze of so many pairs of eyes. The necklace fastened at the front, the snake’s jaws gripping its tail.

  ‘It really is beautiful,’ said Freddie. ‘It must be terribly old.’

  ‘Who gave it to you?’ Cordelia shook out the wrapping. ‘It doesn’t say on the tag.’

  Of course I knew who it was from and the knowledge sent my blood careering round my body until my face burned. Max was standing nearby, watching me. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It’s much lovelier than I could possibly deserve.’

  ‘It once belonged to a Mesopotamian princess,’ he said. ‘It’s five thousand years old.’

  Jonno, who had only just appeared, and who looked rather the worse for wear, rolled his bloodshot eyes. ‘Is that a bribe or a reward, I’d like to know.’

  ‘Think of the things that snake has seen,’ said Freddie. ‘Another world.’

  I imagined the necklace around the throat of an proud, almond-eyed, raven-haired girl and her brown hand caressing it, thousands of years ago, as mine was now. Might there still be a few grains of sand from the shore of the Euphrates imprisoned between its links? I could not accept such a valuable thing. But I did not know how to refuse it in front of so many people.

  Mrs Whale brought in champagne and everyone’s mood grew gay. Even Annabel cheered up when she found Rupert had given her a wristwatch with the phases of the moon on the dial and a pale blue leather strap. She sat on her own in the far corner of the room, gloating over it. Archie played Victorian parlour songs on the piano and Jonno sang. He had a surprisingly beautiful voice, a refined tenor that was incongruous with the repulsive face furniture. Georgia told Max about her last holiday on St Lucia. Emilio flirted with Freddie and Vere talked fortissimo to Miss Tipple. Sir Oswald worked his way through my unoriginal, and perhaps unfortunate, present of a large box of chocolates while watching Cordelia, who was re-examining her loot. My han
d went frequently to Max’s necklace, which lay across my collarbones with a cold, insistent pressure.

  Dinner was magnificent. Maggie and Mrs Whale must have slaved to produce oeufs Richelieu – soft poached eggs with truffles and prawns set in aspic – followed by sole on a bed of tomato mousse, and roast goose with soufflé potatoes and a sauce made from cherries. Sir Oswald’s chin became very greasy and I saw him dab his brow with his napkin as he gobbled through large helpings of every course. Unfortunately those of us who had spent the afternoon skating or walking on the moor were exhausted by exercise and fresh air, and we had to struggle to maintain our part in the conversation. My eyes stung with tiredness and I noticed Freddie concealing huge yawns behind her hand. Cordelia and Annabel flopped over their plates and were silent.

  While we ate our Christmas pudding Maggie’s head, from more noble causes, drooped forward until her chin was on her chest and for ten minutes she slept. Georgia tried to set up a flirtation with Max but he was unresponsive. Only Archie, having spent all afternoon peacefully reading, was talkative and regaled us, Scheherazade-like, with an extensive repertoire of improbable stories. Our laughter woke Maggie and for a moment she looked around with bleary eyes and a startled expression at her guests seated round the candlelit table, as if she wondered what we were all doing there.

  ‘This has been a wonderful Christmas,’ said Max, the minute he saw his hostess was properly awake. ‘You’ve been so kind and generous and I can’t thank you enough. But, sadly, I must leave tomorrow. It was my agent on the telephone this afternoon. The Hubert Hat Company is taking King Lear on tour. It’s all been put together at the last minute and they’ve had a struggle to replace absent members of the cast –’ he looked apologetically at me – ‘so I can’t let them down. I’ve booked a taxi for the station in the morning, early. We’re leaving for Australia tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘We could share your taxi,’ said Mrs Mordaker, at once. ‘It will save the man coming twice to the house. Besides it will be cheaper.’

  ‘I’m afraid it will be too early for you. I’m leaving at six.’

  ‘Hereward and I have always been early risers. I always say slug-a-beds miss the best part of the day.’

  She gave Jonno, who was helping himself to another glass of wine, a disapproving look. He silently raised his middle finger in her direction, which luckily neither Maggie nor Sir Oswald saw. Mrs Mordaker’s expression of outrage made Cordelia and Annabel explode with giggles throughout what remained of the feast, which was quite maddening for the rest of us.

  I heard of Max’s departure with mixed feelings. I was grieved that my father was to be left to drum his heels in prison while someone else took the stage as Gloucester. But I was glad it had not been Caroline on the telephone. I regretted that my flirtation with Max was being brought swiftly to an end but I was relieved that now I need not decide how it should be resolved.

  ‘What a coincidence,’ said Georgia to Max. ‘I was planning to visit my sister in Melbourne in the New Year. You must let me have your address.’ She shot me a triumphant look.

  ‘I don’t know how you’ve managed to meet so many people and do so many things,’ I said to Archie as we dropped into chairs in the drawing room after dinner.

  ‘You were all so dull I was obliged to entertain myself. I merely recounted the plots of all the plays, novels and operas I could think of for a little mental exercise. Do you know, I shall miss the Mordakers. They are so amusing. Don’t look now but Max and Georgia are having a row.’ Archie looked slyly over my shoulder. ‘He’s said something unkind, I think … Yes, she’s staring down at her glass, wondering whether to dash the contents into his face … She’s thought better of it … She’s trying tears. The beast! … He’s laughing … She’s slapped his face! No, Harriet! I forbid you to turn round. It would be indecent to crow over her humiliation.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing any such thing!’

  ‘Nonsense. You’re her rival and you’ve won. You mustn’t pretend to be superhuman. Now Lancelot’s looking at you. He wants you to approve his demonstration of fealty. He’s making his way through the crowd to beg for your sleeve to wear in his helm … Don’t look, here he comes … Ah, Max! Tell us about this Australian tour. Think of picturesque billabongs shaded by coolabah trees and thronged with muscular, perspiring sheep-farmers – you must be so excited.’

  It appeared that Archie had appointed himself my moral guardian for he remained firmly at my side for the rest of the evening. The party broke up earlier than usual. I went upstairs with Cordelia, unable to make up my mind whether I was glad or sorry that there had been opportunity only for a decorous farewell kiss from Max in full view of the household. I was glad as we left the drawing room but sorry the minute Cordelia and I were tucked up with the lights out. When Max was out of my sight I could imagine myself as sexually liberated, with a devil-may-care attitude to adultery and fornication. Just.

  I had been dreamlessly asleep for some time when something woke me. I resisted like mad but a faint, repeated noise dragged me towards consciousness. I lifted myself on one elbow and looked accusingly at Dirk. He slumbered innocently on, smacking his lips, and making pedalling motions with his paws. Beside me Cordelia lay without stirring. There it was again, a grating noise like fingernails being dragged slowly across wood. It came from the closet.

  I thought of mice, deathwatch beetles, plumbing, even rats. I was not comforted. Then I thought of Old Gally’s arm. This I had been trying, with everything in my power, to avoid doing. But with cruel insistence the horrid thing popped into my imagination. I pictured it sneaking round the closet door and cruising silently through the darkness over to the bed and slowly losing altitude to hover with its outstretched finger quivering just above my nose. That did it. I preferred to meet it on my own terms. I slipped out of bed, tiptoed to the closet door, stiffened my stomach muscles and pulled it open. A face that was not mine glared at me with crimson ferret eyes from the mirror at the back of the cupboard. I waited only long enough to see that it had a flowing wig beneath a feathered hat and a neck-ruff bedewed with glistening red. I slammed the door shut and flew out of the bedroom into the gallery.

  Then, almost beside myself with indecision, I ran back in. I could not abandon my sister to Old Gally’s murderous curses. But it was out of my power even to approach the closet. I did not scream or cry because I was too frightened. I had to find someone braver than me.

  Rupert’s room was next to mine. I opened his door a few inches, intending to creep in and rouse him gently. But there was no need. I heard muttered words, a groan or two, then Archie’s voice saying, between moans, ‘You brute – you brute! Hurt me – go on, hurt me!’ I closed the door hastily.

  I had come to rely on Rupert as a source of strength in times of need. He was so good at hiding his feelings that I had forgotten he must have needs of his own. I dithered, shivering with shock. I ran backwards and forwards a few paces in each direction, before deciding that, after Rupert, Freddie was the best person to help me. I sprinted down the landing. A gleam shone under the linen room door.

  I burst in. ‘Freddie! There’s something horrible in my –’ I stopped. Maggie lay with her head on the table before the sewing machine, her cheek resting on Annabel’s dress, a pair of scissors in her relaxed grasp. She was so deeply asleep that I had to shake her quite roughly.

  ‘Wha-ha? A-hoo? Oh, Harriet … I must have dropped off. What time is it? Is everything all right?’

  She took off her spectacles. Her face was pale except for the red marks where they had gripped her nose. She rubbed her eyes and stared up at me, her expression apprehensive.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ I said after the briefest pause. ‘But you ought to go to bed. It’s after one, I think.’

  She nodded. I kissed her good night and watched her stumble along the gallery, speechless with fatigue.

  As soon as she was out of sight I knocked discreetly at the door I thought was Freddie’s. I was rewarded e
ventually by a line of light appearing beneath it. I heard a key turn in the lock, then the door opened.

  ‘Harriet!’

  I was so confused and frightened that I did not immediately notice that Max was wearing only an eiderdown. We stared at each other for a moment or two. Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside.

  ‘I’m so sorry to wake you,’ I said, almost weeping with fright. ‘I thought this was Freddie’s room. Only there’s this man in my cupboard and I daren’t go and see if he’s still there but I can’t leave Cordelia and I don’t know what to do –’

  ‘Shh!’ He put his arms round me. ‘Start again. Who’s in your room? Not that donkey, Emilio?’

  ‘No, Old Gally!’

  ‘Old who?’ Max put me at arm’s length and examined my face.

  ‘Old Gally. The Civil War one – the one whose arm it is – his ghost, I mean!’

  Max began to laugh. ‘Well, that’s original, anyway.’

  ‘Please come with me! I can’t go on my own. It was so horrible. There was blood on his neck – oh, and his eyes!’

  He looked at me doubtfully. ‘You’re shaking! You really are frightened.’

  ‘Yes! Yes! Please come!’

  ‘All right. You stay here. I’ll go and see.’ He pushed me down on to the edge of the bed and pulled a blanket round me. ‘Just wait a minute. The cupboard in your room, did you say?’

  I nodded, mute with fear and he went away, still wrapped in the eiderdown. I kept my eyes trained on the open door, expecting, any second, a hideous, headless corpse to come through it. In less than two minutes Max was back. He closed the door and locked it. I tried to read from the expression on his face what he had seen. He sat down beside me.

  ‘No sign of the phantom rapist.’ He spoke teasingly as though we had agreed it was a joke.

  ‘Did you look –’

  ‘I opened the cupboard door and I saw a mirror and myself reflected in it, rather the worse for too much champagne and not enough sleep.’