The Serpent in the Glass (The Tale of Thomas Farrell)

by D. M. Andrews

  Stanwell Clear’s thin face was nevertheless kind, if somewhat grizzled. It didn’t look as if he shaved any more often than he ironed. Wisps of grey and black hair shot out from under the black fedora hat he wore. He stuck his hand in a pocket of his jacket, and then in another, and another, until he found what he was looking for: a somewhat battered cream-coloured envelope, which he handed enthusiastically to Mr Westhrop.

  Mr Westhrop opened the envelope and, after glancing briefly at the letter inside, nodded his head in approval.

  ‘Darkledun Manor be a fine school, sir. I’m sure your children are very grateful that you’ve decided to put ’em in it, so to speak.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Mr Westhrop said. ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child, eh?’

  Thomas swallowed hard, remembering his nightmare and the great fangs in the serpent’s mouth. Why had Mr Westhrop chosen that phrase? Thomas remembered he’d used it before, when telling him off.

  ‘It’s just a saying,’ Mr Westhrop explained, as Mr Clear stared blankly at him.

  Stanwell tilted his head. ‘Oh I see, yes, a sayin’. I must remember that one, yes.’

  Mr Westhrop handed the letter back to Mr Clear. ‘Well, I suppose we should go. We don’t want Thomas — or Jessica — to miss their train.’

  Mr Clear stuffed the letter back into one of his many pockets. ‘No we don’t sir, we’s a ways to go and time and trains wait for no man.’

  ‘Er — yes,’ said Mr Westhrop, looking at Mr Clear with some concern. ‘So,’ he said, turning to Thomas and Jessica, ‘we’ll see you two at Christmas. Remember to behave yourselves!’

  ‘Yes, goodbye dear,’ Mrs Westhrop said to Jessica, giving her a big hug, and quite unexpectedly becoming tearful. By the look on Jessica’s face she was as surprised as Thomas.

  ‘Tell Thomas “goodbye” too,’ Mrs Westhrop whimpered.

  Jessica smiled and looked at Thomas.

  Mr Westhrop looked around uncomfortably. ‘Now dear, pull yourself together, we may be losing Jessica for a while, but we’ll be gaining a paying lodger. And don’t forget there’s that new gazebo we’re going to buy tomorrow, remember? Think how that will look in your wonderful garden.’

  Mrs Westhrop seemed to suddenly brighten up. ‘Yes, I’d forgotten about that.’

  ‘We’re having a lodger?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘Oh yes, didn’t I tell you?’ Mr Westhrop said. ‘He’ll be staying in your room — well, you won’t have need of it for a while. It’s only short term, but it’ll help with the finances.’

  Jessica didn’t reply, but she looked shocked.

  Mr Clear pulled out his watch again and looked at it with some concern. ‘Yes, well we do be best goin’ now or we’ll miss that train.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mrs Westhrop,’ Thomas said. ‘Mr Westhrop.’

  Jessica’s parents smiled with some effort as Thomas and Jessica turned and followed after Stanwell Clear, who’d kindly grabbed both their suitcases leaving them just a bag each to carry. As they walked away Thomas’s ears picked up the final snatches of the Westhrop’s conversation — something about which colour gazebo would best suit the garden.

  Stanwell Clear led the children to a platform where a large blue-green train awaited them. He didn’t speak until he’d put their suitcases on the luggage shelves above the seats. ‘You’ll be enjoyin’ the ol’ Manor, that you will. We should be in Edinburgh in less than five hours, and at Darkledun Manor by tea time I reckon. If there’s no leaves, that is. They can stop trains, or so I’ve ’eard.’

  The compartment was large enough to seat perhaps eight to ten people, but they were the only ones in it, so they had plenty of room to stretch out their legs.

  Mr Clear sat down and swung one leg over the other. ‘Now, don’t you be mindin’ if you need to catch up on some snoozin’.’

  It wasn’t long before they found Mr Clear didn’t mind either; for he was very soon fast asleep and his hat — pressed against the back of his seat — in danger of lifting itself entirely from the front of his stringy grey-black fringe.

  The train didn’t stop for quite some time, though it passed through many stations. Jessica had been quick to voice her concerns about a lodger. ‘He’d better not touch my things,’ she’d said soon after they were sure Mr Clear was asleep. Thomas thought it unlikely — Jessica’s ‘things’ were mainly old dolls, teddy bears and a shelf of adventure stories. She never played with the toys anymore, but she liked to keep them all neat and tidy on a small chair in the corner of her room. Perhaps she thought the new lodger might sit on them. As the journey continued, however, the conversation turned to the year ahead at Darkledun Manor. Jessica seemed to be as excited about the new school as Thomas, and for some reason that made Thomas feel very happy.

  Eventually they pulled into a station and the train jolted to a halt, which caused Mr Clear to suddenly wake up and readjust his hat, which had miraculously remained balanced between the back of his seat and the back of his head for the entire journey.

  ‘Ah, here be the First Stop!’ Mr Clear announced, as he stood up and narrowly missed hitting his head on the luggage shelf above. ‘You stay here. The train do be stoppin’ for only a few shakes of a sheep’s tail, and I’ll be back in two. Lock the door behind me. When I come back I’ll be givin’ three short knocks followed by one knock, so you knows who it is.’

  ‘Erm, couldn’t we just look through the glass?’ Jessica said pointing to the window in the door. ‘And there aren’t any locks anyway.’

  Stanwell Clear’s face went from one of confusion to one beaming like the new day’s sun. ‘Of course, wrong place little Miss. Got a bit confused! I’ll be back in two swishes of an ‘orse’s tail.’

  Thomas and Jessica looked at each other and then back to Mr Clear as he disappeared out the door.

  ‘A strange character,’ Jessica said after the door slammed shut. She’d adopted the phrase from her father who always said it after he’d been speaking with Mr Philpot who occupied the house two doors away from the Westhrops’. The man lived alone, but kept three pigs, eleven chickens and a goat in his back garden.

  Thomas didn’t respond to Jessica’s comment. He was trying to see where they were, but a rather fat lady had unfortunately positioned herself right in front of the window so that he couldn’t quite see the sign on which the station’s name was written. The train began to make strange noises, as if it were some ancient engine ticking over with cogs, wheels and cranks. Then it hissed like a snake and gave Thomas a start. Concern filled his mind. Where had Stanwell Clear gone? What if he didn’t get back before the train left? Jessica didn’t seem to be worried. She’d found an old broadsheet newspaper that someone had left on one of the seats, and was rooting through its pages.

  Thomas glanced out the window. ‘Maybe we should go look for him, sounds like the train’s leaving?’

  Jessica looked up from the paper. ‘Trains always sound like they’re leaving, you get yourself all ready to move off and then they go as silent as the grave again. I’ve been on more trains than you. You get used to it, Thomas.’

  Jessica was right, she had been on more train journeys than Thomas — one more, and Thomas had only tallied up a grand total of three such journeys in his lifetime. And Jessica’s extra trip had only occurred last year when Aunt Dorothy had taken Jessica to visit the closest shopping centre, to train her in the life skills of bargain hunting and advanced window shopping. Aunt Dorothy maintained that every young woman should know about such things, and that young men were interested in other less important matters. So Thomas hadn’t been invited.

  The train went quiet and Jessica gave Thomas one of her knowing looks. Thomas ignored her and looked out the window again. The fat lady still blocked the sign. She wore a hat that looked as if it had a net over it. A couple of pale yellow flowers stuck out from one side. Had they been real Thomas would have thought them in great need of watering. Suddenly the train started up again more ferociously tha
n before, and Thomas started looking about again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr Clear. The train shuddered and started to make a low whining noise. Thomas blocked his ears. Such sounds always seemed to bore right into his skull, though it apparently bothered others very little. Jessica had pulled a pen from somewhere and had started a picture crossword. She liked those, and often tried to finish the ones Mr Westhrop left incomplete.

  Just as the whining noise stopped and Thomas pulled his hands away from his ears, Mr Clear’s face appeared at the window of the compartment door. He smiled and then moved swiftly in. Behind him followed a boy a little shorter than Thomas, but who looked to be about the same age. He wore a large cream-coloured jumper and dark brown trousers that matched the colour of his hair. A wide grin spread across his large mouth on seeing Thomas and Jessica. Behind him followed a massive suitcase, which he dragged with tired arms.

  ‘This be Marvin Plundergeese, no — Blunderguess, Blenderghost?’ Mr Clear fumbled hopelessly trying to remember the boy’s name.

  The boy screwed up his nose. ‘Penderghast.’

  ‘Yes, yes that be it,’ Mr Clear said, waving a hand at the boy behind him. ‘’E’ll be startin’ at the ol’ Manor this year too.’

  ‘But please,’ the boy began more enthusiastically, ‘call me Penders, everyone else does.’

  ‘Don’t you like “Marvin”?’ Jessica asked.

  The boy shot her a hurt look. Thomas winced inside. Why did his sister have to be so blunt? True, he’d thought the same thing on seeing the boy’s reaction, but he’d never have asked the question in public. Jessica held no distinction between private and public when it came to talking. Mr Clear closed the door and resumed his seat. Penders sat down next to him, looking awkwardly between Thomas and Jessica as the train began to shudder and whine slowly out of the station.

  The boy sighed. ‘It sorta sounds like a hamster.’

  Jessica looked out the window. ‘The train?’

  ‘No, ‘Marvin’.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Jessica said, although Thomas doubted she saw at all. ‘My name’s Jessica, Jessica Westhrop, and this is my brother, Thomas Farrell.’

  Thomas saw the slight frown momentarily cross the other’s brow. He didn’t voice his question, though there really was no need to as Jessica began to fill him in anyway.

  ‘He’s adopted, that’s why he’s got a different surname.’

  Ideally this was something Thomas liked to explain, but many years of experience had taught him that Jessica’s gregarious nature was as unstoppable as a steamroller with no brakes going down a perilously steep hill in very icy conditions.

  Penders nodded, still looking a little confused though daring not to interrupt as Jessica continued.

  ‘We’re from Hertfordshire, from Holten Layme. It’s a nice enough village I guess, but there’s not many shops —’

  ‘And,’ Thomas broke in, ‘where do you come from, Penders?’

  ‘Oh,’ Penders turned to Thomas and seemed to become more at ease for some reason. ‘I live just north of here, in east Lincolnshire, but we only moved a couple of years ago. I was born in London.’

  Jessica’s ears pricked up. ‘I hear they’ve got big shopping centres in London, and big shops that sell everything you could imagine.’

  Thomas knew where this was leading. The conversation was heading back toward shopping. ‘Are you excited about the new school?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ Penders replied. ‘I can’t wait to see what it looks like!’

  ‘You didn’t visit with your parents first?’ Thomas asked.

  Penders shook his head. ‘Nope, my dad said a boarding school would be good for me and that was that.’

  Thomas nodded.

  ‘D’you know who your real parents are?’ Penders asked Thomas tentatively.

  Thomas recovered from the unexpected question surprisingly quickly. ‘They’re both dead. I never knew them.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That’s harsh. I lost my mum when I was four. I guess I don’t remember her much. Dad’s remarried now, but his new wife doesn’t like me much. It’s been difficult for Dad, looking after me an’ all. I guess that’s why I’m going to a boarding school. It’d give him more time to get on with his research too.’

  ‘Research? Is he a scientist?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘No.’ Penders turned to Jessica. ‘He’s in sales. He does market research.’

  Thomas wondered what researching markets involved. Counting how many fruit-and-veg stalls there were in a given town? Perhaps finding out how much cod was sold on Wednesdays or asking customers why they preferred street markets to normal, warm shops? Thomas suddenly realized that the subject was getting dangerously near to shopping again. He glanced at Jessica and was relieved to see that particular glint absent from her eyes.

  Thomas grabbed for the first question that entered his head. ‘So, what’s your gift?’

  ‘Gift?’ Penders asked.

  ‘Yes, Darkledun Manor’s a school for gifted children,’ explained Jessica enthusiastically.

  ‘It is? Well, the only gift I’ve got is for getting into trouble.’ Penders grinned. ‘What about you two?’

  Jessica stared back blankly and then shook her head, perhaps all too aware that her attendance at the Manor hadn’t been by invitation.

  Thomas shrugged. ‘Do you think they made a mistake?’

  ‘I guess we’ll find out.’ Penders grinned again, then leant back on his seat. Mr Clear was looking at them all with what Thomas thought a twinkle in his grey eyes.

  ‘Where are you from, Mr Clear?’ Thomas asked. The other two children looked at Thomas and then at Mr Clear.

  ‘I be from the ol’ Manor, Master Farrell,’ he said in such a way as to make Thomas think it a stupid question.

  Jessica frowned. ‘Your accent doesn’t sound Scottish.’

  ‘No, I didn’t say I grew up in Scotland,’ Mr Clear added, though he didn’t see fit to add where he had grown up — despite a considerable and intentional pause by Jessica.

  ‘And what do you teach, Mr Clear?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘Teach?’ the black-clad, wiry man replied.

  Jessica nodded. ‘Yes, at the Manor?’

  A broad smile appeared on Mr Clear’s stubbled face. ‘Oh, I not be teachin’. No, no. I do be the Undertaker.’

  ‘The Undertaker?’ Penders said, swallowing hard. ‘Does the school need one?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Clear said emphatically. ‘There do be a very great need, especially with so many young’ns about making a mess — and that ‘as to be dealt with. And there’s no ’alf measures taken at the ol’ Manor y’know. We go all the way.’

  Penders’ mouth hung open. He looked as if he wanted to get off the train. Jessica looked more confused than afraid.

  ‘Especially those crisp packets,’ Mr Clear went on. ‘They stuff ‘em everywhere y’know — but as I always says, you can’t pull an ol’ woolly jumper over Stanwell’s ‘ead without him findin’ an ‘ole.’

  ‘Erm, Mr Clear, did you mean that you’re the Caretaker?’ Jessica asked.

  Mr Clear shook his head as if displeased with himself. ‘Yes, yes! Darn it, I do be always getting those words mixed up!’

  Thomas heard Penders give a sigh of relief, one Thomas echoed less audibly. It wasn’t long before Mr Clear was off in the land of nod again, or at least that is what the three of them supposed as his fedora had fallen over his eyes. Jessica had gone back to her crossword.

  Thomas watched Penders as he stuck a stick of gum in his mouth. ‘Do you play marbles?’ It wasn’t an invitation of course. There was nowhere to play marbles on a train.

  Penders’ eyes lit up. ‘No, but I’ve always wanted to. Never had any marbles though.’

  Thomas smiled. Pulling out the bag of marbles from his pocket, he eagerly opened it so that Penders could see his collection.

  Penders eyes widened. ‘Craters! That’s the biggest marble I’ve ever seen! Is that thing inside real?’

  In hi
s excitement Thomas had forgotten that he’d put his father’s orb in the bag. He liked to keep both the marbles and the Glass on him, so it seemed only natural to keep them in the same place.

  ‘I don’t think so, it’s a serpent — a sort of dragon,’ Thomas explained.

  Penders nodded his head. ‘Where’d you get it?’

  ‘It was my father’s,’ Thomas said.

  Penders raised his eyebrows. ‘Your dad played marbles?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not a marble. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a marble.’

  Penders frowned at the Glass. ‘It looks a bit creepy if you ask me.’

  After Thomas showed Penders his favourite marbles they ate their packed lunches. The came to a stop in Newcastle as Thomas bit into an apple. He idly wondered if there was an Oldcastle too. As the train leapt into action again, Thomas cast his eyes about the compartment. Stanwell Clear appeared to still be asleep. Penders chomped on the chewing gum he’d removed temporarily while he ate his sandwiches. Jessica had her head in a book she’d pulled from her luggage. Thomas didn’t notice its title. He was too busy thinking.

  He didn’t think quite as fast as Jessica, but he tended to think longer, which sort of compensated. Penders’ words about the Glass seeming creepy floated around in his head. There was some truth to it. The Glass did look a little weird. Why would anyone make such a thing? And what was its purpose anyway? Perhaps it was just an ornament. The movement of the train lulled him from consciousness so that his thoughts shifted more and more into the world of dreams. His hand drifted to his pocket and as his eyes closed his fingers slipped almost unbidden into the bag of marbles and gently wrapped around the Glass.

  Thomas opened his eyes. The others all seemed to be asleep. He looked out the window. The trees and meadows outside were still. The train had stopped, and they weren’t even at a station.

  He stood and asked Mr Clear what was happening, but he didn’t wake up. He tried to rouse Penders and Jessica, even prodding them. Neither of them stirred. Jessica’s head was down, but her eyes were open, so she couldn’t have been asleep. Jessica hardly ever slept anyway, and when she did she was a light sleeper. When they’d shared a bedroom some years ago (before Jags had died) Thomas had often woken up in the night to see torch light spilling through the ends of Jessica’s blankets. She was always reading and could never bear to have Mr or Mrs Westhrop turn out the lights before she’d finished the chapter she was on. Mr Westhrop never had worked out why his torch batteries had kept running down so quickly. No, Jessica shouldn’t have been asleep. Thomas started to feel nervous. Something was wrong. Maybe he should find someone who could help?