by K. M. Peyton
Antony got up and went first. Cedric helped bunk Lily up and the two boys followed.
The house was dark with all its windows blanked, and smelled of dust and mould. It was horrible, Lily thought, knowing that a man had been murdered there. Cracks of light came in here and there and Antony led them for what seemed miles of corridors to his father’s office, wanting to know first of all if it had been stripped by the police.
It had. The desk drawers were pulled out, all empty; every shelf and cupboard had been cleared, even some floorboards pulled up. The detective inspector’s blood still lay in a great stain across the carpet, with a cloud of flies buzzing over it. They all stood and looked at it, trying to come to terms with Antony’s fusty, silent father being a murderer. Lily felt sick.
‘It’s weird,’ Antony said. ‘But when we left he was like another person, sort of excited, pleased. Not frightened. I got the impression that he was actually enjoying himself, as if he had suddenly come to life after all those dreary years of whatever it was he did. As if he knew how to outwit everybody, like a sort of hunted fox. That was the impression he gave me. He was happy!’
‘Well, they haven’t caught him yet. Perhaps he’ll get away with it.’
‘I bet he’s lying low with friends in France, and when the hue and cry has died down he’ll go and live somewhere out of the way, perhaps back to South America. Amazing. I wish I knew him better. I don’t suppose I shall ever see him again.’
His words, although spoken without regret, made Lily feel incredibly sad.
‘It’s horrible in here. I want to go,’ she said.
‘We’ll go and fetch the things out of Helena’s room. That’s all I want. Then we’ll go.’
The pillowcases stuffed with valuables still lay inside the door where Rose and Violet had dropped them. Sorting through them, they abandoned all the female things, the dresses and furs and embroidered underwear, and made piles of the valuables hidden within – the jewellery, the silverware, the Fabergé eggs, the inlaid boxes, the Venetian glassware, the knick-knacks of gold and silver set with rubies and emeralds, the most beautiful of the silk scarves …
‘Cor blimey, mate, you’ll be able to live on this lot for years.’
Best of all the pictures, of which the two servants had only tried to take the smallest. Simon took the Van Gogh sunflowers off the wall, and a Botticelli nativity, a Dutch flower piece, a bright Matisse, a Turner seascape and a small Rubens portrait.
‘You’re rich as Croesus, Ant, no problems.’
‘But where can I keep it? I can’t live here any more.’
They had already discovered that the electricity, the water and the gas had all been turned off.
Simon said, ‘We can take it to my place for now.’
‘Your parents will go potty, seeing this lot. I don’t really want anyone to know. They’ll insist on putting it in the bank, obviously. And then everyone’ll know I’ve got it.’
‘Where then?’
‘The grotto,’ Lily suggested.
‘People have been in there since the party. I’ve seen ’em,’ Cedric said. ‘My father blasted some of ’em out only last week. Threatened them with a shotgun.’
‘Somewhere no one will look.’
‘In my place,’ Lily said. ‘My bedroom. My father never looks in there. Not ever.’
‘In your house?’ Simon’s voice was derogatory.
But Antony said, ‘Yes, that’s a good idea. But not let him see us put it there.’
‘He said he was going to do the gardens in the pub today. If we go now he won’t see us.’
‘What about Squashy? If he knows the whole world will know.’
‘I’ll sort Squashy.’
‘OK. Let’s go.’
They packed all the stuff carefully in the pillowcases and left the building, making sure no one was about to see them. It did not take long to walk to Lily’s house. She went ahead on a reconnaissance to see that no one was there, but all was quiet, the door left open as it always was, with no sign of Gabriel or Squashy.
The boys came after her and the loot was carried upstairs and stuffed away under her bed, (deep in dust, she was ashamed to notice). Lily noticed Simon and Cedric looking all about them, never having been invited into Lily’s house before, and she could tell from their expressions that they were amazed at its poverty. If it had not been for the memory of Antony lying so happily in her bed and her own joy in his company, she would have been hurt and embarrassed, but as it was she was able to smile to herself. She thought Antony enjoyed her house more than Simon’s (apart from the food, of course).
As if to prove it he sat down in Gabriel’s chair when they came downstairs and said, ‘Well, that’s very handy, Lily. No one will find it, you’re sure?’
‘No.’
‘If they do they’ll think you’ve stolen it,’ Simon said coldly. Lily could tell he didn’t like being in her house and was anxious to return home. ‘Are you coming, Ant?’
‘No. I’ll come later. I’ve got to see about getting my plane back.’
‘Shall I tell Ma to expect you later?’
‘Er, yes, I suppose so.’
‘You’d be welcome at ours too, if you want. My ma wouldn’t mind,’ Cedric said.
The two boys went off and Antony grinned and said to Lily, ‘I’d rather stay here actually. I’m not used to being mothered.’
‘Being told what to do. She’s so bossy. I could make up a bed for you in the barn if you like. People have stayed in there sometimes. It’s dry and clean.’
‘Oh, Lily, if only—’
He looked at her sadly. Lily wanted to hug and kiss him but knew she couldn’t. He had no home, no family, no ambition, no nothing, and looked about ten years older since his father’s escapade. She could not think what on earth he was going to do.
‘I would like to get a job at Brooklands but so do so many people, much better qualified than me. But I have got an aeroplane. First things first. I shall go and fetch it and take it to Brooklands.’ Ambition flickered.
‘Yes, that’s a good idea. Maybe you can stay at Brooklands, or somewhere near, and get to know people and get a job. And come back here sometimes, to take your loot.’
‘Yes. I might go now and keep clear of Mrs G. Didn’t they say they would take me to Guildford tomorrow to see the police? That’s not a good idea, for God’s sake. If I go now to get the plane, you can tell them that, can’t you? Not where I intend to take it, although they might guess. But I doubt they’ll come looking for me.’
‘You’re going now?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘You can always come back here if you’ve nowhere else.’
‘Take your bed off you? That’s not fair, Lily, and I don’t think your father approves of me. But I’ll keep in touch – I can always fly in to see you, and collect some of my loot to sell.’
Lily could not bear to think of Antony going. She tried to delay him, made him a cup of tea, chattering. It proved a big mistake, for as they sat outside, drinking, a familiar figure appeared, coming towards them from the road.
‘Oh my God!’ Antony breathed.
It was Aunt Maud.
SEPTEMBER, 1922
20
She said, ‘This whole thing is a most terrible stain on the family name. I cannot believe it of Claude. I always suspected he was into some shady deals – I’m not stupid – but the fact that he is a traitor to his country is beyond belief. A traitor and a murderer, my own brother, it has been the most terrible shock, and for you too, dear boy, it must be very hard to bear.’
(But it was quite fun, Antony was thinking – not the murder, but the bit afterwards was great, and his father coming to life in a way that revealed another character completely, one that Antony thought he would have got on with much better … if only he had known … he might have gone with his father into a new life, a hunted fugitive … what larks … God, how she did go on!)
‘As long as you are not sullied by hi
s ghastly behaviour, I think we can expunge his memory from our minds by keeping you away from that dreadful place and finding you a good position here in London. I have many professional friends and am sure I can place you in a law firm or a bank in the city. With your education, even though I know you are wilful and idle, you are mannerly and literate and you might be able to start at the bottom in a worthy profession and make yourself into a passable human being. It’s called work, Antony, and in this age of massive unemployment you should feel yourself very lucky that you have a stronghold here in London with me …’
Et cetera, et cetera, blah blah blah, on and on.
Antony tried to sit looking mannerly and literate rather than wilful and idle, and realized slowly the full horror of what the old bat was planning. His life, no less! Compulsorily marched to London, to her house in Hampstead, he had had no say in anything, hardly able to get a word in edgeways … ‘I’ve got to get my plane …’ ‘We’ll send a message to the aerodrome and get a man to fly it back to Lockwood.’ ‘But we don’t own Lockwood any more.’ ‘Rubbish!’
My plane, my plane! he kept thinking. And my treasure under Lily’s bed … It had only been a temporary solution.
He slumped back in his armchair while her voice ran over him. Her sitting room was even worse than the one in Lockwood, charmless, cluttered with the accumulation of generations of bad taste, of useless little tables covered in bric-a-brac, fusty velvet curtains draped against a view of brick walls, unread books in stacks behind grimy glass doors, firmly locked. It smelled of Ludo, the dog of indeterminate breeding who occupied most of the floor space, his four paws splayed out for visitors to trip over. The bedroom she had shown him was worse than his room at school. Having none of his stuff to clutter it with, it was a stark monk’s abode with a brown lino floor, an empty cupboard or two and a washstand with bowl and ewer.
‘You will be comfortable here,’ she said wrongly.
He had brought nothing of his own with him. He had none of his stuff, no clothes, no gear: she had not allowed him time to sort anything – not that he could have salvaged anything from his bedroom without Cedric’s crowbars again, and no doubt the old girl would never have stood for that. She had countenanced no argument. Lockwood was boarded up.
‘We shall have to get permission to access your belongings later.’
‘But I’m staying with Simon’s parents. They’ve invited me.’
‘I’ve spoken to them. They agreed that you should come to live with me. When I called they told me I would probably find you down at that girl’s cottage. Such an unsuitable friendship, Antony, to be on such intimate terms with your servants – I always saw that you were slipping into careless ways. I discussed it with Claude, but he seemed to take no interest. And that tragedy with Helena – well, I said to myself, it was only to be expected, the way you were allowed to run riot all over the place, to do what you liked. The poor girl … but in retrospect one can only be thankful …’
Antony wanted to scream. He wasn’t thankful that Helena had died! She had deserved more; she had deserved to be educated and helped and given a life; he would have done it for her if he had ever had a chance. (Wouldn’t he? He stifled the small doubt that his conscience raised.)
So now he was a prisoner of this terrible termagant.
‘I’ll take you to see a friend of mine in the City, whom I am sure will start you in his office. A firm of solicitors, very respectable. I am sure you will make your way there. You realize that a young man like yourself is in competition with all these thousands of men displaced by the war: it is very hard to find a job today. You need the help such as I can give you. You are very lucky in that respect. I have many influential friends …’ And on and on.
The small over-full sitting room was stifling him. He was used to the acres of Lockwood Hall’s interiors. He wanted to scream.
‘Can I go for a walk before supper? See the heath?’
‘Yes, you can take the dog with you. He needs a run. Just turn right outside and the heath is at the end of the road. Don’t go far, you’ll get lost. Make sure you notice where our road is when you cross over to the heath.’
She was much higher on the bossy scale than Mrs Goldbeater, and Antony wasn’t used to it. Had she suspected he would scarper off to the nearest railway station to make for home? He was inclined to do just that, but knew she would come after him, and certainly he didn’t want to be lumbered with the dog. Is that why she had demanded he take the dog with him? He suspected so. Large and clumsy as Ludo was, he leaped up with agility when the lead was rattled, and bounded to the front door.
‘Supper will be at seven. Mrs Walker is cooking it now so don’t be late.’ Mrs Walker was the live-in factotum, a woman much in the same mould as her employer.
Getting out of the house was like coming up for air after a long underwater swim – oh for the lake outside Lily’s house on this sweet autumn evening! He could not believe how he had been so neatly captured. Lolling about with Lily one minute, then into a taxi and away the next. At least he still had most of the packet of money his father had passed him safely in his back trouser pocket.
As he walked towards the heath with Ludo trotting beside him, he realized slowly that he had little option other than to stay with the old bat for the time being. He couldn’t safely go back to living in the old house: the Goldbeaters would stop him, and he couldn’t stay with them either for more than a few days. Besides which they were intending to take him to the police station, and at least Aunt Maud hadn’t suggested that. His treasure was safe (or fairly safe) with Lily – the only worry was his aeroplane.
He needed to get that to Brooklands. He decided to write to Tom and get him to arrange it somehow. He would send him a wodge of money to pay for its collection and housing at Brooklands until he could get back to it. Which he would, he vowed. Brooklands was his idea of paradise, and as he crossed the road onto the heath he decided that Brooklands was where he wanted to be, even if it was only bumming around and sleeping rough in the back of a shed. When he had sorted himself out and the hue and cry over his father had died down he determined to go back there.
Now on the heath and with Ludo running away off the lead he felt his optimism return. Staying with Aunt Maud was just a blip in his ambition, useful for a week or so of being well-fed at least. The heath was extraordinary, like being back in the country: he couldn’t believe it, the grass and trees stretching away ahead of him as if London, right on its heels, didn’t exist. For ever, it seemed. Lakes as well, with ducks and swans, just like home. He walked for a long way, kicking the first autumn leaves, throwing sticks for Ludo, feeling his overstretched emotions beginning to subside. What had happened was amazing, but now he was his own man. He would do what he wanted, humour Aunt Maud for a few days and then do what he wanted.
When he noticed that dusk was falling he turned back for home but discovered he was completely lost. He could tell his direction by the setting sun, which had been on his right when he set out, so now, what was left of it needed to be on his left. Fortunately he soon realized that Ludo knew the way, so he attached him to the lead again and let him trot ahead. Ludo was by miles the best thing about being with Aunt Maud. The dog came to life when let out and turned from a great slob on the carpet into a prancing bearlike animal. Antony thought he was Alsatian crossed with what could only be bear, what else? But unlikely. He would be better off with Squashy, Antony thought, and decided to take him with him when he went.
He got into deep trouble for being late for supper, upbraided for his lack of consideration, his selfishness, his stupidity, etc. but Ludo was thumping his tail and obviously showing that he thought Antony was good news – Antony didn’t think he got much of a walk most days with his over-stuffed owner. But his supper, though having languished for an hour in the oven, was very good, and fuelled his optimism in spite of everything.
‘Tomorrow we’ll go to Savile Row and get you measured up for some decent clothes,’ Aunt Maud decided. ‘An
d you can get a haircut and some new shoes. And then we’ll see about a job.’
‘Yes, Aunt,’ said Antony politely.
Mannerly and literate. The best of him. He dredged it up.
‘Yes, I think he will suit. The vacancy is coming up in October, with poor Mr Derbyshire coming to the end of his working days, I’m afraid. The boy will have to start at the bottom, of course, but if he shows aptitude and the right attitude he will be able to make his way with us.’
The thought of working with this man in this office made Antony feel faint. Never! his whole being cried out, even as he was smiling in his best sycophantic manner. It was a solicitor’s office in Clerkenwell, housed in a hideous brick building pretending to be a Gothic vicarage, hemmed around by equally hideous offices, their walls very close. Out of all the windows the view was only of high brick walls with a mere sliver of sky at the top, not a leaf in sight. The windows were grey with grime. The office was divided into several glassed-around cubicles where clerks worked at desks on typewriters surrounded by piles of papers. Antony forbore to admit he could not type. It had never been on Eton’s timetable. He had played about on his father’s machine, the limit of his expertise.
No way would he ever set foot in this place.
‘Yes, sir,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘Yes, of course.’
The old boy was the male equivalent of Aunt Maud, overbearing and ugly. Maybe he was a very good solicitor. The office seemed busy. All the workers were male, some fairly ancient, others not much older than himself, all intent on their papers, not a smile to be seen. No joking, no joshing, not a coffee cup to be seen. He would wither and die on day one. He would not come.
‘Well, I’ll be in touch, Miss Sylvester, when the date comes up for the young man’s initiation. I’m sure it will be a very fruitful collaboration.’