by Tim Bradley
‘Are you sure of that?’ Emily queried.
‘What a peculiar question my girl,’ said Lady Dervela, gripping her pearls tighter. ‘Why would it not be so?’
‘Well…’ said Emily, ‘were all those lost…identified?’
‘My husband’s body was recovered and some of his crew too…the ones that the sea did not take…’ She stifled a tear into a swiftly drawn handkerchief. ‘We prayed so much for those we could not find.’
Lady Dervela tilted her head to one side and returned to look out of the window.
‘We don’t know that Joseph’s dead,’ whispered Arnie.
‘But we can guess,’ said Emily. ‘Lord Martlesham would have made sure that Joseph was never coming back.’
‘I can hear him now,’ said Lady Dervela softly. ‘Talking and just being himself – everywhere I look Joseph is all around. And if I need him to be really close to me, then I look at this.’ She indicated something over on the far wall. Arnie and Emily moved across and stared hard at what she meant.
‘The Lady at the Window,’ he said, reading the name plaque.
‘The one Joseph painted!’ Emily gasped.
‘I found it after he had gone,’ said Lady Dervela calmly, returning to her chair and sitting back down. ‘He created it without my knowing. I believe he meant me to have it to remember him by until we saw each other again. Look – it even places me right here – a sign that I must keep watch to await his return. But why he didn’t show it to me before he went…I…can’t explain.’
Emily leaned into Arnie. ‘We can’t leave her to wonder,’ she whispered. ‘She should know that Joseph is not coming back. It’s the truth isn’t it?’
Arnie thought hard before he shook his head. ‘Do we really know what happened?’
Emily looked at him. ‘I think we do.’
A gust of wind swirled once more through the landing but no one seemed to notice.
Arnie gritted his teeth and turned around to face Lady Dervela.
But the chair was empty.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Cover-Up
‘Just when I was about to do my bit she clears off!’
‘At least you don’t have to tell her about Joseph now, do you?’ said Emily sadly.
Arnie frowned.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m thinking. Why did she show us the painting?’
‘It means a lot to her, it’s all she had left.’ Emily looked around as the light bulbs burst into life. ‘Must be back in your time Arnie,’ she surmised, turning to the empty space where the painting had hung only a few moments before.
Arnie joined her. ‘Hope so.’
‘A reminder of Joseph,’ said Emily. ‘That’s probably all it is.’
‘Joseph painted it for her…but he didn’t tell her that he had. Now why would he do that?’ he wondered.
‘Because he felt ashamed about what he had done?’
‘Or was it because he was proud of what had happened between them. He wanted to leave a reminder of what they meant to each other.’
‘It just looks like an innocent portrait of a lady. No story there.’
‘But there might be!’ Arnie’s eyes lit up. ‘So let’s go and find her!’
They spiralled down to the ground floor.
‘There she is!’ Arnie said triumphantly, pointing to where Lady Dervela’s piercing black eyes appeared out of the dark to stare at him.
‘She’s doing what she did the first time I saw this picture – holding onto me. Perhaps she is trying to hint at something!’
‘Well what? If it had been important wouldn’t she have said?’
‘Joseph was running out of time,’ said Arnie. ‘He knew he had to escape while he could. He trusted she would find the portrait after he’d gone but that doesn’t explain why he didn’t show it to her.’
‘A surprise?’
‘Yes! That could be exactly right.’ Arnie crouched further in.
‘What is it?’
‘Here,’ he said, peering hard. ‘This paintwork is rough and swirly. And slapped on like toffee.’
‘So?’ said Emily.
‘Even if he was in a rush – this looks like an afterthought. ‘It was wet when we found it wasn’t it?’
‘Maybe he made a mistake and was hurrying to cover it up?’ said Emily.
Arnie jumped back.
‘Yeah! That’s it – brilliant!’ He started moving around frantically.
‘What are you doing?’ said Emily perplexed. ‘Can I help?’
‘Hang on! I think these might do,’ he called back. He ran into the long corridor and climbed onto the top of an overcrowded sideboard. Reaching high, he lifted off a thin metal dagger from a hook on the wall.
‘Ow!’ exclaimed Arnie, testing the tip of the blade with his thumb. ‘That’s sharp!’
‘Don’t play with it then,’ cautioned Emily.
‘I need it,’ he called back firmly.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ said Emily, as Arnie returned to the portrait and started scraping at the paint.
‘No, I’m not sure at all – but we need to find out, don’t we?’
‘Find out what?’
‘A four hundred year old secret perhaps?’ he whispered.
‘If anyone sees you doing this – they won’t half give you a hiding! Think how much this must be worth?’
‘I don’t think she’s valued very highly,’ he said, angling the sharp edge precisely.
‘Even so, they’re bound to spot it, what will you say if they catch you?’
‘Questions, questions! It’s like I’m back at school!’
‘Charming!’ Emily said.
‘And try to keep your voice down unless you really want Mr Silverthorne in here.’
Emily went into a sulk.
‘Look, this is a tricky thing I’m doing and I am trying not to shake,’ he said, as a solid chunk of black paint came away revealing hints of red below. ‘There’s something here…’
Emily watched as a suggestion of an image began to show – a pair of boots followed by a hand and a sleeve and then up to a head.
Arnie continued to work the area slowly and methodically until the full picture that lay underneath was finally exposed. He stood back and they shared a glance.
Where Lady Dervela had once been alone, she was now joined by Joseph, smartly dressed in a black and red tunic, standing to attention at her side.
‘Wow!’ said Arnie.
‘What a liberty!’ said Emily. ‘Putting himself in Lord Martlesham’s place and in his uniform too! What would people have said?’
‘In the twenty-first century they’d be pretty proud I reckon,’ winked Arnie.
‘Joseph can’t really have imagined it would ever happen,’ Emily replied. ‘Complete fantasy.’
‘His way of a joke then?’ said Arnie. ‘Having the last laugh?’
‘It would seem so,’ said Emily. ‘Clever of you for thinking to look.’
But Arnie wasn’t listening – he was staring perplexed at Lady Dervela’s face. ‘That’s odd,’ he said.
‘What is?’
‘She seems to be smiling now. Can’t you see it?’
‘Not really, but then…perhaps I’m not meant to.’
Arnie moved from one side of the painting to the other and then back again. This time Lady Dervela’s eyes didn’t follow him.
He swallowed. ‘I think I’m free of her,’ he said quietly.
Arnie returned the blade to its rightful place before hurrying to sweep up the evidence of his attack on the portrait. He dumped the scraps of paint in an empty fish tank. ‘I hope they don’t need that anytime soon,’ he chuckled, turning to find Emily gone.
‘Emily? Emily?’
But there was no sign of her.
‘I guess I’ll see you when I see you then,’ he sighed, wandering slowly back towards the hall.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Prisoner
Arnie
paced up and down the Blue Room for quite a long time, listening and watching for a sign of anything happening, but whenever he looked outside, the snow remained thick on the ground.
‘Could this be it Emily?’ he said wearily, staring out into the night, ‘My adventure over?’ He heard no answer to this and so reluctantly headed over to the fireplace and poked the remains of the smouldering wood that Emily had lit earlier.
The burning embers glowed back at him as he gazed into the patterns made by the swirls and wisps of smoke. For a moment he imagined himself at home in his room with familiar things around him. His books, drums and a newly acquired hamster he called Spangles after an old fashioned sweet. Then his mind wandered to his father and aunt hoping they weren’t worrying about him too much. He closed his eyes and he saw them smile.
Suddenly a cold blast of wind spiralled down the chimney and battered his face. The fire went out.
Wide awake, he stood up quickly and edged gingerly towards the door. Opening it an inch – he nosed out. There seemed to be no one around. Soft daylight bathed the cream and yellow walls around the hall suggesting it was either early morning or evening. The hands of the grandfather clock confirmed the time to be 7.23. Next to it, hanging by a wonky screw, an old olive tinted glass thermometer registered a temperature of 71 degrees Fahrenheit. ‘What’s that in centigrade?’ Arnie muttered as he tried to calculate the figure.
He reached the turning leading down towards the servants’ area. There was now a door across it that had been left ajar and from behind he detected a sense of something. His stomach lurched. For a moment he dared not look through it but finally plucked up the courage. In the distance beyond, a single bulb flickered on – then off – then on – then off – then on. It beckoned like a beacon.
He pushed the door open and started walking, his heart pounding furiously, like a prisoner being sent to the gallows.
As he reached the end he saw, under the light, a sprawling collection of pictures displayed on the wall. Young children on donkeys being led by the reins, sandcastles on unspoilt beaches in blissful weather, a man standing proudly by an apple press, and a boy happily astride an upturned canoe perched on a riverbank.
Next to these, a procession of landscape photographs. The earliest were scratchy black and white – very formal – showing a school; the pupils in regulation uniform and the masters in starched shirts, waistcoats and bowler hats, dated between 1933 and 1939. There followed a gap until the 1950s when cheekier faces started appearing more often, followed by images from the late 1960s; the florid collar, kipper tie and open-toed sandal being the fashion in those days. The location: Frenchingham School – Oxfordshire.
Next to the most recent – dated 1974 – was a double portrait of two boys. Arnie thought they must be in their mid teens with one being perhaps two or three years older than the other. The youngest beamed at the camera as happy as a lark while his neighbour, dark eyed and brooding, seemed haunted. The final item pinned up was a calendar hung open at the month of August 1976.
Arnie realised he was feeling uncomfortably hot. He pulled off the smock given to him while in Lady Dervela’s time and rolled up the sleeves of his thin jumper sighing with relief as he felt his body start to cool.
SMASH! A breaking of glass from somewhere else made Arnie spin round. He crept off swiftly, returning the way he had come.
Arnie sneaked a look through the partially open door back towards the hall. A table lamp had come crashing to the floor over which water from a broken vase continued to dribble. An umbrella stand had been brought down too – its contents dislodged. Above him the noise of thudding feet reverberated around the upper landing.
‘Let me go!’ floated down a pained voice.
Arnie padded softly to the foot of the stairs before daring to look up. But he couldn’t see anything. He listened intently for a moment and then followed warily, tiptoeing as fast as he could.
As he reached the second floor, he heard the sound of a door open. Crouching low behind the banisters and peering through the struts of the upright wooden spindles, he saw two feet exit a room and move hurriedly towards him before turning sharply and heading downstairs. A moment later a second pair of shoes followed the first and made a hasty departure also. Arnie waited until the coast was clear before bobbing up and rushing to the room.
Finding a key in the lock he carefully turned it and went inside.
A figure was lying huddled on the floor. As Arnie crept closer he saw it was a young man, a few years older than himself, dressed in a white shirt and grey trousers streaked with mud. Arnie knelt down beside him.
‘Hello. Are you all right?’
The stranger remained still, his hands covering his ears.
‘Can I help you?’ he continued.
‘David…is that you?’ the young man said blearily, slowly rolling over.
‘No, I’m Arnie.’
The stranger opened his eyes, blinking for a moment, struggling to work out where he was. Suddenly, he lashed out pushing Arnie hard in the stomach.
‘Get away! Leave me alone!’ he cried.
Arnie fell back onto the floor putting out his own hands in self-defence.
‘Hey! I’m not here to hurt you,’ he said slightly winded.
The young man cowered and drew back to sit on his heels. Through a mass of lanky straw-coloured hair, which covered half of his face, he scrutinised Arnie.
‘I’m sorry. Thought you were them…coming back for me.’ His voice faltered.
‘I’m not, I was just passing by.’
‘Passing by?’
‘Who were they?’ Arnie said quickly to avoid answering the question.
‘Burglars!’ the young man said alarmed, looking down at the floor.
‘Right!’ said Arnie. ‘That explains the mess downstairs…’
The young man hesitated before nodding slowly in agreement.
‘Would you recognise them again?’ Arnie queried.
‘What?’
‘Well, I didn’t see anything I’m afraid – just their feet. They were sort of in a rush to be somewhere when they passed me out there on the landing.’ Arnie scratched his head. ‘I wonder what they came for?’
The slamming of car doors outside interrupted them. Jumping up, the stranger sidled up to the window and peeked out.
‘Can you see anyone?’ whispered Arnie keenly.
‘No – they’re inside,’ he replied cautiously as a throaty motor engine started up.
The throttle revved hard before the vehicle blasted off with a roar, accelerating at high speed away from the house before eventually petering out along the drive.
‘They’ve gone,’ he said relieved.
‘Whew! That’s good then – at least we’re safe,’ said Arnie, noticing that the stranger’s hands were shaking.
He turned from the window and swept his hair back. Arnie could now see him properly: quite slim of moderate height with a slight waist. A few spots circled his chin on a serious looking face.
‘You go to Frenchingham School,’ piped up Arnie.
‘What?’ said the young man nervously.
‘I saw your photograph back down the passage, next to another boy.’
‘That’s my brother.’
‘David?’ tried Arnie.
The young man nodded. ‘And I’m Dirk.’
‘Hi,’ said Arnie unnecessarily.
‘But now I don’t,’ he said.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Go to school.’ His face dropped. ‘I’ve left.’
‘Really? I wish I could give up too. It’s quite boring sometimes,’ Arnie joshed.
Dirk straightened. ‘I liked it. I wanted to stay there.’
‘I felt the same when it was time for me to move to Gortenslade.’
‘I was made to leave,’ Dirk stated flatly.
‘Oh. Time for a change was it?’
‘Something like that,’ said Dirk, exercising his jaw as he tweaked the curtains to snatch a glance
back outside. Low sunlight beamed in catching Dirk’s sharp, granite-like profile.
‘All clear still?’ said Arnie.
Dirk looked back, concentrating. ‘Yes. We’re on our own.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Arnie relieved, as Dirk unsmiling, led the way out of the bedroom.
When they reached the hall Arnie noticed a red telephone upended on the floor.
‘We should call the police,’ he said.
‘I s’pose so,’ said Dirk vaguely, looking around at the debris. He twitched and put his hand to his neck revealing a bruise.
‘Did the robbers do that to you?’ said Arnie, staring at a dark purple welt that shone out from above the collarbone.
‘I think so,’ Dirk said, steadying himself. ‘Though I can’t quite remember how – it all happened so fast,’ he reflected.
Then he looked at Arnie. ‘You never answered my question – what made you come here?’
Arnie felt a rush of heat to his face.
‘Oh…accident really. Took a short cut across country trying to get back to the town and not knowing the area very well…I came in to ask directions,’ Arnie lied.
‘Directions?’
‘Yes…got a bit lost. I…couldn’t see anyone down here, so I came upstairs…’
Dirk considered this explanation for a moment before nodding and turned to go.
‘The police?’ Arnie reminded him.
‘Mmmm?’
Arnie raised his eyebrows and indicated the telephone near his feet.
Dirk reluctantly scooped it up.
‘They won’t be able to do anything,’ he said, shaking his head despondently. Dirk’s index finger hesitated over the dial. Then looking puzzled, he squatted down and coaxed out a long flex that had come free from a plastic box on the wall. He held up the twisted end – frayed and useless.
‘No way of calling help now,’ Dirk said indifferently. ‘It’ll just have to wait till my father gets back.’
‘I was meaning to ask, how come you’re alone here?’
Dirk rotated his neck and attempted to massage his shoulder.
‘I just am that’s all,’ he said. ‘My father and David needed to go out and I was to stay here. I am old enough you know. It’s quite legal.’