by Tim Bradley
‘Come on my dear, let’s not dawdle. We’re all waiting to eat our supper.’ Mr Dawson turned and led the way.
Arnie poked his head out from where he had been standing. Emily glanced round.
‘So you are a wizard!’ she whispered.
‘No more than you are a ghost,’ he replied.
Arnie could see that she was trying not to cry.
‘I should go,’ she struggled to say.
‘Yes, better had, before this place changes its mind.’
‘I’ve loved being here with you. Life is going to be ever so dull from now on.’
‘So have I – it’s been great.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Couldn’t have managed without you.’
She nodded and wiping the side of her face on her sleeve, moved off.
‘I hope you don’t get into any trouble,’ he called out. ‘You can blame me…’
Reaching the junction in the corridor she paused for a second as if thinking to look back, but then turned and walked out of sight and soon her footsteps faded to nothing.
Arnie stepped out from his hiding place. He walked to where she had left him and hung there, undecided whether to go after her.
Suddenly, the dusky light turned from milky brown to a soft white, and a floor that had been red was now slate grey. A burst of wind blew back over him and a bulb flickered dimly. ‘Oh well,’ he muttered to himself. ‘That’s that Emily.’
From behind, a stumble announced Towersee in the process of dropping an empty tray. He picked it up and slowly tottered towards Arnie. ‘There you are Mister Jenks,’ he said without much interest. ‘I am guessing you must be hungry.’
‘I’m famished!’
‘I’ve got nothing.’
‘What?’
‘Just some stale bread that I’d forgotten to throw out.’
‘Great,’ moaned Arnie.
‘It’s fine for toast. I turned the grill up a bit high – should kill the mould. I’ve left it on the table in the Great Hall. That should see you right till you get home.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ Arnie mumbled sarcastically, turning round to leave. He paused. In front of him the portrait photographs of Dirk and David hung side by side on the wall. He studied their faces quizzically and a big thought struck him.
By the time Towersee had reached the kitchen and struggled down the steps trying not to slip, Arnie was half way up the main staircase making for Mr Silverthorne’s study.
*
Arnie stood outside the room summoning up the courage to knock. As he raised his fist tentatively, the door swung open and Mr Silverthorne gasped, throwing up his hands theatrically.
‘You nearly gave me a heart attack! Doesn’t do at my age!’
‘Sorry – didn’t mean to…I just well…’
‘Luckily, I’m built of rather sterner stuff than my appearance may suggest but I would rather not have it put to the test!’
‘Does Lord Martlesham have any children?’ blurted out Arnie.
Mr Silverthorne blanched and his lips squelched like an oyster being prised out of its shell.
‘Does he?’ Arnie persisted.
‘Now – why would you ask a question like that?’
‘I…think I saw them – back there.’
‘What?’ Mr Silverthorne stumbled. ‘How could you – where?’
‘I…meant…um…in a photograph. Down the corridor on the way to the kitchen.’
Mr Silverthorne let out a short sigh of relief and clasped his chest reassuringly.
‘So does he?’ repeated Arnie.
The solicitor looked him squarely in the eye.
‘He had two sons.’
Arnie stiffened.
‘What…what happened to them?’
Mr Silverthorne considered his answer. ‘It is something that we never discuss. It is too distressing.’
‘But His Lordship…’ continued Arnie.
‘…has put it behind him. It was a truly awful business.’ Mr Silverthorne felt for his walking cane.
‘What was?’ said Arnie, his eyes widening.
‘It was a very long time ago. And I don’t feel the need to elaborate further.’
‘But…’
Mr Silverthorne put out his hand to restrain Arnie. ‘Promise me you will let this matter drop?’
Arnie stared as long as he could bear before nodding the tiniest of nods.
‘Now, if you will excuse me – Lord Martlesham requires my attention and I must not be late.’ And grabbing his briefcase he walked quickly towards the far landing and up the stairs.
Arnie slipped his right hand out from behind his back.
‘Well Emily,’ he said, looking at his crossed fingers, ‘I think I’ve just broken my promise.’
Arnie sloped downstairs and entered the Great Hall. At the end of a long table he found a cup of tea swimming in milk, decidedly lukewarm, and some curly burnt toast waiting for him. He sat down and wondered what on earth he should do next.
He was deep in thought when Towersee came in with Arnie’s school jacket and shirt hooked over his index finger.
‘All cleaned up and pressed for you Mister Jenks – I had to do them by hand. Try not to get ‘em so creased in future.’
Arnie swung his head round as Towersee draped the clothes over the back of a chair.
‘Had enough?’ he continued, jabbing a gnarled thumb pointedly towards the abandoned breakfast.
Arnie leapt up. ‘Mr Towersee, is Lord Martlesham about? I want to ask him something.’
Towersee was perplexed, his bulbous eyes wobbling jelly-like. ‘Gone out,’ he said gruffly.
‘But I thought Mr Silverthorne was with him.’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘I’d like to speak with him please.’
‘Can’t. He’s down at River Cottage,’ Towersee said impatiently. ‘Fallen tree knocked a chimney pot off.’
He tried again. ‘How long will he be gone?’
‘Didn’t say.’ Towersee moved to clear the table. Arnie nipped forward and stood in his way.
‘Mr Towersee, can I ask you a question about people who once lived here?’
‘Well – I’m not sure…’
‘They would have been a bit older than me in 1974, I guess, when that photograph that hangs back there down the corridor was taken.’ Arnie pushed on, ‘I wondered what had happened to them.’
‘I don’t talk about family business,’ the butler said firmly.
‘But Mr Silverthorne started telling me, only he had to rush off.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Towersee guardedly, ‘What did he say to you – exactly? I’m too long in the tooth to be caught out that easy.’
‘Did something not good happen to David and Dirk at one time? Which upset Lord Martlesham quite a lot?’
The old man’s eyes darted around suspiciously.
‘A while ago? During a long hot summer?’ Arnie tried.
‘Mr Silverthorne told you about that did he?’ said Towersee cautiously.
‘He hinted. An accident down at the river?’
‘Well, that’s what Master David said it was but where Master Dirk is concerned one can never be sure. He had been going a bit funny up to that point.’
‘Funny?’
‘Yes, as in a bit unpredictable…odd.’ Towersee tapped his head with the tip of his finger, ‘in the top storey.’
‘What happened that day?’ coaxed Arnie.
‘I shouldn’t be telling you really though it’s no secret now. He tried to poison himself while his Lordship and young David were out. Somehow he didn’t quite manage to do it. He was a lucky young fellow.’
So the medicine worked! Arnie thought, sighing with relief.
‘He was never the same afterwards,’ Towersee continued, ‘became very withdrawn. It was a bad time for us all. But there you are. Those were the cards we had dealt.’
‘And his brother – David?’
‘That’s a different story.’ Towersee inhaled deeply. ‘One tha
t’s not for me to tell.’
‘But…’ tried Arnie in desperation.
‘No – sorry. There are some things that are better kept within the family.’ His eyes sagged a little. ‘Got me?’
Arnie half shrugged but Towersee brushed his objection aside.
‘Now,’ he said changing tack. ‘Your fare will be at the door anytime now so I’d get ready if I were you. I need those old clothes you’re wearing back.’
Towersee lowered his head and moved across to start placing the breakfast things onto his tray. When his risky task was accomplished, he staggered off into the long corridor mumbling quietly to himself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Letter
Arnie did as Towersee asked and was soon standing on the driveway in his school uniform watching the melting snow dripping down everywhere. The day smelt clean and fresh and the starlings were singing brightly. He clutched his rucksack all ready to leave but Farmer Carter was nowhere in sight. Feeling cold out of the sun, Arnie decided to wait in the hall.
It felt no warmer inside. Slouching around, his mind cluttered with confused thoughts, he found himself drifting past an open door. He looked in.
It was clearly inhabited by someone with little interest in filing. Papers were heaped all over the place: piled high on the floor, stacked along the walls and littered across a desk. There was hardly anywhere one could stand. Arnie shuddered at the thought of Lord Martlesham trying to find a single thing in here so he turned to go. Then he saw it. A large leather trunk with the letters D.C. carved into the front and the names SHABBINGTON HALL MARTLESHAM painted below. His curiosity tempted him over. He knelt, examining it with a twinge of excitement, like an archaeologist who might be about to crack open an ancient casket and discover lost treasure.
Arnie moved his hands swiftly over the straps tugging them loose from the buckles that held them tight and with a heave, lifted up the lid. Inside, he found bundles of clothes, sporting gear, football programmes, magazines and comics, wads of letters, postcards and an array of other slightly tired looking schoolboy possessions.
As Arnie removed a book on fly-fishing something broke free and fluttered to the ground. It was a photograph.
Two faces stared out at him both of which he recognised instantly, one with his head and one with his heart. Lord Alec Martlesham looking content and beaming joyfully stood next to a younger man who smiled also, directly towards the lens.
Arnie felt his insides churn as he saw his father – David Jenks, younger than he had ever known, somewhere in his thirties but unmistakeably him. His heart beat faster.
‘Dad?’ said Arnie, under his breath, ‘what are you doing in this picture? How do you know Lord Martlesham?’
His eyes sank deeper into the trunk and to another photograph of a boy wearing a summer blazer, white flannels and holding a cricket bat. Arnie recognised him as the same young boy he had met outside earlier who was searching for his brother Dirk.
Paper-clipped to the back was a letter. Arnie ran his finger slowly underneath the carefully written words in blue fountain-pen ink as he absorbed their meaning.
Castle House
Frenchingham School
Oxfordshire OX14
July 1st 1976
Dear Mum and Dad,
I hope you’re both well.
We had this snapshot taken on that sunny Wednesday just after half term, the same day we played the Charity Shield here (lost to Pangbourne), though I did make forty-four runs not out! I think I shape up ok, don’t you? Dirk is still struggling a bit with settling back in, having been away for that spell, but I’m trying to keep an eye on him, though he does tend to give me the slip when I’m not looking, but so far so good! He came top in Maths and Chemistry (don’t suppose he has written to tell you) but I don’t think he cared much as he didn’t turn up to prize giving (having an off day) so I collected the cups for him. I must try and remember to bring them home.
Nothing much else to report, I have been asked by Freddie Hamilton’s family to go to France with them over the summer but I’m not sure I can as it would mean leaving Dirk and I don’t think that’s fair. He couldn’t stand the journey anyway which rules out asking them if he could come too. I’ll say no, I don’t mind that much.
Anyway we can do lots of exciting things back at Shabs when we finish next week. Are the fish getting fat yet? I hope my rods are still in the boathouse, as I can’t find them here. Tell Cook I can’t wait for chocolate cake for tea, still my favourite, all we get here at school is malt loaf or Battenberg which is DISGUSTING! Be down on the afternoon train next Thursday unless we have to change our plans. If so I will leave a message via the usual route, only in emergency of course! Everything should be fine though. Have you decided whether we are going to Rock in August or is that no longer a goer (wouldn’t surprise me). By the way, I can’t wait to come home; miss you quite a lot actually!
Love to you both. David Xx
P.S. I came third in the 100 metres and fifth in Rowing, which I must say; I’m pretty pleased about (Dirk didn’t do quite so well in his group but at least I managed to cheer him on – which I think he saw).
Arnie stared transfixed at the boy’s face. ‘Dad! This is you!’ Steadying himself, he looked up through blurry eyes high above to the heraldic shield bearing the Martlesham family crest. ‘Is this really where you come from? You’re David Martlesham and we’ve just met outside! That’s the funny feeling I had!’
Slowly, he looked down and gazed even harder into his father’s youthful features – radiating joy.
‘And if you’re a Martlesham that makes me one too,’ he spluttered hoarsely, feeling the blood drain from his face.
A crusty voice sailed over him from behind.
‘What are you doing in my study?’
Arnie twisted round to a fuming Lord Martlesham.
‘I know you’ve a tongue in your head!’ he exploded. ‘Explain this intrusion.’
‘I…I,’ Arnie croaked.
‘What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’
‘I think I might have – several,’ he said breathlessly, moving aside to reveal the open trunk.
Lord Martlesham was aghast. ‘What do you think you are playing at? You have no business ferreting about in there!’
‘I do,’ said Arnie, recovering a little.
‘What? Explain yourself young man.’
‘These are my dad’s things. I’ve just read his letter and this is him with you isn’t it?’
Lord Martlesham’s eyebrows arched as he caught sight of the photograph of himself and David still tightly gripped in Arnie’s hand.
‘You’re talking nonsense,’ Lord Martlesham blustered. ‘Now will you kindly put all that back where you found it. It is not yours. And then leave this room.’
Arnie slowly pulled himself together and placing the photograph on the table beside him, stood firmly facing the old man. Quivering, he slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and extracted a thin plastic wallet. From inside he removed a picture of two people smiling and held it up to Lord Martlesham’s face.
The old man let out a weak gasp and crumpled against the frame of the door.
‘These are my parents. My mother died when I was six.’
Lord Martlesham slowly recovered and reached out to examine it, exhaling one long sigh.
‘I didn’t see Rebecca often,’ he said finally, ‘particularly after she had the baby.’ He looked at Arnie. ‘You’re quite grown up. How old would you be now? Eleven?’
‘Twelve and a half. Almost.’
‘My my. How time slips by.’
‘You recognised something about me didn’t you?’ recalled Arnie. ‘When we met for the first time.’
The old man scrutinised him closer. Arnie flinched warily.
‘Not for sure but I can see it in your eyes now – the way you are guarding yourself.’ Lord Martlesham continued, ‘You could be David when he was your age. That dimple,’ he levelled
a crooked finger at Arnie, ‘his was just the same.’
They both remained still – semi-traumatised – neither certain what to do. Then a burst of sound from outside broke the tension. Arnie thought it might be a buzz-saw starting up or a plane overhead but it soon became the drone of a car engine approaching fast. It sped into the grounds and squelched up the drive before braking hard.
Hearing the front door scrape open, Arnie and Lord Martlesham both turned an ear towards the fast moving trip-trap of footsteps across the hall. They approached rapidly before slowing to a stop outside Lord Martlesham’s study as if their owner knew they were both inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Home Truths
A man of about fifty, unshaven with short greyish hair stood in the doorway. For a moment he seemed uncertain as how to react, but then his haggard expression turned to one of relief.
‘Arnie! There you are! God, I was so worried about you! The minute I heard Lavinia was unable to get here I jumped in the car – I had the Land Cruiser you see. But the snow was too deep for me as well. I’m sorry – I couldn’t think what else to do. I just prayed you were in safe hands.’
‘Dad!’ Arnie blurted out.
‘I trust everything is…all right?’ searched his father.
Lord Martlesham who had been standing behind the open door stepped out to join them.
‘This…gentlemen…’ Arnie’s father hesitated, ‘…has been the one looking after you, has he?’
‘Kind of,’ Arnie nodded robotically.
‘Well that’s very good of you,’ he said, trying to avoid direct eye contact with Lord Martlesham. ‘I hope my son wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.’
‘Not at all.’ Lord Martlesham spoke quietly. ‘He’s a very resourceful young man. You should be proud of him.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that,’ he said quickly. ‘And I am. Very proud.’ Arnie’s father paused. ‘Well, we must be…on our way – mustn’t we Arnie? Who knows how long it will take us to get home…’
‘Are you just going to leave?’ Lord Martlesham said very directly. ‘Is there nothing more you have to say?’