Gadiel lit a cigarette.
‘I met Ellie,’ Dan said.
‘Did you?’
‘I told her what we were doing. At the squat.’
Gadiel shifted; Dan’s view of his face was obscured.
‘She gets to you, doesn’t she, because she’s so different?’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s nothing like that,’ Dan protested. ‘Man, you’re… you’re wrong. I just explained about our aims and principles. We talked about stuff.’
‘I thought she was everything you hated – the old hierarchies and all that.’ Gadiel still did not look at his friend. Instead, he studied the stub of ash at the end of his cigarette.
‘No way – she’s pretty cool.’
Gadiel blew smoke slowly.
‘We had a bit of a walk,’ Dan said.
Gadiel shuffled the stiffness from his limbs and came back to resettle against the wall. He did not reply.
‘We went for a prowl, man, in the long grass.’ Dan made the words wink, sly between them, his boast hanging in the short silence. ‘I think I seduced her.’
Gadiel was very still.
‘One over for the forces of change, man.’
Gadiel threw down the end of the cigarette. ‘But she’s not here now?’
‘What, Ellie? No. She went home. I told her I’d see her later.’
‘Yeah, and what about the squat?’ With a sudden lunge, Gadiel grabbed at Dan’s arm, pulling him round. ‘Weren’t you supposed to be looking after the squat? Isn’t that what you said? Isn’t that what you said was the most important thing? Well, isn’t it, Dan? And instead, you’ve been… I thought we weren’t supposed to allow her to “infiltrate”. Isn’t that the rule?’ He laughed bitterly. ‘You want to be part of it, don’t you? Marlford and Ellie and all the history – you can’t admit it, but it really turns you on. The more you snipe at it, the more you love it.’
‘Ow! Let go!’ Dan pulled free. He stepped away, glaring at a point on Gadiel’s chest as if the fact of their physical difference was located there. ‘All right – calm down. Man, it’s not like it’s some big love affair. We only had a bit of a smooch.’
Gadiel spoke very carefully. ‘You shouldn’t do that. She’s not like that. She won’t understand. She’ll think you’re serious.’
Dan shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. She’s cool.’
‘Yes, it does matter. She’s not like the girls you usually go with.’
Gadiel thought of Ellie under the towering oaks in the woods, something inexpressibly solemn and old tangled with her youth, an irretrievable sadness that allowed her to hold her own against the ancient stateliness of the trees. He sighed. ‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘About Ellie? What are you going to do? I thought you told her you’d see her later.’
‘I had to say something, man. She wanted it all agreed. She wanted a… a “tryst” she called it.’ Dan laughed. ‘Perhaps she thinks I’m going to marry her.’
Gadiel’s voice seemed to come from somewhere new, ricocheting bluntly from the stones behind him. ‘So – are you?’
‘What? Am I going to marry her? Man, don’t be—’
‘No. Are you going to see her later? She’ll have believed you. She’ll be waiting for you.’
Gadiel watched Dan’s thoughts settle, seeing some kind of resolution solidifying in the contours of his friend’s face. ‘I’m going for a walk.’ He was suddenly exhausted. ‘Or a drink. I need to buy some ciggies.’
‘I’ll wait for you,’ Dan said.
‘No. Thanks. No need. You ought to get back. There should be someone at the squat. Isn’t that right? Besides, there’s Ellie.’ Gadiel pulled at his damp sleeves. ‘You promised Ellie.’
He took a step towards the abandoned skeleton of the library but then changed his mind, picking his way across the crumbling cobbles and settled grime at the top end of the street and dropping towards the nymph. He was aware of Dan for a while, walking down the pavement on the other side, returning to the manor. They remained in step, their paths parallel until Gadiel broke the symmetry, pausing at the greengrocer’s to study something in the uneasy reflections of the lit window. Afterwards, when his friend had gone, he retraced his steps, settling himself finally on the bench at Braithwaite Barton’s feet and watching the night clamp down over the village, the lights from the works thrusting into the dark on unfamiliar trajectories.
Sixteen
Ellie was at the side entrance to the stable yard, the door hanging loose from its hinges behind her, gaping. In front of her she saw Dan, standing with his van, one hand flat against its side, as though he were patting the rump of a large horse.
‘I didn’t know where you’d be,’ she said. Bats emerged from the broken roof and skimmed close to her head; a barn owl chittered. ‘I didn’t know where to look for you. I thought… well, you’d promised we were having a walk again, but I couldn’t come to your side of the house and I just – I saw you going past, when I was looking from the window. So I came down.’
He seemed to be assessing her, deciding something. He ground his finger against the vehicle’s rainbow flank. If there had been flesh there, he would have left a hard, black bruise.
‘I’m supposed to be manning the squat. Occupation is key, a continual presence.’
‘Weren’t you going to come?’
He drew his hand along the glossy bodywork. The space between them seemed to be darkening quickly, pulling Ellie away into the shadows as the night sank into the enclosure of the yard. He felt something unexpected might happen if he let his touch fall from the van and went to her.
‘If we stayed on here for twelve years, we’d acquire rights to ownership.’ This was a fact, incontrovertible. It settled his queasiness. He threw a glance back towards the manor.
‘Are you staying that long?’ Ellie felt her heart begin to throb, as though she had been running. ‘That’s a very long time. Twelve years.’
‘It’s a legal requirement, man, a minimum occupation. A continuous occupation.’
‘You’d be… well, we’d both be – we’d be… you’d know Marlford as well as I do.’ She crossed to the wall, closer to where Dan was standing. ‘I can’t imagine it.’
She perched on the top of the mounting steps that climbed alongside the stable door and stretched out her legs.
He had not meant her to like the idea. ‘It wouldn’t have to be me that stayed for twelve years, not all the time. That’s not how it works, man. It would be out of my hands – once the others arrive and the squat gets known… it would get a life of its own. It would roll over from generation to generation, each one sustaining the principles we’re setting out now.’
‘But if you wanted to stay—’
‘Yeah, man, of course.’ He laughed sharply. ‘If I wanted to, I could stay. But why would I want to?’ He smiled into the murky distance beyond the arch, appearing to consider the prospect of such a future. ‘But, man, it would be politically powerful, an established squat like that, so deep-rooted – a living tradition of freedom and democracy.’
He pushed his hair from his face. There was a moment of absolute stillness. Then he broke back to the present, brisk now, purposeful. He moved over to her and flashed a kiss at her cheek; a tease, perhaps, a slight token.
Ellie felt a shiver, tantalizing, like cold water on hot skin. He had sealed it then, his promise to remain at Marlford.
‘I didn’t know, earlier,’ she said. ‘When we were walking together – I didn’t know… I’m not very used to romance. I was worrying all afternoon, in case I’d misread the situation.’
He sat down beside her, pushing up close so that there was room for them both on the narrow step. He slung an arm around her shoulders to balance himself.
‘What is there to misread?’
In the fading light, it seemed as though the yard walls were leaning in.
‘I’m sorry,’ she replied. ‘You have to understand
– I’ve never had a lover before. Not an accepted lover. I’ve thought about it often, of course. Very often – I’ve imagined what it would be like – but that’s not the same at all. I can see that now.’
‘Is that what I am then? An accepted lover?’ Dan frowned at the quaint phrase.
‘Well, aren’t you?’
Her certainty was beguiling. Dan pulled his arm tight, bringing her closer. He kissed her again and then again, harder, squeezing his hand against her breast. He felt her flinch.
‘Come on. We can’t stay out here. Come in the van with me.’ He eased her from the step, fumbling in his pocket for the key. His breath came hot against her neck.
She could not quite see his face. ‘Oh, but – wait…’
His hair obscured his features; he was busy with the lock. She heard the creak of the hinges on the van door and, for a moment, she glanced behind them, thinking she heard another noise – the men perhaps, creeping through the shadows.
‘Dan. Wait.’ She was anxious now. ‘I can’t. If anyone found out…’
He held out his hand from the doorway and swung her up into the van. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said. ‘That’s all. We’ll have some fun.’
‘No. I can’t risk it.’ She pulled her hand from his and turned away.
He was close to her, pressed up against her. ‘Come on – Ellie!’
‘I don’t know. I think I might just go back. To the house.’ She looked hard into the dark corners of the yard, but there was no one else there, she was sure of that now. Oscar Quersley would be on patrol at this hour; the men would be at the hutments, perhaps even asleep – it could not have been them she had heard. There was just the two of them, and he was looping his arms across her shoulders and settling his chin against her.
‘Don’t let me down, man. It’ll be old patterns repeating,’ he complained lightly. ‘You know the kind of thing – the false promises of the upper classes, the potential for change unfulfilled.’
He held her tighter. He was laughing. But when she looked at him, he was surprised by the solemnity of her expression.
The barn owl screeched, forlorn. Dan started at the noise and then drew close to her again. ‘Ellie?’ She seemed wedged in the doorway.
The frogs gulped their strange accompaniment.
Her smile came slowly. ‘And yonder all before us lie deserts of vast eternity. Isn’t that it?’ She leaned into him.
He had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Ellie – it’s no big deal. Just a bit of fun, man. Trust me.’
She raised her lips to be kissed again, taking his hair in her fingers. She was surprised by the grip of the curls.
She heard the door click shut quietly behind them, the smallest of sounds, but one she remembered.
Seventeen
Oscar Quersley took the shotguns to Marlford at the end of the morning, when the chores at the farm were finished. He found Ernest kneeling in an overgrown flower border at the front of the manor, half-hidden behind a gushing purple buddleia, squinting at an upstairs window.
Ernest signalled to Oscar to duck down alongside him. ‘I’ve been speaking to the men, Quersley. There’s been a development. They tell me the squatters have taken the girl hostage.’
‘Ellie?’
‘They’re right – she’s not in her room, she’s not anywhere in the house. Hasn’t been seen since some time yesterday.’
Ernest had a new energy; an elasticity. He seemed to have cast off his age. ‘It’s decided at least – we’ve got to go in – they leave us no choice. You’d better get those bloody guns loaded. I’m not having my daughter in danger. Not that.’
Oscar remained standing, despite Ernest’s invitation.
‘I’m sure she’s busy somewhere, that’s all,’ he replied, coolly, looking away to the mere. The water lay shiny and still, as though covered by a brittle film of unseasonal ice. ‘She may have simply – gone off, to reflect, perhaps.’
‘That’s rubbish. Utter poppycock. She’s not busy anywhere – she wouldn’t just go off. Never. All this time she’s stayed, Quersley. Why would she go off now? But I’ve done a full recce. The men are right – she’s gone. Those blighters have nabbed her.’
The edge of anxiety in Ernest’s voice made Oscar begin to doubt himself. He propped the guns side by side against the wall and edged closer.
‘She can’t have gone.’ He tried to make it sound certain. ‘It’s not possible.’
‘Of course it’s bloody possible, man. For goodness’ sake, pull yourself together and pay attention. The girl’s gone – vanished. Not a sign of her. They’ve stolen the initiative, Quersley – we’ve got to get a move on. We’ve got to get her back.’ Butterflies skittered round his head. He flapped a hand at them distractedly. ‘They told me this would happen. They warned against intruders. The men knew, all along – they saw it all. All I have to do is this one thing. All I have to do is protect Marlford – we all know that. And now, Ellie…’
Oscar saw Ernest’s drawn, anxious face; he saw that Ernest believed completely that Ellie had been taken. There was an odd sensation in his stomach, like the plop of a flat pebble into deep water.
‘How long, then?’ He found that his throat was suddenly dry; the words came stiffly. ‘How long has she been missing?’
‘At a guess, over night. At least. The men weren’t clear. I can’t say exactly.’
‘What do you mean, you can’t say?’ Oscar’s panic overtook him all of a sudden. ‘Why didn’t you come straight away, when you knew? Why didn’t you come and fetch me?’ He did not give Ernest time to answer any of the questions. ‘How can you fail to know how long she’s been gone? If you’d simply acted promptly, if you’d come for me, we could have—’
‘Pull yourself together, Quersley – you’re here now. Soon enough.’ Ernest spoke loudly over Oscar’s garbled interrogation, but his voice wavered. ‘I didn’t know myself. The men came this morning, first thing – gave me a start, I can tell you, creeping through the house like bloody cat burglars. They said they had news. Information. They said Ellie was with the squatters.’
‘But what if we’re too late?’ Oscar moaned quietly.
‘Oh, damn it, man. We couldn’t have done anything before we were sure she was gone – and, last night, you had the frog patrol to see to. Can’t do everything at once.’ Ernest sat back on his haunches and stared up again at the line of deep, stone sills poking out above their heads, but there was nothing there except the clouded sky cracking above.
‘She must be up there – in their den. Bloody squatters.’
Oscar shivered. ‘She’s a sensible girl – she might just come back. She might… I don’t think Ellie would—’
‘She’s not gone of her own accord, Quersley – haven’t you been listening, man? She can’t come back. She’s been taken. A hostage. A bargaining chip. They’re sneaky buggers, Quersley. Sneaky buggers.’ Ernest drove his hands into the flowerbed, his fingers grazing against stones and roots, chafing on the sharp edges of broken roof tiles; his skin tore, a nail split. He pushed further in until he was up to his wrists.
‘I can’t believe they’d hurt her,’ Oscar said, weakly.
Ernest threw back his head, a plea of some kind to the ageing Marlford stone that rose above him.
‘Look – bring those guns inside. Let’s get our act together. I’ve not been through everything to get mired in this kind of bloody game.’ He spoke to Quersley without looking at him. ‘They’re making us look like fools.’
The men found Ernest in the dining room, carefully building a tower of cream crackers. The bottom of the tower was stuck directly onto the battered wood of the old table, each biscuit cemented neatly to the one above with meat paste scraped from a series of small jars lined up in front of him.
He began constructing another storey.
‘Ah, gentlemen. You join me when I’m breakfasting.’
His robe de chambre hung looser than ever from his shoulders, billowing around his chair. He wa
ved his knife at the expanse of empty table, drawing their attention to its bareness, or perhaps inviting them to take a seat. Tiny drops of meat paste spun off the blade, catching the light; his robe, barely tied, gaped open to reveal the sallow skin over his ribcage and an unexpectedly thick clump of wiry white hair.
‘There’re just these damn soggy crackers – and the Shipmans.’ He leaned towards them, conspiratorial. ‘Tastes a bit odd, actually – I think it might be off.’
‘It’s almost midday,’ Ata pointed out.
Ernest looked surprised. ‘Is it? Already? Good Lord! I do seem to have fallen behind. Got an early enough start, but without Ellie… Is that it? Has the morning gone?’ His face sunk suddenly, as though its bones had been pulled away. ‘I thought you’d have been back here sooner.’
It was a regret, not an accusation. He took a final cream cracker, layered it adeptly with paste, set it on top of the tower and sat back dolefully to admire the work. ‘Can’t bear to think that they’ve taken her. Got her hostage up there in that damned squat.’ He flicked his knife at the ceiling, spattering paste again; shivering, he pulled his robe closed. ‘What would they want with her?’ He groaned. ‘Dear God, I’m not having Ellie… I’m not having my daughter… I need her back.’
His voice came tightly, too breathy, as though Ellie had punched him in the stomach before running away.
The men encircled him. Hindy took the meat paste jar from Ernest’s grasp and fitted the lid back with a quiet snap; Ata, too, reached forwards and eased the knife from his hand, placing it with care alongside the tower of crackers.
‘Are you ready, Mr Barton?’ he asked. ‘Are you ready to liberate Marlford?’
Ernest did not stand up. His reply was subdued. ‘I’ve got Quersley in the study, casting his eye over the arsenal.’
‘That’s very good.’ Ata was encouraging.
‘I’ve got all sorts ready. All sorts.’
‘Excellent. Then we’re prepared.’ Hindy gestured towards the door. ‘We knew you would rise to the challenge, Mr Barton.’
‘You can take your pick – whatever you fancy…’ Ernest’s voice still had a dullness to it, an unaccustomed lethargy. ‘Ata, you were always handy with the rifle, I remember.’ He was rocking now, slowly, in his chair. ‘We’ll have at them, won’t we? Right at them – right at the heart of them.’
Marlford Page 14