“You tie my shoes, if you’re in such a big hurry,” she ordered Marjorie. “And you can find my gloves too!”
“Find them yourself,” Marjorie answered angrily. “And you can walk to school on your own. I’m not waiting any longer. We’re late already!”
Marjorie rushed out of the house and ran all the way to school, getting there after the bell had stopped ringing. She hoped Anna wouldn’t get into trouble. At playtime, Marjorie looked for her, but didn’t find her.
When she reached home, Anna was already there, and Marjorie asked suspiciously where she’d been all day.
“Mind your own business!” Anna shouted, running from the room.
The next day things were worse. In the morning Anna went into the spare bedroom and took out the box of Christmas ornaments, which was kept in a drawer in the bottom of the wardrobe. She thought it a shame that such lovely things should be hidden away in a drawer all year and only looked at for a few days at Christmas. There was one ornament in particular, a tiny silver bird, that she wanted to see again.
Each ornament nestled in paper in its own section of the box. She slowly unwrapped them and laid them on the bed. She worked very carefully, and all might have gone well had not Miss Morag come bursting into the room and startled her. Anna jumped guiltily and knocked against the bed. Two fragile ornaments rolled off and fell to the floor with the tinkling sound of broken glass.
Miss Campbell was very angry and banished Anna to her room, telling her never, never to touch things that didn’t belong to her.
At lunch Anna spilled her milk, and there were more shouts and tears. Even Marjorie sided with the Miss Campbells, saying primly that one shouldn’t waste food in wartime.
In the afternoon both Miss Campbells had to go back to the shop. Saturday afternoons were usually busy, and Miss Morag asked Marjorie to see if they couldn’t find something useful to do. She sounded tired and discouraged.
After they’d gone, Marjorie took out the big wicker basket full of newly washed clothes waiting to be ironed. She put the flat irons in front of the fire to heat.
“Can I do some?” Anna asked.
“You just go along and play,” Marjorie answered sharply.
She herself wasn’t quite sure about this undertaking because she had only ironed handkerchiefs and pillowcases, and that had been under Miss Agnes’s supervision. However, all went well. It was very satisfying to turn the wrinkled garments smooth and new looking, and she liked the smell of the hot cotton and linen. She was careful to test each iron before using it on the clothes, and while she used one iron, she set the other in front of the fire to heat. She hung the ironed garments neatly on the airing rack.
At last only two dresses were left, the Miss Campbells’ Sunday-best silk dresses. Marjorie knew they would want to iron them themselves. With a feeling of great satisfaction, she went off to look for her book.
Anna had been sitting in the armchair by the fire watching Marjorie. She liked the easy way the heavy iron slid over the cloth, leaving it flat and smooth. Several times she asked if she could have a turn, but Marjorie didn’t listen. So, when Marjorie finally left the room, Anna realized her chance had come. She could now have the fun of ironing, and also she could make up to the Miss Campbells by doing an especially good job on their Sunday dresses.
She draped one of the silk dresses over the ironing board, and taking the potholder as she had seen Marjorie do, she lifted the iron from where it had been sitting heating in front of the grate. It was unexpectedly heavy, and she swung it over, landing with a thump, flat on the dress.
Instead of sliding easily over the wrinkled dress the iron stuck and there was a horrid hissing sound and curls of smoke eddied around the iron. There was also a ghastly smell of burning cloth.
“Shona! Shona! Come quick!” Anna yelled in a panic.
Marjorie burst into the room and seized the iron. The handle was hot and she burned her fingers. She grabbed the potholder from Anna and carried the iron back to the fireplace. The ironing board cover was smoldering, so she poured half a kettle of water on it to make sure it didn’t burst into flames.
Then she turned on Anna.
“What did you do that for? What made you do it?” she screamed.
“I only wanted to help, and you wouldn’t let me,” sobbed Anna.
“And I was right, wasn’t I? What will the Miss Campbells say when they come home? They’ll be terribly angry. They probably won’t want evacuees any more, and we’ll be sent back to the orphanage. Then they’ll find out I’m not Shona, and it will all be your fault!”
Marjorie raged on, while poor Anna sat in the big chair by the fireplace, a sad, pale, crumpled figure, too frightened even to cry.
Looking at the gaping hole in the dress, Marjorie shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
Anna got up, her doll in her hand, and went out of the room. Marjorie took her seat by the fire and waited uneasily for the Miss Campbells to come home. Miss Morag would likely want to send them away and get older girls in their place, girls who didn’t break and burn things.
When the Miss Campbells came home and saw the ruined dress, they were tight-lipped and angry.
“It’s mine,” Miss Agnes said, looking at the label.
“Anna! Anna! Will you come down her this minute,” Miss Morag shouted sternly.
There was no answer.
“See if she’s upstairs,” Miss Morag told Marjorie.
Marjorie went up to their bedroom, but Anna wasn’t there. She searched the bathroom, the spare bedroom, and even the Miss Campbells’ room, and then all the downstairs rooms. Anna was nowhere in the house.
“Look again,” Miss Morag said. “She’ll be hiding in a cupboard or in the wardrobe.”
Marjorie didn’t think this was likely, but she went all through the house again. Then she and the Miss Campbells looked outside. It was dark and wet, and the wind snatched away their voices as they called Anna’s name. She couldn’t possibly be hiding anywhere in the garden on such a wild night.
They went inside and wordlessly hung up their coats. Marjorie set the table for tea, while Miss Morag folded away the ironing board and the airing rack. Miss Agnes sat by the fire, staring into the flames.
During tea, Anna’s empty place seemed to dominate the room. The Miss Campbells didn’t even turn on the wireless because they were straining to hear the bang of the front door that would signal Anna’s return. The meal was eaten in uneasy silence.
The period of waiting stretched on, and it was now almost bedtime, yet there was still no sign of Anna. Suddenly Marjorie jumped up and ran upstairs to their bedroom. She came down again, looking perplexed and unhappy.
“Her suitcase is gone. I think she must have run away—and it’s all my fault. I was so cross and angry with her.”
“We’ve none of us been very patient with the poor wee thing,” Miss Morag said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to tell the police.”
“We can’t do that!” Miss Agnes said, looking horror-stricken. “You know what people will say. They’ll be saying she ran away because we were cruel to her.”
“They won’t say that!” protested Marjorie.
“Oh, yes, they will,” Miss Morag said. “This is a terrible place for gossip, and the worse the thing you say about people, the quicker it is passed on. There have been remarks already about two old spinsters like us taking it on ourselves to bring up two young girls. But we can’t think about ourselves. There’s Anna. We’ve got to have help finding her before any harm comes to her.”
Miss Morag went out into the hall to use the phone. When she came back Marjorie and Miss Agnes looked at her expectantly.
“They were of no help,” she said angrily. “They say that most children who run away come back of their own accord, and there’s no sense in going out now in the blackout. They’ll keep a lookout for her in the morning. What I couldn’t get through to them is that there’s a little girl out there, now, in the dark �
� afraid …”
Her voice trailed off in a sob.
“Maybe she will come back this evening,” Marjorie said.
“Maybe she won’t be able to find her way,” Miss Agnes said in a trembly voice.
They all stayed up late, but at last Miss Agnes said they might as well go to bed. If they could just sleep, morning would come sooner, and then they could all go out and look for Anna. That would be better than waiting.
Marjorie fell asleep surprisingly quickly, only to be awakened by the dreaded sound of the air-raid siren. She lay rigid for a moment, waiting for a whimper from Anna’s bed, because Anna often cried when the siren awakened her. Then she remembered Anna wasn’t there. Anna was outside, lost in the darkness of the night, and wherever she was, she would be hearing the awful wail of the siren.
One of the Miss Campbells came into the room, lighting her way with a small paraffin lamp.
“We’re not going downstairs tonight,” she told Marjorie. “I expect the planes are just passing over as they did the other nights.”
“Anna will hear the sirens and be frightened,” Marjorie said.
“I’d thought of that too,” said Miss Campbell. “Poor little Anna! But we’ll find her in the morning—as soon as it’s light.”
When the wailing siren stopped, Marjorie lay waiting for the drone of the German bombers. She tried to imagine Anna listening for them too, and wondered where she could be. Where would she go if she wanted to run away, she wondered.
Then she sat bolt upright in bed. Suddenly Marjorie knew exactly where Anna must be! The little turret room! It wasn’t dark when she left. She would have gone there to get away from all of them and to play with the toys. After it grew dark, she’d be afraid to come home.
Marjorie imagined her now, squeezed up on the couch with the curved arms, waiting for the sound of the bombers, alone in that huge dark house. She must go to her. It was the least she could do.
Straining her ears for any sound from the Miss Campbells’ room, Marjorie pulled on her clothes. Carrying her shoes, she crept downstairs in stocking feet. She took her red coat from the big, shadowy coat stand in the hall and then felt her way to the door.
Once outside, she put her shoes on, but walked on the grass to avoid making any sound on the gravel path. She made her way to the gate and walked quickly down the road that led toward Clairmont House.
Chapter 8
A Long Night
The clouds had thinned and the moon, not quite full, shed a glistening light on the wet hedgerows and fields. Everything looked strange and unreal to Marjorie, and when she heard the droning sound of planes overhead, the dreamlike quality of her surroundings took on the aspects of a nightmare.
Although she knew that the people in the planes couldn’t possible see her, she hid in the shadow of the hedge, wet weeds brushing coldly against her legs. She put her hands over her ears to shut out the throbbing engines, but the sound stayed with her, right inside her head.
They came in waves, three waves of heavy bombers, and then there was silence again. She forced herself to go on until, at last, she reached Clairmont House. The gate was slightly ajar and she squeezed inside. The house loomed up like a huge castle with its turret and sharp roof etched against the sky. The branches of a tree rubbed together in the wind, and drops of rain falling from the wet laurel bushes made a pattering sound like the feet of little animals. Marjorie tiptoed up the driveway.
When she reached the back of the house, she saw that the coal cellar hatch was open. Now she was sure that Anna must be inside. It was so dark in there, so much darker than outside, that it took every ounce of Marjorie’s courage to drop down into the cellar and feel her way across to the door. It was open, and still feeling her way, she went into the kitchen. She bumped against a door and it slammed shut. With a pounding heart, she listened to the dreadful sound echoing through the empty rooms. Did Anna hear it upstairs, and was she, at this moment, crouching there terrified, wondering who was creeping through the house? It was the thought of Anna’s fear that forced Marjorie to go on.
She crossed the hall and climbed the curved staircase. Silvery light from the upstairs landing windows enabled her to see her way, but she had trouble remembering which door opened into the spiral stair. Finding the right door, she climbed the stairs and then hesitated again, afraid of frightening Anna.
“Anna! Anna! It’s Shona,” she whispered softly as she slipped through the door. “I came to find you.”
There was no answer.
For a moment Marjorie felt panic. Had she come so far, only to find no one there? She went over to the window and pulled back the heavy velvet curtains, letting moonlight shine through the curved windows, so that she could now see the shadowy furnishings in the room. At the sound of the rattling curtain rings, something stirred on the couch, and Anna poked her head out from under a quilt, asking sleepily, “Is it time to get up already?”
Marjorie ran over to the couch, stumbling over two dolls, which were lying on the carpet, and knelt down beside Anna.
“Anna! Anna Rae! What are you doing here?’ she asked.
Although she was immensely glad to have found Anna, she was, at the same time, angry to find her asleep and not trembling with fear as she had imagined her.
Anna sat up and looked around, blinking. Then, fully awake, she remembered the events of the day before and cowered back down under the quilt, asking, “Are you still angry with me?”
“Of course not!” Marjorie answered. “I wouldn’t have come looking for you in the middle of the night if I was still angry. I thought you’d be frightened when you heard the sirens and planes.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Anna said.
She had scarcely finished speaking when the wailing note of the siren sounded, and she asked nervously, “Is it the first one or the second one?”
“It’s the second one,” Marjorie answered. “Can’t you tell the all clear from the warning by now? The planes have gone over, but they might come back.We’ve got to get home before they do.”
“I’m not going home,” Anna wailed. “I’m going to stay here.”
“Don’t be silly! What about food?”
“You could stay here, too,” Anna said eagerly. “We could light a fire in the fireplace—there’s still some coal in the cellar, and you could do the cooking.”
“But we’ve no money or ration books,” Marjorie pointed out.
“Then you’ll just have to bring me food because I’m not going back—not ever.”
“Listen, Anna,” Marjorie said patiently. “The Miss Campbells aren’t angry any more. They like you, Anna. They were so worried when they found you’d run away that they called the police, even though they didn’t want to.”
Anna let the quilt slide to the floor and sat bolt upright, her eyes wide with fright. “They told the police!” she shouted. “I’m never going back!”
“They wanted the police to help them find you,” Marjorie explained. “They were worried about you.”
“The police to find me!” echoed Anna, and Marjorie saw that it was going to be more difficult than ever to persuade Anna that the Miss Campbells were her friends and that they were no longer angry about the dress.
Marjorie didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t drag Anna home against her will. She would have to tell the Miss Campbells where Anna was hiding and get them to come and persuade her that everything was all right. But then she thought of having to go back through the dark house and venture out again into the night alone. She couldn’t do that either. She could only make the journey home if Anna were with her.
“Please come, Anna,” she begged.
But Anna reached over and pulled up the quilt and snuggled back down under it. Marjorie, not quite knowing what to do, climbed onto the couch and lay down beside Anna, planning to talk to her, but she couldn’t think of the right words to say. Anna was cozily warm and the little playroom had a strangely soothing quality. Marjorie decided to wait a litt
le longer before she renewed her arguments. They didn’t have to leave right away—just so long as they were home before the Miss Campbells awoke.
From where she was lying she could see that Anna had been playing with the toys in the cupboard. The little desk was now set with tiny china dolls’ dishes, and a bear, a worn pink rabbit, and a jointed wooden Dutch doll were propped up in the wobbly pram.
Was this house really in some way connected with Shona’s past, Marjorie wondered. Could these have been Shona’s toys when she was a very little girl, before she went to live in the orphanage? But then Marjorie decided that the toys were too old-fashioned. They must have belonged to some other little girl long ago.
Anna had fallen asleep, and Marjorie listened to her gentle breathing. Gradually she, too, fell into an uneasy sleep full of disturbed dreams. She was wandering through the rooms of Clairmont House looking for someone, but she wasn’t quite sure who that person was. Sometimes she thought it must be Anna, but sometimes it seemed that she was searching for a child she’d never seen.
The rooms in the house in her dream were richly furnished, and the carpet on the stairs was so thick it was like walking in soft sand. She wanted to go faster because the child she was following had disappeared.
Now she was in one of the big front rooms, elegantly furnished with ornate couches and velvet chairs and a huge grand piano. Sunshine streamed through an open French door. Marjorie thought the child she was looking for must have gone outside and she ran across the room, but just as she reached the door, it slammed shut, and she awoke with a start.
She found, to her dismay, that the sun was shining though the turret windows. It was broad daylight. The Miss Campbells would be awake and would have found that she, too, was missing. She shook Anna.
“I’m hungry,” Anna said, opening her eyes and looking up at Marjorie. “I want my breakfast.”
Marjorie guessed that now it was going to be easier to persuade Anna to go home. Anna always liked her meals.
Searching for Shona Page 6