Samuel stopped. “I’m looking for my bike.”
“In the woodshed?”
Samuel didn’t know what to say.
“I think I saw it by the oak tree.” William wore a wry smile. “You must have walked right past it, I’d reckon.”
“Oh.” Samuel pushed the hair from his eyes. “I didn’t see it.”
“Daydreaming, were ya?”
Samuel nodded and then turned, walking back the way he had come. When he reached the oak tree, he walked around it and then, using the trunk as cover, snuck a peek at William. He was back at work on the lawn, heading down toward the fence. It was the perfect moment to go. Samuel sprinted across the grass, his shoes vanishing among the clusters of overgrown grass and wildflowers, his eyes fixed on the woodshed.
Samuel saw William turning the lawn mower—he’d have a clear view of him as soon as he looked up—so Samuel practically dove behind the woodshed, his knees skidding across the grass. He got up, caught his breath. Then he edged around the small stone building, his eyes fixed on the gardener. William wasn’t looking over, his attention consumed by the task at hand, the roar of the mower as it sliced the tall grass causing the air itself to tremble. Samuel dropped low and crawled to the door.
He said a silent prayer to his father that it would be unlocked. Then another to his mother promising that he would find her and make Ruth and William, who were foul people with black hearts, pay for what they had done to her. His father must have been listening because the door opened easily.
The smell of freshly cut wood rushed at him when he stepped inside. It was a small room with bare walls and two windows painted green. Spiderwebs clung to the rafters and blurred the corners of the ceiling. Samuel lifted an old carpet rolled up by the door and moved the logs as best he could, checking every little place. He bent down, shifting a can of oil, and then inspected a sack slumped under the window. He didn’t notice the hum of the lawn mower ceasing.
A hand gripped his shoulder, rendering him a block of stone.
“I guess it’s not a bike you’re looking for, then?” William was behind him.
Samuel forced himself to straighten up and turn around. “No.”
That was the best he could manage.
William still had that faint smile on his face, his eyes shifting about the little room. “What are you up to, then?”
“I...I was fetching some wood for Ruth.” Samuel tried to look sincere. “She asked me to.”
“Did she?” William scratched at his whiskers. “I cut a whole lot for her just last week and left it outside the kitchen door. Do you mean to say she’s burned through it already?”
Samuel looked anywhere but at William.
“Seems to me you’re in here for other reasons.”
“I was playing.”
William chuckled. “I’ve never known you to darken the door of my woodshed. What’s the game, Samuel?”
“Well...” Samuel’s mind whirled until it found what he was looking for. “I was pretending that there’s buried treasure somewhere in the garden and I have to find it before sundown or it will disappear.” He swallowed hard, which didn’t help. “It’s magic treasure, you see.”
“Magic, you say?”
Samuel nodded.
“Ah.” William looked around the woodshed again and then his calloused hand ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’ll let you get on with it, then.”
William went to leave, then turned back. “Forgot why I came in here in the first place.” Holding the doorframe, he bent and picked up the can of oil. “The blades are sticking.”
Samuel watched William walk across the lawn. He had almost reached the lawn mower when he looked around and shouted, “But if you find any of that treasure, I want half. Deal?”
Samuel nodded from the doorway.
“Good lad.”
Samuel resumed his search, checking the cupboard where William kept his axes and then looking everywhere else again and then one more time. His heart still thumped wildly—William catching him was responsible for that—and a great quickening coursed about his body, making it hard to keep still. But among the great jumble of feelings stirring at the heart of this storm was but a single thought. His mother wasn’t there.
17
Samuel crossed the hall and began to climb the stairs, his steps slow and lumbering, on account of his folly. How stupid he’d been to think that Ruth and William were up to no good. He’d moved the bike from under the oak tree so that it would look like he had really been riding it. Ruth noticed things like that. As he walked, he made a promise to himself. It was time to stop thinking that Ruth was a monster. She wasn’t lying to him, she hadn’t hurt his mother—she was just Ruth, same as always.
At the top of the stairs, Samuel turned right on the landing and headed down the corridor toward his bedroom. Perhaps he would ask Ruth for another shortbread now that his appetite had returned. But first, he wanted to play with his planes for a while, not worrying about anything at all. And he would have done just that, if not for the light slipping across the floor. It was coming from an open door, bright sunlight spilling out and up the wall. Only it wasn’t Samuel’s bedroom door that was open. Nor was it Ruth’s. It was his mother’s.
Samuel slowed down as he got close, going up on his tiptoes without really thinking about it. The door was half-open; a key was fixed in the lock and there were noises coming from inside. Samuel put a hand to his mouth to halt the squeal from coming out. His mother. She had come home and was unpacking that very moment, probably tired from her long voyage and wanting to freshen up first before she came to find him.
There was no need to tread carefully, not now. Samuel pushed on the door and walked in. But he must have been quieter than he intended because she did not hear him. She was across the room at the chest of drawers. Her back was to Samuel and she was pulling open the top drawer, peering down with great interest, her hands vanishing inside.
“What are you doing?” Samuel asked.
Ruth’s head flew up and she gasped, spinning around. Samuel had never seen her look so pale. “Samuel.” She was clutching her chest. “You scared the life out of me.”
“What are you doing?” he asked again.
“Well...” Ruth glanced at the open drawer. “It’s my clover pin, you know the one?”
Samuel nodded.
“It’s gone, don’t ask me how, and I’m desperate to find it. I’ve looked all over, turned the house upside down, I have, but it’s nowhere to be found.”
Ruth’s pin wasn’t on her collar. Samuel knew it was a gift from her father and she wasn’t ever without it, so it made sense that she would “turn the house upside down” to get it back. But there was a problem.
“Why would you think your pin was in Mother’s drawer?” Samuel wandered over to the marble fireplace, touching the cold mantel.
“Why do you think, Samuel?” Ruth pushed the drawer closed. “As you know, I caught you snooping in here just the other day and it was me who returned those letters to this very drawer. Can you blame me for thinking the pin might have fallen in?”
“That was two days ago. You had the pin on yesterday—I saw it.”
“Well, maybe I did.” Ruth patted down her hair. “I’ve been so sick with worry I’m not thinking straight. That pin means the world to me and, as I said, I’ve looked everywhere else.”
“Perhaps it’s in the cellar. Did you look there?”
“What? Don’t talk nonsense, Samuel.” Ruth crossed the room, throwing the boy a fierce look as she passed him. “It was my grandmother’s pin, given to me by my father just before he passed, and if I don’t find it, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“I thought Mother had come home.” Samuel’s eyes were fixed on the chest of drawers.
“Well, you were wrong.” Ruth’s sigh was full of provocation. “Come
along, I have to get dinner started.”
Samuel made his way to the door. “Don’t you want to keep searching for your pin?”
“I haven’t time.” Her voice was harsh now.
She pressed herself against the door and let Samuel pass out into the corridor. Then she pulled it shut, locked it and placed the key in the pocket of her apron.
“I thought you were her.” Samuel’s eyes roamed the housekeeper’s face. “When I walked in, I thought you were Mother standing there.”
“Wash up and tidy your room before dinner. Is that clear?”
Ruth walked quickly down the corridor, her shoes tapping the floor like the ticks of a racing clock. Samuel thought he heard her muttering to herself but he couldn’t be sure. She turned at the landing, her head bent low, disappearing down the stairs. The boy stood there long after she had gone, thinking on it all, and watching the shadows gather in the empty spaces where she had been.
18
Steam rose up off the lamb’s scored flesh, the blistered skin largely hidden beneath sprigs of rosemary. “Hungry?”
Samuel was thinking about his mother again. Catching Ruth going through that drawer had cracked open everything he had fixed back together. Was she after his mother’s letters? Was there something in them that she wanted to find? Or to hide? Ruth said she was looking for her pin, that it might have fallen in there when she put the letters back, but Ruth had that pin yesterday and she wore it every day. So she couldn’t have lost it in his mother’s bedroom two days ago.
“Samuel, I asked if you were hungry.”
“Yes.” Then he said, “Not really.”
This caused Ruth to look down at him and scowl. “But you love my lamb roast.”
Samuel nodded and had the good sense to say, “It looks delicious.”
“Well, then, I suggest you rediscover your appetite because it’s the last piece of good meat we’re likely to get for some time. Mr. Oldfield has closed our account at the butcher.” She huffed. “Waving the bill about in front of half the village like I was a common criminal.” Her nostrils flared and her lips faded to a faint line. “He won’t let me buy so much as a rabbit until the account is paid in full. Hateful man.”
The boy’s mind was too crowded to make room for a butcher, even a hateful one. When he had surprised Ruth, she had jumped, and when she turned around she looked pale and scared. Ruth never looked scared. Samuel had caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to, and that could only mean one thing.
“Did you tidy your room like I asked?”
He hadn’t. “Yes, Ruth.”
“You haven’t touched that Bible in two days. Reverend Pryce will be at school on Monday and you know he’s awarding a prize for the best writing and another for the best drawing. When are you planning on finishing it?”
“Soon.”
“Tomorrow before school and no complaints.” Ruth picked up a large carving knife from the table. “One piece or two?”
Samuel asked for two, knowing it would please her. He watched as she pushed the fork into the lamb, the animal’s pale blood rushing up around it, and then sliced through the meat, the flesh parting with ease.
Grown-ups can do rotten things sometimes. That’s what Joseph had told him. Even the good ones. Samuel didn’t understand everything, but he was sure bad things were happening around him. His mother had been gone much too long. When she had told him that his father was dead, hadn’t she said that it was just the two of them now? That they only had each other, and when two people have just each other, why would one of them sail across the world without so much as a goodbye?
“I have gravy on the stove.” Ruth pointed with the tip of the knife. “Fetch it for me.”
“Yes, Ruth.”
Samuel got up and walked over to the stove, picking up the pot. Ruth said that his mother was in America but he didn’t believe that was true. Not anymore.
“Mind you don’t burn your hand on that,” Ruth said.
“It’s not that hot.”
Ruth sniffed and let the knife go limp in her hand. “I thought we might go to the park and feed the ducks on Saturday, once I’m finished at the market. Would you like that?”
Samuel nodded.
She was giving him a look now. “You’re not out of sorts about that business upstairs, I hope?”
“No.”
“From the frown on your face, it’s clear that something’s got you in a mood.” Ruth pierced a slice of lamb and laid it on Samuel’s plate. The sound of the knife sliding down the fork to release the meat sparked a shiver that raced right through the boy. “You’d think it was you who’d lost a precious family pin and not me.”
“Perhaps it’s in your bedroom,” said Samuel, sitting down. “I could help you look for it.”
“You think I haven’t looked there myself? I’ve turned the whole room upside down.”
“Maybe it’s not lost at all.”
Ruth glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mother says that just because you can’t find a thing doesn’t mean it’s lost.”
Samuel watched the knife moving about in Ruth’s hands. “Sounds like nonsense to me.”
He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t going to let her keep pretending this was her house for very much longer. He didn’t, though, because he could see the nasty glint in Ruth’s eye and, even lost in the wilderness of his troubles, he knew when to shut up. Besides, he had a plan now. All he needed was help.
19
“Felix Clay.”
“Do you have the number?”
“No. His name is Felix Clay,” whispered Samuel. “From Penzance.”
The operator let out a faint moan. “Hold on.”
Samuel took the telephone from his ear and listened. Down past the stairs he could hear Ruth moving about in the kitchen, plates clanging together, taps running, still cleaning up after dinner. Samuel had rushed through the meal and quickly excused himself. That hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“You don’t want a mince pie?” Ruth asked.
Samuel shook his head. “Not tonight. Shall I go and get ready for bed?”
“I’ve never heard that before.” Ruth picked up his plate. “Off you go, then.”
There hadn’t been a great deal of talk during the meal. Ruth didn’t seem in the mood and Samuel was trying his best not to look like he was up to mischief. Every now and then Ruth’s hand would go up to her collar as if she expected her pin to be there, and when it wasn’t, she would take her hand away quickly as if she was foolish to have forgotten.
“I’m connecting you now,” said the operator.
She was gone before Samuel could say thank you, replaced by a loud crackle, then silence, then the pulsing sound of a ringing phone. Samuel stole another look down the hall.
“Hello,” came a voice.
“Uncle Felix?”
“Sammy?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this is a surprise. How are you, ducky?”
“I think something’s happened to Mother.”
“What’s that, Sammy? Sorry, I’ve got some people over. Just a little get-together before I head off to London.”
“Samuel?” It was Ruth. “Samuel?”
Samuel heard her footsteps on the stone floor.
“Sammy, are you there?” said Uncle Felix down the telephone.
The hall was in darkness, barely a sliver of moonlight rippling about the vast chamber. Samuel pressed himself against the wall.
“Samuel?” Ruth had her head poked out of the kitchen door and was peering into the darkness. “Samuel, is that you?”
The boy didn’t move, didn’t say a word.
“Sammy?” Uncle Felix seemed to be talking to people at his end; there was a hum of voices, but Samuel didn’t catch the words.
Then he said, “I think he’s gone.”
Ruth kept peering into the shadows, the light from the kitchen catching her thin lips, and Samuel was certain she was about to walk into the hall for a closer look—she had no tolerance for unexplained noises. But then she huffed and vanished from the doorway.
“I’m still here,” whispered Samuel.
“Thought I’d lost you there, Sammy.” His uncle chuckled. “Are you in church, ducky? I can hardly hear you.”
Samuel heard muffled laughter in the background.
“I think something has happened to Mother,” Samuel said.
“Why? Have you heard something?”
“No, but I think that Ruth—”
“Has Ruth heard something?”
“No, that’s not what I—”
“Would you like me to have a word with Ruth? Is that it? Put her on, there’s a good chap.”
“No, I can’t do that.”
Samuel wanted to tell his uncle about the housekeeper in Germany and how his mother had gone without saying goodbye and Ruth was the only one to see her go and how he had caught her in his mother’s bedroom. But the words never did come out right. Not when he needed them.
“Uncle Felix, where’s my mother?” The boy’s voice was barely a whisper. “Do you know? Can you tell me, please?”
“Where is she? In America, I should think. Unless she’s gone somewhere else looking for her pot of gold.”
“I don’t think so,” said the boy softly.
“Listen, ducky, things are rather noisy at my end. Why don’t I call you when I get back from London and we’ll have a good chat then?”
“She’s been away one hundred and eighteen days, Uncle Felix. She wouldn’t stay away so long if she could help it.”
“Well, that’s business for you, isn’t it?” Uncle Felix chuckled again. “Don’t understand it myself, but you mustn’t lose heart, Sammy. I’m sure your mother will be home in a jiffy. Now I must dash.”
“Please, listen—something has happened, I know it has.”
There was a loud crackle down the line. “...talk when I get back from London the week after next. That’s a promise, Sammy. Get some sleep, won’t you? You sound worn out.”
The Boy at the Keyhole Page 9