The House on Hummingbird Island

by Sam Angus

Numbers glanced at Treble, but Treble appeared not to notice the fact of a large thoroughbred mounting a flight of stone steps up to an elegant veranda. ‘Miss Grace . . .’ he began, but he couldn’t meet Idie’s eyes, either on account of the horse or the mongoose about her neck or the parakeet on her shoulder or her shorn, sleeveless dress.

  Treble interrupted. ‘Dear Algernon, would you care for some punch? It is almost the hour.’

  Numbers persisted. ‘Miss Grace . . .’

  ‘Yes, Mr Webb?’ answered Idie, very prompt.

  He paused, looking weary and nervous and old. He removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes, opened his mouth, closed it again.

  ‘Fishes do that. They open their mouths and no words come out,’ said Idie.

  Baronet picked his way between the wicker chairs into the hall. Numbers rubbed his eyes awhile and then shook his head slowly from side to side, in the way grown-ups had of displaying their disbelief.

  ‘Miss Grace –’

  ‘Child, I will call for lemonade for you, punch for Algernon. Do sit down, dear Algernon. Of course you’ll be staying to dine. I will slip upstairs and prepare myself.’

  Since Baronet gave every appearance of intending to stay in the hall, Numbers sat gingerly on the edge of a chair. As Treble retreated, he took a deep breath and said, ‘You see, Idie, I do feel a little like that, like a fish. I am in deep water . . . I’ve no experience of talking to young girls . . .’

  Idie, at first disarmed by his frankness, then grew cross. Of what use at all was another grown-up who wasn’t capable, commanding and able to find solutions?

  ‘You’re supposed to be my lawyer and trustee. A fish in deep water is of no help to me when I find myself in topsy-turvy circumstances. Besides, I am a child and it is not normal to take a child from one place and land it in an entirely different place and leave it there.’

  Numbers bowed his head to accept the truth of this, then spread his fingers wide to tell her that there was nothing of course that he could do about it. ‘Miss Grace, the circumstances are extraordinary, not at all in the normal run of things. I could’ve worked for perhaps forty years and never been confronted with such circumstances.’

  ‘You’re not confronted with them, I am,’ she retorted.

  ‘Quite right.’ He looked down and his hands strayed to the arms of his chair. ‘Quite right.’ He picked up his hat, put it down, picked it up, and so on, while Idie heaved a loud, long sigh.

  ‘Miss Grace, you must . . . You are mistress here, you must –’

  ‘What must I do and why?’ demanded Idie. ‘You tell me, why am I here? Why?’

  ‘You have responsibilities to this estate and the people on it, Miss Grace.’

  ‘I want to be at Pomeroy. I want to be with Grancat and Myles and Benedict and –’

  Numbers said with a trace of sadness in his voice, ‘This is your home now, Miss Grace.’ He sighed, ‘I am afraid I must return to England.’

  ‘You can’t just go. You can’t leave me here,’ she burst out.

  ‘I will return when I can. There are minor complications here –’

  ‘Ah, the COMPLICATIONS,’ said Idie, in a loud, drawn-out kind of way.

  Mayella brought out a tray: fresh lemonade for Idie, punch for Treble and Numbers and banana bread for Homer, who eyed the bowl with his customary suspicion.

  ‘Mr Webb, about the complications, where shall we start? The fact that I don’t know why I was sent to Pomeroy nor why I was brought back again, the fact that no one will tell me anything . . . Where would you like to start, Mr Webb?’

  Numbers blinked and started at the anger in Idie’s tone and after a while he said, ‘You’re not alone. Miss Treble is with you. She will be a guide and support –’

  Idie snorted. ‘She’s unsuitable and embarrassing, and in any case she’s permanently indisposed because of the punch. First it was the shifting sea, now it’s the punch.’

  ‘No, no, she’s a most affectionate person, and there’s no doubt she cares for your well-being. She’s taken many matters in hand.’

  ‘Don’t go . . .’ Idie pleaded, changing tack in desperation.

  ‘Miss Grace, all is not well at Pomeroy. In any case, I was asked to bring you here; that was all. Now you’re settled . . .’ He glanced at the mongoose draped sleepily about her neck, at her bare feet, and said, ‘I shall perhaps, however, make a recommendation that an assistant governess be sent out to assist Miss Treble.’

  ‘Grancat doesn’t believe in governesses.’ Treble might not be fit-for-purpose, but Idie certainly didn’t intend to have another governess. ‘And the butler doesn’t seem to be a butler at all, and things move in the night and fly about the candle flames . . .’

  Numbers looked at Idie in alarm. ‘Miss Grace, you are overwrought. Your imagination has the better of you – it’s the change in climate perhaps which has set you off balance . . . In time you’ll be happy here; in time you’ll understand it’s for the best.’

  ‘In time? I don’t want to be happy in time; I want to be happy NOW.’ Then Idie felt ashamed of this outburst, which was petulant and perhaps beneath her. She paused, and then reached out an arm to him and asked, ‘Why – why can’t I come back with you? Why can’t I go back to Pomeroy now?’

  Numbers answered a little sadly, ‘It’s in your interest that you stay here.’

  ‘How could you know what’s in my interest—’

  Numbers interrupted her with an uncharacteristic touch of recklessness. ‘There’s nothing left there – nothing but debts.’

  Debts and banks and things were of no interest to Idie so she said, ‘That doesn’t mean I can’t be there . . .’

  Numbers watched her and added, more cautiously now, ‘The land’s been sold off, field by field. Pomeroy stands almost alone now in her park, with nothing to sustain her. There’s nothing left, Miss Grace. You’re lucky to have this. That house was built because of this one, because of the wealth that was created here.’ He warmed to a topic on which he felt at ease. ‘An immense fortune was made here; sugar was worth more than gold in its day, sugar barons were richer than kings. The money that was made here went back, in those days, when the same branch of the family owned both estates, to build and maintain Pomeroy.’

  All this took a bit of thinking about so Idie was silent awhile before saying, stoutly, ‘Benedict’ll live at Pomeroy one day and he’ll make it all better.’

  Numbers bowed his head, laid his palms flat on the woven surface of the table and inspected his hands. His slender fingers flexed and began to drum the table as if he’d suddenly decided at this difficult juncture to practise his scales.

  The tears started in Idie’s eyes and she burst out, ‘Pomeroy is my home.’

  Numbers lowered his eyes and twisted his miserable-looking hat around.

  ‘Your mother, Miss Grace, wanted you to have this house –’

  ‘My mother would never have wanted me to be here alone –’

  ‘Miss Grace . . .’ Numbers bowed his head as if in infinite sorrow.

  She saw the red eczema on his neck, his wrongly buttoned coat, and she thought to herself, Let him go, he’s not much help anyway, so she said, ‘All right, GO – go and just leave me here.’ She leaped up and snatched the hat from him and added, ‘Go, but I shan’t give you your hat.’

  ‘In that case, Miss Grace, you force me to leave without it. You’ll not be troubled with the day-to-day running of the house, nor of the estate. You’ll want for nothing. All is ably managed.’

  In a last bid to stop him, she snatched his glasses.

  ‘Nor your glasses.’

  With some dignity Numbers rose and walked slowly, hatless and squinting into the sun. On the forecourt he turned. Blinking furiously, his words a little choked, he said, ‘I wish you all the best, Miss Grace.’

  Idie was left feeling small and angry, with the kind of crossness that comes hand in hand with guilt. Treble made a stagey sort of appearance at the foot of the stairs, attired in a gow
n that was part negligee, part marquee. Her lips were painted but not strictly in the right places, and that put Idie in mind of Myles, who was just as bad at colouring in as Treble seemed to be. Idie remembered Numbers’s hat and glasses and she pulled them under her and tried to sit on them and said sullenly, ‘He’s gone. Dear Algernon’s gone.’

  Treble looked about, confused. As the truth of Idie’s words dawned on her, her eyes grew wet and her gown grew tremulous as if something seismic were rumbling deep inside her.

  Idie took out her book and wrote:

  My mother wanted me to have this house.

  20

  Two new dresses had appeared in Idie’s cupboard. Both were soft and loose, but neither had any red in them, which was disappointing on account of the hummingbirds. Today Idie decided that because Celia liked pretty things – dresses and flowers, for instance – there must be some goodness in her.

  Alone in her room with Homer and Millicent, Idie watched rain fall in solid sheets from the sky and listened to the rattle and clatter of the leaves.

  Life at Pomeroy had accustomed her to the absence of adults. Grancat lived alone there with the children. When his wife had died he’d never thought to find himself another and set about bringing the children up entirely according to his own lights, with only the minimum of interference from schools and tutors. He believed in a system he called Benign Neglect, holding it to be the most advantageous mode of upbringing for all concerned. Thus Idie, Myles and Benedict were left for long hours to do as they pleased. They’d return at tea to tell of their escapades, and Stew would look very pained and tired by them all and Grancat would chortle, ‘Good God, Stew, d’you hear that, firing arrows from the east turret. Marvellous. Marvellous.’

  Gosh, how Idie missed them all. Most of all she missed Grancat. After a while she picked up a pen and paper and wrote:

  Bathsheba

  13th July 1912

  Dear Myles,

  Does Grancat ask after me?

  Will you come and visit? Your rain is only a half of my rain. Here it rains as i f the seas were lifting up and pouring on to the land. And when it is sunny the light rains through the leaves, and when it is rainy the raindrops have sunshine in them.

  I have a mongoose called Millie. A mongoose is not at all like a rat. Its tail is long and bushy and its snout is a squirrel sort of snout.

  When you have all the punch you want, you don’t come out of your bedroom very much, and when you do, you fall down the stairs. Treble fell down the stairs yesterday. First she said her rib was broken, then she decided that instead it was her heart that was broken. If your heart is broken you have to drink lots of punch.

  Anyway, it is my aunt Celia whom I told you about who is giving Treble all the punch she wants. Carlisle the butler told her to do that because he is too grand to pour drinks for a governess himself, and Celia does whatever Carlisle tells her to, so Treble will probably fall down the stairs again soon.

  Anyway, last night when Mayella was doing the laundry, she discovered that it was only Treble’s corset that was broken, not her heart at all. Today Treble says she wants to get on a ship and go home, but I don’t think she ever will because she says the roads are ill-paved and the horses are ill-reared and it’s a long way along ill-paved roads on an ill-reared horse to get to Georgetown. In any case, because she hasn’t got a corset any more she is EXPANDING and has taken to her bed and will never get out again unless a steamer sails over the lawn and lowers its stairs to her window.

  The arrangement of my household is not at all satisfactory and the butler is not at all as nice as Silent. I have a friend called Austin, and Austin says that Carlisle eats snakes and lizards and monkeys so he might also eat mongooses.

  Love Idie

  PS I have done a lot of LISTENING but I haven’t found any clues yet to put in the Idie Book except that I know that my mother WAS a nice person even if you said she wasn’t.

  PPS Nobody has come to visit me except Austin. I do quite like him even if he’s almost as annoying as you.

  PPPS Sometimes I am a little bit scared.

  21

  At breakfast Idie found an envelope next to her napkin.

  Treble at this point had put down her pen and wandered off, for when she began again the ink was of a different blue and her words started to meander recklessly across the page.

  Individual letters now sprouted peculiar curlicues and, in three instances, an outcrop of flowers.

  Idie envisaged Treble parachuting down over turreted Pomeroy on the skirt of one of her gaudy gowns. Idie should perhaps warn Numbers that Treble was about to collapse over him like a resolute flying marquee.

  ‘Has Treble left?’ Idie asked Mayella.

  ‘Oh yes. She went quick-quick. Carlisle told her there was no rum left on all the island and that made the governess cry like a child. Then Carlisle say there was plenty of rum on the ship and the ship was in the harbour.’ Words flowed from Mayella incessant and fluent as water from a spring. ‘The governess she had no shame, she’d run after the man and it was God’s truth that the governess was thinking only of the man but it was, in the end, the butler that was making all the trouble; it was the butler who gave the governess the rum; it was the butler who told the governess that the white lawyer man was in love with her. Then the governess’s tears were all suddenly gone –’ at this point Mayella twirled, holding her arms out either side – ‘and the governess flew up from her bed like a bird and was gone and this –’ Mayella crossed her arms firmly – ‘this was what Miss Celia and Carlisle want.’

  ‘What Aunt Celia wanted?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Idie revised the June-bug theory she’d had for Celia. In fact, and despite the dresses and the flowers, Celia had reptile eyes and was soft-footed and silent and slippery. To Mayella she remarked, ‘Oh well. Perhaps now that the butler has stopped spending all day supplying my governess with rum, he will be able to take charge of his duties.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Mayella. ‘He won’t come into the house now the mongoose and the horse and the pigeon are here. He feels safe only in the kitchen.’

  Aha, said Idie to herself. Game, set and match, Carlisle Quarterly.

  22

  Dear Idie,

  Have you been carried away by pirates? Died of dengue fever? Melted? Has your island been blown away by the wind? Is it vile and horrid?

  Grancat says to tell you that Lancelot misses you that Stables wants to know if there is grass and hay for Baronet. I bet there’s nothing but sand and sugar there.

  From

  MYLES

  PS I am not very good at writing letters. PPS Grancat has stopped sliding down the banisters. He says he only travelled that way to breakfast because it made you smile. He says to tell you that he doesn’t hold with letters and things but that he knows your chin is up.

  PPS Benedict is gone back to school and there is not much for me to do.

  PPPPS Have you found out anything to put in the IDIE BOOK?

  Idie smiled at the boyish brevity of Myles’s letter and pictured him sitting alone in the nursery of the turreted grey stone house, trying to think of things to write. She smiled again, through tears, for Grancat, who no longer slid down the banisters to breakfast because she wasn’t there.

  23

  Austin came again at last. At the sound of his voice, Millicent shot out of the basket, across the floor and slithered up on to his lap.

  Mayella looked at him with mock suspicion. ‘Don’t you be leaving no more mongooses here now, Master Austin.’

  Austin raised his empty hands and said, ‘Mayella, rest assured there’s no creature stowed about my person.’ He turned to Millie and whispered, ‘I hear good reports about you, Millicent. I hear that the people who were supposed to be afraid of you are afraid of you.’

  Carlisle came out from the kitchen with a tray of lemonade, and Idie was surprised at this and a little pleased, thinking that perhaps her butler had at last decided to actually behave
like a butler. Seeing Homer, Carlisle stopped in the doorway. Homer’s crown began to quiver and tremble and Carlisle stepped back a foot or two.

  Austin rose and took the tray from Carlisle, and Idie heard Carlisle say, ‘The mistress has no visitors except yourself.’

  Idie flinched in shame. Austin was silent, watching Carlisle retreat. Then he said to Idie, ‘You’re tired, you’ve got rings around your eyes. Have the duppies been bothering you?’

  Idie hissed, ‘There’re no such things.’

  Austin watched her carefully for a second or two, then said in his wry, unreadable way, ‘Oh, but there are. Mother says you must give them your most deep consideration because they are the little fears and worries that are inside people’s heads come to life.’

  Idie thought this was very interesting, but she thought about the footsteps in the corridor and knew they were Carlisle’s and not just fears inside her head, so she said, ‘There used to be noises in the night . . . I think Carlisle Quarterly used to sleep in the house at night, and he is not a duppy, nor a little fear inside my head. Besides, it’s not normal, is it? Silent never slept on the same floor as us.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what’s normal in a butler. You see, butlers are in rather short supply in my house. But I think you need a monkey to keep the butler at bay. Monkeys are rather good at handling this kind of situation. Yes, you definitely need a monkey, or two: a sweet Spider one for you and some nasty little Cebus for everyone else . . .’

  Idie wondered if every boy in the Indies could summon troops of monkeys at will. She looked at Baronet and saw that he’d taken himself off to the fustic trees to flirt with Austin’s mare. Idie was a little put out because she thought Daisy a rather second-rate local kind of creature for a horse like Baronet.

  ‘Would your governess object to a monkey or two about the place?’ Austin whispered.