The Dutch Uncle

by Margery Hilton

  He looked at Tessa. ‘And you’ll hold the fort here? Thanks a lot, lass.’

  Tessa waited, at first passively, then with a mounting tension as the clock hands ticked round to five. A subdued Jackie, after a long, cautious regard of Tessa, produced a comic from its hiding place under a cushion and breathed gustily over its garish pages.

  Presently he looked up and said rather plaintively,

  ‘I’m hungry, Auntie Tessa. Isn’t it tea-time yet?’

  ‘If Mummy isn’t back by half-past five I’ll make you some,’ she promised, moving quietly to the door with the intention of peeping in at Timothy, who was asleep in the front room.

  He was stirring in his cot as she entered, and his face puckered with rage as she bent over him. She scooped up the solid, six-month-old weight of him and carried him into the living room.

  ‘He’ll be wet,’ said Jackie, with the matter-of-fact wisdom of one well versed in the ways of babies. Wryly Tessa investigated the possibility that had failed to occur to her, and after a slight struggle with Timothy, who arched his strong little back in protest against unpractised hands, she succeeded in making him into a dry, comfortable baby.

  Jackie now informed her that Timothy wanted a feed. She left him to amuse the baby on the hearthrug while she studied the directions on a tin of baby food. Jackie scrambled up and opened the sideboard door.

  He lifted out a box and several articles with just a trace of condescension in his manner.

  ‘That’s his bowl and he has two of those mixed with this.’

  Repressing a smile, Tessa heated milk, added drinking chocolate and sugar, and poured the resultant brew over the rusks. Timothy obligingly devoured the lot and chuckled happily through the coon-like rim round his mouth. She cleaned him, and gave Jackie the tin of baked beans he demanded for his tea, wondering how Mary coped with them in addition to all her other household tasks.

  Her thoughts were never far from Susan as she worked, and she wished she could go forth and somehow magically produce the missing child.

  She turned to Jackie. ‘Are you sure Susan didn’t follow you up the lane?’

  Jackie slowly masticated beans. ‘No, Auntie Tessa. She came home.’

  Tessa remembered the unknown Joanna’s words, and sighed. Susan couldn’t have vanished into thin air. She tried again. ‘Where did you go with the other boys, Jackie?’

  His expression closed. ‘Just out playing,’ he mumbled indistinctly.

  ‘Where?’

  Jackie remained obstinately silent. Tessa watched him, a vague suspicion forming and crystallizing into certainty as she recalled something Mary had said. She settled Timothy into his cot and went back to Jackie. He had finished his tea and now appeared engrossed in his comic.

  ‘Listen, Jackie.’ Firmly she removed the comic.

  ‘Today, some boys broke into the apple store and did a lot of damage.’ She paused. One look at the guilty face twisting away from her gaze confirmed her suspicions.

  ‘But no one caught them.’ Suddenly she dropped her tone and gave Jackie a conspiratorial grin. ‘Who ran the fastest from the farmer?’

  Startled, he cried, ‘Me, Auntie Tessa, and Dickie fell in the ditch when—’ He stopped, realization overwhelming him, and the tears began to fall. ‘Don’t tell my dad, Auntie Tessa, don’t tell him. I’ll get a hiding.’ Sobbing, he buried his face in her lap.

  She shook him gently while he knuckled his eyes with curled fists. ‘If we find Susan safe I’ll never tell. It’ll be a secret between us, and you must promise to be good in future.’ She dried his tears and said firmly, ‘But you must tell me the whole story.’

  Prompted by her questions, the truth began to emerge. Susan had followed them, and, angered by the taunts of his companions, Jackie had ordered her back home. When she protested tearfully he had taken to his heels after his friends and left the little girl behind. Then had followed the raid on the farm as described by Jim, and the culprits had scattered before the irate farmer could identify them. Struggling through a gap in the hedge, Jackie had glimpsed Susan in the distance and had turned in the other direction lest she should see him and call out in recognition. He had then returned home by an alternative route and persisted in his lies through sheer fright. But none of it shed any light on the little girl’s present whereabouts. Tessa thought rapidly.

  ‘Does Susan often go out playing with you and your friends?’ she asked.

  ‘No, Auntie Tessa.’

  ‘Well, why did she want to follow you today?’

  Jackie considered this, and Tessa held her breath.

  ‘Because she thought we were going to see the puppies,’ he said at last.

  ‘Puppies?’ Tessa cried.

  ‘Susan is going to get one at Christmas. But they aren’t big enough yet to leave their mother. She’s always wanting to go and see them,’ he finished in a bored tone.

  ‘Where do the puppies live?’ she asked, without much hope.

  ‘Right away up the hill.’

  Could this be the answer? Tessa stared into the fire and partly dismissed the possibility. Mary or Jim would almost certainly have made this one of their first places of enquiry. Where was the little girl? Tessa shivered as the frightening pictures of what could happen to small children insinuated themselves into her mind. Evil that emblazoned the headlines with grim regularity.

  Abruptly she stood up. If only Jim and Mary would return. An impatience to know for herself if Susan had gone to the house on the hill possessed her as she went about the automatic actions, of making a pot of tea, more to occupy her hands than for desire for a cup! She sipped the hot liquid and watched the clock.

  A few minutes after six o’clock feet crunched outside. Mary and Jim came in, and hope subsided before the despair in their expressions. She poured tea for them and asked directly: ‘Have you been to the house where the pups are?’

  ‘First place I tried, lass,’ Jim said sadly, gulping the hot sweet tea.

  Conscious of deflation, Tessa was silent, and seeing her disappointment, Jim added: ‘There was nobody at home. I knocked three times, and the place was in darkness, so she can’t be there.’

  Tessa knew she would have no peace of mind until she had satisfied the urgent intuition that here was the slender thread leading to Susan.

  ‘Let me go,’ she pleaded. ‘Someone may be in by now. There’s a faint chance they may have seen her if she did wander up that way. I feel certain—’

  She broke off, wondering how far she could trust her hunch, and realizing it was cruel to raise their hopes.

  Jim regarded her shrewdly. ‘You think she’s there, don’t you?’ He tugged at his lower lip, then stood up. ‘I’ll go back.’

  ‘Let me go,’ Tessa repeated. ‘Have something to eat. The children have had their tea. If you’ll give me the directions I’ll be as quick as possible.’

  ‘Perhaps you might be luckier.’ Jim sat down reluctantly. ‘Are you sure? We don’t want to impose on good nature.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Already she was shrugging into her coat and repeating the directions. He gave her the big rubber torch and went to the door with her.

  ‘Look, hadn’t you better stay, and let me go?’ he said. ‘You don’t know your way round here and—’

  ‘No.’ Eager to be gone, she whirled into the darkness.

  The night sky seemed to hang low, like a vast billowing blanket, and the night air stung icily cold to the nostrils. Tessa’s brisk pace prevented her feeling chilled, and when she reached the fork in the road and started the upward climb she was forced to slow down, till the gradient eased and she regained her breath. The narrow lane wound on for almost a mile, becoming more rutted underfoot, and she blessed Jim’s foresight in giving her the torch.

  There were no lights in the lane, and she began to wonder impatiently if she would ever reach the top. Then the high hedges dropped away and the house came into view, silhouetted against the lowering sky, right on the apex of the hill. It looked lonely and sl
ightly forbidding. The dim shape of a fence loomed at one side and a small light in the porch cast a feeble glimmer on an uneven path. Tessa pushed the stiff gate open and looked up at the dark outlines of the windows. Could Susan be within that gloomy exterior?

  Grasping the torch firmly, Tessa walked to the front door and pulled the old-fashioned bell knob in the wall. She waited. No sound broke the silence, except that of her own rather hurried breathing. Distrustful of the bell, she clenched her fist and knocked as loudly as she could.

  At last she cast the torch beam about for signs of access to the back of the house, and saw the overgrown path, soggy with decayed leaves, that led to the rear. Indeterminate shapes showed numerous outbuildings as she passed, and presently she found herself before a low, wide, latched back door. She rapped, then rattled the sneck, and suddenly the door swung inwards with a protesting creak, letting a stream of light flood out.

  ‘Hello?’ she called uncertainly.

  When the reply came, not from within but from somewhere behind, she spun round in alarm.

  ‘Who is it? What do you want?’

  A shape became outlined, coming from the direction of one of the outbuildings. At first glance Tessa thought the figure was a man, then she saw a woman staring at her, a woman wearing a dark, heavy pullover and shabby corduroy slacks. ‘Well?’ the newcomer demanded rudely in a deep, hard voice. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’m enquiring about a little girl—aged five—fair hair and’ Tessa got no further.

  ‘She’s here,’ the cart voice said. ‘Asleep in the kitchen last time I was in.’

  Tessa wilted. The sudden overwhelming relief seemed to sap her power of speech. Susan was safe!

  ‘Have you come to collect her? About time somebody did.’ The woman brushed past with long strides, ducking her head under the low lintel. ‘You’d better come in, but I can’t spare much time for pleasantries—I’ve a valuable bitch out there about to whelp at any moment. I daren’t leave her to take the child home.’ She was leading the way along a passage. ‘This is the third time she’s wandered up here. It’s getting to be a nuisance and I’m beginning to regret I ever promised her one out of the other litter.’

  A steadily rising anger began to burn in Tessa as the spate of harsh words was flung back at her over the woman’s shoulder. Tessa realized that Jim had knocked on this door, desperate with worry and unknowing that Susan was safe within, while this harridan of a woman danced attendance on an animal. Outside the door the woman indicated, Tessa drew a deep breath. She said:

  ‘Do you realize that this child has been missing from home since lunchtime and that the police have been informed? Her parents are almost demented with worry—and all you can think of is your inconvenience and your precious bitch!’

  The woman stared during this outburst, and then to Tessa’s amazement a long slow smile creased the weather-beaten countenance.

  ‘Go on, girl, I like a bit of spunk. Incidentally, that precious bitch is worth five hundred. Listen, young lady, the child didn’t arrive here until three-thirty. What she did before then is no concern of mine.’

  Thinking of the long gradient and Susan’s stubby legs, Tessa knew this could be perfectly true.

  ‘He was dead beat,’ the woman continued. ‘I gave her a glass of milk and a slice of cake—and the puppy to nurse—then she promptly fell asleep.’

  She opened the door and Tessa looked into the room. The woman gripped Tessa’s arm as they saw the object of all their worry curled up in an enormous old armchair, with a tiny scrap of brown fur clutched to the bright red jersey. Tessa would have flown to Susan had the woman not grasped her arm. Turning indignantly, she noticed that the eyes were kind, and a latent humour lurked in the lines round the mouth. The old saying about the bark being worse than the bite fits here, thought Tessa.

  ‘Don’t rush in and frighten the kid with a great emotional hoo-ha,’ the woman said. ‘My husband should have been back over an hour ago, and he would have run her down home in minutes. I couldn’t allow her to go back alone in the dark. Apart from the fact it’s much too far for her short pins—excuse me.’ She hurried away, obviously worried about the mother-to-be.

  Tessa moved across to the still sleeping Susan and touched her flaxen head. ‘Come on, Susan, wake up. It’s time to go home.’

  The child stirred, and the puppy whimpered as Tessa gathered it gently in her arms and set it down on the rag.

  ‘Auntie Tessa.’ Susan blinked puzzled eyes and yawned. ‘Where’s Jackie?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘Are we going home now?’

  ‘You most certainly are—it’s bedtime.’

  The woman had returned. ‘It’s starting to snow, curse it. The sooner you make tracks, the better.’

  Tessa fastened Susan’s coat and pulled the blue matching beret firmly over her curls. ‘Say goodnight to the pup. And thank you to the lady.’

  She held out her hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs.—?’

  ‘Hart,’ the other supplied.

  ‘I hope your new litter arrives safely,’ Tessa concluded.

  Strange woman, she mused as she took Susan’s hand for the homeward journey. Probably it had not occurred to her that the parents did not know of Susan’s intended visit. Buoyant with excitement, she urged the little girl to hurry. In the fuss which was inevitable, perhaps Jackie’s misdeeds would not come to light. Susan showed a tendency to lag as they neared the foot of the hill, and Tessa was thankful that they were descending and not climbing. The snow was falling thickly now, forming a soft white felting against the front of their clothing, and Susan slithered, hanging on to Tessa’s hand as she tried to hurry.

  ‘I’m tired, Auntie Tess.’

  Instantly Tessa upbraided herself and slowed her pace. Stooping, she whispered, ‘Shall I carry you?’ They had reached the fork now. Another five minutes’ walk would bring the cottage in view. She wedged the torch in her pocket and hoisted Susan up. But the child’s sturdy weight was deceptive, and soon Tessa’s arms ached as she plodded along. Susan’s head dropped against her shoulder and there was no reply to her whispered, ‘Could you walk now? Just a little way.’

  She tightened her hold about the little girl and went on. When she reached the cottage she almost fell over the step as Jim opened the door.

  Incredulous joy radiated his face as he reached for her burden, swinging Susan on to one shoulder and putting out his hand to steady Tessa. Temporarily spent, she could only sink into a chair and gasp triumphantly, if breathlessly, ‘She was there!’

  Mary made coffee, which they were too excited to drink, and Susan wakened to add her own contribution to the explanations.

  ‘Well,’ Jim rubbed the back of his head. ‘I never thought of barging round the back. We can only say thank you, lass. I wish we could do more.’

  ‘You can,’ Tessa said with a smile. ‘Make a fuss of Jackie.’

  ‘We will—now you’ll stay for supper?’

  But Tessa regretfully refused. Though it was not late, it would take quite a long time to make the return journey to Meads, with the added risk of missing the last Greenbanks bus.

  Somehow the events of the afternoon had driven all the painful bitterness out of her mind. Now she was conscious only of a tired body and a longing for sleep.

  Jim walked her to the bus stop, remarking that he would have to phone the police about Susan’s return. He waited until the bus lumbered round the corner, and thrust the torch into Tessa’s hand. ‘You might need it at the other end. It’s going to be bad tonight.’ She realized his prophecy was accurate. Soon they were driving into a blizzard that slowed the progress of the bus to a crawl as the visibility became almost non-existent. Marchfield resembled a silent white world when the bus at last turned along the High Street. The passengers clambered off and hurried away, their footsteps noiseless on the soft carpet of snow.

  Tessa turned up her collar and crossed the road to the bus stop for Greenbanks. Apparently she was the only intending pas
senger. She sought the shelter of a nearby shop doorway and waited. A quarter of an hour later she felt the first twinge of misgivings. No one had joined her, and, judging by the deserted street, the citizens of Marchfield had obviously retreated to their firesides and barred out the elements. The church clock boomed out the hour, and Tessa counted the strokes as she checked her watch. The bus should have arrived ten minutes ago, and even allowing for delayed schedules surely it shouldn’t be as late as this.

  Irresolutely she peered from her shelter. The garage down the road was in darkness; the possibility of a taxi was remote on a night like this. While she deliberated, a movement undo: a lamp attracted her attention, and in a pool of amber light she saw the swinging cape and reflected gleam from a helmet. Thankfully she approached the friendly blue uniform and made her enquiry.

  The policeman shook his head. ‘There’ll be no more buses along the Greenbanks route tonight, miss,’ he informed her.

  ‘Because of the snow?’

  ‘No.’ He watched the dismay clouding the young face, and asked sympathetically, ‘Far to go?’

  ‘To Meads.’

  ‘Oh aye—Mr. Maythorne’s place. I’m afraid you’ll have to walk. The road’s blocked just outside the town, with the very bus you’re waiting for. Skidded right across the road.’

  ‘Anyone hurt?’ For a moment she forgot her own predicament.

  ‘Luckily, no. But until the breakdown lorry gets through...’ He shrugged, leaving Tessa to draw the obvious conclusion.

  ‘I see. Thank you.’ She was about to walk away when he added reassuringly:

  ‘The road’s not too bad, miss, and it’s well lit. You’ll be all right.’ He watched her go, then, thinking longingly of his fireside and slippers, went on his way.

  Tessa stepped out briskly, the big torch sticking out of her pocket and bobbing rhythmically against her hip as she walked. She reached the place where the bus was slewed crazily across the road, its nose to rest against a lamp standard, and picked her way round the warning lamps set in the snow. Several vehicles lined the kerbside, abandoned when their owners were forced to proceed under their own locomotion, and who now probably consoled themselves within the warmth of the Marchfield taverns.