by Sarah Rayne
Crispian explained that he was going out of England on a long journey and wanted to take a last memory of Cadence Manor with him.
‘Jamie’s coming with us,’ he said. ‘I think he’s written to tell you about it.’
‘The post is quite erratic down here,’ said Colm, apologetically.
‘We want to study foreign methods of banking and foreign finance laws,’ said Crispian, hating the need to lie to the unworldly and trusting Colm.
‘Ah. Foreign methods. I see. That will be very helpful to Jamie’s career, I dare say. Paris and Rome, will it be?’
‘We thought we’d go further afield if we can,’ said Crispian. ‘Greece, perhaps.’ He watched Colm carefully to see if he accepted this.
Colm said, ‘How interesting. The Greeks are remarkable people when it comes to finance – I might have some notes about that somewhere; I’m sure you’d find them helpful. Come into the study, my dear boy.’
It’s all right, thought Crispian, following Colm’s stoop-shouldered figure across the main hall, into the suite of rooms in which he lived. He believes me. He doesn’t see anything odd in Jamie and I mad-rabbiting across the world.
‘I dare say the notes will be somewhere in this cupboard,’ said Colm, peering round. There was a large photograph of Jamie’s mother on a desk – Crispian had been five when she died, Jamie a year or two younger. He could remember her only very dimly, and he did not think Jamie remembered her at all. But he had always liked the photograph, which showed her as dark-haired and attractive, and he liked her name, which was Fay. As a child he had thought it a name for a princess or a fairy creature from one of the old legends. His own mother had never seemed to like Fay very much; she had once said Fay was fanciful and impractical and a bit of a dreamer. ‘An unsuitable wife for any man,’ she had said dismissively, ‘and especially for Colm.’ Crispian did not think Fay’s death had inflicted a particularly deep wound either on Colm or on Jamie.
‘I was looking into the origins of banking quite recently, as it happens,’ Colm was explaining, ‘with particular emphasis on the Italians, of course. Cadenza, that was our family name generations back. Well, you’ll know that. But I believe I’ve found a link to the Medicis – both families were Florentine bankers, of course, so it wouldn’t be so very unexpected. There was a marriage in the fifteenth century; isn’t that interesting? But we were talking about the Greeks, weren’t we? Perhaps we should have a glass of Madeira while I try to find it all for you . . . Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all, and I’m sure it would be of interest. If I could find my spectacles . . .’
He’s Dickensian, thought Crispian, watching Colm peer about him for the truant spectacles. Or he’s even out of Restoration comedy. Not for the first time, he wondered if Colm minded missing out on his place in the Cadence financial empire, and its rewards. But he appeared perfectly happy buried down here in Priors Bramley, writing monographs and little essays, which occasionally appeared in scholarly periodicals. He reported scrupulously to Julius on the manor’s maintenance, sending an account each quarter day. The accounts were as detailed and as precise as those of an Elizabethan household, and Julius usually snorted in semi-derision, paid what had to be paid, then consigned the accounts to the back of a cupboard, never to be looked at again.
Chapter 7
The Present
For over fifty years Ella had been able to push the memories to the back of her mind, but now they came pouring back.
The fact that Geranos was so harmful had been played down by the government.
‘But everyone knew it was absolutely lethal’ said Clem, that night at Ella’s house. ‘Geranos had sulphur mustard in it, only nobody said so at the time. That’s why Priors Bramley was called the Poisoned Village at one stage. Didn’t somebody go in there and get horrible chemical burns or something?’
‘I heard that as well,’ said Veronica. ‘And I remember hearing about the sulphur mustard being dangerous. I used to be worried about my mother putting mustard on ham. Listen, I was only eight,’ she said defensively.
‘Sulphur mustard was used in both World Wars, I think,’ said Clem. ‘But then the government stopped it. I can remember my father saying it had some useful qualities, only I can’t remember what they were.’
‘A lot of harmful things do have good properties if they’re used correctly,’ said Veronica, rather unexpectedly. ‘Arsenic does. I remember reading that.’
‘I suppose,’ said Clem, ‘that everything’s got its dark side, hasn’t it?’
Everything’s got its dark side . . .
Although the three of them had not talked much about what had happened in Cadence Manor that morning, Ella knew they all remembered it.
She had not really taken any notice of the stuff called Geranos in the beginning; it was just a word, something a plane had dropped on the village, a complicated science thing that the grown-ups probably understood. It was the man who lay at the core of all her nightmares: the man whose face was not quite right, and who had poured out the music in St Anselm’s church and sobbed in that dreadful fashion. Afterwards she dreamed about him lying in the deserted manor house, staring upwards with sightless eyes because nobody had closed them. But she had tried not to think about it, because she would never see him again. She would never go back to Priors Bramley or Cadence Manor.
But she had. One week later she had gone back to Priors Bramley. And afterwards she understood why it came to be called the Poisoned Village.
It had been Saturday afternoon, and Ella had been helping her mother make cakes. As they were putting away the mixing bowls, her mother suddenly said, ‘Ella, where’s your watch? Did you take it off to wash up? Where did you put it?’
Ella stared at her and felt a sickening jolt of panic. The watch, the gold watch that had marked her tenth birthday and that Mum had worked all those extra hours to buy. For a moment she was no longer in the bright kitchen, but in Priors Bramley just seven days ago. She had looked at her watch several times that morning to make sure they would leave before the plane came at midday, and also because she was proud of having such a grown-up birthday present. And then later, seated on Mordwich Bank, watching the plane come over, the watch had no longer been on her wrist. She had not noticed at the time, but standing in the kitchen with the warm scent of cakes baking, she saw her bare wrist as she, Clem and Veronica fed their unwanted sandwiches to the birds.
‘Ella, what’s the matter?’
‘I think,’ said Ella, starting to cry, ‘that I’ve lost it.’
‘Oh, you careless girl. That was a very expensive watch.’
‘I know,’ said Ella, crying harder.
‘Well, try to think when you last had it. We might be able to track it down. There’s no point in crying.’
But Ella could not stop sobbing, and the story of what had happened in Cadence Manor was tumbling out. It was a bit like being sick – you tried to keep it in but it came out of you anyway. The story of how they had gone into Priors Bramley came out like being very sick. She had not meant to tell the part about the man, but she could not help it. Mum did not speak; she simply sat there at the kitchen table, listening.
‘. . . And when we got up to Mordwich Bank, my watch wasn’t on my wrist any more.’ Ella stopped speaking and she managed to stop crying. She felt empty but oddly better, as if she really had been sick, but she had no idea what was going to happen now. Mum was frowning, not an angry frown, but as if she was trying to think. Ella waited, and after a moment Mum squared her shoulders in the way she did when she was about to do something important.
She said, ‘There’s only one thing for it, Ella. We’ll have to go out there and find your watch. No one need know – we can be there and back without anyone seeing us.’
‘But we can’t,’ said Ella, horrified. ‘It’s all closed up. No one’s allowed in.’
‘I can’t help that. That watch had your initials on it, and the date of your birthday. If that man’s body is found and your watch is
with him—’
‘They’d think I killed him?’
‘Well,’ said Ella’s mother, looking at her very directly, ‘did you?’
Ella stared at her, then gave another sob and ran out of the kitchen.
Her mother did not ask the question again. They finished the baking and set out the cakes to cool, then she told Ella to put on her coat because they were going to Priors Bramley. She said it in her firmest voice and Ella knew there was no arguing.
The sun was setting as they walked across Mordwich Meadow. Ella normally liked sunsets, but this one was an angry brownish orange, as if something had clawed at the sky and made it bleed. As they went down the bank the primroses that grew in the clay soil were dull and sad-looking, and when they came in sight of the manor in its dip of land, it was splashed with the same sulky light. Even the crouching outline of the lodge, set apart from it, looked as if it had dried blood on its grey walls. As they got closer there was a too-sweet scent on the air, and Ella shuddered.
‘It’ll be quite safe,’ said her mother, seeing this. ‘I’ll go through the side door in the wall and across the old kitchen gardens. You can wait by the stile.’
‘Everywhere smells horrid,’ said Ella, wrinkling her nose.
‘That’s probably the Geranos. It’s like geranium scent, isn’t it?’
Ella did not say it was making her feel sick.
As they reached the lane with the high wall, in a very small voice, she said, ‘He’ll still be there, won’t he? That man?’
‘If he was dead he will. But you can’t be sure he was dead, you know. It’s very likely he was only knocked out and he got up and walked home.’
No, he didn’t, thought Ella. I know he didn’t. You know it, as well.
‘But don’t worry about it – I’ll find the watch, then no one can ever prove you were here that morning.’
‘Clem and Veronica know I was here.’
‘If it ever comes out I shall say you were with me all day last Saturday,’ said Ella’s mother. ‘I’ll say Clem and Veronica are telling silly lies.’
Ella wanted to find this comforting, but the trouble was that Mum kept saying it. ‘Silly lies, that’s what we’ll say,’ she repeated. ‘All silly lies.’ The third time she said it the words came out sloppily, and Ella saw her eyes had the blurry look that meant she had taken what she called her ‘special medicine’ before coming out. She sometimes took a dose of it if she had to do something difficult or unpleasant; she said it gave her extra strength. Ella thought the medicine might have brandy in it, because it smelled like Christmas pudding.
The side door into the manor grounds was closed. There was a tangle of barbed wire over it – Ella thought that had not been there last week – and a notice saying to keep out.
‘We can’t get in,’ she said in panic.
‘Yes, we can. It won’t be locked, and I’ve brought my gardening gloves to put on so I can unwind the barbed wire.’
‘Are you sure about the – um – Geranos stuff being all right? I mean, really absolutely sure?’ Ella was hating the geranium scent, and now they were closer to the manor a queer brownish haze seemed to hang over everything.
‘Yes, I told you. It’s just a test they’re doing on the plants and wildlife. And they’re only doing it because there’s a delay about the motorway. It’ll be months and months before they start building it, so they don’t want anyone saying the Priors Bramley people were pushed out of their houses too soon. That’s why they’re pretending they need the empty village for an experiment. Only it isn’t important at all, it’s just to fool everyone . . .’ The words trailed off vaguely and Ella looked at her worriedly. ‘They think they’re fooling everyone, those stupid government people, but they aren’t fooling me. Not a bit, they aren’t. You have to get up very early to do that. Geranos, ha! I’d give them Geranos.’
‘Clem’s father said Geranos was something to do with stopping the Russians from dropping bombs on us,’ said Ella, hoping this would make Mum talk normally again. It was awful when she was all slurry and sloppy like this.
‘Oh, the Russians won’t drop any bombs. Certainly not on us. Clem’s father is a stupid old fool anyway.’
Ella’s mother tugged the barbed wire aside and opened the garden door. The hinges creaked gratingly and, as it swung inwards, Ella had the sudden feeling that a nightmare was opening up. But she could see into the manor grounds and everywhere looked exactly as it had done one week ago, except for the coppery haze that lay everywhere – like a diseased fog, thought Ella. That must be what had tainted the sunset.
Her mother did not seem worried by the copper mist. She went through the gate and across the tangled grass as Ella and the other two had done last Saturday, and then across the cracked pavings surrounding the house. The dust swirled a bit as she disturbed it; Ella saw that in places it lay on the ground in tiny glistening lumps like the top of a rice pudding when the skin got burned.
She sat down on the grass to wait. It shouldn’t take Mum long to find the watch. She had only to go up the stairs and into the room where the three of them had hidden, and then, if the watch was not there, to come downstairs and go into the room off the hall. That was where he was. What would he look like after being dead for a week? Ella had no idea what happened to dead bodies. Would his eyes be open and staring?
The garden door was still partly open, and Ella could see the house – the big doors and the marble pillars on each side. She could see part of the gardens, as well. In autumn there were gentians here, a patch of lovely blue mistiness under a big oak tree, but today the oak looked sick and dusty as if something had shaken masses of pepper over its leaves. The pepperiness was getting into Ella’s throat a bit; it made her cough.
It was very quiet. Usually at this time the evening birdsong was everywhere, but now it was as if even the birds had been smothered. Ella began to feel uneasy; she looked across at the house again, hoping to see her mother come out, hoping against hope the watch would have been found.
And then into this thick tainted silence came a trickle of sound. At first it puzzled Ella, but with dawning horror she realized it was music: threads and curls of sounds, as faint as grey cobwebs that would dissolve if you blew on them.
She sprang to her feet, looking round, her heart starting to pitter-pat with nervousness, because no matter how faint the music was, she recognized it. It was his music, the music he had played and sobbed over inside St Anselm’s church that afternoon. She stood very still, listening intently, wanting to run away as fast as she could, but not daring to move, listening to the music seeping into the sick-smelling gardens. It sounded as if it was being played on a gramophone, but whatever was playing it, there was no mistaking it. Was it coming from inside the house? Or was it from the lodge, a little way along the drive? Did it mean he was still here, that he wasn’t dead?
When her mother appeared between the marble pillars, Ella gave a sob of relief and got to her feet. Mum would know what had happened and what they should do. Here she came, walking quite fast as if she wanted to get away from Cadence Manor and the sad sick village. As she crossed the terrace she stumbled on the uneven surface and Ella started forward, thinking she was going to fall, but Mum waved to her to stay where she was. Ella sat down again on the bit of grass, hugging her knees with her arms. The music had stopped. Ella knew the exact moment it had done so – she had felt the faint thrumming on the air fade into silence.
When her mother reached the gate, she was shaking her head. ‘I couldn’t find it,’ she said. ‘But that’s all right, Ella, because I looked everywhere very thoroughly and if I couldn’t find it, no one else will. We’ll look for it as we go along the lane, though.’
She sounded all right but she looked all wrong. Her face was flushed and she was breathing quickly as if she had been running for a long time or was starting a cold. Ella said, ‘Are you all right?’ and her mother said at once that she was perfectly all right.
‘It was just a bit warm i
n there. And it’s a bit warm now – don’t you think there’s a lot of heat still in the day?’
Ella had had to wind her scarf tightly round her neck and dig her hands deep into her pockets because she had felt cold while she’d waited. But she said, yes, it was quite warm.
They walked home across Mordwich Bank and along to Upper Bramley, looking on the ground for the glint of gold from the wristwatch, but not seeing it. Once her mother paused and said she would have a little rest, she was becoming so out of breath, and once she stopped and unscrewed the top of the medicine bottle she kept in her handbag, and drank from it. The sun had almost set by this time, but Ella thought her mother’s face looked as if she had been lying in hot sunshine for hours and hours. She was not sure if she should be worried about this.
It was not until they turned into the lane leading down to their cottage that Ella finally managed to say, ‘Did you see him? The man?’
Mum took a few minutes to reply, then she said, ‘Yes, he was there. He must have died at once. Clean and quick and painless. You don’t need to worry about it.’
‘Did anyone seem to be around?’
‘No. The house was deserted.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Ella. As they went into the house, she thought: but then who was playing his music?
After supper Ella’s mother complained of the heat again. ‘It’s really uncomfortable in here,’ she said, taking off the woollen jacket she had been wearing. ‘It’s making my skin itchy. I wonder if we’re due for a thunderstorm.’