‘He’s got nice eyes,’ said Rebecca.
‘You can’t see a person’s eyes in a photograph.’
‘I think we should open it,’ said Effie. ‘We’ve got a right. It’s addressed to us.’
‘It’s addressed to us all,’ said Jeanie. ‘We should wait till we’re all here.’
‘There are four of us. Diana’s only one. I vote we open it.’
‘I vote we don’t,’ said Jeanie.
Both Rowena and Rebecca sided with her.
‘I don’t want to read it anyway,’ said Effie. ‘He’s just written because he’s sorry for himself.’
‘Poor Edwin,’ said Rebecca.
‘I couldn’t fall in love with somebody who was sorry for himself,’ said Effie, disdainfully.
She had often told them about the kind of man she was going to marry. He would be as daring as young Lochinvar, as fierce as Rob Roy, and as handsome as Bonnie Dundee.
Though it was still raining and pitch dark at ten to five the twins, in spite of their parents’ demurs, set off on foot for Poverty gate, carrying torches, to meet Diana and escort her home. Wallace and Bruce wanted to go with them but weren’t allowed: if they were put on leads they pulled the girls off their feet and if they weren’t put on leads they wandered into the woods and got lost.
Diana had firmly requested Papa never to come for her in the car. ‘Never?’ her sisters had teased. ‘Not even if there’s snow up to your knees? Not even if there’s a storm?’ But they had known why she wanted to walk. She was always putting herself to tests. She was really scared of the sea, so she swam out furthest. She didn’t like heights, so she climbed the highest. In her sisters’ eyes she was a heroine. Like Diana Vernon, after whom she was named. Or Kate Barlass. As long as it wasn’t Proud Maisie. That was her favourite poem and she could recite it in such a way as to make them all shiver, especially the lines:
‘When six braw gentlemen
kirkward shall carry you.’
The bus was late. The twins waited at the gate, listening to the rain pattering on their hats and on the trees. It was a point of honour to shine their torches as seldom as possible and then only for seconds. This wasn’t to save the batteries but to test their own nerves. They pretended that they were the only persons left alive in the whole world; no, the only living creatures, for all birds and animals had perished too. There had been an atomic war. Their plight was infinitely more sad than Sir Bedivere’s, for though King Arthur and all the knights had been slain there must have been peasants working in the fields to whom he could have spoken; whereas they, if they walked all the way to John O’Groats, would meet no one at all, at any rate no one alive.
Therefore an immense load of sadness and terror was lifted off their minds when they heard the bus in the distance and then saw its lights. It stopped at the gate. They could not see who was in it for the windows were misted. Since the door was at the other side they did not see Diana coming off. Then the bus moved on and there she was, crossing the road.
She flashed her torch and greeted them coolly: ‘What are you two drookit creatures doing here? Do your parents know you’re out?’
They tried to be cool too. ‘We just thought we’d take a walk before tea.’
None of them was deceived. They knew that they were experiencing a happiness in one another’s company that words could not describe.
Effie insisted on carrying Diana’s case, though ‘it weighed a ton’. Jeanie said she’d take it at the dead tree.
This was a very high ash like a gigantic skeleton, with its branches white as bones. Sometimes one would fall off.
‘Well, what is it?’ asked Diana.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Jeanie.
‘Something’s happened.’
‘We’ve said nothing,’ panted Effie.
‘I can tell by the way you’re breathing. Has Annie the tinker girl come back?’
‘No.’
‘Did one of the cats catch a bird?’
‘No.’
‘Were deer in the garden again?’
‘No.’
‘Have we got a visitor?’
‘No.’
‘All right. I give up. What is it?’
‘We haven’t said it’s anything,’ said Jeanie.
‘But it is. So you might as well tell me.’
‘Should we, Effie?’
‘We’d better, for she’d never guess in a hundred years.’
‘We’ll give her a hint first. It’s a letter.’
‘Addressed to Diana, Effie, Jeanie, Rowena, and Rebecca Sempill.’
‘Good heavens. It would have been simpler just to say The Misses Sempill.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Effie, impatiently. ‘Guess who from?’
‘Some girl we knew in Edinburgh?’
‘No.’ Effie couldn’t help giggling.
‘It’s from Edwin,’ cried Jeanie.
‘Edwin? Who’s Edwin?’
They had known she wouldn’t show astonishment or joy, though she would feel them, but they hadn’t expected her to be quite so calm and casual.
‘You know fine who he is,’ said Effie. ‘Edwin Campton. He’s at Eton College.’
‘Is he? Imagine that. What’s he writing to us for? What does he want?’
‘We don’t know that yet,’ said Jeanie. ‘We haven’t opened it. We voted to wait till you came.’
‘That was very noble, considering how you must have been bursting with impatience.’
‘We think it’s really for you though it’s addressed to us all.’
They had come to the dead tree. Usually ghosts and bogles haunted it, even in sunlight, but not on this dark wet night: the girls were too absorbed in their own affairs. Jeanie took the case and groaned at its weight.
‘Why should you think it’s for me?’ asked Diana.
‘You know why,’ said Effie.
‘I do not.’
‘Because he’s in love with you, that’s why, and he’s not in love with us.’
‘And you’re in love with him,’ added Jeanie.
‘What a pair of romantic little idiots you are.’
‘She’s just pretending,’ said Effie. ‘That’s what people in love do in stories. Isn’t it, Jeanie?’
‘Yes, they’re in love but they pretend they’re not.’
‘When did you two start reading love stories?’ said Diana.
‘Years ago.’
‘Well, you’re forgetting something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’m not in a story. I’m real.’
Keeping up her pretence of indifference Diana merely glanced at the envelope when it was handed to her by Rebecca. If they didn’t mind, she said, with a little yawn, she would read it after tea: they were at liberty to read it anytime they liked. Dourly they contained themselves till the meal was over. Then, adding to their exasperation, she said that she had a lot of homework to do and ought to do it first, since it was more important. In any case she shouldn’t be wasting time over a letter from a boy she hardly knew.
That settled it as far as her sisters were concerned. They rushed to the playroom where without any more palaver Effie tore open the envelope and took out two sheets of notepaper. She looked again to make sure there was no photograph.
‘It’s an awful scribble,’ she said, ‘and he can’t spell.’
They knew she was making poor Edwin suffer for Diana’s perverseness.
‘Read it to us,’ said Rebecca, ‘and don’t make it sound silly.’
‘If it is silly I’ll have to make it sound silly, won’t I?’
‘Let me read it,’ said Rowena.
They were against that. She would imitate Edwin’s voice and make them all laugh, which wouldn’t be fair.
Effie began, in a flat voice: ‘Dear Girls –’
‘You’re going to make it sound silly,’ objected Rebecca.
Effie’s voice became much livelier. ‘Dear Girls, I am sorry we did not meet again
after the cricket match. That was the best day of my hols in Scotland. I did not enjoy the grouse shooting because you told me it was cruel to kill birds for sport.’
‘I told him that,’ said Jeanie.
‘When I saw them dead and their feathers covered with blood I made a vow never to go shooting again. I didn’t shoot but being there was just as bad.’
‘I don’t think being there was just as bad,’ said Rowena. ‘Anyway, birds kill other birds, don’t they. Hawks kill sparrows.’
‘They don’t know any better,’ said Jeanie.
Effie continued. ‘The boys here call me Snozzle because of my big nose. Maybe it’s a punishment that I deserve. I don’t like it here. If I was good at some game like football or cricket it would be different but I’m not. As you know I can’t play for toffee.’
‘It was me said that,’ said Jeanie.
‘I wish we lived in Scotland all the time and I went to school there. Have you got all the pets you said you were going to have when you moved into Poverty Castle? One of the boys asked me who I was writing to. I said friends. He asked where they lived. I said in the Highlands of Scotland in a house called Poverty Castle. He was impressed. It is a smashing name for a house. I didn’t tell him you were girls. I’ve got a pet white mouse. Sorry I can’t tell you what I call her. Give my regards to your Mama and Papa. My mouse sends hers too.’
‘It’s a very nice letter,’ said Rebecca, after a pause.
‘It’s not bad,’ said Jeanie, ‘but he’s nearly thirteen.’
‘His writing’s a scribble,’ said Effie. ‘Miss McGill would have made him do it over again.’
‘I wonder what he calls his mouse?’ asked Rowena.
‘That’s easy,’ said Effie. ‘It’s a she. So he calls her Diana or maybe just Di. If it had been some other name he wouldn’t have been too shy to tell us what it is, would he?’
‘It’s not fair them calling him Snozzle,’ said Rebecca. ‘He can’t help it if his nose is big.’
‘Well, are we going to answer it?’ asked Effie.
‘I can’t,’ said Rebecca, ‘because I can’t write yet.’
‘You could tell us what to say and we could write it down for you,’ said Jeanie.
‘It wouldn’t be private then.’
They laughed. ‘What would you want to say to him that has to be private?’ asked Jeanie.
‘That’s private too.’
They laughed again and hugged her. They felt sorry for Edwin for not having a wee sister like her, and having instead a brother like awful Nigel.
‘He’s not happy,’ said Jeanie, ‘so maybe we should write and cheer him up.’
‘Let’s go and see what Diana thinks,’ said Effie.
After what they considered a reasonable interval – it was about twenty minutes – they went to Diana’s room. Effie put her head in. ‘Finished your homework yet?’
‘I’ve hardly started.’
‘Oh. Well, we’ve read the letter and we want you to read it and tell us what you think.’
‘Good heavens, what’s the hurry?’
‘You’re being very aggravating, Diana Sempill.’
Behind her the others made noises of agreement. ‘We think he wants us to write to him. We don’t know if we should.’
‘There’s no law against it.’
‘We know that. We want your advice. He’s got a pet white mouse. We think he calls it Diana or Di, after you.’
‘Thanks very much. I’ve always wanted to have a white mouse called after me.’
‘He doesn’t say what its name is. We think he was too shy.’
‘Oh, come in, all of you. I can see I’ll get no peace until I’ve read this wretched letter.’
They hurried in and sat on chair or bed or floor. They hadn’t expected her to shed tears of joy but her impassiveness vexed and disappointed them.
‘Well?’ asked Jeanie.
‘Well what?’
‘What do you think? Should we write and cheer him up?’
‘It’s considered impolite not to answer a letter.’
‘What will we say?’ asked Effie.
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’
‘I’ll tell him about Dominie Sampson,’ said Rebecca. That was her white rabbit. She herself had given him the name. Her sisters didn’t think it suited him at all.
‘Should we write one letter, signed by us all?’ asked Jeanie. ‘Or should each of us write one of our own?’
‘Please yourselves,’ said Diana.
‘I think each of us should write one of our own,’ said Effie.
Her three sisters agreed. Diana was pretending to be back at her homework.
‘Will we let each other see what we’ve written?’ asked Jeanie.
‘I don’t mind anybody seeing mine,’ said Effie.
‘Letters are supposed to be private,’ remarked Diana.
‘I vote we show what we’ve written,’ said Effie. She put up her hand. Jeanie and Rowena put up theirs.
‘You can’t take a vote on a thing like that,’ said Diana.
‘Why not?’ said Effie. ‘That’s democracy, isn’t it?’
‘If one of us wants her letter to be private she’s got a right.’
‘She wants to write a love letter,’ said Effie.
‘As a matter of fact I might not bother to write at all. But you’ll have to get it into your heads that you can’t take a vote on everything.’
‘We’ve always done it before,’ said Jeanie.
‘We were all children then.’
It was another indication that Diana had left them and gone over to the grown-ups.
Eighteen
REBECCA’S LETTER, with Diana her patient amanuensis, took a long time.
Dear Edwin,
I am glad you have a pet mouse. I would like to tell you about my pet rabbit. His name is Dominie Sampson.
Dominie Sampson is a schoolmaster in one of Sir Walter Scott’s books which Papa read to us once. Dominie Sampson in the story is skinny but my rabbit is fat. He is poor looking but my rabbit has got a rich white fur. He is always saying ‘Prodigious’, but my rabbit never says a word. So my sisters say it is not a suitable name. But when Papa was reading about Dominie Sampson I had a picture of him as very sad, Dominie Sampson I mean not Papa, and my rabbit has very sad eyes. That’s all. Goodbye,
She signed it herself, a large painstaking scrawl: Rebecca Sempill.
Rowena wrote hers herself and refused to let anyone correct the spelling or punctuation, as it would be cheating.
Dear Edwin
I am sorry you do not like school I like mine all right except that Miss McGill is always saying Im daydreaming. Papa says I can have a peacock next summer Jeanie wants to be a vegytarian She says its crool to look after animals and then eat them Effie thinks Diana has become too grown-up. I wish I was grown-up being a childs not fair.
Yours truely
Rowena Sempill, aged 7¾
After much chewing of her pen Effie decided to concentrate on giving advice on how to succeed at cricket.
Dear Edwin,
Do you remember me telling you when we played cricket to keep your eye on the ball, you never did and so you always missed or nearly always. Maybe you need spectacles. Are you frightened that the boys at your school would call you Specky but they couldn’t for they already call you Snozzle. Thats why Diana is good at cricket, she always keeps her eye on the ball. Shes good also at croquet, tennis, rounders, and badminton because she keeps her eye on the ball except that at badminton its the shuttle she keeps her eye on.
Trying to help
yours faithfully
Effie Sempill
Jeanie was a great reader of school stories. This had an effect on her letter.
Dear Edwin,
Papa says that at your school you are made to wear an old-fashioned uniform with a funny collar that must hurt your neck Well at St Asaph’s, a girls school I was reading about they had an old-fashioned unifo
rm too with skirts down to their ankles nearly Well Hilary and her chums led a strike until the headmistress gave in and changed their uniform to a more sensible modern one. You could start a strike at Eton It would help to take your mind off all your other troubles like you being called Snozzle and not being able to play cricket for toffee. It was me said that and I’m sorry even if it is true. If you come to Scotland next summer we’ll be glad to see you. Nigel too, I expect. Give your mouse a pat on the head for me. Effie thinks its name is Diana.
Best wishes
Jeanie Sempill
Diana’s was brisk and informative.
Dear Edwin,
Thank you for your letter. It was kind of you to send it. We have now moved into Poverty Castle and are very comfortable. We have two Labrador puppies, called Wallace and Bruce, one black and the other golden. Rebecca has a white rabbit. Effie and Jeanie would like hamsters but Mama says they make her shiver. Rowena wants a peacock. Papa says she can have one next summer. Wild rabbits come out of the wood and play on our lawn.
I am at Tarbeg High School, in class 1B. My subjects are English, History, Maths, Science, and French. Spanish is not taught in the school. When I have finished school I am going to University. I go by bus and come back by bus.
Sometimes when we are out walking we see your house in the distance. It looks very lonely.
The tinkers are still camped by the roadside. Shona Campbell of the shop is at Glasgow University.
Yours sincerely
Diana Sempill
In the end they realised that they would rather not read one another’s letters. This wasn’t just for Diana’s sake but for all their sakes. They had not realised how revealing it was to put yourself on paper. Even sisters who loved you could not be trusted to understand exactly what you meant. They might think you were showing off.
The letters were put into one envelope, which was posted by Diana in Tarbeg.
Six days later came a reply, addressed to Diana only. They were all mentioned in it, she said, and offered to read it to them. They declined, with dignity. Speaking for them all, Effie said that they had known from the beginning that he hadn’t really wanted to write to them but felt he had to, out of politeness. Well, he needn’t have bothered. If he thought they liked writing letters to him he was mistaken. They had lots of more interesting things to do.
Poverty Castle Page 12