I did not know how long this tour of the house had taken but I did realize that time was passing. Isaacs might return; and Mrs. Penlock was only interested in having her fortune told and would not stay after that had been done.
I said: “They’ll be back soon.”
A look of fear came into his face. He was then all eagerness to get away. I was leading him to the front door but he was anxious to leave by the way he had come, which was through an open window in one of the kitchens.
I felt then that I was a little nearer to understanding him and as soon as Jacco came in I would tell him what had happened and suggest that we try to see him now and then and make him realize how secure he was and that while he was under my father’s protection, he was safe from the savagery of a superstitious mob.
I was unprepared for the sequel. It happened two days after our tour of the house.
Jacco and I had been out with our father. Jacco had to learn a good deal about estate management and he was often with my father on his round. I was free to accompany them whenever I wished and that was often because I was very interested in the people who were Cador tenants.
As we came into the stables John Ferry came hurrying out.
“Oh, Sir Jake,” he said, “there be trouble. ’Tis about that boy …”
There was a faint tightening of the lips which betrayed the unspoken comment: “I could have told you so.” This indicated that Digory was in some sort of trouble.
“What’s happened?” asked my father.
“Slattery have caught him red-handed, Sir Jake,” Ferry explained. “A tidy-sized piece of beefsteak he had … was stowing it away in a bag when he was caught. No doubt about it, sir. There was the steak in his bag.”
“What was the point of stealing steak?” demanded my father. “He’s well fed here, isn’t he?”
“There’s them that’s thieves by nature, sir. They do it natural. It’s a habit of a lifetime.”
“Where’s the boy now?”
“Down at Slattery’s. Slattery’s going to charge him. But he said he’d tell me first and I could tell you like … seeing as how you’ve taken the boy in.”
Jacco and I were looking at our father anxiously. He said: “Come on. We’ll go to Slattery’s and sort this out.”
Tom Slattery, the butcher, was a fat red-faced man with a slight resemblance to the pigs which hung up in his shop, except that they had oranges in their mouths and he had broken teeth. He always wore a blue-and-white striped apron, faintly bloodstained, over his grey trousers and my memory of him is standing over a slightly concave board with a chopper in his hands.
We left our horses tethered to the rail and a few steps from the shop and went in.
In the parlour behind the shop cowered Digory, trying hard to hide his terror. We were surprised to see Luke Tregern, the Hansons’ gamekeeper, with Slattery.
“Good day, Slattery … Tregern …” said my father. “What’s all this about a pound of beefsteak and the boy?”
“Well, Sir Jake,” said Slattery, “he be nothing but a thief. Not that we ain’t known that. ’Tis no surprise, as you might say. I had me back turned for a minute and I hears a shout. ’Twas a mercy Mr. Tregern here just come into the shop. See him take it up, he did, and when I spins round there he is stuffing it into his bag all ready to dart out of my shop.”
“That’s the case, Sir Jake,” said Luke Tregern. “I caught the boy in the act.”
He looked rather pleased with himself.
“He’s been thieving all his life,” said Slattery. “Slippery as an eel, that one is. I’d never have known he’d been in and out of my shop if it hadn’t been for Mr. Tregern here.”
“I’m glad I came in when I did,” said Luke Tregern.
Digory turned defiant eyes up to my father.
“Is this true?” asked my father. “Did you steal the steak?”
Digory didn’t answer.
I could not restrain myself. I said: “Why did you do it, you foolish boy? You get enough to eat, don’t you?”
Still he did not answer.
“There must be a reason,” said Jacco.
“Tell us why you stole the steak,” said my father. “Were you hungry? If you don’t tell us, how shall we know what to do about you? If there is a reason, you must tell us.”
There was another silence. Then he lifted a finger and pointed at me.
“My daughter!” said my father. “What has she to do with it?”
“’Twas for her,” said Digory.
“I don’t understand.”
“Had to be secret meat. No one to know where it come from … or it don’t work.”
“What is he talking about?” asked my father.
“Devil’s kiss,” said Digory.
Then I understood. I touched my temple. “Was it this?” I asked.
“You know,” he said. “You wanted it done.”
I said: “I think I understand. Digory wanted to do something for me. He noticed this.” I pointed to my mole. “He was going to get rid of it for me. Was that what the beefsteak was for, Digory?”
He nodded. “It has to go on. Then I put on the brew. After that … ’tis gone in two days.”
“But why did you steal it? I could have got some steak in the kitchen for you.”
“’Tas to be secret. You can’t know where it do come from.”
I said: “It is all clear to me. Digory was trying to do me a good turn. He was going to remove this mole because he thought it was not good for me to have it.” I looked appealingly at my father. “You can understand it after … after …”
My father nodded.
“He wanted to repay us … Jacco and me.”
Jacco said: “It’s quite simple. He was going to take away Annora’s mole and she wasn’t to know where the steak came from or it wouldn’t work.”
“I have never heard such nonsense,” said my father. “You see, Slattery, this is a children’s game. Leave the boy to me. I’ll deal with him.” He put a sovereign on the table. “That’ll take care of the steak and you can keep it as well as the money. I don’t suppose it came to much harm in the boy’s bag. Now I’ll leave you to your business. Thank you for sending to Ferry. Shouldn’t attach too much importance to childish games. I’ll give the boy a talking-to … and my daughter, too.”
We came out of the shop, Digory with us. I noticed that Luke Tregern was looking after us with a rather quizzical expression, and I had the feeling that he was disappointed in the way in which the situation had turned out. I supposed he thought he had been rather clever in spotting Digory’s action and should have been commended for it.
My father said sternly to Digory: “Never take anything that doesn’t belong to you, boy, or you’ll be in trouble. Now go back to your work.”
Digory ran off at great speed and my father turned to me: “As for you,” he said, “I don’t know how you could be so stupid. He might have disfigured you with his witches’ potions.”
“I only thought that he wanted to do something to repay us, and Mama says we should remember people’s pride and respect it.”
“I suppose she is right. But that young idiot will have to take care. There’s enough feeling against him already. There’s a great sense of guilt throughout this place for what happened that night. Nobody wants to take responsibility. I daresay your mother will tell you that people hate to feel guilt and try to justify themselves. If they could prove Mother Ginny’s grandson to be a thief, they’d feel a little justification. So if you have any influence with that boy, tell him to take care.”
“We will, won’t we, Annora?” said Jacco.
I nodded in agreement.
When one is young and innocent of nature, one believes in easy solutions. The fairy tales always told us that they lived “happy ever after.” I accepted that. It was comforting and pleasant. I had thought that when Digory had a good bed to sleep in and was assured of three meals a day, and worked with horses which he loved and had my f
ather’s protection, he would live “happy ever after.”
Comfort could not change Digory. He was wild; his freedom was what he most desired. In the days before the fire he might have lived frugally; he might have gone hungry now and then; he had lived dangerously, outside the community; and people were suspicious of him because his grandmother was a witch. But he had been proud, subservient to nobody—and he had been happy.
What happened I supposed was inevitable. He might have avoided it for a time, if he had had better luck; but the outcome would have been the same.
And this time there was no way of saving him.
He had made the Dogs’ Home his. He slept there, though it must have been less comfortable than the room over the stables which had been allotted to him. There was a clearing behind the Dogs’ Home and here he made fires and cooked for himself.
He did not like the company of the other stable lads; Ferry tolerated him but I guessed he was hoping he would be caught in some misdemeanor so that he could have the pleasure of seeing him removed and proving my father in the wrong. He did not understand that my father would not feel that at all. But Ferry was hoping for the boy’s downfall—as I guessed most of the servants were. Mrs. Penlock never said a word against Digory but she had a very significant sniff when his name was mentioned.
It was about two weeks after the beefsteak incident.
Ferry came to the house, triumphant. He wished to speak to Sir Jake. I had seen him coming and, guessing from his attitude that this meant trouble for Digory, I contrived to be there.
Ferry stood, cap in hand, turning it round and round as he spoke. “’Tis that boy again, Sir Jake.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He be in jail, Sir Jake.”
“What?”
“Caught. In the Hanson woods, sir. Pheasant in his bag. No mistake about what he was up to this time.”
My father looked at him blankly. “The idiot,” he said. “What was he doing stealing a pheasant? He’s fed …”
“There’s some as is natural thieves, sir, and that boy’s one of them. When you think where he comes from … It was Mr. Hanson’s gamekeeper who caught him. Mr. Tregern, sir. He got him charged right away. Serious offence, this, sir.”
“Very serious,” agreed my father. “All right, Ferry.”
Ferry touched his forehead and retired.
I stared in dismay at my father.
“It appears,” he said, looking at me ruefully, “that this time the young fool has got himself into serious trouble.”
How right he was!
Jacco and I were very distressed, looking upon Digory as our protégé as we did. How could he have been so foolish! With our father’s help we had been able to extricate him from the beefsteak incident but this was another matter.
“Can you get him freed?” asked Jacco of my father.
“He’s already in the hands of the law. Hanson’s gamekeeper took quick action. I’ve no doubt they’ll get Slattery to speak against him.”
“Couldn’t you forbid him to?”
“No, my son. I can’t interfere with the course of justice. It’s true what Slattery says. The boy’s a natural thief. If he escaped the consequences of this there would be another incident before long. We’ve seen that of the beefsteak. You would have thought that would have been warning enough.”
“It’s just bravado,” I said.
“It is a luxury which, in his position, he cannot afford.”
It soon became clear that there was nothing to be done. My father asked Mr. Hanson if he would talk to his gamekeeper and this he did. He came back and told us that Luke Tregern was adamant. There was not doubt of the boy’s guilt and he could not have people walking off with the pheasants. If this sort of thing was allowed to go on he could not be responsible. It would be an impossible situation for him. The last thing Mr. Hanson wanted was to lose such an excellent man. Moreover, as he hinted to my father, they both knew enough about the law to understand that it could not be trifled with to gain special favours for certain people.
My father said to us: “Of course I see his point. It is a pity about that beefsteak—and Tregern was the one who caught him at that. I warned the young fool and he has flouted me. No, there is nothing to be done. The boy has got to learn his lesson—a hard one it will no doubt be, but it is his own fault and perhaps the only way to instill some sense into him.”
I wanted to go and see him, to talk to him; but that was not possible.
Jacco and I rode out to the moors and lay on the grass making wild plans to save him. But there was nothing that could be done. Even we had to realize that.
“How could he have been such a fool?” I kept demanding.
“He just liked taking risks. It made him feel good. It reminded him of the old days when he lived with his grandmother. Our father is right. If he had not been caught over this he would have been over something else.”
Jacco shook his head. I think he was coming to the conclusion that there was nothing to be done to help Digory. He had a grudge against the world. I could understand that. He had seen what they had done to his granny on that night and he hated everybody. He did not completely trust even us.
He was tried and there was no question of his guilt. As my father had said, Slattery and Tregern were only too ready to give evidence against him. The beefsteak episode was recalled and there was no mention of the reason he had attempted to steal it. In any case it was not a question of why he had stolen it but that he had. As Digory worked for my father and his only relative had died recently leaving him homeless, he had been treated leniently on that occasion; but the boy had not learned his lesson; he was a born thief and could never be anything else.
We wanted no such people in this country. He was sentenced to seven years’ transportation.
We were all greatly shocked by the sentence. It seemed unduly harsh. His background went against him; and the evidence as given by Slattery and Luke Tregern was the final blow.
My father and I went for a ride together and talked about Digory.
My father said: “It takes me back years. You’ve heard the story. I killed a man who was attempting to assault a gypsy girl. I was sentenced to seven years’ transportation … just as this boy has been. His seems a trivial offence compared with mine. A man’s life against that of a pheasant.”
“What you did was right. What Digory did was wrong.”
“Yet I killed. But I had people to speak for me. Your grandfather was a man of great influence and your mother forced him to save me from the gallows … which might so easily have been my fate.”
“Don’t speak of it. I can’t bear it.”
“Well, my darling. If that had been the end of me there would never have been Annora. That would have been a real tragedy.”
“Don’t joke. And what about Digory?”
“He’ll serve his term. He’ll come through … as I did. Perhaps it’s not such a bad thing. Out of these misfortunes good can come. I grew up in Australia. When I look back I see myself as a feckless fellow with romantic notions. Going off as a gypsy! Imagine that! What folly! I was pulled up sharply and I realized the seriousness of life and when I had served my term I emerged as a reasonable man, ready to take on my responsibilities.”
“I can’t stop thinking of Digory being sent away like that. He’ll be so frightened.”
“Yes. It’s a frightening ordeal. But he’ll come through. After all, it’s not as though he was happy here. What happened that night has scarred him deeply. Perhaps the best thing is a complete change, an entirely new life. If he can come through it, it might not be all bad.” He was silent for a while. Then he said: “This brings it all back to me, Annora. I can see myself on that ship, arriving in a new country … But after a while I grew accustomed to it. That’s one lesson of life. To accept … and to remember all the time that whatever tragic times one has to live through, they can’t last forever. There has to be change. So there will be for Digory.”
&
nbsp; “I wonder if we shall ever know. I wonder if we shall see him again.”
“For that, my dear girl, we must wait and see.”
We rode back to the house in a solemn and melancholy mood.
Scandal in High Places
FOR A LONG TIME I could not stop thinking of Digory. Every now and then his image would crop up in my mind and I would see him as clearly as though he stood beside me, stuffing fish into the bag he carried, throwing stones into the river, standing accused in Slattery’s shop. What was it like being sent away for seven years?
I talked about it a great deal with my father, who was by no means reticent about his own experiences. I had always found it easy to put myself in the place of others and I could imagine the arrival in that strange land, coming up from the dark interior of the ship to the blazing sunshine, the humiliation of being branded a felon. It had happened to my father and now it was happening to Digory. Perhaps being marched up in a gang to do hard labour or being selected by someone to whom one became a slave … My father had been considerably older than Digory when he had undergone that ordeal; and he had had so many qualities which Digory lacked. My father had come through. But how would Digory fare?
After he had departed I had long talks about him with Jacco. At first my brother was very interested but it was not long before other matters claimed his attention and his interest waned.
It was inevitable, and in time I should be the same, I supposed.
Then Jacco was going away to school and that seemed a great tragedy. I was wretchedly lonely for a while and I used to long for holidays. Then he would sometimes not come home but spend them with a friend. In their turn his friends came to us. Sometimes I was allowed to join them and we would ride, swim, fish and skate or go sailing with the fishermen. But there were times when I was clearly shown that my presence was not desired.
So with all this I, too, forgot Digory; and it was only when I went to the burned-out cottage that I remembered and felt a pang of remorse because I had forgotten.
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