The Long Walk Home

by Valerie Wood

  Eleanor opened the door to her room just a crack and listened intently for the sound of voices. She heard her father giving terse instructions and she could imagine him standing in front of Mary telling her that the servants mustn’t speak to Simon either. Then she heard her brother dragging his bag up the stairs. She turned a tearful face to Nanny. ‘Poor Simon,’ she said. ‘Whatever will he do?’

  Simon passed her door and looked in. He lifted his top lip sneeringly. ‘I’m to unpack, wash and change and then go down for a beating,’ he muttered and, as Eleanor took a gasping breath, added scornfully, ‘Nobody need think I’m scared of that, because I’m not.’ He glanced at Nanny, and Eleanor saw him give a hard swallow and blink his eyes before moving on.

  Nanny tutted and shook her head, then sighed. ‘Nothing we can do, my dear. I’m afraid he’s brought it on himself.’

  Eleanor hung about the landing, unable to concentrate on anything but Simon, even though Miss Wright had set her some schoolwork. If only I could speak to him, she thought, I would tell him that I am his friend as well as his sister. What would I do, I wonder, if this was happening to me? I would be very unhappy, I know that. And I think – yes, I know, she mused, that I would probably run away.

  Simon’s door opened and closed and Eleanor waited as he came towards her. He put his face close to hers. ‘Going to listen for me crying, are you?’ he hissed. She shook her head and mouthed no. Then she put out her hand to his. For a second he looked at it and then dashed it away. ‘Don’t need your pity,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t need anybody’s.’

  She watched him walk defiantly down the stairs and then went back into her room and closed the door.

  I’ll not cry, Simon thought. I’ll not give him that satisfaction. Right now he hated his father. He hated his teachers too. Especially those who he knew enjoyed giving physical pain. Why should I be beaten because I can’t answer a question? He had on occasion challenged his tutors, which had led to another stroke of the cane. I’m not academic, not scientific. I like art. I’d like to paint. But that isn’t considered a suitable profession for the only son of a lawyer.

  His father waited for him in his study. On his desk was a black cane Simon hadn’t seen before. A small frown creased his forehead. Surely it hadn’t been purchased especially to punish him? He watched as his father picked it up from the desk, testing its strength by flexing it between his hands. Then he thwacked it in the air with a swift whistling stroke, making Simon flinch.

  ‘So have you anything to say in mitigation before I use this deterrent?’ he asked coldly. ‘Can you give me any reason why I should not punish you? I have received nothing but bad reports from your headmaster. They do not want you there any longer.’

  ‘Good,’ Simon said rebelliously. ‘I’m glad to leave, Father. I hated it there and always did. I begged you to let me leave.’ His voice cracked, his resolve failing as he saw his father’s face redden.

  ‘How dare you?’ his father bellowed. ‘How dare you question my judgement?’

  Simon remained silent. His father didn’t want an answer. He only wanted submission. Best to get on with it.

  ‘I have ordered everyone in this household not to speak to you.’ His father’s voice was barely controlled, trembling with anger or passion. ‘You will be sent to Coventry. No one must speak to you, and you must not speak to them. Is that understood?’

  Simon merely nodded, understanding now why Eleanor was acting so strangely.

  ‘Yes, Father,’ he answered.

  ‘And you will come down here every morning before you are sent to your new school and I will decide what form your punishment will take. Now. Hold out your hands.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Simon’s palms were cracked and bleeding. Never had he felt such pain. He wept when he got back to his room, and buried his face in the pillow. ‘He’s a sadist. And he said I shall get this again tomorrow unless I mend my ways. Well I shan’t,’ he sobbed. ‘I shan’t.’

  The door opened quietly but he didn’t look up. It’s Eleanor, he thought. Come to gloat. But it was his mother, not his sister, who knelt by the bed and put her arm over him, her head close to his. He turned over and submitted to her tearful embrace. She can’t speak to me, he thought, but she’s here. He felt the comfort of her lips as she gently kissed his bleeding hands.

  She got up and went out of the room and a few minutes later came back with a cloth and a bowl of warm water. She tenderly bathed his palms, which stung as she wet them, then covered them with salve. She tapped her mouth with her finger to acknowledge her silence, then blew him a kiss as she left.

  A few minutes later the door opened again, and Eleanor slipped inside. ‘I’m not supposed to speak to you,’ she whispered. ‘So you must promise not to tell. I’m so sorry, Simon.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ he muttered. ‘It’s all right for you being at home. You don’t have to go to school.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not all right,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It’s quite hateful really.’

  As they sat together, not speaking, the door suddenly crashed open and their father stood like a demon in the doorway. ‘I knew it,’ he bellowed. ‘I knew I would be disobeyed. Get out of here.’ He glared at Eleanor and pointed to the doorway.

  ‘Father, I only came to see—’

  ‘Out, I say.’ He looked so angry she was afraid that he would lash out at her. She cast a scared glance at Simon and scurried out.

  ‘Did she speak to you?’ his father demanded.

  ‘She only came to see if I was all right,’ Simon muttered, his face and neck flushing.

  ‘Did she speak to you?’ he repeated. ‘Stand up when I’m talking to you!’

  Simon cowered, trembling, in front of him. ‘No,’ he lied. ‘She just came to look at me.’

  ‘Liar!’ His father’s hand struck so hard across Simon’s face that he staggered. ‘Did she speak?’

  Simon nodded, holding his cheek, unable to hold back the tears. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled. ‘But you’re not to hit her.’

  ‘I don’t hit women or girls,’ his father retaliated grimly. ‘I shall find some other punishment for her; and as for you, it will be bread and water for the rest of the day and you can look forward to another taste of the cane in the morning.’

  He turned on his heel and left, leaving Simon sweating over the promised punishment and full of shame for letting his sister down.

  Eleanor was summoned to appear in the drawing room. She was very afraid. Her father, she knew, would have tried to winkle out of Simon whether she had spoken to him. She clasped her fingers together. Will he have told? Will I get the cane? She had seen Simon’s red hands though he had tried to hide them from her. She knocked on the door and waited for permission to enter.

  Her mother sat on the sofa. Her face was white and strained-looking and she didn’t look up as Eleanor entered. Eleanor dipped her knee to her father, who was standing by the fireplace.

  ‘I have been disobeyed,’ he said without preamble. ‘My instructions were that your brother was not to be spoken to. You wilfully flouted or sought to ignore that command.’

  Eleanor hung her head. So Simon told of me, she thought. How could he? She didn’t speak. She now knew well enough that if she did she would be in even more trouble.

  ‘You will of course be punished,’ her father went on. His voice was cold and unflinching, which she thought was more terrifying than when he shouted.

  ‘I have told your mother that, like your brother, you will be given bread and water and not be allowed contact with anyone until such time as I decide.’

  Eleanor lifted her head, her lips parted. No supper? And I’m so hungry. ‘Yes, Papa,’ she murmured.

  ‘And,’ her father continued, ‘don’t think that is the end of the matter. You are to come with me.’ He marched towards the door and Eleanor cast an anxious glance at her mother. Where am I to be taken? Her mother lifted her head and in answer to Eleanor’s unspoken plea shook her head,
causing tendrils of hair round her face to tremble.

  She was ushered up the stairs. They went up one flight to the bedrooms and then up another to the schoolroom floor and then up again to the top attic. Where are we going, she wondered, thinking that there was only the maids’ room up here. But on her previous visit she had missed seeing the low door on the landing.

  Her father took a key from his pocket and bent down to unlock it. Eleanor peered inside. There were piles of papers and files stacked from the floor to the top of the eaves into which the cupboard was set. She looked enquiringly at her father. Was it her task to sort through the papers? Not a punishment, she considered, for she would quite enjoy doing that. She thought that perhaps they were legal documents, for some were of thick yellowing parchment.

  ‘You’ll stay here until bedtime,’ her father said. ‘And you will not make a sound. If you do you will be here until morning.’

  She looked at him. What did he mean?

  ‘Get inside,’ he commanded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Inside?’ she said. ‘But how? There’s not much room.’

  He took her by the arm and pushed her in. ‘It’s not meant to be comfortable,’ he said. ‘It is meant for your discipline. You can reflect on your disobedience whilst you are in there and consider that even if I do not succeed in breaking your brother’s will, I shall most certainly break yours.’

  She could barely turn round. ‘Papa!’ she protested. ‘I don’t like the dark. I shan’t be able to breathe.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he said, closing the door on her. ‘Of course you can.’

  Eleanor heard the key turn in the lock. ‘Please, Papa. Don’t lock me in. I promise I’ll be good.’

  ‘I have just said that you must be quiet,’ he thundered. ‘Or you will be here until tomorrow.’

  She heard his footsteps on the uncarpeted floor of the landing, and then going down the stairs, and then she could hear nothing, only feel the pounding of her beating heart. She began to panic. Suppose I suffocate? No one would know. If I scream who would hear me? Not the maids down in the kitchen. Not Nanny, because she’s deaf, and even if she did, what could she do? And Mama will be too frightened to ask Papa where I am.

  Tears rushed down her face as she began to sob. The whole of her body heaved and shook as she curled in the small space. ‘I don’t like the dark,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m frightened.’

  A little later there came a soft tapping on the door and a whisper of words. Eleanor tried to control her weeping. ‘Wh-who is it?’

  ‘It’s me.’ Her brother’s voice was low. ‘Sorry, Eleanor. I didn’t mean to tell of you.’

  ‘I’m frightened,’ she said. ‘I might die.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ he whispered back. ‘There’s a gap in the eaves where a draught blows through. I was put in there when I was about eight, just before I was sent away to school. That’s how I knew where you’d be.’

  ‘It’s dark,’ she protested. ‘I can’t see.’

  ‘Yes, but some light creeps under the door. You’ll get accustomed to it eventually. Listen, Eleanor, I want to tell you something.’

  ‘No. Don’t tell me,’ she said quickly. ‘He’ll get it out of me.’

  ‘Oh!’ He sounded disappointed. ‘I suppose you’re right. I don’t want to get you into any more trouble.’

  ‘No,’ she said tearfully. ‘I’m to miss supper, and can only have bread and water.’

  ‘Me too,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve got to go, Eleanor, before I get found out. Keep your pecker up.’ She gave a hiccuping sob as she recognized one of Nanny’s favourite sayings.

  Simon was right about the light. A pale strip of light slid under the door, but it didn’t last for long as the window on the top landing was small and the light outside was fading fast. Soon she was in total darkness. She shuffled about, feeling the stacks of papers, and lifted a pile of them down to make a cushion, for the floor was hard and uncomfortable. She had to sit with her knees either up to her chin or else tucked under her, as there wasn’t enough room to stretch out. She leaned back against the wedge of files and bound documents and waited. And waited.

  In spite of the slight draught which came in as Simon said it would, the stack of papers insulated the cupboard, making it quite airless. She dropped into an intermittent doze, waking up from time to time with cramp in her legs, needing to shift her position. I’ve been here for hours, she thought. Has Papa forgotten me? She heard the clatter of footsteps running upstairs and listened intently. It’s not Papa; his shoes don’t make that sound. Not Simon either as he’ll be wearing his indoor slippers. One of the maids then?

  She put her ear to the door; yes, the door to the maids’ room opened and closed and then a few minutes later opened and closed again and the clatter of boots sounded down the stairs. Eleanor sighed. One of them must have forgotten something and had to come upstairs for it. She occupied some time wondering what might cause the maid to run upstairs at that time of the early evening. A clean handkerchief perhaps? Or maybe she had torn a stocking and had to come up for another. She wasn’t upstairs long enough to darn it. Or perhaps she was going to serve supper and needed a clean cap. I wonder what they are having for supper. I’m so hungry. And thirsty.

  Eleanor slept and then woke again. Her throat was parched and she wanted to use the lavatory. I don’t know how much longer I can wait. She began to cry, dry racking sobs. They’ve forgotten me. I shan’t be missed until breakfast when Nanny will wonder where I am.

  A door banged downstairs. The front door? Who would bang it like that? What was the time? Had they had supper? The door banged again and she could hear someone shouting. Her father? It had to be; no one else in the household shouted like that. Running footsteps came up the stairs and she heard the maids’ breathless voices.

  ‘I’ve already looked, I telled you,’ one of them said. ‘I even looked under ’bed.’

  ‘Well we have to look again. And if he’s here you’re in right trouble.’

  Eleanor heard the door to the maids’ room open again, the sound of furniture being moved, and then their voices. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said one. ‘I can’t think where else to look.’

  They paused outside the cupboard door and Eleanor held her breath. ‘Can’t be in there, it’s allus kept locked,’ the other girl said. ‘And we don’t have a key. Come on, we’d best get down or we’ll be in bother.’

  ‘No. Wait!’ Eleanor called, desperate at last to break the silence. She banged on the door. ‘Please! Ask my father to let me out.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Eleanor felt that someone had bent down to peer through the keyhole. ‘Who’s in there? Not Miss Eleanor?’

  ‘Yes,’ she wept. ‘I’m locked in. Please ask my father to let me out.’

  There was a shocked silence and then one of the maids, Eleanor thought it was Mary, said, ‘Who put you in there, Miss Eleanor?’

  ‘My father.’ She could barely speak. ‘Tell him I’m sorry and I’ll never disobey him again.’

  ‘Poor little lass,’ the other maid said in a whisper, but loud enough for Eleanor to hear. ‘What a way to treat a bairn.’

  ‘We’ll fetch him, Miss Eleanor,’ Mary said. ‘But be prepared. He’s in a foul temper. Your brother Simon has disappeared.’

  Her father came storming up the stairs a short while later. He rattled the key in the lock and opened the cupboard door. Eleanor fell out, ashamed and upset as the stench of urine on the parchment and her soggy clothes followed her. Her father stood back, wrinkling his nose in distaste. ‘Prepare a bath for her,’ he ordered Mary, who had followed him upstairs. ‘And then,’ he told Eleanor in a cold, severe voice, ‘you will come down to the drawing room. I want a word with you.’

  Eleanor licked her dry lips. ‘Yes, Papa.’ She tried to stand but her legs gave way beneath her and Mary bent to help her up as her father turned and went downstairs.

  ‘Whatever have you been up to to deserve such a punishment?’ the maid whispered. ‘You must have be
en really naughty.’

  Eleanor shook her head. It was too much effort to speak, her throat was so dry. ‘Water,’ she rasped.

  ‘Let’s get you back to your room and then you can have a drink. Nanny’ll look after you. She’s been down to ’kitchen several times, asking where you were.’

  Nanny gave her a long drink of water and a slice of raisin bread, and then Eleanor succumbed to her ministrations, weeping copious tears as the old lady helped her into the bath and washed her red and swollen face, then put her into her night clothes. ‘You can go downstairs in your dressing robe just this once,’ she said. ‘And tell your father I said so,’ she added firmly. ‘Locking a child in a cupboard!’ she tutted. ‘I’ve been looking all over the house for you.’

  A few minutes later, Eleanor stood before her father. He was alone in the drawing room. ‘I’m sorry, Papa,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll never … never …’ What was it I did, she thought, confused and fearful. ‘I’ll never disobey you again.’

  Her father nodded, but didn’t look at her. ‘I trust you have learned your lesson.’ He lifted his chin. ‘But what I want to know now, and remember the punishment if I should find you lying, is do you know where your brother is?’

  Eleanor shook her head. ‘In his room?’

  ‘He is not in his room! Did he come upstairs? Did he tell you where he was going?’

  Her lips parted. Simon had wanted to tell her something. What a good thing she had told him not to. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Father. I haven’t seen Simon since we were in his room. Before my punishment, I mean.’

  That bit was true. She hadn’t seen anyone from the pitch black cupboard. And Simon hadn’t told her where he was going. ‘Where can he be, Father? Doesn’t Mama know?’

  ‘Your mother has gone to lie down. She is unwell. Your brother, Eleanor, appears to have run away.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  They didn’t reach Lincoln that evening. Mikey had had no idea that it would take so long, and he thought, to be fair to Bridget, that she hadn’t held him up at all, even shortening their journey by flagging down a waggon and asking for a lift. She’d waved to the driver and shouted hello, giving her most winning smile and asking if he would give her and her brother a ride. ‘Our ma will be having a duck fit,’ she’d said. ‘She expected us home hours ago.’