by K. M. Peyton
In a less irritable tone of voice Mrs Knox then said, ‘And Boris – is everything going all right with Boris? He looks a little bewildered.’
Not surprising, Arnold thought. Probably wondering about his shoes.
‘Everything all right, Boris?’
Boris said something which probably meant: ‘No. There’s something nasty in the wardrobe and they’ve messed up my shoes,’ but Mrs Knox merely replied, ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy here, Boris. We all want you to have a good time, to enjoy yourself.’
Another pause, then, rather doubtfully, ‘All right then. If you see that boy again, will you let me know? Settle down straight away, will you? Boris needs his rest.’
‘Yes, Mrs Knox.’
She departed. Christian opened the door but wouldn’t let Arnold out. ‘She might come back. Just stay there.’
‘You were bloomin’ good,’ Arnold said.
‘I don’t like telling lies,’ Christian said gloomily.
‘It’s all in a good cause,’ said Hoomey cheerfully.
‘Not serious lies,’ John Pike said, seeming to understand Christian’s point of view, which Arnold didn’t. ‘You’ve forgotten what we’re hiding Arnold – Ron – for. Someone tried to murder him. We’re supposed to be protecting him.’
Arnold nearly said, ‘Your father would be proud of you,’ but didn’t.
‘True. We were careless in the first place, letting her see him. If we’re going through with it, we’ve got to be far more careful. It could get serious.’
‘It doesn’t help having Boris. She’ll be popping in to see him all the time.’
‘What can we say to him?’
Boris was sitting on his bed looking pole-axed by what was going on.
Christian did a mime of hiding Arnold, putting his fingers to his lips and shaking his head, laughing – trying to convey a joke, a secret – all obviously in vain. Boris looked as if he was going to burst into tears.
‘We’ll have to get a Russian dictionary.’
It had been a long day. Christian yawned suddenly and groaned. ‘Let’s sleep on it. I’ve had enough.’
They threw some spare blankets at Arnold, made reassuring noises at Boris, undressed and got into bed. Boris slowly followed suit. Quite shortly, long relaxed breathing told Arnold he was alone in consciousness, washed up on a pile of shoes in the bottom of a wardrobe, with not a lot to look forward to. He went to sleep just two hours before it was time to get up again.
CHAPTER FOUR
ARNOLD, HUNGRY AS he was the next morning, could see that there was no way he could go down to breakfast. Mrs Knox’s gimlet eyes were now alert for the boy with hair like bristles. David Smith had been heard complaining about some gink playing tricks on him.
‘You’ll actually be safest in the orchestra with us,’ Christian decided. ‘Sit at the back with the percussion – nobody knows who’s hitting what up there. Take a book to read. The only danger will be dying of boredom.’
Arnold didn’t read books. Doing nothing was quite attractive to him. Missing breakfast not so.
‘We’ll bring you some up, don’t worry. Between us we’ll grab a feast. Then we’ll smuggle you out to the ballroom in the crowd and you’ll be OK.’
They all did another pantomime for the benefit of the fazed Boris, to indicate secrecy, big joke, say nothing, hush, ha-ha, and departed for breakfast leaving Arnold sitting sulkily in the bottom of his wardrobe. After the stampede downstairs all was peace and quiet, the only sound the raucous calling of the big black birds that freewheeled down the valley on the back of a brisk westerly wind. The rain seemed to have stopped. Arnold risked having a look out of the window, and was awed by the grandeur of the mountains that hemmed in the valley, range upon range in fading tones of bruised grey-violet, no less impressive on further contemplation than they were at first sight. Some people, he knew, sought them for pleasure. His eyes widened at the thought. The wardrobe seemed far friendlier by contrast. He sat patiently, picking at the scabs on his neck.
The boys came back with, between them, six rolls with bacon rashers inside and two cups of tea.
‘Try sticking a cup of tea up your jumper and running upstairs,’ John Pike said. ‘It’s painful.’
‘It’s only half a cup,’ Arnold complained.
‘Count yourself lucky! I’ll wring out my shirt if you want some more.’
Boris handed over a bacon roll with a shy smile. He seemed to have got the gist of the game. He seemed more relaxed and looked slightly less zombied than he had the night before.
‘He might be human after all,’ John Pike said.
‘He’s said to be a genius,’ Hoomey said. ‘It must make you a bit funny.’
‘You’re a bit funny and you’re no genius.’
‘I didn’t say it worked that way round.’
Hoomey was obviously used to being sat on. It didn’t seem to depress him at all. They had got used to talking about Boris while nodding and smiling at him and he seemed to enjoy their company. He was rather like a large dog in the room, Arnold thought, wagging his tail.
‘Can I come out now?’ Arnold asked.
‘Yeah, we’re off to the ballroom. Get your violin case and keep your head down. Hoomey can go on ahead and see if old gimlet-eyes is on the war-path. She was looking around at breakfast. Good thing you didn’t appear.’
Arnold felt distinctly nervous emerging. Luckily everyone was making the same exit and there was quite a crowd. Jodie and Nutty joined them at the top of the stairs.
‘We’ve got news for you,’ Nutty said darkly.
‘What’s that?’
‘When we got back upstairs after breakfast Mrs Knox was on the landing, and she was saying to old Harlech, “That extra boy seems to have disappeared. But just to make sure, I’ll do a thorough tour of all the dormitories tonight, look under the beds and in all the wardrobes. It’s probably a dare, a lark of some sort, but we really can’t have this sort of thing.”’
Her mimicry was excellent. Arnold’s heart, already at half-mast, plummeted.
Christian only grinned. ‘Lucky you heard!’
‘What’ll I do?’
‘You’ll have to sleep on the hillside, old matey, like a proper Highlander.’ Then, seriously, seeing Arnold’s face, ‘Don’t be daft. We’ll think of something. She’ll never search the whole bally place – take her all night.’
But the problems of the present moment were too tricky to take on future problems as well. Hoomey came panting back, pink with excitement.
‘She’s standing at the door, watching everyone go out!’
Christian only hesitated a moment. Then, at the bottom of the stairs, he took Arnold’s elbow and propelled him not across the hall towards the main door but down behind the tables and out through the door to the kitchen. It was neatly and swiftly done. They went down a short corridor and into a large kitchen where several stout ladies were stacking dishes, scraping frying-pans, drinking tea, joking and gossiping. None of them took any notice. Christian and Arnold went out of the nearest door into the yard and rejoined the crowd. Arnold reckoned Christian had inherited the General’s genes.
‘Clever!’ said John Pike.
Boris grinned. He seemed to have cottoned on. When they went into the ballroom he gestured to the open lid of the big concert grand piano that stood there, gestured to Arnold that he get inside, and pretended to close the lid. They all laughed.
‘He’s not a bad cheese,’ John Pike said.
‘He’s a complication, all the same,’ Christian said, his General’s genes talking.
The ballroom was every bit as weird as John Pike had predicted. It was a large hall with a high, arching timber roof, and from all the roof beams and the top half of the walls serried ranks of antlers of all shapes and sizes were locked in a great frieze of dead bone. Here and there a whole stuffed head stared with glassy eyes upon the alien scene, bearing a majestic canopy of antlers. On many of the white gleaming skulls little brass plates inscribed the d
ate of death and by whom the beasts were shot: mostly titled gentlemen and a fair sprinkling of royalty. Some of the more sensitive vegetarians reeled wanly at the sight. It was bestial or noble, according to one’s attitude, impressive to all.
‘It used to be the ballroom for the clan’s festivities,’ the eager Mr Harlech was lecturing. ‘What a sight it must have been! Can you imagine it?’ What ghosts must lurk around here!’
The members of the orchestra took their places with a terrific crashing and scraping of chairs and music stands and much chatter. Jodie departed to the front line of violins and Christian somewhere to the middle back where everyone seemed to have some sort of pipe. Brass instruments ranged behind them. Arnold was shepherded by John Pike to his enormous array of drums which were lined up at the back, on the left. The rows being tiered, and the drums on the top, Arnold felt he would be terribly exposed, but once he had sat down, legs dangling, he realized that he was completely hidden from the front behind the row of bodies before him. If he really wanted to hide there were caves beneath him formed by the floors of the tiered seating. Behind him again, he noticed a small exit door. Self preservation had long ago accustomed him to taking in escape routes. Nothing much had changed in his life, after all.
Hoomey, with his triangle, took an amiable seat beside him.
‘I hardly ever have to play,’ he said. ‘And when I do, Nutty kicks me a minute or two beforehand. So I don’t have to worry too much.’
Arnold looked at the little silver triangle dubiously.
‘Hardly worth it, is it?’
‘It doesn’t make much noise, no. Not like Nutty’s stuff. If she gets it wrong everyone knows.’
Nutty stood staunchly above them setting her vast cymbals into their stand. She stood four-square, a hunk of a girl, and Arnold could just picture her muscled arms holding the brass discs aloft waiting for the moment of blast-off. He wouldn’t mind that sort of a job. He had a nervous admiration for this apparently fearless girl. He had fallen in with a useful lot, all in all, with the General’s son to take command. Christian would find him a good berth for the night, he decided. He would trust in his judgement.
John Pike dropped a drum-cover over his head.
‘No-one would ever know.’
He lifted it up again, grinning. ‘Just for emergencies. If Fort Knox comes counting. I’ll make sure you disappear.’
He started tuning his drums, and the quiet thunder in Arnold’s ear made him realize he certainly wouldn’t be nodding off. He prepared for a long morning.
The conductor was an enthusiastic young man with long yellow hair called Andrew Carruthers. Hoomey told Arnold he was very short-sighted and couldn’t see any of them individually, so not to worry. ‘He knows who’s playing, of course, and can talk in the right direction, but he doesn’t know anybody’s names, save a few of the leaders.’
During the course of the rehearsal Arnold discovered that his minders were quite important people. Jodie seemed to be boss of the violins and Christian did quite a lot of piping on his own, with very impressive twiddling, while the orchestra kept softly in the background. John Pike made an equally impressive noise, bending reverently over his array of drums, dodging from one to another and twiddling with their buttons between times. Nutty, after fidgeting impatiently in her seat for half the morning, eventually rose to take up her cymbals, standing like Rule Britannia awaiting her cue. The music grew louder and louder and when everyone was piping, scraping and blowing at the very limit – it seemed to Arnold – of their endurance it was all topped off by Nutty crashing her cymbals together like God Almighty, her face crimson with excitement. Hoomey by contrast got up and tinkled his triangle once or twice but to very little effect. In one of the lulls Arnold asked him why he did it, it was so boring, but Hoomey smiled and said, ‘It’s all right. Why not?’ to which Arnold had no reply. He could see why Nutty did it – what power! – but the other players, like Jodie and Christian, appeared to be doing something very clever which no doubt involved many hours of hard work – not an attractive proposition to Arnold.
After a couple of hours Mr Carruthers said there would be a break for refreshments. ‘Then we’ll try out the piano concerto with our Russian friend.’
The Russian friend seemed to have gone to sleep in a sagging armchair under the gaze of a dead stag.
The refreshments arrived and were devoured, Arnold joining the throng and eating busily, aware that meals were going to be hard to come by in the immediate future. Baris woke up and the grand piano was manoeuvered across the floor to its place beside the conductor, and everyone drifted back to their places. Boris sat on his stool and twiddled it down to a comfortable level while Mr Carruthers addressed the orchestra.
‘Boris understands no English at all, as you are probably aware. This might lead to a few problems, but we’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed all will go well. Not while we’re playing, of course.’ Everyone laughed politely at the joke. ‘Boris knows this Grieg concerto very well – probably, I fear, a lot better than we do, so our job will be to accord him an accompaniment to the very best of our ability. I stress this because, as I think you understand, this young man is phenomenally talented and we are extremely lucky to have him on this tour. I think our audiences next week will be much attracted by his appearance as soloist. Let us not delude ourselves that they will all be coming just to hear us! On the other hand, we can do our cause a great deal of good if we support him, each one of us, with our very best efforts. It is a great opportunity for us and one we would be very foolish to waste. So your best attention, please!’
He tapped imperiously on his music stand and straightened up. He then directed his newly officious gaze straight in Arnold’s direction and gave him a nod. Arnold nearly jumped out of his skin as a drumroll so loud from right beside his left ear nearly threw him down amongst the violins. John Pike’s very best efforts were then taken up by Boris crashing his large hands down on the keyboard and making an equally loud noise. This fortunately allowed John Pike to fade away, and Jodie and Co came sweeping in to add to the racket, bows waving like saplings in a breeze. Arnold had never heard such a row. So much for reading a book or dozing off! He had always thought this classy sort of music was quiet and civilized. By the end of it, John Pike’s best efforts had pulverized him. He felt as glassy-eyed as the dead stags.
Boris had worked very hard. When it was finished the whole orchestra clapped him and shouted, ‘Bravo, Boris!’ with obviously spontaneous enthusiasm. Boris’s wide Mongolian face turned pink as Mr Carruthers shook him by the hand. Even Arnold could appreciate that their Boris was quite something.
For the rest of the morning they worked on various bits with lots of stopping and starting and eventually they were dismissed to go back for lunch. Christian weaved his way between the music stands and stood looking down on the shrinking Arnold.
‘It’ll be dangerous, the dining-room. I think you ought to stay here for now, and we’ll bring you some dinner out. I was thinking, actually, this would be a pretty safe place tonight, while Fort Knox is on the prowl.’
‘What, here?’
‘More comfortable than the wardrobe. A whole hall to yourself.’
Arnold didn’t like to elaborate on his instinctive dislike of the idea. He couldn’t admit what a chicken he was when it came to dark and lonely places. Even in daylight, when everyone had departed, the hall gave him the creeps with its dado of death. So what if it was a place of pageant for celebrating clans? Celebrating what? A massacre up the glen, no doubt. The decorations in the big house consisted mainly of crossed swords, clubs and sundry skull-cleavers. One could get killed in these wild and lonely places without anyone knowing at all. Who was going to search a million square miles of wet heather for a Barking boy not strictly known to exist?
‘Oh, come off it, Ron,’ Nutty said loftily when she appeared with his dinner (stew and veg in a plastic bag, not a pretty sight) and he voiced his fears. (She was only a girl, after all.) ‘Chris
is right – you’re absolutely safe out here. You can come back tomorrow and sleep in the wardrobe again. It’s a great lark, after all. There’s a spare bed in our room. We ought to find you a wig and you can change into a girl.’
She was full of ideas.
She peered into the caverns under the wooden staging. ‘You could sleep an army under here and no-one’d see. We’ll make you really comfortable. Blankets and a torch and some grub, and you can have my personal stereo, if you like. John Pike noticed there’s a fire-escape on the end wall of the house and the door goes out from the end of the corridor right next to their room. That could be jolly useful. The door’s locked but the key’s still in.’
She could talk the hind legs off a donkey. Arnold ate his stew with the spoon she provided. When she had gone he realized that the gloss had gone off the whole adventure. Being on his own, even if safe, was no fun, and the coming ordeal of the night alone with two thousand skulls began to weigh him down.
CHAPTER FIVE
JODIE AND NUTTY collected some spare blankets and pillows for Arnold (women’s work), and took them along to the boys to take out to the hall (man’s work).
‘Wait till it gets dark,’ Jodie suggested.
‘It doesn’t get dark up here,’ Christian said. ‘Haven’t you noticed?’
‘Good point.’
‘Pike and I’ll go out down the fire-escape when it looks quiet. We’ll take Arnold’s supper out at the same time. Lie low tonight, and tomorrow he can come back.’
‘Is someone really trying to murder him?’ John Pike asked Jodie. ‘Or is it just some daft scheme you’re playing at?’
‘I saw the motorbike attack him. That was real all right. And when he saw the body – that’s when I met him—’
She explained about Arnold’s bursting out of the bushes on the night of the party, and the body that might have been a deck-chair.
‘He said he saw it close to, and it was a body. He went and blabbed about it at the party, so we thought the murderer heard him and tried to stop him before he spread the news around.’ She shrugged; it seemed rather far away now. In the daylight, with the adults all proving themselves God-fearing, smiling, kindly people whose only wish was that they should all be happy musicians, the threats of the night before last seemed to have lost their impact.
