Linnets and Valerians

by Elizabeth Goudge

  “He’s showing it to the doctor!” said Robert.

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  “That he’s not,” said Ezra. “Look closer.”

  They looked closer and saw that pins pierced the tongue. They had been thrust in while the mandrake root was still supple and now it was like hard wood and they were rusted in firmly.

  “You’ll never get them out!” cried Nan in distress.

  “I shall,” said Ezra. “Hand me the pincers from the kitchen drawer, Robert.”

  Robert gave them to him and gripping the head of one of the pins he began gently moving it to and fro, murmuring as he did so:

  “Pins, come you out! Do no more harms,

  Spell, unwind to good from evil.

  Now all good spirits work your charms,

  Save the sinner from the devil.”

  And while he spoke all the pins came out as smoothly as though they had been stuck in butter, and Ezra handed the little figure to Nan. “I’ll say the next verse, maid,” he said, “and when I finish and clap me hands, throw it in the fire.”

  “Burn the little boy!” cried Nan. “It would hurt him.”

  “Once I clap me hands,” said Ezra, “the real boy and the image of him ain’t any more one person than soul and body be when a man dies and goes to heaven. Fire be a grand thing, maid, it destroys what’s evil and liberates what’s good. Now then.

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  “Flames, leap you up! Red fire and gold.

  Now, freed spirit, dance in gladness.

  Dance your way homeward to the fold,

  Turn your back on grief and sadness.”

  Ezra clapped his hands and Nan threw the little figure into the fire. The flames roared up and they were of marvelous colors, red and gold and pink and green and purple.

  “He ain't dead yet!” said Ezra in satisfaction.

  “How do you know?” asked Timothy.

  “Had he gone to heaven the figure would have burnt quietly, happy but gentle, but when the flames roar up with all them lovely colors, you know the man or woman be still on earth.”

  “Let’s do another,” said Robert.

  Ezra took a second figure from the table. It was a tall bearded man, whose figure seemed to take on grace and elegance when Ezra took it into his hands. There were pins through his feet and his head.

  “What do they mean?” asked Nan.

  “Don’t yee call to mind the spell for making a man lose his memory and wander away and be lost?” asked Ezra. “Find it, maid, and read it.”

  Nan found it and read it, the two rhymes were repeated, the pins removed and the little figure cast in the fire. The flames leapt up as before, very bright and gay. “So they’re both alive still,” said Nan, and they all sighed with relief.

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  “Who are they?” asked Robert.

  “I can’t say, lad,” said Ezra, adding, “Not yet.”

  “Why were they hidden in that cave?” asked Nan. “The spell said to put the figure of the lost man in a far place, but why was the little boy there too?”

  “Might be for convenience sake,” said Ezra, “if the two of ’em was made at the same time. But there could be another reason. It helps on a wicked spell to put the images in an unlucky place. The Castle Rock, though it can look fine when the sun be on it, ’tis an unlucky place. The Lion be good but not the Castle. ’Tis too near Weeping Marsh to be lucky. And a king was found buried there at the top, some old king who died hundreds and hundreds of years ago. That’s not lucky neither.”

  Robert and Timothy glanced at each other, remembering the king they had imagined living in the Castle when they stormed it. Then Robert said, “There are more little figures, Ezra.”

  “Let’s look at ’em,” said Ezra, and Nan noticed that his eyes were twinkling. “Stand ’em in a row on the hearth.”

  Robert picked them all up and stood them in a row. There were seven of them, a tall man with a top hat, a little man in a bunchy coat, four children of varying sizes and a dog. Each figure had a pin in the chest. The faces were not recognizable but the figures were.

  “It’s us!” gasped Timothy.

  “That’s right, lad,” said Ezra, and he roared with

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  laughter, slapping his knee. “But there ain’t no harm come to yee, for about the same time Emma made her figures I made mine. Do yee recall me making figures out of Timothy’s plasticine?”

  The children laughed too, and Timothy asked, “Where are they now, Ezra?”

  “In a good and lucky place,” said Ezra. “They be in the church in a hidy-hole I knows behind the altar. But don’t yee tell your uncle. He’d say it were superstition. I reckon the cleverest men be ignorant at times.”

  “Let’s burn ourselves!” said Robert.

  “You can if you’ve a mind but there ain’t no need,” said Ezra.

  “It would be better to burn ourselves,” said Nan a little anxiously.

  So they roared out the rhymes and burned the seven figures, and the flames were like rainbows leaping up the chimney.

  “Just one thing more,” said Ezra. “There be a spell in that there book I didn’t take to, a spell for making a coolness come between a man and a woman. I have a feeling as Emma used that spell and I’d like to undo it.” He got up, went to the dresser and came back with two little figures fashioned out of Timothy’s plasticine. “I made ’em last night,” he said. They were of a man and a woman, not recognizable as anyone in particular but beautiful as a pair of young lovers on a valentine. He took a piece of red wool out of his pocket and handed it to Nan. “Now hold ’em together, maid, breast to breast,

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  and wind the wool round ’em while I says me rhyme,” he said. Nan did so and he repeated,

  “Thread of my song,

  Heart to heart binding,

  Thread of my faith,

  Haste the heart’s finding.

  “Thread of my hope Heal the heart’s smarting,

  Thread of my love,

  End the heart’s parting.

  “Thread of my prayer,

  Send shadows fleeting,

  Let journeys end,

  In lovers’ meeting.”

  Ezra took the figures from Nan and put them back on the cupboard. “Tomorrow,” he said, ‘'they’ll go in me hidy-hole with t’others I made. Now children, we’ll burn the whole nasty book and be done with it forever.”

  They put the book on the fire and the pages writhed like snakes in the flames and then were consumed to nothing but glowing ash. Ezra raked them away and they were gone. “Now up you goes to your beds,” he said, “and when you be there I’ll bring yee your hot possets.”

  They ran upstairs, undressed and washed and then curled up in bed, waking up Betsy, who was already asleep with Absolom beside her, so that she could enjoy

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  hot milk too, and presently Ezra came in with four steaming cups on a tray. It was the same sweetened milk that he had given Nan and it tasted wonderful. They were buried in their pillows again and already half asleep when Nan asked, “Is everything coming right, Ezra?” “Everything be coming right, maid,” said Ezra.

  “But what is it that’s coming right?” asked Robert. “When ’tis come right you’ll know,” said Ezra. “Now I be off to make a hot drink for your uncle. He’s properly shook up with worrit. Good night, children.”

  “Good night,” they murmured drowsily and they were asleep by the time he reached the door.

  13

  Singing in tlie Wood

  Next day at breakfast there were letters from the children’s father, one for each child and one for Uncle Ambrose. Breakfast was much prolonged while they read them aloud to each other, even Uncle Ambrose reading aloud parts of his, which was very long
. One part said that Father was glad that the children were living at the Vicarage. Knowing his brother’s desire for solitude and frequently expressed dislike of children, it was not an arrangement he would himself have dared to suggest, but now that it had come to pass he was de-

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  lighted, and he looked forward to the day when he would retire from the army and they would all six of them live together. The more the merrier, wrote Father, and at this there were loud cheers from the children, not dampened by Uncle Ambrose’s voice announcing in trumpet tones above their clamor, “With no proverb do I more profoundly disagree.”

  “Now here’s an interesting part,” he continued when the noise had subsided. “Nothing to do with us but interesting. Your father says, T am as you know in the valley of the kings, among the tombs and temples of ancient Egypt, and deeply interested in all the discoveries that are being made here. And also in the discoverers. To one man in particular I am much attracted. I am told he has lived here for years, earning his living as a worker in the excavations but a riian of considerable intellect, for he speaks several languages and is a fine Egyptologist. But he suffers from a curious form of am-

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  nesia.

  “What’s amnesia?” asked Robert. “Is it measles?” “Certainly not,” said Uncle Ambrose. “Amnesia is loss of memory and you should know that at your age. Where was I? If there is one thing I dislike more than a boy it is an interrupting boy. Ah, here we are. ‘He does not know who he is or where he came from. Memory for him begins when, a young man, he found himself sailing down the Nile in a native boat. He had no luggage with him and nothing in his pockets that could give him any clue to his identity, or even to his nation-

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  ality, for he found he could speak English, French, Italian and the lingo of the Egyptian workers with equal ease. A most curious case and a most interesting man.’ ” Uncle Ambrose folded the letter and put it away. “Well, we must get to our lessons. Come along, children. Hector, come to the Parthenon.”

  Lessons that morning seemed to the children, and possibly to Uncle Ambrose too, little more than an interlude. They were all glad to find themselves once more in the dining room, especially as it was beefsteak and kidney pie and treacle tart. After a moment of silent and happy repletion between courses Uncle Ambrose drew breath and said, “Nan, I have received Lady Alicia’s permission to visit her this afternoon and I shall take it very kindly if you will give me the pleasure of your company.”

  Nan flushed with delight. “Just me?” she asked.

  “Just you. The entire family would, I think, be somewhat overwhelming for an old lady. Robert and Timothy will take great delight in entertaining Betsy in the garden while we are out.”

  He fixed his stern eyes on his nephews and such was his authority that their glowering glances were fixed on their plates only. Betsy, looking very smug, kicked them under the table. They did not dare kick back lest she yell but Timothy glanced up briefly with such a you just wait expression on his face that Ezra, passing the potatoes, sighed. It would be his part to keep the peace.

  “Until now I have respected Lady Alicia’s wish to

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  live unvisited,” said Uncle Ambrose, “but I asked her in my recent note if once only I might do myself the honor of waiting upon her. I do not feel it right that her kindness to you children should remain unacknowledged on my part.”

  Uncle Ambrose sounded pompous and Nan privately thought there was more in this than met the eye. She believed he was burning with curiosity to see Lady Alicia and her picture. Especially the picture. Then she saw that he was also a little embarrassed. He cleared his throat and Hector on his shoulder cleared his throat and scratched behind his ear in a self-conscious way. “Boys,” went on Uncle Ambrose, “I may possibly be late home for preparation.”

  His nephews lifted their transformed faces and fixed their eyes on his face in bright and wicked glee. Their mouths trembled but they did not laugh.

  “Don’t worry, Uncle,” said Robert in winning tones. “If you’re very late and we get anxious we’ll come and fetch you.”

  “Thank you,” said Uncle Ambrose dryly.

  After his nap he and Nan set forth, Uncle Ambrose in his Sunday frock coat and top hat and carrying a silver-headed walking stick, Nan wearing a clean pink linen smock and her Sunday hat wreathed with roses, for this was an occasion. When they reached the green they saw William Lawson lounging in the door of the Bulldog, smoking his pipe. When he saw Uncle Ambrose he straightened himself and touched his cap.

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  “Good afternoon, Mr. Lawson,” said Uncle Ambrose. “I trust your toothache is less troublesome?”

  “Yes, sir, thank yee,” said William Lawson. Eliza and the bulldog were not to be seen, and neither was Emma, or Frederick. Nan thought to herself, If they’ve gone up to the cave to see if the little figures are still there and when they find they are gone, what will they do?

  The iron gates into the shrubbery were difficult to open and William Lawson came over and helped them, swinging them wide with one great brawny arm.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lawson, I am much obliged,” said Uncle Ambrose, and he stalked through into the shrubbery without looking back. Nan did not look back either but all the way through the shrubbery she had a shivery feeling up and down her spine for fear William Lawson had slipped through after them. But when they were out in the wild garden she forgot her shivers because Uncle Ambrose was so interested in all he saw. The japonica flowers and the apple blossom had long ago drifted away on the wind but there were tangles of roses everywhere and foxgloves growing in the grass.

  “What a very beautiful house,” said Uncle Ambrose, and he stopped still to look at it where it stood deep in the wild overgrown garden, shuttered, lovely and blind.

  “The front door is open!” exclaimed Nan. “It hasn’t been opened for years and years, and now, look!”

  It was wide open and under the gracious portico stood Moses in his Sunday livery. When Uncle Ambrose and Nan reached the terrace he stood aside and bowed,

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  and the visitors walked in. He was, Nan realized, in a state of trembling happiness, as though he longed to believe the old days were coming back and yet dared not believe it. His hands were shaking as he took Uncle Ambrose’s hat and stick but he was smiling from ear to ear.

  “This is an auspicious occasion, Moses,” said Uncle Ambrose. “I am honored that her ladyship is willing to receive me.”

  “Her ladyship is waiting, sir,” said Moses. “Will you be pleased to come this way?”

  He led the way up the stairs with his bowed shoulders straightened and his head held high. The glory of the swinging cobwebs had disappeared and Nan felt a pang of sorrow, realizing for the first time that every gain carries with it corresponding loss. Moses was happier, but he had swept away the cobwebs.

  Lady Alicia received them in her boudoir in a very gracious and queenly manner. The weight of her years seemed to be weighing less heavily on her. She looked so much younger that Nan suddenly wondered if she was as old as she had thought she was. There was a sparkle in her eyes that matched the sparkle of her diamonds. It was wonderful to watch Uncle Ambrose bowing to her and kissing her hand, and to hear the exchange of elaborate old-fashioned courtesies that flowed between them.

  Then a marvelous and ceremonial tea arrived. Moses entered first carrying a large silver tray shoulder high,

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  and Abednego, with Gertrude slung in her hammock on his back, came behind with another, also held shoulder high. Abednego was very much smartened up. He appeared to have brushed his face and was wearing his footman’s livery of worn green velvet. On the silver tray were not only iced cakes but delicate sandwiches with lemon curd filling, scone
s and sponge cakes. While the tea things were being set out under Lady Alicia’s critical eye Uncle Ambrose looked about him, not with vulgar curiosity, and not really appearing to do it, but doing it all the same. Nan watched his hawk’s nose turn here and there, and noticed the gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t missing much, she thought. His glance lingered long upon the tapestry.

  But when Moses and Abednego had left the room he did not comment on it and somehow or other he led the conversation around to his youngest brother, the children’s father. “An army man but an amateur Egyptologist,” he said. “He is now in Egypt for a while before going on to India.”

  “My husband traveled a great deal in Egypt,” said Lady Alicia. “Before you leave I will take you into his library. There are some Egyptian treasures there that you might like to see.”

  “I should be honored,” said Uncle Ambrose.

  “Since my husband left home for the last time,” said Lady Alicia, “Moses alone had entered the room until Nan and Betsy went there by mistake the other day.” She smiled at Nan. “As they have seen it, I find I do

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  not mind you doing so too.” She turned her bright glance to Uncle Ambrose. “These children, sir, are working havoc with my habits.”

  “With mine too, ma’am,” said Uncle Ambrose with deep sympathy. “But I hope you feel the benefit?”

  “I believe that I do,” said Lady Alicia, and laid her hand on Nan’s while she continued her polite inquiries into the welfare of the children’s father. Uncle Ambrose told her about the man whom his brother had met, with his vast knowledge of Egypt and his complete forgetfulness of his own past.

  “Egypt affects the brain,” said Lady Alicia. “I hope your brother will not stay there too long. My husband was more fatally bewitched by Egypt than by any other country in which he traveled. He was susceptible to witches. Is Emma Cobley still alive?”

  Her question shot out so suddenly that Uncle Ambrose was actually taken aback. It was a moment or two before he answered, “Very much alive.”