‘Get it into your head, child, that Mrs Golightly is the same as Gip, she’s not there, only in your imagination. Even Miss Braithwaite bears this out.’
Now her head came up and her tone was defiant again as she said, ‘Miss Braithwaite knows nothing about Mrs Golightly, but Miss Talbot does. Miss Talbot knows Mrs Golightly.’
‘Then if Miss Talbot knows Mrs Golightly she’s got a lot to answer for. What she should have done instead of encouraging you in your fancies is to skelp your backside. And that’s what I’ll do if I hear anything more of your Mrs Golightly. Now I’m telling you…Your tea’s on the table; as soon as you’ve eaten it get yourself up to bed, and not another word out of you.’
When the door banged she kept her face directed towards it. It couldn’t be seven o’clock yet and he was sending her to bed. It would be a long, long time until tomorrow morning.
Automatically she patted her hip now and said sadly, ‘Come on, Gip!’ then walked towards the table.
Chapter Four
During the next week a number of things happened that themselves tended towards her meeting with the new owner of the Manor House. The first was when John came to take her out and her granda sent him off, as he said, with a flea in his ear. A big lad like him, he said, and couldn’t take care of a child like her. Not only that, but to get her to fight his battles for him—for it was all over the village that she had split young Picton’s head open for him—and she’s got a name for herself now as a little wildcat. A chip off the old block they were saying; and all through that lad not being able to stand on his own two feet.
She had tried to go to John’s aid with rapid verbal support, but her granda had actually pushed a brush into her back and thrust her into the kitchen, then closed the door on her.
The next one who called and got a flea in her ear was Mrs Campbell. No, she couldn’t take his granddaughter walking, he was delivering some staves and she was going with him.
She had gone with him, sitting up beside him on the front of the cart, having to grab at his coat when they rounded the corners. He had never opened his mouth all the way there or back, and she was so mad at him that she hadn’t opened her mouth either, and she determined that she wouldn’t speak to him until he spoke to her. But it was a kind of torture to keep her tongue quiet, yet she suffered it until they returned to the house. When she only nibbled at her tea, he said, ‘You feeling bad?’
‘No,’ she said; ‘I’m not feeling bad.’ And that was all. After she had washed the tea dishes she went upstairs to bed without saying goodnight to him. A long time afterwards she heard him standing outside her door before he went into his own room.
The following morning when they were eating their breakfast he said, ‘You can help me bundle the staves, I’ll show you how.’ When she didn’t answer him he barked, ‘Well, what do you want to do?’ And her reply came quick enough, saying, ‘I want to go out with John, or…or Mrs Campbell, or just walk along the road.’
At this he got up abruptly from the table and went out, and she spent another day kicking her heels.
It was on the Saturday morning that he said to her, ‘I’ve got to go over to the Pictons’ with a load, and it will be just as well if they don’t see you, so stay put. Go down and play on the path in the wood; but remember what I told you, don’t go among the trees.’
After she heard the cart rumbling out of the gate she went to the stable and groped her way along the wall, then over the narrow meadow and to where the guide rope began.
She felt sad; she hadn’t talked all week, she hadn’t felt anyone’s hand or touched anyone, or listened to anyone.
She reached the end of the rope, then made her way to where the broken wall gave access to the next-door grounds, and as she stood there the smell of the daffodils wafted up to her, and also the other smell that brought her lips into a smile. Narcissi. Oh, she loved the smell of narcissi. It was a distinctive smell, a smell you never forgot. It was coming from quite near. She turned her body about as if she were looking in the direction of the cottage and her grandfather, and then with a defiant toss of her head she swung around and groped her way over the stones of the broken wall.
Oh! Immediately she knew she had trodden on some flower stalks, and she bent down and allowed her fingers to trace the broken stems before picking them up and holding the flowers to her face. Her fingers moving round the serrated edge of the petals, she stood for a moment lost in wonder; then one hand outstretched, she moved forward in what she imagined was a straight line in order that she could return the same way back to the wall. But as she went she realised that she was standing on the flowers, and every now and again she stopped and gathered up the broken ones.
She didn’t know how many steps she had taken when she bumped into what she thought was a hedge, and when her fingers passed over its prickly fronds she recognised the tree as a fir tree because it had the same feel as the one that grew by the path on the school drive.
Now she was moving along the hedge making little exclamations as the fronds whipped her face.
Realising that she mustn’t lose her way, she retraced her footsteps and stopped at the spot opposite where she imagined was the broken wall, and now, sitting down, she began to arrange the flowers she had gathered, the ones with long stalks at the back, those with short stalks at the front.
It was as she sat thus that she heard the footsteps approaching on the gravel, and the voices too, and as they came nearer it was as if she could put her hand out and touch the feet, so close were they to her. The voices were those of a man and a woman. The man was saying, ‘I’d be pleased to help the minister in any way I can, but at present I can only do so with a donation. I’m going abroad shortly and my agent will be seeing to the renovation of the place.’
The lady’s voice now said, ‘Oh, that is very kind of you. The vicar will be so grateful. We’re all looking forward to your taking up permanent residence here. It is such a long time since the house was occupied. May I repeat the invitation that you are most welcome to stay at the vicarage until your furniture arrives; I can understand you not wanting to clear your Paris house until the place is ready.’
As the voices faded away she thought, ‘That’s the gentleman with the voice that’s different; but she’s got a twang.’
She stood up and, her arm extended again, she made for the wall, but immediately on reaching it she realised that her direction had been at fault, for she was in contact with the built-up part. She considered a moment before groping her way to the right, but she still didn’t come to the broken part. Now she was moving to the left, and she knew a moment of panic when her feet began to sink into the turf.
Once more she was groping in the opposite direction; but after travelling what was seemingly a long way, she stopped and leant her back against the wall. She wasn’t to know that within another foot of her outstretched hand lay the gap. She was only aware that her granda would be returning shortly and would come looking for her and if he found she had disobeyed him again he’d play war. Oh yes, he’d play war all right.
The drive of that house, it…it was just beyond the fir hedge. She could crawl underneath the trees and onto it and then walk down to that gate; and once she was on the road she could easily make her way back home—as she now thought of the cottage.
Within minutes she was back at the hedge and she gave a sigh of relief when, crawling on her hands and knees, she found wide spaces between the trunks of the firs. Reluctantly now dropping her flowers, because, she told herself, they’d be a dead giveaway if she returned home with them, she crawled through a gap. When she imagined she was clear of the branches she made to stand up, only to be knocked to her knees again. But she didn’t cry out, she just laughed inwardly.
Groping forward a few more feet, she knew she was in the open but still on grass, and so, standing up, she stepped tentatively forward again and heaved a deep sigh when her feet touched the gravel drive.
Now standing with her back as it were to the hedge, she kne
w that the house lay to her left, so the gate must be to her right; and taking the grass verge as a guide, she went slowly ahead. In this way she went some distance and was feeling she must be nearing the gates when she became aware that someone was near her. She stopped and turned her head from side to side and sniffed. She could smell smoke, not tobacco or cigarette but cigar smoke. She knew about cigars because they were what the gentlemen smoked on open days at the school. Cigars had a different smell altogether from cigarettes or tobacco; she didn’t care much for the smell of cigars, it made her feel slightly sick. She said aloud now, ‘Who’s there?’
When the footsteps came towards her she knew that someone had stepped off the opposite verge, and she recognised the voice of the gentleman as he said, ‘I should be saying that to you, who’s there?’
‘I’m…I’m lost.’
‘Yes, I think you are. You…you are the little girl from next door, Mr Dodd’s little girl?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Does he know you’re out walking by yourself?’
‘No, no, sir; he’s gone to the Pictons’ and…and I took a stroll.’
‘And you found the gate open and you strolled inside, is that it?’
She waited a moment before she answered him. If she said, ‘No, I came over the broken wall and picked some of your flowers,’ he might get angry with her, and if he should happen to tell her granda, well, there would be something up. But it wouldn’t be so bad if her granda knew she had walked down the road and come in through the gates.
However, she had no need to answer, for now the gentleman said, ‘Come on; I’ll put you on your way again.’
She held out her hand and he took it, and when they were on the road and he said ‘I’d better see you home,’ she answered quickly, ‘There’s no need, sir; I know me own way up and down the road. I follow the verge.’
‘Oh, you’re a clever girl.’
‘Not very.’ Her voice was flat.
He laughed now and said, ‘Well, you’ve got one virtue anyway, you’re modest. But if I were you I wouldn’t come near the gates on your walks because…well, we’re going to have them painted and you don’t want to get your clothes all messed up, do you?’
‘No, sir. And thank you. But…Sir!’
‘Yes.’
‘If you happen to meet me granda you won’t tell him that I was on your drive, will you?’
She felt his breath on her face, and his voice was now a whisper as he said, ‘No. No, I won’t tell him. That’s just a secret between you and me.’
She laughed now and said, ‘Thank you, sir.’ Then she turned from him and made her way slowly up the road, keeping one foot near the verge.
When Joseph Dodd returned an hour later he found her sitting disconsolately among the woodpile, and when he barked at her, ‘All right! Get yourself along the road, but only for an hour, mind,’ she sprang up and tripped over some loose poles and fell flat on her face, but was on her feet almost immediately, crying, ‘Oh, thank you, Granda! Thank you. And I won’t stay long. I promise I won’t stay long…’
After she arrived at the Thompsons’ yard she stood for a moment just inside the gate to ascertain the whereabouts of John or his father; but the first voice that came to her was of neither of them, it was the voice of Mrs Campbell. It was coming from the right of her and, it also being slightly muffled, she realised that Mrs Campbell must be in the shed where John said they kept the eggs and vegetables, and so she turned in that direction and as she came nearer to the shed Mrs Campbell’s voice became clearer and she heard her say, ‘What can I do?’ And then Mr Thompson’s voice answered her, saying, ‘Bide your time. See what move he makes next week. It will all depend on his decision.’
‘Hello.’
Bella knew that they had both started and turned towards her, and it was Mr Thompson who cried, ‘Well! Hello there. I thought you had deserted us.’
She moved cautiously towards him because she knew that there should be boxes in the way; but the path in front of her must have been clear because he gave her no warning, and when she reached him she put out her hand which was immediately grasped; and then she said, ‘He wouldn’t let me out, me granda. It was like being in clink.’
As the roar of laughter greeted this, Harry Thompson cried, ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Oh, Mrs Golightly used to say that.’
‘Mrs Golightly?’
‘Yes.’
The pause and the question mark in Mr Thompson’s voice caused her to cry, ‘Now don’t you say you don’t believe in Mrs Golightly, Mr Thompson, don’t be like me granda, ’cos she’s real.’
‘Course she is, course she is, and so is Mrs Campbell here, and you’ve never said hello to her.’
‘Oh! Hello, Mrs Campbell.’ She turned sideways, and now her other hand was caught, and the next moment she knew that Mrs Campbell must be sitting on her hunkers because of the way her breath was fanning her face. When people bent over you their breath rushed down over your nose, but when they were on a level with you it spread smoothly over your face.
‘How are you, Bella?’
‘Oh, I’m fine, Mrs Campbell.’
‘I’ve…I’ve missed you. I’ve passed the gate a number of times this week but haven’t seen you.’
‘Oh, I’d likely be down the woods or in the house. I clean up now and I dust, but he doesn’t like things being disturbed…me granda.’
‘Do…do you like your grandfather?’
‘Oh yes, yes, I like him.’
‘Would…would you like to live with him…for good?’
‘Live with me granda for good? Oooh yes! Yes, I would.’
‘You don’t find him too grumpy?’
‘Oh, I don’t mind him being grumpy, well not all the time. I wish he would talk more though, or…or…’
‘Or what, Bella?’
‘Nothin, nothin’.’ She shook her head.
‘Don’t you want to go back to school?’
‘Go back to school? Yes, if I could come out at nights. But Miss Braithwaite said I’d likely be sent to a school where you stay all the time, and…and I wouldn’t like that. I…I like a home, you know, special, like me granda’s got.’
She felt Mrs Campbell straightening herself, and when there was silence for a moment, she knew by instinct that again glances were being exchanged, and she put in hastily, ‘Me granda’s all right. As Mrs Golightly used to say, some people aren’t everybody’s cup of tea, but it’s only because they don’t sugar them a bit.’
Again Harry Thompson laughed; and now he rumpled her hair as he said, ‘You and your Mrs Golightly! I’d like to meet her some day; she’s a store of wisdom that one!’
‘Yes, she is, she knows everything. Me dad used to say she knew more than was good for her…Where’s John?’
‘He’s along in the greenhouse. Can you find your way?’
‘Oh yes. Yes.’ She turned about and walked carefully to the door of the shed, and as she passed through it and groped at the wall she heard Mrs Campbell say, ‘Dear Mrs Golightly,’ and Mr Thompson exclaim, ‘What did you say?’ and Mrs Campbell reply, ‘I said dear Mrs Golightly.’
There was a slight feeling of indignation rising in her when she pushed open the door of the greenhouse and called, ‘You there, John?’
‘Yes. Hello.’
‘Hello.’ Carefully she groped her way towards him, and without any preamble she began, ‘They don’t believe I know a Mrs Golightly, neither your father nor Mrs Campbell. They’re…they’re as bad as me granda.’
‘Well, do you?’
‘Oh! Course I know Mrs Golightly.’
‘…The same as you know Gip?’
She pursed her lips together, swallowed, then turned her head to the side muttering, ‘Gip’s different.’
‘And Ironsides?’
‘I’ve had a ride on Ironsides.’
‘I bet.’
‘Oh you!’ As she flung round from him his hand caught her shoulder and he sai
d, ‘I’m…I’m sorry. All right, I believe you. You know a Mrs Golightly, and Ironsides, and Gip, so let’s leave it at that.’
She now put her hand out and caught at the first thing in front of her, which was a bundle of straw ties, and she began straightening them out with her fingers.
Some minutes passed in silence before, banging the straw down on the rack, she burst out in broken tones, ‘Oh! I wish I could see.’
‘Aw, there now, Bella, don’t cry.’
Impatiently she shrugged off his hand, shouting at him now, ‘I’m not cryin’, an’ I’m not going to cry because if I started you’d know about it; I can go on for hours, hours and hours…and days.’
‘Don’t be silly!’ His voice was as harsh as hers now.
‘I’m not being silly.’
‘What’s got into you?…What’s the matter with you, anyway?’
‘Nobody believes anything I say.’
‘We…ell’—the word was drawn out—‘you can’t blame people really, because you’ve got a vivid imagination, haven’t you? You could write stories the way you think.’
Again there was a silence, broken only when she asked suddenly, ‘What’s Mrs Campbell really like?’
‘Really like, how do you mean?’
‘Is she a nice woman?’
‘Yes…I should say she’s very nice. And I’m not the only one who…’ He stopped abruptly.
‘You were going to say you’re not the only one who thinks so? Who else thinks she’s nice…your father?’
‘The things you say! Anyway, why do you ask?’
‘I don’t know.’ She turned and as she groped towards the bundle of straws again she added, ‘I wish I could see her.’
John now bent towards her, looking into her face before saying, ‘You’ve never said that about anybody else; you never said you wanted to see me.’
‘Well, I know what you look like.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I can tell you what she looks like. She’s got black hair and…’
Go Tell it to Mrs Golightly Page 7
