‘She hasn’t, her hair is brown.’
‘’Tisn’t, it’s black.’
‘She told me it was brown.’
‘You must have made a mistake.’
‘I didn’t, I didn’t; she said that she had brown eyes and brown hair like me.’
‘Your trouble is you get things mixed up, like you do people, half real, half fancy.’
‘Shut up, you!’
‘What’s this? What’s this?’ Harry Thompson’s voice now came from the doorway of the greenhouse, and she turned to him quickly and said, ‘John says Mrs Campbell’s hair is black; it isn’t, is it?’
‘Well, what I can see of it now,’ Harry said quietly, ‘it looks black to me, or a very dark brown.’
Bella came slowly down between the racks towards the door and, looking to where she thought Mrs Campbell was standing, she said, ‘You told me a lie, you said your hair was brown like mine.’
There was a long pause before Mrs Campbell replied, ‘It was brown like yours, dear, but…but I dyed it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because…because I…I thought I’d like a change.’
‘You’re old then?’
‘No, no, she isn’t old.’ Harry Thompson’s voice was hearty now. ‘She’s young, and black or brown her hair’s bonny. What do you say, John?’
John swallowed deeply before he muttered, ‘Aye, yes, it’s nice hair.’
At this his father laughed loudly, saying, ‘Well, don’t set yourself on fire by paying a compliment, boy. And now, miss, are you satisfied?’
It would be easy to say, ‘Yes, Mr Thompson,’ but Bella found that she was feeling niggly inside; it was evident to her that both Mr Thompson and John liked Mrs Campbell, and she wanted to like her. Yes, somehow she wanted to like her very much, but there was something stopping her. She didn’t know what it was, so what she said was, ‘Mrs Golightly says bonny is as bonny does,’ and with that she pushed past them and, her hands outstretched, made for the yard gate and the road again. But before she reached it she heard Mr Thompson say, ‘No, don’t go after her, she’ll come round. She’s upset about something at the moment. And our Mrs Golightly! I can understand its effect on the old boy, it’s enough to drive him mad.’
‘Huh!’ She gave vent to her indignation aloud, then said to no-one in particular, ‘You wait, just you wait. I’ll fetch her, I will. One of these days I’ll fetch her up this road and she’ll give them the length of her tongue. She will that!’
Chapter Five
It was the last week of the holidays; there were only four more days to go. The weather had changed again. Last week it had rained most of the time but for the last three days it had been dry but very windy.
She had been with John to the shore again and her grandfather had taken her twice on the cart when he was delivering wood. But what she enjoyed most she had to admit to herself was the day that Mrs Campbell had taken her into Newcastle. Mr Thompson had driven them to the station and he was there waiting for them when they came back. But while in Newcastle they had walked by the river, and later had a lovely tea and Mrs Campbell had bought her of all things a toy piano, and she could already play six tunes on it with one finger. She could have learned more if her granda hadn’t kept on about the racket she was making; but she didn’t really mind him going for her about the piano because he had started to talk to her these last few days and ask her questions.
For the past two nights he hadn’t sent her to bed but had told her to sit by the side of the fireplace. And tonight even after he had made her cocoa, he hadn’t told her to go to bed, but he had sat on his chair opposite and smoked his pipe, and he had never once told her to shut up. When she had stopped talking he was so quiet she thought he had fallen asleep, but when she realised he hadn’t, she searched her mind for something else that might entertain him, something about grown-ups, and her mind presented her with the very thing. And so she described to him about the Morgans who had lived in the flat above, and how, when Mrs Morgan ran away, her husband had been so sad that he went up to the top balcony of the flats and threw himself out; it was a long way down and he was all broken up.
Even then her granda hadn’t told her to go to bed. She’d had to make the move herself because the heat from the fire had made her sleepy. And now here she was in bed and getting wider and wider awake. Things always went contrary.
She didn’t know at what time she fell asleep, nor at what period the nightmare started, but it began with Mr Morgan’s face looking at her through the doorway. The next time she saw Mr Morgan he was climbing the stairs and his head was hanging right down on his chest. Then again he was looking at her through the doorway, but now his head was bobbing towards her. And then she imagined herself sitting up in bed looking at Mr Morgan as he sat at the foot waving his hand to her. Then all of a sudden she saw him lean back and tumble downwards, and when he passed their iron balcony she jumped after him and tried to catch him. But she stopped on the last balcony because when he hit the ground his body broke into hundreds of pieces and the blood squirted from him and right up into her eyes and she couldn’t see anything.
It was at this point she screamed, scream upon scream.
‘Stop it. For God’s sake, stop it!’
She knew it was her granda and that he was shaking her by the shoulders, but she couldn’t stop her screaming because she could smell the blood on her face.
When he let go of her she dropped back on the pillow, and then she felt for a moment that she had jumped from the iron balcony, so far did she leap up in the bed when the cold wet flannel came smack across her face.
‘Oh, Granda! Granda, you shouldn’t, you shouldn’t! I…I was just dreamin’.’
‘Just dreamin’! Anyone would think you were being murdered, child. Here, dry your face.’ He thrust a towel at her and after rubbing it round her face she gasped, ‘It was Mr Morgan, the man who threw himself out of the window; I…I thought…’
‘Never mind what you thought! Stop thinking about Mr Morgan and lie down and get yourself to sleep. Three o’clock in the morning!’
‘I’m…I’m sorry, Granda.’
There was a pause before he said, ‘It was only a dream. Remember that it was only a dream.’
‘Yes, Granda.’
As she heard his footsteps going towards the door she said in a small voice, ‘Granda!…could I come and sleep with you?’
‘What!’
‘Just…just for the night.’
‘Don’t talk nonsense, child. Get yourself to sleep.’
As the door banged the fear swept over her again, but as quickly as the door had closed it was opened and her grandfather’s voice came to her, saying now, ‘I’ll leave your door open, and mine, so you’re all right, do you hear? Now get to sleep.’
‘Yes, yes, Granda.’
Oh, that was better. It was like sleeping in the same room when their doors were open. She drew in a long breath, turned on her side, and within a few moments she was fast asleep again.
It was what you called a slack morning. John wasn’t coming for her until after dinner, and Mrs Campbell had gone into Fellburn yesterday and hadn’t come back yet. Her grandfather was at the sawing block. There was nothing to do really, so she decided to take a walk through the wood. Calling Gip to her, she said, ‘Steady now. And don’t run away, like you did yesterday.’ And in this fashion she talked to him until she came up to the broken wall; and there she stopped and sniffed. The daffodils were finished but the narcissi she smelt were still going strong. She turned and faced the way she had come; then looking down at Gip, she said, ‘He wouldn’t know, and I won’t pick any, at least unless I trample on them.’ She turned about again and, on her hands and knees, scrambled over the broken masonry and into the grassy and flower-strewn belt. But once clear of the stones she stopped. She had lost her way last time, hadn’t she? Well, she wouldn’t be so silly this time, she’d leave herself a guide. She would pick the smallest stones and space them at interval
s towards the fir trees, then she could move a little way to each side of them and not get lost.
It took her quite some time to sort out the smallest stones, the ones she was able to lift and carry, and to place them so many steps apart in a more or less straight line until she came to the boundary of firs.
After placing the last stone near the root of a fir tree she was on the point of moving in the direction of where the scent of the narcissi was strongest when she stopped and, her head cocked to one side, she listened. Something was moving in the undergrowth almost at her feet. Was it an animal? A fierce animal? She stiffened and waited for it to approach; but it didn’t come towards her yet continued to rustle. Perhaps it was a rabbit burrowing. No, a rabbit would have run away, and a dog or a cat would have come out. But it couldn’t be a very big animal because the branches of the fir tree spread down and reached just below her waist; if she should want to pass under them she would have to crawl.
The rustling stopped, but after some seconds when it began again she dropped down onto her knees and moved forward under the outspread branches until her groping hands touched the trunk; and then, moving from it, they touched something else that made her start back. What she had touched was a coat sleeve and there was an arm inside it.
She waited to be grabbed, but when no hand touched her she said, ‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was a throaty whisper, and the answer seemed to come in the form of a vigorous rustle among the dry leaves.
Again she put her hand out, and now she almost cried out aloud as her fingers touched skin, prickly skin, a chin, like her dad’s used to be when he hadn’t shaved. As she was withdrawing her hand her fingers came in contact with something else, material; but it was across the face. After a moment’s hesitation her fingers began exploring and her eyes opened wide as she realised it was a piece of cloth and it was tight across a mouth. Now her hand moved rapidly over a nose, a big nose, and onto another piece of cloth, across the eyes this time.
When slowly she pulled the cloth upwards the body wriggled vigorously and she knew that the eyes were staring up into hers, and when she whispered haltingly, ‘I…I can’t see you, I’m…I’m blind,’ again there was a violent movement of the body.
It seemed to her in this moment that she heard Mrs Golightly’s voice yelling at her, ‘Well, you’re not deaf! Unloosen that thing around his mouth and he’ll speak to you.’
Her hands now rapidly found their way to the double knot at the back of the head, and when she pulled the cloth away from the face she heard a great gasp. And now the voice was whispering at her, a man’s voice, ‘Can you unloosen my hands, little girl? Can you hear me?’
‘Yes, yes, I can hear you.’
‘Unloosen my hands.’
She was about to bend further down to where she thought the man’s hands were when he said, ‘Ssh!’ and she became still, for she, too, heard the sound of footsteps coming across the gravel. Then he was whispering at her, ‘Go and get help. Go and tell your parents, tell them they have taken me…’ He didn’t finish but cried at her under his breath, ‘Go! Go!’ She scrambled backwards under the branches, and still on her hands and knees and aiming to go softly, she guided herself by the stones until she reached the broken wall. Once there, she crouched down behind it, instinct telling her to remain still, and as she did so she heard muttered exclamations from beyond the fir trees, then crashing movements, and someone coming into the clearing.
Her heart seemed to be beating loudly in her ears as the footsteps came towards the wall, then stopped just a short distance away, and she knew that whoever was there was looking up the grass path through the wood. Then in answer to a hissing hail, she heard the footsteps going back towards the hedge, and a scathing voice mutter, ‘Tie a knot! You couldn’t even pass for the Brownies. Go around to the stable and see if the coast’s clear now. Cor, another minute an’ we’d have bumped right into them, and the lid would have been blown off all right then.’
This scathing remark and order was answered with an oath that made her bite on her lip; then she heard the footsteps on the gravel again.
She remained crouched against the wall, telling herself that who knew but there might still be somebody watching her.
It seemed a long, long time before she allowed herself to move. She made a quick dash, managed to grasp the rope, then ran as hard as her legs would carry her up through the wood. But not until she reached the yard did she call out, ‘Granda! Granda!’
‘What is it? Stop your pelting, you’ll be on your face in a minute.’
‘Granda! Granda!’ She flung herself against his legs and, her two hands now grabbing at his waistcoat, she gabbled, ‘A man. There’s a man. He was all tied up under the trees, the fir trees near the drive.’
‘What on earth are you talking about, child?’
‘Granda! Listen.’ She tugged at his waistcoat again. ‘His hands and legs are tied. I…I took the bandage off his eyes and the one around his mouth, and he told me to get help.’
She felt her hands smacked away from the waistcoat; and now her granda was bawling at her. ‘Now look here, miss! We had enough of nightmares in the night: it’s broad daylight, so stop your fancyising, do you hear me, child, before you drive me distracted.’
She stood away from him, one hand held tightly under an oxter, the slap had hurt her, and now she gulped before she said slowly, ‘Granda! Please listen, Granda. I’m not fancyising; I’m not, honest. God’s honour, I’m not. I went over the wall, I know I shouldn’t because you told me I shouldn’t, but it was the smell of the narcissi, and I was bending down and there he was underneath the branches, and he was all tied up. I…I thought it was an animal.’
‘Child!’ The word held a deep reproach; and now she bowed her head and there were tears in her voice as she said, ‘Oh, Granda, Granda! I’m not puttin’ it on, I’m not tellin’ the tale. When I took the bandage off his eyes I told him I couldn’t see him, and…and then he wriggled and I took the one from his mouth and he asked me to loosen his hands. And then we heard them coming, the men, and he said, “Go and get help. Go and tell your parents.”’
She knew now that her grandfather was bending forward peering at her. Then she felt him straighten up, and when he walked away from her she could, in her mind’s eye, see him looking down through the wood. Now he was back bending down to her again and his voice was deep and solemn as he said, ‘You’re not having me on, child? Swear you’re not having me on.’
‘I swear, Granda.’ She crossed her heart with her fingers.
‘Come on.’ He was striding away, and she was hanging on to his belt now for he hadn’t bothered to put his coat on.
When they reached the broken wall she whispered at him, ‘I…I put some stones to guide me, they’re not big ones but you’ll be able to see them.’
When she felt him cautiously crossing over the broken wall she followed him. When he stopped for a moment before going on again she knew he had seen the stones.
Now she was by his side tugging at his sleeve to make him kneel down; then she crawled forward and her hands groped here and there on the grass but touched nothing but small, broken twigs and dead leaves.
When she felt herself pulled back she stood up and whispered, ‘He’s gone! They’ve taken him.’
She shivered as she heard the long, hissing breath escaping through her granda’s lips; then simultaneously they both heard the sound of voices and movements on the gravel, and he placed his hand on her shoulder in a tight grip, which warned her to remain still and to be silent.
The sound she heard now she knew to be that made by horses’ hooves, but above them there came the voices of people talking. There seemed to be a number of people and their voices were pleasant. One was a lady’s voice and she was saying, ‘Well, we won’t give you any peace, Mr Aimsford, until you promise to join us.’ Then came another voice which she decided Mrs Golightly would term highfalutin because it seemed to come out of the top of the speaker’s head as he said, ‘Yes, yes
, Aimsford; as my wife says, we won’t give you any peace, and we can loan you a mount until you get settled.’ Then came the gentleman’s voice that she recognised, and his voice sounded gay and airy as he replied, ‘Rest assured that on my return I shall take you at your word, and then you won’t be able to get rid of me.’ Laughter followed this remark, and then the voices and the sound of the horses’ hooves faded into the distance.
Just as she was about to speak she felt herself almost lifted bodily from the ground for her granda was gripping the collar of her coat, and now her feet were straining to touch the ground as he hauled her back over the stones and along the wood path. He didn’t speak until they reached the yard, but there, letting go of her collar, he swung her around to face him and his voice was a deep growl now as he said, ‘A man trussed up and taken into that house! And I suppose under the very nose of Lord and Lady Committy, eh?’
She was trembling from head to foot and her voice was a stammer now as she said, ‘Gra…Granda; there…there was.’
‘Shut up! Shut up this minute! Don’t let me hear another word out of you. I saw them with my own eyes. Mr Aimsford and his lordship and her going down the drive leading their horses. They must have been in that house or yard for some time; those two don’t make short visits not when they mean to latch on to anyone with money. Poor as church mice they might be, but never so poor as not to have enough money for their horses. Horse mad they are. But they’re not the only ones that are mad. No…no, child!’
She knew now that his face was quite close to hers, and he repeated, ‘Child, I’m warning you. There’ll come a day when your imagination will be the ruin of you. Do you hear me?’
She made no answer, her throat was tight. She wanted to cry but she knew she mustn’t because he’d have no pity for her if she started to cry now, and who would see to her?
‘Now get yourself into the house there and don’t move till that boy comes and fetches you. Do you hear me? And be back here by three. Do you hear me? No later. When I come back from me trip I expect you in.’
Go Tell it to Mrs Golightly Page 8
