The way the animal flopped over the woman’s arm reminded Maisy of a fox stole her mother had. Its glass eyes and paws had always disturbed her. ‘Do you think she killed it herself?’
‘Mr Pike told me he snares rabbits, but she can’t have killed it that way or she wouldn’t have the gun,’ Duncan said knowledgeably.
As they watched, the woman placed the rabbit on a big tree stump, withdrew a knife from her belt and proceeded to skin it. Her dog, a black-and-white collie, sat back on his haunches watching her hungrily.
The twins also watched as she skinned the animal but in their case in horrified fascination. She put the rabbit to one side and sliced from its throat right down its belly, then withdrew the bloody innards with her bare hand.
‘Yuck,’ Maisy whispered.
There was no doubt that the woman had done this dozens of times before; every movement was sure and confident. She put the entrails into a bowl then took them over to a funny-looking contraption hanging in a tree, which looked like it was made of muslin, reinforced with a stiff board. She stowed the bowl of innards within.
‘I think that’s for the dog later,’ Duncan whispered. ‘Unless of course it’s ingredients for a spell!’
Back at the tree stump she proceeded to cut the rabbit into pieces before washing the blood off her hands in the stream.
‘She isn’t as old as I expected,’ Maisy whispered. ‘She looks about the same age as Mother.’
‘Mother is only thirty-eight but she looks older,’ Duncan whispered back. ‘I think this woman must be late forties from what Janice said, but she certainly doesn’t look it. Then again, she doesn’t look like I expected either.’
Maisy guessed that her brother had held a similar mental picture in his head to the one she had: an old crone with a hooked nose, dirty, straggly hair and black teeth. But this woman wasn’t like that at all.
Her hair was grey and long, but she had tied it back at the nape of her neck with a dark ribbon or cloth. She had a clear, unlined complexion and she was slender with the ease of movement of someone in their twenties. She was wearing a pair of dark men’s trousers and a green plaid shirt, both very shabby, and on her feet she wore brown leather boots like the ones people wore for hiking.
While she was no beauty, she wasn’t ugly either, and she certainly didn’t look mad or like a witch. She had gone indoors now, taking the rabbit meat with her. Once again the dog had followed her.
‘Shall we go and speak to her?’ Maisy asked her brother.
‘Let’s wriggle back out of here on to the path and wait out of sight until she comes out again. We could start talking to each other so she can hear us, making out we’re lost, and then go out into the clearing and look surprised to see anyone. Then we can try and strike up a conversation.’
Maisy looked admiringly at her brother. He always seemed to know how to handle any situation.
They waited about six minutes before the woman came out again. Duncan put his hand on his sister’s shoulder, a warning to follow his lead. ‘Listen, I can hear a stream,’ he said in a loud voice. ‘We can get a drink, and if we can’t see a way back to Burley maybe we’d better retrace our steps.’
As her brother moved forward to walk out of the wood, Maisy took up the talking. ‘We were supposed to be home for lunch, so don’t even think of going off anywhere else or we’ll be in trouble.’
They had both reached the clearing and they continued to talk, pretending they hadn’t yet spotted the woman who was now hoeing her vegetable patch.
‘Oh, hullo there,’ Duncan called out to her a moment later. ‘Sorry to interrupt you, is there a quick way back to Burley from here?’
The collie looked up at them and made a threatening growl.
‘Go back the way you came,’ the woman replied, the curtness of her instruction showing she expected to be obeyed.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Duncan said. ‘We’re new to the area and were just exploring, we didn’t mean any harm. May we just get a drink from the stream? We’re really thirsty.’
‘Quickly then and be gone,’ she said. She looked down at the dog who was poised to defend her. ‘It’s fine, Toby.’
The twins made their way to the stream somewhat hesitantly, knelt down and cupped their hands in the water to drink. Maisy wished they’d just gone back into the wood immediately as it was clear this strange woman wasn’t ever going to be friendly.
Duncan clearly thought he could win her round. ‘What a lovely spot to live,’ he said cheerily as he got back on his feet. ‘Must be a bit harsh in the winter, though?’
‘Are you half-witted?’ the woman asked. ‘I would’ve thought I made it quite clear I didn’t wish to see anyone, much less talk to them. You’ve had your drink, now go.’
‘We’re sorry if we’ve offended you,’ Duncan said, giving her his best wide-eyed smile, which usually resulted in people warming to him.
There was no response. The woman returned to her hoeing with her back to him. Duncan looked at his sister and shrugged, clearly defeated.
‘At least we’ve seen her,’ Maisy said once they were back on the forest track. ‘I was a bit disappointed, really. I expected her to live in a hovel with feral cats and be really hideous.’
Duncan laughed; his sister had always had an overactive imagination. ‘We can come and spy on her again,’ he suggested. ‘You never know, we might catch her burying an unwary traveller.’
3
‘Sit down,’ Grandmother ordered. ‘On that sofa, so I can see you properly.’ She pointed to the seat opposite her, facing the French windows.
Five weeks had passed and this was the first time Grandmother had asked to see them. They had occasionally run into her in the garden, or in the kitchen when she was giving Janice some instruction, but she was invariably curt with them, never even asking how they were or what they’d been doing with themselves.
This morning, when Janice had told them that she wanted to see them, they were scared it meant she was sending them home to London. They certainly didn’t want to go, yet knew it would be pointless to plead with her, so they obediently sat as instructed. The sun was in their eyes and they couldn’t see the old lady clearly – but perhaps that was how she wanted it.
They knew from Janice that she was only seventy, but the many lines on her face made her look older, as did the snow-white hair fixed up in a bun. Yet she wore attractive clothes – today a blue dress with a toning lacy cardigan. Her clothes matched her blue eyes which, although cold and forbidding, were rather lovely and hinted at her having been a beauty when she was young. But apart from attending church, she rarely went out, even though Janice had told them that she was still capable of walking for miles when she chose to.
‘You know your mother has been committed to an asylum? Well, they don’t like you to call it that any more, so I’ll refer to it as a nursing home,’ she stated, without any kind of preamble.
Both Duncan and Maisy nodded.
‘I have to tell you now that she has been assessed and she is likely to have to stay there for the foreseeable future.’
The twins gasped. ‘But why?’ Duncan asked. ‘We thought it would just be for a few weeks.’
‘Your mother’s problems are long-standing ones. She has never been happy,’ Grandmother said with a sigh. ‘I was against the marriage because I could see she was something of a broken reed, and over the years she has become further and further removed from reality. Your father had no choice but to place her somewhere she could be monitored around the clock after she’d tried to take poison. That task cannot be left to servants.’
‘But Mother isn’t mad,’ Maisy burst out. She knew something was badly wrong with her, but she couldn’t accept it was madness. ‘I don’t believe she tried to take poison. We’ve only got Betty’s word for that.’
‘You are just a child,’ Grandmother responded. ‘What can you possibly know about such things? I know nothing more about Betty than what my son tells me, but he trusts her.’
‘I think she may have got worse because she’s been taken from home and she knows we are here,’ Duncan said stoutly.
The old lady pursed her lips. ‘According to your father, she has hardly noticed she isn’t at home and hasn’t asked about you two at all. That is how far removed from reality she is.’
‘I don’t believe she hasn’t asked about us,’ Maisy said with some indignation, tears starting to roll down her cheeks.
‘Tell me something, Maisy. How long is it since you spent more than a few minutes with her?’ Grandmother asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly.
The twins looked at one another. Since Christmas their mother had been up in her bedroom almost constantly. They would go in to see her when they got home from school but mostly she was too sleepy to talk to them.
‘Last summer she was fine,’ Duncan said defensively. ‘We went out to Hyde Park with her one afternoon.’
The old lady didn’t respond immediately; she looked as if she was trying to find the right words.
‘Any child should be able to cite more than one occasion in a year when they did something with their mother,’ she said at length. ‘You two had become so used to her “illness” that you no longer even questioned it. In my view your mother should have been hospitalized long ago, before she caused you two any damage or distress.’
‘She wouldn’t do anything to hurt us,’ Maisy burst out. ‘You don’t know her, you’ve only visited once and that was years ago.’
‘Don’t take that tone with me, child,’ Grandmother snapped back. ‘You cannot possibly understand what goes on between adults; let’s just say that your mother and I didn’t get on. That is why I had such reservations when your father asked if you could come here. I said then, better to get her committed so you could stay in your home and continue with school. But your father insisted you’d benefit from being under Janice’s care.’
Grandmother paused, looking hard at the pair of them.
‘So far I’d say he was right. I’ve barely known you were in the house, the staff all tell me you are delightful, polite children, and I know Janice has become very fond of you both. Are you happy here?’
Duncan wondered how she could tell them that their mother had been put in an asylum one minute, then ask if they were happy the next.
‘We were until you told us this about Mother,’ he said, struggling to control his emotions. He could just about deal with knowing their mother was mentally ill, but now it seemed Grandmother was saying she’d never get better.
‘I had to tell you the truth, however distressing,’ she said, her tone softening. ‘I will admit I am not maternal; your father was away at boarding school from an early age, so I didn’t learn how to communicate with young people. But you two strike me as well balanced and intelligent, and I think it’s time to make plans for your future. Schooling will be a part of this.’
‘We could get jobs, and then we could pay our way,’ Maisy suggested. ‘We are fifteen now.’
Surprisingly their grandmother smiled at that. It softened her face and gave the twins the idea she wasn’t always the cold, stern woman they’d taken her for.
‘I want more for my grandchildren than working in a shop or on a farm,’ she said. ‘Your father would like you both to go to university, so I have engaged a teacher for you. Mr Dove was wounded in the war and is in a wheelchair, but he used to teach at one of the best schools in England, and was highly thought of. You will go to his cottage in the village each morning, and return home for lunch. The afternoons will be free except when Mr Dove gives you homework. How does that sound?’
Being asked what they thought was so surprising that they just looked at one another helplessly.
Maisy recovered first. ‘It sounds very good, Grandmother, thank you.’
‘Well, that’s settled then,’ she said. ‘I shall telephone Mr Dove this evening and suggest you start on Monday. I hope you will work hard, pass your exams and ultimately attend university. Do you have any idea what careers you’d like?’
‘I’d like to be a barrister,’ Duncan said.
‘And you, Maisy?’ Grandmother looked at her intently.
Maisy had heard Duncan say before that he wanted to be a barrister, but she hadn’t ever considered doing anything other than getting married and having children. She sensed her grandmother wouldn’t be impressed by such a lack of ambition.
‘A scientist,’ she said. ‘I’d like to find cures for terrible diseases.’
Grandmother dismissed them then without further comment or questions.
Once outside in the garden, Duncan rounded on his sister.
‘A scientist?’ he queried. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged. ‘But I had to say something impressive, didn’t I?’
They wandered down through the walled kitchen garden to the bench at the far end. The day was sunny but cold, yet with the wall shielding them from the wind it was pleasant to sit there.
‘I don’t believe Mother is truly mad,’ Duncan burst out after a long silence. ‘If she was we’d have known long ago. I bet Father wants to get shot of her so he can find another woman.’
‘Maybe that is it, but we’ve never seen him do anything to support that idea. I have thought Betty might have designs on him, but he’s always seemed devoted to Mother. I mean, he always goes straight in to see her when he comes home from work.’
‘We’ve never known what goes on between them when they’re alone,’ Duncan argued. ‘Maybe he made her so miserable moaning at her all the time that she went funny in the head. I think he wants a jollier life without kids and a wife.’
‘Has he ever struck you as the kind of man who would want “jolly”?’
Duncan chuckled. Ever since they were ten or eleven they’d made jokes to each other about their father being such a serious, humourless man. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Who knows what caused it?’ Maisy said. ‘I’m sure I’d go mad if I was unappreciated, and had no one to make me laugh or have fun with.’
They lapsed into silence for some time. Then Duncan sighed deeply. ‘It’s just as well we’ve got one another. Imagine how awful this would be if you were an only child. But I still don’t believe Mother is mad, and when I can figure out a way of proving it, I’ll get her out of that place. However, it is great that we can stay here. What do you think of a teacher in a wheelchair?’
‘We’ll be able to outrun him.’ Maisy giggled. ‘Let’s go and ask Janice about him; she’s bound to know every last thing.’
Janice was in the kitchen preparing vegetables for lunch. She stopped working when the children came in and held out her arms to them, clearly expecting them to be upset to hear their mother wasn’t on the mend as they’d hoped.
The twins ran to her, burying their faces in her soft, plump neck which smelled of vanilla. Being hugged made Maisy start crying again, and Duncan was trying very hard not to join in.
‘I’m really sorry about your mum; it’s tough for kids of your age to deal with stuff like that. But if it’s any consolation I’m glad I can hold on to you both for a bit longer, until your mum gets better. And I do believe she will get better.’
She dried their eyes, made them a cup of tea and gave them a slice of fruit cake each. Duncan asked her then about Mr Dove.
‘He’s a good, kind man and they say he’s a wonderful teacher,’ she said. ‘He’s extremely grateful to your grandmother too as he thought he’d never get a teaching job again. He’s only in his late thirties and his wife went off and left him when she knew he’d never walk again.’
Maisy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? How awful! But how does he manage on his own?’
‘He has a woman who comes in to help and I’ve heard he’s very resourceful, managing to do quite a lot for himself. But having the job of teaching you two will boost his self-esteem. So mind you behave and listen to what he tells you.’
After the twins had gone off to run an erran
d in the village for Janice, she sat down at the kitchen table, thinking about them and how their mother’s illness might affect their lives.
She had been speaking from the heart when she said she was glad she’d have them here for longer. They had brought sunshine into Nightingales and although their grandmother had avoided contact with them until today, even she had remarked begrudgingly that it was nice to hear chatter and laughter in the house.
Most people in the village considered Mrs Mitcham to be a cantankerous, mean old woman who could turn milk sour just by glancing at it. She was certainly very difficult – by all accounts even as a young woman she’d been a crashing snob and cold-hearted – but in the twenty-six years Janice had been in her service, first as a fourteen-year-old kitchen maid straight out of St Mary’s orphanage in Southampton and gradually rising to become the housekeeper, she’d seen another side of her employer. She was fair, loyal, and every now and again she had moments of surprising tenderness and generosity, especially to anyone she perceived as vulnerable.
Janice had loved Nightingales at first sight. After the huge, spartan dormitory at St Mary’s, where any little treasure she acquired was soon stolen by another orphan or confiscated by the nuns, a room of her own up in the attic was heavenly. Food was good and plentiful, and the work never as hard as it had been at St Mary’s. Because she never wanted a day to dawn when she couldn’t look out on to the beautiful garden, wake to birdsong, or have a full belly, she resolved right away to learn every aspect of running a house and make herself indispensable to Mrs Mitcham.
There had been a brief period in the summer of 1939 when she dared dream of her wedding, a home of her own and children, because she’d fallen in love with a young farrier named William Gateshead. But Will joined up as soon as war was declared and he was killed in the retreat from Dunkirk just a year later.
That was the first time she saw Mrs Mitcham’s tender side, as she held out her arms to Janice and let her cry. ‘I am so sorry, my dear,’ she said. ‘Fate can be wickedly cruel sometimes, and there is nothing one can say that will take the sting from it. But you know you will have a home here at Nightingales for as long as you need it.’
The Woman in the Wood Page 3
