Meanwhile, in the green, carpeted hall, with an intricately carved, plaster ceiling eighteen feet above, seven uncertain individuals took stock and wondered, in unison, just what drew them to be in such a position. With some different decisions made (or not made) only hours before, they could all be comfortably and safely doing what they'd always done, whatever that was. But, as we know, life turns on a tuppenny piece (or a dime if you're American, which none of them were) and here they were, about to attempt the saving of someone none of them knew well (some not at all) for a cause uncertain in a situation unimaginable from people with unknown intentions, abilities and armaments. The guards were probably outside the door and, by now, their employers inside would presumably know of the seven's presence. Going back was out of the question and, considering what their imaginations were creating about the events inside the mansion, going forward was also out ... but probably less out then going back. They could rely on Dominik for knowing his way round the corridors but none of them knew which one led to the captive (they all presumed) Lord and Lady Atkinson.
All was silent; eerily silent for a house that employed a dozen serving people.
Arthur found himself the centre of attention as they huddled round him, obviously expecting an answer to their uncertainty.
"I guess the most obvious thought is that, whatever they're after, they'll imagine it's in the Lord's office," whispered Arthur as everyone nodded at his sage assessment of the situation though he wondered why a wild guess should be interpreted as a sage assessment.
"I know way to office," said Dominik, quietly. "But we must go past main drawing room and foyer at front. We be seen."
"We could be seen here, too," whispered Amanda urgently. "Where can we hide for a mo while we decide?"
"Ah yes, this way," whispered Dominik, moving off and waving them on with him. He slipped around the corner to the left and motioned them into a small room filled with shelves of gardening equipment, wall hooks groaning with coats and umbrellas and a floor littered with muddy boots of all kinds. "Dis the coat room. For servants," said Dominik, ducking his head under the low doorway. "Shut the door so no one hear us."
In their cone of silence, amid the smell of rubber, mud and wet leather, they looked at one another.
"So, the only way from here to the office is through the most public part of the house?" asked Amanda.
"Yes, that only way," said Dominik, emphatically.
"But these old places have all sorts of secret alleyways and hidden doors," said Martin. "Are you sure there's no secret way to get there?"
"Secret way ... secret way," said Dominik as if savouring the words. Arthur was sure he could see the marbles moving round in the machinery of Dominik's mind as it churned over the idea. "Yes, I hear of secret way. I forgot."
"And it will take us to the office?" asked Martin hopefully.
"Not sure, maybe," said Dominik as another marble dropped into place. "I thinking what they say."
"So there might be a way in?" asked Toby, struggling to keep his strapped-up arm from touching people or the room, with little success, considering their confinement. "Perhaps it's into the back of the office."
"Ah yes, back office," said Dominik frowning and Arthur was sure the next marble could be seen, teetering on the edge, ready to drop.
"So what room backs onto the back of the office?" asked Toby, logically.
"Ah, let me think," said Dominik, drawing an imaginary picture with one finger on the other palm, as the marble hovered closer to the edge. Suddenly his face lit up. "Ah yes! It through kitchen so Lord can have affair with servant girls!"
"Good lord, not Lord Atkinson!" exclaimed Arthur, appalled.
"No, no, old Lords, hundreds years ago," said Dominik, laughing quietly. "We go out to passage, turn left then left again and we in kitchen."
"So, how about you go first, alert the kitchen staff and make sure we're safe," suggested Joan, trying to be logical in a dangerous situation. Arthur could sense her discomfort and admired the way she was dealing with it all.
"It's okay Joan, I'll go with Dominik and clear the way," said Amanda, apparently relishing the danger more than Joan was. "You all wait one minute and then follow us."
The two left and the rest waited.
"Well, that's sixty seconds and no explosive or disturbing noises," said Arthur, unable to move as fear gripped him as never before.
"Come on Arthur," said Joan in her fascinatingly decisive way. "Let's go!"
"Oh, ah, yes, I suppose we should," said Arthur, still unable to move his leaden feet and churning stomach. He felt bile rising and wiped his sweaty forehead.
"It's okay Dad," said Martin, obviously noticing his father's discomfort. "We have an old man, two old women, a cripple and me. Perhaps I go first!" Arthur sensed Martin's bravado covered a deep fear, like his, and he was thankful to be led by his son, in this instance.
"Are you alright, Dottie?" asked Arthur, realising she had said nothing for a long time.
"Oh yes Arthur, it's just like going on night duty," said Dottie, matter-of-factly. "You never know what to expect and, whatever it is, you're on your own and you have to deal with it. Only, this time, there's seven of us. 'It's a doddle, Doctor,' as we used to say."
Everyone smiled and Arthur felt a little better, somehow.
They followed Martin, thankful to be out of the small, stuffy room but not thankful for where they might be heading to.
"I'll go last," said Arthur, feeling gallant and scared.
As the Fearsome Five (or is that the Fearful Five?) trundled up the corridor, going as fast as they could without bumping into antique dressers or each other, Arthur suddenly stopped. He fancied he heard a noise, somewhere. The fear was growing in his mind much faster, he knew, than it would have in the mind of Mr Bond. But knowing that didn't help one bit.
"Come on Arthur!" whispered Dottie urgently, motioning him on. "No time for wavering now!"
"Yes, yes," said Arthur, knowing her logic but, illogically, his body wanted to stay rooted to the spot to see who was coming. Was seeing the unknown person scarier than not knowing? He could not decide.
"Arthur!" demanded Dottie, grabbing his arm. "Get a grip. Come on!"
"Uh, yes, yes," said Arthur, forcing his legs to move again.
"Stop right there!" someone bellowed from round a corner, twenty feet away, just as Arthur was turning into the alcove leading to the kitchen. He froze at the corner and could see the others through the kitchen doorway, frantically motioning him in. He couldn't do it. Someone had nailed his feet to the floor. He just couldn't move.
"Where do you think you're going?" demanded the angry, gravelly voice, closer this time. The voice sounded strangely like his father's and memories flooded back. He knew his father would grab him by the collar, drag him into the scullery and give him yet another beating, from which it might take days for the pain to go. He whimpered and felt helpless, humiliated.
"Arthur, love, hurry up!" whispered Joan from the kitchen.
He didn't know if it was Joan's voice or the word love but his mind snapped out of the Newcastle coalminer's cottage of his childhood and returned to Lord Atkinson's stately home, forty years later. His feet became unstuck and he could have dived into the kitchen but the voice, which he now dared to look at, was only ten yards from him. He couldn't escape to the kitchen without endangering the others. He straightened his body and his mind.
"I, Sir, am here to help Lord Atkinson," said Arthur, in his best Bond voice. It all felt most unreal. "And thank you for alerting me to where you are holding him." He marched towards the man of the voice - slightly shorter than Arthur but twice as wide with a paunch, grey grizzly hair and thick grey eyebrows.
"Stop right there!" said the man, not lowering his voice. "You're not going anywhere."
"I am going to see Lord Atkinson right now," said Arthur, sounding more confident than he felt. He focused on his goal and took a bold step forward.
"Stop right there, schmu
ck!" said the man, hesitating, wrapping his eyebrows round his nose.
"I am sorry, sir, but I am here to do what I need to do, not what you tell me," said Arthur, feeling like a robot. The man put his palm against Arthur's chest, blocking his way. "Unhand me, whoever you are, or I shall be forced to call the others in." Arthur put his hand into his pocket as if fingering a dangerous device and not the mobile phone he felt.
"What others?" asked the man, his bellow having fallen to a menacing question.
"Force me to push this button and you shall find out soon enough," said Arthur, without expression. "Now let me pass." His phone beeped as he accidentally pushed one of the phone's buttons and both of them jumped.
"No, no, mate, let's just talk about this, huh?" suggested the rock of a man, recovering quicker than Arthur. "Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?"
"I should ask you that, sir," said Arthur, attempting to take a step forward. "But I don't actually care. We're here to help Lord Atkinson and that's what we shall do."
"We? Who's this we, mate?" Asked the man, his hand still on Arthur's chest but with less force now.
"If I push this button now you will soon discover who we are," suggested Arthur with more nerve than he felt. There was a crash in the kitchen, followed by a bugger and the man-rock stepped back a little. "Looks like they're on their way. Now let me pass."
"Like hell you do!" said the man, obviously making a decision. "I got you and we'll get the others one by one, later, huh." He grabbed Arthur by the collar and all those shaming memories of childhood flooded back. His body became as a small boy's, in the power of his ferocious father and he stumbled along behind the man as they headed down the corridor.
In the lives of most of us there is a moment (or several moments for the particularly brave ones) when we actually dare to do what we've always dreamed of doing, but have previously held ourselves back from. This was one of Arthur's moments.
During the many unexpected and painful times Arthur's father dragged him down the hall to the scullery to take his rage out on his son, Arthur fantasised about revenge. He imagined, most often, of tripping his father up and then either pouncing on him or running away ... forever. This fantasy consumed much of his young life and, in his mind, he tried countless ways of foiling his father and, eventually, dreamed the perfect technique - one that required little strength and caused maximum mayhem. His fertile mind imagined great and simple success but he never had the nerve to try it. Till now.
As this rock of a man dragged him down the hall, stumbling to keep up, his mind flashed back to the countless times he berated himself for not getting back at his father and, as his anger rose, and his technique came to mind, he acted. As the man's right foot went forward, Arthur tapped his left foot to the right and the man fell flat on his face, taking a Grecian vase and an oak hat-stand down with him, with a noisy clatter of breaking pottery and timber. Arthur had always imagined his father letting go at this stage but the man didn't and Arthur fell too. The feelings from years of humiliation, long suppressed, now burst out and Arthur fell, purposely, heavily on top of the stone-man. He rammed his forearm into the brute's neck. The man let go to protect himself and Arthur leapt up and kicked him in the side with the strength that fifty years of pent-up rage could muster. He kicked and he kicked and he kicked till his strength ran out. He leaned back against the wall exhausted, strangely happy and quite disgusted with himself. The man lay still, with shards of pottery and furniture around him.
If Arthur had been used to such activities and exertions, he would have been alert to the approach of the other man, sneaking up beside him. But he wasn't.
The Happy Brother
Tuesday, 13th March 2012, 11.46 p.m.
John had phoned ahead to Belinda and when they arrived another room had been booked. With simple efficiency John arranged that Halee and Mary take one room and Angus and Ahmed take the third. After introductions all round they took the lift and then John and Belinda excused themselves.
"Ah, young love," said Mary wistfully.
"Tired love, more like," said Belinda as John led her to their room. Ahmed pleaded fatigue and went into the adjoining room.
"Look Mary, it's been a long day but would ye be wantin' to share a wee dram a'fore bed?" asked Angus. "I've a bottle of best malted in me room."
"Oh aye, why not, Angus," said Mary, smoothing her furrowed brow. "But you'd better fetch it out of your room - Ahmed's Muslim and doesn't drink. Bring it to our room."
"Look, Miss Collins, I'm knackered," said Halee. "You two have some catching up to do so how about I sleep with Ahmed ... oh, you know what I mean, in his room and you two share the other one. They're separate beds aren't they?"
"Yes, twin rooms," said Mary. They knocked on Ahmed's door and Halee suggested she sleep in the bed next to him while Angus and Mary shared the room next door. Ahmed's mouth opened and shut and a deep redness crept out from inside his swarthy face. Mary had never seen him lost for words before, this suave, gentle, dynamic man.
"Ahmed, I'm not sure what you're thinking," said Halee with a tired smile, "but I will do my best, my very best, to resist your gorgeous body. You should be safe."
"Oh, ah, yes, of course," said Ahmed finding his voice at last, though uncertainly. "We can dress in the bathroom, I suppose, if you're alright with that."
"Actually, Ahmed, right now all I want to do is collapse into bed," said Halee. "I don't care what I'm wearing and I don't care who sees whatever it is. Angus, get your stuff and be gone will ya. Let this girl get some sleep."
Angus grabbed his few possessions and left with Mary who saw Ahmed standing there, apparently unable to move.
"So, little brother, what prompted you to come down here?" asked Mary as she sat on the bed with her whisky in hand. "First time to the big city, aye?"
"Dunno lass, it just sort of happened before I knew it was happening, if ye catch me drift," said Angus, sitting back in the only chair in the room. "John and Belinda turned up in town. Their car was gone and they had a contact at an insurance company in London and Mr Fordyce knew you were in insurance and so I was hauled in and, hell, I dunno. Those Kiwis just sorta' inspired me to do what I've never done before. And here I am."
"What did they say to you?" asked Mary, intrigued.
"Don't know if it's what they said or what they did," said Angus, smiling through his puzzled look. He took a large sip of his whiskey, closing his eyes and sighing deeply, as if it was the elixir of life. "They just seem to have no ties, no obligations. They want to do something and they just do it. No explanations, no excuses, they just do it."
"Sounds a bit irresponsible," suggested Mary.
"Not irresponsible, really. They care for people and are as honest as a die," said Angus, looking at Mary for the first time. "But if they need to act they just do ... ah, I dunno, I can't explain it. Anyway, lass, something about them got me thinking about me life and what I've achieved."
"But I thought you were happy doing what you've always done," said Mary. "I thought you'd be welding and drinking ales and watching football for the rest of your life."
"So did I, Mary lass, so did I," said Angus, sitting back, looking at the ceiling. He quickly looked back at Mary. "John asked me what I was born for. Ye know, what me purpose is in being here. I hadn't thought of that before and I got a bit shitty with him. But it got me thinkin' and I thought .... well, I suppose I've thought about it before, a million times and kinda' pretended it didn't matter - have another drink, tell another lie, another day of work - just get on with it, getting busy ..."
"But you weren't really happy?" asked Mary, feeling his rising sadness.
"No Mary, not happy at all but never wanted to admit it," said Angus, wiping his eyes and taking another sip of whiskey. "Actually, to be brutally honest, I was a bit of a sad bastard and, as John suggested, my getting shitty at him was actually me getting shitty at myself for wasting my time." He stopped talking to wipe his eyes again with his big calloused
hand.
"Oh little brother," said Mary standing up. She sat on his knee and hugged him. His tears burst forth and he let the cry out - the cry so long held back from years of denial and frustration.
Mary waited till his sobs died down. "So, here you are, little brother, in this big London town, crying in the arms of your big sister. What a pair we are!"
"What? You're not happy either?" asked Angus, looking surprised as Mary got off his knee and sat back on the bed. "The big flash job, the money, the poncy flat in the middle of town - I thought you had it all."
"Well, not really unhappy, Angus, as I have my work but love keeps avoiding me," said Mary. "It sneaks up when I'm not looking and then buggers off when it gets near."
"Ye and me both, Mary lass," said Angus, smiling again, brightening up the room. "What a sad, sorry mess we've got ourselves into."
"You might be right, Angus but I suspect we're not the only dysfunctional ones," said Mary, raising her glass to him.
"Yeah, cheers to all the sad bastards of the world!" said Angus raising his glass and leaning over to clink it with hers. "Anyway, I'm here, I've broken out of me little cage, I have no idea where to now and I'm scared and excited but, in a way, I don't really care. Does that make sense?"
"Aye it does - sounds just like I felt when I first left home to come down here ... and it all worked out. It's not perfect but I'm alive and reasonably sane, I think," said Mary, cheerfully.
"Yeah, when I moaned about all the reasons not to do something different, Belinda said that the worst that could go wrong is that I could fail and what would that mean? I wouldn't get rabies, my bum wouldn't fall off and I'd still be alive and kicking," said Angus, laughing at the memory of that conversation. "I'll actually survive, no matter what I chose to do."
"Yeah, I guess we all do, don't we," said Mary, musing over the recent dangers she'd survived.
"Not guess, Mary. We absolutely do survive," said Angus with a determination she'd not seen before. "Whatever decision we make, as Belinda put it, we're all looked after so, really, nothing matters. So I did it - took leave from the job, left me home, left me mates and here I am. I can always go back if I want to."
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