Over what she now discovered to be health tea with an odd lingering flavour of camomile, Miss Silver began to talk to her about the children. Jennifer was twelve. Maurice was seven, and Benjy four.
‘They have so much energy,’ said Mrs Craddock in the soft tired voice which seemed to slur the words because it really had not strength enough to sustain them. ‘I hope you will not find them too difficult to manage.’
Mr Craddock cut himself a slice of home-made cake.
There must, of course, be no coercion,’ he said. ‘That is understood, is it not? The free expression and development of individuality is a cardinal point. Freedom to express, freedom to develop, freedom to come face to face with the Ultimate and fulfil its purpose—these are essentials. I can rely on you to give them full scope?’
Replying that she would do her best, Miss Silver could not help wondering which of these freedoms had fallen to Mrs Craddock’s share.
‘Emily,’ said Mr Craddock in his deepest tones, ‘you are neglecting Miss Silver. Her cup is empty.’ He turned a benignant gaze upon the guest. ‘My own special herbal tea—healthful and invigorating. I experimented for months before I satisfied my exacting taste. The gathering of the herbs is in accordance with the dictates of astrological science—those under the moon’s influence to be gathered at the full of the moon, those under Venus and the other planets at the appropriate times. There is a vast mass of accumulated lore on the subject. But there are fields still unexplored. It is in connection with these that I hope my name may yet go down to posterity. Meanwhile my health tea is a humble offering to progress.’
Miss Silver coughed.
‘I am afraid I am very ignorant about such matters. They must require a great deal of study.’
Since Mrs Craddock had filled up her cup, she had perforce to drink a second and stronger infusion of the health tea. Considered as an offering to progress, it appeared to her inadequate, since its only merit was that it was hot, and this might have been achieved by the simple boiling of a kettle. She could not help reflecting that Mr Craddock’s labours had involved a sad waste of time.
In the course of the next half hour she heard a good deal more about these labours. Mr Craddock, it appeared, was engaged upon a Great Work. He required perfect quiet, both for the preliminary meditations which such a task required and for the actual literary work involved. There were also experiments of so delicate a nature that the least interruption would be fatal to their success. To this end he reserved for himself what he alluded to as a Retreat in the otherwise unused central block of the house.
‘It is not generally habitable, and parts of it are far from safe. As regards the children, I have been obliged to lay an embargo on it. Much as I dislike rules or any attempt to curtail their perfect freedom of action, you will, I am sure, understand that in this case there is no alternative.’ He was helping himself to strawberry jam as he spoke and spreading it thickly upon the current slice of cake.
‘Mr Craddock must have perfect quiet,’ said Mrs Craddock in a faint twittering voice. ‘He must never be disturbed.’
When Miss Silver was presently conducted to her room, it was by Mrs Craddock. No one, least of all Mr Craddock, having attempted to do anything about her suit-cases, she picked up one herself and saw Mrs Craddock stoop for the other. Since the farther door had been closed, there was nothing to restrain her from saying in a decidedly disapproving manner,
‘It is really too heavy for you. Perhaps Mr Craddock—’
Emily Craddock shook her head.
‘Oh, no—I am quite used to carrying things. We have taken up too much of his time already.’
Four slices of buttered toast, three slices of cake and jam, and half a plate of biscuits had taken up a very fair share of the time alluded to, but it was certainly not the moment to remark upon it. Each carrying a suit-case, they turned to the left, and came into a small square hall from which a staircase ran up to the second floor. But before they could set foot on it there was a sound of flying footsteps behind them and, all in a rush, there was Jennifer with an arm about her mother’s shoulders, shaking her, snatching the suit-case away with her free hand, and scolding in a rapid undertone.
‘I won’t have it—you know perfectly well I won’t! Why does she let you? She’s come here to help you, hasn’t she? At least that’s what she’s supposed to have come for. Why doesn’t she do it? I’d put up with her if she did. You!’ She stared across Mrs Craddock’s shoulder at Miss Silver. ‘What’s the good of you if you can’t stop her carrying things?’
There was an unchildlike fury in the dark eyes. Miss Silver met it steadily. She said,
‘I hope to be able to do so, Jennifer. If you will carry the case and show me my room, there will be no need for your mother to come up.’
There was a moment of hostility, a moment of fading antagonism, a moment when Jennifer stood frowning and uncertain. Then she gave Mrs Craddock quite a rough push, said, ‘Be off with you!’ and ran up the stairs without waiting.
Miss Silver followed at leisure. She was perfectly able to carry her suit-case, but she had no intention of hurrying. She wondered a little whether Jennifer would be in sight when she reached the landing which corresponded with the hall below. It was crossed by a long passage upon which rooms opened to either side. A faint light illuminated the stair-head, but the passages were dark, and Jennifer had vanished in the darkness.
Miss Silver took a chance and walked down the right-hand passage. She was nearing the end of it, when a door flew open and light streamed out to the accompaniment of Jennifer’s mocking laughter. It broke off suddenly.
‘You didn’t scream!’
‘I could see no reason to scream.’
‘Do you always see reason?’
The child’s voice accused her of something—she wondered what? She said in her most equable tones,
‘It is a very good plan.’
As she came into the room, Jennifer backed away from her, tall and thin in old patched shorts and a faded scarlet jersey. The long bare legs were brown, the long thin feet were naked in their sandals. Miss Silver was reminded of a startled foal. There was the same mixture of awkwardness and grace, the toss of the head with which a straying forelock was shaken back. There was no timidity, but an alert wariness. From a safe distance Jennifer said,
‘Do you always plan things?’
Miss Silver gave her the smile which had won the heart of many a reluctant client.
‘Do you not do so?’
‘Sometimes I do. Sometimes my plan isn’t the same as someone else’s plan. It mightn’t be the same as yours—it might be a very opposite plan indeed. What would you do then?’
Miss Silver appeared to give this question as much serious attention as if it had been put to her by a grown-up person. Then she said,
‘One can really only make plans for oneself. When they come into conflict with the plans of other people one has to consider to what extent each can accommodate his plan to another’s. It is a problem that arises constantly. People who are successful in dealing with it will also make a success of their lives.’
She had caught the child’s attention. The dark eyes had a sudden bright spark of intelligence. Under the overhead light she saw that they were not brown as she had thought at first, but a sombre grey heavily shaded by black lashes. The spark flashed and was gone. Jennifer stood poised with her weight on one foot, as if ready to fly off at a tangent. She said,
‘You planned to come here. So did the others. They didn’t stay. Perhaps you won’t stay either. Do you think you will?’
Miss Silver was removing her black cloth coat. As she hung it up in the cheap plywood wardrobe she said in her temperate way,
‘That will depend a good deal upon you. I should not care to stay where I was not wanted. But I think your mother needs someone to help her.’
Jennifer stamped her foot. She said with sudden passion,
‘If she doesn’t have someone she’ll die! I told him
so! That’s why he got you! He wouldn’t like her to die! Because of the money! But she will if someone doesn’t help her!’ She came at Miss Silver with a rush, not touching her but coming up close, her dark head on the same level, her eyes full of angry tears. ‘Why do you make me say things?’
‘My dear—’
The child stamped again.
‘I’m not! And you needn’t think you can make me do things I don’t want to! Nobody can!’ There was tragic intensity in the words.
Before Miss Silver could make any reply, one of those quick rushes took Jennifer across the floor and out of the room. She was as light on her feet as a kitten, the darting flight was soundless. The door clapped to with a bang.
Miss Silver said, ‘Dear me!’ After which she removed her hat, changed into indoor shoes, and remembered that she had not ascertained the whereabouts of the bathroom. She was tidying her hair—an entirely superfluous action, since it was always perfectly under control—when the door was flung open again. Jennifer stood beyond the threshold, her head up, her look defiant.
‘The bathroom is next door. I thought I’d make you look for it—and then I thought I wouldn’t. Are you coming down?’
‘I thought that I would put my things away first.’
Jennifer backed. She remained poised for a moment in the patch of light from the doorway. She said with a jerk in her voice,
‘You won’t stay—they never do!’
And was gone.
NINE
SEEN IN THE light of a grey January morning, Deepe House had a very desolate and ruined look. The main block of the house showed plainly the bomb damage which it had sustained. Of the ornamental balustrade which had run the length of the roof only a few fragments survived, and no more than three of the windows in the whole façade still kept their glass, the rest had been roughly boarded up. These three windows, all on the ground floor, imparted a curious furtive look, as if the house were peering up from under the clogging weight of its two blind storeys. The courtyard between the two wings was slippery with moss. When the wind stirred, fallen magnolia leaves and droppings of ivy whispered against the stone flags with which it was paved.
Even in the Craddocks’ wing not all the windows had glass in them.
‘It is too big for us,’ Mrs Craddock explained. ‘We could not furnish or keep so many rooms. But it will be nice when we can get the windows mended.’
On the other side of the courtyard in the opposite wing all the windows were boarded up, the tenant using only those rooms which looked upon what had once been a garden. He was a Mr Robinson, and Miss Silver gathered that he preferred seclusion and was addicted to bird-watching and nature-study. He could not be said to have a very extensive view, but if he desired privacy he had it. Dead grass stood knee-high amongst unpruned fruit trees. Roses gone back to briar contended with the wild raspberry and currant. Evergreens, some half dead, ran riot, with here and there a cypress grown to an immense height. There were dark patches of the churchyard yew. Miss Silver could see only the outer fringe of this wilderness, but the signs of ruin and neglect were unmistakable.
At lunch she made bright conversation about the house.
‘A very interesting old place. It is sad to think how much irreparable damage was done during the war, but perhaps it is better to reflect with gratitude upon what has been spared.’
Mrs Craddock said, ‘Oh, yes.” Mr Craddock, partaking of a lentil cutlet, said nothing at all. The children said nothing.
Miss Silver, who was never at a loss for meal-time conversation, continued her remarks. An enquiry as to whether Mr Craddock had had any difficulty with the plumbing—men generally took so much interest in this subject—elicited, not from him but again from Mrs Craddock, an assurance that it was all that could be desired, and that though the new bathroom and hot water system had been a great expense, they were certainly a comfort.
It was not until he had absorbed four lentil cutlets and an inordinate amount of greenstuff that Mr Craddock emerged from his philosophic abstraction. That he happened to do so at the moment when Miss Silver was remarking upon the ruins of what appeared to be a chapel at some little distance from the house was no doubt a coincidence. She had asked if the damage had been caused by the same bomb which wrecked the house, and was surprised to receive a decided negative.
‘Oh, no. The old church had been a ruin for thirty or forty years before that. And by the way, the place is not safe. There is a danger of flying masonry.’
With striking lack of tact Benjy chose this moment to say,
‘We play hide-and-seek there. It’s a very good place for hide-and-seek.’
Parental displeasure descended.
‘It is not at all a safe place for you to play. If one of those big stones fell—’
‘Would it cut my head off?’
There was a gasp of ‘Benjy!’ from Mrs Craddock, and a calm ‘It might’ from Mr Craddock.
‘Right off?’ enquired Benjy with interest. ‘And my hands? And my feet? Like the stone man inside the church?’
‘Benjy!’
Jennifer, sitting next to him, slid a hand under the table and pinched hard. His outraged roar effectually changed the conversation, since he howled at the top of his voice until he discovered that the pudding was apple dumpling.
It was over the washing-up that Jennifer, washing whilst Miss Silver dried, said defiantly,
‘Benjy is a damfool.’
It was beyond Miss Silver to let this pass.
‘My dear, you should not use such words.’
Jennifer looked at her calmly.
‘I shall use any words I like. If you interfere with my self-expression you will do something to my psyche. You ask him if you won’t!’ She broke into an angry laugh. ‘He talks that way, but when we do anything he doesn’t like, a lot he cares about our psyches!’ Then, still with the utmost aggressiveness of voice and manner, ‘Don’t you hate, and loathe, and abominate, and detest washing-up?’
Miss Silver decided that it would be better to reply only to this last sentence.
‘No, I really do not dislike it at all. With two of us it will be quickly done, and a great help to your mother. Do you not think that she might be persuaded to take a little rest while you and I go out for a walk with the boys?’
Jennifer said, ‘I don’t know!’ in an angry voice, but this time the anger was not for Miss Silver. She washed up at an incredible pace, neither chipped nor broke anything, and darted out of the room whilst Miss Silver finished the drying, to return a moment later with the triumphant announcement that Mrs Craddock had promised to lie down.
Miss Silver, having donned the black cloth coat, the elderly fur tippet, the felt hat with a purple starfish on one side, and the black woollen gloves, her invariable wear in winter except when the occasion demanded her best hat and the kid gloves reserved to go with it, they set out, Benjy and Maurice running ahead, Jennifer hatless in her scarlet jumper, not walking with Miss Silver but making short excursions here, there, and everywhere, yet always coming back after the manner of a puppy or any young thing for whom the pace of its elders is too slow.
They were out of sight of the house and had come to the edge of a wide sloping common, when Benjy came running back.
‘Are we going there now?’ he said, the words tumbling one over the other. ‘I want to show her the man what had his head broke off, an’ I want a piece of stone for my ruin I’m making in my garden, an’ I want a snail for my other snail to run races with, an’ I want—’
Jennifer came up with him and caught his hand.
‘You want a lot, don’t you?’
‘I want a snail, an’ a white spider, an’ a little green spider, an’ put them in a cage and see if they eat each other. An’ I want a big fir cone—’
Jennifer said, ‘All right, Toad—come along!’ She waved with her free hand to Miss Silver. ‘We shall be about an hour. We don’t want you, and you don’t want us. You can meet us where the ruined chapel is and
make sure we don’t get hit by flying masonry like he says.’
She gave Benjy a tug, and they raced away together, gathering up Maurice as they went.
It being no part of Miss Silver’s plan for the afternoon to pursue three wild children over country quite strange to her and perfectly well known to them, she merely remarked ‘Dear me!’ and having watched them out of sight, retraced her steps until the ruins came in sight, and made her way towards them.
The church must have been a very tiny one. The chancel arch still stood, with parts of two others. Fallen stone lay confusedly amongst a prickly growth of bramble, whilst all around were the half-obliterated mounds and sunken head-stones of a disused graveyard, the whole enclosed by a low wall. As this was in the same condition of disrepair as the church itself, it could no longer serve to keep anyone out.
Miss Silver walked through a gap and made her way cautiously amongst faded grass and fallen stones. The place was desolate in the extreme. With Deepe House behind her, there was not a human habitation in sight. All who had used this place for worship, for the christening of their children, for the marriage of their young people, for the burial of their dead, were gone. David’s words came into her mind—‘For the wind passeth over it and it is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more.’
In what had been the nave she came upon Benjy’s man without a head, a tomb with the recumbent figure of a knight in armour. The head was gone, and so were the feet. The hands, much weathered, were crossed upon a sword, and the legs crossed at the knees, showing that he had been upon two crusades—the only information which the tomb could now afford, since the inscription which had once set forth his name and virtues could no longer be deciphered. A little nearer to what had been the entrance a stone slab lay slightly raised above the ground. She made out that it would have been just within and to the right of the west door, and that there was an inscription now so much defaced that it could no longer be read.
Death at the Deep End Page 6
