Up, Back, and Away

by K. Velk

  “Plague was reported in the vicinity shortly thereafter and, and panic was general. Sure enough, on the first new moon after that report, each recipient was observed creeping out of his or her abode and making for these woods.” She paused ominously and gestured at the dark trees behind her.

  “Of course it was the night of the new moon, so there was no moonlight at all. It was as dark as midnight in a coal mine. Once under cover of the woods, the orphan boy therefore lit a torch and the three gift recipients headed together for the oaks. The torchlight, however, made it very easy for them to be followed. Before long, a howling mob was at their heels. The people thought that the objects were charms, you see, that would prevent plague or cure it and so they sought to take them away by force. The boy with the torch, however, was fleet of foot. He ran ahead of the women and all the rest. He reached the oaks and ran through at full speed – at which point his torch winked out and the boy disappeared altogether from sight.” She paused again and looked at the crowd darkly.

  “This, as you might imagine, gave pause to the onlookers. Some dropped to their knees, convinced they had witnessed black magic. Others turned and ran home. A few of the cooler heads, however, stayed to consider. The commonest conjecture was that the boy had run straight into the mouth of Hell. One or two of the others, however, thought perhaps he had run on to deliverance from evil. Was not the plague closing in on them?

  “The widow who had received the willow wand said then that she felt that the Lady who had given her instruction was not a demon, but a saint or an angel – something good at any rate – though she was not as clear in identifying herself as the widow would have wished. Still, she told the crowd that the Lady’s first words to her had been “fear not” and wasn’t that always the opening when angels spoke to men? The widow said that she dared not, therefore, shrink from the instruction. She was a good woman, well regarded by her neighbors. In any case, while the debate raged, the widow took her willow wand and, she too ran straight between the oaks. Like the boy, she was seen never seen again.

  “Well, all this was too much for the widow who had consulted the priest, the one who had been given the blue feather. She collapsed and some young sprig, seeing his chance, grabbed the feather and ran for the trees. He passed through natural as anything. He tried again two or three more times before someone got the feather off him and tried himself. No one else disappeared, however, and whatever magic might have been in the night or the trees or the feather seemed to go out of them. The crowd trooped back to their homes. The feather was given to the priest, who castigated the whole village, blaming them for the scourge that then descended with dread force. The feather was burnt on the altar and the young widow would have been burned too if she had not been dead of plague within a week.” Miss Green gave them a last meaningful look. “And that is the end of my tale.”

  “Well told indeed and extraordinary,” Professor Lightfoot said, leading another round of applause. “Thank you very much Ida. I think now we may proceed to the remains of these infamous oaks! Sadly, one of trees, as you probably know, was struck by lightning back in 1918 and Sir James had it taken down. The other survives, however, and once we arrive at it I will have a bit more to say. Even better, mirabile dictu, Daphne and Mrs. Slade have prepared a basket of refreshments of which we may all partake in the shade of its mysterious branches.”

  33. Tom Tells What He Knows

  The walk into the woods did not seem to Miles on this occasion nearly so long as the trip out of them had been on that first day. It actually wasn’t far at all, less than a quarter mile he supposed. The weather was pleasant and so was his conversation with Tom. Miles had found English people were much less inclined to talk about themselves than Americans were, but today Tom was as chatty as Oprah.

  He told Miles that he was the father of two “half grown girls” (twins, now ten years old) and that after he had got through the war without a scratch, his wife had died of influenza just a year after his return. The little girls had been only a few months old then, and Tom’s sister had moved in to fill the breach. Together they had managed for seven years. Then his sister and her longtime suitor had married, at last, and Tom and his girls had made do on their own for the last two years.

  “They are fine, bright girls and I am as proud of ‘em as I could be,” Tom said, “though I wish they had a bit more prospect for learnin’. I have felt my lack of education all my life and I’d like them to do better.”

  Unlike the other servants at Quarter Sessions, Tom was pleased with Lady Fisher’s plan to turn the estate into a girls’ school, though he was sure it would not happen for years to come – maybe not even in his lifetime. “They’ll not have Sir James out of there while there’s any breath left in ‘im and he’s sound as a bell though past seventy now.”

  Tom’s girls attended the local grammar school and could stay til they were fourteen. After that, he’d see them on for more schooling if he could manage. “All that talk of plague had me thinking of what ails the world today. It’s ignorance now and has ever been.” In that spirit, he read widely and was also taking what educational opportunities he could at the Mechanics’ Institute and any other place open to the likes of him. “Even as a great old lunk of thirty-three.”

  Miles asked Tom if he had ever heard the story that Miss Green had just told, and he said he had not, although he had heard others of a similar nature.

  “Folks hereabout love to talk of strange goings-on in these woods. My master, the mason who trained me, he told me lights were seen in here where lights oughtn’t to be, strange sounds heard, and such like.”

  “Did the Fishers know about all this when they bought the place?”

  “I never heard tell,” Tom said, considering. “Me and my family came down here from the north, from Reddlegowt Castle, when the old Earl passed. The Fishers had owned Quarter Sessions for years by then. There were many hereabouts who wondered that anyone with their money would choose someplace so derelict and queer. Some said that no family in the 600-year history of Quarter Sessions had been able to make it a really happy place. Still, Lady Fisher, young bride as she was when she first clapped eyes on the place, saw something in it that others missed. And some of the same ones who wondered about her choice back when she bought it must admit now that she, and her fortune, have made it a beauty spot.”

  They reached the surviving oak and Professor Lightfoot gathered the group around. He told them that, according to some old chronicle (Miles missed the name), there had been an ancient settlement on this very spot.

  “It stood here from Iron Age times until the Viking invasions of the ninth century,” he said. “As most of you know, Quarter Sessions was established in 1275, by grant of Edward the First to royal favorite, Hugh le Vide. By the time le Vide began work on the fortified mansion that would evolve into the Quarter Sessions we know today, the settlement here had been gone for more than 300 years. Still, wouldn’t it be interesting to have a look round for any traces that might remain? Mr. Muybridge,” he indicated one of the young men in white clothes, “is a geologist and he has brought along a few shovels for those of you who might care to do a bit of digging before we have our refreshments.”

  “Miles,” Doctor Slade called as he took a shovel from Muybridge, “come and give me a hand. I see a rock over there that I would like to investigate with your assistance.”

  34. A Mountain of Misgivings

  “This is just where you had your accident, isn’t it?” The Doctor asked as he regarded the dark branch that had done the damage.

  Miles felt a little sick, just coming near it again. “Yes. That’s it. Thank God Jack and Molly came along when they did.”

  “Hmm. Yes. How are they, by the way?”

  “Jack and Molly? Fine.”

  “And Susannah and Mrs. Peppermore?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “I suppose I know what you’re trying to tell me.”

  Miles was torn. He knew he owed Doctor S
lade a debt of gratitude, and he genuinely liked the man – but Miles felt he was an honorary Peppermore now, and the sound of Susannah’s sobs still rang in his ears.

  “How could you?” was all he could find to say.

  Daphne and Mrs. Slade had wandered nearby with Ida Green. They were obviously intending to spread their picnic blanket next to the great stump.

  “Dear, have you got a handkerchief for Miss Green?” Mrs. Slade called to her son. “I think she might be quite comfortable using the tree stump as a kind of bench.”

  “Certainly.” Dr. Slade produced a neatly ironed handkerchief. Miles also pulled one from his pocket, equally presentable, thanks to Mrs. Peppermore. He always carried a handkerchief now. Ever since he had started working, he had found it very handy. Odd about that, how often a bit of cloth is needed. Mrs. Slade took them both with a friendly nod.

  “Miles, let’s have a look over there. I see a hump which might indicate the remains of something interesting.”

  Dr. Slade waited until they were out of earshot of the ladies before he spoke again.

  “To be clear, I am not under any obligation to justify myself to you, or to anybody, for that matter. But I have seen the way you’ve been looking at me, and I know what you are thinking. I will say just this. I shall always care for Susannah and all her family. I will do whatever I can to help, as a professional and their physician but …” He stopped. “But I pulled up before any promises were made. I pulled up. She should not reproach me. None of them should.”

  “Why not?” Miles asked hotly. “You obviously had feelings for her, and you know she felt the same. Nothing might have been said, at least not out loud, but the feeling was there and that’s as important as the words – more important.”

  Doctor Slade reddened. Miles was amazed by his own boldness. He knew he was out of order speaking as he was, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t back down. The Doctor, sensing this challenge, became stern.

  “I am not going to argue with you, Miles. I don’t think you fully appreciate my position, and the considerations I am forced – forced – to make. I am country doctor. I shall never be rich. It is not easy to be the wife of a country doctor, even under the best circumstances. It is a trying job all on its own. Adding blindness, and eventually children – children who would stand an even chance of going blind themselves – is just too shattering a prospect. Maybe you’ll understand when you’re older.”

  “Jack thinks you’ve been called off by your mother because Susannah’s father was a saddler.”

  Dr. Slade guffawed. “Well, that is perfectly ridiculous. My mother is not a snob, no matter what Jack Peppermore may say. And even if she did disapprove, I would not let that hinder me if I were persuaded that my choice was correct.”

  Dr. Slade spoke with real conviction and Miles was confused. People had a confounding way of not being black and white. The Doctor was not an evil person, Miles knew that. He was a man, with aspects that were good and others less good. Wasn’t everyone like that, really? Still, Miles had chosen sides now, and under the circumstances the Doctor had earned reproach, disappearing from Susannah’s life as he had, without a word of explanation or even an attempt at one. “I suppose Daphne Lightfoot had nothing to do with your change toward Susannah?”

  The Doctor jerked like a shot animal and looked to see if Daphne had overheard. She seemed focused on another of Miss Green’s tales.

  “Listen carefully,” he whispered angrily. “I am only going to say this once. I was very badly injured in the war – burned as you may have noticed. I won’t describe for you the details of my wound or the treatments that followed. My face was spared, I was luckier than many men there, but the entire right side of my body is a hash and a horror. So, to answer your question, I don’t intend to marry Daphne Lightfoot – at least not any time soon. I may never marry. I don’t know. Her interest in me, however, did give me some confidence that my hideousness might not terrify a sighted woman. It made me realize that my feelings for Susannah were, in some measure at least, the result of my insecurities. A woman who could not see me could not be completely repulsed by me. But, one must recognize, there is a generation of young women at loose ends now, so many men were killed or wrecked in the war. I suppose I have a sense that the field is more open than I had realized, and that I ought to get out into it a bit more before I make any unalterable decisions.”

  “So you’ve decided that you might be able to do better, is that it?”

  “Well, that’s crude, but I suppose there’s a bit of that.”

  Miles looked at Dr. Slade evenly. He might only be fifteen, but he had a well-developed feeling for justice and much native good sense. “You’re wrong,” he said flatly. “I’ve never met a more beautiful, or a smarter, or a better girl than Susannah Peppermore. She’s as good as it gets. But if that’s really how you feel, then she’s well rid of you.” He turned and got his bicycle from where it was leaning against a tree.

  “Thank you Professor Lightfoot,” Miles called as he passed the knot of people gathered around the Professor. “That was really interesting but I have to go now. I am hoping to catch my friends at the Fête.”

  “So glad you could come, Miles.” The Professor replied. “You won’t stay for some refreshments?”

  “No, thank you. I’d hate to miss my friends.”

  Tom Pauling also took his leave. “My girls are there too and I’ve a mind to join them. There’s a short route back if we go this way, Miles,” he said, gesturing at the cart track.

  “If I still owe you anything Doctor, send me a bill,” Miles called over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to cheat you.”

  Part III

  35. Which Way?

  At the Fête, the Tipton brass band was playing, the sun was shining, and Union Jack bunting fluttered everywhere. There were good things to eat and games to play. The dark woods, the mysterious oaks, and heartbreak were banished by the bright spectacle. Jack and Miles paid a penny each to throw wet sponges at the face of the Rev. Evans (who smiled at them through a wooden board). Miles hit him once and then apologized over and over. Then he gave three pennies for Susannah to have three tries at finding a small prize in a tub of dry bran. She came up, once, with a prettily-wrapped bottle of eau de cologne which actually didn’t smell too bad.

  The happy feeling lingered all day and for the bus ride back to the cottage. It clung for an hour or two after their return, but then the air seemed to go out of the bright balloon of the day. Miles almost wished he had punched Dr. Slade when he’d had the chance. It would not have helped Susannah but it would have made him feel better. His boldness had its limits, though. Miles had never been in a fistfight. He felt cowardly for this and also because he didn’t have the nerve to give Susannah a hug –which she seemed so much to need. English people were not, he had observed, great huggers. He feared that a friendly arm around her shoulder would be received like a snakebite. Still, he made up his mind to do something for Susannah. What, exactly, he did not know – but something.

  The next day, as he and Jack walked back to Sessions along the tranquil lanes of Westfield and Tipton, Miles wondered for the thousandth time if England in 1928 was the place he was truly meant to stay. Was there really some girl here waiting for him to whisk her back to his own time? Was there really some secret to uncover? This worry never quite left him and it was a distracting and depleting companion.

  His confusion had been growing ever since his confidential sit-down with Lady Fisher. He felt as at home with her as he did with her house. He had not met many people in his short life with whom he shared this instant sense of a mutual liking. He knew Lady Fisher was missing her own sons – he found himself entertaining the thought that he would like to fill that gap for her. She was obviously hoping that he would stay, and, as Miles sifted his heart, he had to admit part of him wanted to. It left him filled with guilt.

  He knew that his own mother, different from him as she was, loved him deeply. What was he thinking? He had w
anted to punch Dr. Slade for throwing over a not-quite girlfriend, and here he was thinking of replacing his own mother? When this round of thoughts recurred to him, as it did, again and again, it always ended the same way: “find the girl, find the secret and get home.” It was driving him crazy.

  That night, even after he had taken a consoling long soak in the big tub, he found that he could not sleep. He added to his torment by wondering if he should allow himself a little listen to the iPod. His last session had nearly pushed the battery indicator into the red. It was dying on him and he felt that when it went, the last slender thread tying him to his own world – his real world, as he kept reminding himself – would be snapped.

  It had been a hot day and his third-story bedroom, just beneath the dark roof, collected heat like an oven. On this night, even lying on top of the sheets, he could not get comfortable. After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, Miles gave in. He pulled the iPod out of its hiding place in his jacket lining. He felt like a pathetic music addict as he wedged in the earbuds in and pressed play. One song, he thought. He would allow himself just one.

  Which one?

  He put the iPod on shuffle and let it choose for him. Out came the familiar piano introduction followed by the clear, well-known voice of Paul McCartney singing, “Let it Be.”

  Perfect.

  Miles dropped back onto his pillow and let the song play to its end. Then he switched the player off, without a glance at the battery indicator, and took the advice the song offered.

  36. A Turning

  Attendance at Chapel was a daily requirement for indoor staff. The congregation was small, just the half dozen indoor servants, Lady Fisher, and much more occasionally, Sir James. The architect, his assistant, and Miss Everett generally appeared while they were in residence. The services were open to local people and such outdoor staff who had an interest in attending, so there was a little variation day by day, though it was never a big crowd.