Edward wants to take me to the windmill. I’M NOT GOING. I wish he’d stop teasing me about it.
Anna looked up and stared quietly out across the water. The windmill… that had been the end of the story… Or had it? If only she could remember! But she would say nothing to Scilla yet. She must try and work it out for herself.
But even as she was thinking, trying to arrange her memories in some sort of pattern, there seemed nothing to work out after all. She had thought she remembered something. While she was reading the book she had remembered something. But now, with her eyes no longer on the pages, and with Scilla beside her looking expectantly up into her face, her mind suddenly cleared. It was all quite simple. She had once invented a story about an imaginary girl called Marnie, and now by some strange coincidence it turned out that a girl with the same name had once lived in The Marsh House, and had written a diary there.
And yet she had this strange feeling that she had actually known her and talked to her… It was like trying to remember a dream. She could only remember it – in flashes – when she was not trying. For the moment her mind had gone blank.
She turned to Scilla, suddenly practical, and said in a matter of fact voice, “I didn’t write it, and that’s certain. And that means that someone called Marnie really did live here. I wonder who she was.” She stood up. “Look, the tide’s come in almost up to our feet! Shall we go in, and show it to your mother?”
Scilla hesitated. “It’s been my secret,” she said – her voice was regretful – “it’s been my secret for so long— Oh, all right. Yes, let’s show her. But don’t say anything about me thinking you were Marnie! They’d only tease me and it would turn into one of those awful family jokes that go on and on. I couldn’t bear that.”
Anna shook her head seriously. “No, we’ll keep that bit secret. Let’s just tell her how you found it.”
Anna did want Mrs Lindsay to see the book. But more than that she wanted an excuse for going in again herself. Mrs Lindsay had said come again any time you like, but it would be easier to go in with Scilla, for some definite reason.
Mrs Lindsay was upstairs tidying the bedrooms. She greeted Anna as if she were an old friend. “Be a darling and fold this,” she said, tossing a striped blanket over to her. “Matt will insist on having it but he never uses it, and I invariably find it rolled up in a ball under the bed.”
Anna folded the blanket, proud to have been asked, and while Mrs Lindsay tidied the other bed, Scilla told her about the finding of Marnie’s diary. “Look, here it is,” she said, producing it from under her jersey. “Do read it, Mummy. Now.”
Mrs Lindsay took it, glanced at it curiously, then sat down on Matthew’s bed, and gave it her full attention.
“This really is rather interesting,” she said slowly. “I believe it’s quite old. I mean, not many children have nurses and governesses these days, do they?”
“Governesses?” said Scilla.
“Yes, here – Miss Q. ‘I think she’s tired of teaching me.’ She will have been a governess, I imagine. Do you know, I can’t help feeling this goes back quite a few years.” She turned over a page. “Yes – look, this about the Belgian children! That refers to the First World War, I’m sure it does. When was that, now – 1914 to 1918?”
She looked up at the children, quite excited. “Do you know, I believe this book’s about fifty years old! How clever of you to have found it!” She looked at Anna as well as Scilla, but Anna murmured that it was not she who had found it. “Oh, well, I expect you helped in some way,” said Mrs Lindsay, apparently determined to include her. “Anyway, it seems to be the property of you two, whichever of you found it. I think it’s fascinating.”
She glanced back at the book. “Poor child, what a lonely life she seems to have led! I wonder who she was. Where did you say you found it? Come and show me now.”
Scilla led the way across the landing, and Anna saw, for the first time, the little room that had once been Marnie’s. It had been freshly papered and painted, and Scilla showed her with pride the built-in wardrobe that had taken the place of the old cupboard. Everything would have been changed since Marnie wrote her diary up there, but the view from the window must still be the same. Anna went over and looked out.
Below her was the staithe, narrowing every minute as the tide came in, then the creek, blue and shining in the morning sun, and beyond that the wide stretch of marsh laid out like a soft grey-green and mauve blanket. In the far distance she could see two small figures running and jumping over the streams, and although they were scarcely more than pin-head size, recognised them at once. “Oh, look, there are Andrew and Matthew!” she said, turning to the others.
Mrs Lindsay joined her at the window. “Yes, they went dabbing, and now I see they’re on the way back,” she said. “But they’ve left it too late, silly fellows. It looks as if they’ll have to swim across the creek!” She paused, with her hands on the sill, gazing across the marsh to the sandhills and the sea beyond. “Isn’t it wonderful how far you can see from here? That little girl must have spent hours up here, looking across the marsh. I shouldn’t think she missed seeing anyone who ever went across it.”
“Well, I don’t either!” said Scilla. “That’s how I first saw Anna. Or almost.”
“And there’s Wuntermenny!” said Anna, pointing to a small, humped-up figure sitting in the stern of what looked like a toy boat away up the creek.
“Who? Where?” asked Scilla, pushing up beside her at the window. “Do you mean that funny old fisherman who goes up and down in the boat?”
“What is his name?” asked Mrs Lindsay. “Did you say Winterman?”
“No, W—” Anna stopped with her mouth open. “Winterman – Wuntermenny – that’s who the little boy was! The one who ate the sherbet bag – oh dear!” For a moment she hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. It was so exactly the sort of thing she would have expected Wuntermenny to do, and yet she had never before thought of his ever being a little boy! Oh, poor little Wuntermenny… She felt her eyes fill with sudden tears of sympathy, but brushed them away quickly before the others noticed.
“Of course!” Mrs Lindsay was saying, “That proves it. The book must have been written about fifty years ago – more, by the looks of that poor old fisherman, but you never can tell with some of these country people… I must ask Gillie when she comes. She’ll probably know the answers to all these questions.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
TALKING ABOUT BOATS
“WHY SHOULD GILLIE know the answers?” asked Anna as she and Scilla went downstairs again.
“Because she used to come here when she was a child,” said Scilla, “Didn’t you know? Not to this house, but she might easily have known the people who lived here. It was she who told us it was for sale. Mummy’d written saying we were looking for somewhere near the sea, and she wrote back saying do go and look at The Marsh House. So they did, last Easter. And that’s how we come to be here! You must meet Gillie when she comes. You’ll like her.”
“How did she know the house was for sale?” asked Anna.
“She still comes to Barnham sometimes. I expect that’s how she heard about it. Isn’t it fun, next time she comes she’ll be coming to stay with us! That’s why Mummy’s so busy getting it ready. She wants her to come before the summer’s over.”
They had reached the side door and stood looking out on the shining water. On the far side of the creek Wuntermenny’s boat was just putting in, and Andrew and Matthew were waiting hopefully at the water’s edge.
“Good,” said Anna, “he’s going to ferry them across,” and wished she had time to warn them that Wuntermenny hated being talked to. She looked at her watch. “I must go,” she said regretfully, “I promised Mrs Pegg I’d do the vegetables.”
“Oh, must you?” Scilla was disappointed. “The boys will be back in a minute. We might go somewhere, do something. Jane’s only gone to the shop. Do come back!”
Anna did go back. She went back la
ter that day, and again the next day, and every day, until Mrs Pegg said at last it was a wonder she didn’t take up her bed and carry that round to The Marsh House too. But she winked at Sam as she said it, and it was clear she was pleased to see Anna so happy. Sam remarked contentedly that she was a good little biddy, and for all she might not be so mealy-mouthed, he’d a sight rather have her than that there Sandra-up-at-the-Corner. For his part he liked a lass with some go in her. And no-one could say Anna lacked that these days.
Some mornings she was up and dressed even before Mrs Pegg, and several times she turned up at The Marsh House even before the Lindsays had finished breakfast. She was surprised one morning to find a strange man sitting with them at table, and even more surprised to learn that this was Mr Lindsay. She had forgotten he would be coming down sometimes at the weekends. The Lindsays were surprised, too, to see Anna looking so suddenly shy.
“Goodness, I’d forgotten you didn’t know Daddy!” said Jane. “Daddy, this is Anna.”
“What!” said Matthew, looking at his father, “Do you mean to say you don’t know Anna? She almost lives with us.”
“Take no notice of him,” said Andrew, “and don’t look so scared, Anna. It’s only Dad.”
Mr Lindsay shook hands with Anna and said, smiling, “I’m not sure if it’s me or Matt you’re supposed to take no notice of, but I don’t a bit mind if it’s me. How do you do? Sit down and have some marmalade. Do you like it slippery or chunky?”
“Slippery, I think – usually,” said Anna, still a little startled.
“Ah, I like it chunky.” Mr Lindsay sat down again and finished spreading himself a slice of bread and marmalade, then cutting a strip off the end he handed it to Anna. “Try that,” he said gravely. “It’s a rather super chunky, my wife made it. If you like it you can have some more; if not, spit it out when I’m not looking and help yourself to some slippery. It’s up the other end. Do you mind awfully if I read the paper?”
“Oh, no.”
Mr Lindsay returned behind the newspaper. Anna was relieved, but she liked him. He had been perfectly serious about the marmalade, and he was perfectly serious about not minding if he was not noticed. In fact he seemed to prefer it. She felt she knew where she stood with him.
“About the boat—” said Matthew.
“Oh yes!” said Scilla. “Tell Anna.”
They all began telling her at once, explaining that they had been talking about getting a boat; they wanted one, they needed one. Marnie had had one, it had been tied to a ring in the wall – the Lindsays had all read the diary by now, and “Marnie” had become a familiar household name. The old ring was rusted away but they could easily fix a new one; all they needed was the boat to tie on to it. The question was what kind of boat.
“Dad thought a sailing boat,” said Andrew, “and I agree. But Mum says a motor boat, and the girls just want some silly little pram they can row around in. What do you think?”
Anna knew nothing about boats – apart from Wuntermenny’s – but she loved being included in a family conference like this, and it was only when Andrew had gone upstairs to fetch a catalogue, and the others had picked up their empty plates and drifted into the kitchen where Mrs Lindsay was already washing up, that she remembered Mr Lindsay was still there.
He looked round his paper suddenly. “Hello! Where have they all gone?”
“To wash up,” said Anna.
“Ah, I thought they must have. The silence was deafening me. Did you spit it out, by the way?”
“Oh, the marmalade!”Anna laughed. “No, I liked it.”
He nodded approvingly. “Have they been talking about getting a boat?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a funny thing,” said Mr Lindsay, his eyes twinkling, “but they’ve got one already if they only knew it! Not that it would be much use to them… Have you discovered it yet?”
“No. Where?”
“Go and look along the hedge, past where the wall juts out on to the staithe. Go past the little shed and look in the hedge just beyond it. It’s not much to look at, but it is rather interesting.” He rose and folded his newspaper. “I must go and see to my books – forty million of them, all waiting to be read and sorted out. Goodbye – and good hunting!”
Anna went out. She went past the place where the wall jutted out, and along to where the hedge began, then, following it along on the inside, came to what must once have been the far end of the kitchen quarters. The little shed was there, set back against the hedge, and beyond that were disused cellars, outhouses, and a small cobbled yard which she had never seen before. On the farther side of the shed she began searching in the hedge, peering into the thick green leaves and pushing aside the twigs with her hands. And then she found it.
It was standing almost upright, cradled and supported by the hedge which had grown up all round it, and now almost entirely enclosed it – a small brown dinghy, old and rotten, its planking falling apart. Anna leaned forward, pushing her way into the hedge, and felt around inside. Her hand came up against something hard. An iron bar of some kind. She grasped it and pulled it towards her through the crackling twigs, forcing a way through them until they snapped. She drew out her hand, scratched and bleeding, and looked down to see what she had salvaged from this secret, hidden wreck.
It was a small anchor, rusted and blackened with age.
“Well, did you find anything?” asked Mr Lindsay, when they met again later in the day. The Lindsays were sitting on the terrace at tea-time, and as usual Anna was with them.
She nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes!” The others looked up curiously.
“And what did you think of it? Wasn’t it interesting?”
“Yes!”
“Do they know yet? Have you told them?”
“Not yet.” Anna was smiling.
“Hey, what’s this?” cried Andrew. “What’s the mystery?”
“Yes, tell us, Dad,” said Matthew. “Tell us!” pleaded Jane and Priscilla.
“Shall we?” Mr Lindsay asked Anna. “Go ahead, then. Or better still, let’s take them and show them.”
They went along to the place where the boat was hidden. Mr Lindsay separated the branches of the hedge and the children took it in turns to peer through.
“To think I missed it!” said Matthew, who was usually the first to find things. Andrew remarked knowledgeably that “she must have been quite a decent little craft at one time,” and Jane was enchanted. Scilla gazed through the leaves with awestruck eyes. “Marnie’s boat!” she murmured.
“Is there anything in it, do you think?” asked Matthew.
“Try and see,” said his father. Matthew felt around and shook his head. Then Andrew tried. Then Mr Lindsay. There was nothing.
“Well, she must be pretty old if she really was Marnie’s boat,” said Andrew. “I don’t know what we could have expected to find. I wonder how long she’s been in that hedge.”
Only Anna said nothing. No-one would know the anchor had been there. And no-one else could possibly want it. She hardly knew why she had wanted it so much herself, but from the moment when she had pulled it from the hedge and stood staring at it, she had known it was the one thing above all else that she wanted to keep for her own.
It was now hidden in a secret place. Anna had carried it there, rather curiously disguised, less than an hour after she had found it. Mrs Pegg would have been surprised if she had known the use to which her dirty-linen bag had been put.
Chapter Thirty
A LETTER FROM MRS PRESTON
IT WAS A week later when the postman handed Anna a letter from Mrs Preston.
The sight of the familiar handwriting gave her a guilty pang. So much seemed to have happened during the past week or two that she had forgotten to send even a postcard home.
First there had been the finding of Marnie’s boat. Then there had been the excitement over the new sailing dinghy which Mr Lindsay had now promised to buy. There had been a trip to Wells-next-the-Sea with the famil
y, where they had all been fitted out with lifejackets, and had later eaten fish and chips, sitting on the edge of the quay with their legs dangling over the water.
It had seemed strange going into shops again. Anna had wandered round a big store with Jane and Scilla, quite amazed at the variety of things to be bought – and without which she had been perfectly happy all those weeks at Little Overton. Coming out of the shop, laughing with the others, she had run into none other than Sandra Stubbs, who had turned and stared at her with her mouth open. Anna, about to avoid her eye, had suddenly changed her mind and said, “Hello, Sandra!” just as if they were old friends, and Sandra, gaping, had replied with an astonished grunt.
Standing now by the Peggs’ yard door, Anna looked down at the letter in her hand and felt her heart sink. She frowned, screwing up her eyes against the bright sunlight, and read:
Miss Hannay has called – rather distressed at not seeing you. She hadn’t known you were away. She tells me I have done wrong, dear, in not telling you something before. (About money, Anna thought. I know it already.) In any case I should like very much to see you again – there are things I want to tell you, dear – and it is easier talking than writing, I thought of coming down on Thursday next. There’s a cheap day trip that would get me to you by about 12.30. Let me know on the enclosed card if it will be all right. All well at Number 25. Raymond was home at the weekend. He sent his love to you. So does Uncle. Looking forward to seeing you, dear.
Your very loving Auntie.
Anna looked again at the extra “very” in the last sentence, then pushed the letter in her pocket and set off for The Marsh House, thinking as she went.
It would be silly for Mrs Preston to come all this way just to tell her something she knew already. Should she write and say she knew? – “Dear Auntie, I know about the money. I’ve known for a long time, so you needn’t worry…” She felt a sudden spurt of anger against Miss Hannay for having made Mrs Preston feel guilty. She tells me I have done wrong, dear – what right had Miss Hannay to tell Auntie she had done wrong? “Tell Miss Hannay to mind her own business…”
When Marnie Was There Page 14
