2006 - Wildcat Moon

by Babs Horton

  He remembered Benjamin once saying, “Look up there, Archie, don’t see the moon like that often. Look close and you’ll see the imprint of a cat’s paw. That’s a Wildcat Moon tonight.”

  And while Archie had strained his one good eye to look for the paw in the moon the wildcats in the yard of the Pilchard had started to wail.

  “Listen to them, Archie, it’s like an invisible conductor in an orchestra has waved his baton. A Wildcat Moon always means change, Archie, whether we want it or not.”

  Archie hurried along Bloater Row and let himself into Bag End just as the wildcats began to wail.

  Clementine Fernaud hurried away down the drive of Killivray House, head bent against the icy wind, snowflakes settling on the brim of her felt hat and twinkling in the gloaming.

  It was a long walk to the village but she had to get to a telephone box and put through an urgent call. She couldn’t have risked telephoning from the house; Nanny Bea wasn’t a problem, but Romilly had ears like a bat and always seemed to be watching her, scrutinizing her suspiciously as if wanting to find fault.

  She couldn’t afford to let the child know who she was and give the game away, too much depended on keeping her identity a secret.

  When she reached the village she looked around at the twenty or so houses that made up the main street of Rhoskilly. The curtains were all drawn against the cold night and the smell of wood smoke was strong in the air.

  She found the telephone box and was dismayed to find it occupied by a large man with his back towards her. She stepped into the shadows and waited.

  She heard scraps of the conversation from inside the box: “I tell you there could be money in it for you. I’ve been in there and there’s a fair few antiques. I’ve helped myself to a few already. All we need is transport…wait for the right moment…”

  “Of course it’s safe. I’ve had about as much as I can take here. I’ve been enquiring about a school, an institution for the cripple…and then I’m out of here. Of course Marthall come, she’ll have no bloody choice…”

  “You think on it I can’t take much more of this godforsaken hole. Easy pickings, man. I’ll ring you after Christmas.”

  With mat the man slammed down the receiver.

  Clementine moved further into the shadows and watched as a fat, unshaven man came out of the telephone box. He cleared his throat, spat into the snow, took a cigarette from behind his ear and struck a match.

  For a second the man’s face was illuminated.

  He had pockmarked skin and a large, bulbous nose. One of his front teeth was missing. He was an ugly-looking brute if ever she’d seen one.

  Clementine drew in her breath as he passed close by her, the smell of tobacco and stale sweat strong in the clean night air. She waited until he reached the end of the road and then she saw another figure emerge from a house further down the road. He kept to the shadows as if he was following the first man and didn’t want to be seen. She slipped silently into the telephone box, took out a scrap of paper from her coat pocket and made a call.

  It seemed like an age before the call was answered. When she at last heard the woman’s voice she spoke rapidly for several minutes, then bade her farewell.

  When she had replaced the receiver she leant her head against the side of the box and breathed a sigh of relief. She was safe for now. Thank God! All she had to do was keep her composure when Jonathan Greswode arrived for Christmas and all should go well.

  If she were discovered, though, God knows what would happen!

  The sky was darkening and the snow falling faster. She hurried along, careful not to lose her footing on the slippery ground, pausing after a while to relieve the stitch in her side. She looked around her and realized with annoyance that she’d taken the wrong road.

  In the distance to her right she could see the chimneys of Killivray looming up against the night sky. She must have gone straight ahead at the crossroads instead of going right. She was on her way down towards the place called the Skallies.

  She walked on for a while, turned a bend in the road and stopped.

  The tumbledown houses built on the platform of rock looked almost picturesque beneath the covering of snow. She made her way down the narrow cobbled street along which the houses were huddled together.

  There was no one about and she glanced inquisitively in through the lighted windows. Through one she saw a couple of old dears taking tea together, through another what seemed like a horde of children scrabbling around a table.

  When she reached the Pilchard Inn she paused for a moment to catch her breath. She peeped in through the small round window. It looked so cosy inside. There was a roaring fire in the hearth and candles burned in niches set into the walls. Behind the bar a handsome woman was reading a newspaper.

  Just as Clementine was about to move on the woman looked up suddenly, saw her and smiled. Before she had a chance to hurry away the door opened and the woman looked out.

  “Are you looking for someone?”

  “No, no, I was on my way home but I took a wrong turning.”

  Clementine made to hurry away but the woman caught at her sleeve and said, “Well, come in and have a drink, warm the cockles of your heart before you go.”

  “No, no, I really must be on my way.”

  “Maybe you’re thinking that around these parts it doesn’t do for a woman to be seen in a public house? Well, have no worries on that score, believe me, the Skallies doesn’t have the same rules as the rest of the world. And besides it’s just me and my daughter who’s in bed upstairs. Come in, you must be frozen to the bone.”

  Overcome by the cold and full of curiosity Clementine stepped hurriedly inside the Pilchard Inn. The warmth was wonderful after the rawness of the night and she walked gladly towards the roaring fire.

  “Thank you, I’ll stay for just a while. You are really most kind.”

  Nan Abelson poured a glass of brandy and took it across to the woman with a smile.

  Clementine sipped from the glass, sighed and thought how much she would like to make herself comfortable by this glorious fire and spend a whole evening away from the gloomy chill of Killivray House. Just this one drink, though, and then she must hurry back. It was far too risky to mix with outsiders, she couldn’t afford to be discovered and already this landlady was looking at her too inquisitively for her liking.

  “I haven’t seen you round before,” Nan said nonchalantly. She knew everyone in the surrounding area and few strangers ever drifted into the Skallies by accident.

  “I am, er, the new governess from Killivray House.”

  Nan Abelson pricked up her ears. This woman had a faint French accent, from near Paris if she wasn’t mistaken.

  For a moment Nan hesitated. What if this woman had been sent here, what if someone had tracked Nan down even after all this time?

  She chided herself for her suspicions. She’d been far too on edge since Benjamin had died.

  “Quite a lonely old place to work, I should imagine?”

  “Oh, really, ifs not so bad.”

  “You teach the little girl?”

  Clementine nodded and sipped her brandy.

  “It’s a little lonely to be sure but it has its compensations.”

  “And they are?”

  Clementine stiffened, on her guard. “I enjoy working with children, the sea air is very beneficial too for the health.”

  Curiosity had brought her over the threshold but now she felt that she was being quizzed she was wishing herself gone.

  “Where did you work before you came to Killivray?”

  “I, er, I was engaged by a London family with three children.”

  “Whereabouts in London?” Nan said busying herself with washing glasses whilst taking surreptitious glances at the woman. She noticed that her eyes belied the rest of her appearance; she had a plain face and yet inquisitive eyes, with a trace of cunning.

  Clementine felt the panic rising and willed herself to keep calm.

&nbs
p; “Great Cumberland Place,” she said, remembering an advertisement she’d once seen for a small hotel there.

  Nan’s breathing quickened and she struggled to stay composed. Great Cumberland Place! Such memories that name brought back to her. She had spent her first months in London staying hidden in a grand old house there until the fuss had died down.

  “How lovely,” Nan said at last. “I don’t know much about London but this street I’ve been to once or twice.”

  Clementine nodded but did not reply.

  Nan went on, “Such a wonderful view of the Tower of London from there.”

  “Yes, a wonderful view,” said Clementine.

  “Well, any time you want a little relief from the peace of Killivray you’re welcome to come here. I am discreet by nature; maybe we could take a little drink together one evening? On Thursdays I don’t open to the public.”

  “I should like that very much but my employer is a very private man and I don’t know that he would like me to frequent a public house.”

  Nan smiled encouragingly, “I could let you in the back way and we could drink a glass or two of wine, maybe get to know each other a little?”

  The woman turned then and looked across at Nan. Nan thought that there was something a little familiar about her. She was quite sure that they hadn’t met before and yet there was something that tugged at Nan’s memory.

  Clementine finished her brandy and took her leave.

  Nan waved to her from the door and watched her walk through the gap in the rock and down towards the beach. As she dosed the door she smiled to herself. A great view of the Tower from Great Cumberland Place! Ha! Not a chance. One thing she knew about the new governess from Killivray was that she had not lived in Great Cumberland Place! But why on earth should she choose to lie? If she had been sent to spy then Nan would call her bluff. If she dared to cause trouble then she would have no compunction in silencing her. Nan dosed the door and went thoughtfully back behind the bar.

  The Christmas Bazaar at Nanskelly School had been Eloise Fanthorpe’s brainwave to keep the girls busy in the feverish run-up towards Christmas.

  The majority of the girls had returned to their homes for the Christmas holidays and those remaining were those with no homes to go to.

  The assembly hall was a hive of activity. The girls were busy setting out stalls in preparation for the following day. Eloise Fanthorpe was perched precariously on top of a stepladder trying to put a battered angel on the top of the Christmas tree. Hermione Thomas was trying unsuccessfully to untangle last year’s paper chains and worrying whether anyone would make it to Nanskelly the following day.

  Miss Fanthorpe had driven out in the ancient Ford and put up posters in the shops in St Werburgh’S and Rhoskilly but if the snow kept coming down at this rate it would be impossible for anyone to get out to Nanskelly.

  Two dark-skinned girls who looked like sisters were arranging chipped vases, bookends, paper knives and toast racks on the White Elephant stall, all unearthed by Miss Fanthorpe from the cellar. At another table a blonde girl was stacking books and crumpled comics, and at another a ginger-haired girl with a face full of freckles was laying out handmade calendars and hastily knitted dishcloths.

  Tomorrow the jams and preserves would be lined up on the tables along with butterfly cakes and’Victoria sponges. Sweets and trinkets had been carefully wrapped in tissue paper and stuffed down into the Bran Tub.

  There was a garish booth covered in crepe paper and a poster announced that Madame Zsa Zsa would be telling fortunes at tuppence a go.

  The money they hoped to make from the bazaar would enable Miss Fanthorpe to go into St Werburgh’s and buy small presents for the girls’ Christmas stockings.

  Money was very tight at Nanskelly and if things didn’t improve soon, then the school would have to close. If that were to happen the girls with free places would be left to the mercy of the state and would no doubt end up in orphanages or going into service.

  There were fewer paying pupils coming to Nanskelly each year and without the fee payers they would be unable to take in the scholarship girls who came from far and wide.

  Miss Fanthorpe hoped that their efforts would not be in vain and that a fair-sized crowd would brave the long walk up Linketty Lane and then down the rutted drive to the school. She knew that most of those making the journey would probably be more interested in getting a glimpse of the two eccentric spinsters who ran Nanskelly School than in buying any of the assorted bric-a-brac for sale.

  With a deft manoeuvre Miss Fanthorpe managed to hook the angel on top of the tree. She climbed down the ladder slowly, sighing. Next term she would have to consider selling some of her father’s paintings in order to make ends meet.

  Romilly had spent a good hour after breakfast hanging about on the landing trying to slip unseen up the stairs to the attic. She was desperate to rummage through Thomas Greswode’s trunk and examine everything in there again to see what she could find out.

  Every time she got anywhere near the attic stairs either Nanny Bea or Madame Fernaud appeared as if by magic, putting an end to her adventures. She was quite sure that Madame was spying on her. She always seemed to be popping up at unexpected moments. Sometimes she stared at Romilly with a very curious expression on her face as though she was about to say something but thought better of it at the last moment. Once Romilly had seen her going through Papa’s desk in the library and another time staring fixedly at his gun cabinet.

  She’d had to abandon her plan to get up to the attic in the end because Madame had called her for the start of morning lessons at half past nine.

  For the past hour and a half she had been writing a composition called, ‘The Place I Would Most Like to Visit’.

  She’d wanted to write that she’d most like to go to visit her mama or else the Skallies where her secret friend lived in a house called Bag End, but she couldn’t of course. Instead she’d written about leaving Killivray in the dark of night and going on a train to Italy to a place called Santa Caterina where there were enormous ice creams and the sun shone every day and Romilly was allowed to swim in the sea and stay up late.

  At her desk Madame was reading her composition while Romilly copied out her spellings for the weekly test that Madame was going to have on Fridays.

  Romilly dosed her spelling book quietly and looked up at Madame Fernaud. She had put down Romilly’s exercise book and was sitting slumped at her desk staring out through the windows as if in a trance.

  Romilly wriggled impatiently. In a few moments they would break for a glass of milk and biscuits. If Madame went down to the kitchen to have coffee with Nanny Bea then perhaps Romilly would be able to creep up to the attic.

  The hallway clock began to strike the hour. It was echoed by a terrified scream from downstairs that made Madame sit bolt upright as if she had been shot between the shoulder blades. For a moment she froze and the colour seemed to drain from her face. There was such a look of shock and fear on her face that it made Romilly afraid.

  Then Madame rose quickly from her desk and hurried from the room with Romilly close behind her. Madame raced through the nursery and down the stairs while Romilly lingered on the landing, peering anxiously over the banisters.

  Down in the hallway Nanny Bea lay collapsed face downwards on the floor. Her woollen skirts had risen above her knees and the elastic garters that held up her baggy stockings were on show along with the faded pink of her winter drawers. Romilly put her hand across her mouth to stifle a rising giggle.

  Madame Fernaud reached Nanny Bea, turned her gently over on to her back and pulled her clothes down to cover her embarrassment.

  Nanny Bea blinked frantically and then opened her eyes wide. Madame helped her to a sitting position.

  “What happened?”

  Nanny Bea opened her mouth to speak and her false teeth slipped from her mouth and clacked together noisily.

  Romilly giggled.

  Madame looked up at Romilly and gave her a ste
rn look.

  Nanny Bea adjusted her teeth behind her hand and muttered, “There was a man staring in through the kitchen windows as brazen as you like.”

  “Who was he?” Madame asked, her voice rising with fear.

  “The Killivray black man!”

  Romilly drew in her breath with excitement galloped down the stairs and stood behind Madame, peering down inquisitively at Nanny Bea.

  “Can you stand, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I feel so very weak. It gave me a real turn, just staling in at me with such a funny expression on his face like that.”

  For a moment Madame looked troubled but then pulled herself up sharply and said, “It was probably just a hawker or a tinker looking for a free meal. Romilly, run quickly and fetch a little brandy for Nanny Bea.”

  Romilly hesitated. She didn’t want to go; she was far too interested in listening to what Nanny Bea was saying. She’d heard Mama tell Miss Naylor the story about the black man. He blew out his brains with a shotgun and was supposed to roam around the grounds after midnight looking for his lost love. Nanny Bea had told her it was all just fiddlesticks and poppycock.

  “Romilly, hurry!”

  Romilly obeyed reluctantly. She went into the drawing room and poured a large amount of brandy into a tumbler and carried it carefully back to the hallway.

  Madame had helped Nanny Bea on to the high-backed settle and sat alongside her stroking her hand.

  “Thank you, Romilly,” Madame said, taking the glass from the child’s hands and holding it up to the old woman’s lips.

  Nanny Bea drank thirstily and then handed the empty glass back to Romilly.

  “A little rest for Nanny Bea would be good,” said Madame with a hint of a smile. “I think perhaps you are a little overcome with all the hard work you’ve been doing, maybe a sleep will make you feel better.”

  “So kind of you, but I have lunch to prepare and a thousand other jobs to be getting on with.”

  “Nonsense, I will prepare you a little something to eat, a warm drink also and then I insist that you try to sleep. Don’t you agree, Romilly?”