by Babs Horton
She was worried about Archie Grimble; he’d looked so sad since the events up at Killivray, but it shouldn’t have affected him too much because he’d never had any contact with the folk up there. And sure as eggs he wasn’t missing that father of his. It was months now since Walter had taken off.
The postman had told her that there’d been no mail delivered at Bag End in weeks so he hadn’t even bothered to contact Martha. Nan would bet her eye teeth that mat was the last Martha would see of him unless he ran short of money.
Trade was brisk, in the Pilchard since the trippers had started arriving at weekends and even though they were a brash nosy lot on the whole, they brought with them such a freshness she felt for the first time in ages that at last she was in touch with the rest of the world.
Killivray House looked forlorn. Archie walked across the lawns, which were covered in daisies and buttercups now. Standing despondently beneath the window where he had seen Romilly for the very last time, he sighed sadly and thought that he seemed to spend a lot of his life looking at windows and trying to conjure up the faces of people who had left.
He turned miserably away from the house and wandered over towards the summerhouse.
Inside it was silent and gloomy and a breeze stirred up the dust and made him sneeze. He imagined Charles Greswode in there sulking while outside Gwennie took a photograph of Thomas in his sailor suit.
He shivered, he didn’t like the thought of being in the same room as Charles Greswode.
He wandered around disconsolately and peered into an old tea chest that was covered in cobwebs. Dislodging a cricket bat from where it lay between a broken ball and a toy cart, he wiped away the cobwebs and held it up. It was covered in mould and the wood was rotten. He wondered if this was the bat that Thomas had used in the match at Nanskelly. He held it awkwardly and played a few imaginary shots. Then he put it back into the chest. He perched on the edge of the sofa and imagined Thomas reading there quietly and the fright he must have got seeing his cousin come in with the gun. How terrified he must have been, looking into those mad eyes and that frothing mouth.
What had made Charles fetch the gun in the first place? Then he had a thought.
The key to the gun cabinet had been put in Thomas’ trunk so that the blame would be put on him when it was found.
Could it be possible that Charles Greswode had really meant to murder his cousin and not just frighten him?
It was possible. If Thomas hadn’t wrestled with him and the gun hadn’t gone off and brought people running it might have turned out differently. He could have shot Thomas and then made up the story about it being Thomas who had pointed the gun at him. His father would have believed him and probably nothing would have happened to Charles if they thought he was trying to protect himself.
Archie walked around the summerhouse squinting up at the roof.
There, in the far corner above the shelf with the broken crockery, was a small hole in the wood where the bullet had gone through.
It made him feel wobbly legged to see it.
Charles Greswode had won, though. He’d made sure that people thought Thomas was dangerous. And a few days later Thomas was dead and out of the way for ever.
The door to the stove where he had left his letter for Romilly was shut and wedged tight with a stick. It was curious because it hadn’t been like that when he’d been here last. He took out the stick, opened the door and peeped inside.
His heart beat wildly, for inside the stove there was a rolled-up piece of cloth and a letter. Romilly must have left them here some time before she was abducted! He snatched up the letter first and opened it eagerly.
Dear Archie,
Thank you for the letter. I read it without burning my hair off! I hope you have been able to find out more about Thomas. Have you been able to open the diary yet? I am dying to know what is in there. Tonight I heard Papa say that Thomas did drown so you were right and I was wrong! I think I just imagined seeing the boy in the summerhouse because I was lonely and wanted a friend so badly. And then of course that same day I found one. You. Papa was angry when I said Thomas’ name. He said that his name has never been mentioned in Killivray House because he tried to murder my grandfather! That is what Papa says anyhow but I don’t believe him. I hate it here at Killivray except for my governess who is very kind. Papa has brought a horrid, horrid woman with him—an ugly old fish! He kissed her and I saw and I hate hate hate her. I am going to run away to find my mama. Will you help me if you can? I will write to you soon.
Love from your friend,
Romilly xx
He reread the letter in mounting disbelief. Why had Romilly been planning to run away? She’d never said anything to him about that. She was mad! Kids couldn’t just run away, they got caught real quick by the coppers and brought back and locked up if they kept on doing it! And why did she think the governess was nice? She couldn’t be nice, look what she’d gone and done.
People said that bad folk had a way of getting around kids, being nice to them so you thought they were all right and then, when you least expected it, they pounced and did very nasty things to you! His mammy said sometimes grown-ups gave you sweets or offered to show you puppies and if you were daft enough to go with them that was your lot. They strangled you or put you in a hole in the ground or bricked you up behind walls!
And why was Romilly so sad about her papa kissing a woman? He’d be glad if his mammy kissed another man and married him instead of the porker.
It was strange to think that once a long time ago a boy who lived in Killivray House was planning to run away and years later Romilly was thinking about doing the same. It suddenly occurred to him that Romilly and Thomas Greswode were related. He tried to work out how but it was real complicated.
He knew that his mammy’s dead sister was called Lissia and she was his aunt and if she’d ever had children they would have been his cousins. And Mammy and Lissia had the same mammy and daddy and they were his grandparents even though he had never met them.
Mammy said that he had met Lissia once before she died and he had a vague memory of looking through a gate into a garden full of washing. He could smell soap and starch and saw bubbles being whipped away on a fierce breeze. But he could never picture Aunt Lissia’s face properly—except for two excited blue eyes peeping from behind billowing white sheets and a small white hand waving sadly at him.
So, if Thomas was a cousin to Charles Greswode that meant their fathers were brothers which meant they had the same grandparents. So that meant that Thomas and Romilly were what? It made his head ache trying to work it out. He must have been some kind of great-uncle maybe? Or cousins? That was it, some kind of cousins. Distant cousins.
Romilly hadn’t run away like she said, she hadn’t had the chance to because she’d been stolen away by that governess woman who had murdered her father.
Archie folded the letter and put it into his pocket and then picked up the cloth. He opened it out carefully. It was a lace handkerchief with the initials R M G in one corner. In the middle of the handkerchief lay a silver bird on a silver chain along with a slip of paper.
He lifted it up and the rays of sun that had wormed their way in through the dusty windows made it glint fiercely.
His hands shook and his mouth grew dry. This must be the necklace that Thomas had lost, the treasured gift from his dead mother. He shivered when he saw the writing on the paper.
Dear Archie, I found this stuffed down the back of a skirting board. Isn’t it lovely? It’s for you. Merry Christmas, Archie!
She’d sent him a Christmas present! The silver bird that Thomas was so sad at losing. He couldn’t have lost it though; someone must have stolen it and hidden it. And Archie had a good idea who that someone was! He held the silver chain and the silver bird tightly in his fist for a long time.
Sitting down on the dusty sofa, he began to sob. He cried for Thomas Greswode who had such a sad, short life. For Benjamin Tregantle and Romilly Greswode and Aunt
Lissia who he hadn’t really known. He cried for his mammy who wasn’t happy. For Cissie who wasn’t right in the head and for Mrs Galvini who had lost her unborn baby. He cried for all the people that he loved and those he had loved but would never see again.
Then, when he was washed out with crying, he rose, closed the door to the summerhouse softly and walked away.
He was never coming back here again as long as he lived. Never. It was a sad, scary place that everyone wanted to escape from…
What was it Romilly had said about Killivray House? “It’s horrid and haunted and I hate it!”
He turned around and looked back at the house. He wondered if at night the tigers and bears came back to life and roamed around in the dark? Hugging himself, he turned away and climbed down the steps into the rose garden. The first roses were coming into bloom. He stood looking down at a dutch of small red roses with petals as delicate as silk, the red so bright it made his eyes water.
Then he made his way back through the woods.
Martha Grimble was busy in her kitchen in Bag End. The wireless was on and she hummed to herself as she kneaded dough on a floured table.
She had been very happy to take up Nan’s offer of some work and was busy making bread ready for the following day when the trippers would turn up ravenous at the Pilchard. She was in dire need of money and she’d heard nothing from Walter since he’d gone. He’d taken her watch with him and the few pounds she’d had hidden in the biscuit barrel in the parlour.
She just hoped that he’d gone for good this time and that he wouldn’t stir up trouble for her and Archie. She wouldn’t put it past him to try a little blackmail if he was short of money. Still, she had little left to give him now. He’d robbed her dean these last ten years and she’d used up all her savings, pawned all her valuables. Yet if he did give her away out of spite and set people on her trail, she could end up losing Archie and that would be worse than death itself.
Maybe one day soon she’d need to think of leaving the Skallies. But where in God’s name could she run to?
She kneaded the dough expertly the way cook had taught her when she was a little girl, and as she did she thought about Lissia and how they used to stand on chairs at the kitchen table side by side, wrapped in aprons that were far too big for them, playing with scraps of dough and shaping them into tiny loaves. She felt the tears slip down her cheeks and wiped her eyes on her pinafore.
Poor little Lissia with her sad, sweet smile. She would never have harmed a fly and yet look what a blow life had dealt her…
In the Pilchard Inn, Archie was filling the shelves with bottles. Cissie was helping as best she could but was slowing him down more than speeding things up.
Nan had told him to wipe the top of the bottles with a damp cloth when he took them out of the wooden crates because dogs cocked their legs over the crates and widdled over them. When he’d done that, he had to stack them neatly on the shelves with the labels facing out.
Nan was out in the kitchen making one of her delicious, thick soups and singing cheerfully as she worked.
Archie stacked the last sticky beer bottle, stood up and stretched. He’d have to go out into the yard to fetch another crate. All this lifting and carrying was making him much stronger. He had muscles in his arms; sure they were only the size of peas but they were muscles just the same. He wouldn’t need to send off for the Charles Atlas kit any more.
He slipped through the curtained doorway into the kitchen just as Nan turned on the wireless. There was a crackling noise and then a whistling sound as it warmed up.
He was just about to step out into the yard when the announcer’s voice said, “Today police began the search for Mrs Margot Greswode, widow of the late Jonathan Greswode of Killivray…”
Archie held his breath.
The voice continued, “…who was murdered last December. Mrs Greswode had been under the care of the nuns at St Mary’s Convent. It is believed that while left unattended for a matter of moments she escaped through an upstairs window. Her nightclothes and some personal belongings were found on the cliffs at nearby…”
Archie was transfixed.
“…Police think that Mrs Greswode has tragically taken her own life and there is little hope of finding her alive. In London today a man was arrested for stealing a parrot from a pet shop in Baling…”
Suddenly Nan switched off the wireless and turned around. She was smiling broadly and had a look of such triumph on her face that it shocked Archie rigid.
Seeing Archie, she drew her hand rapidly across her mouth as if wiping away the smile.
“I didn’t hear you come in, Archie. Terrible news,” she said. “Just terrible.”
But she didn’t fool him one little bit. She didn’t lodk upset at all and Archie knew that she didn’t mean what she said.
“That means that the little girl from Killivray is an orphan, doesn’t it?” he said with a tremble in his voice.
“I suppose it does, Archie.”
“That’s very sad,” he said, watching Nan carefully, but she turned quickly around and continued to dice potatoes without speaking again.
By the time he had finished stocking the shelves the tiny bar was filling up with customers.
Charlie and Freddie Payne came in first and busied themselves putting logs on the fire and drawing up a blaze. They were followed by a beaming Mr Kelly. The Paynes looked at him as though he were a ghost. Archie looked slyly at him from behind the bar. Mr Kelly was actually smiling, a proper smile that showed his buckled teeth. He had teeth the colour of marzipan.
Archie had never seen Mr Kelly smile before. He must have won the pools or had a big win on the gee-gees.
Then Nan came bustling out into the bar, removing her apron and greeting her customers.
“Why, Mr Kelly, to what do we owe this pleasure?”
Mr Kelly rested his arms on the counter. “I’d like a jug of your best ale to take out, a bottle of ginger wine for the missus and a jar of pickled eggs.”
“Are you celebrating something, Mr Kelly?” asked Nan.
“No. No. The missus had a fancy for a little drink and I thought I’d join her.”
Nan busied herself with filling an enamel jug with frothy beer and then dusted off a bottle of ginger wine she had fetched from the cellar.
“Will that be on the slate, Mr Kelly, or are you paying cash?”
“On the slate, Nan, if that’s all right with your good self.”
Nan took up a notepad and wrote quickly on it.
“Enjoy your drink, Mr Kelly,” she said watching him go with a surprised look on her face.
Mr Kelly went on his way whistling merrily.
“Well, I’ll be buggered. In all the time he’s lived here that’s the first time he’s ever been in here.”
“Do you think he’s come into money?” Charlie Payne asked.
“He’s won himself a smile, that’s for sure,” Nan quipped. “He usually has a face like a blocked drain.”
“Aren’t you going to tell them the news about Mrs Greswode?” Archie piped up.
Nan looked enquiringly at Archie and flushed. He’d surprised her in the kitchen and she knew that he’d seen the look of delight on her face which she hadn’t had time to cover up. Archie Grimble didn’t miss much. He was a shrewd little monkey for all his quiet ways.
“What’s the news?” Freddie Payne asked.
Nan lowered her voice, “It’s just been on the wireless. They think Mrs Greswode from Killivray has taken her own life.”
“Dear God, the poor woman,” Freddie exclaimed.
“All we’ve heard lately is bad news,” Charlie added.
“Are you off now, Archie?” Nan asked.
“Yes. Same time tomorrow, Nan?”
“That’ll be grand. You can pick up your wages then.”
Archie waved to Cissie who was sitting near the fire drawing, and then he left.
“There’s a hell of a change in that lad,” Charlie Payne remarked
.
“In what way?” Nan enquired.
“He speaks up more now and he’s starting to look livelier, not so fearful of everybody. You know he reminds me of Benjamin a bit.”
“In what way?” asked Nan again.
“Well, everyone always said he were a quiet lad as a nipper but come out of himself as he got older. I mean he weren’t quiet when we knew him, was he?”
“No,” Nan said distractedly.
“Archie seems to have more to say for himself and gets out and about a bit more. There’s a lot of things changing round here at present.”
“Let’s hope it’s all for the better,” Nan said.
The last of the trippers were leaving the Pilchard Inn. They wound their way along Bloater Row and down onto the beach to board the boat that would take them back to Plymouth.
Fleep stood in the window of the Grockles watching them go-He was starting to feel well again and the last few nights he’d slept better than he had in months. His mind was growing calmer and dearer and he was beginning to remember snatches of the life he’d led before he’d come to the Skallies. Nothing that really made any sense at the moment but hopefully some day he’d be able to piece things together.
He remembered being thrown out of the room he’d been renting in Paris, walking out in the snow with no idea of where he was going. He’d met a man in a bar and out of the blue he’d told the man all his woes, unburdened himself to a complete stranger. And then later, later…it was no good he couldn’t remember any more.
It was early when Nan came knocking at Bag End to tell Martha Grimble the news.
She followed Martha into the kitchen and sat herself down next to Archie at the kitchen table.
He eyed her warily; he hadn’t forgotten the look on her face when the news about Mrs Greswode had come on the wireless. Why would she be glad that Mrs Greswode was dead?
But when she leant across and ruffled his hair, he smiled; he couldn’t be cross with Nan for long.
