2006 - Wildcat Moon

by Babs Horton

  “Well, I met someone, a girl who lived in Killivray House, that’s the house Thomas lived in when he was sent back to England after his mammy died.”

  Sister Isabella nodded and riddled with the beads of her rosary. “I know, I write him letters to this place.”

  “Well, this girl, Romilly her name is, she gave me a diary that belonged to Thomas and I read it.”

  “Is funny name, Romilly. She is your friend?”

  Archie nodded and his eyes began to water. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes hurriedly.

  “It make you sad to talk of her?”

  “Yes, because she disappeared. She was stolen away by her governess who was a very bad woman and she might even be dead,” he said through quivering lips.

  “Why you think she is dead?”

  “Because the governess took her as a hostage and she’d already killed Romilly’s father. Once she’d got away she wouldn’t want to keep Romilly, would she, because people might recognize them?”

  “Did you ever see this governess woman, Archie?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “So you don’t know what she looks like?”

  “No, but if I did and I saw her then I would call for the police and get her put in prison,” he said angrily.

  “But you’d know Romilly if you saw her?”

  “Of course I would. She was very pretty and kind and she didn’t make fun of my calliper or my wonky eye.”

  Sister Isabella leant across and patted Archie’s hand.

  “She sounds like very nice girl.”

  “She was and she was a bit like me too.”

  “How was she like you?”

  “She was lonely and she wasn’t used to speaking to other children or playing with them. We were going to be friends, proper friends and now I’ll never see her again.”

  Sister Isabella bit her lip and looked hard at the little English boy. He had the face of an angel and the unspoiled innocence in him was a joy to behold. It renewed your faith in humankind just to look at him.

  She wished she could take his pain away but she couldn’t.

  “Anyhow, that’s enough of that. In his diary Thomas said that someone called Sizzie had written to him. I’ve worked out that that’s you, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “He can’t say Sister Isabella when he little boy, so he just call me Sizzie. He was very lovely little boy. Like you, Archie Grimble, he clever and funny and good to be with. I miss him very much when he leave Santa Caterina and go live in England.”

  “The thing that’s puzzling me is that I saw his father’s grave, down in the cemetery, and it says he died in June 1900.”

  “You right. June 11th 1900.”

  “Blimey, you have a good memory,” he said with admiration.

  “I never forget that day.”

  “Why do you remember it so well?”

  “When you in love with someone and they dies, you never forgets.”

  Archie blushed and looked away hurriedly; nuns weren’t supposed to talk about love and things like that. It was against the rules.

  “I see you shy for me to talk about love this way. Oh, when I young girl I in love for a long time with David Greswode. It is the truth so I must say it. The truth is very important. He so handsome man, very funny and kind. But he choose somebody else and she my best friend so I must be happy for them but inside I very sad.”

  “You were best friends with Rosa Gasparini?”

  “St. We was always together when we girls, both a bit mad, eh? She fall in love, she run away with David, go off together with circus. After she gone I joins the sisters here. Rosa get very famous and I very proud of my friend. Then she have Thomas and when she not with circus she come back here.”

  “And then she died?”

  Sister Isabella looked down and fiddled with the crucifix around her neck. Archie watched her and it looked as if a rain cloud had thrown its shadow across her bony old face. Her eyes misted over and her chin quivered like a baby who has had their bottle taken away.

  “Terrible day the day she die. I don’t like to think about it”

  “Sorry. Don’t let’s talk about it then. One thing that’s puzzling me, though, is that David Greswode died on June 10th 1900.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But you see Thomas didn’t know that his father had died.”

  “So, how do you know this?”

  “Because he didn’t mention it in his diary and he would have done. He loved his father, you could tell that from the way he spoke about him. And he was planning to run away from Killivray and come back here. And I can’t work out why they hadn’t told him that his father was dead. Why do you think they didn’t tell him?”

  “I don’t know answer to these questions. You have very lively mind, Archie, you like to find out things?”

  “I do. How did his father die?”

  “After shock of his wife dying he get, oh, how you say, problem with heart. And he take too many powders and he die.”

  “Do you think he did it deliberately?”

  “No!”

  Archie was shocked by the fury in her voice, a sudden fury that soon dissolved and was replaced by a terrible sadness in her eyes.

  “David Greswode was a man who love life very much. He sad, very ill after Rosa die but he love his son. He tell me that he decide he going to sell this Killivray House and give half of money to his brother. Then he bring Thomas back to Santa Caterina at the end of the summer and live here. He have big plans, he going to give money to us to help with orphans…”

  “Where did he die?”

  “Here in Santa Caterina. His brother find him and call for doctor, they try to save him but it not possible.”

  “His brother!”

  “Si, his younger brother, he was here staying with David.”

  Archie scratched his head and pondered on what she’d just said. This was really curious. If Mr Greswode had been here in Santa Caterina when David Greswode had died then why hadn’t he told Thomas about his father’s death when he got back to Killivray House?

  Archie clenched his fists, sat on his hands. His whole body fizzed with excitement. Unless David Greswode hadn’t died naturally. Maybe Old Greswode had killed him and then if he could get rid of Thomas, Killivray House would be his! He would inherit and after he died everything would go to Charles Greswode. Then Archie remembered that in the diary Bo had asked Thomas how long it was since he’d heard from his father! And later old Greswode told Bo that if he interfered in family affairs he would be out on his ear!

  Maybe Bo had found out that David Greswode was dead. He knew too much and had to be got out of the way!

  Maybe that’s why Charles had taken the gun into the summerhouse—to kill Thomas and pretend it was an accident…Both father and son would be dead and Killivray would be theirs!

  But then Thomas had run away and drowned.

  “Anything else you want to know?” Sister Isabella interrupted his thoughts.

  “Yes, do you know where the Casa delle Stelle is?”

  She hesitated for a moment then said, “You won’t find the Casa delle Stelle because it burn down many years ago.”

  “Oh,” Archie couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice.

  “Why you want to know about the Casa delle Stelle?”

  There was a note of mild irritation in her voice as though she were tired of all his questions.

  “Well, I know it’s where Thomas lived because the address was written on the top of letters that his father had sent I sometimes think that you get a feeling about places; if you wander round them you can pick up clues.”

  “Thomas Greswode been dead a long time. Perhaps there nothing else to find, Archie.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Sometimes is best to leave the past alone and concentrate on today.”

  A group of nuns came walking across the courtyard and nodded at Sister Isabella. Archie lowered his eyes. As they passed he breathed in the
ir smell. Freshly cut flowers, incense, garlic and a faint but definite whiff of tobacco. And something else that he’d smelled on his mammy. Perm lotion!

  They must be a funny bunch of nuns here, talking about falling in love and smoking! And making their hair curly; proper nuns were supposed to be bald!

  “And now I must go to Benediction. God bless you, Archie Grimble.”

  Archie watched as Sister Isabella hobbled away across the courtyard towards the church where the huge bells rolled and clanged and startled birds flew up from the turrets into the blue sky above Santa Caterina.

  Dom Bradly stood at the end of Bloater Row and lit a cigarette. Tomorrow he was off back to the States. He’d come to a dead end in his investigations. Having been round the local libraries and dug up some old press reports, he’d found out that his father had worked at Killivray House as a manservant but that he had taken his own life. He hadn’t been able to find out anything about his mother other than her name.

  He sighed deeply. He’d been chasing a dream and that wasn’t always a wise thing to do. He’d go back to his wife and kids, pick up the threads where he’d left off and abandon this lunacy once and for all. The truth was, and God knows he’d been warned enough, that adopted children didn’t find princes and princesses waiting in the wings; they found rejection and shame and silence.

  He’d uncovered as much as he could and he’d have to make do with that. His father had come over from Africa and worked at Killivray House for a guy called Greswode. Then, for Crissakes, he’d gone and shot himself, blown his bloody brains out! Jesus! And he’d had a child on the way, some poor local woman whom he’d left in the lurch. It must have been bad enough to be pregnant outside of marriage in those days but to be expecting the child of a black man! Christ, the world was a bloody mess! He’d always wondered whether his mother had handed him to the adoption agencies with relief, glad to see the back of her shame. He’d never know now.

  He stubbed out the cigarette angrily and walked away towards Rhoskilly. He’d had enough of this queer little place. Suddenly he heard the sound of a soft footfall behind him. He stopped and swivelled around, he was sure that someone was following him. The lane was dark and empty, there was no one there. He walked on slowly, his footsteps loud in the night. Then he heard the voice, a sweet, faltering childish voice that sent shivers skittering up his backbone.

  “Ol’ Man River, That Ol’ Man River, He must know sumpin’ But don’t say nuthin’. He jus’ keeps rollin’, He keeps on rollin’ along…”

  Dom Bradly stiffened, fear whispered up his spine, the hairs on his head tightened, tingled. He turned around slowly and saw her. The little girl from the Pilchard Inn, standing in a puddle of moonlight, singing like a siren.

  He walked tentatively towards her as she sang, knelt down and looked into her face. She finished the song and looked at him. In her pale face her eyes were huge and pin-pricked with shimmering stars.

  She took his hand in hers and led him back along Bloater Row, down through the hole in the rocks and onto the deserted beach. The moon was huge and mapped with blue veins. The waves broke onto the jagged rocks below the wobbly chapel and sent spray high into the air.

  The wind riffled through the stiff grass of the sand dunes with the sound of whispered secrets.

  She pointed across the beach to the Boathouse, a rundown shack of a place where a candle burned fitfully behind the salt-caked glass of a misshapen window.

  An owl called out from behind the high walls that guarded Killivray House. Cissie nudged Dom Bradly and pointed towards the big house.

  “Bang! Bang!” she said.

  He felt the hairs on his neck prickle. The last time he’d been here he’d sneaked inside the grounds and had a mosey around. He’d stood inside the funny little summerhouse and thought what a great setting for a murder the place would be. He’d written in the dust of the window, Murder Scene.

  And then weeks later, he’d read the news about the death of the master at Killivray…

  He felt his whole body quiver with foreboding as he saw the bent-backed silhouette of a woman crossing the window of the Boathouse.

  “Mad Gwennie,” Cissie said.

  Dom Bradly drew in his breath.

  “Why do you call her mad Gwennie?”

  “Everyone does. But she’s not really mad, she swears a lot though. She’s just sad and lonely, that’s all.”

  He looked down at the child and squeezed her hand.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She looked up at him then and saw the tears gathering in his eyes. He looked down at her and knew mat he would never forget the look in her lovely wide eyes, the precious innocence and strange intelligence set into the bones of her pale face.

  “Go home now.”

  He watched her clamber back up to the odd little place perched up on the rocks. She turned and waved. Dom Bradly waved back. And then she was gone, vanished into the darkness like a sprite. Bracing himself, he walked purposefully away across the beach towards the Boathouse.

  Martha Grimble could hardly contain her excitement as she saw Archie coming down the steep hill towards her. He was walking slowly, head down as if he was deep in thought. She couldn’t believe how much he’d grown since she’d seen him last And the colour on him! He was suntanned and his hair had grown, bleached almost white at the front. Dear God in heaven, the Galvinis had worked miracles with him while he’d been here in Santa Caterina.

  Suddenly he looked up and saw her. His face broke into a wide smile and he half ran, half walked into her outstretched arms.

  “Oh, Archie, I’ve missed you, son. My, look at you, you’re the picture of health.”

  “Mammy, Mammy, I’m so pleased to see you. Guess what I can do?”

  “Tell me!”

  “Mammy, I can swim! Alfredo taught me.”

  “Never to God, Archie, that’s wonderful.”

  “And I’ve caught loads of fish and I can make pasta and pizza. I can make you some if you want. Oh, Mammy, I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too but haven’t you just had the best time in the world?”

  “Why didn’t you say you were coming, Mammy?”

  “I didn’t know if I was going to make it and I didn’t want to disappoint you. Come on, though, Lena is making dinner and there’s someone back at the house waiting to see you.”

  Archie’s heart sank. It was the porker! He just knew it.

  Holding the beaded curtain open for his mammy to pass through into the house, he followed her reluctantly.

  In the kitchen Lena was busy at the stove and Alfredo was filling an earthenware jug with wine.

  A small-boned, pale-faced woman, more like a ghost than a real live woman, was sitting at the table, chewing hungrily on the cuffs of her shrunken grey cardigan. When she saw Archie she giggled her head off like someone who wasn’t quite right.

  “Archie, this is my sister Lissia. Lissia, this is your nephew, Archie.”

  Archie swallowed hard and looked at his mother for an explanation. This couldn’t be Lissia! Lissia was dead. “Mammy, I don’t understand. I thought that Lissia was..,”

  “There was a misunderstanding. She’s very much alive, Archie, and well be looking after her from now on.”

  “Come, sit down and eat,” Alfredo said quickly. “Lena has cooked you mussels and to follow a lasagne.”

  Lissia giggled again and dribbled down the front of her grey pinafore dress.

  Archie sat up next to his mammy and watched Lissia warily out of the corner of his eye all through dinner. Why had his mammy told lies about her?You were either dead or alive. You couldn’t make a mistake about that.

  Alfredo had finished painting the walls and the paint on the tables and chairs had dried to a glossy finish. Candles were set in niches in the walls and Alfredo had found old-fashioned photographs of Santa Caterina and hung them around the room. Lena had made all the table cloths and napkins and they were neatly ironed and ready to be laid. The room w
as beginning to look like a real restaurant and to Archie’s delight Alfredo had painted a name on the outside wall of the house in large curly blue letters, Ristorante Skilly. In memory, he told Archie, of their time in the Skallies.

  In a few days’ time they would open and Lena was so excited she hardly kept still for a moment.

  Alfredo was teaching Archie how to take orders from imaginary customers and wait at table and his mammy was having Italian cooking lessons with Lena. Lissia got under everyone’s feet and so Archie often took her with him on his travels round Santa Caterina.

  One hot afternoon while the grown-ups took a siesta Archie took Lissia with him for a walk. He was getting used to her now, with her peculiar ways and her daft talk She was a bit like Cissie Abelson only much dopier. She didn’t act like a grown-up woman at all. She was nosy and tried to peep inside people’s houses the way a toddler might. She was always picking things up off the floor, bottle tops, foil paper, shells and dried seaweed. Sometimes her pockets got so heavy that she jangled when she walked.

  He had to watch her like a hawk when they went to the market because if he took his eyes off her for a minute she got herself into mischief; one day she had picked a rabbit from a cage and was walking off with it. Another time a beggar showed her a trick, pretending that he’d pulled a baby crab out of her ear and she laughed so much she peed herself and he had to take her home for his mammy to change her.

  They were walking up past the bread shop when Lissia saw the cat. She squealed with delight and stooped to pick it up but the cat took fright and bolted. Before Archie could stop her she was off in hot pursuit. Archie called out to her but she was like an elephant after buns when she saw something she wanted and she went deaf if she didn’t want to hear what you were saying.

  He hurried after her, lost her in a dark side street then caught sight of her turning into an alleyway to the right, dose to the convent walls. He’d seen the alleyway before but he’d never been up there because a faded sign on the wall said PRTVATO! Lissia never took notice of signs at all; he wasn’t even sure if she could read.

  At the end of the alley, there was a rough path that climbed steeply between high stone walls. Lissia was way ahead of him now and he caught a glimpse of her disappearing through an archway overgrown with geraniums. He followed her through the archway and into a garden that was dense with straggly, drooping sunflowers.