Another time, coming back from the tumuli just at nightfall, he noticed a figure standing at the edge of the wood as he emerged from the thicket of pines. He stopped. The person had not heard him, and continued standing there, just watching the house. He was less than four feet tall, and at first Danny thought he was a child. But then he noticed how short his arms and legs were, how large his torso and his head, and how sad and wrinkled his face was in the cold evening light. Danny moved to get a closer look, and the dwarf spun around to face him, his eyes glinting like a cat’s. He looked at Danny for an instant, an odd smile on his heavy face, and then waddled quickly away into the woods behind him. Danny hurried into the house. He did not mention the incident to Philippa.
For the first week or so, Danny wondered about Mr. Bexford, who was still his legal guardian. He had never bothered much with Danny, but that did not mean that he would simply forget about him now. As long as the lawyer knew that Danny was leading a safe and orderly life, as he had done in London, there really wasn’t any reason for him to do anything more than send Danny his check once a year. But it was quite a different thing for a ward simply to dis-appear, and Danny was sure that inevitably Mr. Bexford would learn of it. Though busy and preoccupied, the lawyer was nevertheless very scrupulous and correct, and would probably go to great lengths to find his vanished charge. Would he alert the police? Danny wondered. Would he run a photo in the papers? And once Mr. Bexford did find him, would he take him away from here? Then what would happen to him? Had he committed a crime? Would he be sent to some horrible reform school?
These worries gave a rather insecure quality to Danny’s first days at Blackbriar, but as time went on he began to think about them less and less. The world of London and his old life began to seem far away and unreal, and soon took up very little of his thoughts.
But as this worry faded, another took its place. After those first two days, he had seen Lark very rarely. He had hoped to be seeing her all the time. He wondered if it would have been any different if Philippa had never met or heard about her. True, Lark had to go to school, which was inconvenient (the holidays had ended), and it would have been difficult for him to see her secretly very often; but still, it was usually Philippa who got in the way of their meeting. She would frequently find some chore he had to do, some errand or trip they had to go on that did not include Lark. And Philippa was very cautious about inviting the girl to Blackbriar. “It isn’t fair to subject her to the danger we are in,” she would say. “Her father would never forgive me if anything should happen.” But when Danny would retort with, “If you really thought we were in danger, you wouldn’t want to stay here, either,” Philippa would have no answer. Sometimes Danny did visit her when he was supposed to be in the library, and occasionally Philippa would relent and invite her up to the house; but Danny certainly didn’t see her as much as he would have liked.
Of course, he understood what Philippa was trying to do; but this time it was different from the way it had been with Tony Bramble and the others in London—for this time Danny was determined. Over and over again he insisted to himself that he must not let her stop his friendship with Lark. And he could see that Philippa suspected this change. She was always watching him. Frequently he would look up to find her eyes on his face, as though she were trying, by looking closely enough, to see what was going on inside his head.
But she never actually forbade him to see Lark, or really spoke against her, as she had done with the others in London. Danny’s new determination seemed to be forcing her to tread more cautiously; and his knowledge that it was having an effect made his determination all the stronger.
At night, Danny continued to dream.
Not every night, but frequently, dreams more vivid than any he had had in London would wake him in the darkness. Sometimes he would dream of the tumuli, of the strange procession there. But most frequently he dreamed what he began to call his pesthouse dream, in which he tried to push his way through the pale, groping figures in the living room, never quite reaching the open window. No dream was ever repeated exactly, but in one way all were the same: he always awoke to half-heard laughter; laughter so distant, so quickly fading, that he never failed to wonder if it had really been there.
14
A couple of times a week they drove to town in the afternoon. Philippa shopped for food and supplies, and Danny either explored the twisting cobblestone streets or spent his time in the library, returning books, getting out new ones, and doing research. The old librarian who had once questioned Danny so intensely was not always there; and when he was, he behaved as though Danny were a stranger to him, casting down his eyes and stamping the cards without a word.
Late one afternoon, having grown tired of his Latin translation, Danny found himself wandering aimlessly through the stacks. The dim, labyrinthine passages, lined with faded volumes, seemed mysterious and intriguing to him; and on this day he moved quietly through them, running his hand vaguely along the dusty spines, hardly pausing to read the titles. He had climbed several of the narrow iron staircases, and now rather enjoyed not knowing quite where he was, or how to get back to the reading room. The stacks were kept unlit; anyone wanting to see more clearly could switch on a light at the end of each row, but today Danny preferred to walk in the dark, relishing the slightly uneasy sensation of not being able to see where the passage led, or what was in the next aisle.
Suddenly he stopped. There were voices coming from somewhere quite near him. He felt a shiver of excitement. How perfect it was, to be exploring this eerie place (which of course was really perfectly safe, he told himself), and then to hear a conversation he could secretly listen to. Cautiously he crept toward the voices. The aisle ended at a narrow corridor. In the wall across from him was a door, a little to his left, directly opposite the aisle which ran next to his. The door was slightly open, emitting a thin crack of light. The voices were coming from behind it. He took one step backwards, into deeper shadow, then leaned forward, straining his ears.
“—can’t understand why it seems to bother you so little. It’s a bit more than just inconvenient, after all.”
Danny recognized the librarian’s voice at once. The one time he had spoken to him, Danny remembered with mounting excitement, the man had obviously known something about Blackbriar which he didn’t want to tell. Perhaps there was a chance that he might even say something about it now.
“You have always been an alarmist,” said the other voice. It was a voice with a slight lisp to it, and Danny felt a sudden icy pang in his stomach. The feeling that the stacks were basically a place of safety quickly drained, away. The other person in the room was Lord Harleigh.
Perhaps it is rather unscrupulous of me to eavesdrop on them, Danny thought for an instant; but then he discarded the thought with disgust, as simply an attempt to rationalize his fear.
“Too much of an alarmist, I think,” Lord Harleigh went on. Although his voice was slow, there was a note of annoyance in it. “If we’d bought the house, as I wanted, we wouldn’t be having this little difficulty. But no, you were against buying it, and now look what has happened.”
“I’m sorry,” said the librarian. He cleared his throat nervously. “It is my fault. But please, don’t hold it against me. I—I thought it was best. I was afraid that if you bought it, you would draw attention to us, that people might begin to suspect the connection we have to the place.”
Lord Harleigh laughed dryly. “As if they didn’t already. Why do you think it was for sale for such a long time? No one around here dares to go near it. It’s only because these people are from far away that they are foolhardy enough to buy the place, let alone remain there for so long.”
There was no longer any doubt in Danny’s mind as to what place they were talking about, or which people they meant. But why “foolhardy,” he wondered. That must mean there really was danger there. . . .
“Well,” said the librarian, “perhaps I am an alarmist. But there is something you don’t know,
something I’ve learned from Ivor since you and I met last week. Do you remember that artist, Hovington, the one whom you actually invited to your house when—”
“Yes, yes, I know the man,” said Lord Harleigh irritably.
“I can certainly see that you must have had your—ahem—motives for asking him, but it was an unfortunate occurrence nonetheless,” the librarian wheezed, and cleared his throat. “You are aware, I think, that he has a daughter, a child, with whom he lives alone. And who knows what he might have told her about that little visit—”
“He has told her nothing,” Lord Harleigh snapped. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“Nevertheless, the possibility exists. Which in itself would not be alarming, except for the fact that she has been seen with them, at Blackbriar.” He paused, as if to give the statement more impact. “Somehow,” he went on, “she must have become friends with the boy. Now, we don’t know what she knows, we don’t know what they know, but together they might have discovered something, and—”
“What of it? Many people know something. It is no threat to us.”
“But there is a difference here. Not only are they all from the city, and therefore immune to the fears and prejudices which rule the people in this area; but there they are, ensconced in our most vulnerable spot, what we might call our very underbelly, pale and soft and unprotected . . .”
Danny’s foot had gone to sleep. Silently, he tried to move it without losing his balance.
“But there is something you fail to see.” Lord Harleigh had stopped whispering. He seemed angry, and involuntarily Danny stepped back. “We are not the vulnerable ones. They are. They may have some vague suspicions, but they certainly couldn’t be aware of—”
On the word “vulnerable” Danny had reached out his hand to steady himself. Vulnerable? he thought. Vulnerable to—? His hand, with his weight behind it, came to rest against a book. Quickly he drew it back, but too late. With a noise that seemed to him like thunder, three books in the next aisle tumbled to the floor.
“What was that?” Lord Harleigh hissed. The door swung open and the librarian peered anxiously out into the hallway. Danny shrank back into deeper shadow. The librarian craned his head forward, his jowls swinging slowly as he moved his head from side to side. For an instant he seemed to be staring right at Danny; then his head turned away. “Mice,” he said, “this place is infested with them.” But as he stepped back into the room he closed the door firmly.
Danny’s heart was making such a noise that he could barely hear anything else; and now that the door was closed whispers were almost completely indistinct. Leave! he shouted to himself, leave before they do, while it’s safe, while the door is closed!
But something, something new inside him, would not allow him to leave while there was still a chance of hearing more. Almost against his will he moved closer, straining his ears.
But all he could hear were scattered words and phrases.
“. . . underneath . . . coming all too soon . . . terrify . . . rid of them . . . that cat . . . magnificent creature . . .”
Danny moved closer.
“. . . what we could do with the beast . . .”
Do with him? What could they want to do with him? And was Lord Harleigh giggling?
“. . . marvelous opportunity for . . . really horrify them . . . what we have been doing . . . anyone would be . . .”
He sighed in frustration. How could he have been so clumsy? And just when he was about to learn something definite! It really doesn’t make sense to stay any longer, he told himself, and at that moment he heard a chair scraping behind the door. Instantly he moved backwards and crouched down near the floor.
Someone tall and lean stepped out of the room, followed by the shorter figure of the librarian. Danny could only partially see them through the space above a row of books on the shelf that separated his aisle from the one in which they stood. He had never really seen Lord Harleigh’s face clearly, and now he half hoped, half dreaded that it would come into view.
“That noise we heard,” Lord Harleigh said. “It might very well have been a mouse, but I think that perhaps we should find another place for our weekly conferences. But let us discuss it at another time. Good day.” He moved away down the aisle without turning in Danny’s direction.
As Lord Harleigh’s footsteps faded down the iron stairway, the librarian moved to the place where the books had fallen. They had left a gap directly across from where Danny was crouching. The librarian squatted down and picked them up; then, his face on a level with Danny’s, looked through the hole.
Danny held his breath, inhaling a large quantity of dust. His nose and throat tickled unbearably. How could he possibly not see me? he thought wildly. But, not seeming to notice him, the librarian put one book in place, then the second. The third, however, seemed to interest him, and still squatting he carefully opened it and resolutely began turning one page after another. Danny knew that if he dared to breathe he would cough; but his chest was beginning to ache, and the impulse to take a breath was almost too strong to fight. Get away! Get away! he screamed silently at the man.
And finally, as if in answer to Danny’s thought, the librarian slowly put the book in place, stood up, brushed off his knees, and returned to his office, closing the door.
Danny breathed, and a muffled cough broke out of him. He waited tensely, but there was no response from the librarian’s office.
Then, for several minutes, as his heart slowed down and he began to notice the clammy feeling of sweat over his body, he simply stayed where he was. The words of the conversation repeated themselves over and over again in his head, ominous and confusing. He had learned very little of a definite nature that he hadn’t already known; only that he, Philippa, and Lark really were in some kind of danger. He had no idea what to do about it, but realized now that what was happening to them was not a game. It was something very real, and perhaps very threatening.
When it seemed as though he had waited long enough for Lord Harleigh to be well out of the library, he stood up shakily and began making his way toward the reading room.
15
“And on top of it all, I just can’t decide whether or not to tell Philippa, or how much to tell her, or what,” Danny was saying. It was the next afternoon, and he and Lark were on their way up to Blackbriar on foot. (Philippa was at the hairdresser. “I can’t go on like this for another instant,” she had said. “I’ve got to do something about all this confusion up here. I always think better when my hair is in order.” The thought of the appointment put her in such a good mood that she had dropped Danny off at the Black Swan on her way, with permission, reluctant though it was, to bring Lark back up for dinner and the night.)
“I mean,” he went on, “of course it seems like she ought to know, it all sounds so threatening, and she is just as involved as anyone. But I’m so afraid she’ll just decide to pack up and leave; this is exactly the kind of thing she was afraid of.”
They passed through the first gate and started across the field. The sunset was spread across the sky, coldly gilding the surrounding hilltops. Mournful evening birdcalls broke the sound of the wind. For a while neither of them spoke as they tramped across the wet grass toward the black-green shape of the woods beyond the distant gate.
“God, I don’t know what to say,” Lark said softly. Danny watched the clouds of her breath fade quickly away with every word.
“Maybe we should ask your father. He might know what to do.”
“I don’t know. I’m sort of afraid to. I could tell he was determined not to have anything to do with Lord Harleigh again.”
“But it’s not your fault. It isn’t anybody’s fault. We just kind of fell into this.”
“I know. But he won’t see it that way.”
As the forest loomed closer the light began to fade more quickly, and just a few steps in among the trees it was almost as dark as night. They had to keep their eyes fastened on the track to avoid sliding into deep,
muddy ruts. The birdcalls were louder here, more threatening, and the underbrush rustled with the movement of unseen things.
“I’ve never walked through here at night,” Lark said.
“Neither have I.”
“And it always seems to take so long when we’re driving . . .”
“Maybe the moon will come out, then well be able to see better.”
They trudged on. Occasionally one of them would slip and grab the other for support. Eventually the moon did appear, moving jerkily through the tree branches as they walked, rippling in the puddles beneath their feet. It was easier to see, but they kept their eyes straight ahead, never looking into the forest on either side.
“What if there’s another fire burning when we get back?” Danny said suddenly.
Lark stopped and grabbed his arm. “Why do you have to say that?”
“Oh, there won’t be. I was only kidding. Come on, let’s keep going or we’ll never get there.” He gave her arm a gentle tug and they moved on.
At last they turned the final bend in the track. There was the house straight ahead, clearly visible, for the moon was hanging just above the chimney, filling the clearing with light. And the light flickering from the living room window, the firelight, fell toward them across the clearing in a bright yellow patch.
“Oh, no,” Lark said, clinging to Danny’s arm as she stepped backwards, “oh, no.”
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