by Sylvia Waugh
Vinetta did not ask why. She hurried to the dining-room to warn Joshua. Pilbeam dashed upstairs to tell Appleby. Soobie went to the day nursery.
“Freeze,” he said to Miss Quigley, who at that moment had Googles sitting in an empty bathtub and was pretending to squeeze water over her head from a dry sponge. “Just stay in here, but make no movement. If he looks in through the nets he will see nothing clearly, but he might detect any movement.”
The doorbell rang.
But the twins, the young twins, were still in the back garden. Soobie heard Poopie’s voice and ran to the back door.
“Come in, the two of you. Hurry in. Now.”
“What for?” said Poopie.
“Never mind what for,” said Soobie, diving out and grabbing them by the arm. They did not struggle, but rather took fright and needed no further encouragement to run indoors. They locked and bolted the back door behind them.
The doorbell rang again.
Nobody at home, thought Mick Storey, not surprising, lovely day for a trip out. He went round to the back and tried the back door, noted how much tidier than the front the back garden was. All secure, and no one in sight. Even the shed was padlocked.
“Nobody in,” said Mick to his partner.
“So that’s that.”
“I might give them a ring tomorrow,” said Mick. “If the bike’s ownership can be established, I might be tempted to buy it. I’m sure St Oswald’s would rather have the money.”
The younger policeman gave a grin of disbelief and drove on.
Soobie saw the car leave the Grove and called to his mother. “It’s all right now. They’re gone.”
Granny Tulip came into the lounge and stood behind Soobie, her knitting still in her hands.
“I wonder what he wanted,” she said. “It must have been something to do with that scooter. If you’d asked me, I’d have told you not to take such a risk. It was totally unnecessary. That bike was eating no meat in our shed.”
Soobie winced at the acid in her voice. It was not the words. It was the way she said them. But she was right. What other reason could a policeman have for calling at 5 Brocklehurst Grove?
This was confirmed the very next day.
The phone rang.
Tulip picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” she said. It was always her habit to wait for the caller to declare himself.
“Mrs Mennym?”
“Lady Tulip Mennym speaking. Who are you? What do you want?”
The voice was sharp and deliberately off-putting.
Mick Storey said quickly, “This is Castledean Police Station. We’ve had a motor scooter handed in . . .”
Tulip interrupted.
“I do not see of what possible concern that can be to me. We do not possess a motor scooter. We have never possessed a motor scooter, or any other sort or variety of vehicle.”
“Sorry to have troubled you,” said Mick Storey, “but information led us to believe that the bike might have been stolen from your premises.”
“Then I am afraid you have been misinformed.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mick again.
“No need to be,” said Tulip. “Anyone can make a mistake.”
Even Soobie, she thought, and felt very cross with that young man.
25
Then There Was One
THE CONFERENCE, THE inevitable conference, that followed was the most tempestuous they had ever held. Even the overture was a clash of cymbals, not the quiet, sneaky introduction Sir Magnus usually employed when he had bitter things to say.
“Sit down, all of you,” he barked, “and be quick about it. I have no patience left. This family is so utterly stupid that they go from one disaster to another. Talk about the slippery slope! You cannot blame the authorities this time. If the house comes down about our ears, you have only yourselves to blame.”
They all sat looking miserable and awkward. Even Appleby was not her usual brash self. She had reason to feel uncomfortable about what might follow. Her own brief escapade with the scooter was still a secret. Pilbeam and Soobie had said nothing so far. Poopie was much better at keeping a secret than his twin. But would they weaken? Or, worse still, would they decide it was their duty to tell the whole sorry story? She had no worries about the disco affair. She had not been found out on that one, and she was not going to be found out. Time is a great concealer.
“You are all to blame,” said Magnus. “All of you. If there is a single exception it could only be Appleby.”
The others looked up in surprise.
“Appleby?” said Vinetta. “Not that I want to blame her, but I really can’t see why she is more above reproach than the rest of us.”
“Let me explain,” said Magnus. “Let me go through the catalogue. You, daughter-in-law, have interfered at every turn, calling an end to a siege that most certainly had not ended, encouraging Miss Quigley to rebel. As for Miss Quigley, she let us down over the shopping and then she placed us all in jeopardy with that confounded pram. Go to the park! Feed the ducks! Idiot level.”
He paused for breath and to give time to let his words sink in. Tulip eyed him, wondering what he would say of her. She didn’t have long to wait.
“And you, Tulip, did not hold this family on tight enough a rein. I am bedridden, to all intents and purposes, I am bedridden. I expected my wife to give me constant and unwavering support. Did I get it? NO, I did not!”
Tulip drew in her lips in a pout of annoyance but said nothing. Let Magnus pass on to the others, the ones who were really responsible, her private quarrel could wait.
“Then we come to the younger generation. Pilbeam, gadding off to the theatre and drawing attention to herself in all that frippery. And finally, Soobie, the only blue Mennym, the one face that could not pass in a crowd, goes for a ride on a scooter that does not belong to him, and is actually seen dumping it outside a church!”
At these words, Soobie was filled with a deep, defenceless sorrow. I am as I am, his heart said. I have learnt to accept what I am. Please leave me be.
Vinetta, too, was deeply wounded. Magnus knew how to hurt.
“At least,” said Vinetta, “you can see no harm in Appleby. I suppose I must think myself lucky to have one daughter who meets with your approval.”
Soobie looked at Appleby, was tempted to speak out but couldn’t. She was his sister, and if she was totally treacherous with no real feeling for anyone but herself, that was something they must all accept. Soobie could not help being loyal. Loyalty kept him silent.
Pilbeam, knowing even more of Appleby’s misdemeanours, looked across at her, willing her at least to acknowledge her own guilt about the motor scooter and to be generous in calling down blame upon herself. Not a hope! It was more than Appleby was capable of doing. She accepted her grandfather’s verdict and had probably already forgotten every fault she’d ever had.
“Would that we could return to the old days when Appleby was my errand-girl,” said Magnus, “the soul of discretion, the one I could trust completely! But that cannot be, not for many a long day yet.”
Vinetta was about to remind Magnus of Appleby’s many faults, but one look at her daughter made the words die on her lips. The red-headed, green-eyed Mennym was sitting on the rug with her feet tucked under her looking as comfortable and secretive as a cat. The humiliation would be too great.
“So what are we to do now?” said Vinetta. “You have blamed everyone but Appleby and Joshua, though no doubt you will find some harsh words for him before the evening’s out. But come to the point, Magnus. We are here to consider what needs to be done, not to spend useless hours in recrimination.”
It had been a daylight meeting, not dark enough on the July evening for the curtains to be closed. But now clouds were gathering above Castledean and the sunset was turning from red to dull purple. Inside the room was a greyness both actual and spiritual.
Joshua rose from his seat by the door and switched on the light. Pilbeam, who was n
earest, pulled the cord that drew the curtains. No one spoke. They just waited helplessly for Magnus to answer Vinetta’s question. What were they to do now? How would this latest intrusion change their lives?
“The net begins to close,” said Magnus. “We must all stay indoors. Even Soobie. For now any policeman seeing him out at night might feel called upon to stop and question him. Even the back garden will have to be out of bounds.”
Joshua looked suddenly alert.
“You cannot stop me going to work, Father. At no time has anyone paid any attention to me.”
“I don’t know whether that’s true or not,” said Magnus wearily, “but I’ll have to accept it. We still need someone to go to the post-box. Bills have to be paid.”
“What about the telephone?” said Tulip. “We have had some unwelcome calls.”
“That has been seen to,” said Magnus. “I rang the company yesterday. We are now ex-directory. Only our solicitor will be given the new number. Our isolation is as complete as I can make it. Front door and back door will be kept locked night and day. No one but Joshua will need a key and he will have to lock up as he goes out and as he returns. Tulip will take charge of all the other keys.”
Sir Magnus had no feeling of interest in these proceedings. Being under siege was no longer exciting. It was downright miserable. Things had truly gone from bad to worse. The time when Miss Quigley was able to go out by day and Joshua and Soobie had been free to come and go by night seemed a luxury now. They had even managed when three had dropped to two. Now it was down to one solitary Mennym, travelling through the darkness. How long could that last? The Mennyms felt defeated.
26
Letters to Albert
My dearest, dearest Albert,
I have tried to forget you, but I can’t. Appleby tells me I must put you out of my mind, but it is impossible. Please come and visit us once more. Let us read poetry together again. Let us pretend we are not from two different worlds . . .
The letter was unfinished and unsigned. Another unfinished letter lay beside it on Appleby’s dressing-table.
Dear Albert,
For practical purposes, it is necessary that you return to Brocklehurst Grove. Our neighbour, Miss Fryer, has taken too great an interest in our affairs. We are now unable to go about our ordinary everyday life without fear of detection. We cannot even go to the Post Office. My husband is unable to send any but the slimmest of manuscripts to his publishers and I have had to refuse orders from Harrods.
I am especially sorry for my grandchildren. They were always used to going out and about. Now they go nowhere. The garden is neglected and growing wild. We do not know which way to turn. Please come and help us.
This letter too was unsigned. Underneath it was yet another epistolary effort . . .
Dear Albert,
Our life is becoming unbearable. We cannot go out of doors at all. I mean that more literally than you can imagine. For the past two weeks I have not even been allowed to go into the back garden. They keep the back door and the front door locked. Except for Father, who still goes to work, we are prisoners in our own home.
And it is all down to Anthea Fryer, the woman you called the Amazon who lives at Number 9 . . .
The letters appeared to be written in three different hands but they were all the work of one demented teenager. Appleby was thrashing around for some way out of the cage she felt herself to be in. Write to Albert Pond. Get him to come and help. But whose summons would he heed, and whose ignore?
The letters were practice pieces. Appleby left them lying whilst she went to the lounge to sit at the round table with Pilbeam and do a jigsaw puzzle they’d dug out of Pilbeam’s cupboard. Anything to relieve the monotony! It was a circular jigsaw showing a map of the heavens.
Vinetta went upstairs to see Magnus and to try to reason with him about the Draconian laws that now governed their lives. As she came onto the top landing, she felt a strong draught from somewhere. Vinetta went along the landing to investigate.
Appleby’s door was ajar. Had she left her window open? Vinetta went into the room. She closed the window, and was about to leave when she noticed that the draught had whisked some papers onto the floor. Vinetta stooped and picked them up. She did not mean to pry but at the sight of the name ‘Albert’ she felt she must read further. With alarm, she read all three letters. And wondered what she should do. Then she felt guilty at reading letters not intended for her eyes. She put them back on the dressing-table and went down to her own bedroom to sit alone and think.
What was she to do about the letters? Confront Appleby? Admit that she had read them? Warn her against doing anything stupid? There would be a terrible row. Vinetta hated rows. Then it came to her that there was no way Appleby could post a letter to Albert at this time. And when the siege was over, she would not have the motive for doing so. Only one person needed to be warned at present. It was possible, more than possible, that he might post a letter without bothering to read the address on the envelope.
“Whatever you do,” said Vinetta to Joshua, “don’t post any letters for Appleby. I think she may have some idea of writing to Albert Pond.”
When Appleby perfected the letter she wanted to send, however, she made no attempt to persuade her father to post it. She simply watched her chance and stole a set of keys from Tulip’s cupboard. The letter, she decided, would be a plea from Pilbeam. She would take it out and post it in the early hours of the morning. It would not be easy. Stealth would be necessary and, as for timing, luck would come into it. The whole venture might have to be aborted many times if Tulip should happen to be on the prowl.
Appleby reckoned without one factor. There was one thing she did not know. Tulip, ever suspicious, was in the habit of checking the spare keys to make sure that none had gone astray.
The letter was ready in its envelope, stamped and addressed. The house was silent. Appleby had heard Granny Tulip’s voice speaking to Granpa as she went into the room across the landing. Hours passed by and then Appleby adjudged it safe enough to creep downstairs and tiptoe to the front door. It looked like being first time lucky.
Then, just as she had the key to the lock, the breakfast-room door opened shooting a beam of stronger light into the dim hall.
Appleby jumped. Turning round she saw her grandmother standing there looking fierce and powerful, her crystal eyes glittering.
“Give me that,” she said, snatching the letter from Appleby’s hand.
Appleby was too startled to resist. Tulip peered at the envelope to read the address, then tore it open. Appleby looked horrified as her grandmother adjusted her spectacles and began to read the letter out loud in tones that echoed through the hall.
“I have never heard such utter rubbish,” she said when she had finished. “What sort of pulp do you read, madam, in your quiet moments?”
“You had no business to read that,” said Appleby, suddenly shot through with anger. “That’s my letter, not yours.”
“Your letter? Then why has it got Pilbeam’s name on it? Just wait till your grandfather sees this!”
Vinetta was standing at the top of the stairs. Wimpey had come up behind her. Both had been disturbed by the voices.
“What’s going on down there?” said Vinetta.
“Appleby’s taken leave of her senses, that’s what,” said Tulip. Turning back to Appleby she said, “Give me that key. And go straight to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
Appleby flung the key across the floor.
“Take your rotten key,” she said, “and you know what you can do with it!”
Brushing past her mother and her sister, she dashed up the stairs and then up the next flight to the floor above, but then she went straight past her own room and clattered up the uncarpeted stairs to the attic. She slammed the attic door behind her and barricaded it with the wicker chests that were still there. Then she sat in the rocking-chair and sobbed.
27
In the Lounge
&
nbsp; “YOU HUMILIATED HER,” said Pilbeam.
“She deserved it,” said Tulip.
“No one ever deserves to be humiliated, no matter what they’ve done,” said Pilbeam vehemently.
Tulip was naturally very angry with her granddaughter, but it was quite clear that she was also proud of her own masterly way of foiling the attempted betrayal. She had told with relish the story of the night before – from the trap she had set for whoever had stolen the key to the scene that had ended in Appleby’s mad dash up to the attic.
“And she can stay there as far as I am concerned,” said Tulip. “She can stay there till she’s threadbare.”
It was ten o’clock in the morning. Another warm, sunny day. Joshua had looked in after his return from work, felt the charged atmosphere and fled to his room. Poopie and Wimpey were in the playroom, supposedly playing Scrabble but really listening attentively to the raised voices.
Soobie, in his chair by the window, was deep in gloom and had little to say. The others – Tulip, Vinetta and Pilbeam – made up for his silence. The events of the night before needed to be chewed over and over like cud.
“I read some papers I found in her room. They must have been practice letters,” said Vinetta to Pilbeam. “I felt as if I shouldn’t have done, but when I saw Albert Pond’s name I couldn’t help myself.”
She told of the draught that had blown them to the floor at her feet. She looked uncomfortable as she waited for Pilbeam’s reaction.
“You did nothing wrong, Mum,” said Pilbeam. “You were sensible to warn Father against posting anything for Appleby. And you didn’t embarrass her with any confrontation.”
“And what I did was wrong,” said Tulip. “Is that what you are saying?”
Tulip was bristling with anger.
Pilbeam said, “Yes, Granny, I think it was. But maybe you couldn’t help it. You were under stress. We are all under stress.”
