by Henry Green
‘Poorer?’ Mr Rock enquired, in his deafness.
‘Why how’s that?’ the policeman asked.
‘I don’t know,’ the old man answered, putting on an idiotic look, as he often did. He knocked the bran tin against a boot to clean it.
‘What I was going to ask was, if I could leave my bike against your shed, thanking you Mr Rock?’
‘Shall you be long?’
‘I’ve to go up to the house, that’s all.’
‘Then why not ride there?’
‘I came this way,’ the policeman said.
‘Who are you going to arrest in any case?’ Mr Rock asked. He was being made garrulous by his dread for Elizabeth and the cottage.
‘Likely they’ll kick up a fuss when they see me,’ the sergeant answered at a tangent, and laid his bike down on the grass. ‘It’s only a matter for a few enquiries, but Miss Marchbanks would have it the Inspector must come himself. Didn’t want another. But he’s hard pressed, that man is. And of course he’s not the only one.’
‘They’ve found the one,’ Mr Rock announced, as though he had been questioned. He was watching the policeman, from behind his spectacles, with the same idiot look.
‘How’s that?’ this man enquired, carefully expressionless, eyes on a now peaceful goose.
‘Close to here,’ Mr Rock said. ‘Hurt her leg.’
‘You found her and she’d hurt her leg?’ the sergeant echoed, reaching into a pocket for what the older man was sure would be the official notebook, but which turned out to be his handkerchief.
‘No,’ Mr Rock said, and warned himself that he should be careful. There was a pause.
‘I just wondered,’ the policeman said. ‘The lady came so serious over our telephone how nothing should get about. Close by, was it?’ His manner, all at once, Mr Rock thought, was no other than threatening.
‘Yes,’ the old man agreed.
‘Then, I’d best get on up, of course,’ the other said. ‘Take particulars,’ he added, but did not move off.
‘There’s another of their girls missed yet,’ Mr Rock volunteered. ‘A nasty business,’ he said, with decision.
‘How’s that, sir?’ the sergeant asked, mildly this time, giving him the courtesy because, after all, they did say he had been someone.
‘Well, if you live on a place you take part in the day to day affairs,’ Mr Rock said. The goose, having finished what there had been, made off, wagging its tail.
‘Ah, news gets about,’ the policeman agreed mistakenly.
‘You come to feel part of it,’ Mr Rock corrected.
‘Still missing, eh?’
‘They have a dance tonight. This has made them nervous,’ Mr Rock volunteered.
‘How come, sir?’
‘They’re to celebrate the Anniversary of theirs. Only natural.’
‘As to that, Mr Rock, I couldn’t say. And it was you found the one?’
‘Mr Birt, who is a tutor, did. Together with my granddaughter. There’s a holiday today, they were out for a stroll before breakfast. Brought her back here,’ Mr Rock explained quite freely, because he knew this would be eagerly reported later. ‘Gave her a cup of tea,’ he added, to make it all seem most harmless.
‘You gave her a cup of tea?’ the sergeant echoed in a blank voice. Mr Rock did not bother to correct him.
‘Tea,’ he agreed.
There was a pause.
‘Well then, if I could leave the old bike, I’d best be on my way over,’ the policeman said, having missed his cup, and made off. He left the machine where it lay on the ground. Mr Rock noticed, with a dreadful reluctance, that its uppermost pedal still revolved.
Not long after, and several hours before the usual time on Wednesdays, Baker and Edge were driven back into the Park in their little red State tourer, which hummed up the main Drive at twenty miles an hour. A cloud of white dust attended it, was always at a respectful distance, following behind.
‘I love this Great Place,’ Miss Edge shouted to her companion as though the lady were as deaf as Mr Rock, then put her face out of one side. With the colour of the car, with the driver, a stout woman in black livery, and the smallness of the back and its occupants, then with the great sun beating stretched earth as a brass hand on a tomtom, they seemed no less than wicked, up to date fairies in a book for younger girls who had just started reading.
But it was not entirely in search of malice that Edge scanned the now high, almost unbroken ramparts of flowering rhododendron which whisked past in vast, red and white splodges, it was not, say, for a sight of decapitated frogs the artificial cherries, which matched the car’s paintwork, bobbed and scraped to either side of her black London hat, nor could it even have been for the perfume of those eunuch scentless flowers that her thin nostrils opened and shut like a rabbit’s, and little blue eyes, continually darting sideways to catch up with the car’s speed, found no repose or a girl’s face anywhere on which they could read the answer to the question she dared not put, where was Mary, where Merode?
She turned back to Baker.
‘I hope they have at least got ahead with our decorations,’ she said.
‘If they’ve had time,’ Miss Baker dryly answered.
‘I was watching to find if they might have cut any on this exquisite Drive,’ Edge excused herself. ‘I had blamed myself for telling Marchbanks they were to take care, when they robbed nature, that it should be where we could not see. For you know how it is, Baker. Usually one has only to suggest what must not be done to find it carried into practice far quicker than any order, however sensible my dear, but there.’
‘It’ll always be so, till such time as we can engage our own staff,’ the other woman said. Edge made a face at the driver’s back, and another at her colleague.
‘I know,’ Miss Baker replied. ‘But there’s no secret after all.’ What she had in mind was that, in any case, the staff, for their part, as they knew very well, could not leave either, at any rate not without scandal. Everyone was frozen in the high summer of the State.
‘Well, as I invariably insist,’ Edge said, to change the subject, ‘whatever our duty has called us to in Town, this glorious Place repays a thousandfold on our return.’
‘It’s a help today certainly,’ Miss Baker commented.
‘You know I can hardly believe it yet,’ Edge wilfully misunderstood her. ‘Both Commissions cancelled and not a word or hint reached us. The thing is preposterous.’
‘We still have the training of them, Edge.’
‘I trust it was not one of our girls to skimp her duties in such a disgraceful way.’
‘There’s worse, there’s what we left this morning,’ her colleague said, coming out with it.
‘Now, Baker, if we had not been reasonably certain how that little mystery would clear itself up by luncheon,’ Miss Edge expostulated, again grimacing at the driver’s back, ‘we could never have travelled all the way to London.’ At this moment she caught the driver’s eye stolidly watching her make faces by the mirror that was aimed to catch the cloud of dust behind their rear window, but which reflected as faithfully the features of any passenger in Edge’s seat.
‘I can’t help being nervous, dear,’ Miss Baker admitted.
‘Evershed,’ Miss Edge said sharp. ‘Do pray watch where we are going.’
When they drew up outside the house Edge found her mouth was dry. Accordingly she went straight to the sanctum, ordered two cups of tea over the telephone, and asked for Marchbanks to come along at once.
‘Why ma’am,’ this lady said, after she had knocked and been told to enter, ‘there’s no trouble, I hope.’ She stood before the Principals sipping tea behind their desks.
‘Trouble, Marchbanks? That is what we are back here to find.’
‘But we weren’t expecting you till after five.’
‘Which will have to be gone into when I have time,’ Edge said, then was so good as to relent. ‘The sittings were cancelled. Whether the fault that we were never told l
ies at this end is another matter. Now, have you any news?’
‘Merode’s found, ma’am. She’s resting.’
‘Resting?’ Edge cried out incredulously. ‘Is she hurt then?’
‘Not exactly, ma’am.’
‘Marchbanks, there are no two ways about this incredible affair, is she hurt or isn’t she?’
‘She complains of her knee and she fainted,’ Marchbanks replied. She started to twist fingers together, when Baker interrupted,
‘Wouldn’t that be one of my orphans?’ she asked. When told it was so, she closed her eyes.
‘Then the other cannot be far then,’ Edge continued, with greater confidence.
‘There’s no sign of Mary, ma’am.’
‘I dare say not, but mark well what I tell you. If the one is found it will not be long before the other puts in an appearance, as though nothing had occurred.’
Miss Marchbanks breathed a sigh of released suspense.
‘When did she faint, I wonder?’ Edge enquired, almost gay, now, in the relief it had become to have learned that one at least was back.
‘While I questioned her, ma’am.’
‘Ah,’ Miss Edge said, ‘ah,’ as though she suddenly noticed something dirty in the corner. Nevertheless she left well alone for a time. ‘And what does Dr Bodle say about her condition?’
‘We haven’t had the doctor in,’ Marchbanks explained, shifting her feet.
‘You haven’t had him in?’ Miss Edge cried, and her voice rose. But Baker most definitely interrupted.
‘I told you that child was an orphan,’ she said, eyes still closed.
The other waited for a moment to see if her colleague had more to say. When nothing came she proceeded,
‘Well, you must summon him at once, Marchbanks. And while you were about to question her too? We have our Directives, you know. And he should, perhaps, have been in the room with you all the time. How will it look if they hold an Enquiry?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Tell me, where is the child now?’ Edge enquired.
‘Oh, Matron’s on guard, ma’am. She’s locked safely in.’
‘That is one thing to be thankful for, then,’ Edge announced. ‘But who found her, Marchbanks, or did she just come on her own out of thin air?’
‘Elizabeth Rock and Mr Birt I believe, ma’am.’
Miss Edge glanced sideways at Baker. In that lady’s sightless condition there was no way of telling how much she understood.
‘Did you hear that, dear?’ Miss Edge asked. ‘It may be significant.’
‘Can’t say I see a great deal to it,’ Baker muttered, after a pause. Thus it came about that the doctor was not called. Miss Marchbanks was under the impression Miss Edge would do this, and that lady had believed she had only to give an order to be obeyed.
‘And what about the Inspector of Police?’ Edge went on.
‘Of course I rang him at once, ma’am, but he seemed rather occupied. However he said he would be up in no time.’
‘Hasn’t he made an appearance, then?’
‘Not yet, ma’am.’
‘Well, perhaps that may turn out a good thing, although it strikes one as feckless of him, does it not?’ Miss Edge turned to Baker. But her colleague had still not opened her eyes. Then she spoke.
‘And Mary? She has a father and mother I’m certain,’ Miss Baker announced, getting to her feet to reach the file. To do so she had to look where she was going, and, when she stumbled, they realised she was in tears. Upon which Edge made a face at Marchbanks so much as to hint, pray take no notice.
‘What did I tell you?’ Baker asked. ‘Parents living apart and in Brazil,’ she read out from the card she held, openly wiping tears off her cheeks with the back of a hand.
There was a silence. After a moment Miss Edge arrived at the conclusion her friend’s virtual collapse was best ignored.
‘But, come to that, how was it?’ she began again on Miss Marchbanks, who turned a horrified look round to her. ‘What induced them to act like little thieves? Is there a man in this, Marchbanks?’
‘Why I’m sure there’s nothing missing, ma’am. No-one’s reported . . .’
‘Please,’ Edge interrupted, with a weary gesture. ‘I never said anything of the kind, did I? Who got at them, then, and planned it all? Have you found this out yet?’
‘I was careful not to press too closely ma’am. . . .’
‘And she fainted,’ Miss Edge again interrupted.
‘She was very tired, I think,’ Ma Marchbanks said with dignity. A loud sob came from Baker.
‘There is no need to lose our heads,’ Miss Edge rebuked her colleague, although she addressed the underling. ‘Rather it is a moment to keep what wits we have about us. As to being tired, the doctor will see to that, no doubt. The question I asked was quite simple. Is there a man in this, or not?’
Marchbanks had certainly begun to lose hers.
‘Yes,’ she said, almost at random.
‘I thought so,’ Edge said, satisfied almost to jubilation. ‘And has he any connection with our Mr Rock?’
‘Careful dear,’ Baker implored, with a trembling voice.
‘But we must know, you know we must,’ Edge said. ‘Well, has he?’
‘I’m sure I can’t tell. I don’t imagine so,’ Miss Marchbanks told her, with obvious resentment.
‘You can’t tell, you do not imagine, what is this?’ Edge echoed.
‘That’s how things are,’ Miss Marchbanks said, happily hating her Principal.
‘But why? Surely you can see? Why, Marchbanks?’
‘Because she fainted just when she was going to tell, ma’am.’
‘Where is the girl? I . . .’ Edge was beginning, when Baker broke in.
‘Thank you, Marchbanks, I’m sure you’ve done all that was possible, you can go now,’ she said, and Miss Marchbanks walked straight out. As she closed the door she heard Baker, pleadingly, start to reason with Miss Edge, ‘Now dear,’ she said, ‘now dear, in our Directives . . .’
‘The OAFS,’ Miss Marchbanks spat aloud in the passage, to relieve her feelings, the first moment she was out of earshot. ‘Oh, the oafs.’
Moira came out of a ride into the small open space before Mr Rock’s cottage. Its hideous mauve and yellow brick was swamped in shade, marked out by sunlight, for the beech trees were tall but not thick together hereabouts.
Sun lit up blue smoke, spiralling out of the chimney for two full yards in this stillness.
She could not see the old man but heard a chopping of wood within the trees, and moved towards the sound, knowing it must be him for he was the one to work round here.
‘Hello,’ she said, confident she was the favourite, when she came upon Mr Rock in shirtsleeves, clumsily using his hatchet on a block.
He straightened up. The old face cracked into a real smile. She saw he was not wearing teeth, also that he could do with a shave.
‘Well?’ he asked. She came close, to let him take her in.
‘Why don’t you use the tree Mr Birt found Merode under?’ she asked.
‘Not dead enough,’ he said.
‘But you’d have more wood. You are silly,’ she said, while he examined her youth. It made him think of a ripe plum, on a hot day, against green leaves on a wall.
‘Mr Birt found her. There’s a laugh,’ she began again. They stood watching each other comfortably.
‘How d’you look so cool?’ he asked.
‘He would,’ she said about the finding. When this drew no comment she went on in a lazy way,
‘Because I’m not hot, not yet, silly. I don’t wear all the clothes you do,’ she added, shifting the position of her hip.
He had a fallen branch to cut into faggots, and he set to work once more.
‘Let me help,’ she said, though she made no move forward. When he did not answer, she repeated, ‘Let me.’ He’s a hundred if he’s a day, she said to herself.
‘Just leave an old fellow get on with
what he’s about,’ he said.
‘All that wood’s for Daise, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘Well, I’m not stopping anyone.’
‘Yes, for Daisy’s swill,’ he answered. ‘To boil it. Too many won’t trouble, which is the cause of so much of this filthy swine fever.’
She nibbled at one of the azaleas in her arms. She knew she made a picture, but he paid no attention. She waved away a bee.
‘Have you seen your cat?’ she enquired.
‘No. She’s all right I trust?’ he said, not looking up.
‘Oh, in her glory,’ the girl replied. ‘At the Institute, of course, with Ma Marchbanks. She’d better look out for herself, though. The Marchbanks mayn’t know it, but Edge and Baker’s back.’
‘Are they . . . ?’ he asked, and drew himself up to his full height, but checked his tongue in time. ‘Why, what about my animal?’
‘They don’t like pussy cats, those two, do they?’ she answered.
‘Two faced, cats are,’ he said, watching her closely. She took a whole azalea right into her mouth. ‘Cupboard love,’ he said, and wiped his spectacles.
‘Why shouldn’t I, if I want. They taste good,’ she said, after she had got rid of the flower into a hand and dropped it behind her back.
‘Not you,’ he said. ‘Cats.’
‘What’s cupboard love, exactly?’ she asked, knowing full well, but to cover herself.
‘Greed, that’s all.’
‘You are queer, Mr Rock,’ she said.
There was a pause while he put his spectacles on once more.
‘Have they come upon the other girl yet?’ the old man enquired, getting on with his task. ‘Or why have they returned?’
‘Mary, oh I know where she is,’ Moira told him.
‘Where’s that?’ Mr Rock quietly demanded.
‘She’s down under water in the lake of course,’ the girl said.
‘Is she now?’ this old man commented, but did not look up from what he was at. ‘Have you been to see?’
She gave a small, affected shriek. ‘Me? Who d’you think I am? Oh, I simply couldn’t.’
