‘Would you like to leave your horse here’—she pointed…‘there are plenty of empty stables—while you look around?’
‘Thank you, thank you. I’ll do that.’ Now his smile widened: ‘And he won’t be lost for company, as he’s already made evident,’ he added.
He turned now and led the horse into a stable towards which Lady Lydia was pointing; then after closing the half-door on his animal he bade her goodbye by saying, ‘Thank you for your kindness, m’lady.’ And to this she answered, while shaking her head, ‘Oh, ’tis nothing. If we can be of help in any way, you must tell us.’
It was a full hour later when he returned to the yard, and there being no-one about he knocked on the kitchen door; and when it was opened by a maid, he said briefly to her, ‘Will you please give her ladyship my thanks?’ He did not add, ‘I haven’t found her,’ for, as he knew only too well, maids’ tongues rattled, and not only inside the house. So he turned and retrieved his horse and rode away, leaving Nancy Bellways asking herself, ‘And what has he got to thank her for, I wonder.’
It was not fifteen minutes later when Gerald entered the house and, having been informed by Nancy that his mother was in the sitting room, he went straight there, making a dramatic gesture as he opened the door: flinging his arms wide, he cried, ‘Success! Success! Another avenue has opened: fruit, flowers and vegetables, they’ll take as much as we can supply.’
He allowed his arms to drop, then moved quickly towards her, asking, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing here,’ she said. ‘And I’m so glad about the new orders. But Carl from Gibson’s farm called in. The child is missing, you know, the daughter of the young girl. Something must have happened at the farm this morning because they’ve been searching all day, and he came to see if he could look through the grounds. Of course I said yes, but I didn’t see him when later he left. He gave only a brief message to Nancy, and didn’t say whether or not he had found her. Well, I didn’t expect him to. Likely, if the child was running away she would have come here, wouldn’t she? She would have made for a house, surely? Yet, I don’t know.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Oh’—she thought for a moment—‘since Nancy told me, I should think some twenty minutes or so. Anyway, our place seemed to be the last resort for them before they went to the police. But come; sit down and tell me all your news. Nancy’s just brought the tea in.’
‘I’ll just have a cup, Mama, then I’ll go and have a look through the woods and thereabouts.’
‘But Carl has already done that, dear.’
‘Yes, I know, but’—he smiled at her—‘he doesn’t know this place as I know it. Don’t forget, I used to hide in the woods when father was on the rampage looking for me when I had yet again refused to play toy soldiers.’
‘Don’t be silly, Gerald. Your father never wanted you to play toy soldiers.’
‘Well, the equivalent during my vacs: riding hell for leather over the fields as if we were in tournaments, lances pointed—I’m sure he imagined he was doing that half of his time—then yelling at me when I purposely missed shooting the rooks. What was that but soldier practice? Anyway, I knew some good hidey-holes. Now, I won’t be long, and I’ll tell you all about our latest rise in the business when I come back.’
He heard her tut-tutting as he left the room; then he was hurrying through the yard and into the labyrinth of garden beds that still hadn’t been cleared. As he approached the near-derelict woodman’s cottage his step slowed, and at the door he stopped and called in a low voice, ‘Are you there? It’s only me.’ Then there being no answer, he went on, ‘I’m the man that knows about your rabbit hole.’
When there was still no answer he pushed past the hanging door and passed through the first room and into the second. And there, about to rise from the mattress that he knew had housed a colony of field mice, he saw her. And he stared at her in amazement and pity for her chin and neck were covered with dried blood, as was one of her hands. She was blinking at him as she said, ‘I…I must have fallen asleep.’
‘Oh, my dear!’ He was sitting on the mattress beside her now. ‘What on earth’s happened?’ And when he went to touch her hand, she jerked it back from him, saying, ‘There’s…there’s pieces of glass still in it.’
‘What?’
‘She…she threw the lamp at me.’
‘Who did?’
‘The…the—’ She had to swallow hard now before she could go on and say, ‘The woman, or person who they say is my mother.’
His eyes stretched, his mouth dropped into a gape, and he asked softly, ‘But how did it come about?’
‘I…I wanted to see her. I oiled the rusty keys and got in the back way. When I went into her room—’ She now screwed up her eyes tightly, then did a strange thing: she put her tongue right out and brought her teeth down on it as if to stop herself talking. And when he said, ‘Come, dear; we must get you home,’ she shrank back from him, saying, ‘No! No! Auntie Jessie will keep the door locked on me for ever now.’
‘Oh no, she won’t. No. No, she won’t. I promise you.’
‘How…how can you promise me; you don’t live there.’
‘No, I don’t.’ His voice was stern now. ‘But I shall see…I shall make it my business that no-one locks you up again.’
‘Will you?’
‘Yes, I will. And that is a promise.’
‘I feel very tired. I…I heard Carl calling me.’
‘Didn’t he come in here?’
‘I wasn’t in here then, I was lying in the thicket, but I didn’t let him know. Then I felt very tired and I remembered the bed.’ She turned her head and looked behind her and said, ‘The mice all ran away. They were only small. I am not afraid of mice.’
He took out a handkerchief now, but when he went to wipe her face she pulled her head back, saying, ‘I think my neck is cut.’ And when he looked closer he could detect a long scratch covered with dried blood. He didn’t know how deep it might be, but he did know he must get her back to her home, and that she must see a doctor, for there were still pieces of glass in her hand. Good God! It was unbelievable that her mother, who had once been that beautiful, fragile young girl, was capable of wreaking such vengeance on her offspring; but then it was her offspring that had wrecked her life. What a tangle! What a dreadful, dreadful tangle!
‘You’re a very sensible little girl,’ he said more gently now, ‘and you must know that you cannot stay here. It will soon be nightfall and the animals’—he moved his hand as though he knew of their whereabouts—‘they’ll come roving round here and frighten the life out of you.’
‘I’m not afraid of animals.’
No, she wasn’t afraid of animals, it was people she was afraid of, and with good cause. He said, ‘Now listen, my dear. Nothing bad is going to happen to you when you get back home. I shall make it my business to see that you are in no way punished for—’ What word would he give to a child for wanting to see her mother? The only one that came to mind was escapade, and that is what he said—‘for your escapade.’
She shook her head slowly now, then asked him a question that he could not answer: ‘Why are things at the farm like they are?’ When he made no reply, she went on, ‘Other children can get out and run about. I saw them, lots of them. Were you ever locked up when you were a boy?’
‘Yes’—he could smile at her—‘and apart from some water I had nothing to eat or drink for a full day.’
‘What had you done?’
‘Well…I had kicked one of the yard men; then I had thrown a bucket of’—again he paused—‘not too clean water over him.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Because’—he had to think here of his next words—‘he was treating some animals as I thought he shouldn’t.’ He couldn’t go on to say he was drowning a litter of unwanted puppies.
When she moved her hand and winced, he got up, saying firmly, ‘Now you must come back with me. I’ve already told you, haven
’t I? and I promise you again, you won’t be locked in.’
‘How can you stop me being locked in? You don’t live there.’
‘There are ways and means, my dear, ways and means. Now, come along.’
When she stood up she swayed slightly. And when he went to take her hand she said, ‘Oh, don’t touch that hand, please, it’s very sore.’
‘I wasn’t going to touch your poor hand; but give me your other hand.’
She gave him her hand; but when they were outside the cottage he stopped her and, looking down on her, said, ‘Now you know you can’t crawl back through your rabbit hole because you mustn’t get dirt in that hand. If you were to do so, well…I don’t know what would happen. So we’ll go by the road.’
To this she made no objection; and so he now led her through the grounds and to the actual ditch she had jumped on the day she visited the school. And after helping her across, he stamped down the broken railings with his feet, making note that this part of the boundary must be seen to. But they hadn’t walked very far towards the farm when her step slowed and she said, ‘Can we sit down for a while? I am feeling very tired.’
He looked down at her, then along both sides of the road before saying reluctantly, ‘There is nowhere to sit here, my dear, except on the verge.’ But when she suddenly leant her head against his arm he shook his own as though for the moment he was perplexed, but then, bending down to her, he said, ‘I am going to lift you up and carry you. Now I won’t hurt your hand. Just hold it out away from me.’
She made no protest. But when she was in his arms and leant her head against his shoulder, it came to him that on their walk here she had not chatted at all and that the child might not only be tired, but ill, and not only from her injuries but from shock. And further, as he approached the farm gate, he was thinking it not only strange but somewhat weird that he had once also helped to carry the child’s mother through these gates, and now he was carrying the child herself.
He was greeted with a loud shout: it was from Hamish McNabb, crying, ‘Mr Carl, man! Look! Look!’ as he dashed, not towards Gerald, but to the kitchen door, from where there now appeared not only Carl but also Jessie and Patsy.
‘Where did you find her?’ Jessie ran quickly to meet them.
‘God! Look at the sight of her.’ This remark came from Carl and was mixed up with other exclamations.
But it was to Jessie that Gerald addressed himself, saying, ‘Where does she sleep? And…and I think you should get a doctor as soon as possible.’
Jessie had stepped quickly ahead of him, one hand stretched out as if to guide him to the cottage, but now turned and called, ‘Carl! Get…get Doctor Patten.’ Then she was pushing open the cottage door; and when they stepped into the room she guided Gerald further, saying, ‘Through here. Through here, please.’
They were in the bedroom now, and gently and thankfully he laid the child down on the bed. And when Jessie exclaimed tearfully, ‘Oh, the blood! I…I’ll get a basin,’ he stopped her, saying, ‘I would do nothing until the doctor comes. I think there are splinters of glass still in her hand. I don’t know about her neck.’
‘Where…where did you find her?’
‘In my wood.’
‘But Carl searched there not long…’
‘Yes, I know. But Carl belongs to this house, and I must tell you it was to this house she was afraid of returning.’ He watched her stiffen as he went on, ‘And, too, I must tell you, Miss Jessie, that her freedom must not be curtailed to the extent of her being locked up.’
‘Mr Ramsmore, this…this is our business. She is my responsibility.’
‘I am aware of that, Miss Jessie. But I repeat, she is to be given the freedom due to a child.’
‘Sir, you are interfering in something that is none of your business.’
‘It may not have been in the past, but I can inform you that it certainly will be in the future.’
‘My father is the head of this household and he can do what he likes.’
‘To my knowledge, your father ignores the child, and if I am to go by rumour, he cursed the day she was born. So your father wouldn’t care if she roamed the country and was picked up by the gypsies or run down by a horse.’
‘Sir! You are taking advantage.’ She choked on her next words but brought out, ‘You have no right at all.’
‘I think I have, Miss Jessie. Remember I found her mother and I helped to carry her back into this house. And it is that very mother who has denied this child her rights to a mother and who, I would imagine, made an attempt to kill her. Look at her.’ He now turned about and pointed down to the still and apparently sleeping figure of the child, then said, ‘Whether or not you like it, I have been forced through circumstance to take an interest in the child. Today isn’t the first time we’ve met. And if I don’t happen to meet her in the near future then I shall know that you have continued to incarcerate her. That might seem a strong word, but the child is of a very lively nature and to be locked up in this’—he looked from one side to the other, as if encompassing the whole room—‘rabbit hutch, can be described as nothing else but incarceration.’ And almost bouncing his head towards her, he turned about and stamped from the cottage, leaving her gasping, one hand clutching her throat, the other her bodice.
A movement from the bed brought her attention back to the child, who had raised heavy lids to look at her for a moment before she brought out slowly, ‘I’m sorry, Auntie Jessie.’ And with only the plight of the child filling her mind now, Jessie said, ‘It’s all right, dear, it’s all right. Lie quiet, the doctor’s coming.’
But when presently Janie said, ‘Where’s the nice man?’ Jessie had to force herself to say, ‘He…he has gone home.’
‘Will he come back?’
‘Er…perhaps. Go to sleep now.’
‘Auntie Jessie?’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘I know now why you didn’t want me to see her. She isn’t nice, is she?’
Jessie didn’t question who wasn’t nice, but after biting down on her lip she said, ‘Lie quiet now, dear.’ Then bending closer to Janie’s face, she asked, ‘What did you say?’ and almost a look of horror came on her own as she heard the child say, ‘She was in disorder like the bull.’
When, last year, they had to shoot the bull that had suddenly gone mad, the child had been a witness to the men’s efforts with pitchforks to corner it in the barn, and she herself had explained that it was some disorder in its mind and it would have done serious harm if it hadn’t been destroyed. And now she had likened her mother to the bull. She hadn’t said mad, just disordered, yet she must have heard the men in the yard discussing the animal as mad. She turned away from the bed, saying to herself, ‘Hurry up, Doctor, please, so I can get her cleaned and into bed.’
It was a good hour later when Doctor Philip Patten arrived. And he stood looking down where the child lay fully dressed and just as Gerald had brought her in. Then turning to Jessie, he remarked, ‘Well, this should clinch the matter, shouldn’t it? whatever your father decides. I shall want a bowl of warm water.’ Then turning to the bed again, he said softly, ‘How do you feel, Janie?’
‘Very tired, Doctor; and my hand is paining.’
‘We’ll soon put that right, dear. Now this might hurt just a little.’ He lifted her hand and moved his finger in between the blood stains, and each time she winced so his eyes met hers. And then he said, ‘Ah, well now, you have four splinters in there, Janie, and I’ll have to take them out, won’t I?’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
‘Well, now, I’ll be as gentle as I possibly can, but in the meantime we will get it nicely cleaned up. Ah, here is your aunt with a dish of nice warm water. Now I want you to put your hand into it and keep it there while I look at your neck. Ah, that’s right. Now can you move it backwards and forwards? Oh, that’s a clever girl.’
After examining her neck, he said, ‘Just a long scratch, no glass here.’ Then he turned and pointed to his bag, s
aying briefly, ‘Cotton wool.’ And after Jessie had handed it to him he showed it to Janie, saying, ‘I’m just going to wipe your hand very gently;’ and as he did so she did not wince.
As he extracted the first sliver of glass she cried, ‘Oh! Oh dear!’
And by the time he had extracted the fourth sliver she was lying gasping, and her face was wet with perspiration.
After he had carried out the cleansing of her neck, he put his hand on her forehead before taking her pulse; then patting her cheek, he said, ‘The quicker you get into your nightie and into bed the better, eh?’
When, a few minutes later, he was standing in the other room facing Jessie, his tone had an edge to it as he said, ‘She has a temperature. It is some time since this morning when this incident occurred—I understand Mr Ramsmore found her lying in his wood. Well, the result of that delay, if not of the shock, will likely result in a fever. I will leave a mild draught to settle her down, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning.’
He sighed deeply as if he were tired of the happenings that called for his attention in this household; and when he left without bidding her goodbye, she had much the same feeling as when Gerald Ramsmore had departed, and she muttered to herself, ‘Men! Arrogant men!’ And lining up with these two was the figure of her father…but not Carl. No; not Carl. Carl was the only male in her life whose tone had never been other than kind.
It was four days later. Janie had developed pneumonia, and Jessie’s and Patsy’s time was taken up attending her. And every spare moment Carl had would be spent assisting them. A steam tent was erected and this necessitated a continuous supply of kettles full of steaming Friar’s Balsam.
Ward was left almost entirely on his own to see to the needs of his daughter, which however were now very simple: the draught the doctor was giving her was keeping her quietly subdued. In fact, she seemed to sleep all the time; only when her father would raise her head and say, ‘Drink this, dear,’ which might be milk or tea, did she rouse herself. At first she had protested, but he had put one strong arm around her, so pinning her hands, and forced her to gulp at the liquid. But now on the fourth day she was making no effort to refuse; the only effort she made was when she was sick. And it was on this fourth day that Philip Patten came into the room unannounced and to witness her vomiting.
The Maltese Angel Page 34
