A Hint of Witchcraft (2 page)

‘Yes. Bows and spears would have been pretty useless in the trenches, never mind crowns. Still, she was a bit illogical about the Fallen. It's because they aren't here that we are.'

It may not have been the last clever-sounding thing that Alex said purely for its effect, but it could have been among the last. Mrs Dobie had not taken him by the shoulders and shaken him until his teeth rattled, but she had shaken some of the nonsense out of him and shoved him in a new direction. Alex had already undergone several changes of direction and there would be more, but he had recognized in her protest the ring of fearless sincerity. A new-found directness, while it lasted, was to cost him several friends.

Chaos had threatened but had not quite come. In response to an unseen signal a bugler from the Elmdon Barracks stepped smartly forward to sound The Last Post. The brazen notes cleft the April air, raising grief to a pitch beyond speech, beyond comfort. Those lost, they proclaimed, could never come back. For those who were left there was no hope, only endurance. Having condensed in their merciless message the totality of human suffering, the bugle notes ceased.

As the last of them died into silence, Margot felt her flesh creep, her scalp tingle. She seemed at last almost to understand why they were there; why they had bothered to build the memorial. It was because there was nothing else they could do. That was why Mrs Dobie had shaken her fist at the Cross and been rude to the rector – because there was nothing else she could do to make up for.…

For what? Margot was aware of a huge unanswered question, as unanswerable as it was huge; and as the bandmaster raised his baton for ‘All people that on earth do dwell', she began to cry and felt in vain for her handkerchief, unwisely secreted in an inaccessible part of her clothing instead of up her sleeve where it would have been easier to get at but might have fallen out, which was why she had preferred to rely on elastic. Conscious of having made a wrong decision, she had to let the tears fall.

Alex looked down sternly.

‘People,' he had more than once decreed, ‘don't cry in public.'

‘But if they can't help it?' she had once asked, snivelling.

‘They can always help it.'

The remedy, it seemed, was to think of something else. Presumably it worked for him. He was not immune to tears. Once when he was donkey in the card game, he had rushed away, red-eared and blowing his nose, for a quite unnecessary drink of water; and when his rabbit, gorged by over-feeding, then starved by neglect, had patiently died, Alex had gone into the garden shed and wept in remorse.

But not in public. One thought of something else. Pressed for an example, he had recommended the French Foreign Legion in which at that time he was intending as soon as possible to enlist. Margot closed her wet eyes and fixed her mind on the cover of
The Gallant Legionnaire,
on horsemen in head-dresses with flaps galloping wildly over a hill of sand.…

The band was playing ‘God Save the King': the ceremony was over.

‘Let's go,' Alex said. ‘I'm famished.'

‘Me too.' Lance handed Margot a handkerchief.

‘But I don't suppose we'll be eating yet, not for a good half-hour.'

‘Then what about getting on with the job? There'd be time to put a thin layer of shellac on the cardboard. Then we can wind the coil on to the formers this afternoon.'

‘It looks as if the Rilstons are being asked in for sherry or something. I'd better hang about here but you can go. See you at lunch.'

Lance looked at his watch and disappeared. It would take him exactly three minutes to get home, a further thirty seconds to reach his bedroom. Assuming the same length of time for getting back to Monk's Dene and adding another minute for hand-washing etc., that would leave just under twenty-three minutes for coating the cardboard formers and possibly, though it would be a rush, drilling holes in the fibre ready for the terminals. No time need be wasted on popping in to the surgery: his father would still be out on his rounds. They hadn't seen each other for a couple of days owing to a difficult confinement and a nasty accident with a chain-saw.

Absorbed though he was in these calculations as he turned into the main street at top speed, Lance noticed two people standing on the pavement to his right opposite Burdons' shop: females; strangers. It was no time to be standing at the bus-stop. If they were waiting for the 11.55, they had missed it. In that case they might as well settle down to wait two hours and eight minutes for the next. If, on the other hand, they had got off the 11.55, why were they still there seven minutes later, assuming that the bus had been on time? Putting on a spurt, he reached his own front door with two seconds in hand.

*   *   *

They had alighted from the bus to the sound of music. Somewhere close at hand a band was playing.

‘A service of some sort. I wonder.' Mrs Grey looked round anxiously as the bus lumbered off. ‘It can't be far to walk. On Church Lane to the left of the main street, Sarah said in her letter.'

‘There.'

‘Then that must be Monk's Dene. It's the only house.'

It was half hidden by a high wall, but its size and the tops of orchard trees were enough to confirm the impression that Sarah Humbert had done well for herself. Marian Grey had sensed that at once when, after a separation of twenty-one years, they had met by chance in town. She had felt the contrast with her own situation; had felt too the absolute necessity of concealing it. Years of war and its aftermath had been less than kind to her, but it was one's duty to hide the scars, especially from an old school-friend who had so obviously prospered. But the humiliation of having to walk to her front door with the dirt of the lane on their shoes!

She was already tired. So far the day had not gone well. There had been rather an unpleasant incident as they waited for the bus in Elmdon, standing on the pavement like working people. It was a cool, sunless spot, shaded by a warehouse wall and still damp from overnight rain. The only other would-be passenger was an insolent-looking youth wearing a cloth cap and a white muffler, no doubt to conceal his lack of shirt collar.

The bus – a wretched little local affair – came at last, drew up with a lurch and almost splashed them with muddy water from a puddle. They had both been obliged to step back smartly. Her own stockings were spattered; the marks still showed though she had done what she could with a handkerchief. Fortunately Linden had got out of the way in time, but in stepping back she had bumped into someone standing against the warehouse wall: a gypsy-looking woman with a pedlar's tray of goods slung round her neck. The woman lost her balance, the tray tilted and her things were spilled on the pavement: laces, packets of tape and so on.

She had been extremely offensive, out of all proportion to so small an accident. She had actually sworn at Linden and muttered some kind of threat. Fortunately a policeman was passing, otherwise there might have been more unpleasantness. Of course, there was nothing they could do but get into the bus quickly – the conductor was impatient – and pay no attention. The youth in the cap kept them waiting while he picked up some of the things and put them back on the tray, until the conductor threatened to leave without him.

The three of them were the only passengers. At the top of Ashlaw's steep main street the bus slowed down for him, he jumped off and made a rude sign to them from the roadside. Linden had simply turned away: she was always cool-headed and never out of temper. But she herself suffered from sensitive nerves and the incident had upset her.

And now they waited until the hymn ended and was followed by the National Anthem.

‘It's over, whatever it was.'

On the other side of the wall there were no houses, only open land sloping to a hollow with trees and clumps of primroses.

‘It's quite pretty really. I thought when you said Mr Humbert was a colliery agent, there'd be.…'

‘An agent has a very good position and doesn't have to live near a colliery. Actually there isn't one at Ashlaw.'

‘There are a lot of people down there and a motor car.'

To have to manoeuvre one's way through a crowd was an added inconvenience. Fortunately people were dispersing, though in no particular hurry, except for an athletic-looking, russet-haired boy who came up the hill at an astonishing speed and made for the house with a brass plate, set back a little from the street. The doctor's? An emergency?

‘It's a big car.' They had drifted to the turning and could look down the lane. ‘If we had come in a taxi, we wouldn't have been able to get to the gate.'

‘Exactly.' Mrs Grey's manner had changed. ‘Come along.'

They exchanged smiles of understanding and hesitated no longer.

CHAPTER II

By one o'clock those who had been famished at twelve were ravenous. According to Alex, who had charge of the decanter, they had remained steadfast to the call of duty, hoping eventually to be rewarded for gallantry.

‘We really must be going,' Mrs Rilston said for the third time. ‘It has been delightful. I envy you, Mrs Humbert, living in the centre of things. I'm afraid we're out of touch up at Bainrigg.' She lowered her voice. ‘It was good of you to ask Miles to stay for lunch. He's away at school most of the time and has no friends here. We know so very few young people.' She looked round. The presence at such close quarters of even so very few young people had already given her a headache. ‘Margot is a charming little hostess. So natural and unspoiled.' More thoughtfully her eye turned to the other girl. She was standing just inside the drawing-room door with her mother, Mr Rilston, Mr Humbert and Alex.

‘Linden is a little older.' Mrs Humbert's gaze had taken the same direction. ‘She's nearer Alex's age. Margot had told us about the new girl at school. She was thrilled, and so was I when I realized who it must be. Linden's mother and I were at the Elmdon High School together as girls.'

‘You hadn't kept in touch?'

‘Army people move about a good deal, don't they? We heard of Captain Grey's death, but it wasn't until Margot mentioned Linden's name that I knew Marian had come back to Elmdon. She hopes to give Linden a more settled background and make suitable friends.'

‘That should not be difficult.'

Linden was apparently a good listener. She seemed at ease, a slim, graceful girl. She had not yet taken off her hat, a brown velour with the broad brim turned up all round to show dark hair framing a face of pale, clear complexion.

‘She must miss her father. It can't have been easy for Marian. But you know what it is.' Sarah Humbert hesitated. ‘This morning must have been an ordeal for you and your husband – and for Miles too.'

The Rilstons' only son, Miles's father, had been killed at Ypres. The discovery that he and Captain Grey had been in the same regiment had been made just as the Rilstons were on the point of leaving – twenty minutes ago.

‘And the auburn-haired boy? Not one of the family?'

‘Dr Pelman's son. His mother died when he was very young and he spends a good deal of time with us.'

‘I see now. The resemblance. The same intensely blue eyes as his father.'

Lance stood with his back to the hall clock. He was forcing himself not to look at it. His obsession with time and not wasting any of it was getting out of hand. It was important not to let anything get out of hand, always to be in control. Self-control was essential in every walk of life.

Margot, having met the Greys at the gate, ushered them in and made the breathless introductions, had later found Miles stranded at the foot of the stairs and felt sorry for him. He had not yet been introduced to Linden and she must see to it that the privilege was not too long delayed. Meanwhile—

‘Lunch won't be long,' she said encouragingly. ‘In fact it's been ready for ages. I'm glad you're staying.'

‘Thank you.'

Like the others, he was older than Margot who thought him delicate-looking. Perhaps he was outgrowing his strength. She racked her brains for a topic that might interest him.

‘Alex and Lance are making a crystal set. Wireless, you know. They've taken a vow to make it as cheaply as possible. Well, they would have to anyway but it makes it more interesting when you take a vow.' To her the vow was certainly more interesting than the crystal set.

‘I see. I suppose it does.'

‘It's the second one. The first one almost worked but.…' Why hadn't it worked? ‘It was something to do with the aerial. Actually I'm not sure that it's worth all the bother. All I could hear was a sort of whistling and wailing.'

‘I expect that's why they're trying again. When it works properly there are interesting things to listen to. It's better if you have a set with valves but more expensive, I'm afraid.'

‘You mean – the vow?'

He smiled. She was a friendly little thing with light-brown hair and dark eyes. They were soft, like velvet, the whites faintly tinted with blue. Usually he felt awkward with strangers, especially girls. For that matter he hardly knew any. To have to stay to lunch had promised to be sheer torture.

‘Sometimes there's music.' The smile had changed his thin face, his whole self. It gave to the remark a special charm. She was to remember it as one remembers a line of poetry.

‘You like music?' And when he nodded, ‘So do I. I'm.…' She stopped, remembering Alex's rule about not bragging.

‘Yes?'

‘I was going to say that I'm in the school choir but it sounds like boasting.'

‘What sort of thing do you sing?'

‘“Nymphs-and shepherds-come-away”.' She looked at him doubtfully, wondering for the first time what it actually meant. Quick and bright, the five words came again and again and nothing seemed to happen until the desperate ‘… come come co-o-ome away' at the end. ‘That's what we're working on now.'