Charles Palliser (27 page)

How could my mother have sent them after me? I kept asking myself as I 118 THE

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ran the few hundred yards to our house. When I burst into the front parlour I found her sitting with Bissett over their work.

My mother gasped when she saw me and I cried out: “Why did you send them after me? They nearly succeeded!”

“Who?” my mother exclaimed. “What do you mean? What has happened to you?”

Now I saw it all. They had lied to Mr Advowson, and it was too late for me to disguise the truth from my mother. I noticed that Bissett was — or at least, appeared to be — as surprised and upset as my mother. I told them the bare facts and then answered their questions.

I could not describe the young lady because of her veil but when I mentioned that the man was extremely tall my mother gasped: “How tall? Can you describe him?”

“The tallest man I ever saw!” I cried.

In horror she asked: “Did he have a long pale face and a thin mouth?”

I nodded, still gasping for breath.

“And black hair,” she went on in horror; “falling over one side of his forehead?”

“Yes,” I said in amazement. “That’s him precisely, except that his hair was streaked with grey.”

At this she staggered and nearly swooned but Bissett and I held her and helped her back to the sopha. “It’s he, it’s he!” she moaned, rocking herself backwards and forwards.

“Who, mother? Who do you mean? How do you know him?”

“This is what I have always feared,” she stammered. Then she said to Bissett: “I knew I was wrong to let you persuade me to let him go out alone.” She turned to me, gripping my arm: “Never again will you go out by yourself while we live in this village. Either Mrs Bissett or I must always be with you. And we will never go beyond the village.”

My mother kept her word and from that moment onwards I became a kind of prisoner. I was restricted to the garden — except for my walks which were always under escort — and the locks and spikes that had been installed on the gate and the walls after the burglary now became the means of keeping me in.

Three weeks passed and it was now late August. During this time I had been chafing at having to keep the house. After dinner that Sunday I was in the garden for it was another beautiful afternoon, although this time much cooler and damper for there had been a shower in the morning and there were rain-clouds still about. I was alone for my mother and Bissett were indoors.

Suddenly I thought of exploring the one part of my domain that was still mysterious to me: the Wilderness at the bottom of the garden. A moment later I had pushed my way through the undergrowth of hazel and briers, penetrated the spinney, and found myself beside an abandoned pool — a dark-green expanse on which the dappled shadows of the trees played and which was surrounded by its broken circle of stone. I gazed into it in the hope of glimpsing some ancient survivor from the distant era when the pond must have been tenanted by goldfish similar to those which still inhabited the two smaller ponds on the

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upper terrace; but nothing seemed to move beneath the surface. As I stared I became aware of the silence. I looked behind me and started at finding at my shoulder the face that had frightened me all those years ago.

It disturbed me even now but in a different way. Though it was only an image, yet the features, worn away and made grotesque by time and weather, were still human and horribly suggested the idea of deformed, agonised suffering. And yet even as I felt this, I was able to see that the face belonged merely to a water-nymph or goddess who had lost both her arms at the shoulders. But now I saw that there was an arm about her waist and realized that she was being held by another figure which was behind her so that the strange angle of her head was explained by the fact that it was directed towards that other figure, most of which was missing, with whom she was struggling. It reminded me of something that I could not recall.

Then I noticed that there was an inscription incised in the stone base. It was so worn and over-grown with moss that it was difficult to decypher, but I was almost certain that it read
Et Nemo in Arcadia,
which even my little Latin was able to make sense of though I could not understand its bearing.

I went on and after that the thicket grew darker and denser so that it was not without a struggle that I finally won my way to the very wall. To my surprise I saw that it had an old entrance whose door was secured by a massive padlock and chain covered in rust.

My hopes rose but were dashed when I ascertained that although the door was broken in places, it was still stout enough to resist my attempts to force it. And then I looked more closely at the chain and realized that, formidable though it looked, it was severely rusted. I found a large stone nearby and tried smashing it down on one of the links where it crossed the jamb. After a few blows the chain parted in a shower of rust. The next problem was to move the door which had become almost a part of the ground.

However, after some minutes I was able to push it far enough to allow me to squeeze round it. I did not hesitate, and a moment later found myself in the abandoned orchard which belonged to the farm that lay at the end of the lane. The farm-house was out of sight some distance away and so it was no wonder that the door had been so completely forgotten.

Now I felt truly free, but I did not know what to do with my unexpected liberty. I thought of going to Hougham again, for it might be that my absence would not be noticed for a couple of hours and that would be long enough to get there and back. On the other hand, the house was probably still empty. Anyway, I resolved that I would first make for that direction by way of the stream at the bottom of the valley. And so I set off, carefully skirting the farm on my right, and reached the runlet without seeing anybody.

After a few hundred yards the stream broadened out and was shaded by high trees so that where their shadows fell across it the depths were visible. And now it was that I lay on my stomach on the bank and gazed into the limpid waters. The shadowy shapes of what might be lampern, stickle-back, trout, and bull’s-head moved mysteriously about. I imagined what it would be like to be a creature of that silent, beautiful world. I watched for some time scarcely daring to draw breath, and then I became aware that there was a dim shape that might have been a fish or a shadow of the weed. And so I took a stick and poked at it and only stirred up clouds of mud. The surface of the water seemed to lose its gleam and I looked up at the sky. It was beginning to cloud over and it must be getting late. At that moment the resolution came to me: Yes, I would go to Hougham.

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I swiftly made my way along the banks, under cover of the thick wood which grew along the stream’s length. When the path faltered and progress became difficult, I removed my boots and stockings, and, carrying them tied round my shoulders, waded along the shallow bed.

I made rapid progress by this means, and soon reached the road to Over-Leigh a mile or two further on. Now I was on Mompesson land. The dark clouds were gathering towards the southern horizon although the sun was still shining from an expanse of blue in the other direction.

As before, I made my way cautiously towards the strange building that must be what Henrietta had called the Pantheon. Suddenly I saw a servant-girl sprawled on a stone beside the pool, dozing in the sun. I was surprised since I had not expected to find anyone. Perhaps she was a servant left in the house who was taking a rest from her work.

I looked carefully around from behind the cover of the trees and caught sight of a small figure not far away. I made a signal with my arm and when Henrietta — for she it was —

saw me she nodded her head. Then she put her finger to her lips and looked towards the servant-girl. I nodded and she pointed further up the slope to where the ground was thickly timbered again. Moving from tree to tree, I crept past the sleeping servant, then followed Henrietta into the wood keeping track of her only by the sound she was making and an occasional glimpse of her head. We were tracing the streamlet, which came trickling down to supply the bason below us, as we climbed towards the little building.

When I caught up with her she was waiting for me on the steps out of which the stream was gushing.

“I believed you would keep our tryst,” she said. “I was looking out for you.”

Not daring to ask what a “tryst” was, I said: “Are we safe here?”

“Yes. Nobody ever comes to the Pantheon, and I believe everybody has forgotten that it exists.”

“What is a Pantheon?” I asked, swallowing my pride.

“It’s a summer-house, of course.”

As I looked at it I suddenly remembered that what I had been reminded of earlier that afternoon when I saw the sculpture of the two figures fighting in our garden was this: the statues standing here on top of the circular colonnade. The style seemed to be the same and the stone was worn in just the same way.

Now as I looked down I saw what looked like tall brick chimneys rising above the woods that covered the valley: “What are those?”

“That’s the Old Hall.”

Of course. My mother had mentioned it. I went a little way down the slope and peered at it through the thick trees. I saw spiralling chimney-stacks of decorated bricks rising from ancient gables and bare beams where slates had fallen away. The place was filled with the wood-pigeons’ liquid bubblings and the wood had the sense of a murmurous green echo. Now I saw a group of four elm trees below me on a level with the old building which was still just out of sight. The trees were in a square and suddenly Mrs Belflower’s story of the duel came back to me. Was it true? Yet I could see that there was no statue in the middle of the square, though there was one beneath each of the trees.

I went back to my companion and we sat down, making ourselves comfortable on a low balustrade beside where the water gushed out.

“I cannot stay more than a few minutes,” I said. “I must get back before my RELATIONS

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absence is discovered. I wish I had found you when I came three weeks ago. Where were you?”

“My guardians decided suddenly that we should all go back to London immediately after I met you.”

“Immediately after?”

“Yes. That very afternoon. We set off the next day.”

“Then why have they returned after so short a time?”

“You are mistaken. They are still there.” She paused and I saw that she was upset.

“Something happened in London. Miss Quilliam was dismissed. I have been sent back here under the care of the housekeeper again.”

“Why was she dismissed?”

She shook her head: “I don’t know. Nobody would tell me anything and she wasn’t allowed to say goodbye. But I can’t believe any ill of her. She was the first governess I ever cared for. I am sure that is why they have sent her away.”

I told her how sorry I was and how much I had liked Miss Quilliam and then I explained how I had managed to escape and that I might never be allowed another such opportunity. I ended: “But if I can, I will come again.”

“You will not find me,” Henrietta replied gravely. “On Tuesday I am to go away from here, probably for many years.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I am being sent to school. In Brussels,” she added. “My guardians say they have given up hope of finding a reliable governess.”

“Are you sorry to go?” I asked.

“No,” she said after a moment’s reflection. “I will be free of Tom. And apart from you and my great-aunt, I have no friends.”

“Then we may not meet again for many years,” I said.

“Or perhaps never,” she said gravely. “And you will forget me.”

A little surprised by her solemnity, I began to protest that I would not, but she interrupted me: “Let me give you a keepsake to remember me by. The ladies always do in the stories.”

Quickly she slipped a ring off one of her fingers and passed it to me. It was a band of pewter set with a piece of red glass which had the letters “L. R.” engraved on the face.

“I cannot … ” I began.

However, she said firmly: “Oh it is not worth anything or I would not have been allowed to keep it. But it belonged to my mother.”

“Then if it was your mother’s, it must be very precious to you,” I protested.

“Yes, it is very precious. But that is why I wish you to have it.”

I made to put it in my pocket but Henrietta said: “You must promise to wear it always.”

“I promise to keep it,” I said, slipping it on. “But I have nothing to give you,” I cried in vexation. I hastily reached through my pockets but could find nothing amidst all my boy’s treasure of string, strange-shaped stones, chestnuts and mysterious pieces of iron, except a small implement for removing stones from horses’ shoes which was very precious to me. I contemplated giving this to her but I felt it would be wasted.

“I have another ring,” Henrietta said, bringing out one which was similar to the first but had no initials on it. “You give it to me,” she said handing it to me.

Rather puzzled, I did so.

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“Now we have to kiss each other farewell,” she announced. “And then you walk away quickly only glancing backwards once.”

“Are you sure about the kiss?”

She moved a pace nearer to me and, glad that there was nobody to witness the shameful deed, I quickly kissed her cool cheek and then obeyed the rest of her injunction.

Just before the trees engulphed me I turned back and saw the small figure still standing motionless holding her hands crossed in front of her. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wave but I raised one hand in a stately greeting and then passed under the shadows of the trees.

I retraced my steps through the park quickly but still cautiously, the more hurriedly because I was aware that the sky to the north had darkened suddenly. A few minutes later, as I hurried along the course of the stream beyond the road, I saw a great purplish thunderhead mustering, and then a cool wind sprang up and a bank of driving rain became visible approaching from my right. I knew that if I followed the same course home and so took the longer way round to gain the orchard and thence the gate into the garden, I would be caught by the rain. I therefore decided to make for home by the quickest way, so I left the stream and ran up the fields towards the village. The sheet of rain, sparkling in the sun as it approached, came nearer and seemed to be drawing a curtain of shadow in its wake. As I reached the first houses it overtook me and I was drenched in a fine spray. Still hoping to get home unseen, I ran down the High-street intending to get up the lane, into the orchard, and so back into the garden before my mother and Bissett had had time to wonder why the sudden shower had not brought me in.