HartsLove (19 page)

Their father groaned.

‘Stop shouting!' begged Daisy. ‘You'll wake him.'

Garth chucked his knucklebones into the air.

‘For God's sake, Garth!' Rose's nerves were strung tighter than a bow.

Garth threw the bones higher.

‘Please, Garth,' implored Daisy. Garth stopped. ‘Look,' Daisy said, ‘Clover and Columbine are right. If the Entwhistles are here, we can still try to put them off. I mean, maybe we could wake them and force them to watch Garth being a ghostly tumbler on the roof. It worked before.'

Rose shook her head. ‘It's too late. Too late for anything.'

‘No,' insisted Daisy, ‘it's not, though perhaps the Garth thing wouldn't work. The father's too hardboiled. He'd see Garth was missing and know at once what was what. We need something else.'

‘You shouldn't have said anything about Father Nameless,' Garth snapped at Rose. ‘We might have done something with the bell.' He began to juggle again.

‘You think a tolling bell would be enough to scare a man like that?' Rose wanted to snatch the knucklebones.

‘No, it wouldn't,' agreed Daisy, her voice rising. ‘Why,
oh why did these people have to pass by today? The Derby's so close!'

‘Sod's law,' said Garth.

‘Who was Sod?' asked Clover or Columbine.

‘Christ in Heaven, Clover! What does that matter?'

‘I'm Columbine,' said Columbine.

Daisy peeled some crumbling plaster.

‘Daisy! What are you doing?' Lily was on her feet.

‘Nothing.' Daisy dropped the plaster. ‘I was just thinking . . .' They looked at her expectantly. ‘Why on earth are we bothering with the father?' she said slowly.

‘Because he's the one who makes the decisions,' Garth said.

‘Yes. But the children have got to live here too, and he can't really live here if they don't want to.'

There was a moment's pause.

‘Daisy's right,' said Garth. ‘If we're going to try to frighten anybody, it should be Robin. Let's do more than frighten him. Let's chop one of his fat arms off and –' Garth still ached for the Furious Boy.

‘No,' said Daisy. ‘Let's do something worse.'

They all gaped. ‘Worse than cutting off someone's arm?' Lily felt faint.

‘A missing arm's a missing arm,' said Daisy. ‘It's what goes on in your head that kills.'

An hour later something very curious slipped into Robin's room. The boy was snoring. The figure began to cry loudly.
Robin stirred but did not wake. The figure stopped crying for a moment, shook dust from the hangings and began to cry again. This time Robin did wake and found, hovering by the bed, the Furious Boy, no longer a cold statue but a living creature, white as milk except for a bloodied stump where his arm had been. The Boy was holding his severed limb above the pillow. The limb was dripping blood. The walls of the castle dampened Robin's screams and he soon realised that nobody could hear. He cowered. ‘Go away!' he whispered hoarsely.

The statue spoke in a curious, sing-song hiss. ‘I want something.'

A drop of blood landed on Robin's nose. He did not dare wipe it off. ‘What do you want?'

‘Revenge.'

Robin began to mewl. ‘I didn't mean to knock your arm off. Really, I didn't.' A tiny particle of courage returned. This must be a nightmare. In a moment, he would wake up. ‘Bang, bang.'

The Furious Boy grimaced horribly and produced a long, curved knife. Robin felt a warm flow down his leg. ‘Oh,' he shrieked. ‘I'm murdered! I'm murdered! Oh sweet Jesus, save me.' He bit his fingers. He rocked. ‘I can't be awake. I can't be.'

The Furious Boy indicated with the knife that Robin should get out of bed. ‘How? I'm injured! I'm dying!' Robin pulled out his legs, only to find that the warm flow was not
blood: he had wet himself. ‘Mother! Father!' Nobody came. He crumpled on to the floor feeling the point of the knife where his pantaloons met his frilled shirt. He crawled to the door, shot up, flung it open and ran the whole length of the passage, through several other doors – some large, some small – some cobwebbed, some not – under portraits and old stags' heads and past three rusty suits of armour until, climbing some stairs, he eventually turned a corner where he found lamps burning. His family must be here. He shoved open the nearest door and saw his mother's shoes and his father's boots strewn about in the manner of people accustomed to servants. Their lumpy figures were humped in the bed. Peeping from below the pillow, for fear of burglars, was the necklace his mother had been wearing.

Robin breathed very quickly as he pulled back the covers, for a moment terrified of what he might find. But his parents were there, both fatly snoring. Robin dropped to his knees. He had often complained of his parents' snoring. Now it was as comforting as a lullaby. He started to shake them awake, then stopped. He did not want to be laughed at. He did not want them to know that he had wet himself. ‘It was that horrible dinner,' he said loudly. ‘It's upset my digestion. That's all.'

A rush of air; a tap on his shoulder. Gut-dissolving dread. This was not the Furious Boy: it was Daisy. She grabbed his arm and dragged him with her. ‘Never mind your parents,' she panted. ‘He's after you. Run!'

Blindly, his wet pantaloons clinging to his legs, Robin followed as Daisy hobbled round more corners, up more stairs, down more passages. Once he tried to look over his shoulder. ‘DON'T!' Daisy smacked him sharply. ‘Just hurry!' Robin did not look behind again. When they got to the hall, Daisy halted, though she was twitchy and constantly on the lookout. ‘I think we've shaken him off,' she said.

Shafts of moonlight lay like lances across the floor. The Furious Boy was there, pale and one-armed, but with no soggy stump, no blood and no knife. Robin let out a long breath. ‘I
was
dreaming,' he said. At once, he let go of Daisy's hand, furious that he had held it in the first place. Daisy went to sit on the fender, half in and half out of the dark.

‘I had a nightmare,' Robin blustered, sounding just like his father. ‘A stupid nightmare, righty right.' He hoped she had not noticed his wet pantaloons.

‘Yes,' Daisy said, ‘I know.'

‘How do you know?'

She moved so that he could see her better and gave an enigmatic smile. ‘I just know.'

No smile had ever made Robin more uneasy. ‘We'll get rid of this horrible thing,' he said, pointing at the Furious Boy.

‘Of course you will.' Again she gave that smile. She swung one leg gently, her callipers clanging against the
ironwork. ‘We got rid of a similar statue once.' She clanged her callipers again. ‘Well, almost.'

‘What do you mean? Almost?'

‘It was a girl and I knocked her leg off, you see. She was a nymph, just like these.' She gestured at some of the other statues.

‘So?'

‘That's why I'm lame.'

‘You mean its – her – leg landed on your leg?'

‘Oh no,' said Daisy. ‘Her leg landed on the floor.'

‘You mean you fell over it?' He began to laugh hysterically.

Daisy carried on swinging her callipers. ‘No. Nothing like that.' She paused.

‘I suppose you did something really stupid.' Robin couldn't stop his laughter, even though he wanted to.

Daisy did not seem to notice. ‘The night after I knocked the leg off, the statue came to me. She was crying. I'm not sure exactly what happened next.' Daisy hesitated nicely and stared at the floor. ‘All I know is that a week or so later my right leg began to feel strange – you know, as if I'd been sitting on it for too long. Then, one morning, it just wouldn't work at all.' Robin stopped laughing. A light sweat covered his forehead. ‘We called the doctor and he tried so many things. Everything, I think. Nothing helped. My leg just got weaker and weaker, and after my right leg collapsed, my left one started. In the end they both just
withered away.' She looked up. ‘If I take my stockings off, I could show you.'

He started. ‘No! Don't you dare!'

‘I don't blame you,' Daisy said. ‘There's nothing worse than a withered limb – unless it's two withered limbs.' She left a tiny pause. ‘Does your arm feel funny?'

‘Of course it doesn't,' snarled Robin. But did it?

Daisy pressed on. ‘I came to find you, to warn you.' Another pause. ‘I thought I saw the Furious Boy with a knife.'

‘
It was a dream
,' said Robin, his voice strangled. ‘The Furious Boy with a knife was a dream. Look! He's been here all the time.'

Daisy shook her head. ‘Don't you understand? That's what I thought about the nymph. She was still here, yet –' she gestured to her legs. ‘Are you sure your arm doesn't feel funny?'

‘NO! My arm's just fine. You can't be crippled by a statue.'

‘Not in a normal house,' Daisy agreed, ‘but you can if you live here. I should know. Let me look at your arms.'

Robin began to curse. This silly halfwit was really scaring him with her fibs. And they were fibs. He absolutely knew it. They were fibs, fibs, fibs. Weren't they? He punched both his arms up and down. ‘My arms are just perfectly fine and dandy.' He lied. His arms were not fine and dandy. Surely one was throbbing? Surely the other was aching? Surely they
were both
withering
. He was sure of it. Then he was unsure. Then he was sure again. ‘Oh God, oh God!' he moaned.

‘You're lucky,' Daisy said.

‘Lucky?' He was pulling up his sleeves. He had to see. He had to know.

‘You can still escape,' Daisy said. ‘Perhaps if you leave here and never come back, the statue will forget.' Robin was gurgling as he frantically inspected each arm in turn. ‘You know,' Daisy spoke dreamily, ‘I once saw somebody with a withered arm. Everybody spoke to him as if he was the village idiot. It must have been so humiliating. Even more humiliating than wetting yourself.' Robin groaned. ‘I don't know for sure what happened in the end,' Daisy said in the same dreamy voice. ‘I think his parents had him locked away in an asylum for lunatics and left him there until he died. There's lots of asylums for cripples in Liverpool, you know. I expect your parents wouldn't want you quite so close, though. It's easier to forget about people if they're further away.'

There was a noise. Daisy's mouth flew open.

‘What now?' Robin squeaked and whipped round. The Furious Boy had vanished and three of the nymph statues were rotating on their plinths pointing white and bony fingers in Robin's direction. He reversed into the fireplace and tried to hide behind the firedogs.

Daisy fought hard not to laugh. She would let Robin burble and blubber for a minute or two, then take him back
up to his room where he would see the Furious Boy for a final, unforgettable time. She grinned at the three ‘nymphs' doing their job so perfectly. Except not so perfectly, because whilst Daisy managed to swallow her laughter, the sight of Robin quivering behind the firedogs completely overwhelmed Clover and Columbine. They began to shiver and shake and, in most unnymphlike fashion, to bend, hold on to their stomachs, to cough, to sneeze, to silently implore, to wring their hands until they finally collapsed amid a babble of completely uncontrollable giggles.

So jangled were Robin's nerves that it took him a long moment to hear the giggles and an even longer moment to really look. Once he had looked, however, it took him no time at all to realise that he had been duped, utterly and comprehensively duped and hung out to dry like a prize idiot. At first he was speechless. Then he was howling, quite beside himself at being taken in. He lunged at Clover or Columbine with fists, elbows and teeth. ‘You monsters! You filthy devils! I'll pay you back for this! I'll break your bones. I'll cut off your arms and legs. I'll stamp on your faces and feed your brains to the crows. Your lives are over, OVER! You're finished! You're dead! You'll never frighten us away from here! We'll turn you out tomorrow morning with nothing –
nothing, do you hear
?'

Daisy was on her feet. She could hardly believe it. The whole evening's work undone in a second!
How could they?
She banged her fists against the fender, so boiling with fury
at Clover and Columbine that she could quite easily have added to Robin's hideous threats. But the twins were too far gone. Though they knew they had ruined everything, they just could not stop their giggles. Whenever one almost succeeded, the other would start again until, gasping and horrified but still helplessly hiccuping, they rushed past Daisy, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Robin pursued them. Daisy pursued Robin.

The twins whisked out through the far door and slammed it. Robin was still shouting. ‘Tomorrow I'll be back with a gun and then there'll be
real
blood. Bang! Bang! Bang! BANG! You'll scream and beg for mercy, you see if you don't. But there won't be any mercy. I'll shoot you one by one.' He ran past the range. A crunch and a cloud of ash. A hooded, smoky black figure seized Robin, threw him over one shoulder and vanished. Now Daisy screamed and bumped slap bang into Mrs Snipper. ‘Mrs Snips! Mrs Snips!' Daisy clung to her. ‘We were just pretending – then the twins – then something . . .'

Mrs Snipper hurried Daisy up the stairs and back into the hall. ‘Go to your bedroom,' she commanded. ‘Go on.'

‘But –'

Mrs Snipper shook her. ‘Don't you know that Hartslove looks after its own, Miss Daisy?' She was a tiny, hedgehog figure in a voluminous nightcap and knitted shawl, but she carried the authority of the castle with her.

Daisy ran to her room, flung open the shutters and
threw herself on to the window seat. In the moonlight, she could see the outline of the chestnut tree. There was movement. She clapped one hand over her mouth. Part of the gnarled and knotted trunk had detached itself and taken on the blurred form of the ashy figure, Robin still over its shoulder. The boy was silent now – at least Daisy could hear nothing. She wondered, with dread, if he was actually dead. A little distance from the chestnut tree, a ghostly horse appeared. Daisy cried out. White from nose to tail, the horse appeared to float, hoofless, above the ground. The hooded figure pitched Robin on to its back and sprang up behind. At once, the horse launched into a hand gallop, careening in wild zigzags around the Resting Place until it melted into a cloud that seemed to spin towards the river. The cloud vanished, reappearing two long minutes later. For several seconds, the ghost horse towered over the moat, then it reared and pitched Robin off like a sack of dead rabbits.