Ivy Tree (31 page)

mind?" "Mind?"

Then I saw. His hands were disfigured, most horribly, it must have been by burns. The skin was white and dead-looking, glassed like polythene, and here and there were puckered scars that showed purple; the shape of his hands, like the other bone-structure, had been beautiful, but the injuries had distorted even that, and made them hideous, things to shock. Things to hide, as, until now, he had hidden them. This was something else that the romantic moonlight had not revealed.

I must have made some small sound, some little gasp of indrawn breath. Adam's pencil checked, and he looked at me.

I suppose most people stared like that, sick and shocked, for a moment or two, then looked quickly away, saying nothing, talking of something else, pretending not to have seen.

I said: "Adam, your hands, your poor hands . . . What did that to your hands?"

"I burned them."

The fire at Forrest, His wife. "The bed was alight by that time. He managed to drag the bedclothes off her, and carry her downstairs . . ."

He had reached one of those terrible hands for the discarded gloves. He hadn't taken his eyes off my face. He said gently: "I'll put them on again. I'm sorry, I forgot you wouldn't know. It's rather a shock, the first time."

"It—it doesn't matter. Don't, for me . . . I—I've got to go." I reached blindly for the basket. I could feel the tears spilling hot on to my cheeks, and couldn't stop them. I had forgotten all about Donald, till I heard him say "Here," and the basket was put into my hands. I said shakily: "I've got to hurry back. Good-bye," and, without looking at either of them, my head bent low over the basket, I turned and almost ran out of the packing-shed.

I was conscious of the silence I had left behind me, and of Adam, straightening abruptly, the pencil still in his hand, staring after me.

Go with your right to Newcastle,

And come with your left side home; 

There will you see these two lovers. ... 

Ballad: Fair Margaret and Sweet William.

As it turned out, there were more than enough strawberries for supper. Julie didn't come back. The dinner, though delicious, could hardly be said to be festive. It was as if all the accumulated tensions of the last days had gathered that evening at the dining-table, building slowly up like the thunderheads that stood steadily on the horizon outside.

Con had come in early, rather quiet, with watchful eyes, and lines from nostril to chin that I hadn't noticed before. Grandfather seemed to have recruited his energies with his afternoon rest: his eyes were bright and a little malicious as he glanced round the table, and marked the taut air of waiting that hung over the meal. It was his moment of power, and he knew it.

If it had needed anything to bring the tensions to snapping-point, Julie's absence provided it. At first it was only assumed that she was late, but, as the meal wore through, and it became apparent that she wasn't coming, Grandfather started making irritatingly frequent remarks about the forgetfulness and ingratitude of young people, that were intended to sound pathetic, but only managed to sound thoroughly bad-tempered. Con ate more or less in silence, but a silence so unrelaxed as to be almost aggressive. It was apparent that Grandfather thought so, for he kept casting bright, hard looks under his brows, and once or twice seemed on the verge of the sort of edged and provocative remark with which he had been prodding his great-nephew for days.

I drew what fire I could, chattering shamelessly, and had the dubious satisfaction of attracting most of the old man's attention to myself, some of it so obviously affectionate—pointedly so— that I saw, once or twice, Con's glance cross mine like the flicker of blue steel. Afterwards, I thought, when he knows, when that restless, torturing ambition is stilled at last, it will be all right; everything will be all right... As Grandfather had predicted, Donald's presence saved the day. He seconded my efforts with great gallantry, making several remarks at least three sentences long; but he, too, was unable to keep his eyes from the clock, while Lisa, presiding over a magnificent pair of ducklings a la Rouennaise, and the strawberries hastily assembled into whipped cream Chantilly, merely sat unhelpfully silent and worried, and, in consequence, looking sour.

The end of the meal came, and the coffee, and still no Julie. We all left the dining-room together. As Con pushed back his chair, he said abruptly: "I'm going to telephone Nether Shields."

"What the devil for?" asked Grandfather testily. "If the girl chooses to forget, let her be."

"She's not likely to have forgotten. I'm afraid there may have been an accident."

"Then what's the use of telephoning Nether Shields? If they knew anything, they'd have rung us up. The girl's forgotten. Don't waste your time."

"I'll ring, all the same," said Con, and left the room abruptly. Grandfather's gaze as he watched him was bright and sardonic.

To forestall what comment he might make, I said quickly: "If she did forget, she may have gone back to supper with Bill Fenwick."

"Nonsense," said Grandfather roundly, and stumped out of the dining-room. In the drawing-room Lisa poured coffee, her attention stolidly on the cups. Grandfather mercifully relapsed into silence, fidgeting with his fingers, and forgetting to drink his coffee. Donald was still watching the clock, though I suspected that his motives had altered somewhat. I'd have given a lot, myself, to go for a long, long walk, preferably several miles away from Whitescar.

"If anything has happened to that child—" began Grandfather, at length.

"Nothing will have happened," I said. "You'd have heard if there'd been an accident. She'd have rung up ... or someone else would. Don't worry, it'll be all right. She'll turn up soon."

"If a tyre burst when they were miles from anywhere—" Donald put in a comforting oar—"that could delay them."

"As long as this? It's nine o'clock." "Mphrn," said Donald. I glanced anxiously at Grandfather. The bright malice had faded. He" looked his age, and more, and the hand with which he pushed aside his untasted coffee was shaking a little. Con came back into the room.

"Nothing," he said tersely. "Mrs. Fenwick knew Julie was due back here for dinner. Bill said he'd be home by seven. No sign."

> "I told you it was no use telephoning!" Grandfather almost snapped it. "But you know best, as usual." Con took the coffee which Lisa had stirred and handed to him. "It was a chance," he said, mildly enough.

"And I thought it might save you worrying."

"You're very solicitous of others, all of a sudden, aren't you, Connor? Why so anxious? Because you want to see the family all assembled together? Lisa tell you what I said at luncheon, eh?" It was unforgivable enough, especially in front of Donald, but normally it would hardly nave worried anyone. Con's reaction was indicative, uncomfortably so, of the pressure that had been building up behind the quiet, sealed front.

He went rather pale, and put down his coffee half-drunk. He didn't even look where he was setting the cup, but put it blindly down on what would have been vacancy, if Lisa had not quietly taken it out of his hand. For a moment he and Grandfather stared at one another, and I waited, with a sort of horror, for the valves to blow.

Then Con said: "If I'm wanted, I'll be in the field," and turned his back on his great-uncle. "Good night, Seton." Quietly still, but like one escaping to a freer, purer, air, he went out of the room. Unexpectedly, Grandfather chuckled. "Good lad," he said, with a sort of fierce approval, then turned a ghost of his old charming smile on Donald. "I warned you, didn't I? You'll have to forgive us for thrusting our family squabbles on you."

Donald returned some sort of polite reply, and, thereafter, the conversation trickled back into fairly normal channels. But half an hour went by, and still there was no sign of Julie, nor did the telephone ring. I must have shown how worried I was, and

Grandfather took to saying, at shorter and shorter intervals: . "Where on earth can the child have got to?" or alternatively: "Why the devil couldn't she have telephoned?" until I could see it was getting across even Donald's admirable nervous system. I wasn't surprised when, almost too soon for civility, he rose to his feet, and said he thought he had better be going.

No one made any attempt to stop him. Lisa got up with rather too patent relief, and let him carry the coffee-cups out to the kitchen for her.

I followed. "I'll come back in a minute, Lisa, when I’ve done the gate for Donald. Leave them for me: you said you would."

It was dusk in the lee of the big barn, where Donald had parked his car. When I reached it, I couldn't see him. Puzzled, I paused beside the car, peering around me into the shadows. Then I heard a soft step, and turned swiftly. Donald came very quietly round the end of the barn, from the direction of the stable-yard. Seeing me waiting beside the car, he stopped abruptly, and even in that light I could see he was out of countenance. I stared at him, completely at a loss for words. He looked like a man who has been caught out in a dubious act.

There was one of those ghastly pauses, then he smiled. "It's all right, I haven't been hiding the silver behind the barn. I've been visiting friends."

"Friends?" I said, blankly.

He laughed. "Come and see."

I followed him into the yard, where he pushed open the half-door of the empty stable. The interior smelt sweet and dry, of hay and horses. Opposite the door was a big loose-box, the bars down now, since Blondie had gone out to grass. Donald switched on the light, and led the way into the loose-box. There was an iron manger running the breadth of it, deep, and half full of clean straw. I supposed the hens laid there sometimes.

"Here," said Donald softly, "meet the family."

I leaned over the manger. Deep in the straw was a nest, but not of eggs. Seven kittens, some days old, still blind and boneless, all sleeping soundly, lay curled together in a tight, furry mass, black and white and ginger. Donald put down a gentle hand to touch the warm fur. As he did so, a wraith, black and white, jumped on to the iron manger at his elbow, purred softly, and slid down beside the kittens. There was a wriggling, and butting, and readjusting of fur, then Tommy settled down, eyes slitted and happy, paws steadily kneading the rustling straw.

"How on earth did you find them?" I whispered.

"Tommy showed me tonight, when I got back from West Lodge."

"Well, I'll keep your secret, Nobody'll come in here, while the horses are out... Did you really have to leave so early?" "I thought I'd better."

"Mm, yes, I see what you mean." We left the darkened stable quietly, and walked back to the car. Beside it, I hesitated for a moment, then turned quickly to him. "Look, Donald, don't worry."

"Aren't you worrying?"

"Well, one can't help it, can one? But nothing'll have happened. Depend on it, they've forgotten, and stayed out to a meal, or something."

"It seems unlikely."

"Well, perhaps the car has broken down." "Mphrn," said Donald.

"Why don't you wait? They really ought not to be long."

"No, thanks, but I won't Did I remember to thank Miss Dermott for the supper?"

"You thanked her very nicely. No, I'll do the gate."

"Oh, thank you ..." but he lingered, a hand on the car door. He seemed about to say something, then I thought he changed his mind. What he did say, rather tentatively, was: "Nice chap, Forrest."

"Yes."

"He seems interested in this quarry. He says he'll come over himself tomorrow, and hunt up that stone in the cellar with me."

"I hope you'll find it Does it sound to you as if it could be the real thing?"

"That's impossible to tell, but I think it may well be, if only because he's kept that strong impression, all these years, that it was Roman. He thinks there must have been at least one or two words that he and his sister would have recognised as Latin, even at the age of nine or ten," He grinned. "He reckons that an EST

or a SUB would have been about their limit at the time. Let's hope he's right."

"It's terribly exciting, isn't it?"

"At best," said Donald cheerfully, "it'll probably simply say 'Vote for P. Varro as quarry foreman. Shorter, hours and longer pay'."

I laughed. "Well, good luck to it, anyway." "Would you care to come along tomorrow afternoon and help in the hunt?"

"No, thanks, I won't. I—I have things I've got to do."

"Mphm," said Donald. This time it seemed to signify a vague agreement. He hesitated again, and suddenly I found myself wondering if Julie had told him anything about Adam.

I glanced up at him. "I'm sorry I was upset this afternoon. Did he—did he mind, d'you think?"

"He didn't seem to." Donald spoke so quickly that I realised that this was exactly what he had been wanting to say, and hadn't liked to broach the subject, even to bring me comfort. "He said nothing. I'm sure he'd understand. I shouldn't worry."

"I won't," I said. "Good night, Donald."

"Good night."

The car's engine started with a roar, and the ancient vehicle jerked forward. I saw Donald lift a hand as he passed me, then the car grumbled its way off into the dusk towards High Riggs and the top of the hill. The washing-up was done, and we were back in the drawing-room, Lisa with some mending for Con, myself playing a rather abstracted game of cribbage with Grandfather, when at length we heard a car enter the yard. Almost before it had drawn to a halt, one of its doors slammed; there was a short pause, and, faintly, the sound of voices, then the car moved off again immediately, and high heels tapped quickly across the yard to the kitchen door. We heard Julie cross the kitchen lobby and push open the green baize door to the hall. Then the hasty steps tapped their way across the hall, and were on the carpeted stairs. Grandfather put his cards down with a slam, and shouted: "Julie!" The flying steps stopped. There was a pause. "Julie!"

She came slowly down the stairs again, and crossed the hall to the drawing-room door. With another part of my mind I heard the car's engine receding over the hill.