Midsummer's Eve (9 page)

“Still giving satisfaction, that fellow of yours?” asked my father.

“Couldn’t be better,” Mr. Hanson told him.

“I can see Lawyer Hanson will soon be becoming Squire Hanson,” said my father.

“Our place will never be a Cador,” said Rolf regretfully.

“But yours is a wonderful old house,” my mother consoled him, “and you’re making an excellent job of the reconstruction. That staircase of yours is magnificent.”

“Put in for Queen Elizabeth,” said Mr. Hanson. “Rolf tells me those carvings of the Tudor roses and the fleur-de-lys are the best of their kind.”

“But you are the lucky ones,” said Rolf, “to live in a place like this and know your ancestors have been there through the ages. That makes a difference.”

Rolf was not the only one who was interested in Cador. I discovered someone else who was and I must say that was a surprise.

October had come. All through September there had been talk of the Fair. On the first and second of October St. Matthew’s Fair was held in the marketplace in East Dorey. Jacco and I had been taken often when we were young, usually by one of the grooms. We had bought comfits and gingerbread; we had seen the fat woman and the bearded lady; we had had our fortunes told by Rosa the Gypsy; we had done it all.

Now that I was nearly twelve and Jacco was fourteen we felt ourselves to be too sophisticated for these simple pleasures and, rather condescendingly, said we did not want to go.

The servants, of course, would all go. They had been talking about “Matthey’s Fair” for weeks. Even Mrs. Penlock liked to have her fortune told.

My parents were out visiting and would not be home until late; Miss Caster was taking tea at the vicarage. I think the general idea was that I was going somewhere with Jacco; he, however, had other plans.

Thus it was that on that October day the house was deserted, and I realized that it was very rarely that I found myself alone there. In a house like Cador—even though it has always been one’s home—one is very much aware of the antiquity, of the intruding presence of another age when there is no one around to remind one that it is the present day.

I had been reading in my bedroom and decided that I would go for a ride. I would go and look at the Hansons’ wood, of which they were so proud. It was about half the size of ours, a fact which I knew Rolf deplored. He had said: “One day our woods will rival yours.” I wanted to see him, to force myself to talk with him about that night. But somehow I had always held back. I think in my heart I was trying to pretend he had not been there and sometimes I almost succeeded in convincing myself that this was so. Suppose I talked to him. Suppose he admitted what I suspected, that it had been one of his experiments. I did not want my feelings for Rolf to change. But I feared they would. I feared they had. I was rather bewildered and I seemed to be more so every day. If only it had been someone else, someone I did not care about. I found it very hard to stop caring about Rolf.

I was trying to shake off these thoughts as I came through the solarium, and as I did so I had the eerie feeling that I was not after all alone in the house. How is it that one is aware of a presence? An unexpected movement? A footstep? The creaking of a door? Was it being stealthily opened?

These thoughts crowded into my mind as I went to the peep in the alcove and looked down on the hall.

It looked the same as usual. There was the long table at which Oliver Cromwell’s soldiers had sat when they came searching for the King; the weapons on the wall which had been used by Cadorsons long since dead; the family tree spreading out on the wall … everything that I had seen many times and grown up with.

And yet there was that uncanny feeling that someone was there. Then I saw him. From beyond the screens he came stealthily, looking about him with a kind of wonder: Digory.

What was he doing in the house?

I watched him for some time. He examined the family tree; then he came to the wall and very reverently touched the weapons; he turned to the table and picking up one of the pewter goblets, examined it closely, put it down and stood for a moment staring rapturously at the vaulted roof. Then he began to tiptoe cautiously up the stairs.

I was at the top of the staircase when he reached it.

“Hello, Digory,” I said.

He stared at me silently, a look of blank dismay on his face. Then he spluttered indignantly, “Why don’t ’ee be at the Fair?”

“Because,” I said, “I remained at home. I had no idea, of course, that you intended to pay a visit.”

He turned and was about to dash down the stairs but I caught his arm.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You looked as though you liked the place.”

“I weren’t doing no wrong.”

“I didn’t say you were. Why aren’t
you
at the Fair?”

He looked contemptuous.

“You preferred to come to Cador,” I said. “You do like it, don’t you?”

“It ain’t bad at all.”

“I remember in the woods you used to ask me about it. You wanted to know all the details.”

I saw the shadow cross his face and I reproached myself. He would probably be remembering that in those days he had a granny and a home.

I said gently: “I’m glad you like this house, Digory. I’m glad you came in. I’m going to take you round and show you everything.”

He looked at me suspiciously.

“It’s all right,” I assured him. “You know I’m your friend … Jacco too.”

He relaxed a little.

I said: “Do you like working in the stables?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

I remembered a bird I had once seen. Jacco had found it when it fell from its nest. We fed it. I kept it in a cage. It seemed content for a while; then it started to flap its wings against the bars. I opened the door and set it free. Digory was like a caged bird. He was well fed, he was safe, but he was not free.

“I’m going to show you the house,” I said.

He tried not to look excited but he could not hide his feelings from me.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ll begin at the bottom and go right to the top.”

“All right,” he said.

“There’s a dungeon down there. Would you like to see it?”

We came through the kitchens and descended a short spiral staircase.

“It’s very cold down here. Mrs. Penlock uses it as a place to store things. That’s very different from the old days.”

We made our way past shelves upon which stood jars and bottles, and we came through a narrow passage to the dungeon with its iron gate.

“You can look in,” I said.

“There’s nobody in there,” said Digory as though disappointed.

“Of course not. People don’t put their enemies in dungeons nowadays.”

“Some might,” he retorted grimly; and again I saw the memory of that night in his eyes.

“Not now,” I insisted firmly and I thought: I was wrong to bring him down here.

“Let’s go up,” I said. “It’s cold down here.”

So we went through the kitchens, past the ovens which had done service for hundreds of years, past the roasting spits and the great coppers, through the buttery to the laundry rooms. Then up to the great hall.

I talked to him about the wars which had beset the country and told him what part my family had played in them. I took him to the dining room and explained what the tapestries on the walls were depicting. He listened in rapt attention, which surprised me. I talked of the Wars of the Roses and the Great Rebellion, that conflict between Cavalier and Roundhead which had rent the country. I felt like Miss Caster giving a history lesson, but he was interested; he wanted to know.

I showed him the solarium and peeps, which fascinated him; he stood, for a long time, looking down into the hall and then the chapel. I took him to the turrets and we went out and walked along the battlements. I would not have believed that a house could have made such an impression on him. But then it was a wonderful house; it had been kept in good order over the centuries; it had been loved and cherished; and although it had been restored from time to time, there had been great care not to destroy the antiquity. That now seemed all around us. Perhaps it was due to the fact that we were alone in it, but as I talked to him I had the feeling that we were two young people walking back through the centuries.

He had had no schooling; I suppose he had never heard of the events to which I referred before, but he was fascinated by them; and now and then would ask a pertinent question.

We stood for a while looking out to sea.

“Just imagine, Digory,” I said, “from out there Cador would have looked just the same five hundred years ago. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“How do you know?” he demanded. “You wasn’t here.”

“No. But it hasn’t changed so it must have been the same.”

He looked steadily at me and said: “You’ve got the Devil’s kiss on your forrid.”

I put up my hand. His was there before mine. He touched the side of my temple just beside my left eye. I knew what he meant; it was a little mole. My father called it my beauty spot.

I had never thought very much about it.

“What do you mean—the Devil’s kiss?” I asked.

“They do say that’s how it be when the Devil kisses ’ee.”

“What nonsense. I have never even met the gentleman—let alone been kissed by him.”

“He do come in the night when you be sleeping.”

“What a horrible thought! It’s a mole. My father likes it. He says it’s attractive. Who says it is anything to do with the Devil?”

“Them,” he said; and again there was that look of hideous memory in his eyes. “Them says as how it’s the Devil as does it.”

“I’m not afraid of them.”

Again I had spoken rashly.
He
had been afraid of them; and so should I have been in his place on that terrible night.

I felt very sorry for him. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Digory,” I said. “We’ve got to forget all about that. It’s over. It was cruel. It was horrible. But it’s done and nothing can be done to change it.”

He was silent, staring ahead, seeing it all, I knew; and I was seeing it with him. I could almost smell the burning thatch.

“We’ve got to go on from there, Digory,” I said. “You’ve got to get used to the stables. You’re fond of the horses and it’s good to work with what you love. Ferry is kind to you, isn’t he? My father insists that he should be. It’s a better way of life … to be part of a household like this … better than running round stealing fish. You could get caught.”

He shook his head.

“Yes, you might, Digory. If there’s anything that bothers you, you only have to tell us … tell me or Jacco. We’ll always help if we can.”

He looked blankly at me and there was still in him that which reminded me of the caged bird.

He said: “Tell you what. I’ll get rid of your Devil’s kiss.”

I put my hand to my temple.

“Oh, it’s all right, Digory. It doesn’t bother me. My father says that when I grow older I’ll call attention to it. Blacken it to make it stand out and make people notice my eyes.”

“There’s them,” he said.

And he meant that frenzied mob.

I could see that he wanted to attempt to charm away my mole and that this was his way of showing appreciation for what I had done for him. “Never brush aside people’s attempts to repay you,” my mother had said. “You may not want repayment but their pride demands that they should give it. Do take it graciously.”

I saw what she meant now.

“All right, Digory,” I said. “You shall charm away my mole.”

We came into the turret and went down through the house. Every now and then he would pause and gaze wonderingly about him. I was pleased and felt I had seen a new side to his nature; he might be uneducated but he had an eye for beauty. He seemed to find it difficult to tear himself away from the tapestries and I had to tell him again about the wars which had inspired them.

I did not know how long this tour of the house had taken but I did realize that time was passing. Isaacs might return; and Mrs. Penlock was only interested in having her fortune told and would not stay after that had been done.

I said: “They’ll be back soon.”

A look of fear came into his face. He was then all eagerness to get away. I was leading him to the front door but he was anxious to leave by the way he had come, which was through an open window in one of the kitchens.

I felt then that I was a little nearer to understanding him and as soon as Jacco came in I would tell him what had happened and suggest that we try to see him now and then and make him realize how secure he was and that while he was under my father’s protection, he was safe from the savagery of a superstitious mob.

I was unprepared for the sequel. It happened two days after our tour of the house.

Jacco and I had been out with our father. Jacco had to learn a good deal about estate management and he was often with my father on his round. I was free to accompany them whenever I wished and that was often because I was very interested in the people who were Cador tenants.

As we came into the stables John Ferry came hurrying out.

“Oh, Sir Jake,” he said, “there be trouble. ’Tis about that boy …”

There was a faint tightening of the lips which betrayed the unspoken comment: “I could have told you so.” This indicated that Digory was in some sort of trouble.

“What’s happened?” asked my father.

“Slattery have caught him red-handed, Sir Jake,” Ferry explained. “A tidy-sized piece of beefsteak he had … was stowing it away in a bag when he was caught. No doubt about it, sir. There was the steak in his bag.”

“What was the point of stealing steak?” demanded my father. “He’s well fed here, isn’t he?”

“There’s them that’s thieves by nature, sir. They do it natural. It’s a habit of a lifetime.”

“Where’s the boy now?”

“Down at Slattery’s. Slattery’s going to charge him. But he said he’d tell me first and I could tell you like … seeing as how you’ve taken the boy in.”

Jacco and I were looking at our father anxiously. He said: “Come on. We’ll go to Slattery’s and sort this out.”

Tom Slattery, the butcher, was a fat red-faced man with a slight resemblance to the pigs which hung up in his shop, except that they had oranges in their mouths and he had broken teeth. He always wore a blue-and-white striped apron, faintly bloodstained, over his grey trousers and my memory of him is standing over a slightly concave board with a chopper in his hands.