The House at Tyneford (29 page)

“Anna! It’s me. Papa?” I called, unable to see.

“Miss?” said a voice, and I turned to see a uniformed constable standing beside the back door, round helmet clasped beneath his arm.

“Yes?” I answered, impatient.

“I understand that an Austrian maid is employed at this house.”

“Not anymore. Did you bring a couple with you? An Austrian couple? A fair-haired lady, very small, and a tall man with black hair and—”

“Slow down, miss, I can’t understand when yer talk so fast.”

The constable was joined by his partner, a round youth who sported what must have been his very first moustache, a grazing of brown hairs on his upper lip.

“Are you a British citizen, miss?” he inquired.

“No. I am Austrian. But it doesn’t matter. Where is Anna? Where is Julian?”

“No one here but us, miss. I need you to come along now. No trouble. Just need you to come to the station.”

I made some feeble effort to object but, dazed with disappointment, I allowed myself to be hustled into the back of the police car. I was vaguely aware that I did not have my hat and coat. Anna always impressed upon me the importance of never venturing out in public without a hat. The young officer started the engine, and the motorcar rumbled across the gravel. Art came running in from the paddock, waving frantically at the car to stop, but the constable put his foot down and we surged forward. I turned and stared at Art, as he mouthed something at me through the glass.

They were very kind to me in the station. I was given cups of lukewarm tea and chocolate biscuits that I did not want and told to fill out endless forms. A plump secretary in an ill-fitting tweed skirt and a blouse that gaped to reveal a triangle of dimpled stomach confided, “Been told to round up all ‘enemy aliens’ for assessment, we have. Not many continentals in these parts, so you is a bit of a novelty.” I said nothing and sipped at the sugary tea. Despair clutched at me with icy hands. If they were already rounding up foreigners in England, they would not be letting in any more. England’s borders were closing with the inevitability of a clamshell at dusk. I barely noticed when Mrs. Tweed led me to a cell and, muttering her apologies, asked a constable to lock me in. I did not care. I was glad it was cold. I was glad it smelled damp. A pain started to build behind my eyes, a piercing ache as sharp as the knife Mrs. Ellsworth used for boning quail. Bright lights flashed at the edges of my vision, blinding me. History happens somewhere else. Men march across Europe. Julian’s books are hurled out of the window and moulder in the rain, words drifting in the puddles. Herr Finkelstein is beaten so hard that when he returns home to Esther, he spits his teeth out on the carpet like grains of sweet corn. Even that is not large enough for history. History is the whole fleet of ships, not Burt’s fishing boat trawling for mackerel in the bay. Sitting on the floor of the cell I felt the brush of history along my arm. I saw two great black dogs chasing Anna and Julian across the fields at the top of the hill. Black dogs with white teeth and wide red jaws. They weren’t dogs but wolves escaped from my old fairy-tale book. Anna and Julian had to run run run. Kit would come and let me out but Anna and Julian had to run.

“This instant, I said. This instant!” I heard a familiar voice outside.

A moment later the cell door was unlocked and Mr. Rivers entered. I ran over to him and hurled myself into his arms and to my surprise discovered that I was crying, great shaking sobs that made my shoulders jolt. He pulled me close, whispering, “Hush, Elise. Hush. You’re safe. I promise they won’t take you away.”

I tried to explain that it wasn’t me but Anna and Julian, but found that I could not speak. Mr. Rivers removed his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. I leaned into him, trying to swallow my sobs, as he stroked the tears from my cheek with his thumb and kissed the top of my head.

“Shh. The car’s outside. Let’s take you home.”

I nodded dumbly and then was sick upon his polished brogues.

I slept through the start of the war. The migraine lasted four days, and when I awoke I found myself in a strange room. It was absolutely dark. The bed felt soft and unfamiliar, and I smelled roses, sweet and sickly. I thought I should choke on roses and darkness, and I screamed. The door flew open, spilling yellow light into the room, and Mrs. Ellsworth appeared by my side and folded me into her bosom.

“All right, lovey. You’ve been awful poorly. Here, have a drink.”

She forced me to sip some lemon barley water, and I felt a little better and rather silly for making such a fuss.

“I’m in the blue room,” I said, the light from the hallway falling on the curtains and wallpaper, making them shine like an evening sky.

“Yes, dear. Tired my old knees, scurrying up to the attic to look to you.”

I noticed the blackout blinds pinned to the windows. War.

“Have there been any bombs yet, Mrs. Ellsworth?”

“No, miss. Not even in London.”

In a strange way, I was glad not to have missed anything. It was an odd feeling to go to sleep in peace and wake up in the midst of war, if not battle. Had the fighting started in Europe? Where were Anna and Julian? I felt a pain pulse behind my eyes and was glad of the blackouts.

“Oh, you gave the gentlemen a scare. When Mr. Rivers came back from his walk and discovered you gone, he took the car and just left. Never seen him drive like that. Such a tearing hurry. I had palpitations that he’d crash!”

Mrs. Ellsworth broke off to fan herself with her hand, as if to cool the memory.

“And when Mr. Kit came back from the beach to find you vanished and the master off in the car—well! We was all in a flummox, let me tell you. Then Mr. Rivers stormed in, carrying you in his arms he was. Mr. Kit was all in a state. Didn’t calm down till the doctor came and said it was a nervous attack. Mee-grain or something.”

Feeling guilty for even thinking it, I wished that I could remember Mr. Rivers carrying me in and Kit beside himself with worry. It sounded quite charming, the way Mrs. Ellsworth told it. If only I hadn’t rather spoiled things by being sick on Mr. Rivers’ shoes. Violetta or Juliet or Jane Eyre would never have done such a thing. Nor Anna.

I winced and, curling onto my side, drew my knees up to my chin. When I was a little girl and I was ill, Anna would stroke my ears. I hated it. The sound was too loud and it tickled, and I always batted her away, but at that moment I wanted her to stroke my ears so much that I ached.

There was a gentle rap at the door, and I glanced up to see Mr. Rivers in the doorway.

“You’re awake,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“You can come and sit with her,” said Mrs. Ellsworth, seeing him hesitate, unwilling to venture any closer without permission. “I’m going down to fetch her a little supper.”

She bustled out and Mr. Rivers pulled up an easy chair beside the bed. On impulse, he took my hand. He didn’t speak for a minute. He made one or two attempts to start and then finally spoke in a low voice, gripping my hand in both of his.

“Elise, I’m so terribly sorry. The war has started. All visas have been canceled.” He squeezed my fingers so tight that it hurt. “You are safe. I won’t ever let them take you again. But Mr. and Mrs. Landau . . . they will not be allowed to enter the country. There is nothing I can do. We can only wait and hope for the war to be over quickly.”

I forced myself to breathe. “Do you know where they are?”

He shook his head. “I have a man in Paris. He will try to discover something.” He reached out for the glass of water. “Please, drink this. You’re very pale.”

I took it and tried to drink, but my hands shook and the glass tipped over, spilling water on the bedcovers. Mr. Rivers took it from me and, brushing my hair from my face, held the glass to my lips so that I could drink.

“Where’s Kit?” I asked as he replaced it on the bedside table.

“I sent him outside for some fresh air. He’s been wearing a hole in Mrs. Ellsworth’s carpets with his constant pacing. I’ll send him up to see you the moment he’s back.”

He watched me in silence. I was too tired and miserable to be embarrassed or to wonder why he stared. I only knew that he looked as unhappy as I.

I felt the shadows draw around the house. They went up with the blackouts while I was sleeping, but when Mrs. Ellsworth unfastened the blinds, the shadows remained. I had not realised that I had been living in Arcadia until it was time to leave. The horrid trick was that for the present we all remained, but the place shifted around us. The trees and lawns and shrubs were the same, and the house changed more slowly, but something was different. We did not know it then, but our lives at Tyneford had shifted key, and we were rushing toward the final movement, whether we were ready for it or not.

The following morning Kit bounded into my room laden with a breakfast tray. Mrs. Ellsworth hovered in the doorway, suspicious that he would spill orange juice and marmalade all over her spotless carpet. He set it down with a wobble on the bedside table. Spoons clattered and the teapot rattled dangerously, and I reached out to catch the diving milk jug.

“You see, Flo? All’s well,” he called to Mrs. Ellsworth.

With a roll of her eyes and flick of her apron, she vanished. Kit sat on the edge of the bed. I wished I’d had time to brush my hair and wash my face. I couldn’t imagine how dreadful I must look. I’d fallen asleep as soon as Mr. Rivers left me the previous evening, and I’d not spoken to Kit since my adventure at the police station. He pulled me in to him, wrapping his arms tightly around me.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and his voice cracked. “The minute the war’s over, we’ll find them. We’ll go to Austria together. Or Paris, or Amsterdam. Wherever they are, we’ll find them and bring them to Tyneford. I promise.”

I nodded dumbly.

“And they might still come.”

“Kit, no. Please.”

Nothing more must be said. Silence meant that it was not quite real. He loosened his hold, keeping his hands firm upon my shoulders. He caught my mood and scrutinised me, a faint smile playing on his lips.