2006 - Wildcat Moon (17 page)

“If you’re ever up this way again, call in for a chat. I’m mostly round and about, most probably find me over there near the potting shed,” He pointed away to the left.

“Thanks,” Archie said.

“I could tell you plenty of tales about the past Not many lads like listening to old men talking, but you do, you’re different. I could do with a bit of male company once in a while. I’m surrounded by bloody women most of the time.”

Archie watched William Dally walk stiffly away, whistling to himself as he went.

Romilly had never had so much fun in all the ten-and-a-half years she’d lived. Her face glowed with radiance and her eyes were bright, and she could not keep the smile off her face.

She and Madame had walked the length and breadth of the Killivray grounds and then they’d had the most marvellous game of snowballs. Romilly had never played snowballs before. It was such fun! They played until they were both covered in snow and their noses were pinched and blue with the cold.

Eventually when Romilly was completely exhausted she had sat herself down on a log. She clapped her hands together to knock the encrusted snow off her gloves and rubbed her eyes. She smiled up at Madame shyly and her teeth chattered noisily.

Madame turned away for a moment to wipe the steam from her spectacles and then turned and smiled back.

“That was fun, wasn’t it,
ma petite’?
”

Romilly nodded enthusiastically.

As they walked together towards Killivray House the snow began to fall again and dusk settled gently around them.

They slipped quietly into the dark and silent house like conspirators.

In the hallway Madame said, “Hurry now and take off your wet things and I will put them to dry. While you put on some dry socks I shall check on Nanny Bea.”

Romilly took off her coat, hat and scarf and sat down to remove her galoshes. Then she went slowly upstairs. She grinned when she heard loud snoring coming from Nanny Bea’s room. Madame was right. Nanny Bea would not be able to tell anyone about their wonderful walk in the snow.

She went into the nursery and fetched a dry pair of socks and sat on the bed to put them on.

She heard Madame come upstairs and go into Nanny Bea’s room but there was no sound of any talking.

Madame poked her head round the nursery door. “Nanny Bea still sleeps like the baby. I am going to prepare some supper. Do you want to help?”

Romilly shook her head and thought that Madame looked a little sad. “I am so tired after our walk,” Romilly said, yawning.

“Then you must rest for a while. I will call you at seven o’clock.”

“Thank you,” Romilly said and she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.

Madame left the room and made her way downstairs. Romilly waited until she knew that she was safely in the kitchen and then she took a candle from the bottom drawer of the tallboy, along with a box of matches, and made her way stealthily to the attic stairs.

Nan unlocked the door to Hogwash House and stepped nervously inside.

It was freezing in the house and already the smell of damp was strong in the air. She shivered, thinking that she wouldn’t want to hang about long in here.

She climbed the steep stairs and stood for a moment on the landing, listening. The boards creaked beneath her feet and the house seemed to sigh around her.

She turned the handle of the door to Benjamin’s bedroom and stepped inside.

The room was large and, though dusty, was clean. There were few signs of its last occupant.

The ceiling was sloping, ancient black beams stark against the white plaster. The floorboards were shiny with age and uneven, partly covered by a square of rush matting. There was a large rocking chair next to the fireplace, the grate was already filled with wood and just needed a match putting to it.

There were no ornaments in the room, no clocks or clutter on the mantelpiece. There were no pictures on the wall except for a framed sampler hanging above the bed.

Nan smiled as she read it.

Usually they said boring old things like
GOD IS GOOD
or
BLESS THIS HOUSE
. This one said,
SHUT MOUTH NEVER CATCHES FLY
.

That was typical of Benjamin.

There were a few clothes of his hanging in the wardrobe but not much else; it seemed as if he’d had a good clear-out before he’d died. No personal bits and pieces anywhere.

She walked down the stairs and went into the kitchen. There wasn’t a lot to sort out in the way of possessions in here either, and yet she was sure that there’d been a very fine dock on the dresser, one that would have been worth a pretty penny. Benjamin had lived simply here in Hogwash House and hadn’t accumulated a lot of clutter in his lifetime. She’d have to come back soon and pack up the rest of his things.

Suddenly she was quite sure that she was not alone in the house. She felt her body go rigid with fear as she smelled a faint but definite whiff of tobacco. Then she heard the click of the front door as it closed softly.

She hurried out into the porch and looked up and down Bloater Row. There was no one around, but then she heard the door of Bag End close. Walter Grimble! What the hell was he up to? Sniffing around where he wasn’t wanted. She went back and locked the front door, pocketed the key and then left. She hurried along Bloater Row and let herself into the Pilchard Inn.

Up in his bedroom, by candlelight Archie Grimble wrote to Romilly Greswode, dipping his pen into a pot containing his mixture of invisible ink and trying to keep his invisible handwriting neat.

He told her all the things that he’d found out about Thomas Greswode from William Dally up at Nanskelly and Mr Galvini’s aunt from Santa Caterina but it didn’t seem to add up to very much. Still, maybe she’d be able to tell him what she had found out and if they pieced their information together, then maybe they’d get to the truth like real detectives did..

Bate Norton—

Downstairs the wireless was playing and dance music drifted up the stairs. His mammy loved to listen to music.

Sometimes when she thought she was alone in the house she danced backwards and forwards, round and round, holding a broom for a partner. When he was littler he used to stand on her feet and she whizzed him around too.

He heard the outside door open suddenly and the porker came into the house, puffing and panting as though he’d just run a mile.

Downstairs the music of the wireless was soon drowned out by the rumbling noise of arguing.

Archie knew that the porker would be wheedling for money so that he could go to the Pilchard and fill his fat belly with ale. He crept out onto the landing and listened.

“What do you expect a man to do? Sit here on my arse listening to music all bloody night with a wife who barely speaks?”

“You find fault with everything I say if I do speak.”

His mammy’s voice, softer, tired sounding.

“Some great entertainment we have here. The boy barely talks to me, just sits staring at me like I’m some kind of halfwit.”

“You hardly speak to him, Walter, and if you do you’ve barely a kind word to say to him.”

“What are you doing putting your coat on?”

“I promised to go down to Periwinkle House and do some ironing and a few bits and pieces for the old dears.”

“Why can’t they do their own ironing? Pair of stuck-up bitches!”

“They pay me well and I enjoy their company.”

“So I get to stay here and mind Archie while you’re off gallivanting.”

“Hardly gallivanting, Walter.”

“Where is Archie?”

“Upstairs. I can take him with me so he’s out from under your feet.”

Archie didn’t fancy going to Periwinkle House; he found the two old women a bit scary. The older of the two was all right but the younger sometimes said strange things for an old lady. Once she had whispered a string of swear words in his ear that had made him blush the colour of rhubarb. Another time she told him that she had a body hidden in the cellar. It wasn’t true of course, but it made him feel afraid all the same.

It wasn’t much of a choice though; to go to Periwinkle House or stay here with the porker. Then he had an idea. He stepped back into his bedroom and went through his pockets. He hadn’t spent all the money that Nan had given him. He still had three shillings left.

He tiptoed slowly across the landing and into the bedroom his parents snared. His mammy’s purse was on the tallboy near the window where she always left it. He crept towards it and opened it as quietly as he could. There was nothing in there except a few pennies and halfpennies. He slipped the money inside and scurried back to his own room.

Moments later he heard his father wheezing his way up the stairs. Just as he thought he would, he heard the click of the purse opening and the clink of coins being removed.

Then his father was hurrying back down the stairs. The front door banged shut and Walter Grimble made his way down Bloater Row whistling cheerfully as he went.

“Do you want to come with me to the Arbuthnots’, Archie?” his mammy called up the stairs.

“No thanks, Mammy, I’m real tired. I’m doing some writing and then I’m going to bed,” he called back.

“All right, love, I'll be back by ten, half past at the latest. If you need anything you know where I am.”

“Okay, Mammy, love you.”

“Love you too, Arch.”

He finished the letter to Romilly, folded it carefully in two and slipped it into his pocket. It was now or never. He’d been brave once before and he could do it again.

He had a couple of hours; all he had to do was make his way down to the beach, through the woods and into the summerhouse. He would leave the note in the stove and then run all the way back. Easy peasy. Lemon squeezy.

Romilly climbed the first few steps of the attic stairs and then stopped and listened.

Downstairs in the kitchen Madame was singing as she clattered about preparing the supper. Nanny Bea snored on.

Romilly was terrified; she had never been into the attic at night before. It was spooky in the daytime but at night it would be worse. But she had no choice. In a few days Papa would be home for Christmas and then she wouldn’t be able to move.

She took another few steps and then hesitated again. All was quiet.

She climbed upwards, her heart beating fast the steps creaking beneath her feet.

She slipped off her shoes at the top of the stairs and opened the door.

It was almost pitch black in the attic, just a sliver of watery moonlight showing the spooky outline of the gramophone and the bird cage. With shaking hands, she managed to strike a match and light the candle. She made her way carefully, holding the candle high, jumping with fright when the flame spluttered and almost died.

She sat down before the trunk belonging to Thomas and set the candle down on a nearby box. Slowly she raised the lid of the trunk and the familiar smell of camphor drifted up.

She lifted out the scrap book and then took out a pile of letters and put them in her lap. She turned them over one by one but soon grew irritated because all the writing was in a foreign language so she couldn’t understand anything.

Next she lifted out the diary. She turned it over in her hands. It was heavy and bound in thick leather and there was a sturdy lock on the front.

She fiddled around with the lock but it refused to open. She knew that bad people could pick locks, thieves and burglars did it all the time, the only trouble was that she didn’t know anyone who could help her.

A noise in the far corner of the attic startled her. A scratching sound like something trapped. Mice or rats or maybe a bird come in under the eaves? She bit her thumb to stop herself from crying out in alarm.

The noise stopped, leaving just the sound of the wind sighing around the roof and the creak of the oak tree branches. She grabbed a few more things from the trunk and then carefully closed the lid and stood up with shaking legs. Lifting up her dress she slipped the diary and the photographs inside the front of her liberty bodice. She shivered because the leather was cold against her goose-pimpled skin. If she walked carefully and rested her hand on the diary she’d be able to sneak it downstairs.

She picked up the candle and tiptoed back across the attic, breathing fast with excitement. She wanted more than anything to run but she forced herself to walk slowly. Blowing out the candle, she wet her fingers with spit and doused the wick. Then she went quietly down the stairs, hurried along the corridor and into the nursery. She stuffed the diary behind the dolls’ house. Later she’d try and sneak out to the summerhouse. Perhaps Archie would know someone who could pick locks; there were bound to be burglars living in a place like the Skallies.

Archie Grimble made his way cautiously through the Killivray woods. He did not turn on his torch until he was a good distance into the woods for fear of being seen. All around him the trees loomed up like abandoned giants, twisted branches stark against the night sky, the ground dappled here and there with moonlight filtering through the leaves of the evergreens.

After an age he emerged from the woods on to the lower lawns of Killivray. He turned off his torch, paused to catch his breath and then hurried across the grass and on up the steps through the rose garden. There he stood and looked in wonder at Killivray House. In the dark it looked even more spectacular than in the daytime. Several of the windows were lit and smoke curled up from the enormous chimneys.

It was a beautiful and eerie-looking place. This ancient building could tell a lot of stories, he’d bet.

He thought of Thomas Greswode, imagined him sleeping there on the night of the cricket match. Probably too excited to sleep, going over in his mind all the happy memories of the day.

What had happened in the days after that? Probably Archie would never know. He wondered what Thomas Greswode was thinking the last night he’d ever spent in Killivray? What had made him run off and spend the night in the sports pavilion? Something had made him really unhappy, something he wanted to tell Mr Fanthorpe about Thomas hadn’t meant to die though, William Dally had been quite sure of that. He said he’d always been full of life.