A Place of Secrets (39 page)

‘And cold, I should think.’

‘Yes, I have been.’ She pulled her cloak around her, with growing alarm at his strangeness.

He made a little noise in his throat, the meaning of which she couldn’t gauge. He dropped the bag he’d been carrying on the floor near the wall.

‘Mr Trotwood, thank you so much for rescuing me, but can we go now?’

She moved towards the doorway.

‘Not so fast,’ he said, very quietly, and seized her by the arm. She stiffened, terrified.

‘The mistress is finding you, shall we say, inconvenient.’

‘What?’ she said, then, absorbing his words, ‘Was it you who shut me in here?’

‘No,’ he said in his slow, deliberate voice, ‘but somebody did a useful job, didn’t they? Come on,’ he ordered, twisting her arm painfully behind her back. ‘Up here, there’s a good girl.’ He pushed her to the ladder.

‘No!’ she cried. ‘Leave me alone.’

His response was to clamp a leathery hand over her mouth with a hissed, ‘Don’t give me any more trouble now, yer little upstart.’

He hauled her up the ladder one step at a time as she fought and flailed and tried to cry out. Finally he got her out onto the roof. ‘It’s over you go,’ he cried, dragging her towards the parapet. ‘Then they’ll say, “Poor little thing, grief-stricken after the old man’s death,” and you’ll be out of everyone’s—’ He gave a sudden cry and kicked out, nearly letting her go. Someone had bitten his leg, damn them to hell. He swung round to see a girl, thin, ragged. Where had she sprung from? He kicked at her again and she fell sprawling across the platform. The moonlight shone on her face and Esther saw with surprise that it was the gypsy girl.

With Trotwood’s attention elsewhere, Esther took her opportunity. She bit his hand hard. He tore it away with a cry. She twisted out of his grasp and stepped back, tripping over the telescope stand and nearly falling. He advanced. She grabbed the telescope and yanked part of it loose, then wielded it like a cudgel. He put out both arms to snatch it from her. Rowan launched herself at his legs, making him stagger, and Esther hit him on the shoulder with her weapon. He reeled, then recovered himself and kicked Rowan away. She scrambled to her feet. Both the girls were facing him now, Esther with her nasty weapon. He backed away, then edged sideways, perhaps intending to deal with Rowan first. What happened next was a surprise to them all. His foot caught in the top rung of the ladder and he pitched sideways, his head hitting the parapet with a great crack. For a moment he lay like Goliath hit by the stone, blood pouring from a cut on his head.

After a while he sat up, dazed, but the girls were past him. They scampered for the ladder like two frightened mice, Rowan getting down first, then Esther, who lowered the trapdoor and bolted it behind them. Then they waited in fright below, clutching each other, listening to Trotwood bang on the trapdoor and roar curses. After a minute or two of this he desisted suddenly. They heard a thud, shufflings and then a groan. After that, silence.

The two girls looked at one another. The gypsy girl’s eyes were huge in her thin face. She put out her hands and took one of Esther’s and stroked it gently.

‘How did you find me?’ Esther asked. ‘I’m so glad that you did.’

The girl uttered two harsh syllables, and when Esther frowned uncomprehendingly, she mimed a little scene.

‘You were asleep,’ said Esther, watching closely, ‘and somebody woke you. No, you had a dream?’

The girl nodded, and mimed running and panting.

‘Well, I’m glad you came.’ The girl pulled out of her skirt pocket a small piece of brick with one of Esther’s messages still wrapped round it. It was soaked, the writing indecipherable. ‘Yes, that’s mine. Thank you, oh thank you.’

They both listened in case of any sign of life from the roof, but there was none. Then Esther noticed Mr Trotwood’s bag. There was a dead rabbit tied to the strap. She eagerly undid the buckles, hoping for food. Inside was a pistol and a lump of fruitcake wrapped in a cloth. She placed the pistol on the desk next to her journal, untied the rabbit and gave it to the girl, who received it with a show of pleasure, then she divided the cake between them. Both of them ate hungrily.

Esther picked up the pistol. She’d never handled one before, but she fiddled with the catch then fitted her forefinger over the trigger and pointed the gun shakily at the window. Yes, she thought she could do it if she had to. She marched over to the ladder, climbed up and pushed at the trapdoor. It would not move. There was something weighting it shut. She gave up and came back down, returned the pistol to the desk with some relief. She wasn’t sure what her intentions had been. To rescue him, bring him down the tower at gunpoint, perhaps.

Outside, the wind was beginning to get up. Esther went to a window and watched the snowflakes beginning to fall. Then she said to herself, What shall I do?

Trotwood had confirmed her worst suspicions, that not only did Alicia wish to deny her the inheritance of the Hall, but she had hoped to deprive her of her very life. And Trotwood had supported her in this. Who else would, among the servants? Obviously not Susan, who loved her like a daughter, and she couldn’t imagine Mrs Godstone or Corbett taking against her, or Betsy. But the more she thought about it, the more frightened she was at the idea of going back. She had no one of any power or influence to support her and now there was the problem of Trotwood, lying dead or dying upstairs. It was an accident, of course, in the end. He’d slipped and cracked his skull, but it could still look bad for the two of them, very bad.

The other girl finished the last crumbs of cake, then snatched up Trotwood’s bag and rummaged in the side pockets. All she could find was a couple of wizened apples. She handed one to Esther and began to eat the other noisily. Esther watched her small white nibbling teeth with fascination. The girl’s headscarf had slid back on her head and in the lantern-light Esther saw that the hair was paler where it sprang from her scalp but streaked with dirt or tar. Seeing her curiosity, the girl quickly pulled the scarf forwards.

Esther began to pace the room, rubbing her arms for warmth, her thoughts whirling like the snowflakes outside. What should she do? There was surely nowhere for her to go. The servants couldn’t help her. She thought of Matt. No, she couldn’t endanger him. It suddenly struck her how truly alone in the world she was.

Now the girl uttered, ‘Esther,’ and said something in her strange tongue, gesturing towards the stairs.

‘You want me to come with you?’ Esther said. The girl nodded, then her gaze alighted on the pistol and the apple cores.

Esther took her meaning. She returned the pistol to the bag, which she laid against the wall as it had been. Then she set about collecting up every piece of evidence that she’d recently been there, tidying the ink in a cupboard, placing everything she’d brought with her back in her bag. She hesitated over the journal, then wrapped it in an oilcloth and took it to the hiding place in the wall. She opened it and saw the box containing her necklace. She had forgotten all about it, but she might need it now. She opened the box and lifted out the string of stars, her heart leaping to see the beautiful sparkling charms. Quickly, she undid her cloak and slipped the necklace round her neck, looking up to see Rowan’s expression of amazement and, yes, desire. The box went into her bag, then came the problem of fitting the journal inside the hideaway. It simply would not go. She stood in an agony of indecision. The journal was precious, with its record of discovery, but it belonged with the others, back at the Hall. She’d leave it in a cupboard. No one would know how long it had been there. But the account she’d written of herself might be useful one day.

Eventually she placed the book on the desk and tore out the pages she’d written over the last few days, wrapped them in the oilcloth and packed them in her bag. Then with one last glance around the room, she followed the gypsy girl downstairs.

It was snowing quite heavily still, although the wind had finally dropped. They loaded up the little cart and set out across the clearing, knowing the snow would cover their tracks. Once, Esther skidded and fell and when Rowan helped her up, she felt the necklace slip from her neck. Holding her glove in her teeth, she felt for where it had caught in the lace of her dress and pulled it free. She was clutching it in her hand, just as she’d done nearly fourteen years before, as they vanished together into the forest.

The only trace of Esther was a little gold star that lay winking in the snowlight.

When Summer awoke, she was curled up under a tree, the early dawn light starting to filter down through the leaves. She had awoken because she was cold. The remnants of her dream fled in the face of her surprise and fear and she sat up, crying out for her mother
and looking all around. When no one answered she called again, and again, then threw herself to the ground and curled up like a caterpillar waiting for danger to pass. Tears zigzagged across her face and for a while she drifted between sleeping and waking. Then she felt the lightest of touches on her shoulder, like the caress of a falling leaf. “Mummy?” She raised her head and at first could see
no one. Then she heard a giggle and caught a movement behind the next tree. Not Mummy—but, curiosity overcoming fear, she rose to her feet. The other child, if child it was, ran ahead to another tree, but Summer could only detect the movement, not see the girl—she sensed it was a girl—herself.

“Who are you?” Summer called out, then whimpered, “I want my mummy.”

She thought the girl beckoned,
then saw the leaves move and the giggle came again, from farther along the path. Summer started to follow. “Where are we going?” she asked, but the girl did not reply. The light was stronger now, and the birds were in full voice. Summer felt much calmer. She didn’t know where the girl was taking her, but she understood it would be all right. She pictured her mummy’s face in her mind and knew, just
knew, she’d find her soon. Her mother had said to her once after they’d become separated in a supermarket, “Darling, if you ever feel you’re lost, don’t worry, I’m looking for you. I’m always looking for you.” Her mother would be looking for her and she’d find her. And in the meantime, this girl, for she could see her properly now, was helping her. They wandered together all day, the girl showing
Summer where blackberries grew, and where clear water flowed. They played together, hiding games and catch, and once they made a dam in a shallow bubbling stream. Then came times of realization that she was still lost, and she’d panic and cry, and the girl would make soothing noises and caper around, trying to make her smile. When evening came once more she sank exhausted on a mossy bed and the
girl covered her with dry leaves.

She was awakened on Monday morning—not that she knew it was Monday—by the sound of a passing car. She sat up and looked around and saw she was lying near a road. Of the other girl there was no sign. When she got to her feet she recognized where she was. A little farther along the road, on the other side, stood the gypsy caravans. She could even see Liza, sitting
on the steps of her van, reading a newspaper and eating toast. She wondered what to do, suddenly lacking courage. Relief and fear rushed over her in equal measure. She sat down in the grass again and wept.

There came the roar of another car, the jangle of music. The car slowed, the music stopped and a man’s voice cried, “Hi there. Are you OK?” She looked up, dazzled. It was a lovely sports car,
her favorite kind of blue, with the roof down and a small dog of indeterminate lineage standing in the backseat waving its tail. She’d always wanted a little dog. The driver was a man with curly blond hair like hers, and sunglasses. He took these off now, and she saw his face, all smiley and snub-nosed. She liked him at once, but remembered what her mother had told her about not getting in people’s
cars even if she knew them. But this man didn’t ask her to get into the car. Instead he said, “I’m sorry you’re sad. Do you live over there?” He pointed to the gypsy caravans. She shook her head and whispered, “I want my mummy.”

The man thought for a moment, then he said, “Look, will you stay exactly where you are, next to my car, and look after it for me? I’d like to ask that lady over there
for help.”

Summer nodded, so the man checked for traffic, then got out of the car, his little dog leaping out after him. He crossed the road and jogged over to the caravan site and Summer saw him speak to Liza. And then they were both hurrying back toward her.

And Liza put her arms around her and called her darling and Summer knew she was safe.

Jude would never ever forget that first rush of relief when the policewoman said, her voice cracking, “She’s found. She’s OK.” After the release of tension it was like her body was filling up with fizzy champagne. There was nothing more to worry about in life, ever ever again. She and Claire clasped one another, Claire laughing and crying alternately. The worst had been contemplated
and the worst had gone away. Then the euphoria ebbed and questions rose in her mind. When could they see her? Where had she been for the last two nights? Was she really all right?

“She’s being taken to the hospital just to check her over. We’re to meet her there. Come on.”