Darkwater (8 page)

‘And what’s that, Mamma?’ came Louisa’s voice from the door.

Lady Arabella blinked myopically at her daughter.

‘Good gracious, Louisa, you look very grand. I must say Edgar dresses you grandly.’

‘What do you mean, Mamma,’ Louisa said irritably. ‘I’ve worn this gown a dozen times. I’ve just been telling Edgar that Amelia and I have a great deal of shopping to do. But why are you sitting here in the dark?’ Louisa tugged at the bell rope. ‘Why is this house always so dark and cold? Even on a summer evening.’

Edgar recognised the familiar tactics. They would go on until the new furs were bought. His family were leeches, he thought, with cold clarity. Only Fanny demanded nothing. Sometimes he wished she would so that he could be angry with her, too.

‘Shall we tell George about his new horse tonight?’ said Lady Arabella dreamily. ‘The dear boy. He deserves it. He nearly died for his country.’

T
RUMBLE WAS WAITING ON
the tiny station platform. Hannah carried Marcus who was asleep. Fanny had attempted to take Nolly’s hand, but the child had firmly withdrawn it. She walked at Ching Mei’s side, small and upright and independent. It was half past eight and she should have been dropping with weariness. Indeed, her face was colourless, but her eyes stared out as brilliantly as ever.

Fanny could see Trumble staring as they approached. Ching Mei’s pigtail and her trousered legs obviously fascinated him. He had expected a Chinese woman, but dressed respectably in skirts and petticoats.

There was mist in the air. The wind was cool and fresh, like cold water. Fanny breathed deeply, smelling the familiar loved smell of damp earth and heather. Perhaps she would have withered away with longing for this and the moorland wind if she had gone abroad or stayed in London.

Trumble had doffed his cap and sprung forward to help with the baggage. As they were about to climb into the carriage Fanny’s attention was taken by another small group who had left the train. She stared in pity and horror. There was a man, handcuffed, between two warders. He was on his way to the prison. Fanny caught only a glimpse of his thin bearded face beneath the flaring station lamps before he was hustled off.

She shivered. Imprisonment. It was terrible. There were so many forms of it. The prisoner’s face had been expressionless, like Ching Mei’s. Like her own must be, at times.

Fortunately no one else seemed to have noticed the episode. And in the carriage, when Marcus woke, and began to sob, Fanny suddenly remembered the sweetmeats Lady Arabella had given her. They had been left untouched in her reticule. She produced the small brown paper bag and distributed the sticky sweets.

‘There,’ she said. ‘We’ll be home in less than an hour.’

She thought again, involuntarily, of the prisoner when the carriage had come to a standstill outside the front door, and Trumble was helping them all to alight.

For either by accident or deliberately, the curtains had not been drawn across the drawing room windows and in the glowing lamplight the scene within was visible in every detail.

Lady Arabella was dozing in the high winged chair by the fire. Opposite her on the sofa Aunt Louisa, her topaz necklace catching the light, was deep in animated conversation with Lady Mowatt. Uncle Edgar stood smoking a cigar and talking to Sir Giles. Uncle Edgar was wearing his most benevolent expression. He looked well-fed and content, a man without a care. Sir Giles must have just said something that pleased him for he made a deprecatory gesture with his cigar. Sir Giles, unlike the hapless creatures in his custody, had a ruddy jovial face as if he habitually dined well and had a cellar as well-stocked as Uncle Edgar’s. His wife was a quiet creature, soberly dressed. Aunt Louisa, with her honey-coloured necklace and her massive crinoline looked almost flamboyant in contrast.

Beyond them Amelia and George were sitting at the card table engaged in a game of cards. George looked remarkably handsome. From this distance one couldn’t see the lines of difficult concentration on his forehead or his intermittently blank gaze. Amelia wore her sprigged muslin with the blue velvet sash. She had her curls pinned high in an adult manner, and looked very grown-up and sure of herself, the cherished daughter of wealthy parents.

It was a pretty picture. It required no one else in it.

Again Fanny had the overwhelming sense of being excluded from any genuine place in the family. The wind blew in a sharp gust, making her shiver again. The horses moved restlessly on the cobblestones. Hannah was saying, ‘You can walk now, a big boy like you,’ and had set Marcus down. And suddenly Fanny knew that the strange children, Nolly and Marcus, were looking in at the warm room, too. She felt a small very cold hand slipped into hers. She looked down. It was Nolly at her side. The child hadn’t looked up, hadn’t made a sound. Her bonnet hid her face. Only her chilly fingers spoke. Fanny reached out her other hand for Marcus, and for a moment the three of them stood there, irrevocably bound.

There was no other way, she realised. She was now passionately identified with them. She was not sorry she had come back.

Then the heavy oak door swung open, the light streamed out on to the cobblestones, and Barker was there, urging them to come in out of the cold. The family in the drawing room had heard the commotion, and Uncle Edgar’s deep genial voice was to be heard saying with what seemed like pleasant excitement, ‘I believe the children have arrived. Do come and meet them. Lady Mowatt, would you be interested to see my poor brother’s children? Louisa my love—’

It really seemed as if they were welcome.

They came inside. Hannah was discreetly whisking Ching Mei up the stairs. Fanny stood with the children still clinging to her.

‘Well,’ said Uncle Edgar, putting his finger under Nolly’s chin and gently lifting it. ‘This must be Olivia. I’m your uncle, child. I hope you’ll grow fond of me. And this is the boy. Tch, tch, tears won’t do. Now I have something that will interest you. Would you care to see my watch? I warrant your papa didn’t have one like it. It plays a tune.’

‘Edgar, not now. Tomorrow,’ said Aunt Louisa.

‘Mamma!’ That was Amelia, her voice louder than she had intended from relief. ‘They’re quite white.’

‘From exhaustion, I should think,’ said Aunt Louisa, and only Fanny saw her angry glance at her indiscreet daughter. ‘And a little grubby from the long train journey.’

‘By jove,’ said Sir Giles, putting down his glass of port. ‘They’re of a rather tender age, Davenport. I must say I admire your generosity.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Uncle Edgar, ‘the pleasure will be all mine. After all, who knows how imminently I’m going to lose my own children. Amelia makes no secret of being on the look out for a husband—’

‘Papa!’ Amelia shrieked.

‘And Fanny is pretty enough to join her at any moment. So there you are, I have two to take their place. Come, my poppet,’ he chucked Nolly’s chin again, ‘aren’t you going to speak to your uncle?’

‘They’re very tired, Uncle Edgar,’ Fanny said.

‘She’s pretty,’ said Uncle Edgar, with great pleasure. ‘I believe she looks a little like her father. He had all the looks in our family.’

‘And see where they led him,’ came Lady Arabella’s wheezing voice.

‘To an early grave,’ said Uncle Edgar sadly, with admirable presence of mind.

‘Fanny,’ Aunt Louisa spoke authoritatively. ‘Take the children upstairs. They look quite worn-out Now, Edgar, don’t interfere. They can see your watch tomorrow. Poor little creatures. They don’t know what anything is about at this moment.’

Fanny curtseyed to the company and led the children to the stairs. She had to pick up Marcus and carry him, he was stumbling so badly from fatigue. Nolly followed silently.

At the turn of the stairs she heard Sir Giles Mowatt saying again, ‘By jove, Davenport, I admire you. You take a thing like this in your stride.’

‘Well, they’re not exactly here under duress, like your guests,’ Uncle Edgar said and there was a great roar of laughter.

‘They’re really quite sweet,’ Amelia said in her high voice. ‘They look so innocent.’

‘Ah, yes. Innocence. A precious quality, one I don’t see much of. We must be off, I’m afraid. I, too, was expecting an arrival on this evening’s train.’

‘Oh, poor man!’ cried Amelia. ‘What has he done?’

‘I’m afraid he escaped from Wandsworth prison where he was doing a sentence for theft. They say he’s a desperate fellow, but I warrant he won’t escape from Dartmoor.’

Ching Mei was standing in the centre of the room in which the children were to sleep. It was probably the first English bedroom she had ever seen. Her bewilderment simply took the form of rendering her motionless, her hands clasped in front of her, her slitted eyes pulled.

Dora was at the door, goggling. Hannah came bustling out muttering, ‘That heathen woman, what’s to be done with her? She’s useless. Not a bit of unpacking done, and as for getting the children to bed—’

Fanny pushed the children into the room. She said sharply. ‘Dora, how would you like to be stared at like that? Go down to the kitchen at once and get Cook to make a bowl of bread and milk. Hannah, will you get the bed in the next room made up?’

Hannah looked at her in surprise. ‘For you, Miss Fanny? But it isn’t aired! The room hasn’t been used since the house party last November. Everything will be damp.’

‘Do as I ask you, Hannah. You can put a bed warmer in.’

Hannah nodded slowly. She lowered her voice.

‘I understand, Miss Fanny. You don’t trust the Chinese woman.’ Hannah was refusing to call her by her outlandish name.

‘Only to the point that she, too, may be nervous in such a strange house.’

‘But we’re all upstairs, Miss Fanny! Just overhead.’

‘And which of you would wake if a child cried?’ Fanny asked sceptically. ‘Besides, you know that Dora jumps at her own shadow, and so does Lizzie, and cook would say it wasn’t her place, and none of you would wait on a Chinese woman. Would you?’

‘Miss Fanny, you do say some things.’

‘Besides, I want to be near the children. Tomorrow, I shall have all my things moved up.’

‘Permanently, Miss Fanny?’

‘Permanently.’

Hannah, with her tired elderly eyes, stared at Fanny. Fanny said, ‘I know what you’re going to say, Hannah. Start a bad habit and you’ll have it always.’

‘No, I wasn’t, Miss Fanny. I was going to say, bless your kind heart.’

In the other room the children were chattering busily, but the moment Fanny went in, like startled birds, they were silent. All the same, their faces and hands were washed, they were dressed in their nightgowns and ready for bed. Ching Mei, when no strange eyes were on her, obviously worked swiftly and efficiently. She had even opened one of the trunks to get out the children’s night things. Now she stood again in her familiar deferential attitude, with clasped hands and downcast eyes.

‘That’s wonderful, Ching Mei,’ said Fanny. ‘You are very quick. Dora is bringing up some bread and milk. Try to persuade the children to have some.’

The Chinese bowed. Fanny said perplexedly, ‘How much English do you understand? You must have spoken it in my cousin Oliver’s home in Shanghai.’

Ching Mei stared.

‘Didn’t she?’ Fanny appealed to Nolly.

‘Not much,’ Nolly answered. ‘She was just beginning to learn when—when—’ She pressed her lips together, to stop their trembling. ‘When we came away,’ she finished flatly. ‘After that we just talked Chinese.’

‘There’ll be no more Chinese spoken,’ Fanny said firmly. ‘Do you all understand?’

Ching Mei bowed again. ‘Tly velly much, missee.’

Fanny felt a lump in her throat. If one wanted a lesson in self sacrifice and loyalty it was all there in this alien woman, with her sad wrinkled face, her expressionless eyes. Tomorrow she must tell Uncle Edgar what Adam Marsh had said. When the children were settled some way must be found to send Ching Mei back to her own country. She must not be allowed to die from homesickness.

The thought of Adam Marsh brought back a surge of warmth into Fanny’s heart. Suddenly she wanted to be alone to think and dream. She kissed the children quickly, ‘This is your bed, Ching Mei,’ she said, indicating the narrow one placed at the foot of the children’s, and was rewarded by Ching Mei’s sudden giggle which meant understanding. But Ching Mei pointed to the floor, indicating she would prefer to sleep there.

Fanny nodded. ‘Do as you like. I’ll be next door if you want me in the night.’

‘We’re not babies to want people in the night,’ Nolly said.

Fanny faced her reproving gaze.

‘I wasn’t suggesting you were. Such a travelled young lady as you couldn’t have remained a baby. Indeed, I’m surprised you haven’t already found a husband.’

Nolly pressed her lips together again, this time to prevent a surprisingly human giggle. Her hair stuck out in pigtails. She had, Fanny noticed, been hiding a doll under the blankets, for now its highly-coloured Chinese face and flat black hair emerged. She was only a baby, after all. Thank goodness, for her precocity had been a little alarming.

Only a baby…For in the night cold fingers touched Fanny’s face.

‘Cousin Fanny! Cousin Fanny! Marcus is afraid.’

Fanny sat up, fumbling for the candle at her bedside. She struck a match quickly, and the frail light showed her Nolly’s nightgowned figure. She was clutching the Chinese doll in its gaudy red kimono. Her eyes were dilated.

‘What is it, Nolly? Why are you afraid?’

‘Marcus is afraid,’ Nolly whispered. ‘He thinks he heard something.’

Fanny wondered if George had been walking about, as he sometimes did long after midnight. The house, as she listened, was as still as it ever could be. She was so used to the infinitesimal creakings and rustlings that she scarcely heard them.

‘Then come and let us see Marcus,’ she said, picking up the candle and taking Nolly’s hand.

If Marcus were frightened he was being remarkably silent about it. It required only one look to see that the little boy was fast asleep. Ching Mei, in her lowly position, wrapped in a blanket, didn’t appear to have stirred.

Fanny was beginning to realise Nolly’s tactics. Marcus was at once her scapegoat and her possession.