Daughters of Castle Deverill (16 page)

Grandma Wallace’s face lit up when she saw Martha. She held out her arms and the child ran into them, knowing she would always be welcome in Grandma Wallace’s embrace. ‘Well,
if it isn’t the birthday girl!’ said Grandma Wallace. ‘If I’m not mistaken you’ve grown again, young lady.’

Pam noticed Joan’s lips purse at this display of affection between Grandma Wallace and her niece and she allowed herself a moment of pleasure. Joan had relished the fact that Pam was
unable to bear children and had enjoyed being the first daughter-in-law to produce grandchildren. Ma and Grumps, as Diana and Ted had soon been called, had doted on those children. Grumps had taken
a great interest in the boys’ tennis and golf and Ma had read the girls stories and encouraged them to play the piano and paint. Soon after, Dorothy had given birth to boys but Joan
hadn’t felt threatened by Dorothy, her sister-in-law’s admiration for Joan was both eager and blatant and Diana Wallace had always had a special affection for her first son’s
children. Then Pam and Larry had returned from Europe with a baby.

Pam would never forget the look on Joan’s face when she had first laid eyes on Martha. She had peered into the crib and sniffed disdainfully. ‘The trouble with adopting a child, Pam,
is that you don’t know what you’re getting. Genes are very strong, you know. You might bring her up to be a Wallace, but she’ll always be who she really is inside. And what
is
that?’ She had shaken her head and pulled a sympathetic face. ‘Only time will tell.’ Pam was determined to prove her wrong.

Pam took off Martha’s red coat and the little girl stood a moment in her blue silk dress with its white Peter Pan collar and sash. Not even Joan could deny the child’s charm and Pam
swelled with pleasure because none of Joan or Dorothy’s children had ever possessed such heartbreaking sweetness. There was something about Martha that separated her from the rest. She was a
swan among geese, Pam thought happily, an orchid among daisies. A moment later the other children appeared, flushed from having been tearing around the house playing hide and seek. A pile of
presents had been arranged on the top of the piano and one by one Martha was presented with the shiny packages, tied up with vibrantly coloured ribbons and bows. She opened them carefully, with the
help of her cousins, and gasped with pleasure when the gifts were revealed. She knew better than to grumble about the ones that didn’t appeal to her, and was gracious with her thank-yous,
aware all the time of her mother’s sharp but satisfied gaze upon her.

Tea was in the conservatory, which had been decorated with pretty paper streamers and brightly coloured balloons. The children drank orange juice and ate egg and ham sandwiches and wolfed down
the birthday cake, which Mrs Wallace’s cook had made in the shape of a cat. Martha’s face, upon seeing the creation ablaze with four candles, had broadened with a captivating smile.

Grandma Wallace could barely take her eyes off her youngest grandchild and seized every opportunity to comment on something amusing that she either said or did. ‘Why, she’s adorable,
Pam,’ Diana Wallace gushed. ‘She hasn’t even got a crumb on that darling dress.’

Joan stood in the corner of the conservatory with a cup of tea and bristled with irritation. ‘It’s only because she’s adopted,’ she whispered to Dorothy, knowing
she’d find an ally in her. ‘You see, Ma’s overcompensating to make Pam feel better. She’s overdoing it, if you ask me, for the girl’s an also-ran.’

‘Oh, I don’t think she’s an also-ran, Joan,’ said Dorothy. Then just as Joan was about to take offence at Dorothy’s uncharacteristic disagreement, she added,
‘She’s peculiar. My George tells me that Martha has an imaginary grandmother called Adele or Adine or something. An also-ran wouldn’t have imaginary grandmothers. If you ask me, I
think she’s psychic’

Joan narrowed her eyes. ‘Psychic? Why, whatever do you mean?’

‘I think she sees dead people.’

‘You don’t think they’re imagined?’

‘No, I think she really sees dead people. I read an article in a magazine recently about psychic phenomena. Many small children have imaginary friends who aren’t really imaginary.
Apparently it’s very common.’

‘Well, none of
my
children had imaginary friends,’ said Joan.

‘Nor mine, thank goodness, and if they had I’d have quickly smacked it out of them! I’m not sure Stephen would approve of such a thing.’

‘Martha might be cute now,’ Joan pointed out. ‘But she could be trouble later. At least we know with our children where their faults come from.’

‘Oh, we do indeed, Joan.’

‘Family faults are somehow palatable, but . . .’ Joan sighed with ill-concealed
Schadenfreude.
‘Martha’s faults will always be
mystifying.’

After tea when the family settled into the drawing room again, Ted Wallace strode into the house with his second son, Stephen, having enjoyed a long lunch at the golf club. Much to Ted’s
disappointment golf hadn’t been possible on account of the thick fleece of snow covering the course. However, both men were in good spirits after eating with friends and finishing off with a
game of billiards. Ted was an enthusiast of any pastime which involved a ball and Stephen had inherited not only his father’s love of sport but his aptitude for it. They walked in with their
bellies full of lunch, laughing as they relived their victory at the billiard table.

The grandchildren stood politely and greeted their grandfather who was a tall, imposing-looking man with strong shoulders, straight back, thick grey hair swept off a wide, furrowed forehead and
a face that, though he was fifty-nine, was still handsome. Ted Wallace was much more interested in the boys, for like him, they were keen games players, but he had a kind word or two for the girls,
a comment on their pretty dresses or a question about their pet rabbit or dog. After that, the children ran off and he stood in front of the fireplace to puff on a cigar while Stephen took the
place on the sofa beside his wife, lay back against the cushions and stretched out his long legs with a contented sigh.

‘It’s going to snow all night by the look of things,’ said Ted. ‘I wouldn’t leave your departure too late. The cars will have trouble in the road with this snow.
Not that Diana and I wouldn’t be delighted for you all to stay over.’

‘Dear God, I’m not wearing the right shoes to walk in the snow! If the car gets stuck I’m getting stuck with it,’ said Joan. ‘Are you sure it hasn’t settled
already?’ She threw her gaze out of the window apprehensively.

‘It’ll be good for another hour or so,’ her father-in-law replied. ‘And you haven’t got far to go.’ It was true, Ted and Diana Wallace’s sons had all
managed to find houses within a few miles of their parents, such was the enduring strength of the apron strings.

‘I’ll call the children,’ said Dorothy, standing up.

‘So, how was the party?’ asked Ted through a cloud of cigar smoke.

‘Oh, Martha’s had such a lovely time,’ Diana answered. ‘She’s a little treasure.’

‘It’s so nice to see her with her cousins,’ said Joan. ‘She’s really one of us, isn’t she?’

‘Of course she is,’ said Pam, a little too quickly. ‘It was sweet of you, Ma, to throw her a party. She’s loved every minute.’

Diana gave a mellifluous laugh. ‘I’m her
favourite
grandmother, Pam. I have to do everything I can to remain on top.’

‘It’s hard competing with an imaginary one,’ Joan said, a devilish smile creeping across her face.

‘
Does
she have an imaginary one?’ Stephen asked, putting his hands behind his head and yawning.

‘Ah, here she is. Why don’t we ask her?’ said Joan as Martha trailed into the room behind the older children.

‘Really, I don’t know what Joan’s talking about,’ said Pam uneasily.

‘I’m not making it up. Dorothy, what is she called, Martha’s imaginary grandmother?’ Dorothy blanched in the doorway and looked confused. She clearly didn’t want to
be seen to be making trouble.

‘Help us out, dear,’ said Joan to the little girl. Martha glanced anxiously at her mother. Joan tapped her long talons on the arm of her chair impatiently. ‘Well, speak up,
dear. What’s the name of your imaginary, or perhaps not imaginary, grandmother? We’re all longing to hear.’

Pam stood up and took her daughter by the hand. ‘Come along now, darling, we have to get home before we get snowed in.’ She turned to her sister-in-law and her face hardened.
‘Sometimes, you can be very unkind, Joan.’

Joan laughed, opened her mouth in a silent gasp and pressed her hand against her chest. ‘Come now, Pam. It was only a bit of fun. You’re much too oversensitive. It’s one thing
for Diana to compete with Grandma Tobin but to compete with a ghost is even beyond the capabilities of Grandma Wallace!’ she said.

Diana shook her head. ‘There’s nothing unusual about having imaginary friends. Martha is on her own so much that it’s perfectly normal to invent friends to play with. I
don’t mind you having another grandmother, Martha. So long as she’s as nice to you as I am!’ Martha smiled although her eyes glittered with tears.

Mrs Goodwin noticed that Martha was very subdued when she returned home. Mrs Wallace told her that the child was simply tired, but later that evening, after Martha had been put to bed, Mrs
Goodwin eavesdropped for the second time. This time she hadn’t stumbled across the open door by accident but by design. It wasn’t like Martha to be so quiet and solemn, especially after
a birthday party. Mr and Mrs Wallace were in the drawing room, enjoying a drink before dinner. Mrs Goodwin hovered outside, ears picking up the relevant snippets of conversation.

‘If she were our biological daughter I wouldn’t mind her faults, or eccentricities as you call them, because they’d be family faults I’d recognize, but since she comes
from we don’t know where, I can’t help worrying that she’s different. I don’t want her to be different, Larry. For her to fit into the family, she has to be the same as all
the other children. Don’t you see?’

‘I think you worry too much. She’ll grow out of it when she starts going to school and making proper friends.’

‘I don’t want to wait that long. I want to sort it out now.’

‘And how do you propose to do that?’ Larry asked.

‘I’ll take her to see a doctor.’

Larry laughed. ‘She’s not sick, Pam.’

‘Talking to people we can’t see is a kind of sickness, Larry. It’s certainly not normal.’ Pam’s voice had now gone up a tone. Mrs Goodwin put her hand to her
throat. What would a doctor make of Martha’s ‘gift’ and how would he ‘cure’ it? She heard Mr Wallace sigh. He didn’t have much patience for domestic matters.

‘Whatever you think, Pam. If it gives you peace of mind to have some doctor say it’s perfectly normal to talk to daisies, be my guest.’

‘Mary Abercorn has suggested a man in New York who treated her son for anxiety. Bobby is now the most carefree young man you’d ever meet, so he must be good.’

‘Not a doctor then?’

‘No, he’s a . . .’ She hesitated. ‘You know, a man who looks after the mind as opposed to the body.’

‘A quack.’

‘Really, Larry!’

‘All right, a psychiatrist.’ There was a long pause as Mr Wallace pondered his wife’s suggestion. At last he spoke and there was a conclusiveness in his tone. ‘As long as
he doesn’t lay a finger on her,’ he said firmly.

Mrs Goodwin had heard enough. She hastened to the stairs and quickly made her way up them, her tread swift and silent on the carpet. When she reached the top, she put her hand on the banister
and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to assuage her fear. Yet, in spite of her efforts it lurked like a heavy shadow in the pit of her belly. She didn’t know what this
psychiatrist would do, but she knew for certain that no good would come of it.

Martha lay in bed listening to the familiar sounds of the night: the rustling of people moving about her bedroom, the murmuring of whispered voices, the quiet buzz of activity
– although in the darkness she couldn’t work out exactly
what
they were doing. She just knew that they were busy,
they
being people but not people like her parents and
Mrs Goodwin; people who she understood instinctively to be not from this world.

These nocturnal goings-on had never frightened Martha because Grandma Adeline had told her that the spirits meant her no harm. ‘They’re just curious,’ she explained.
‘This world and the next are much closer than one might imagine.’ Martha liked Adeline. She had a gentle smile and kind eyes and her laugh was as soft as feathers. With her mother,
Martha had to be on best behaviour. She had to keep her dresses clean and her shoes shiny. She had to be polite and well-mannered. She had to be
good.
Although she was much too young to
understand the complex world of adults, she knew intuitively that she had to
win
her mother’s affection. She knew that her love was conditional. With Adeline it was different. She
sensed Adeline loved her just the way she was. It wasn’t anything particular that she said. It was in the tender way she looked at her. She made the child feel cherished.

Mrs Goodwin had told Martha to keep Adeline secret, but she found it hard when she was as real to her as Grandma Wallace – well, almost. She knew her mother didn’t like her to talk
about people she referred to as Martha’s ‘imaginary friends’. But when Martha did, quite by accident, her mother’s face would change. It would grow suddenly hard. She would
suck in her affection as if it were a tangible thing, like her grandfather’s cigar smoke. One moment it would be filling the space around her and then, with one deep inhalation, it would be
gone, pulled out of the air, leaving her cold and isolated and ashamed. During these moments Martha would try very hard to draw it out again. She’d be exceptionally good. By and by this had
become a cycle of behaviour both mother and daughter had grown accustomed to. Pam withheld her affection in a subconscious bid to assert control while Martha tried so very hard to earn it back. All
the while Adeline was there, in the background, reassuring Martha that she was special.