Dorothy Eden (64 page)

Even Guy paid her a visit that morning. He said, ‘Anything more?’ in a low voice, and when she shook her head his thin dark face cleared and brightened. ‘Thanks a lot, Biddy,’ he said.

It was the first time she could remember him giving generous unsolicited thanks. She said, ‘Guy, it’s all wrong. But now it’s done, for heaven’s sake try to be happy. You owe that much to me, and to that poor old man. It’s the least thing you can do.’

‘I’ll be happy. Everything will be all right.’ His tone had never been so jaunty and confidant. He even looked young and carefree. ‘I’ll have some luck and pay you back,’ he promised. ‘I’m beginning to feel lucky.’

But if Guy’s happiness were to depend on Prissie—
why
had she this insistent lack of faith in Prissie? The girl had done nothing to merit it. Rather the opposite. She had proved that she could be relied on in a crisis. Beneath her tender and gentle exterior she was practical and competent and intelligent. Whatever her childhood background had been she would make a wonderful wife for Guy, especially after he had come into his share of the Templar fortune. No doubt already in her mind she was adorning this house as its mistress.

So how could one imagine that her glances kept turning sideways to a fortuneless airman who was already married?

Brigit did not ponder on these things too long. The morning, clear and sparkling, was too lovely for problems or gloom. Besides, her biggest problem was being solved. She thought that if she were alone for long enough she would be able to move her legs. She couldn’t bear anyone to watch in case the lovely miracle vanished. Even Nurse Ellen, with her vociferous enthusiasm, might ruin it. She must find some way to get Nurse Ellen out of the house for an hour or two.

‘What are you lying there smiling about?’ Nurse Ellen had appeared in her abrupt way and was standing over Brigit.

‘I was just imagining I was walking through the park, scuffling through the leaves. It’s such a lovely day, the trees must look like fires burning. Wouldn’t you like a walk in the park, Nurse?’

‘This afternoon I might while you have your nap. I want to do a little shopping, too. I’ll slip over to Harrods.’

‘You might match some wool for me,’ said Brigit. ‘I’m not going to have enough to finish Sarah’s cardigan.’

‘Right. If I can’t get it there I’ll go to some other places. My, the children will be enjoying their outing this morning. They were going to the Round Pond. That ought to put some colour into Nicky’s cheeks. Should you have that cat on your bed, ducky?’

‘Oh, he’s only a kitten. Leave him.’

‘Well, they never taught me it was hygienic to tuck one’s patient up with a cat. But I suppose he’s the right colour. He might bring you luck.’

‘Oh, indeed he might.’

It was midday when the children came back. Sarah came into the room first. She immediately crouched on all fours and began making curious leaps, accompanied by a guttural sound in her throat. Nicky, following her, seized her hair and pulled it hard. Sarah screamed with pain and indignation. Prissie came in swiftly and separated them.

‘Nicky! I’m sorry, Mrs Gaye—I’m afraid Nicky’s being difficult this morning.’

‘Oh, on such a lovely day?’ Brigit looked reproachfully at her small son who now stood sullen-faced and silent. ‘What’s the matter, Nicky? Why did you do that to Sarah?’

‘Because she was being a toad and she knows I hate them.’

‘A toad? What a curious thing. I didn’t know she had ever seen a toad.’

‘She saw one this morning over at the Round Pond,’ Prissie explained. ‘You know all the horrid things children there collect. Jars of worms and tiddlers. Ugh! I don’t know how they do it.’

Nicky came suddenly to Brigit. His face was dead white, and now Brigit saw the way the pupils of his eyes were enlarged, as if with fear. But what could it be that he was frightened of?

‘Nicky!’ she said gently, stroking his small cold grubby hand.

Tears formed in Nicky’s eyes. His lips quivered uncontrollably.

‘It was Clementine had the toad,’ he sobbed. ‘She put it on me. It was cold and slimy like a slug. Mummy, I
hate
toads!’

Brigit said slowly, ‘Clementine again?’

In the background Nurse Ellen’s practical voice came, ‘That name has a familiar sound.’

Prissie shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Gaye. I don’t know why he does it. Every child he doesn’t like he calls Clementine.’

‘Was there a child he didn’t like this morning?’

Nicky, between sobs, said, ‘Her face was dirty and she laughed at me all the time. She wanted to hurt me. She said toads bite.’

‘They don’t, you know,’ Brigit said soothingly. ‘They’re really nothing at all to be frightened of.’

‘She laughed like the—like the—’ But there Nicky stopped, for he could not now put into words his intense fear of the witch doll in the cupboard.

Sarah, on hands and knees again, was giving her sideways leaps and croaking happily. So there had been a toad, at least, Brigit realized, or Sarah could not have done her clever imitation.

‘Prissie—couldn’t you have stopped this?’

‘I did as soon as I saw what was happening. I didn’t know Nicky was frightened until I heard him crying, and then all the children ran away.’

‘The children?’

‘Oh yes, there was a bunch of them. You know the way they all make friends instantly.’

‘And there was a toad?’

‘Well, yes, there must have been. But as I said, the children ran away.’

‘And you didn’t see the one Nicky calls Clementine?’

Prissie shook her head. ‘I told you, it’s the particular one he doesn’t like at the time that he calls Clementine. It’s just a thing he has about that name.’

‘If you ask me,’ said Nurse Ellen suddenly, ‘it’s all very well having grown-up theories about the reason for a child’s fears, but are they the right ones? Personally I believe there is a little horror called Clementine who has decided to persecute Nicky, and I’m going to find out if she does exist. At least we’ll know then whether what’s frightening Nicky is real or imaginary, and we’ll be able to deal with it. With your permission, Mrs Gaye, I’ll take the children to the park this afternoon.’

Brigit was aware, first of all, of the resentment in Prissie’s face. It flashed over it like a shadow, turning it suddenly hard and cold. Then it passed, and Prissie turned a hurt but acquiescent look towards Brigit.

‘If you don’t believe what I tell you—’

‘I do believe you, Prissie. But it won’t do any harm for Nurse Ellen to take the children out. I promised her an afternoon out today, anyway. I’m fully prepared to believe that Clementine has no more reality than Mrs Hatchett’s ghost. But like the ghost, she might be taking another form. If there is a horrid little girl who persecutes Nicky it must be stopped.’

Prissie was still sulking a little.

‘Then if I’m not required this afternoon may I go and see my aunt? She wasn’t very well yesterday and I’d really like to see her.’

‘Of course you may. This is a very good opportunity. Aunt Annabel is having a committee meeting so there’ll be no one in the house except myself. And I can’t disturb her.’

Brigit smiled at everyone. She didn’t want trouble between Prissie and Nurse Ellen, but she was extremely grateful to Nurse Ellen for her offer to investigate the thing that was troubling Nicky. If there were something that Prissie was lying deliberately about—but there couldn’t be. There was no reason for it.

‘Take the children for their lunch, Prissie. And have a nice afternoon with your aunt.’

Prissie pouted slightly. She was being as childish as Nicky. She didn’t speak directly to Nurse Ellen, but said to no one in particular, ‘The children will need their top coats. There’s a cold wind out.’

At last she was alone. Nurse Ellen had tucked her up and left her to sleep, but as soon as she was sure that Nurse Ellen and the children were safely out of the house she propped herself up, and began the magical movements with her toes again. She knew now that she could move her legs. She threw the blankets off and slowly drew her knees up, first one then the other. They ached a little and felt strangely as if they did not belong to her, but they had life again. It was so wonderful that she cried a little. Then she briskly dried her tears, and began a system of gentle exercise. She wanted to be able to get out of bed unassisted, to stand, and later to walk. Now she could tell Nurse Ellen what had happened because it was really true. Later today, or perhaps in the morning, she would persuade Nurse Ellen to help her to walk, so that when Fergus came home in the evening she would be able to walk to meet him.

But in the meantime she must take things easily lest she got too tired and her new-found mobility left her. She would do as Nurse Ellen expected her to, and sleep.

Aunt Annabel’s committee women had arrived and filed into the drawing-room. From that direction there came the distant hum of voices. Otherwise the house was silent. Brigit, her mind free from care, fell asleep almost at once. She slept soundly except for once waking momentarily and thinking she heard a strange forlorn cry. But she was asleep again instantly.

Prissie was the first to arrive home. She was flushed and a little out of breath. She said she had run from the bus stop because she was afraid she was late. Her aunt had been in bed and she had stopped to do things for her.

‘It’s all right,’ Brigit said. ‘The children aren’t home yet.’

‘Not yet? Are you sure?’ Prissie seemed surprised and Brigit noticed for the first time that it was growing dusk. The dead leaves on the trees hung like withered jewellery against a lemon-coloured sky.

‘Nurse Ellen was going to match some wool for me. She’s probably doing that. But it is getting late. They must be here soon.’

‘And you haven’t had any tea,’ said Prissie. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Hatchett.’

Brigit called to tell her not to bother, but Prissie had already gone. Indeed, she seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. After she had been to the kitchen Brigit heard her running upstairs. It was not long before she was down again. She came back into Brigit’s room and said breathlessly, ‘I think the mythical Clementine must have kidnapped the children. Do you mind if I go out and look for them?’

Brigit laughed. ‘Don’t be silly, Prissie. Nurse Ellen knows the way home.’

‘Yes, but it’s getting terribly cold out, and she didn’t take the children’s coats as I told her to. I’ve just looked, and they’re still in the wardrobe.’

‘That’s odd. She must have thought they didn’t need them.’

‘They might not have earlier, but they do now. I’ll take them over to the park. Nicky catches cold so easily.’

Was that a maternal note in Prissie’s voice? Or was it just covering what was suddenly an extreme anxiety that showed itself in her edging towards the door, eager to be gone? Was there something in the story of this strange menacing child Clementine after all, and Prissie knew it? Brigit was baffled and beginning to grow anxious herself. But before she could say anything more Mrs Hatchett appeared with her tea-tray and Prissie took the opportunity to slip out.

‘Well, I declare,’ said Mrs Hatchett. ‘You should have had your tea long ago. I thought the nurse was looking after you.’

‘No, she took the children out this afternoon.’

‘And when was that?’ Mrs Hatchett asked, putting the tray down.

‘Why, about two o’clock, I should think.’

‘Well, they were still playing in the garden at half past three. I know because I had to go out and tell them to make less noise. The mistress’s ladies were in the meeting, and what with shouting children and miauling cats—though I don’t expect the cats would worry the ladies, that being their business so to speak.’

‘At half past three?’ Brigit repeated. ‘But you must be wrong.’

Mrs Hatchett made a disapproving sound. ‘I suppose I can trust the evidence of my eyes, can’t I? You might laugh at me about my ghost, poor innocent that he is, but at least I know whether or not two children are trampling over the master’s chrysanthemum beds.’

‘Then when did they go?’ Brigit asked.

‘Soon after I spoke to them. I didn’t see who took them. I suppose it was Miss Hawkes, but it could have been the nurse. And after that I forgot all about them. I was so occupied listening to the supernatural.’

‘To the what?’

‘The supernatural, dear,’ Mrs Hatchett’s face became rapt. She stood with her plump arms folded across her plumper bosom, and her head slightly on one side in a listening attitude. ‘Do you know, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him in the daytime, in broad daylight, mind you.’

Brigit was losing patience. ‘Mrs Hatchett, just what are you talking about?’

Mrs Hatchett’s voice became pained and formal.

‘My ghost, madam. In the past he has only made his appearances at night, and silently. But this afternoon he has been calling, oh, so sadly. It would break your heart!’

In spite of her practical sense, Brigit had to repress a shiver. Hadn’t she awakened to a far-off forlorn cry?

‘And tomorrow we’ll find the silver is missing,’ she said sceptically.

Mrs Hatchett shrugged her shoulders.

‘You may joke, madam. But you’ll live to find out.’

With this cryptic remark she departed, and Brigit was left in the rapidly growing dusk to sip her tea and realize that this queer worry and apprehension had taken away all her pleasure in her suddenly regained mobility. Where was Nurse Ellen? Why had she delayed so long in taking the children out, and why didn’t she bring them home? What had gone wrong?

She jumped violently as Renoir slid like a substantial grey ghost into the room. He was followed, a moment later, by Aunt Annabel who was dressed in a once elegant black satin afternoon dress, but who still contrived to look as if the wind had been blowing her in all directions.

‘Darling, what do you think?’ she exclaimed. ‘The ladies have made me treasurer of the society. Isn’t that an honour? I bank the money and draw the cheques. Oh dear, oh dear. I shall have to be so methodical. I’m afraid Saunders will laugh at me. Dear, are you listening?’

‘Aunt Annabel, forgive me, but when did you last see the children?’