Learning to Dance (13 page)

Hausmann said, suddenly angry, ‘Isn’t that another name for a project, Nattie? I seem to remember you calling all my expeditions wild goose chases!’

He turned to Sybil. ‘Come on. You’ve got the deciding vote here, Esmée. You always had the deciding vote. Go along with Jude’s suggestion, or turn back now?’

There was another silence, very tense. Nathaniel stared through the fog at Sybil and she stared at Hausmann. Judith discovered she was holding her breath.

Nathaniel croaked. ‘Esmée? What are you talking about, Robert? For God’s sake, man! Are you saying Sybil Jessup is Esmée Gould? Our Esmée Gould?’

Sybil turned and faced him. ‘I was, Nattie. I’m not any more. I’m Sybil Jessup, and I came on this trip to see the retrospective. That’s all. To find you and Robert here – it was a shock. But you didn’t recognize me, and if Robert guessed
who I was all along, then he did not
want
to know me, so I left it at that.’

Hausmann barked a laugh and she glanced at him and shrugged.

‘All right. I have the casting vote. I think we need to go on for half an hour, just as Judith has suggested. It depends on you, Robert. Let’s see how it goes, shall we?’

Nathaniel said nothing. He stood where he was and made no attempt to help Hausmann. Sybil took one of Hausmann’s arms and Judith took the other. Hausmann made an enormous effort to stride ahead of them, but after the first few steps it was obvious that was not going to happen. Judith held the elbow of his right arm, and after the first stagger he cursed impatiently and put his arm across her shoulders, using her as a crutch. She was exactly the right height. They went on together. Hausmann’s breathing was laboured and loud, but behind that Judith realized that Sybil had dropped back to Nathaniel. She heard him say something about keeping him in the dark, then Sybil replied in an apologetic voice and Nathaniel answered vigorously that it was, after all, a deception. Sybil said crisply, ‘I had no intention of deceiving you. I was here on an errand of self-preservation, new beginnings, whatever you like to call it.’

He said quietly, ‘Nothing has changed then, has it?’ She was silent.

Hausmann said in a low voice, ‘He’s right there. She was always a selfish, spoiled brat.’

Judith closed her eyes as he levered himself over another intrusive furze branch; he was no mean weight. The picture she had had of the three children in Cardiff was being torn to pieces.

She gasped, ‘Hausmann, can we pause a moment?’ He
stopped abruptly and she nearly fell. ‘If you could shorten your steps – match them to mine – I think we would do better.’

‘No need. I can hear water, Mrs Jack. Listen.’

She heard the water. Then above that came Sybil’s furious voice. ‘I
know
Robert is domineering and totally unreasonable! I have always known that! But Moss was domineering, too! Haven’t you heard that there are some women who actually fall in love with those sorts of men?’

‘Then they are fools. Judith is grieving for a husband who was a partner, who looked after her—’

‘And who stalked my husband through a series of lampoons. D’you know, he cried over that! Yes, actually cried, Nattie! Rather like you did when Robert and I ganged up on you! You didn’t like being called names – Moss didn’t like it. It’s ironic that Jack Freeman and Moss Jessup must have died at the same time! And Judith is no saint, either. She told Robert I was Esmée when she’d promised not to.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Judith called out. ‘He recognized you.’

Hausmann bellowed back, ‘Shut up, you lot! We’re there! Come here, Esmée – tell me if this is the river you and your old Goalpost found. And just why you always insisted it was John Ridd’s river! Come on, stop that stupid bickering – the past is the past. Let’s see if it was as important as we imagine! OK?’

There was another silence and they all heard the stream, running downhill, sliding over pebbles, pulling at the weeds on the banks.

Sybil said quietly, ‘How can I tell? Every stream and river has its own voice, but I need to see it to be sure, and in this fog—’

‘Did you climb it? Of course you did! We’ll have to climb it.’

Nathaniel said flatly, ‘Well, I am going back. Now.’

Judith exploded, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Hausmann! It’s dangerous – remember how hard it was for John Ridd, and he was the biggest man on Exmoor. And younger than any of us!’

‘He was a child when he did it first—’

Sybil said in a tired voice, ‘I think we’ve had enough, don’t you, Robert?’

He said, ‘I’ll do it alone, then. I know what to look for. The little grotto at the top where Lorna had her secret room …’ He was already on the move, edging carefully over the tufts of heather. They followed him, Nathaniel telling him not to act like a romantic idiot, and Judith grimly silent, angry with herself for being here in the first place.

Sybil said warningly, ‘It’s very shallow, Robert. Hardly any banks.’

Hausmann discovered how right she was. He stood ankle-deep in the typical Exmoor stream, turning his face towards them – white in the grey fog – grinning happily. ‘Come on, you laggards! We’re wet and muddy enough already to make poor old Irena foam at the mouth! Let’s give her the full works! Forget all that has happened, this is a bonding exercise of the highest order. Come on in, the water’s fine!’

Nobody moved. Judith said in a low voice, ‘Sybil, he’s doing all this for you; you’ll have to go. Nathaniel and I will wait here.’

Nathaniel moved down the shallow bank. ‘I’ll go with him. You two had better do some exercises – running on the spot – something. To keep warm.’

But Sybil was moving too. ‘According to Judith I have to go.’ She splashed noisily into the water, bumping into Nathaniel as she passed him. He flung up his hands and gave a despairing shout, and would have landed face-first in
the stream if Hausmann had not grabbed his arm and swung him round. They clung together, finding their balance, and then, unexpectedly, they began to laugh.

Judith watched them from the shore. Though they were less than two yards from her they were blurred and indistinct in the wet fog, and when Sybil joined them and was scooped into their embrace, they became one mass. And they all stood there, the clear water washing their calves, and the sound of their laughter was muffled yet loud at the same time. And in that moment, she understood them. It was so like the sudden laughter she and Jack had shared. It was a gift. A recognition that they themselves were absurd, and there was nothing to do about it except laugh. The moment became so poignant she thought Jack might materialize at her side, and she looked upstream at the wall of fog; willing him to be there, willing him to send a sign that he was still around.

Hausmann shouted, ‘Come on, Mrs Jack! You can’t stand there all day!’

She splashed into the water. And they began to climb.

Luckily, Nathaniel had tied his scarf to a bending alder before they had left, otherwise they would never have found their old route when they returned. The project – now most definitely an expedition – took them over as they scrambled through the water, often on all fours. Luckily it had been a dry summer and the water never came higher than their knees, but there were two miniature waterfalls where Hausmann – already soaked – hauled himself up with the help of protruding rocks and convenient branches, and then leaned down to haul Nathaniel beside him, and then the two of them swung Sybil and Judith over the lip. Judith had to
admit that once she had given herself over to the stream, the sheer hard work drove everything else from her mind; and when they reached some kind of platform and found they were coming out of the fog, she shared the triumph of the other three.

Nathaniel panted, ‘We should do this again – when there’s no fog and we can see the view.’ He was unwrapping their improvised picnic and handing around the rolls and hardboiled eggs.

‘It must be stupendous!’ Sybil agreed, wiping the moisture from her face with a bundle of soggy tissues. ‘We could probably sketch from here, Judith. Like we did at the top of the Lyn.’

Hausmann laughed. ‘Your sketchbooks might get a bit damp.’ He accepted a cold sausage and bit into it with relish.

‘There’s bound to be a footpath, Robert.’

Nathaniel passed around the cheese, then bent over, squeezing water from the bottom of his jeans. ‘Don’t think so. Let’s face it, there are loads of these streams draining off the top of the moor. This is nothing like John Ridd’s. I think we’ve got to admit that the official water slide is the right one.’

Sybil said stubbornly, ‘You can’t be sure, Nattie.’

He spread his hands. ‘Look, we’re above the fog and there’s no sign of a waterfall or a grotto. Remember Lorna had her secret room in the rock face? Also, I hate to tell you this, but only John Ridd, the strongest teenager on Exmoor, could climb that particular water slide. We’re all hovering around middle age, we’re out of condition, yet we managed this one.’

Hausmann said, ‘That’s not the point. Is this the Gould river? Is this the river you and your father adopted, Esmée?’

Sybil’s face was alight. ‘I think it is! I’m coming back here tomorrow if the weather is fine. I’m sure this is the one!’

Judith said, ‘We go home tomorrow. The weekend is over.’

‘Not till five o’clock! We can do it. Say you will! We can bring our sketchbooks.’

Hausmann said, ‘Judith has another engagement tomorrow, Esmée. You’ll have to make do with Nathaniel.’ He stepped gingerly into the water. ‘Come on. We’ve got a couple of hours’ walking ahead of us, and it’s almost three o’clock. We don’t need any search parties!’

It was more difficult going down than coming up. By the time they spotted Nathaniel’s scarf they were soaked not only by their many falls but by the rain which developed from the fog.

The landlord of the Dove Inn eyed them suspiciously. ‘Been trying to re-enact some of the witch trials, ’ave ’ee? You know Judge Jeffreys was round these parts not all that long ago!’

‘Nearly four hundred years back,’ Hausmann growled. ‘And what has happened to the lights in here?’

‘Dun’t need ’em yet, my dear. Clocks dun’t go back for another month. Which is just as well ’cos there’s been one of they dratted power cuts most of the day – we ’ad to get wood for the range and keep the kettles and saucepans going on the hob. Dry your daps in the ovens, if you like.’

Hausmann groaned. ‘That will please Irena – dinner will be late. Better get a move on; she’ll want me to light the fires.’

‘Bart’s got Calor gas stored in the orangery,’ Nathaniel put in. ‘He was always one for providing for the future.’

Hausmann groaned again, louder this time. For some reason Judith giggled. They tramped the mile back to the coast and crossed the causeway without difficulty. The door
was as stubborn as ever, the foyer lit by the colours of the window and some oil lamps placed here and there. It was bitterly cold, and no one was about.

They hesitated, suddenly at a loose end. ‘What now?’ asked Sybil.

Hausmann leaned on the counter. ‘They’ve gone to bed – Irena and Bart – I bet you they’ve gone to bed!’

Nathaniel grinned. ‘Can’t imagine it, somehow. What about the others?’

‘They won’t be back yet. Probably eating at Ilfracombe or something.’ Sybil looked around. ‘I don’t want to go to my room. It’s pretty bleak down here, but better than being alone. Where did you say the calor gas was, Nattie? Can we get it and fix it up somehow?’

‘Why not? I don’t quite know where the orangery is—’

Hausmann said, ‘I do. There’s a walkway around the base of the castle. The orangery was built later – it faces southwest, so catches all the sun. It will be a devil trundling gas cylinders along there in the dark.’

‘I think we might be able to get at it from inside.’ Judith was warming her hands at one of the oil lamps. ‘I did a lot of exploring on our first morning – d’you want to have a look? I can show you.’

Strangely, she felt like Sybil; she did not relish her own company, especially if there might be no hot water in the bathroom. She picked up the lantern and made her way confidently to the third door on the other side of the lift and the others followed her very willingly. If it had been bonding Hausmann was aiming for, he had succeeded; they were definitely a group by this time. Judith no longer felt outside it.

The passageway past the rooms beneath her own was lit
only by the windows, and by this time seemed very dark indeed, but it was straightforward enough and she reached the corner and found the door in the panelling which led into the library – if that was what it was. Nathaniel was at her elbow, the other two close behind. Hausmann was nagging Sybil to admit this was the best expedition yet, and she was laughing reluctantly and eventually admitted he was right.

The cavernous depths of the library silenced them all. The light from the lanterns did not penetrate very far, and reflected back from the windows, screening any sense of the outdoors beyond.

Judith stopped by the spiral staircase. ‘This is where I climbed up to the Long Gallery, and halfway up I could see the roof of the orangery – so it must be built on a lower level. If we go to the end of the library there should be a door into the next angle of the castle and … another staircase leading down.’

Hausmann, already ahead, confirmed there was a door. ‘I think the damned thing is locked … hang on … let’s put the lantern down … no, it’s OK … there’s a whacking great key here, but it’s not locked. God, it’s heavy! Sorry, I’m pushing instead of pulling!’ They joined him and watched as the door swung majestically inwards without a sound. ‘Well oiled, thank goodness. It’s as heavy as the entry door. I must remember to oil those hinges.’

He picked up his lantern and held it high. Another passage turned to the right, following the angle of the castle, but to the left a much narrower opening framed a staircase. A glimmer of light from below illuminated a layer of dust.

Hausmann said, ‘Well, obviously Bart brought the gas bottles this way – footprints all over the place. But we’ve still got to lug them back up—’

Sybil made a hushing sound. ‘There’s someone down there. Now.’

They all paused; the sound of the sea clawing on the pebbles as it came towards the land, and the usual creaking from the very fabric of the castle, mingled with the silence rather than interrupted it.