The Children's Hour (12 page)

‘Well, that's something,' said Hannah reluctantly. ‘But we won't be able to have a really good gossip.'

‘Will she bring the Bosun?' asked Toby eagerly. ‘I do love him. And so does Flora, don't you, Flora? I wish
we
could have a dog.'

‘I know you do,' said Hannah. ‘You've told us before, actually. Just once or twice.'

‘On the hour, every hour. But, yes, Lyddie is bringing the Bosun so you'll be able to take him down to the beach.'

‘The sea.' Toby's face was lit with excitement. ‘Flora! We're going to the sea.'

‘Bistik,' demanded Flora threateningly, drumming on her tray. ‘Bistik!'

‘We'll take Flora swimming,' said Jack, his eyes brightening with fell intent. ‘Isn't there some scientific discovery which proves that small children can't drown? Should we test it?'

‘Don't tempt me,' said Hannah longingly, passing her younger child a small square of shortbread and starting to peel an apple. ‘Just don't, that's all.' She passed a quarter to her son. ‘Get on with it, Tobes, and then we'll all go for a walk.
All
,' she repeated firmly, as Jack swallowed the remains of his tea hastily and glanced purposefully at his watch. ‘It'll do us all good.'

Jack made a series of faces, which sent Toby into fits of laughter, and even Hannah grinned unwillingly.

‘Hopeless,' she said. ‘Eight-year-old boys are a better example than you are. No, Flora, that's enough biscuit. Apple, now. Eat up and we'll walk down to the river. You can ride your bike, Tobes, and Daddy will give you a piggy-back, Flora. You like that, don't you?'

Flora, who did indeed feel that there was a certain rightness when her head was higher than anyone else's, began to eat her apple pieces with enthusiasm. Jack looked at his wife.

‘Thanks,' he said. ‘There's nothing I love more than having both ears violently twisted whilst a pair of iron heels rhythmically shatter my breastbone.'

‘That's all right, then,' she answered equably. ‘I like everyone to be happy. I'll get the coats. And don't pinch the last of the chocolate biscuits, Jack. I know exactly how many there are.'

She left the kitchen and there was a silence broken only by Flora eating apple. Toby finished his quarters and beamed at his father. Jack winked back at him companionably.

‘Tell me, Tobes,' he asked thoughtfully, ‘have you come across the word “witch” yet?'

Nest woke suddenly, heartbeat unsteady, struggling into awareness as she tried to see the clock. Even before she could read its illuminated face she knew that the night was over. The thickness of the curtains could not completely block the light-fingered morning as it groped between the gaps in the heavy folds, touching the room alive with rosy colour, stroking mahogany and glass until they reflected a sheeny lambency. The house was wrapped in absolute silence. On such a morning the deep cleave would be filled with a creeping mist, only the highest treetops rising above drifting fog, whilst the sea, lying quiet beneath its clammy blanket, waited for that warming radiance that now traced its way into the darkness of Nest's room.

In the first months after the accident, her helplessness had brought nightmares to her waking and sleeping hours. What if the house should catch fire? Or if there should be an intruder? Her inability to move quickly or defend herself manifested itself in sweating terrors, which Jack and Mina
had tried hard to allay by practical means: a very good smoke alarm system, bars at her windows. The large morning-room, barely used since Lydia's death, was the obvious choice for Nest's quarters. Next door to the kitchen, it had been quite easy to plumb in a small bathroom and equip it for her needs. The fact that it was on the ground floor made access simple for her, yet increased her night-time fears. Mina refused to allow her to lock herself in but the bars had helped.

‘It's so
stupid
,' Nest would cried vexedly, almost weeping with frustration. ‘I'm OK until I go to bed. It's the dark . . .' and Mina remembered a younger Nest, screaming in the night after
Hans Brinker
was read aloud during the children's hour: the chapter ‘The Red Lion Becomes Dangerous' tells how the young Dutch boys disturb an intruder. The vision of the robber, creeping quietly, creeping slowly across the moonlit floor, knife in hand, remained with small Nest long after lights were out and, after the nightmare, she'd been allowed to sleep in Mina's bed for the rest of the night. Since the accident, she'd gradually adapted to this aspect of her disability but she was still prey to terrible dreams and waking horrors.

Now, even as she peered at the clock, she stiffened into immobility. Someone was in the room. Tense and alert, blood singing in her ears, she strained to see the darker, denser shape near the door. It waited, motionless, yet, in the breathless silence, Nest's heightened senses detected confusion on the part of the intruder. For a brief moment she wondered – hoped – that this might be a peculiarly vivid dream but, before she could dismiss the thought, there was a movement: a stealthy turning of a handle, a wedge of light lying across the floor before the door closed again with a tiny but audible click. Instantly Nest was washed in a drenching sweat of relief, her locked muscles unclenching
painfully. She swallowed several times, her eyes closed, and began deliberately to inhale long deep breaths. Presently, she pushed back her covers and began the slow process of dressing, and, later still, wheeled herself into the kitchen for breakfast.

The room was filled with bright, comforting light and Nogood Boyo came to greet her. She leaned from her chair to stroke him and wished her sisters ‘Good morning'.

Georgie was immersed in a catalogue but Mina folded and put aside the
Spectator
, smiled at Nest – she never commented on her sister's nocturnal miseries, preferring to dwell optimistically on the pleasures of the day ahead – and poured herself another cup of coffee.

‘There was an e-mail from Jack last night,' she told Nest. ‘They're all coming on Saturday for the whole day. And Lyddie's coming too. Isn't that good news?'

Nest lifted the kettle onto the hotplate, responding to Mina's evident delight with a raising of spirits.

‘Great,' she answered cheerfully. ‘Isn't it, Georgie? How long is it since you saw Toby and Flora? Flora's baptism, was it?'

‘
What
a day that was,' remembered Mina. ‘That lovely chapel. It was such a good idea having her christened at the school, wasn't it?'

‘Do you remember, Georgie?' persisted Nest, as Georgie rather fumblingly turned a page, frowning to herself. ‘Do you remember Flora?'

‘Of course she does,' said Mina anxiously, her happiness evaporating a little in the face of Nest's odd insistence. ‘And darling Toby.'

‘When are they coming?' asked Georgie. ‘When . . .?'

She fell into an odd, listening, posture; eyes vacant, head slightly cocked, and Mina looked at Nest in dismay. Nest wheeled herself to Georgie's side and put a hand on her
wrist; she saw that there were fresh egg-stains on the brown jersey and her sister's hair was tangled and unbrushed.

‘Georgie,' she said gently, and shook the flaccid wrist, ‘Jack and Hannah are coming on Saturday. Good, isn't it?'

Georgie's glance travelled slowly from her wrist up to Nest's face. ‘I know a secret,' she said. She began to smile a little, secretly, cunningly. ‘I know a secret.' Her voice was stronger now, the old singsong intonation, and Nest knew a tiny stab of fear. She looked at Mina, who was watching Georgie with an expression that mirrored her own sudden anxiety, and she released her sister's wrist abruptly.

Mina pushed back her chair. ‘Yes,' she said with forced brightness. ‘On Saturday. What fun it will be,' and, calling to the dogs, she went out into the garden. After a moment, Georgie returned to her catalogue as if nothing had happened and Nest wheeled back to the now-boiling kettle and, very thoughtfully, began to make herself some coffee.

‘It was Georgie,' she said to Mina, some time later when they were alone together in the drawing-room. ‘You never come into my room without knocking. It was morning. Who else could it have been?'

‘She gets confused,' said Mina. ‘You know she does. Oh dear . . .'

‘But why stand there in the dark without speaking? I was terrified.' Nest's fear was manifesting itself in anger. ‘If she's going to start creeping about I shall have to lock my door. She might do it in the middle of the night next time. Have you any idea how frightening it is to wake up and know there's someone in the room with you?'

‘Yes, well, no, but I can imagine,' answered Mina distressfully. ‘Oh, I am so sorry.'

‘It's not your fault.' Mina's dismay made Nest feel guilty.
‘Obviously it isn't. But I can't cope with this.' Silence. ‘Mina. Do you think Georgie might know . . . something?'

The true fear was out in the open now. Mina's eyes met Nest's briefly and slid away.

‘I . . . don't know.'

‘But no-one else knew,' said Nest urgently. She glanced at the closed door and instinctively lowered her voice. ‘Only you and me and Mama.'

‘I certainly never told Georgie,' said Mina firmly.

Nest stared at her. ‘Do you think Mama can have told her?'

‘I can't believe that she would have done but that's not to say that somehow Georgie didn't . . . hear something.'

‘Oh, my God!'

‘Look,' said Mina quickly, ‘let's not panic. She's obviously suffering from delusions of some kind. Dementia . . . I don't know what it is but it's stupid to start jumping to conclusions. It's probably something she just thinks she knows. After all, there are other secrets.'

‘Other secrets?'

‘Well, not secrets,' said Mina quickly. ‘Not . . . real secrets. This is just Georgie being . . . Georgie.'

Nest turned to stare out into the garden. ‘I hope you're right.'

‘And please don't lock your door,' pleaded Mina. ‘I'd be so worried. If you hear anything just ring your bell. That's what it's there for, after all. I realize that this time you were completely taken by surprise, but next time—'

‘I hope there won't be a next time,' said Nest grimly.

She wheeled herself out through the french door onto the terrace and Mina was left alone. She sat quite motionless except for one hand which, gently and quite unconsciously, continued to stroke their mother's rosewood sewing-box, standing where it had always been, beside her chair.

*

Timothy manages one more visit to Ottercombe before vanishing again into Europe. Ambrose and Georgie, by now, are firmly fixed in London; each manipulating the other to attain his or her own ends. Petrol rationing and restrictions on travel give them excellent excuses to avoid the long journey to Exmoor but, somehow, Timothy finds the means: travelling by train to Barnstaple, catching the last connection to Parracombe and walking the rest of the way, nearly four miles, across the moor. He arrives late on a wild March evening and only Lydia and Mina are still up to greet him. His skin is burned dark brown by a harsh foreign sun, his hair bleached liked straw, so that, to Mina, he seems as exciting and romantic as she has always remembered him.

Lydia is unable to contain her relief and joy, speeding across the hall and into his arms, holding him tightly. Timothy has been trained in a tougher school and is able to smile at Mina, shielding Lydia whilst he stretches a hand to her daughter.

‘Were you anxious?' he asks her, his eyes creasing into a smile. ‘Did you fear for me, crossing the moor at night, wondering if I might meet Carver Doone or Tom Faggus?'

Mina laughs, delighted at his ability to connect so quickly, touched that he remembers how her whole life is a world informed by fictional characters.

‘I was worried,' she admits, ‘when you telephoned from Barnstaple and then the pips went and you were cut off. We both were. We knew you'd have to walk from Parracombe but I told Mama that this was nothing compared to what you're used to.' She smiles indulgently upon her mother, who is calmer now although her eyes are strangely brilliant, her cheeks flushed. ‘But we didn't tell the Tinies, did we, Mama, or they'd never have gone to bed at all?'

‘I expect you'd like something to eat.' Lydia schools her voice into a steadiness she does not feel and he smiles down at her. Their glances lock and linger, her hand tightens on his sleeve, but Mina is already leading the way into the kitchen.

‘We're very lucky,' she calls back to them, ‘that we have a farm so close. They give us cream and eggs and cheese. And Jenna – do you remember Jenna? – sometimes brings us a chicken or some rabbits that Seth catches. I think it's better to be in the country in wartime although Georgie thinks we're very dull. Did you see Papa and Georgie in London?'

‘No.' By now they have joined her in the kitchen. ‘No, there was only just time to catch the train. They are well?'

‘Oh, yes.' As the kettle boils on the range and she prepares some simple food, Mina chatters happily. ‘They survived the Blitz, at least, although Mama tried to make Georgie come home. She thought it was a great adventure and insisted on staying with Papa. She'd like me to go to London but Mama needs me and I teach the children, although Henrietta and Josie are getting too big and they'll be going away to school in the autumn. Timmie goes over to Trentishoe for lessons with the vicar. Papa says he must go away to school soon too . . .'

Her chatter dies away as she becomes aware of the silence behind her. They both smile at her as she glances over her shoulder but she senses a tension.

‘You must be terribly tired,' she says to Timothy. ‘We've been collecting wood in the cleave all afternoon so there's a fire in the drawing-room. Why don't you take your supper through on a tray? It's all ready.'