The Eyes of a King (36 page)

“It is no trouble.”

She shut the door behind him and motioned to the sofa. I noticed then that there was still a green fist-shaped bruise on his face where I had hit him. The window that I had broken was boarded. He had probably fixed that, and the table too. “How are you coping, Margaret?” he asked her as she sat down in the chair opposite him.

“Oh …,” she said lightly. “Well … quite well … thank you, Father.”

“Good,” he said. “I am glad to hear that.”

“It will be better now that Leo has returned,” she said, smiling at me. I turned away from them.

Father Dunstan began talking about arrangements for the
memorial service, and I started toward the bedroom door, but Grandmother said, “Leo, I want you to be part of this too.” I turned to them. “ We chose the words for Stirling’s cross without you, and I felt guilty for that.”

“Come, Leo,” said Father Dunstan. “Come and sit over here.” Reluctantly, I drew a chair over to them and sat down.

“Now,” said Father Dunstan. “I have made all arrangements for the service to be on Friday at twelve o’clock, as is usual.” I thought about that and tried to work out what day this was. It might be Sunday, or more likely Monday. I gave up. When I listened again, Father Dunstan was talking about hymns and Bible readings. “Do you want to choose them?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Grandmother looked worried, close to tears.

“Perhaps I could suggest some,” said Father Dunstan.

“Yes. That would be best. Thank you.”

They did not need me here. I got up, and they did not try to stop me.

It was growing dark outside. I sat on my bed and watched it. I felt strange and distant, removed from everything. If it had been an ordinary week, we would have been at school all day; we would have been laying out our uniforms now as darkness came down, while Grandmother built up the fire and lit the lamps. Instead, all that life was gone completely. I watched the sky darkening, and realized that I had no assurance that the sun would rise. Nothing was certain anymore if Stirling could be gone and I could do nothing about it. I closed my eyes. I could not see my life before me anymore. I prayed for something—a sign or a voice to tell me I was dreaming. No sign came. I could not even conjure those stories about England that had carried me through the hills. My mind was empty.

I
t was dark in England also, and the first stars were emerging, and Anna and Ryan were standing on the shore of the lake. The fences of the big house ran down to the water, so Anna could not cross into the grounds. “We will have to speak low or my uncle will hear,” Ryan was saying across the fence. “I’m supposed to be studying astronomy.”

“Your education is strange,” she said, glancing toward Lakebank, where a single window was lit. “These things your uncle makes you learn.”

“I know it. When he first came to England, he read about the noble gentlemen who lived a long time ago and what their sons used to learn. And it seemed to him a good kind of education to give me.”

“So it’s because you’re landed gentry that you learn these things?”

He looked up. His eyes were blacker than the darkness. “Who told you we were landed gentry?”

She shook her head. “No one did.”

“We’re not,” he said then. “We came into some money—my uncle did—ten years ago. It is almost gone now.”

“So you just live here running down your money?” she said. “What will happen when it runs out? You will get a job?”

“Not me. My uncle might, because he is trained as a butler and he has the false—well—” He stopped then and looked away.

“False what? False papers?” He shook his head. “You were going to say false papers.” The darkness made her bolder. “I will never understand you, Ryan,” she said.

“Probably you won’t.”

She glanced at the book in his hands. “What’s that?” she said. “What is the other book, inside the astronomy one?”

“Oh, that one is Shakespeare.”

“Is that part of your education too?”

“No. My uncle would be angry if he thought I had been reading this instead of studying the stars. He thinks Shakespeare is a waste of my time.”

“Why is that?”

“It is not my culture. And my uncle does not have much time for half the things Shakespeare writes about. He thinks grand plans are more important. I used to agree with him, but now—”

She met his eyes in the darkness. “Now what?” she said. He did not reply. The silence drew on and neither of them broke it. Then a door slammed in the house, and they both started.

“Now nothing,” he said. “I should get back. My uncle will be watching to see that I complete the work.” He turned. “Here he comes now.”

“Shall I leave?” she said.

“Wait for me. I will speak to him and come back as soon as I can. Please stay.”

Anna walked a short way off into the shadow of the trees and then turned back. She could still hear their voices.

“What is this?”

“What, Uncle?”

“This book.” There was a silence, then an impatient cough. “Reading this English poet again. What will that teach you? Nothing. He writes about love.”

She could not hear Ryan’s reply. Then they were closer to the fence, and his uncle was talking again. She stood still. “Ryan, you must not forget your duty,” the man was saying. “You have done
no archery for near a week. You have done no history, no geography, no fencing. Nothing. At least, you have done none of it properly. You have been halfhearted about everything.”

“Why can I not have a holiday?”

“You know why. A thousand times I’ve told you, damn it. Listen to me.” Their voices were rising.

“I am listening. Uncle, you have been strict these past weeks and I’m tired.”

“You have a limited time to learn these things, and you have to learn them. You have a duty to others. You are not allowed to think of yourself. You cannot go running off to see this girl.”

“It is barely two days since I met her, Uncle. Do you really think—”

“I do not know what to think. It has been two days without useful work. You have been there four or five times. You were looking for something to distract you from your work even before she appeared—”

“That is not true.” There was a pause, then he spoke more earnestly. “She has my heart and soul.”

“Ryan, with your games of romance, you are risking a deal more than your own heart.”

“You make it sound like a mortal sin to do what I want. All I ask for is one friend. Do you want me to be lonely?”

“Listen to me, Ryan.”

“I said I’m listening.”

“There is only one girl you should be involved with. That is the one who has the silver eagle, and—”

“It’s been ten years, and you act as if it will be tomorrow. Your grand plans, Uncle—you even order who I must love. Or what if
she is the one? You did not think of that.” There was a silence. “Or what if she really is a relative of your brother, as you say?”

“It makes no difference if she is. That is in the past now. You do not need to spend all your time with her. What you need to do is fence, study the stars, and practice archery. And you need to know everything about your country that you can possibly know, or else—”

“Or else what? What Malonian gives a damn if I’m not the world archery champion or I don’t know who won the Battle of the Eastern Fields, or—”

“Cassius Ryan Angel Donahue.” There was a pause, and then the man laughed, but half exasperatedly. “I am serious, though. Do you have any idea what it is like in Malonia under Lucien’s rule? Do you? Because I have been trying to tell you but you do not listen.”

“But, Uncle—”

“But what? The people want a king who can dance, make patriotic speeches, ride a horse, fence. They don’t want someone new or different or unique. They want someone safe. Do you understand? Until you are certain you can meet your responsibilities, no more going to see this girl.”

“I never asked for—”

“It makes no difference. You cannot choose your duty, and you would do well to accept it.”

“But listen—”

“Enough.” His footsteps were fading across the gravel of the beach. “The discussion is finished. Map the positions of the major constellations, and think about the significance of these patterns for those who are expecting revolution. I will be in the library, working.”

There was a silence. Then the door of the house, far away across the lawn, banged shut. In the darkness, Ryan said, “Anna?”

She came out from the trees and walked back to him. “I thought you might have gone,” he said.

“You told me to wait.”

“Did you hear—”

“Yes.” He did not reply. “Ryan, what were you saying about me? That I am a relative of your uncle’s?”

“You should not have overheard that,” he said. “But I will explain. It is only fair to explain.”

She twisted her fingers through the chain of her necklace. He watched the moonlight glinting on it and frowned slightly, as though he was thinking of something else. And then his eyes changed. “What is it?” she said.

“I never much looked at it before, your necklace. Is it a bird? Let me see.” He caught hold of it. “And that jewel has always been missing?”

“Yes. But, Ryan—”

“Tell me where you got this,” he said.

“My Nan gave it to me when I was a baby.”

She turned away. He caught her arm. “She is the lady in the photograph, isn’t she? The one who looks like you? And she gave you this necklace?”

She did not answer. “Please, Anna,” he said. “Tell me about her.”

She hesitated, then turned back to him. “There isn’t much to tell. She was the one who brought me up when I was little. And then—she passed away. It was a car crash, near here. I was in it as well, and—”

“But tell me where she got the necklace from,” he interrupted.

For a few seconds neither of them spoke. Then she said, “I should go….” She raised her hands to her face.

“I’m sorry, Anna. I see I have upset you; I did not mean—”

“I hardly know you, Ryan. I don’t want to tell you about my Nan any more than you wanted to tell me this afternoon about your parents.”

“I am sorry. I did not realize this was something that mattered so much to you, or I never would have—”

“Of course it’s something that matters to me!” she said. The moonlight showed up the tears on her face. “Ryan, you don’t understand anything! You were angry for half an hour this morning when I just mentioned your parents.”

“I told you, I wasn’t angry with you.”

“Then who were you angry with?”

“No one. I wasn’t. I don’t want to discuss this, please.” And then she saw the tears in his eyes, threatening to fall. “I don’t want to discuss it,” he repeated. He looked away and raised his hands to his head as though in exasperation. “Anna, why do you have to bring all this back to me?” he said. “I’m not going to explain the history of my life to you. And if I was, I would have to know where your grandmother got that necklace from first.”

“Why?” she said, more quietly. The moon disappeared behind a cloud, and in the darkness they were separated.

“I can’t explain,” said Ryan’s voice. “I wish I could, because—” He paused. “I want to tell you. Honestly, I do.”

In the darkness, his hand found hers. “Then tell me,” she said.

And then someone was calling from the lighted window. “Ryan, come in! Now. Straightaway.”

They looked at each other for a minute. Then Ryan turned. “I have to go.”

He glanced back once as he walked away from her; then his uncle called again and he broke into a run toward the house.

Anna turned and walked away down the beach, without looking back. But she could still feel exactly how his hand had caught hers, like a lasting imprint on her palm.

I
was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, when Father Dunstan came in, so at first I did not see him. I was thinking that the last time I had lain here, which seemed to me so recent, was back in the days when I used to be the Leo that I was—the ordinary boy who had a brother called Stirling. And now, so soon—three days later—I was an only child who had lost a brother. That wasn’t really me. It was so sudden. It was not just Stirling who was gone. I was not myself anymore. I had lost a part of my identity—a large part. I was forgetting who I was. I had only ever been Leo in relation to Stirling. I had a strange feeling that I was a lost soul, in the wrong situation, in the wrong body. I did not recognize myself in the mirror. Everything was different.