The Reckoning (18 page)

‘
You must have something about you, me young covey!
Stop wriggling, you little bastard, or I'll break your back!' the
man panted, jerking his prey as a cat jerks a mouse. Henry
felt the blood flowing through his limbs down to his feet,
telling him to run. The man had Nicky, he was occupied, he'd
never catch him. He could get away. Run! Run!
The instinct was so strong, the physical imperative so im
mediate, that his feet lifted and his limbs twitched and he had
taken a step away before his mind caught up with him. And
then Nicky's wildly-staring eyes caught his for an instant, and
Henry thought no more, but launched himself at the man
with a shrill cry. He actually got a kick and a blow in before
the man's free hand swung out and knocked him on the side
of the head, making his teeth rattle. Henry cried out and
would have fallen from the force of the blow, but the big, hard hand caught him by the hair and yanked him upright.
For such a scrawny creature, the man was amazingly strong.
Henry's head was so filled with pain he couldn't cry out or
fight any more. Though his mind was still clear enough to tell
him to struggle, he was aware that he was simply blubbing
like his own little sister ...

And then something happened. Henry didn't at once know what, but the agonising grip on his hair was released, he fell
to the ground, and lay there on the cold damp grass in amaze
ment, his head throbbing like a sore tooth. An instant later he
saw that another man had appeared on the scene. Nicholas
was discarded and fell to the ground like empty clothing. The
two men were struggling breast to breast, silently except for
their panting breath and grunts of effort. The striving feet
surged nearer and Henry tried to make himself crawl away,
but failed. The feet surged away again. They stumbled on
Nicholas. The first man cried out, they broke apart, the
second man landed a smashing blow somewhere on the first
man's face. Then the first man was running away, and the second man was left victor of the field, panting and alter
nately shaking and sucking his injured hand.

Only for an instant, though. As soon as he saw the attacker
was definitely in flight, he turned and surveyed the fallen.
Henry, looking up, saw quick and noticing eyes sweeping over
them both, eyes which saw and understood everything.

‘
Are you all right?’

Henry nodded, and glanced towards Nicholas, meaning
see
to him first.
But the man was already kneeling by Nicky, the
firm, square hands reaching out for the suffering boy. Henry
sat up and held his throbbing head, hearing the soothing
murmur of the man's voice as he lifted Nicholas and turned
him over onto his hands and knees.

‘
That's right, my boy – you'll breathe more easily so. We
may not be four-footed, like the beasts of the field, but our
bodies work better that way at times of trouble. Breathe, my
child, .breathe. All's well. Just breathe – that's right. In – and
out. In – and out.’

The accent was not quite English, Henry thought, but the
voice was nice — warm and furry and sleek. You could almost
feel it, like a hand stroking you. It made you want to trust
him. Henry sniffed away the last of his tears. In a little while Nicholas seemed to be breathing properly again, and the man
allowed him to sit down like a human boy again, and squatted
between him and Henry in a way Henry had never seen a
grown-up do.

‘
Now then, are you both all right? No injuries anywhere?’

‘
No, sir, I don't think so,' Henry said shakily. Nicholas
shook his head, still a little blue round the lips.

The man looked at Henry. 'You were struck, my boy. I saw
it. You will have a fine bruise, I think. Does it hurt?’

‘
A bit,' Henry admitted. 'It aches me.'

‘
Let me look.' The nice hands took hold of Henry's head
and tilted it gently, and the fingers parted his hair. 'Nothing
to see. I think you will survive.' He released him. 'Well, it was
a fine, brave thing you did, to help your friend. I think
tomorrow you will feel the pain was worth it.' Henry glowed
inwardly at the simple praise. It seemed a thing worth having,
from this man.

‘
And now,' the man said, 'if you are recovered enough, I
had better see you to your homes.’

He stood up fluidly, revealing himself to be a wonderfully
round and rubbery person, a short man, and not fat,
precisely, but barrel-bodied, all smooth curves. His arms and
shoulders were very big and strong-looking, his feet very
small, his movements light and nimble like a dancer. He had
the warmest, kindest face Henry had ever seen, and yet so
ordinary-looking that if you had looked away the instant after first seeing him, you wouldn't remember at all what he looked
like.

‘Where do you live?' he asked.

‘
Nicky lives at Morland Place. That's where we were going.
I'm to stay the night there. I live in York.'

‘
Morland Place, eh? Well, you shall guide me to it. I think it
is over that way, is it not?'

‘Yes, sir.’

They began to walk together, one either side of him. 'Tell
me your names,' he said.

‘He's Nicholas Morland. I'm Henry Anstey, sir.’

‘Ah, very good. My name is Moineau.'

‘
Are you —' Henry didn't quite know how to put the ques
tion politely, but the smiling eyes were encouraging. 'Are you
a foreigner, sir?'

‘
I am a foreigner in every land, and in none. I am a citizen
of the world,' he said. 'Now tell me, where have you come
from, and why were you walking alone in the dark? I thought
in England that gentlemen's sons had always some attendant
with them.'

‘
We've come from school, sir,' Henry said, and Nicholas,
recovering under the soothing influence of that voice, joined
in the explanation.

‘
My mother wanted me to be taken to school and back by a
footman, but Papa said it would set me apart from the other
boys. And in any case, he said no harm could come to me on
our own land, which it mostly is here-abouts,' he added
proudly. 'Only we stopped at the beck, and it got late, and
then it got dark.'

‘
Ah, I understand. What did you stop at the beck for?’

‘
We thought we saw a rat,' Nicholas said.

‘
A rat, eh?' the man said. 'A big one?'

‘Enormous!' Nicholas said.

‘Did you catch it?’

The interest was so flattering, and so unexpected in a
grown-up, that before they knew it, they were chattering
away to him nineteen to the dozen, and he was coaxing out of
them opinions they hardly knew they had. Never had the
walk back to Morland Place seemed so short — though when
they got there, they both felt unaccountably tired, and
suddenly rather depressed.

But the stranger seemed to understand even that. 'What
you need, my boys, is supper, and a hot bath, and a good
story, and then bed,' he said.

This seemed to Henry and Nicholas quite perfectly to fit
the bill.

‘
But we shall have to tell Mama and Papa,' Nicholas said
waveringly. The prospect was not inviting. Exclamations,
explanations, people fussing over him, probably some horrible medicine to take.

‘
I shall tell Mama and Papa,' said the stranger firmly.
‘Don't worry about anything any more.’

It was an instruction they were glad to follow; but Henry
had one last access of good manners. 'I hope you haven't gone
out of your way to bring us back, sir?'

‘
Why no. By a strange chance it was to Morland Place I
was coming when I came across you in your difficulties,' said
the stranger.

It was an intriguing piece of information, and in normal
circumstances Henry would have had difficulty in restraining
his curiosity. But they had reached the barbican, and one of
the nursery-maids, Matty, was standing there evidently
looking out for them; and she set up such a female shriek at
the sight of them that there was no opportunity for any more
civilised, masculine conversation.

 
The stranger's gentle authority and extraordinary presence
actually curbed the outcry, which might otherwise have lasted
for half an hour or more as each new person on the scene
demanded the story again and made all the same exclam
ations. But in a few quiet words, the 'citizen of the world' told
all that immediately needed to be told. In what seemed a
miraculous way, he arranged for Nicholas and Henry to be
whisked off upstairs away from the fuss to their supper, with
a recommendation that no-one ask them any more questions
tonight.

Explanation there had to be, of course, and once the boys
were gone from the scene, the stranger turned to the three
members of the family present and said with a charming
smile, 'The full story, as I know it, you shall have, and at
once. But if I might suggest — not here?’

He made a graceful but somehow authoritative gesture
which had them not only escorting him towards the drawing-
room, but ordering wine and biscuits to be brought at once
for his refreshment.

In the brighter light of the drawing-room, his oddness was more fully apparent. He was dressed very strangely, in loose-fitting trousers, with soft leather boots on his small feet. His
coat was rather old-fashioned in cut and plain blue like an
army staff-officer's; he sported a curious leather waistcoat, a
white stock, and a rather shapeless, broad-brimmed hat,
which he had removed to reveal his close-cropped, round
head. As a final oddity, he had with him a pack-bag which he
wore on a strap over his shoulder, like a foot-soldier on the
march. He was clearly not a labourer, though perhaps not
quite a gentleman. Héloïse, gazing at him in fascination, felt
there was something indeterminate about him: like a physi
cian, perhaps — as though his status in life depended not on
his rank but on his abilities.