When Marnie Was There (21 page)

Anna shook her head seriously. “No, we’ll keep that bit secret. Let’s just tell her how you found it.”

Anna did want Mrs Lindsay to see the book. But more than that she wanted an excuse for going in again herself. Mrs Lindsay had said come again any time you like, but it would be easier to go in with Scilla, for some definite reason.

Mrs Lindsay was upstairs tidying the bedrooms. She greeted Anna as if she were an old friend. “Be a darling and fold this,” she said, tossing a striped blanket over to her. “Matt will insist on having it but he never uses it, and I invariably find it rolled up in a ball under the bed.”

Anna folded the blanket, proud to have been asked, and while Mrs Lindsay tidied the other bed, Scilla told her about the finding of Marnie’s diary. “Look, here it is,” she said, producing it from under her jersey. “Do read it, Mummy. Now.”

Mrs Lindsay took it, glanced at it curiously, then sat down on Matthew’s bed, and gave it her full attention.

“This really is rather interesting,” she said slowly. “I believe it’s quite old. I mean, not many children have nurses and governesses these days, do they?”

“Governesses?” said Scilla.

“Yes, here – Miss Q. ‘I think she’s tired of teaching me.’ She will have been a governess, I imagine. Do you know, I can’t help feeling this goes back quite a few years.” She turned over a page. “Yes – look, this about the Belgian children! That refers to the First World War, I’m sure it does. When was that, now – 1914 to 1918?”

She looked up at the children, quite excited. “Do you know, I believe this book’s about fifty years old! How clever of you to have found it!” She looked at Anna as well as Scilla, but Anna murmured that it was not she who had found it. “Oh, well, I expect you helped in some way,” said Mrs Lindsay, apparently determined to include her. “Anyway, it seems to be the property of you two, whichever of you found it. I think it’s fascinating.”

She glanced back at the book. “Poor child, what a lonely life she seems to have led! I wonder who she was. Where did you say you found it? Come and show me now.”

Scilla led the way across the landing, and Anna saw, for the first time, the little room that had once been Marnie’s. It had been freshly papered and painted, and Scilla showed her with pride the built-in wardrobe that had taken the place of
the old cupboard. Everything would have been changed since Marnie wrote her diary up there, but the view from the window must still be the same. Anna went over and looked out.

Below her was the staithe, narrowing every minute as the tide came in, then the creek, blue and shining in the morning sun, and beyond that the wide stretch of marsh laid out like a soft grey-green and mauve blanket. In the far distance she could see two small figures running and jumping over the streams, and although they were scarcely more than pin-head size, recognised them at once. “Oh, look, there are Andrew and Matthew!” she said, turning to the others.

Mrs Lindsay joined her at the window. “Yes, they went dabbing, and now I see they’re on the way back,” she said. “But they’ve left it too late, silly fellows. It looks as if they’ll have to swim across the creek!” She paused, with her hands on the sill, gazing across the marsh to the sandhills and the sea beyond. “Isn’t it wonderful how far you can see from here? That little girl must have spent hours up here, looking across the marsh. I shouldn’t think she missed seeing anyone who ever went across it.”

“Well, I don’t either!” said Scilla. “That’s how I first saw Anna. Or almost.”

“And there’s Wuntermenny!” said Anna, pointing to a small, humped-up figure sitting in the stern of what looked like a toy boat away up the creek.

“Who? Where?” asked Scilla, pushing up beside her at the window. “Do you mean that funny old fisherman who goes up and down in the boat?”

“
What
is his name?” asked Mrs Lindsay. “Did you say Winterman?”

“No, W—” Anna stopped with her mouth open. “Winterman – Wuntermenny –
that’s
who the little boy was! The one who ate the sherbet bag – oh dear!” For a moment she hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. It was so exactly the sort of thing she would have expected Wuntermenny to do, and yet she had never before thought of his ever being a little boy! Oh,
poor
little Wuntermenny… She felt her eyes fill with sudden tears of sympathy, but brushed them away quickly before the others noticed.

“Of course!” Mrs Lindsay was saying, “That proves it. The book must have been written about fifty years ago – more, by the looks of that poor old fisherman, but you never can tell with some of these country people… I
must
ask Gillie when she comes. She’ll probably know the answers to all these questions.”

“W
HY SHOULD
G
ILLIE
know the answers?” asked Anna as she and Scilla went downstairs again.

“Because she used to come here when she was a child,” said Scilla, “Didn’t you know? Not to this house, but she might easily have known the people who lived here. It was she who told us it was for sale. Mummy’d written saying we were looking for somewhere near the sea, and she wrote back saying
do
go and look at The Marsh House. So they did, last Easter. And that’s how we
come to be here! You must meet Gillie when she comes. You’ll like her.”

“How did she know the house was for sale?” asked Anna.

“She still comes to Barnham sometimes. I expect that’s how she heard about it. Isn’t it fun, next time she comes she’ll be coming to stay with us! That’s why Mummy’s so busy getting it ready. She wants her to come before the summer’s over.”

They had reached the side door and stood looking out on the shining water. On the far side of the creek Wuntermenny’s boat was just putting in, and Andrew and Matthew were waiting hopefully at the water’s edge.

“Good,” said Anna, “he’s going to ferry them across,” and wished she had time to warn them that Wuntermenny hated being talked to. She looked at her watch. “I must go,” she said regretfully, “I promised Mrs Pegg I’d do the vegetables.”

“Oh, must you?” Scilla was disappointed. “The boys will be back in a minute. We might go somewhere, do something. Jane’s only gone to the shop. Do come back!”

Anna did go back. She went back later that day, and again the next day, and every day, until Mrs Pegg said at last it was a wonder she didn’t take up her bed and carry that round to The Marsh House too. But she winked at Sam as she said it, and it was clear she was pleased to see Anna so happy. Sam remarked contentedly that she was a good little
biddy, and for all she might not be so mealy-mouthed, he’d a sight rather have her than that there Sandra-up-at-the-Corner. For his part he liked a lass with some go in her. And no-one could say Anna lacked that these days.

Some mornings she was up and dressed even before Mrs Pegg, and several times she turned up at The Marsh House even before the Lindsays had finished breakfast. She was surprised one morning to find a strange man sitting with them at table, and even more surprised to learn that this was Mr Lindsay. She had forgotten he would be coming down sometimes at the weekends. The Lindsays were surprised, too, to see Anna looking so suddenly shy.

“Goodness, I’d forgotten you didn’t know Daddy!” said Jane. “Daddy, this is Anna.”

“What!” said Matthew, looking at his father, “Do you mean to say you don’t know Anna? She almost lives with us.”

“Take no notice of him,” said Andrew, “and don’t look so scared, Anna. It’s only Dad.”

Mr Lindsay shook hands with Anna and said, smiling, “I’m not sure if it’s me or Matt you’re supposed to take no notice of, but I don’t a bit mind if it’s me. How do you do? Sit down and have some marmalade. Do you like it slippery or chunky?”

“Slippery, I think – usually,” said Anna, still a little startled.

“Ah, I like it chunky.” Mr Lindsay sat down again and
finished spreading himself a slice of bread and marmalade, then cutting a strip off the end he handed it to Anna. “Try that,” he said gravely. “It’s a rather super chunky, my wife made it. If you like it you can have some more; if not, spit it out when I’m not looking and help yourself to some slippery. It’s up the other end. Do you mind awfully if I read the paper?”

“Oh, no.”

Mr Lindsay returned behind the newspaper. Anna was relieved, but she liked him. He had been perfectly serious about the marmalade, and he was perfectly serious about not minding if he was not noticed. In fact he seemed to prefer it. She felt she knew where she stood with him.

“About the boat—” said Matthew.

“Oh yes!” said Scilla. “Tell Anna.”

They all began telling her at once, explaining that they had been talking about getting a boat; they wanted one, they
needed
one. Marnie had had one, it had been tied to a ring in the wall – the Lindsays had all read the diary by now, and “Marnie” had become a familiar household name. The old ring was rusted away but they could easily fix a new one; all they needed was the boat to tie on to it. The question was what kind of boat.

“Dad thought a sailing boat,” said Andrew, “and I agree. But Mum says a motor boat, and the girls just want some silly little pram they can row around in. What do you think?”

Anna knew nothing about boats – apart from Wuntermenny’s – but she loved being included in a family conference like this, and it was only when Andrew had gone upstairs to fetch a catalogue, and the others had picked up their empty plates and drifted into the kitchen where Mrs Lindsay was already washing up, that she remembered Mr Lindsay was still there.

He looked round his paper suddenly. “Hello! Where have they all gone?”

“To wash up,” said Anna.

“Ah, I thought they must have. The silence was deafening me. Did you spit it out, by the way?”

“Oh, the marmalade!”Anna laughed. “No, I liked it.”

He nodded approvingly. “Have they been talking about getting a boat?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a funny thing,” said Mr Lindsay, his eyes twinkling, “but they’ve got one already if they only knew it! Not that it would be much use to them… Have you discovered it yet?”

“No. Where?”

“Go and look along the hedge, past where the wall juts out on to the staithe. Go past the little shed and look in the hedge just beyond it. It’s not much to look at, but it is rather interesting.” He rose and folded his newspaper. “I must go and see to my books – forty million of them, all waiting to be read and sorted out. Goodbye – and good hunting!”

Anna went out. She went past the place where the wall jutted out, and along to where the hedge began, then, following it along on the inside, came to what must once have been the far end of the kitchen quarters. The little shed was there, set back against the hedge, and beyond that were disused cellars, outhouses, and a small cobbled yard which she had never seen before. On the farther side of the shed she began searching in the hedge, peering into the thick green leaves and pushing aside the twigs with her hands. And then she found it.

It was standing almost upright, cradled and supported by the hedge which had grown up all round it, and now almost entirely enclosed it – a small brown dinghy, old and rotten, its planking falling apart. Anna leaned forward, pushing her way into the hedge, and felt around inside. Her hand came up against something hard. An iron bar of some kind. She grasped it and pulled it towards her through the crackling twigs, forcing a way through them until they snapped. She drew out her hand, scratched and bleeding, and looked down to see what she had salvaged from this secret, hidden wreck.