2006 - Wildcat Moon Page 14

“Upstairs. I can take him with me so he’s out from under your feet.”

  Archie didn’t fancy going to Periwinkle House; he found the two old women a bit scary. The older of the two was all right but the younger sometimes said strange things for an old lady. Once she had whispered a string of swear words in his ear that had made him blush the colour of rhubarb. Another time she told him that she had a body hidden in the cellar. It wasn’t true of course, but it made him feel afraid all the same.

  It wasn’t much of a choice though; to go to Periwinkle House or stay here with the porker. Then he had an idea. He stepped back into his bedroom and went through his pockets. He hadn’t spent all the money that Nan had given him. He still had three shillings left.

  He tiptoed slowly across the landing and into the bedroom his parents snared. His mammy’s purse was on the tallboy near the window where she always left it. He crept towards it and opened it as quietly as he could. There was nothing in there except a few pennies and halfpennies. He slipped the money inside and scurried back to his own room.

  Moments later he heard his father wheezing his way up the stairs. Just as he thought he would, he heard the click of the purse opening and the clink of coins being removed.

  Then his father was hurrying back down the stairs. The front door banged shut and Walter Grimble made his way down Bloater Row whistling cheerfully as he went.

  “Do you want to come with me to the Arbuthnots’, Archie?” his mammy called up the stairs.

  “No thanks, Mammy, I’m real tired. I’m doing some writing and then I’m going to bed,” he called back.

  “All right, love, I'll be back by ten, half past at the latest. If you need anything you know where I am.”

  “Okay, Mammy, love you.”

  “Love you too, Arch.”

  He finished the letter to Romilly, folded it carefully in two and slipped it into his pocket. It was now or never. He’d been brave once before and he could do it again.

  He had a couple of hours; all he had to do was make his way down to the beach, through the woods and into the summerhouse. He would leave the note in the stove and then run all the way back. Easy peasy. Lemon squeezy.

  Romilly climbed the first few steps of the attic stairs and then stopped and listened.

  Downstairs in the kitchen Madame was singing as she clattered about preparing the supper. Nanny Bea snored on.

  Romilly was terrified; she had never been into the attic at night before. It was spooky in the daytime but at night it would be worse. But she had no choice. In a few days Papa would be home for Christmas and then she wouldn’t be able to move.

  She took another few steps and then hesitated again. All was quiet.

  She climbed upwards, her heart beating fast the steps creaking beneath her feet.

  She slipped off her shoes at the top of the stairs and opened the door.

  It was almost pitch black in the attic, just a sliver of watery moonlight showing the spooky outline of the gramophone and the bird cage. With shaking hands, she managed to strike a match and light the candle. She made her way carefully, holding the candle high, jumping with fright when the flame spluttered and almost died.

  She sat down before the trunk belonging to Thomas and set the candle down on a nearby box. Slowly she raised the lid of the trunk and the familiar smell of camphor drifted up.

  She lifted out the scrap book and then took out a pile of letters and put them in her lap. She turned them over one by one but soon grew irritated because all the writing was in a foreign language so she couldn’t understand anything.

  Next she lifted out the diary. She turned it over in her hands. It was heavy and bound in thick leather and there was a sturdy lock on the front.

  She fiddled around with the lock but it refused to open. She knew that bad people could pick locks, thieves and burglars did it all the time, the only trouble was that she didn’t know anyone who could help her.

  A noise in the far corner of the attic startled her. A scratching sound like something trapped. Mice or rats or maybe a bird come in under the eaves? She bit her thumb to stop herself from crying out in alarm.

  The noise stopped, leaving just the sound of the wind sighing around the roof and the creak of the oak tree branches. She grabbed a few more things from the trunk and then carefully closed the lid and stood up with shaking legs. Lifting up her dress she slipped the diary and the photographs inside the front of her liberty bodice. She shivered because the leather was cold against her goose-pimpled skin. If she walked carefully and rested her hand on the diary she’d be able to sneak it downstairs.

  She picked up the candle and tiptoed back across the attic, breathing fast with excitement. She wanted more than anything to run but she forced herself to walk slowly. Blowing out the candle, she wet her fingers with spit and doused the wick. Then she went quietly down the stairs, hurried along the corridor and into the nursery. She stuffed the diary behind the dolls’ house. Later she’d try and sneak out to the summerhouse. Perhaps Archie would know someone who could pick locks; there were bound to be burglars living in a place like the Skallies.

  Archie Grimble made his way cautiously through the Killivray woods. He did not turn on his torch until he was a good distance into the woods for fear of being seen. All around him the trees loomed up like abandoned giants, twisted branches stark against the night sky, the ground dappled here and there with moonlight filtering through the leaves of the evergreens.

  After an age he emerged from the woods on to the lower lawns of Killivray. He turned off his torch, paused to catch his breath and then hurried across the grass and on up the steps through the rose garden. There he stood and looked in wonder at Killivray House. In the dark it looked even more spectacular than in the daytime. Several of the windows were lit and smoke curled up from the enormous chimneys.

  It was a beautiful and eerie-looking place. This ancient building could tell a lot of stories, he’d bet.

  He thought of Thomas Greswode, imagined him sleeping there on the night of the cricket match. Probably too excited to sleep, going over in his mind all the happy memories of the day.

  What had happened in the days after that? Probably Archie would never know. He wondered what Thomas Greswode was thinking the last night he’d ever spent in Killivray? What had made him run off and spend the night in the sports pavilion? Something had made him really unhappy, something he wanted to tell Mr Fanthorpe about Thomas hadn’t meant to die though, William Dally had been quite sure of that. He said he’d always been full of life.

  It must have just been an accident. And yet Archie had the strangest niggling feeling that it hadn’t been and that Killivray House held a lot of secrets.

  He crossed the shadowy lawn, ducking low when an owl flew close above his head.

  The door to the summerhouse creaked on its hinges and he hesitated. What if there was someone in there, someone watching him, ready to pounce as soon as he stepped inside? He’d come this far, though, so he couldn’t go back. Benjamin had always told him not to be afraid of the dark.

  He put his head cautiously round the door and peered anxiously into the darkness. The smell of mould and damp caught in his tightening throat.

  It was still and sinisterly silent.

  The boards creaked beneath his feet and he paused in mid step, one leg outstretched like someone walking in slow motion. Just a few more steps and he could put the letter into the stove and then he could get out of there and run off home.

  He inched more closely to the stove. He was trembling as he opened the door and delighted when he felt something. He turned on the torch, cupped his palm around the beam to muffle the light and peered inside.

  There was a book and a thick envelope. He could hardly contain himself as he lifted them out. He took from his pocket the letter that he’d written to Romilly, put it into the stove and closed the door carefully.

  Shaking with excitement and fear, he couldn’t wait to get home to read what she’d written in her letter. Straightenin
g up he walked across to the window and looked out into the night. Then he noticed the light on in an upstairs window and someone looking out into the garden.

  He stepped outside and watched the window. It was hard to tell whether it was a grown up or a child. He kept to the cover of the bushes that lined the path. Then he smiled. It was Romilly; he could see the outline of her plaits and the large ribbons.

  He flicked the switch of the torch on and off and for a second the beam of light hit the window and Romilly jumped back. Then he heard the sound of the window opening.

  He inched closer to the house until he was almost on the gravel path.

  “Archie Grimble, is that you down there?”

  Her voice was an excited whisper.

  “Yes.”

  “Aren’t you afraid being out in the dark?”

  “No,” he lied through chattering teeth.

  “Did you get the things I left in the stove?”

  “Yes. And I’ve left you a note. You need to warm it to read it, remember.”

  “Thank you. Did you come through the dark woods?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re so brave.”

  He puffed up with pride and hissed, “I’ll come again soon, write you another letter.”

  Before Romilly could reply, Archie heard the noise. Suddenly headlights appeared round the corner of the drive and Archie was trapped in the glare of lights like a wide-eyed animal.

  The window slammed shut and Romilly disappeared from sight. Archie froze. Then with a shriek he took off, haiing across the lawns as fast as he could. He heard a car door slam shut, footsteps running across the gravel and an angry voice called out into the darkness, “Whoever you are, if I get my hands on you, I’ll break your bloody legs. This is private property!”

  Archie didn’t look back. He kept on running, skittering down the steps from the rose garden. What a fool he was; making out to Romilly that he wasn’t afraid of anything. He was afraid now. He was bloody terrified. He shouldn’t have got that dose to the house.

  Holy smoke! He couldn’t run any faster and if the man was chasing him he’d be bound to be caught. Any minute now and he’d be a dead boy. He skedaddled across the lower lawn yelping with fear as he went, forcing the leg with the calliper to move faster than it had ever moved before.

  He could hardly breathe; he felt his Adam’s apple knocking against his rattling ribs, his head wobbling dangerously.

  By the time he reached the edge of the woods he thought he would die of terror or exhaustion. He stopped when he could go no further, bent double to ease the stitch in his side. He looked back towards Killivray House fearfully.

  Thank God, there was no one chasing him.

  As he stood panting in the cover of the trees, he heard a car door slam and a woman laugh. The light went out in the room where Romilly had been. He’d just get his breath back and then he was out of there, back to the safety of the Skallies.

  He looked up and let out a cry of terror. A man stood silently before him, watching him intently. He felt his heart flutter and then squeeze into a tight knot as he held on to the trunk of a nearby tree to stop his legs from buckling.

  Fear pricked his skin like nettles. Sometimes when your brain got too hot you saw things. Fear could make you hallucinate.

  Once when Mammy had a fever she said she saw tiny naked leprechauns dancing along the top of the wardrobe. He closed his eyes, opened them again quickly.

  Holy Jesus and all the sacred saints of heaven. He was dreaming. It couldn’t be true.

  He was staring into the face of the black man of Killivray.

  Then he fainted.

  Whenever Madame Fernaud caught sight of herself in a mirror she almost did a double take at the stranger staring back at her. She looked so plain and quaint with the grey wig with the little bun! And those spectacles were positively grim. Without her usual make-up, mascara and rouge, she looked so unattractive, her eyes so small and uninteresting. The make-up she used now made her skin so much darker and aged her by many years.

  Wearing the matronly clothes even made her carry herself differently. She walked with a purposeful stride and the youthful spring was gone from her step.

  Still, so far things had gone well at Killivray House. Nanny Bea and Romilly had accepted her as the person she was supposed to be: Madame Clementine Fernaud! Dear God, if they only knew her real identity they would be horrified! All she had to do now was carry it off when Mr Greswode arrived. Thankfully there were a few days left before his arrival, time in which to practise her composure.

  She turned away from the drawing-room mirror and went back into the kitchen to check on her cooking.

  In a while she would rouse Nanny Bea and Romilly and they would eat supper together in the kitchen. It was a long time since she’d cooked and yet she had enjoyed herself enormously. A coq au vin was bubbling away in the oven and soon she would pop in the latticed apple pie she had made for dessert.

  She was crossing the hallway when she saw the lights of the car. She put her hand to her head in alarm. Who on earth could it be? The only callers at Killivray were the tradesmen and delivery people and they always arrived in daylight hours.

  She panicked, was tempted to make a run for it; to grab her valise and run out through the back door, maybe run all the way to the station and get on the first train out of St Werburgh’s. Maybe her secret was out.

  She must keep calm. She heard a car door shut noisily and an angry shout.

  Her heart slammed against her ribs and her body felt as though it was out of her control. She heard the sound of someone running across the gravel, and soon after a woman laughing.

  Then came the sound of a key in the front door and Mr Jonathan Greswode stepped into the hallway with a smiling but haughty-faced young woman on his arm.

  Romilly stared in horror at Archie Grimble. He stood like a small statue, spotlit in the headlights of Papa’s car. She wanted to scream at him, make him run. It seemed for ever that he stood there like a fool just waiting to be caught.

  She was willing him to move, to run as fast as he could. If Papa caught him he would be in such trouble.

  Then suddenly Archie did run and she was filled with a mixture of fear and the desire to laugh out loud at the sight of him careering across the lawns like a boy followed by a grizzly bear.

  Then suddenly he was eaten up by the darkness, and safe.

  The lights of the car were turned off and she heard a woman laugh. Hooray! It was Mama! Papa had brought Mama home for Christmas!

  Before she could race downstairs Nanny Bea came hurrying into the nursery.

  “Romilly, just look at you, child, there is dust in your hair and your clothes are positively grubby. What have you been doing?”

  “Nothing, Nanny Bea.”

  “Your papa is here. Quickly, wash your face this instant and put on a dean frock. He will be most angry to see you so untidy.”

  When she finally escaped Nanny Bea’s assault with a flannel she ran excitedly downstairs. Madame Fernaud was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Your papa has arrived unexpectedly, Romilly, and requires you to eat with him in the dining room.”

  Madame’s voice was quieter than usual and Romilly saw that her hands were trembling.

  “Don’t be afraid, Madame,” she whispered, “I won’t tell about the walk.”

  Madame looked down at the child and smiled sadly. She stood up straight, patted her hair and went into the kitchen.

  Romilly winked at her and hurried to the dining room.

  Then she stopped in her tracks and her stomach turned over so tumultuously that she almost stumbled against the sideboard.

  Papa was sitting at the head of the table looking steadfastly into the eyes of a small, white-faced woman sitting on his right where Mama usually sat.

  Jonathan Greswode looked up suddenly and saw Romilly.

  “Come in, Romilly dear, and meet one of my oldest and dearest friends, Miss Dimont.”


  Romilly stepped into the room and met the hard, shrewd gaze of Miss Dimont.

  Romilly blushed and averted her eyes quickly.

  She walked across to Papa and kissed his cheek solemnly.

  “Nanny Bea and Madame Fernaud are taking supper in the kitchen. I thought it would be good for us to dine together, for you to meet Miss Dimont.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Romilly climbed into a chair opposite Miss Dimont and unfolded her napkin.

  “Tell me, Romilly, how have your studies been going with the new governess?”

  Romilly cleared her throat and spoke, “Very well, Papa. Madame Fernaud is a very good teacher.”

  Papa looked up in surprise. “Better than Miss Naylor?”

  “Oh, yes, Papa. She is much stricter than Miss Naylor and we get so much more work done.”

  Papa winked at Miss Dimont who lowered her gaze and smiled. “Then my new appointment has been a great success. Not only is she an excellent governess but a very good cook too.”

  Romilly looked down at the table. She wondered what he would do if he knew that she and Madame had been out walking in the snow? Papa wasn’t supposed to arrive until Christmas Eve so why had he come earlier? Imagine if he’d arrived this afternoon and seen them playing snowballs!

  She was so flustered that she could hardly control her thinking. What if he had caught her red-handed, snooping about in the attic?

  It was too awful to think about.

  While Madame Fernaud had been busy in the kitchen she had sneaked out to the summerhouse and put the diary into the stove for Archie Grimble. Thank goodness that she had got back inside the house before Papa had arrived. She shook inwardly when she thought that it could so easily have been her shown up in the headlights of the car. She couldn’t imagine what Papa would have said if he’d discovered her outside in the dark!

  “You seem very preoccupied, Romilly.”

  “Sorry, Papa. How is Mama?”

  Papa put down his glass and looked at Romilly. His face was serious, his eyes cloudy with a mixture of annoyance and indifference.

  “Your mama is not well at all, Romilly. But for tonight we will not discuss this. I will speak with you in the morning.”