‘Maybe not,’ said Donald, ‘but Demoyters can be quite unpleasant enough on his own account’
I’m not afraid of him,‘ said Felicity. ’If you are, you needn’t come.‘
‘I’ll torture you when we get back, Fella,’ said Donald. ‘If anyone spots us, by the way, we met a few minutes ago by accident.’
They came down an overgrown gravel track between some garages and emerged on to the fields that lay between the housing estate and Brayling’s Close. There was no shade here and the golden expanse was crackling in the heat. The hay had been cut for some time and the grass was sharp and stubbly and very dry. The footpath was crumbling and dusty. The hot weather had lasted a long time. Felicity led the way, and they walked on in silence until they could see distantly through the trees the rosy colour of the bricks and the glint of windows. They paused. Then Felicity saw Angus.
He had taken the form of a gipsy, and was sitting not far from the path on the edge of a dry weedy ditch. He sat with one leg down deep in the tall grasses of the ditch, and the other folded upon the shorter grass of the meadow. He sat in a dignified attitude with his head thrown back and his reddish brown neck and chest exposed. He looked straight at Felicity. His face had a sort of expressionless gravity. He was rather frightening. Felicity knew that it must be Angus because of the weird aura that surrounded him, and because of the strange unexpected manner of his appearance. This time it was certainly Angus. She wished that he would not take on these somewhat disconcerting forms, but she supposed that it was impossible for divine beings to manifest themselves without being alarming, even when they wished one well. He sat so still that he was almost invisible. Donald had not seen him, and Felicity decided not to reveal his presence. She took Donald by the sleeve and led him a few paces on until the gipsy was hidden by a hedge.
Felicity suddenly began to feel very uneasy. She wanted to go back. She plucked Donald by the coat which he was carrying over his arm and said, ‘Don, don’t climb that tower. I know it will end badly. Please say now that you won’t climb it, and then we can both go home.’
Donald looked down at her. He touched her freckled nose lightly with his finger. ‘We won’t turn back at this point, mister mate,’ he said. ‘As for the climb, I probably won’t do it. It was all Carde’s idea anyway.’
They walked on very slowly towards the house. In a minute the little path would reach the low crumbling stone wall at the end of Demoyte’s garden and turn away to the left towards the road. It was the dead time of the afternoon. Donald and Felicity, who were familiar with the habits of the Demoyte household, knew that they could count on Demoyte and Miss Handforth being laid out in their bedrooms, with drawn curtains, taking their siesta. To enter the house should not be difficult. The only unknown quantity was Miss Carter herself.
While Donald was peering over the wall, Felicity looked about her. She was still unnerved by the manifestation of Angus. At the base of the wall a great many flowers were growing, and the freshness of their opening petals showed even through the brown dust which lay upon them: ragged robin, tansy, campion, valerian, and charlock. The flowers that grow in waste places. Felicity looked down at them tenderly. Then she began to pick them.
‘Christ!’ said Donald. ‘What a moment to pick flowers! Look, we’ll get over the wall there, behind those bushes, and work our way along under cover of the yew hedge. Then come up close to the house, out of view of the windows, and walk round to the front door. If it’s locked, we try the kitchen. If anyone sees us we say we’re looking for Daddy, we thought he was here. Once inside the house, listen for sounds - then upstairs, and trust to our luck. The Carter will certainly be in the corner room at the back. All right? Follow me.’
Donald sounded eager. The excitement of the chase had taken hold of him. He dodged along by the wall and then climbed over it at a point where it was covered by a clump of tall syringa bushes growing in Demoyte’s garden. Clutching her bunch of flowers Felicity followed. This wall was an easy one. They walked cautiously, keeping close to the hedge, and then passed through the archway into full view of the windows. In a quick stride Donald crossed the open piece of lawn and was against the wall of the house. Felicity followed. A moment later they were at the front door. It was open. They stepped inside the house.
Within there was complete silence. Both the children were breathing deeply, and it seemed to them that the sound must be audible on the landing above. They stood quite still until they had recovered their breath. They looked at each other with wide shining eyes, and Felicity took Donald’s hand and pressed it hard. Then with noiseless footsteps they crept across the hall and began to ascend the stairs. The house was sleepy with the heat. All the windows were wide open and the warm dusty atmosphere drifted cloudily in from the garden. The beams of the sun, falling directly upon the staircase, made a zone of hazy yellow light through which the children ascended on tiptoe. The stairs did not creak. Once on the landing they could lay their feet upon a long thick Baluchistan rug. They glided along it and stood poised outside the door of the guest room. No sound came from within.
The doorhandle was made of yellow crystalline glass and slippery to the touch. Donald took it very firmly in both hands and began to turn it. He opened the door sufficiently to put his head through. Its opening had made no sound. It seemed now as if no sound could be made in this silent and untenanted house. Donald was still for a moment, and then he leaned gently through the door and entered the room. With a breath of relief Felicity followed him. The room was empty.
Once they were inside with the door shut a wild glee overcame them, and they began to dance noiselessly about the room waving their arms. Felicity paused and drew the supersonic whistle from her pocket. She was about to blow a tremendous supersonic blast upon it when Donald stopped her.
‘But it won’t make a sound if I — ’ Felicity began to explain in a whisper. It was too much for them both. Convulsed with helpless silent giggling they fell in a heap upon the bed.
‘But you said -’ Felicity began again in a whisper. It was no good. They lay there writhing with smothered laughter.
At last Donald rose, pulled Felicity up and set the bed to rights. ‘Now quick,’ he whispered, ‘find what we want and go. What shall we take?’
‘Stockings,’ said Felicity firmly. She suspected that Donald had other ideas, and felt a sudden feminine wish to protect Miss Carter against his depredations. They began to flit about the room, opening drawers.
‘Here we are,’ murmured Felicity. She drew a pair of nylon stockings out of a top drawer, waved them at Donald, and put them in her pocket. They turned to go. Felicity took a last look round the room. She picked up the flowers which she had left on a chair. The writing-desk beside the window stood open, littered with papers. Felicity went over to it and began turning them over.
‘Come on!’ hissed Donald.
Felicity said, ‘Why, here’s a letter from Daddy, I wonder what he says.’
‘Never mind,’ said Donald, ‘better not look at it. Let’s get out.’
‘It doesn’t matter, silly,’ said Felicity, ‘it’s only Daddy!’ She pulled the letter out of the envelope and read it. She stood quite still. Then she put the letter back on the desk and came away.
‘What did it say?’ said Donald.
‘Nothing,’ said Felicity. ‘Let’s go quickly.’ She began to pull him to the door.
Donald looked at her face. Then he went back to the desk, found the letter, and read it.
‘Come, come, come,’ said Felicity. She opened the bedroom door and stepped out on to the landing. Donald followed. They walked with firm silent steps to the top of the stairs and began to descend.
Half-way down the lower flight Felicity stopped in her tracks. Donald paused, and then walked down to join her. Standing watching them from the drawing-room door was Miss Handforth. She looked at the children. They looked at her.
‘Well, well, what a surprise!’ said Miss Handforth, her voice echoing through the house.
Miss Handforth was not a friend of the Mor children. ‘This is a new way to pay visits!’
The Close seemed to shake at the sound and shiver into wakefulness. Donald and Felicity stood there paralysed.
‘Come on,’ said Miss Handforth, ‘has the cat got your tongue? What have you two been up to up there, may I ask?’
Donald and Felicity were silent. At that moment the front door opened and Rain Carter came into the hall. All three turned towards her. She wore a white summer dress with an open neck, and for a moment as she entered the sun blazed behind her. She shut the door, and put her hand to her eyes, blinded for a moment by the change of light. She took in the little scene in front of her; and then turned questioningly to Miss Handforth.
Miss Handforth said, ‘These are Mr Mor’s children.’ Her deep voice expressed incredulity and disgust.
Rain turned towards them. They stood, as in a group by Gainsborough, Felicity posed with her hand upon the banister, Donald more sulkily behind her.
‘I am so glad to meet you at last,’ said Rain. ‘I think - Donald - I have at least seen before - but I am so glad to meet you properly. And I haven’t ever met - Felicity. How are you?’
Donald said nothing. He looked straight at her unsmiling. Felicity came forward. She smiled at Rain. ‘We just came over,’ she said, ‘to give you these flowers. They are wild flowers, but we hope you’ll like them.’ She handed her bouquet to Rain.
Rain took them with an exclamation of pleasure and held them to her face. She was a little shorter than Felicity and had to look up at her. ‘They are beautiful,’ she said. ‘I love these English wild flowers. I really really cannot think of anything that would have pleased me more. How very kind of you to think of this. They are lovely flowers.’ She held them close to her.
Donald came down the stairs and stood beside his sister. He took her arm.
‘You aren’t going already?’ said Rain. ‘Do stay and talk to me. Miss Handforth, I wonder if - some tea? It’s about tea-time anyway, isn’t it? I don’t want to bother you. Or perhaps just some milk and cakes if there are any?’
Miss Handforth said nothing.
‘I’m afraid we have to go at once,’ said Felicity. ‘I’m so sorry. We’re expected at home and we’re late already. We just called to bring the flowers.’
‘How very dear of you,’ said Rain. ‘You have made me glad. Thank you so much. I hope we shall meet again soon.’
‘I hope so too,’ said Felicity. ‘Well, good-bye. Good-bye, Miss Handforth.’ The two children disappeared rapidly out of the front door.
They walked quickly through the front gates of Mr Demoyte s garden and then along the little path that led back again into the fields. Once Felicity was on the path she began to run, and Donald had to run hard to keep pace with her. As soon as they were well clear of the house Felicity turned off the path, ran across a field, and threw herself down in the stubble in the shadow of a hedge. Donald joined her and sat down beside her. They were silent for some time.
‘Don,’ said Felicity at last, ‘you won’t do that climb, will you?’
Donald did not answer for a moment. ‘It hardly matters one way or the other,’ he said, ‘now.’
They sat looking down into the stubble. ‘Tears of blood,’ said Felicity. This was an ancient ritual.
Without a word Donald drew a razor blade from his pocket and handed it to her. Carefully she made a tiny slit be neath each eye. Both the Mor children could weep at will. A moment later mingled tears and blood were coursing down their cheeks.
Chapter Nine
IT was the day of Nan’s departure. Mor viewed the prospect with relief. For some time now their small house had been a scene where washing, drying and ironing of clothes, discovey and renovation of suitcases, unfolding of maps, and discussion of trains and seat reservations and the weather, had gone on without intermission until Mor had been obliged to invent excuses for staying in school. End of term exams were just beginning, and although this meant less teaching it meant more correcting, and it was about this time too that Mor had to settle down to the organization of reports and the solving of various staff problems for next term with which Evvy was patently unable to deal. His house became intolerable to him. It was always too small, though usually it was better in summer than in winter, since open windows could lend extra space to the rooms. But Nan could be relied upon to turn the place topsy-turvy before a holiday, and Felicity was being more than usually tiresome and tearful. Mor’s heart sank each evening as he came through the narrow front door, with its panel of leaded glass, into the small hall-way, filled now with suitcases, tennis rackets, and other paraphernalia. He would have liked to have gone over to Demoyte’s house to get away from it all. But although the Close and its inhabitants were incessantly in his mind, he did not go. A general sense of unrest and uneasiness filled him. It was now less than three weeks to Donald’s college entrance exam, and he was worried about him. He had called on him twice lately to see how he was getting on, but the boy had been very short with him, and Mor had gone away hurt and puzzled.
On the previous day, Mor had at last made a serious attempt to discuss with Nan the question of his becoming a Labour candidate - or rather, as Mor put it to himself, to announce to her his intention of becoming one; only it had not looked very much like this when he actually came to opening his mouth. Nan had simply refused to discuss the matter. She had used her most exasperating technique. When Mor had settled down very gravely to tell her of his hopes, his ambitions, his plans for how it would turn out for the best, she had laughed her dry laughter, and sat there on the sofa, her feet drawn, up and her eyes shining, mocking at him. At such moments she was invested with a terrible power which shook Mor down to the depths of his soul. She seemed to withdraw into a region of completely insulated serenity and superiority. Nothing which he said could touch her then, even when, as he now remembered with remorse, he was driven to making really spiteful rejoinders. It was not that she did not understand his arguments. In her presence, in the overwhelming atmosphere of her personality, his arguments simply did not begin to exist. Mor was astonished yet again at the tremendous strength of his wife. She was totally impervious to reasoning, relentlessly determined to get her own way, and calmly and even gaily certain that she would get it. Throughout the interview she kept her temper perfectly, laughing and jesting in a slightly patronizing way at her husband, whereas Mor by the end of it was reduced to almost speechless anger. He had left the room in the end saying, ‘Well, whether you like this plan or not I propose to go ahead with it!’
Mor had said this at the time merely to annoy; but on the following morning he thought to himself that perhaps that was exactly what he would do. The deep wounds which Nan had inflicted on his pride tormented him without ceasing. He felt, with a deep spasm of anger, that she had provoked him once too often. She must learn that to trample upon the aspirations and self-respect of another is a crime which brings an almost automatic retribution. Mor thought to himself, when I see Tim Burke I shall tell him to go ahead. When the thing is made public Nan will have too much pride and too much concern for convention to try to make me go back on it. She will have to accept it then. Mor got a bitter, and he knew very unworthy satisfaction out of imagining Nan’s fury when she found that he really meant for once to take what he wanted. What annoyed him perhaps most of all about her was the exquisite calmness of her assumption that when she had made it clear that he was not to do something he would not do it.
All these thoughts, however, with a talent born of years of married life, Mor buried deep within him, and behaved on the next day with a normal cheerfulness. Nan too seemed completely to have forgotten their quarrel and to be looking forward to the journey with unmixed delight. They were to catch the 10.30 train to Waterloo, have lunch in London, and then catch a fast afternoon train to Dorset. A taxi had been ordered to take them to the station, an expense which Mor disliked, but which Nan’s colossal quantity of luggage seemed to make inevitable. The taxi
was due in a few minutes, and Felicity was still not ready. She had been sulky and short-tempered all the morning, in spite of being promised lunch at the Royal Festival Hall, something which usually pleased her very much.
Nan and Mor had walked out into the front garden. The suitcases were piled on the step. Mor looked down at the ill-kept tangle of dahlias and asters which grew on each side of the concrete path. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘Liffey’s place is quite grown over this year. You remember how she used to lie there and sniff the plants?’
‘That reminds me,’ said Nan. ‘A funny thing. I met that painter girl in the street, Miss Carter, and she said the children had given her some flowers.’
‘What?’ said Mor.
‘Just that,’ said Nan. ‘They both went over to Demoyte’s house, gave her a bunch of flowers, and came away!’
‘It is rather odd,’ said Mor, ‘but I don’t see why they shouldn’t just have taken it into their heads. Did Felicity say anything about it to you?’
Of course not!‘ said Nan. ’You know how secretive she is. It’s a delightful gesture, and Miss Carter, I may say, was tickled pink about it - but really, Bill, you know our charming little dears as well as I do. Would they have just thought of doing that? It must have been part of some joke.‘