Arcadia (53 page)

Rosie stared. ‘Wow,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘I have heard of vanity, but never on that scale before.’

‘I didn’t mean …’ Angela began in a flustered tone. ‘At least I don’t think that material existence would be improved if there were two of me.’

‘Good. One of you has made quite enough mess. Think what two would do.’

‘Stupid girl.’

‘I am not,’ Rosie responded stoutly, ‘and don’t you dare talk to me like that. Don’t you dare.’

‘Keep a civil tongue in your head.’

‘I am.’

The two glared at each other.

‘You turn up and decide to meddle with the whole of history just because you want to teach someone a lesson?’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Well, it sounds like it. And you go and say that a lot of really nice people are going to be snuffed out because you feel like it?’

‘You don’t understand. I didn’t ask you to go nosing around down there.’

‘You don’t understand either. You don’t know what’s happened, or what will happen, or why it’s happened. Do you? Go on. Tell me you do.’

Angela scowled at her. No one had talked to her like that for a long time, and she did not enjoy the experience.

‘I knew it!’ Rosie said triumphantly. ‘You haven’t got a clue.’

‘No. I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I am simply afraid.’

‘That’s the only reason? I don’t know what happens next either. No one does. You’re not meant to.’

‘As you wish. But still, there can only be one future. Either Henry’s story or reality will have to go.’

‘How do you know yours is reality? Maybe it’s just a story as well?’

Angela ignored the remark and walked on. After a few steps she realised she was on her own. Rosie was standing still in the middle of the pavement.

‘What is it now?’

‘All those people, they’re just puppets? Acting out the Professor’s book?’

‘Unfortunately not. If they were I wouldn’t be so worried. They all have perfectly free will, as much as anyone does. It’s all a bit Calvinist, if you like. Just because your choice is predetermined does not mean you do not have a free choice before you take it. In the case of your friends there, for example, they react to you in the way they wish.’

‘It would be interesting to meet me.’

‘That is a bad idea. Besides, what if you thought of yourself as you think of yourself? I would hate this to be resolved by one of you murdering the other. How would you divide up your boyfriend in there? I don’t think Henry built bigamy into his world view. You’d have to put up with someone else having him. Just think what a difficult position that would put him in.

‘One more thing. The reason I’m worried is that they shouldn’t be doing anything. Henry hasn’t written a story, only notes. He never finishes anything. Anterwold was meant to be a snapshot. I designed it so that nothing could happen. No causes, no effects, no consequences. But it has started moving because of you, and I don’t know where it is going.

‘And,’ she said finally, ‘if it makes you feel any better, I don’t know that my world isn’t just a story as well. If you knew the hideous complications that might involve, you wouldn’t be looking quite so smug. Now, come along.’

*

Angela opened the front door to Lytten’s house and walked into the hallway, then stood there listening for any sign that he was in.

‘Good,’ she said quietly when she was reassured that they were alone, and she walked softly down the old stairs into the cellar.

‘Right then,’ she said as she took off her coat. ‘With luck this will all be easy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will tune the machinery.’

It was very peculiar, Rosie thought. She had imagined whirling dials and plugs and buttons. Angela, in contrast, shut her eyes, hummed and twirled around a couple of times before waving her hands about in a florid, extravagant motion. Then she stopped and peered at the pergola.

‘Damn,’ she said, and bit her lip for a moment as she thought. ‘Silly me.’

She tilted her head to one side and blinked rapidly four times. A soft glow slowly grew on the other side of the room, rays of
light filtering from the sides of the curtain.

‘Ha!’ she said in triumph, then stepped forward and pulled off the curtain.

‘Hell and damnation,’ she added, after she had twitched her hands and seen the light go off.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘He wasn’t there. Something must have happened to him.’

‘Who wasn’t?’

‘Long story.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Why is everything so difficult these days?’

‘What was that rigmarole anyway?’

‘The movements set off particular brain patterns which the machine interprets as instructions.’

‘That’s clever.’

‘Quite routine. Now, I also put you into it and I want you to do the next one, to see if it will respond to your brain properly. Just in case I have to go through and get him. The kettle sets the year and month, the saucepans fix the day and hour and the two tea mugs set the location. It’s not precise enough for minutes. Here.’ She handed Rosie a piece of paper.

‘“Kneel down on the floor …”’

‘You have to do it, not read it. The two require different parts of the brain.’

Rosie looked at her doubtfully, then, concentrating hard, she knelt down on the floor and counted to six. Next she went to the window and made a humming sound with her mouth closed. Then she turned round three times, holding her left hand out parallel to her chest, span the kettle round six times and, finally, scratched her right knee.

Instantly the light came on and then faded off again.

‘Did I do it wrong?’

‘Oh, no. That was brilliant. It was just a test. Really good. You are a natural. It must be because you are so young. Your brain hasn’t become clogged up.’

‘Thank you,’ Rosie said, pleased with the compliment.

‘So now we get Mr Chang back.’

‘What?’

‘I persuaded someone to go through and investigate the place. He was meant to be there for six days, and it’s time to get him back.’ She took over again, made some adjustments and the light returned and this time stayed on. It was grey and cold-looking on the other side.

‘It’s raining,’ Rosie said. They both looked intently, hoping for some sort of clue, but apart from establishing that it was about midday, there was no further progress to be made. Eventually Angela grunted. ‘I might have to step in after all. There’s no Chang, unfortunately. I do hope he’s not got into any difficulties. I’d better try the fallback.’

She went through her bizarre routine again and the image dissolved, then slowly re-formed. It was strange to watch. The scenery emerged out of nothing; first there was just a grey light and then, bit by bit, shapes formed, became more solid and changed colour. For some time the image was sludgy and blurred, but eventually it cleared to show grass, trees and sky.

‘Oh look!’ Rosie said. ‘It’s the tomb of Esilio. You see? At the far end. That lump of stone.’

‘You recognise it?’

‘It’s close to where I arrived.’

‘Excellent. That’s what I was aiming at; I’m getting quite good at this. So now we know where. When, though? That’s the problem. It’s meant to be five days after you went there. Oh dear!’

They both saw the movement on the left at the same moment. First one shape, still not clearly defined, then more of them. The machinery started to clear the image, making the outlines firmer, giving them colour and substance, until Rosie let out a cry of delight.

‘Look! It’s Henary. You know, the scholar.’

Angela studied him. ‘He looks like Henry himself. The old egotist.’

‘And Jay and – oh look! There’s Pamarchon and …’

‘Out of the way. Quickly. Move!’ Angela changed instantly from lady with teapot and roughly pushed Rosie aside. She was very alarmed, and with good reason. For there, standing in the middle of the image, was Rosalind herself.

‘Keep out of the way. She doesn’t know you exist, and it will upset my calculations if she does.’

Then the two of them heard a shout from upstairs in the hallway. ‘Angela? Are you down there?’

Angela rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, not now, Henry, please,’ she muttered. ‘For heaven’s sake! Don’t I ever get any peace? What’s he doing here?’

‘It is his house, you know.’

‘Angela? Would you come up here, please?’

‘We’ll just have to get rid of him. Come on.’

She switched off the pergola, let Rosie go first, then climbed the rickety stairs after her.

47

Dawn was long gone the next morning when servant Kate walked into the woods to the stream so that she could bathe the sleep out of her eyes. She had asked where to go, and made sure that people knew that she was on an innocent errand; she didn’t want an arrow in her back because of a misunderstanding. She sat on a boulder, washing her blackened, filthy feet first, watching the mud and earth which caked them dissolve in the icy water and float away, then she bent over and let her hands feel it rippling over them.

‘Good morning,’ said a voice from behind her. It was Pamarchon; he had crept up so quietly she had heard nothing until he spoke.

‘It’s obvious you are a house dweller,’ he said. ‘I was making as much noise as a charging pig.’

‘Then I would like to see you be quiet one day.’

‘Maybe you will. It is a small skill, but one I am proud of.’

He sat down a few feet away from her. ‘I fear I did not thank you for your service last night. That was rude of me. So – thank you, Kate.’

Kate frowned in surprise. ‘That’s quite all right,’ she said. ‘I obey as I am commanded. What else could I have done?’

He laughed lightly. ‘You could have said no. We have no servants here. I admit I omitted to tell you that.’

‘In that case, ask me again tonight, and I will turn you down flat, if you wish.’

‘I will do no such thing. Rather, I wish to invite you to be my guest. It is my family day in a few days’ time.’

‘You celebrate that? After what you have done?’

‘What was that, pray?’

‘You know as well as I do. I have heard the stories.’

‘I know what I am said to have done. I live only because of the hope that one day I will be seen as the good and honest son of my fathers that I know myself to be. So I do celebrate. I have the right, even though my family has shown me nothing but cruelty. There will be a feast to honour what they should be, and you are invited as my guest. Will you come?’

‘Family days must be celebrated in the family house. At Willdon.’

‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘That is what I intend.’

She studied him evenly. ‘If I should tell Lady Catherine of this?’

‘How?’

‘I could simply disappear into the forest. I could have done so, you know, if I hadn’t been worried about getting lost.’

‘You would have died. This encampment is carefully guarded and no one goes in or out without being seen. Even if you had managed to get through the guards because one had fallen asleep – which does happen – then your chances in the forest would have been very small. It is dangerous for people who do not know it.’

‘Good reasons,’ Kate said.

‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘your master gave his word of honour that you would not seek to escape, in exchange for not being imprisoned. Why do you think you are free to move about as you please? Did he not tell you?’

‘No,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘He did not.’

‘Well, he did. His word is more binding than any rope or guard. So, servant Kate, forget your woes and thoughts of home for a while. It is a beautiful morning. Don’t spoil it with glum looks and dark thoughts.’

*

Rosalind was woken by the noise, and the absence of noise. Jay was a fine fellow but snored abominably. Only the fact that she was so tired had permitted any sleep, and only when the dull, snuffling rumble punctuated by high whistles and snorts stopped was she disturbed. That and the sunlight on the thin cover of the tent, the sound of people bashing pots and pans, the singing and loud conversation. The birds making an extraordinary din. All of these, finally, made her roll over and open her eyes.

No; still not a dream. She groaned and rolled over again. The place next to her was empty, and in the place of Jay was an earthenware pot, evidently for her. She touched it; it was warm and she slowly levered herself up. Leaves. In boiled water. Tea! she thought. No again. Mint. Quite foul. She would have preferred a cup of hot chocolate. Cadbury’s. With a spoonful of sugar and a lot of milk. With Rice Krispies, sitting at the little table in the kitchen, her mother in attendance, her brother late for work, her father hiding behind the
Daily Express,
in his shirt and braces, smelling of soap and Brylcreem.

Why had she ever felt so bad about that scene, wanted something different? Was it her fault? Had she been granted some wish like you read about in books? The ones where you ask for immortality, then get older and older. Or huge wealth, and starve to death because everything you touch turns to gold. Had she made a wish and not constructed it carefully, not read the small print? All she’d ever asked for was a life that was a little more interesting. But this was too much; as she had walked to the tent last night, Catherine had told her everything that had happened, about fights and captives and ceremonies. She hadn’t known how to respond, she was too befuddled and exhausted. Instead, she’d told her to leave her alone till morning and had laid her head on the ground hoping it would go away. It hadn’t.

She put down the mint tea – she appreciated the gesture, if not the taste – and reluctantly stirred herself, getting onto her hands and knees and crawling out of the tent. There, sitting on the ground a few feet away, were Jay and Kate.

‘Do you know what this fool has done?’ Kate snapped as she came towards them.

‘And good morning to you, too,’ she replied. ‘Of course I don’t know. Jay! What’s the matter? You look as though you’re about to cry.’

Jay was indeed fighting back the tears. ‘What have you said to him?’ Rosalind demanded, rounding on Kate.

‘He has given his word that we will not try to escape.’

‘So?’

‘He had no right to pledge me.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better to keep your voice down?’ Rosalind said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not as if he meant it.’