Is (10 page)

Is therefore followed Aunt Ishie up three remarkably steep flights of stairs, necessarily at a very slow pace.

‘The rooms on the first floor are let to Dr Lemman,’ explained Aunt Ishie, somewhat breathlessly, as they passed two closed doors. ‘He is a very clever medical gentleman, quiet in his habits, and out a great deal of the time on his rounds, which suits your great-grandfather very well. Father Lancelot is on the second floor, and you, my child, may have the attics all to yourself. I am afraid it may be rather
dangerous
for you in this part of the country – has your great-grandfather gone into that at all?’

‘No, missus. He said you’d explain
everything
.’

‘Oh dear, did he? (Call me Aunt Ishie, my love, do. I am, I suppose, your great-aunt, but we will waive the great.) Now, this is
my
little territory – ’ opening a door on the third floor, ‘and I will just step in and make myself fit to be seen. You may continue on upwards and take possession of your own quarters. Come down again as soon as you choose, my love, when you are quite established.’ And she vanished behind the door.

Is climbed the last flight – which was very steep indeed, almost a ladder – and found two tiny rooms with sloping ceilings, facing each other across a narrow strip of landing. She looked out through each window in turn. One faced into a rocky, heathery hillside, the other commanded a wide prospect, down across the network of valleys so confusingly jumbled with ruined houses, mills, warehouses, viaducts, and skyward-pointing chimneys and dyehouse towers. Far in the distance high, snow-covered mountains reared up like sharks’ teeth against the dark grey sky. And down to the left, beyond the massed chimneys, lay a faint dark horizontal which might perhaps, Is thought, be the sea.

But where in all this cold, deserted, mutilated landscape were David and Arun? And the two hundred and two children from the Playland Express?

Is very soon ran down the stairs again, and tapped on Aunt Ishie’s open door.

‘Come in, my love,’ called a voice from behind a screen. ‘Sit down and make yourself at home.’

From the splashing behind the screen, Is concluded that her aunt was taking a bath. In a moment or two she appeared, wrapped in a garment made from a grey blanket like that of Mr Twite.

‘Axcuse my asking, Aunt Ishie, but I’m still not quite straight: is the old gent your father or your grandpa?’

‘He is my father, love; and an excellent parent he has always been, I am glad to say. Now: did you find all well upstairs? Shall you be comfortable up there?’

‘Some kind of bed ’ud be nice,’ said Is. (There had been no furniture of any kind.)

‘A bed. Oh dear me, yes. Yes, if you are to sleep in this house, you should certainly have a bed. Dr Lemman may have something suitable; we must see about that.’

‘Any old folded rug would do,’ said Is. ‘I ain’t particklar.’

‘And you are the daughter of my nephew Abednego,’ said Aunt Ishie reflectively. ‘Are you fond of him?’

‘Couldn’t stand him,’ said Is briefly. ‘But he’s dead.’

‘A most teasing, unreliable boy,’ recalled Aunt Ishie. ‘But he was able to compose, as I well remember, tunes that found their way into one’s head and stayed there for ever. So he is dead. Ah, then; where are his tunes now?’

‘All over everywhere,’ said Is, thinking of the children singing on the train. ‘Aunt Ishie –
please
tell me, I gotta
know
– what happens to all the kids hereabouts? And where are all the folks? This is like a dead town. In Lunnon there ain’t any kinchins – here there ain’t no one at all. Looking outa the window up there, I couldn’t see a single soul – not one! Nor even a thread o’ smoke. All the houses ruined – where
is
everybody? Is there some monster what eats them all?’

Aunt Ishie, after inviting her niece inside, had vanished again behind the screen; from time to time the sight of a hand or a foot protruding and waving about suggested that she was putting on her clothes; but at this moment her entire head came out from the side of the screen. She looked, thought Is, who was now getting used to her, not unlike an otter. Particularly now with her damp grey hair slicked back; her flat-topped grey head and large friendly wide-set eyes quite powerfully suggested that gentle timid creature.

‘Monster!’ said Aunt Ishie. ‘Yes! There is a monster. But not the sort you have in mind. This monster’s name is Greed.’

Next minute she emerged entirely, robed in another long grey cotton gown which fell about her in folds and was tied round the waist with a cord.

She sat down on the bed. (Aunt Ishie’s room was furnished very sparsely, with a narrow cot, a box, the stool on which Is was sitting, the screen – behind which presumably there stood a tub – and some hooks on the wall from which clothes hung.)

‘You have not yet met your Uncle Roy?’

‘No, ma’am – Aunt Ishie. I did wonder if he’d help me find Arun.’

‘Most unlikely. Your Uncle Roy,’ said Aunt Ishie, ‘is a very rich man. When he was young he made money, selling old iron off a barrow. He did well, bought the iron foundry, then the pottery, next he bought the coal mine, and by now he owns the whole region. First he was made Mayor, then President, and now he is Moderator of the Regional Council.’

‘Fancy!’ said Is. ‘But if he’s so grand, surely he oughta know if his own nevvy’s about the place.’

‘I would not depend on that. Not at all,’ said Aunt Ishie. ‘Were you aware that New Blastburn – or Holdernesse, as they call it – is an underground town?’

‘
Under ground?
Save us! Why?’

‘While digging out and enlarging the first coal mine, they discovered a huge natural cavern under Holdernesse Hill and so – at your uncle’s comand – the city has been entirely rebuilt inside it.’

‘Well, I’ll
be
! A whole town inside of a cave! I suppose that way,’ said Is, thinking about it, ‘they don’t get no rain or snow. It would be jist prime for the street kids. No crossings to sweep, though, no mud. Is
that
where all the kids are?’

‘No,’ said Aunt Ishie.’ They are in the mines. Or the foundries. Or the potteries.’

‘In the mines?’

‘All children here,’ said Aunt Ishie, ‘are set to work. From age five. In the coalmines, in the foundries, in the breweries, in the potteries. The mines are far from the town, now, under the sea; they are very, very extensive. The children work and sleep there.’ Her voice sounded flat with exhaustion and depression.’ I send them comforts when I can get hold of a messenger. And I visit the ones who are closer at hand.’

‘Is
that
where you jist come back from?’ exclaimed Is, suddenly illuminated. ‘The old cove – Father Lancelot – said you was on a mission.’

‘Yes. Those poor wretches spend their lives working. They have no free time. I talk to them – tell them what I can. A little history. A few tales or poems – something to put into their minds, to lighten so many hours of drudgery.’

‘Their minds . . .’ said Is slowly.

And suddenly – like a signal, like a summons – the same tingling shock exploded in her own mind as had roused her when she lay asleep in the goods wagon. It felt exactly as if somebody had reached out a cold vibrating tuning fork and touched her on her most sensitive point.

‘What is it, child?’ said Aunt Ishie. ‘You have turned white. Are you faint?’

‘N-n-no,’ said Is slowly. ‘It’s naught. Do you think my cousin might have been sent to work in the mines? If he travelled up here on that kids’ train?’

‘Almost certainly – either the mines or the foundries. That’s where boys go. They – the workers in those occupations – have to be replaced most frequently; there is a continual need for new hands. That is why – ’

‘That’s why they gotta fetch in new ones from the south all the time –
now
I see. What happens to the old ones? No,’ said Is, ‘you don’t hatta tell me, I can guess.’

Aunt Ishie crossed her arms over her thin chest and bent her head.

‘Your grandfather and I – when your uncle became so rich he offered us a fine large house in the new city. Underground. He greatly dislikes our continuing to live here. But we do not – we could not – no, we could not. Grandfather, indeed, would be happy to remove entirely – go to some other region. Or at least so he sometimes says. But I – but I – no, I could not do that. Little though my efforts achieve, I would rather stay and do what I can. And your uncle – has a reason of his own for wishing to keep your grandfather here. But he strongly disapproves of us – of our habits. It makes him angry. He feels,’ Aunt Ishie finished with a wintry smile, ‘that we bring disgrace to the name of Twite.’

‘Disgrace to the name of Twite,’ repeated Is slowly.
‘Blimey!’

A step was heard on the stair, and a tap on the door.

‘That will be Dr Lemman,’ said Aunt Ishie. ‘He is always very obliging about disposing of my bath water.’

And indeed a head poked round the door and said, ‘Shall I take the tub now, Isabetta?’

‘Yes, thank you, Chester. And here is my great-niece, my nephew Abednego’s daughter, Is. She and I share the same name. She has come to us from the south.’

‘Good gad, dearie!’ said Dr Lemman, stepping completely into the room. ‘Don’t she know what a pilaguey dangerous spot she’s come to?’

Is had no ready-made notion as to what a doctor should look like. She had not seen many. Doc Spiddle at Lewisham was fat and red-faced. But certainly Dr Lemman was far, far from anybody’s vision of a regular doctor. He was thin and wiry, with bristly, rusty-brown whiskers which seemed to sprout all over his head and face at random, rather scantily, so that he looked like a teazel or a sea-urchin. His eyes were bright-brown and very shrewd.

He wore a suit of greenish old velveteen, more suited to a gamekeeper than a man of medicine.

‘What’ll you
do
with the chick?’ he said to Aunt Ishie, striding behind the screen and returning with a large zinc bathtub of very dirty water cradled easily in his arms, and an empty white enamel pitcher inverted on the top of his head. ‘You can’t keep her mewed up in this house all day. She’d be bored to death. But if she steps out of doors, she’ll be snapped up by the wardens before you can say ipecacuanha. And then she’ll be whipped off to the mines, and that’s the last you’ll see of her. Precious little good you did yourself travelling to these parts, dearie!’ he said to Is.

‘I was wondering,’ offered Aunt Ishie timidly, ‘whether, Chester, you could take her with you on your rounds – to grind your powders and mix your ointments? Whether you could tell people that she is your apprentice? I am sure she is a remarkably capable and sensible girl – five minutes with her and you’ll see that. Well, she must be resourceful, when you consider that she got herself all the way from the south, as far as here! Without being taken up!’

‘Humph!’ said Dr Lemman. And he went off down the stairs with his load.

When he returned – this time carrying the empty washtub, with a full jug of clean water standing inside it – he said, ‘All rug, dearie! And don’t say I never do anything for you! But if G.K. cuts up rough, don’t blame me! We’ll give it a try, at all events. You,’ he told Is, ‘will have to get up devilish early.’

‘I don’t mind that, mister.’

‘Good – very well. Six o’clock tomorrow morning. We’ll see how it goes. Adiós!’ And he ran off down the stairs again, whistling loudly.

Aunt Ishie drew a long breath of relief.

‘Oh, I
am
so glad that he agreed. It will make such a difference. Dr Lemman is a man of standing in the community, you see, my dear. I know that he looks a little odd, but everyone accepts his way, and he is an
excellent
doctor; he has the confidence of your Uncle Roy, and everyone of importance. So long as you are with him you will be perfectly safe.’

‘But will I have a chance to ask people about Cousin Arun?’

‘As good a chance as any other,’ said Aunt Ishie, sighing. ‘But – I must warn you not to let your hopes climb too high.’

Is nodded glumly.

Aunt Ishie sighed again, and then limped out of the room. Is could hear her slow and painful progress down the stairs.

Real rum sorta ken I got myself into here, Is thought. Great-grandpa – Aunt Ishie – the old reverend gentleman – that Doc Lemman – put ’em all together, you got a freak show in a circus. Still, I reckon I was uncommon lucky to land here.

Just the same, her heart was dreadfully heavy. The thought of the two boys, and their probable whereabouts, lay inside her like a freezing pain. And one of them the king’s own son! What
would
that poor white-haired gentleman think if he knew? Either in the mines, under the sea, or in the iron foundries.
Boys in Playland comes and goes faster than raindrops
. And what about Tess and Ciss? And that poor silly yellow-headed Mary-Ann?

I’m awful hungry, Is thought. She had been reminded of this fact by the smell of cookery coming from downstairs. Aunt Ishie must be making a meal; I’d better go down and help her, poor old duck. She’s got enough troubles of her own, obliged to drag herself about like that. Yet she goes into the foundries and the potteries and tells the kids history . . .