Long Summer Day (42 page)

‘Yes, we are,’ O’Keefe said, and Paul felt a tremor of relief, ‘but it’ll be about half an hour. It was a breech birth, if you know what that is but the worst is over and they’ll both do well enough with luck! What’s this about Codsall? You say he’s gone crazy?’

‘It seems so,’ Paul said, ‘can you be spared?’

‘No,’ said O’Keefe, ‘not unless you want to run a very grave risk, Craddock!’

Paul made his decision. Whatever had happened at Four Winds wasn’t worth the risk of mounting the old man behind Snowdrop and racing through a storm. If the boy Sydney had been left behind it would be different but Ikey, gallant kid, had whisked him out of harm’s way and Arabella and the staff must look to themselves. He said briefly, ‘Well, I shall have to go, I can do nothing here and I may be useful over there. If my wife asks for me tell her I’ve had to see to storm damage at the Home Farm.’

‘Yes, of course,’ O’Keefe said soberly, ‘you get off right away and I’ll come over as soon as it’s light. Good luck, Craddock!’

‘There’s one other thing,’ Paul said hurriedly, ‘wake Mrs Handcock, the housekeeper, and tell her to have a good fire and hot drinks ready. As soon as it’s light, or before if possible, send Handcock to rouse Honeyman and send the two shepherds to Four Winds right away!’

‘I’ll do that!’ said the Irishman. ‘Mother of God, the trials we’re called upon to face!’ and at once withdrew, closing the door.

Paul returned to the library where Ikey now had a bright fire blazing. The boy’s cheeks were flushed but he seemed to have himself well under control. He said, ‘Saddle up Snowdrop, Ikey, I’m going there right away.’

‘Who’ll be going with you, sir?’

‘Nobody for there’s nobody to go! I can’t waste time making a detour to Home Farm, I’ll have to cut across the corner of the wood and head straight for the bridge. How was the water level when you came over?’

‘About up to the planks, sir!’ Ikey told him, and then, obstinately, ‘If you’re on your own, sir, I’m coming with you! Young Codsall’s orlright an’ that drink you give me put noo life in me, sir!’ and he grinned.

‘Do you think you can stick another trip over there, Ikey?’

‘With you along o’ me I can,’ the boy said and Paul put his arm across the child’s shoulder.

‘I won’t forget this, Ikey, you’ve done splendidly! None of the men could have managed any better. Have you got a dry coat and boots?’

‘I c’n take Gappy’s, sir. The cob’s fresh enough and I’ll ’ave Snowdrop ready in a trice!’ and he shot out of the room giving Paul the impression that he welcomed the adventure now that he could share it with someone. Ten minutes later, with Paul riding ahead and carrying a lantern, they were picking their way along the edge of Priory Wood and round its western boundary, probing for the track that led down to the river road. The rain had slackened somewhat but the force of the gale tried to tear them from their saddles and twice Snowdrop stumbled, almost pitching his rider to the ground. Above the roar of the wind Paul heard a pine crash in the wood behind and again his thoughts returned to the steadfastness of the boy, splashing along in his wake. There was no chance to call to him. All he could do was to hold the swinging lantern high and trust Ikey to follow the light. If it went out they were finished. At last, after what seemed to Paul about an hour, they struck the park wall, groping their way along it to the gate that breached it opposite Codsall bridge. The boy was still in his wake and came alongside to take Snowdrop’s bridle while he dismounted to wrestle with the stiff gate. It came open at last and they were out on the road, where it was less dark but they had now lost the protection of the wall and the wind made the horses restless. There were, he recalled, some white flood posts at the bridgehead and as soon as he saw them he dismounted again and led the grey forward, shouting at the top of his voice for the boy to follow. The roar of the current vied with the shriek of the wind and the river level was dangerously high, lapping the planks to a depth of nearly a foot. Paul slopped across, however, remounted and followed the path that led down to the farm, trusting in the grey’s sight more than his own and in this way they soon reached the first of the Four Winds’ out-buildings, a great bulk of a barn, in total darkness. Here, in the angle of the building, they could talk again. Paul said, breathlessly, ‘Well, we made it, Ikey! We’ll put the horses inside and go round the back, the front door is sure to be locked,’ and he groped along the face of the barn until he found the fastening, bracing his shoulder against the door to prevent it crashing back on the horses.

The barn faced east so the wind here lost some of its force and together they managed to lead Snowdrop and the cob inside. The first thing they saw, in the dim light of the lantern, was a shotgun resting against a small bale of hay and then, as Paul broke it to see if it was loaded, he heard the boy utter a cry and turning, holding the lantern high, he saw a pair of rubber boots swinging four feet clear of the ground.

‘It’s ’im!’ Ikey cried, his teeth chattering, ‘it’s Farmer Codsall!’ and Paul dropped the gun and crossed the barn to where Martin Codsall swung in the strong draught from the door, suspended from a cross-beam on a length of baling cord.

They could see little more than his outline for the barn was large and its recesses beyond the range of the lantern’s rays. Paul thought, fighting the shock, ‘Well, it’s best I suppose but it’s terrible that the boy had to see it!’ and he took him by the arm and said, ‘Don’t look, Ikey, let’s go outside!’

He heard the boy retch and felt him shudder violently, so that his first thought, that of climbing the ladder and cutting Codsall down, was forgotten in concern for the child. He hustled him into the open, shutting the door in the teeth of the wind. ‘There’s nothing to be feared from him,’ he told the boy, ‘but we’d best go and see if Mrs Codsall’s safe and then rouse Eveleigh, the foreman and send someone for the police,’ and he took the boy’s hand, groping his way across the yard to the Dutch barn and, moving between barn and farmhouse, to the gate that opened on the kitchen garden. He remembered the geography of the place with great clarity and found the back door at once. It was open and they went in, setting the lantern on the table and lighting a table lamp with a faggot from the fire still glowing red in the fierce chimney draught. Paul said, ‘Wait here, boy! I’ll take a look upstairs!’ and feeling Ikey would be better with something to occupy his mind, ‘Blow up the fire and boil a kettle. There’s sure to be cocoa somewhere about and we could both do with a hot drink. Go on, get busy!’ and he lit one of the candles on the mantelshelf and went through the kitchen to the wide staircase.

Winter gales both tormented and stimulated Martin Codsall. As soon as the winds freshened in the south-west, and the Channel spray whipped across the dunes, he would sniff the air like a retriever and presently, as the elms began to creak, he would wander off, telling no one where he was going and make his way to the shore to watch the breakers crash and cream along the flat sand. The power of them fascinated him and the inevitability of their spill gave him confidence in the sureness and certainty of nature, as though here was the one thing upon which he could rely utterly, the rush and swirl of green-grey water, foaming round his feet and tossing its flotsam high up on the beach. Sometimes, but not always, he would fortify himself against the thrill of the spectacle by drinking a few pints of rough cider and a dash of rum at The Raven but lately the landlord had been reluctant to serve him and when he entered the bar other customers drew together, so that he knew very well they were telling each other he was off his head. He would strain his ears to catch the drift of their conversation but they were not always talking about him, it seemed, for on the third day of the New Year, when he was sitting in the sawdust bar settle, he heard them reopen the topic of Smut Potter’s assault on Keeper Buller back in the summer. The Potter-Buller incident interested Martin almost as much as the curl of the breakers in the bay. He had kept all the newspaper accounts of the trial and paid particular attention to Buller’s injuries for to him they were the highlight of the whole incident. They said that when they carried Buller back to Heronslea his face was a mask of blood and Martin wished very much that he had been there to see it, for it was not often that a man got a chance to witness such a sight. He fell to wondering sometimes how much blood a man had inside him. Some more than others, he would think. Arabella, with her high colour and overweight, would have a great deal, but young Sydney, pale and slight, not very much, hardly worth shedding. It was on this particular day, when he heard them talking of Buller, that his obsession with blood and with the breakers fused so that he had a sudden revelation. After leaving the pub he wandered far along the shore, noticing that the waves had changed colour. They were no longer green-grey but bright crimson, the colour of blood and he took even more pleasure in them than usual, standing with water washing about his knees and the spray beating in his face, watching and watching the curl and crash of the great crimson waves, oblivious of discomfort and the growing force of the gale.

It was only when he glanced over his shoulder to follow the rush of a particularly big wave that he saw the boy on the brown cob, standing back against the dunes and watching him intently. Codsall was aware, however, that it was not really a boy on a cob but the Devil, masquerading as a boy, and mounted on a horse that could move in any direction without its feet touching the ground. Fortunately he had brought along shotgun and cartridges, hoping to get a shot at a partridge or two if there were any in the stubble fields and standing there in the water Martin felt more than equal to a mounted devil disguised as a boy. He pretended to take no notice but turned his back on the water and climbed the dunes as far as his first field, where there was a stile set in a gap between clumps of elderberry. Here he loaded his gun and waited and sure enough the little devil came on at a walk, presenting a fine target against the skyline of the dunes. When he was twenty yards off Martin fired both barrels and saw the devil’s skirts fly out, saw him reel in the saddle and slump forward, the cob wheeling and tearing back the way he had come. That disposed of the boy and he could now carry on with his main task which was to discover just how much blood Arabella had, and whether it was enough to make a really big wave like one of those he had just seen break on the sand.

He did not go straight home but wandered slowly along the river bank, making sure that he really had scared the devil out of range, for he was not such a fool as to suppose that a devil could be laid low with buckshot. One needed a silver bullet for work of that kind, and sooner or later the boy would get over his fright and follow on, perhaps in some other guise, as a labourer; or a buzzard, or even a harmless little creature like a vole. He saw nothing, however, and when it grew dark he was in the vicinity of the farm but even then he did not go in but continued to skulk in the spinney near the river, sheltering as best he could from the slashing rain and terrible wind that came out of the west. One thing worried him a little. His coat was so wet that his spare cartridges were damp and probably useless, so he threw them away, promising himself to get more as soon as the kitchen lights went out and he could enter the house without being seen. He saw his hired men trudge off across the fields and later, his foreman Eveleigh go down the lane to his cottage but even then he waited and it must have been close on nine before he crossed the yard and tried the front door. It was locked but he knew he could get in through the buttery window which had a broken catch and on his way round he looked into the big barn and lit one of the storm lanterns. It was here that he had another inspiration for immediately under the lantern, wedged in a bale of hay, was a hay knife more than two feet in length and freshly whetted, as he could tell after running his thumb along the edge. He gave up all thought of finding fresh cartridges and laying the gun aside picked up the knife. He was wet to the skin but hot and sweating rather than cold. He felt stronger and happier than he had felt for months and he stayed snug in the barn until he was sure that Arabella, Sydney and the two maids were in bed and asleep. The force of the gale shook the wooden building to its foundations but he enjoyed the uproar for to be alone in it made him feel superior to everyone. At last he got up and went out into the storm, not forgetting to latch the barn door. He tried the back door and was surprised to find it open and the kitchen fire still bright. He stood there listening and heard Arabella, or someone else, moving about upstairs and that made him glance at the clock, noting that it was still only half-past nine. Suddenly he could wait no longer. He opened the kitchen door very quietly and went upstairs.

Arabella was half-undressed when he entered the bedroom. She was standing beside the bed, great folds of flesh straining at her corsets and her hair screwed into a cluster of ringlets, as though she had been a girl of fifteen instead of a fat woman of fifty. He had never realised just how fat she was, with breasts like huge pink cushions and thighs that were like saplings stripped of bark. She turned when she heard him enter and when she saw him standing there, wet through, and with the hay knife in his right hand, she began to gobble like a turkey, perhaps, he thought, to scare him off but he made no move, for a man who had disposed of the devil was unlikely to be intimidated by Arabella Codsall. So they faced one another for what seemed to him a long time, he regarding her with mild pleasure and Arabella with her pale blue eyes almost popping from her head and her turkeycock cheeks getting more turkey-like every second. He had never seen her look at him like this before, without contempt or exasperation but without fear too, for her expression was one of the blankest astonishment, as though he was not a man at all but a freak of nature like a midnight sun. She seemed to be trying to say something, for her lips moved but no sound issued from her and it seemed to him that both of them had been turned to pillars of salt like Lot’s wife fleeing from the cities of the damned. Then, with a single, well-aimed kick, she upended the little table on which the candle stood and plunged them into total darkness and at the same time she began to scream so that her voice rose above the continuous roar of the storm. She began to run, too, although in which direction he could not have said except it could not have been towards the door for he had his back to it. Then a little of his calm left him and he advanced into the room, groping with his free hand and after a few moments of blind man’s buff they collided and he took hold of her by the hair, striking outward and downward, twice and then, standing back a pace, a dozen times but without being sure that he was hitting anything except the bedpost, or the pile of her discarded clothes on the armchair. Then she seemed to melt away and her screaming ceased and he despaired of finding the candle among the wreckage of the room but it did not matter for he realised at once that he had failed in his essential purpose. He had not seen a wave of blood after all and disappointment choked him so that he flung down the knife, turned and began to grope for the door.