The Eyes of a King (11 page)

“S
ir?” said the butler as they drove home through the darkness. “Sir, I have been meaning to ask you something ever since I came here.”

Raymond turned in his seat to face the butler. “I wondered if you ever knew a lady called Emilie,” Field continued. “She used to live near here a few years ago.”

“Emilie?” said Raymond, frowning. “A French name. It is familiar. What was the lady’s surname?”

“Field.”

Raymond was startled. “A relative of yours, then?”

A bird leapt into the headlights, and the butler swerved. “My brother’s wife,” he said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “His wife or his partner—I don’t know. My brother was in England before me, several years ago. He was very close to this lady, but he did not treat her as he should have done. Harold was not the best of men.”

“You have never spoken about your family before,” remarked Raymond. The butler did not reply. “But tell me, what did your brother do wrong?”

“I understand he lived with this lady for some years. Even if
they were not married, there were certainly children. Then he got up one day and left them all. I don’t know why. I have never understood Harold. But I wanted to find this lady, this Emilie, and set things right. I believe that she lived near here in those days.”

“There was an Emilie Devere in the village,” began Raymond slowly. “Yes, she worked in the Red Lion. She had two little girls—Monica and Michelle, I think their names were. But she moved down south about twenty years ago. I saw the husband once, actually, when he was around. A flashy sort of man, and very high-spirited.”

“That is Harold,” said Field quietly. “It must have been.” He glared at the dark road ahead.

“Was he really so bad, your brother?” said Raymond.

“He was a great gambler when he was a young man. It nearly ruined us all. His behavior made my sister ill with worry on several occasions, and I find that hard to forgive. She was always so devoted to him. She even named her son Harold. And he treated her like that in return. You know, sir, all the time he was in England—six years—we none of us knew where he was. But then, he was never in higher spirits than when people were crying over him and he could come sauntering in and make everything all right.”

The butler shook his head. “I should not speak of him like this, I suppose. He told me once that I was arrogant and self-obsessed.” Field laughed, then stopped as if remembering. “Well, perhaps he was right. There are two sides to the story, and he can no longer tell his.”

“What happened to him?” said Raymond.

The butler stared ahead into the darkness. “Like your friend, he went away to war. That was what made me think of him.”

A motorbike overtook the old car and disappeared ahead,
leaving the hedgerow shivering. “You have never told me about your family,” said Raymond. “Are any of them here in England?”

“No,” said the butler. Raymond watched him, but the car was swinging into the drive now and he did not elaborate. And by the time he came in from the garage, he seemed to have forgotten that he had ever mentioned a woman called Emilie or a brother and a sister in a foreign country. Raymond did not dare to ask him again.

That was the end. I sat and stared at the page for a long time while the sun rose higher at my back. This section was just as familiar as the others had been. I closed my eyes, and vague images of those people drifted into my head—the old man and his butler, the blue-eyed girl, and the prince. I could see them all, as if I had met them before. It was very strange. And when I closed my eyes and concentrated harder, I could almost see what was going to happen next.

Then the door opened loudly, and Stirling called, “Leo! We’re back!”

I started and dropped the book. I could hear them talking in the living room. I opened the window seat chest hastily, dropped the book in, and turned to the door to meet them.

“What? Not even dressed yet?” Stirling exclaimed. “You had better hurry. Maria was at church and we’ve invited her over for dinner, and her mother too. They will be here any minute!”

M
aria and her mother knocked on the door while I was still washing my face and Grandmother was hastily chopping vegetables. I motioned to Stirling to wait to open it, but he
pretended not to see. I grabbed a towel and dried the cold water off my face and ran a comb through my hair while Grand-mother was saying, “Please, come in. Hello, Maria. Hello, Anselm. So nice to meet you, Mrs….”

“Andros,” said Maria’s mother. I had not known that until now.

She was a slight woman, shorter than Maria. She wore a scarf around her head, but tendrils of her brown hair escaped about her face. It would have been much like Maria’s, I think, if she had let it fall loose.

Anselm began to cry, and Maria rocked him and said, “Shh, shh.”

“Give him to me,” said her mother.

“He’s all right,” said Maria, turning away.

But he began to cry again. “Sit down, please,” said Grandmother over the wailing. Maria’s mother sat on the sofa, and Maria, still rocking the baby, sat down next to her, flashing Stirling a smile and me a sort of look from beneath downcast eyelids. It made my heart stumble over a beat, and I hurried into the bedroom to get another chair. Half my mind had still been on that strange book, trying to work out what it meant, but I gave it up completely now.

“He spoke very impressively,” Mrs. Andros was saying when I returned. “I must say, I thought he seemed young for a priest, but he is a good one.”

“Aye,” said Grandmother. “He is a clever man, and kind.”

“Very. He was so friendly when he introduced himself to us, was he not, Maria?”

“Who?” asked Maria distractedly, still trying to quiet Anselm.

“Father Dunstan, Maria.”

“Oh … yes.”

“He noticed that we were new to the church, and came straight up and talked to us,” Mrs. Andros went on. “He made us feel very welcome, which is more than many people do these days, I must say.” Here I thought I saw her eyes move toward Anselm for a second, and Maria turned her shoulder away, as if to shield the baby from the glance.

“True, people are often so hostile in these difficult times,” said Grandmother. “I am glad of the kindness of Father Dunstan and the congregation.”

I watched Maria rocking the baby. At some point she must have started watching me too, because then we were looking at each other across the group, and I was not listening to Mrs. Andros anymore.

After a while Grandmother went to the kitchen to finish preparing the dinner, and Mrs. Andros went with her. We could still hear their voices and the sound of Grandmother chopping vegetables. Stirling sat on the sofa next to Maria, who smiled at him without moving. He looked down at Anselm and whispered, “Is he asleep?”

“Nearly,” said Maria. I pulled my chair up closer to the sofa. It grated on the floorboards, and Anselm’s eyes sprang open. He began to wail loudly again.

“Sorry!” I exclaimed.

“Don’t worry,” said Maria. “He would not have slept for long; he is probably hungry.”

“We have some milk in the kitchen,” said Stirling, seemingly triumphant at remembering their conversation. “Would you like me to go and get him some?” I could see where this was heading.

“Thank you, Stirling,” Maria said. “But it is cow’s milk, I guess, and he can’t drink that. I think it would make him sick.”

“Oh? I thought you said he would have milk.”

I started coughing. Why did we always get onto the most embarrassing and inappropriate topics with Maria? “I see your cough is not quite recovered,” said Maria. I shook my head and she gave me a faint smile.

Stirling held out a finger to the baby and he caught onto it and stopped crying. “He must like you,” said Maria into the sudden quiet, and Stirling looked pleased.

“When are you going to teach him to talk?” he asked.

“He will learn by himself, I think,” said Maria. “But not yet; he is only two months old.”

“Two months?” Stirling said. “That is young.” He stared at the baby. “It’s only two months since he was born?” he demanded again, incredulously.

Maria laughed. “Yes. Why are you surprised?”

“I thought he had been alive longer. Just thinking that two months ago he was not here at all.”

“It does seem a short time.”

“So … his birthday is in April?” Stirling said.

“Twenty-second of April.”

“How did you remember?”

“I would not soon forget it,” said Maria. “It is an important day, after all.”

“I always forget when my birthday is,” said Stirling. “I know it’s in the winter.”

“It’s the twelfth of November,” I told him.

“Did you have a party?” Maria asked. Stirling shook his head. “Why not?” she said.

“I don’t know.” He turned to me, seemingly bemused. “I’ve never had a birthday party, have I, Leo?”

I thought for a moment. He might have had a first birthday party when Mother and Father were still here; I could not remember. “I don’t think you have,” I said.

Maria would not believe that. “I always used to have a party when I was a little girl,” she said. “You must have had one once, Stirling. You must have done.”

He shook his head. “I’m having a party for my First Communion, though.”

“Well, it seems a shame not to have a birthday party. Why not have one now?”

“ We could go for a picnic!” said Stirling suddenly. “Me, you, Leo, and Anselm. I always wanted to go for a picnic.”

“Why not?” Maria said.

“Why not?” Stirling repeated. “Let’s.”

They sat there side by side, Stirling’s finger still clasped in the baby’s hand, and began planning this picnic. “Let’s go next Saturday,” said Maria. “It will be the last day in June.”

“Really summer,” said Stirling. It was true. It had crept up entirely while we still thought we were wearing jackets and lighting the fire and complaining about the cold. I glanced out the window now at the sunlight on the roofs across the street.

“Leo?” Maria was saying then. “Where shall we go? Somewhere pretty, like a garden.”

I turned back to them. “Where is there that we can go for a picnic in this city?”

“There must be somewhere,” said Maria. “Come on, Leo; it is an excellent idea!”

“I’m not denying it’s excellent,” I said. “I’m just saying, where? All I can think of is the graveyard.”

“That is not nice for a picnic!” said Maria.

“It is for the worms.”

“Leo, stop it!” Stirling told me.

“You’ll be giving him nightmares,” Maria said. She thought for a moment. “It’s a shame we cannot go to the Royal Gardens. I heard they are beautiful. People used to be allowed into them.”

“We could climb over the gate,” I said, not really serious.

“With Anselm?” She laughed and shook her head.

“The eastern hills!” said Stirling suddenly. “That is a good place for a picnic.”

Grandmother leaned through the door and called, “Leo! Stirling! Will you set the plates out, please?”

“The eastern hills are a good idea,” said Maria. “I think we should do it.”

“But why?” I asked. “Why this sudden notion of a picnic?”

“Because it’s fun, Leo,” said Maria, as if it was obvious.

Stirling brought plates from the kitchen. I cleared Grandmother’s sewing and the newspaper off the table and put them on the sofa beside Maria. She looked at the picture of Ahira and then turned it over. “Why did you do that?” I asked.

“I hate him,” she said quietly. And the hairs on her arms had risen, as if she was cold.

“I hate him too,” I said.

“If you live a hundred years, Leo, I don’t think you’ll get to hate him as much as I do,” she said, in the same quiet voice. I didn’t dare to ask why. And then she shrugged and smiled, and we went over to the table.

I
did not go back to school on Monday. I could tell that Grandmother was worried by the set of the edges of her mouth as she waved goodbye to Stirling, but she did not mention the truancy officer and I didn’t either. That morning it was very quiet in the apartment, with Stirling at school and Grandmother at the market. I read through the book again, then put it away and wandered from room to room.

I had hoped that Maria would come to the door, but I could hear Anselm’s wails drifting down the stairs all morning. When I passed Maria in the yard, she was still trying to quiet the baby, who was screaming in her arms. “He just won’t stop crying,” she said, and she seemed close to tears suddenly. “I was going to come and see you, Leo. As soon as I settle Anselm, I will.” But time passed and I could hear the baby still shrieking upstairs.