the maltese angel (27 page)

feeling into that for . a beloved brother. Yes. Yes, I could,

because I am not a silly girl; I never have been;

I have been made old by my feeling for both of you, you and him; and soon there will be only you, and you don't know I exist. "

"Look, Mummy! You promised. And you know it gives old Noble a kick if you're there. You're always saying he's a saint and should be

supported."

"Yes, I know, Gerald; but I made that promise before your father came in an hour ago and said Percy and Catherine would be popping in, and so I can't possibly leave the house. And Alice and Nell will be with

them, and so you should be here, too' she now wagged her finger at him

'you should stay and support me."

"The very sight of Nell terrifies me. Mummy; you know that. I shouldn't be surprised if she were to bring her horse into the

drawing-room one of these days. She smells of the stables."

Lady Lydia Ramsmore gave a girlish giggle, then put a hand over her mouth as she said, "She does rather reek a little of the horseflesh, I admit; but Alice is nice, different."

"Not different enough, Mummy. Anyway, I'd rather sit through a night with Captain and Mrs. Hopkins and their two eligible daughters."

"Your father will be annoyed."

"I can't help that. Mummy; it'll only add one more annoyance to the list I create."

"You're still of the same mind, dear?"

"Yes, Mummy, I'm still of the same mind. And always will be."

"But literature, dear, is all very well; and you know how I like reading. As far as I can judge it will be very difficult to make a career out of writing poetry and such. And another thing, dear: I just cannot understand why you are so against entering the Army, because you know

you must have inherited something from both sides. You know, my

ancestors, too, were involved in the battling business, oh, far back.

And you know, dear, your father can't help getting annoyed when he hears Percy Hopkins raiding on about his boys fighting in the Boer War, and who will be sailing for India shortly. Don't you feel any remorse?

I mean .. well, not actually remorse, but.. Oh, I don't know what the word is. "

"The word is guilt. Mummy. No, I don't feel any guilt in not going to shoot someone I have never seen in my life before. And let us state plain facts, Mummy: they are men who are trying to protect their own way of life and that of their families." He bent over her now, where she was sitting on the couch, and his face close to hers, he said, "I'm a changeling, dear; and at times I feel that you've had a hand in it.

Now tell me, just between ourselves, did you not, in your gay days, fall in love with somebody like me, a literary man? A classics

scholar, perhaps?" he teased.

"Oh, you are impossible." She slapped him lightly on his cheek; but she was laughing as she pushed him away, saying, "No, I didn't! But I have an idea from where you might have sprung, and from your father's side, too, for there was one of them more than a bit odd: he would eat nothing but green stuff and he lived for the last twenty years of his life in the end of the Hall here, the part that was first built, and he never left it. I understand he sewed himself into his clothes." She laughed outright now as she said, "What he must have smelt like would certainly have put Nell in the shade. Anyway, he didn't waste his

time, it must be admitted, and apparently he translated things from the ancient Greek language; but what it was he translated nobody seems to know. I think it's quite possible that the following generation wanted to forget him."

"Where did you hear that, Mummy?"

"I didn't hear it; I read it one day when I was browsing among the tomes in the library. I came across a sort of

diary in which there were a few sentences about him, and when I

mentioned it to your father his response was, "Oh, him!"

"Well, Mummy, I can promise you that there's a chance I might follow the old fellow, and within the next forty, fifty, sixty years translate something from Latin or Greek, but I can also promise you I shall never do anything that will make me smell. By the way, you said he ate only green stuff I suppose that means vegetables. Odd that, don't you

think? Because I'm not very fond of meat, am I? I'll have to look up that old fellow and get to know more about him. But now to the

present. You won't come to the show?"

"We've been through it, dear. I can't come to the show. I have to live with your father, remember, while you can jaunt off, to Oxford or London or wherever your fancy takes you. Where's your fancy going to take you for the remainder of the vacation?"

"I've been invited to Roger Newton's in Shropshire."

"Oh well. I'll miss you, dear. I always do."

He now dropped down on to the couch beside her and, putting an arm around her shoulders, he said, "I needn't go to Roger's; it was to be for only a short spell. They're having a hunt ball, and you know how I love hunting and shooting."

"Then why are you friendly with him at all if he loves hunting and shooting?"

"Simply because we have like ideas. And fortunately for him he isn't plagued to take up arms. His people are in law ... Oh, look at the time!" He pointed to the gilt clock on the mantelpiece.

"I must be off."

He bent down and kissed his mother's cheek, and then, pulling a face at her, he said, "Give my love to the girls, won't you? Have a nice evening."

She again laughed at him, then said, "Are you riding in?"

"No; I'm going to walk; it'll be a lovely evening, for there'll be a full moon."

She watched him striding down the room, but before he reached the door she called to him, "Your father will have something to say to you, remember."

He paused and looked over his shoulder at her, and his voice was flat now as he said, "Yes, I suppose he will, dear." And with this, he went out, and she lay back on the couch and sighed. He was such a lovely boy. No;

not a boy any more, a young man. But she wished, oh how she wished he didn't annoy his father.

The magic lantern show was over and Frank Noble was showing the

children of the Hollow out of the door. One by one he spoke to them as he handed to each child a square of barley sugar, and they, in turn and each in his own way, assured him it had been the best show ever.

It had been a poor audience tonight. In the past, there had been as many as twenty children, but tonight there had been only four from the outlying farms apart from the children from the Hollow: a wedding tea had been held in Farmer Green's barn earlier on, and at this very

moment a dance was being held there which would likely continue into the small hours if the patrons from the inn should decide to join them.

There would be some sore heads tomorrow and, as Jane had said in her forthright way, other results, too, if she knew anything about barn weddings.

He turned now to his last three guests. His young friend Gerald was gathering up the slides while Jessie and Angela seemed to be wiping their eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he called to them; 'it does give off a fug, doesn't it, that coke stove. " He coughed, then said, " It gets me, too; but I wouldn't have an audience without the stove, now, would I? "

When they smiled at him, he said, "Carl should be here shortly. But we did finish earlier than I expected."

"It was die dogs running, I suppose," said Angela.

"It made the time go quicker."

He laughed at her joke, saying, "I shouldn't be surprised. It was a funny bit, that, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Yes." Angela nodded at him.

"You would actually think the dogs were running. You made them go so quickly; and it was so funny when the little one hung on to the

policeman's trousers." She paused before ending, "I like the funny ones."

"Then I'll have to see if I can get some more ... Do you like the funny ones?" He looked at Jessie, who answered, "Yes, I do. But I also like the ones showing the black children. They all look so merry."

"Yes. Yes, they do." He did not add, 'some of them," but turned to speak to Gerald who had joined them, saying, " I am not going to ask you if you enjoyed the show, for I am sure it must be a penance to be behind the screen. "

"No, no; not at all. I think I get more fun watching the reactions of your audience, because, you know, I think some of them must groan, for they've seen the old ones so often."

"No, they don't. Now! now! You can't get too much of a good thing.

What do you say, girls? "

The girls said nothing, and there was a moment's embarrassed silence before Gerald said quietly, "You're waiting for Carl to fetch you? But there is an awful fug in here; it's getting in my eyes, too. May I escort you along the road, until you meet him?"

As if she had been stung, Jessie took a quick step to the side, and taking hold of Angela's arm she turned her about, saying, "No, thank you. You're very kind, but no thank you. And it's bright moonlight outside. Carl should be here any minute. We'll just walk along to

meet him."

As the girls made their way towards the door, Frank Noble looked at the face of the young man who had definitely been snubbed and whose

expression was showing it; then he hurried outside, and there he

stopped for a moment and drew in a deep breath of the cold air, as the girls were also doing.

Another time, knowing the feelings of their father, so protective as to amount almost to a mania and which to his mind was cramping their lives, Frank would have said to them, "I do think you had better wait;'

but tonight, the moon was giving out a light almost as bright as

daylight, and although the show had finished early it was almost time for Carl to appear, being a few minutes off eight o'clock, so he said,

" You're bound to meet him within a very short distance; he's always on time, isn't he? "

"Yes; yes." It was Angela who answered him.

"And I did enjoy the show.

Thank you so much. "

As they were walking away he called to them, "Oh, and don't forget to thank your father for that parcel:

he is too kind. "

No answer came to him, but he watched until they were beyond the bend in the path and should be mounting the hill out of the Hollow.

The girls didn't speak to each other until they reached the brow of the hill and were on the path leading to the junction where one branch led off to the valley; and it was Angela again who spoke, saying, "Why didn't you let him escort us? He's very nice."

But when she received no answer, she added, "And yet it's nice, too, to be able to walk alone, isn't it, Jessie?"

"Yes; yes, it is." Jessie now caught hold of her sister's hand, and as she did so, they both turned their heads towards the sound of laughter and shouting that was reaching them from the village.

"That must be some of the wedding ... party, and by the sound of them, they appear to be drunk."

Their steps seemed instinctively to slow until Jessie said, "They're likely on their way from the barn to the village inn."

The laughter died away, and they resumed their normal pace until they were within a few yards of the junction; and here, emerging from the village path they saw three men, and over the distance they could see that the men were laughing, but silently. Angela pressed herself

close to Jessie's side, and they stopped.

The men, too, stopped within a short distance of them, and one of them exclaimed, "Good God! See who we've met up with?" And another one called out, "Aye. Aye. An' we thought it was Mary Ellen and Cissie.

But it's the Angel's daughters; he's let them out, and unprotected. Do you see, lads? Unprotected. "

Neither of the girls knew the man who stepped towards them and who, bowing low, said, "Good evenin', missis. Are you lost?"

For a moment Jessie stared at the man she didn't know; then she

appealed to the one she did know. He was the verger.

"We are waiting for C ... C ... Carl," she stammered.

The verger's fat belly began to shake, and he turned to his companion on to whom he was hanging, and in a thick and fuddled voice he said,

"Did you hear that, Pete? She's waiting for Carl."

Without answering the verger, Pete Mason pushed him aside and, swaying, stepped towards the girls;

and looking from one frightened face to the other, he muttered

something under his breath; although his next words were just

audible.

"The time has come," he said.

"I knew it would one day." And with this, he thrust out an arm and grabbed Angela, meaning to drag her towards him. But Jessie's hands tore at him, her screams joining Angela's, but only for a moment for Angela's were now being smothered:

with an arm around her neck and the hand across her mouth, Pete Mason's other hand tore at the front of her cloak.

Meanwhile Jessie had been clawed away from Mason by the third man and was being thrust against a tree. There was a mighty scream within her which couldn't escape through the hand over her mouth; but it activated her limbs, as did the cold air that hit her chest when her blouse was ripped down the front.

Clawing at the man's face, she lifted a knee and brought it upwards; then she was free, with the man

staggering back before doubling up. When she forced herself to move, she too staggered and not until her feet left the grass verge and hit the rough path again did she regain her bearings; and then she was screaming, "Angela! Angela!" But there was no answering cry from Angela, only a rustling in the thicket to the side of the road telling her that the men were there; and her fear gave wings to her feet as she flew back towards the Hollow.

At the top of the bank she almost fell into Gerald Ramsmore's arms.

Her hands gripping the lapels of his coat, she gasped, "The men!

They've got Angela. "

For a moment he was unable to take in what she was saying, for her whole appearance staggered him: her hair, which must have been piled up under her hat, was now hanging down her back and part of her bosom was bare.

"It was the verger," she was saying.