Whispers in the Dark (10 page)

“I do believe so,” I said, for, more than anything, it was what I wanted, needed, to believe. To have found all this—a house, kind relations, comfort—and to think of Arthur in a factory or down a pit somewhere, scraping a living with his bare hands, unsettled me terribly.

“Now, dear Charlotte, what are we to do today?”

“Do?” I swallowed a mouthful of scrambled egg. “Why, I should be perfectly happy to do nothing.”

“Well, it is not good to be idle. I am sure your dear mother taught you that. I shall show you a little of the house, of course. You must gel to know your way around. And it is not so labyrinthine as it seems. If it is not too cold outside, we shall go for a walk in the garden. Later there will be time to go further afield. There is only Hutton to do the work, I fear, and the grounds are not as well kept as they were in my father’s time, but you will no doubt find some small portions to please you. There is a maze, and a folly, and in the spring there are little wooded dells that fill up wonderfully with wild flowers. If that is to your taste.”

"Oh, yes. I should love to see flowers. There were never any flowers . . . where I was.”

A shadow passed over her face.

"You shall tell me your . . . adventures this afternoon. Unless, of course, it would pain you to speak of them.”

I shook my head.

“If you have time to listen, Antonia. I mean for you to know all about me. Every little thing.”

“I intend to know all there is to know. And, tell me, Charlotte—do you read well?”

“Read?”

“Do you ever read aloud?”

“I can, yes. I have not had much practice. But my father used to read to me, and Mother sometimes, so I know how it is done. If the book is not full of hard words, I should not find it too difficult, I'm sure.”

“Excellent. Then you must read to me. It is often tedious here, Charlotte. We are so much in the countryside. And the countryside is frequently dull, especially in winter, when no one comes to visit. I have often longed for a companion, someone to share these long days with. We have a large library, shelves full of books, but I have little patience for reading alone. Would you mind that, Charlotte? Reading to me?”

"Oh, no, I should love it. I cannot think of anything I would rather do.”

“Then it is settled. You shall read to me. We shall begin today.” She paused. “But we must not neglect your own interests, Charlotte. It would be extremely selfish of me to monopolize your time, much as I would love to do so.”

“But it would not be selfish. I should so much like to spend my time with you, Antonia. I feel very happy in your company.”

She smiled.

“And it makes me happy to hear it. You shall be happier still, I assure you. But you are still young, and I regret to say that you have lost a great deal of time during these past few years. We must consider your education.”

“I had lessons in the workhouse. I can read and count well enough.”

She tutted, shaking her head.

“Nonsense, child, that is not what I mean by education. You are not to be a clerk or a governess. I don’t want you locked up all day in some dusty schoolroom. You have no need for arithmetic or geography, I assure you. But you are, I think, in need of some polish. It will not be long before you enter society. We must ensure that you are properly equipped for your station in life. A little French, some Italian, a proficiency at the piano, a knowledge of painting, fashion, haute cuisine. You will not mind that, will you?”

“Why, no. I . . . I think I should rather like it.”

“Very well. The matter is settled. We are too isolated here to engage a governess. They will not come, they dislike what they call being ‘buried in the countryside.’ ” She smiled winningly. “Well, perhaps they are right. We are a little dull here at times. So I shall have to take charge of your improvement myself. In return for the hours you will spend reading to me. Isn’t that a fair bargain?”

Her smile was so engaging, her eyes captivated me.

She stood.

“Now, Charlotte, I think it is time we got moving. Do you want to see inside first, or are you more in the mood for a walk outside?”

“Outside, I think. It is such a lovely morning. Not at all like yesterday. It is as though the whole world has changed.”

“Indeed it is. It has changed for all of us, has it not?”

Antonia lent me a warm cape and a hand muff, and we set off together, leaving the house through a small door in the rear. It was sharply cold, but bright. A flight of steps took us down into the rear section of the garden, set with low hedges and flower beds, among which weather-beaten wooden benches were scattered.

Antonia took my hand in hers and drew me toward the path leading to the fountain.

“The fountain was built in 1760 by an Italian architect called Zefferino Puccianti. It doesn’t look like much at the moment, but in the spring we’ll get the water going again. Then it will look very grand."

“I think it’s very grand already,” I said.

“Wait until you get closer.”

I thought how it had looked earlier, spied from my bedroom window. And I wondered if I could guess which was my window from here. Letting go of Antonia’s hand,

I turned and gazed up at the house, at the windows on the first floor of the west wing. There was a slight movement behind one window near the end. I could see a face. Someone was watching us.

“Antonia,” I said, “isn’t that Anthony up there?”

She let go of my hand and turned.

“What did you say?”

I pointed toward the window. The face had now disappeared.

“I thought I saw Anthony watching us.”

“Anthony? But, gracious child, I already told you that he has gone to Morpeth. He is with his solicitor. It must have been Johnson that you saw. Why don’t you wave?”

“There’s no one there now.”

"No. No, there isn’t.”

She turned and smiled at me.

"No one at all.”

We dined that night at eight. It was a strange experience for me. All the time my father was alive, I had never dined with him or my mother, for they, of course, ate in the dining room downstairs—often with guests—while Arthur and I took our meals with my governess in the nursery. And after that there had been small, simple meals with Arthur and Mother, or a spartan supper in a vast hall with two hundred other women, or scraps snatched from the servants’ leftovers in the Lincotts’ house. I scarcely knew what table manners were, what knife and fork I ought to use and in what order, how to converse between mouthfuls. In the workhouse I had learned to bolt my food or starve. The taste of wine was wholly new to me, and at first unpleasant.

Antonia and Anthony put up with all this with the best grace. I caught an occasional sideways glance between them, and a little frown on Antonia’s face from time to time, but neither said anything. I watched Antonia when I could, as I had watched her all day long, trying to guess her age, for at fourteen it is far from easy to estimate the years of one’s seniors. She seemed younger than I remembered my mother, more beautiful, though less soft. Her mouth had a slight hardness and the expression in her eyes was at times brittle. Yet when she smiled, she became quite radiant, quite irresistible.

When it was time for pudding, a long-forgotten luxury, Cousin Anthony leaned across the table with a look of great seriousness.

“Charlotte,” he began, “you will be pleased to hear that I have instigated a search for your brother. My solicitors have engaged a London company called the Endicott Detection Bureau. They have offices in Charing Cross, and I am told they are the capital’s most reliable investigators. Mr. Melrose, my solicitor, sent a telegram to Endicott himself today, in order to retain his services and give him basic particulars. I have his reply here.”

He placed a little pair of half-moon spectacles on his nose, then took from his inside pocket a folded sheet of paper. When he had unfolded it, he held it at a little distance and cleared his throat.

“I shall insert the words omitted by Endicott for the purposes of economy. The telegram reads as follows: ‘Stephen Melrose, Esq. Sir: I beg to acknowledge your communication dated this morning, respecting a request by Sir Anthony Ayrton for the assistance of this bureau in tracing the whereabouts of his cousin Arthur Metcalf. In view of the urgency of the situation and your client’s generous offer to increase our normal fee, we should be most happy to undertake the task. I propose to arrive in Newcastle tomorrow in the company of two of my best men. Can you please arrange for someone to meet us at the station and for accommodations in a suitable hotel? Will you also please ensure that we are supplied with a full description of the boy, with a photograph, if possible, and details of how he came to be missing? The services of a clerk with good local knowledge would prove invaluable. I am, sir, your faithful servant, Josiah Endicott.’ ”

Anthony returned the paper to his pocket, then looking across the table at me, asked, “How do you find the roly-poly, Charlotte? It is to your liking, I trust?”

“Oh, yes, very much.”

“And the custard? It is not too thin, I hope?”

I shook my head violently.

“No, no, not at all. It is quite how I like it. Quite how I . . .”

I hesitated.

“Remember it?” asked Antonia.

I nodded. Was that why they had arranged for nursery food to be served at dinner, to awaken a memory in me?

“Mrs. Johnson made it specially. Do remember to thank her later.”

“I shall. I shall indeed.”

“Now, Charlotte,” resumed Anthony, “you realize that I shall have to ask you for details of Arthur. To send to Mr. Endicott.”

“Send to him?” I glanced up. “But surely he will come here?”

Anthony shook his head.

“Why, no. It is much too out of the way here. It would only cause an unnecessary delay.”

“I see. But surely he will wish to speak to me. Perhaps I should go to Newcastle. I can tell him everything I remember. And I have some lovely photographs.”

“That will not be necessary, Charlotte dear.” Antonia smiled. “You are still fatigued by your journey here. A description will suffice.”

“You and I shall sit down after dinner, Charlotte,” Anthony continued, “and you shall tell me all there is to know about your brother. And I will put the photographs into Mr. Endicott’s hands personally. You have my word. Now, you must have another helping of roly-poly. And I shall have another as well: it must be twenty years and more since I had any, and I do confess, it is still my favorite.”

He cut another fat slice and slipped it onto my plate. Jam ran out onto the dish, staining it red. Then yellow custard was poured over it. I felt a little sick. My stomach, unused to such rich food, was turning ever so slightly.

“Mrs. Johnson will be sorely disappointed if you do not do justice to her cooking, Charlotte. She wants to see red roses in your cheeks again. As do we all.”

I smiled and picked up my spoon. As I did so I shivered. The room had grown suddenly cold, as though a draft had rushed in from somewhere, but there was a Chinese screen between us and the door. The fire was still blazing as redly as ever. I saw a look pass between my cousins. They had noticed the sudden chill as well.

“I think you should close a window, Anthony. It has grown quite chilly in here.”

Anthony gave her a strange look, then nodded and got to his feet. He went across the room and made as though pushing the sash more firmly shut. But when he returned to his seat, the temperature in the room was still low. The problem did not lie in a partly open window, I was sure of that. But why the pantomime?

Antonia smiled at me and reached for her wineglass. I noticed that her hand shook slightly. She lifted the glass and sipped a little wine. The room began to feel warm again, as quickly as it had grown cold. Antonia glanced at me.

“Charlotte has been reading to me, Anthony.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“Really? How splendid. I hope she has been reading something improving. You are much in need of improvement, my dear.”

“That is unkind of you. She has been reading from Charlotte Bronte.
Jane Eyre
. We have already made considerable progress. This afternoon we reached the part where Jane meets Mr. Lloyd, the apothecary.”

“That is most excellent progress.” He turned to me. “Do not let her tire you, Charlotte. My sister will listen to the telling of tales quite remorselessly, she will quite wear you into the ground. You must resist. You must tell her when you are tired, you must put the book down and say you will read no more.”

“She has a delightful voice, Anthony, a most delightful voice. A little coarsened by her companionship of the past few years, but possessed of a most winning modulation. I already have great hopes of her. Which brings me to our good news. You will be pleased to learn that I have decided to act as Charlotte’s governess.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking at me.

“Indeed?” He paused. “That sounds eminently sensible.”

"I intend to polish her, Anthony. To make her ready for the station in life to which her destiny calls her.”

It was not the first time I had heard Antonia speak of my destiny, yet I still found it a curious turn of phrase for what was, after all, no more than the chance falling out of events.

“You really should not take so much trouble on my behalf,” I protested.

“Let us be the judges of that, Charlotte,” said Antonia. “What you call ‘trouble’ is both a duty and a pleasure. I rarely Find the opportunity to combine them. Surely you will not begrudge me my chance.”

Mrs. Johnson chose that moment to come in to take the plates away. I thanked her for the roly-poly.

“There’s nothing to it, miss. Just a bit of suet and some jam. What would you like tomorrow night?”

“Whatever you think best.”

“Oh, no, it’s not for me to say. You must choose. Was there anything you dreamed of when you were in . . . before you came here?”

I looked at Antonia, then at Anthony. They both smiled encouragingly.

“Well,” I said, “there was one thing Cook used to make me on Sundays. Bread-and-butter pudding.”