be shut in an asylum.’
‘Never!’
‘Yes, he will. He’ll be put away.’
‘Monster!’
‘In a sensible society he’d be put down.’
There was a moment’s silence. Something – I had no idea what – was happening. ‘You—’
‘Frank!’
I heard a scuffle, a great cry from my uncle Frank, several bodies colliding, a punch, a heavyfall. I turned from the window and ran, ran, ran away across the lawn, terrified at the thought of my family fighting, terrified at the thought of father against son, of brother against brother. Who had punched him? What had Frank’s terrible cry been caused by? I found the door to the obscure back staircase, and had regained my wits enough to steal in and creep up it, then along the dark, pokey corridors. But as I was turning into my own corridor I held back. A door had opened.
I withdrew round the corner, and waited a moment. Then I poked my head cautiously round and took a look. The footman Robert was emerging from Miss Roxby’s bedroom. He looked around him furtively, then stole away from me toward the body of the house. As he turned the corner he squared his shoulders, began to walk more confidently, then disappeared from my view.
Shaken to the heart, I pressed my hot cheeks against the cold stone wall. It was as if my whole world had been violently reversed – first my family world, then my schoolroom world. I stayed like that for what seemed an age. Then I swallowed hard and hared silently along the corridor to my bedroom. Once there I locked thedoor behind me. I needed very much to be alone. This time I didn’t cry, but sat long on my bed, thinking about what I had heard from the sitting room, what I had seen in the corridor outside. Shock, bewilderment, revulsion were succeeded by numbness. Slowly, reluctantly, I took off my clothes, put on my nightdress, and went to bed. Eventually, hours later, I went to sleep.
That night I dreamt a strange dream. I dreamt I woke up in the middle of the night, disturbed by the happenings of the evening, or perhaps by the muffled sound of voices. I lay for a minute or two, mulling over the horror of fighting in the family, of violence against Uncle Frank. Then I was sure I heard a male voice.
I got up quietly and went over to the window. Outside the expanses of Blakemere’s park and meadowlands stretched darkly away into the distance, and clouds were sweeping across what moon there was visible. But there was one little patch of light, way below me, and to my left. One of the obscure back entrances to Blakemere was open, and a man with a lantern was standing just outside it. I recognised the shoulders and head of Joe Mossman, one of the gardeners, father to one of my early playmates. He bent down, andseemed to be propping open the door with a slab of stone. I shivered in the night cold, and began twisting the scrap of ribbon that held back my hair. I was nervous with foreboding.
Joe disappeared inside for a moment, but then more light appeared – lanterns, from just inside the house. Then slowly, carefully, I saw another man emerge, and as he moved forward – it was Robert again – I saw he was holding his lantern with difficulty, by its little bow of a handle, because most of his hand was taken up by a pole, and so was his other hand. I saw with horror that he was holding one end of a stretcher, and as he moved forward I saw it contained a long shape, wrapped in some dark stuff that could have been carpeting, and that the other end of the stretcher was held by Joe. And when they had fully emerged and had begun their progress across the terrace, I saw that they were followed by old Ben Burke, one of the family’s pensioners from over Wentwood way, and that he was carrying spades.
I let out a squeak of horror and then put my hand to my mouth when I saw that he in his turn was followed by a dark shape in a tall hat, who turned and closed the door behind him. In the gloom I could see almost nothing. I twisted myribbon, and
‘Never!’
‘Yes, he will. He’ll be put away.’
‘Monster!’
‘In a sensible society he’d be put down.’
There was a moment’s silence. Something – I had no idea what – was happening. ‘You—’
‘Frank!’
I heard a scuffle, a great cry from my uncle Frank, several bodies colliding, a punch, a heavyfall. I turned from the window and ran, ran, ran away across the lawn, terrified at the thought of my family fighting, terrified at the thought of father against son, of brother against brother. Who had punched him? What had Frank’s terrible cry been caused by? I found the door to the obscure back staircase, and had regained my wits enough to steal in and creep up it, then along the dark, pokey corridors. But as I was turning into my own corridor I held back. A door had opened.
I withdrew round the corner, and waited a moment. Then I poked my head cautiously round and took a look. The footman Robert was emerging from Miss Roxby’s bedroom. He looked around him furtively, then stole away from me toward the body of the house. As he turned the corner he squared his shoulders, began to walk more confidently, then disappeared from my view.
Shaken to the heart, I pressed my hot cheeks against the cold stone wall. It was as if my whole world had been violently reversed – first my family world, then my schoolroom world. I stayed like that for what seemed an age. Then I swallowed hard and hared silently along the corridor to my bedroom. Once there I locked thedoor behind me. I needed very much to be alone. This time I didn’t cry, but sat long on my bed, thinking about what I had heard from the sitting room, what I had seen in the corridor outside. Shock, bewilderment, revulsion were succeeded by numbness. Slowly, reluctantly, I took off my clothes, put on my nightdress, and went to bed. Eventually, hours later, I went to sleep.
That night I dreamt a strange dream. I dreamt I woke up in the middle of the night, disturbed by the happenings of the evening, or perhaps by the muffled sound of voices. I lay for a minute or two, mulling over the horror of fighting in the family, of violence against Uncle Frank. Then I was sure I heard a male voice.
I got up quietly and went over to the window. Outside the expanses of Blakemere’s park and meadowlands stretched darkly away into the distance, and clouds were sweeping across what moon there was visible. But there was one little patch of light, way below me, and to my left. One of the obscure back entrances to Blakemere was open, and a man with a lantern was standing just outside it. I recognised the shoulders and head of Joe Mossman, one of the gardeners, father to one of my early playmates. He bent down, andseemed to be propping open the door with a slab of stone. I shivered in the night cold, and began twisting the scrap of ribbon that held back my hair. I was nervous with foreboding.
Joe disappeared inside for a moment, but then more light appeared – lanterns, from just inside the house. Then slowly, carefully, I saw another man emerge, and as he moved forward – it was Robert again – I saw he was holding his lantern with difficulty, by its little bow of a handle, because most of his hand was taken up by a pole, and so was his other hand. I saw with horror that he was holding one end of a stretcher, and as he moved forward I saw it contained a long shape, wrapped in some dark stuff that could have been carpeting, and that the other end of the stretcher was held by Joe. And when they had fully emerged and had begun their progress across the terrace, I saw that they were followed by old Ben Burke, one of the family’s pensioners from over Wentwood way, and that he was carrying spades.
I let out a squeak of horror and then put my hand to my mouth when I saw that he in his turn was followed by a dark shape in a tall hat, who turned and closed the door behind him. In the gloom I could see almost nothing. I twisted myribbon, and
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