The Silence of Ghosts Read online

  ‘Well, yes, she did. She had lunch, then went up to her bedroom for a nap. She didn’t come down for tea, and I thought she had either fallen fast asleep or hadn’t heard the gong. But just now, when I went up to get her ready for dinner, she wasn’t in her room. I’ve asked around, but nobody has seen her. She’s very thick with Mrs Mayberry, but when I asked her just now, she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her. Your father has been into every room, but there’s no sign of her anywhere in the apartment.’

  ‘Could she have just popped out?’

  ‘What for? All the shops are shut. It’s curfew time, and if there’s to be a raid, it may not be far off.’

  ‘Mother, help me up the stairs. I want to look at her room.’

  It didn’t take me long to find what was wrong.

  ‘Her coat is missing, and her scarf. She normally keeps her gloves in this drawer.’ I opened it. Her latest gloves, given to her at Christmas, were gone. Her boots were always lined up beside her shoes, but now they too had disappeared.

  ‘Does she have money?’ I asked.

  I turned round to see my father in the door.

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes, she does,’ he said. ‘She asked for some yesterday, enough for a new dress, something by Hardy Amies, she said. I didn’t think Amies did clothes for little girls, but she assured me she’d seen a dress the right size just down on Oxford Street. She told me you’d promised to take her and get her back here all right. Did you make some damn-fool promise?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t level accusations before you know the facts. She has taken us all in.’

  Just then my mother bent down and came up holding a white envelope.

  ‘This must have fallen off the bedside table,’ she said.

  It was addressed to me. Mother passed it over and I opened it.

  Dear Dominic,

  Have gone to fetch Rosie back. I can’t bear not to have her here. She doesn’t seem to like you much, but you have to do your best and make her like you again. Have some money for train. Won’t be long. Don’t wait up.

  I read it and passed it to my father, who was already apoplectic.

  ‘I said there’d be trouble if you got involved with that slut. What is the stupid child thinking? She can’t get far on what I gave her.’

  But I knew Octavia was cleverer than that. She’d put a label round her neck, addressing herself to Rose in Pooley Bridge, and once on the train she’d find a way of asking for help. They’d treat her as a lost evacuee, and someone would be sure to be going her way. I told my parents we should expect a letter or a telephone call tomorrow or the day after.

  My father snorted and stormed off. Our brief entente had come to an end.

  My mother picked up the note from where my father had thrown it to the floor.

  ‘Your father’s angry. Quite understandably. Give him time to think.’

  Saturday, 4 January

  There was no point in my setting off in the middle of the curfew. The first ARP warden to set eyes on me would have sent me straight home with a flea or two in my ear. And there would have been no train.

  I put my things together before going to bed, including a small case with the documents I had retrieved yesterday. To be honest, I was worried about Octavia. Although she was resourceful, I knew she was also quite trusting, and in wartime it paid to have your wits about you. Her handicap could lead to problems unless she found one or two people to help her. But it wasn’t a straightforward journey, and people at the start might not understand her final destination.

  I left at first light in a taxi, leaving a note on the hall table, and pushed my way on to the first train. Getting out of London wasn’t too bad. There were a lot of weekend passes, so soldiers and airmen were packing the inward-bound trains. By the time I got to Birmingham, it was every man for himself, but my leg secured me a good seat all the way.

  For my own part, I was furious with Octavia. Rose had made her intentions clear, and I had no idea how to explain what had happened or relieve her mistrust of me. I’d much rather have stayed in London, but Octavia had forced my hand. What was I going to say to Rose and her mother when I got to Pooley Bridge?

  It was impossible to read my papers on the train. There just wasn’t enough room, and trying to hold them across my knees was hopeless, especially since my left leg (or what was left of it) could give way at any second. I had found a book about the port wine trade in the library and devoured it instead. I could feel the taste of the port I was given yesterday, the single quinta vintage, as it had lain on my tongue for hours after I tasted it. Someday, I thought, I would have to sit down with one of the company’s tasters and ask him to teach me how to develop a palate.

  I arrived in Pooley Bridge by bus from Penrith. I had brought little luggage, and I came equipped with only my stick. It was, thank God, a stout specimen, and it held my weight every time I shifted from foot to false leg. I made my way directly to Dr Raverat’s house, thinking it might be best to consult him before turning up at the Sansoms’.

  He was delighted to see me, declared that he’d missed me bitterly, and hoped my time in London had passed well.

  ‘In some ways, yes,’ I said, in reply to this last remark. We were still standing on the doorstep.

  ‘I take it you’re on your way to Rose’s place. I’d get there smartish if I were you. I think they get to bed early, now you’re not around to drag them out at midnight.’

  ‘The truth is, Doctor, I’m a little apprehensive about going there. Would it trouble you if I came in and chatted over a cup of tea?’

  He was all smiles at this and snatched my little case up the better to sweep me in.

  Once the tea was brewing on the table, we sat down.

  ‘Tell me all,’ he said.

  I told him about introducing Rose to my parents and my father’s wrath. Then I described how I had discovered the papers I’d brought up, and why I hoped to find some sort of explanation in them that might provide a solution to the manifestations at Hallinhag House. Finally, I told him why I had returned so early, that Octavia, following her definitive diagnosis, had left the apartment and headed north.

  ‘Do you know if she got here safely?’ I asked.

  He shook his head.

  ‘I haven’t seen her, but she would have arrived late and I was out last night till midnight, with an emergency up on the fells. I’ve been busy all today as well. But why did she want to come back here without you?’

  There was nothing for it but to tell him.

  ‘Doctor, your job must bring you into contact with all sorts of curious and shameful behaviour. You may not like me when I have told you this, but I need to anyway.’

  And so I told him about Rose and myself, making it seem that I had seduced her and not the other way round. I then told him about what had happened, about the creature or vision, the rough skin; how I had pushed Rose away, on to the floor, and that she had not spoken to me since. He listened without displaying emotion, and when I had finished smiled.

  ‘Dominic, first, please don’t put yourself through this guilt. There’s a war on, and ninety percent of the adult population is having sexual relations, whether inside or outside marriage. Your intentions towards Rose are perfectly sound, and there’s no reason you shouldn’t have a perfectly happy life.’

  ‘But I shouldn’t have taken advantage of her.’

  Her laughed out loud.

  ‘Dominic, I’ve known Rose all her life. If she slept with you, it’s because she wanted to. I suspect she had more to do with it than you. Am I right?’

  I knew he was right, and nodded my head.

  ‘But she thinks I violently, cruelly, rejected her . . .’

  ‘Listen, I want to check on Octavia, and while I’m there I’ll find a chance to talk to Rose. Once she knows what really happened she’ll welcome you back.’

  So it turned out. He was away for almost an hour, and when he came back he grinned and said he’d spoken
to her privately and told her everything.

  ‘And now she wants you back. She knows she must have hurt you, but leaving was all she could think of at the time.’

  So I took my case and left, and when I knocked at the cottage door, Rose opened it and her face told me everything.

  ‘I was in bed,’ she said, ‘when the doctor called, and I was more unhappy than I’ve ever been, and unsure if I’d done the right thing, but frightened of you and frightened of myself, and . . .’

  I cut her off by bending forward and kissing her, and so eager was I that I forgot to hold my stick in place, with the result that I toppled over and fell on the threshold, banging my head on the doorstep. When I next looked up, she was there, holding me by the arms and pulling me up. Then she moved to one side, and there was Octavia holding my stick.

  ‘She was distressed when I left London,’ said Rose, ‘so she got herself up here. She’ll tell you all about her journey tomorrow. I know you’ll want to tell her off, but go easy on her. She was very brave. And I already know what things were like in your flat. I will never forgive your father for what he said.’

  ‘Can I come in?’ I said. ‘It’s freezing out here.’

  I gave Octavia a hug, and as I did so I noticed that her rough skin had grown in area.

  Sunday, 5 January

  We arranged a meeting this afternoon, to be held in the Reverend Braithwaite’s vicarage, and I presented the materials I’d brought up from London. It was all of great interest, but no one could make a stab at the more important questions or say whether or not they were related to the troubles in Hallinhag House. I knew I would have to go back there before long, but I wanted to be armed with as much information as possible. We gave up in time to get home before curfew. Before he dropped us at Rose’s door, Dr Raverat drove me to his surgery where I hurriedly telephoned Cecil Blanchard, and then made a second call to my father, instructing him to authorize Blanchard to take a week’s leave and to pay him all he might need for a return journey to Penrith and a week’s lodging in Pooley Bridge. He made no complaint.

  Some of the letters were of greater interest than others. One gave us cause for great concern.

  My Dear Sir William,

  The obligations, and many instances of affection, which I have received from Yr Honour, do engage to make returns suitable to your merits. But although I have this set home upon my spirit, I may not (shall I tell you, I cannot?) obtain the same workings as previously until more months have elapsed, and I entreat Yr Honour’s patience in all matters concerning this. And herein it is my purpose, as soon as I can remove impediments, and some weights that press me down, to make a farther progress, and discharge my promise to your Honour in relation to that.

  And now I shall come to return Yr Honour thanks for your judicious choice of that Person to whom you have entrufted our weightieft Affair: an Affair wherein Yr Honour is concerned, though not in an equal degree and measure with myself. I muft confess that I had some doubts of its success, till Providence cleared them to me by the effects. I was, truly, and to speak ingenuously, not without doubtings; and shall not be ashamed to give Yr Honour the grounds I had for much doubting. I did fear that Senhor Ameixoeiro would not have been able to go through and carry on that work; and that either the Duke would have cooled in his suit, or condescended to his Brother. I doubted also that those Instructions which I sent over were not clear enough as to expressions; some affairs here denying me leisure at that time to be so particular as, to some circumstances, I would. – If I am not mistaken in his character, as I received it from your Eminency, that fire which is kindled between them will not want bellows to blow it, and keep it burning.

  And fo, Yr Honour, to more immediate matters and the consequences of Yr Instructions this laft month. A large fhipment of port has left Lisbon in these past few days, wherein Yr Honour will find included six barrels of ruby, a barrel each of Colheita and Garrafeira, fome vintage that has been late bottled by Mafter Barouqueiro, two barrels of tawny from the Quinta of Senhora Pontes, in the Cima Corgo. Yr Honour should take care to taste this last wine in particular. It is a mix of the grapes of Touriga Franca, Touriga Nasional and Tinta Roriz, together with others, and you will find in it the flavours of maple, raisins and blackberries combined with dark chocolate and a hint of spices. It is one of our most splendid ports, I do assure Yr Honour.

  In the matter of slaves (escravos), Senhor Carvalho has made enquiries in Lisbon. We have found a full dozen according to your specifications, that were bound for Brazil but may as well remain here in Portugal. All are sound of limb and body, and none suffers from the malignancy that has wasted so many of your previous slaves. Some come from Angola, others from the lands of the Hausa. They are tall and strong and already have experience at hard work. You will not be disappointed. They may last a good nine months or more.

  Beyond that, I must apprise Yr Honour that I have secured four children for Yr Purposes. Their names are Adão, Clara, Helena and Margarida. They are fine and healthy children, unlike the others whom I fent before, and will, in good faith, be to Yr Honour’s liking.

  If I have troubled your Honour too long in this, you may impute it to the refentment of joy which I have for the issue of this Affair; and will conclude with giving you affurance that I will never be backward in demonstrating, as becomes your friend and confederate, that I am, Your humble servant, Theodore Wilkinson.

  Rose and I have been released from our short nightmare, but I am still uneasy in my heart. How did the four children come to be seen on Cherry Holm? Are the black dancers of my dreams the same as Octavia’s Portuguese slaves of the letters, men taken from a colony or Cape Verde or the Congo? Or are they black-faced Morris dancers performing a stick dance, figures from a childhood memory, something I must have seen in Portugal and described to Octavia? Do they dance the Dança dos Paus, the Portuguese Dance of the Sticks that the Pauliteiros dance? Are the children in the house William’s Portuguese children? Why were they sent to him? There are too many questions, and I know so little.

  Rose and I spent the end of the day walking slowly along the lake shore, holding hands and kissing from time to time. We carried memories of passion, but could have no satisfaction, and, to be honest, both of us were afraid to rouse whatever had come between us in London.

  When we got back, Octavia was waiting for us. She had been helping Jeanie prepare supper. Her jigsaw lay on the kitchen table, where it would soon be covered up by a linen tablecloth.

  We ate a good dinner, and when the table was cleared Octavia went back to her jigsaw. Jeanie asked us to step into the parlour to listen to the wireless. She switched to the Home Service and came in early to a speech by Mr Churchill.

  We stood our ground and faced the two Dictators in the hour of what seemed their overwhelming triumph, and we have shown ourselves capable, so far, of standing up against them alone. After the heavy defeats of the German air force by our fighters in August and September, Herr Hitler did not dare attempt the invasion of this Island, although he had every need to do so and although he had made vast preparations. Baffled in this grandiose project, he sought to break the spirit of the British nation by the bombing, first of London, and afterwards of our great cities.

  We can never listen enough to Mr Churchill, he does us proud every time. I don’t know what that evil bastard Hitler says in his speeches, but they can never be as fine or as eloquent as the words of our Leader.

  Jeanie turned the radio off once the speech came to an end. There was silence for a while. My heart was beating. Rose and I sat together on the sofa. Outside, a wind had risen, and I knew that if I walked down to the lake, I would find it tossed and angry. A German plane flew overhead, on its way to Barrow. And the wind was solemn, without pity.

  ‘Mother,’ said Rose. Her voice quavered. ‘I have something to tell you. That’s to say, Dominic and I need to tell you something.’

  ‘Not more ghosts, I hope?’ Jeanie said, partly making light of it.

  �
�Not ghosts, Mam. You’ve guessed by now, I’m sure.’

  ‘Oh, you can be sure I have. Waltzing around with the vicar, sitting snug together as you are now. Have you set a date?’

  ‘Not yet. But not too long. First, Dominic has to sort out his house at Howtown. After that, I think.’

  ‘And what about you, Mr Lancaster?’ Jeanie Sansom was a shrewd woman: she’d not let me off lightly if I wanted to marry her daughter. Her love for Rose was passionate, perhaps as strong as mine, and she would not let her go to just anyone.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘What do your Mum and Dad think of this? Or haven’t you told them yet?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I have told them. But I won’t tell you what they said in return. I would not want to hurt you or Rose. Rose was there. She has seen my father behave like Hitler. We shall marry without their blessing. I will take Octavia’s happiness for us as sufficient for my family.’

  ‘That’s enough for me. Now, tell me what happened to you in London.’

  Monday, 6 January

  We went to church this morning, and afterwards I had a long chat with the Reverend Braithwaite. He was intrigued by what I had brought back from London.

  ‘I had a dream,’ I said. We were walking by the lakeside while a gentle snow fell like a benediction. He had prayed for his parishioners, alive and dead. Behind us came Rose and Octavia.

  ‘Not one dream,’ I said, ‘but several. And Octavia has had the same dream. I think it belongs to the dead.’

  I told him about my dream of black-faced men dancing and using sticks, as in a Morris dance. ‘Sometimes their legs are severed, sometimes whole. They bob up and down. I can hear the clicking of their sticks.’

  ‘Dominic,’ he said, ‘there is an Anglican parish of Nova Lima in the state of Minas Gerais in Brazil, where they have gold mines. There used to be more slaves in that region than any other in Brazil. A friend of mine, Iain Cameron, lived there for several years. He stayed with me here after he returned. He told me that when there were still slaves there they danced a dance called maculelé, in which they struck sticks against one another, exactly as they do in the stick Morris dances. And their faces are black. And the blacks there still dance the maculelé.’