Facing the Light (43 page)

She found it where it had drifted down to the earth, near some delphiniums, and picked it up. The paper had scratchy pencil marks on it and Leonora couldn't see exactly what they were, however hard she looked. Some
of the marks were words. She could just make out ‘light' and ‘window' and ‘ora'. Maybe that was a bit of a word but the rest had been torn away. She knew her father's spiky handwriting very well from staring at letters he'd put out for the post, and she also knew her mother's sloping, tiny script. These words, these parts of words, were written by her. Why had she scribbled on the edges of Daddy's paper? Daddy hated anyone fiddling with his things. Surely he wouldn't let Mummy write words on something that belonged to him. Maybe she was allowed to do that because of being a muse, but still, it was a mystery. Leonora tucked the piece of paper covered in faint pencil marks into the pocket of her cotton dress. Later, she would take it out and put it with the collection of secret objects that she kept in a biscuit tin, which had a picture on it of a ginger kitten who was just like Mr Nibs must have been when he was young. She knew she shouldn't say anything about having this scrap of paper, though she couldn't have said exactly why not.

She went past the bonfire again on her way indoors. Most of the flames had died down a little and grey ashes were all that was left. Leonora glanced towards the house and Mummy was still there, standing by the window. She hadn't moved at all. Her face, which Leonora couldn't see very well, looked blurred and indistinct because of the shimmering heat and because it was half-hidden by the curtain. She looked sad. Small and sad and pale.

*

Leonora was a good reader, but she loved those rare nights when her father came into the night nursery to read aloud to her. He would sit on her bed and pick up whatever it was that she had started and just go on from where she'd got to for a few pages. Tonight, Leonora knew, he'd come specially because of the storm. It wasn't that she was exactly
frightened
of the thunder and the weird lightning which lit everything up in a shiver of
white; or that she really worried that the rain was too hard and driving to be held back by the glass of the windows, which was dreadfully thin if you looked at it carefully, but still. All the weather swirling and whirling around Willow Court made her feel a little nervous, and if Daddy came with his strong voice and comforting presence to sit on her bed and show her that
he
wasn't in the least bit worried, well, that made her feel better, always.

She leaned back against her pillows with Mr Worthing tucked into the crook of her arm and listened while Daddy read from
Little Women
, which was her very favourite book. They'd got to the part where Beth was most awfully ill, one of the bits Leonora liked best of all. Daddy was sitting up and leaning forward, about halfway up the bed. Suddenly he stopped reading and put the book down on the eiderdown.

‘What's this, Leonora? Where did you get this?'

The scrap of paper! How could she have forgotten to put it away when she came in from outdoors? The storm had put it out of her mind. The clouds had gathered, puffed-up and purple as bruises all across the sky, and just as she came into the nursery the first crash of thunder shook the house and she'd left the piece of paper (which she'd taken out of her pocket and was already holding in her hand ready to go into the box) on her bedside table, and forgotten all about it. Now, here it was and Daddy had seen it. He looked very angry, but why ever should he be? She said, ‘It flew off the bonfire this afternoon and I picked it up, that's all. May I keep it, Daddy? It doesn't look very important.'

It crossed her mind to wonder why it was that she wanted it so much, but she didn't really know the answer to that question, only that she did. Ethan Walsh stood up with the scrap of paper still in his hand. He seemed taller than ever because she was lying down, and his head was just in front of the light where it hung down from the
ceiling, blocking it, which made his face almost black. You couldn't see his features properly. He said, ‘No, I'm afraid you can't keep it, Leonora. It was wrong of you to take something that didn't belong to you. I must go now, I'm afraid, dear. Goodnight.'

He left the room before she could say a word in her defence and the injustice of the whole thing brought tears to her eyes. How could he? She hadn't done anything wrong. No one wanted those papers anyway or they wouldn't be putting them to be burned on a fire. They were rubbish, that's all, and rubbish didn't belong to anyone. In fact, that was what rubbish
was
, if you thought about it: things people didn't want any more. Two tears crept down Leonora's cheeks and she brushed them away angrily. She almost never cried. She prided herself on being brave and more grown-up than any of her friends but she couldn't help it. Daddy was such a bully sometimes. He made people do what he wanted. He
always
made Mummy do what he wanted. She never liked coming to pour tea for the London Men for instance, but he made her. He said it would look bad if she didn't, and Leonora had seen her, sitting stiffly in one of the smaller armchairs in the drawing room, looking down. The London Men was Leonora's name for the gentlemen who came to Willow Court from time to time, trying to persuade Daddy that he was such a good artist, he really ought to exhibit some of his paintings, but he never would. He explained it to her once.

‘People like things better if they can't have them,' he told her one day as they were walking round the lake. Mummy wasn't very well, and had to stay indoors all afternoon. Leonora loved the lake and often went down there, either with Nanny or with Daddy, to visit the swans and look at the willow trees that grew on the bank and leaned over with their branches dipping into the
water. If you walked round it, it took nearly a whole hour to get all the way back to where you started.

‘Everyone loves talking about paintings they can't see,' Daddy explained. ‘They wonder about them. Wonder whether they're really as good as everyone says. Occasionally, I sell a couple, so that the art world knows what it's missing, but most of them will stay here. And when I'm dead, Leonora, they'll be yours and you will exhibit them and everyone will flock to Willow Court, because they've not been allowed to see them for so long, do you understand?'

She didn't, not really, but she said only, ‘I suppose so. But I'm sure everyone would love to come to Willow Court now and have a look, wouldn't they?'

‘They most certainly would,' her father said. ‘But that would disturb my muse.' He meant Mummy, probably, and this was even more peculiar, because he didn't usually think about what she would like.

Leonora lay in bed and wondered whether she should wait to speak to Nanny Mouse when she came to bed. She used to sleep in the night nursery when Leonora was a baby, but two years ago she'd moved into the little bedroom next door. She was still just behind the wall, and she never minded being woken up if Leonora had a nightmare or found it hard to get to sleep. She closed her eyes and hugged Mr Worthing closely.

Suddenly, she was quite wide awake again, and for a moment didn't know whether she'd been asleep or not. She crept out of bed and opened her door quietly. She couldn't see any light coming from Nanny Mouse's room. It must be terribly late, which meant she must have slept. The house was quiet all around her, but Daddy was working still, because a faint glow filtered down the corridor from the Studio. He must have not quite shut the door, which was most extraordinary. That door was like the one in the story about Bluebeard, so firmly closed that
you felt something dreadful must lie beyond it. She knew this was a silly thought, but she couldn't help it. Daddy was always so cross when he found her on the next landing down, as though whatever he was keeping behind that door was monstrous and shouldn't be seen, which was exactly the opposite of the truth. His paintings were there and they were meant to be seen because they were beautiful.

Leonora tiptoed downstairs to look at the grandfather clock in the hall. It was nearly two o'clock, which was the very latest she'd ever been up in the night. She wasn't afraid of the dark, not really, only everything looked different in the dimness and all the furniture seemed to her on the point of moving. Even the pictures on the walls, Daddy's own pictures, had changed. There were no colours at night, she discovered; instead, every frame held shadows and gleaming spaces full of whiteness and shapes that seemed to shift and move as she passed them. She found herself unable to face them properly, and turned her head away as she fled up to the safety of the night nursery and closed her door tight. Should she go and wake Nanny Mouse?

She heard a noise and went to the door and opened it. Something heavy had crashed to the ground. That was what it sounded like. She put her head out into the corridor, and heard some more hangings and bumpings from upstairs. What was Daddy doing there? She listened, trying not to move, stiffening in terror as the voices came to her. Daddy was shouting. You could hear that he was trying to be quiet, but some of his words reached Leonora and she wondered who he could possibly be so angry with.
Bloody careless
 …
what we agreed … you can't do this now. I shan't allow it
 …
Stop it. Stop that snivelling, you know I won't have it … tolerate it, Maude and that's all there is to it … if I hurt
you, of course, but
 …
get out of my sight
 …
tomorrow
 …

Was it possible? Was he shouting at Mummy? She'd definitely heard him say her name. Maybe he was just talking about her to someone else, but who? Who'd be up there in his Studio in the middle of the night? Leonora heard footsteps and ran back to the safety of the night nursery. She stood, trembling, just inside the door and kept it open a crack. Someone was coming down the stairs and she'd see who it was. Did she want to? Should she hide her eyes? Maybe it was a monster. Too late. She could see too clearly now. There she was, Mummy, in her nightgown. She was sobbing. She was making noises that sent shivers through the whole of Leonora's body. Animal noises. She knew she ought to close the door and not see this; not see her mother changed into something she didn't recognize, but her fingers wouldn't move and she
did
see. There was only a split second when Mummy was exactly level with where she was and in that moment she saw it clearly: a cut under Mummy's eye that was bleeding so that two thin lines of blood that looked black were scribbled on her white cheek. She must have fallen over. That must be why she was crying. She'd gone now, into her bedroom.

Leonora stood for a few minutes, waiting for Daddy to come down from the Studio, but he didn't. Perhaps she was in a nightmare, and if she pinched herself, she'd wake up in her own bed, safe and sound. She nipped hard at her arm and almost cried out with the pain. No, she was definitely not dreaming.

She tiptoed to Nanny Mouse's door and opened it. Nanny Mouse always slept very tidily, on her back with her hands folded on her chest, and for a moment Leonora wondered whether she should wait till morning, but there were too many frightening things in the house tonight. She went over to Nanny Mouse and touched her arm.

‘Nanny Mouse? It's me … wake up, Nanny. I'm scared. Please wake up.'

Nanny Mouse opened her eyes at once.

‘What is it, my love? What's the matter? Have you had a bad dream?'

As she spoke, she pushed back the sheets and got up. Her hair, normally carefully done up in a neat bun, hung down her back in a long plait and her nightdress was blue with embroidered flowers near the neck. She put a soothing arm around Leonora's shoulders.

‘Come, I'll tuck you back into bed and bring you a warm drink. Then you can tell me all about your dream and it won't seem nearly so dreadful, I promise.'

She put her dressing-gown and slippers on and took Leonora by the hand. Together, they walked quietly into the night nursery and Nanny Mouse, talking in a soft voice all the time, made sure that Leonora's night light was on.

‘I'll be back before you can blink,' she said. ‘With a nice mug of warm milk and a biscuit as a special treat. We won't tell a soul we've been having midnight feasts. It'll be our secret.'

As she waited for Nanny Mouse to come back, Leonora wondered again whether perhaps she'd dreamed it all. Maybe she'd imagined her mother with a bloodstained face and those horrid noises she was making. She slipped into a doze for a while, but woke up again when Nanny Mouse returned.

‘Now then, Leonora, I'll sit down here and you drink this and tell me all about your nightmare.'

Leonora felt a little silly and wondered whether she ought to say anything after all. Everything was quite safe and comfortable now, and it was hard to recollect the terror she'd felt earlier. She said, ‘I heard something banging about. I thought it was coming from upstairs, and I went out into the corridor to listen and then I saw
Mummy. She was crying. Well, not exactly crying, but sort of sobbing and whimpering and she ran right past me and there was blood on her face. On her cheek. I felt so frightened that I couldn't go back to my bed in the dark so I came to get you.'

‘Poor little pet!' Nanny Mouse took the mug out of Leonora's hands and put it on the bedside table. ‘Never you mind about things that the grown-ups do, my love. That's between them and it's not for us to wonder what goes on between a man and his wife. Best to forget all about it now. What I always say is what you don't know can't hurt you. This isn't anything for us to meddle with, Leonora, and it'll be all right. You'll see. In the morning, you'll most likely have forgotten all about it. It'll just be like another bad dream. I promise. And look at you now, child. Your eyes are closing. I'll wait here till you're properly asleep. And don't forget what I said. Most probably you didn't see anything, really, and you don't know anything and what you don't know can't hurt you.'