Marlford (7 page)

‘It was my mother's. She was very fond of animals. She kept all kinds at the house – a sort of menagerie, really. When they died, she had these memorials commissioned. They're all buried here, around and about.'

‘But they're fab. A bit weird, obviously – but really fine workmanship.'

‘I believe one or two of them cost a great deal. They were the work of quite well-known sculptors.' Ellie paused. ‘But most of the originals have been sold to museums – these are just concrete, just replicas.'

Gadiel came back towards her. ‘Your mother must have loved her pets a lot. To do all this for them.'

‘She did. She doted on them. That's what I've been told. The dogs especially – she was never without a little dog. I suppose they were company for her. She was sad, I think. She came here when she was very young. It must have been very hard for her.'

‘You never knew her, then?'

‘No. She died when I was born. There were complications at the birth and she just… faded. But I've been told all about her. And I think about her all the time. So it's as if I knew her, I suppose.'

There was only the slightest of pauses, and when Gadiel spoke again his tone was bright.

‘Last night, when I found all this – well, it was dark and I was lost – I'd been walking for ages, thinking
about things – and I thought I'd slipped into some kind of enchanted wood.' He laughed uneasily. He did not tell her how long he had stared at the animals, paler then in the half-light of dawn, more distant, more celestial. ‘It was scary.'

Ellie laughed, too. ‘I'm sure you could have fought them off if they'd turned savage.'

‘What, a herd of magical stone animals? How strong do you think I am?'

It made her glance at him, his broadness. She frowned and looked away, fixing her gaze on the false angels. ‘It's nice that you've shown me.'

‘But you knew it was here, anyway.'

‘Yes, of course. But, even so. I don't come here on my own.'

‘I thought I'd discovered something amazing.' He walked a few steps away.

Ellie felt fixed to the spot. ‘Oh, but you have. It's quite rare, these days, this kind of thing. My mother was old-fashioned; not many people of her age… well, it is quite amazing, in its way.'

He looked at her. ‘But you don't like it, do you?'

She was quiet for a moment. ‘I've never liked it. I think it's grotesque.' She seemed forlorn. ‘But I've never told anybody that.'

He wanted to hold her. Even if he could take her hand again, that would be something. But he did not dare.

‘It gave me a shock, in the night, I can tell you,' he said, too brightly again, making it too much a joke.

‘Yes, I imagine it would,' she replied.

*

They walked on, emerging from the dip of the rockery, awkward together. The morning felt oddly indefinite. Ellie did not know what to make of this boy alongside her; she found she was puzzled by the sway of his T-shirt, and his scent, like fresh vegetables.

Gadiel spoke again as they made their way across open ground. ‘Look, Ellie – about us coming to the house, and the van, and Dan—'

‘Oh, it doesn't matter.' She was quick to answer.

‘You see, when we left you last night—'

‘There's no harm in the van staying at the stables for a day or two; no harm at all.'

‘No – it's not that.' He fell silent again.

‘Really,' she said. ‘If you want to leave it…'

He stopped and turned to her. His hair was shaggy from the long night outside, his face pale and stubbly, his lips dry. Even the colour of his T-shirt seemed to have been drained by the demands of the morning. Framed by the tree trunks of the old woods, he seemed part of the land, his physical strength offering some kind of protection; Ellie could not help but think of fairytales.

‘Look, I'm not making much sense, I know.' He tried to settle his voice. ‘But, you see, I can't tell you everything, not yet, even if I wanted to, but… but, Ellie, listen…' He paused, closing his eyes momentarily before beginning again in a new tone. ‘Anyway, me and Dan'll be around for a few days. You might see us. And if you need anything – well, we can talk again.'

‘I rarely spend much time in the village,' she replied. ‘There's no need.'

‘No, no. I suppose not. But, well, you never know.'

Just then, the stable clock struck, the tinny notes seeming to shimmer on the mere, a faltering memory of many days.

‘Oh.' Ellie was flustered. ‘I'd no idea it was so late. I have to go.'

He shrugged. ‘Fair enough.'

‘The clock runs late anyway, and I have to go to the library.'

‘Really – it's fine. It was nice.'

‘Thank you,' she said, as if he were releasing her, and she hurried away.

Eight

A
thin mist hovered low, a breath of damp air creeping across from the mere, silvering the grass, but above it the day was becoming bright and clear, solidifying. Ellie slipped quickly through the haze, the dew soaking her legs, chilling her.

Oscar called to her from a distance. ‘What's that, Ellie, at the stables?'

She stopped, not quite sure what she might have heard.

‘Ellie!'

He swiped his stick ahead of him in the long grass, sending water spraying into the air; there was, just for a moment, a fluorescence around him, sparkling bands of colour. She reached for the stone balustrade that marked the edge of the old lawns and attempted to anchor herself there; if she went towards him, she knew, her perspective would shift and the rainbow would vanish.

‘Ellie? There's a van – in the stable yard.'

He was ordinary by the time he reached her, his coat sagging and wet.

‘Yes, I know,' she said. ‘It's broken. They're sending someone to repair it.'

‘Who? Who's sending for someone? Whose vehicle is it? The men came first thing this morning to tell me… and I had no idea – I could not imagine… there's a vehicle there, Ellie.'

The impact of such an alarming idea slapped him to a halt.

‘Didn't they tell you about the visitors?' she asked.

‘No. They simply directed me towards the stable yard, at which point I discovered the vehicle.' He looked over her head in the direction of the manor as though the van might at any moment come hurtling towards them through the neglected gardens.

‘Well, never mind… it's all right, Mr Quersley. I know. I know about the van.'

‘I supposed you must. I supposed somebody must. But I wasn't prepared for such a thing.'

‘It's just being parked there until they come to mend it. I agreed it would be all right. It's not in the way. Some people came to the house with it. I tried to tell you.'

He hardly seemed to have heard her, and she did not know where to begin or what she might say. It was like remembering a windy day: there was only an impression of billowing voices, insubstantial colour, a buffeting sense of something extraordinary. But she could not have said exactly how it had been, nor could she have adequately described it.

‘It's rather an eyesore, Ellie. It should be removed.'

She held quite still. ‘I like it.'

‘Don't be ridiculous. How on earth can you like such
a thing? It doesn't belong here.' He looked about him, reassuring himself that everything else was as it should be: the line of oaks that marked the furthest extent of the old gardens; the thickening trees towards the mere; the balance of earth and sky in this particular horizon, so perfectly known. ‘It was a shock to see it there, and I'd prefer it was removed. It's not my place, of course, to take charge of things beyond the farm, but if you need my assistance with it – I can make arrangements, Ellie.'

She shook her head. ‘I think it's all right. I'm sorry – I should have said something sooner, I suppose.'

‘Yes, well – now that we're clear. We are clear, aren't we, Ellie? It cannot remain.'

‘They promised to have it towed,' she assured him.

There was nothing else to be said, and they began to walk, leaving the park and taking the narrow path to the village.

Scaffolding had been erected on the side wall of the Hepworth Barton Bank, securing it against the sinking land, its accurate angles and solemn pediments giving way to the clasp of the metal poles. A little further up the street, they noticed a new crack in the road; further still, a dribble of muddy water on the library steps caused Oscar to crouch and shake his head. But, inside, everything was as it should have been. Until their routine was interrupted by the unexpected appearance of two boys.

‘It's about transport, miss,' the boys explained to Ellie. ‘It's our holiday homework. Modes of transport.'

They sat side by side at the table by the desk. She brought them books about ships and trains, old maps of
canal routes and several technical pamphlets tracing the development of the motor engine.

‘The information might be a little dated, I'm afraid. You see, we haven't acquired any new books in rather a long time.' She glimpsed Oscar out of the corner of her eye, stern, flapping his hands hard at her in an effort to prevent such gossip. ‘But there's something about bicycles somewhere, I'm sure,' she added, trying to ignore him.

‘What about aeroplanes, miss?'

‘Oh, no, I don't think so.'

‘There's that Concorde plane – the new one. We've heard about that. Have you got anything about that? That's so cool.'

‘No – really. I don't think so. I'm sorry.'

She did not entirely understand the request, but she saw the boys' disappointment.

‘I'll have a look though, to make sure. Why don't you get started on those for now?'

When she went along to search the stacks, Oscar followed her. ‘You'll put people off coming, Ellie, if you make out the library is somehow – lacking.' His whisper was sharp; he tidied a row of books so that he would not have to look at her.

‘It's true, though, isn't it? In all my life I don't remember us acquiring any new books.'

‘Sssh! They'll hear you.'

‘They're just boys. They're ten years old.'

‘Such rumours are insidious.'

She was suddenly, inexplicably, tired of it all. She moved on down the narrow stack and pulled out two books on bicycles. She held up the first to him: its blue
card cover featured a drawing of a penny-farthing being ridden by a very upright gentleman in a top hat. ‘You see, Mr Quersley?'

He snatched the book from her and opened it, holding it up in turn so that she could see the frontispiece: the Barton family crest, magnificent in green and gold; a bookplate inked in blue in an elaborate hand. ‘This, Ellie, is one of the original books with which your grandfather founded the library in 1895. It's a very significant piece of history, and tangible evidence – for future generations – of his philanthropy and foresight.'

‘But what good is it, now, to those boys?'

She had never asked such questions before. He stared at her.

‘What on earth do you mean?'

She wished she could explain, but he looked at her with such uncomprehending anxiety that it confused her all the more.

‘I don't know. I just thought… I'm sorry, Mr Quersley, I've got a lot on my mind.'

‘Take the books to the readers, Ellie. And then perhaps we can do something ourselves, something to settle us – Shakespeare, perhaps? That would be nice.' He blushed, smiling at her with sudden warmth, but she had already walked away, carrying the books to the table and showing them to the boys.

She knew immediately there was nothing to interest them and although, for a while, politely, they bent forward over the illustrations of old bicycles, they wrote nothing.

Soon enough, they forgot even to turn the pages.

Tired of the pretence, one of the boys suddenly leaned
back, swinging the chair onto its back legs. ‘What did you think of Neil Armstrong, miss? Wasn't it fab? We watched it at Mrs Turton's – it was just fab.'

It was the most mysterious of questions. Ellie came across and, looking over their shoulders, studied a page of dense text that appeared to discuss the geological requirements for laying level rail track.

‘I'm sorry,' she said, at last. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

The boys laughed and nudged each other, liking her the more for her joke.

‘You haven't got anything about that, miss, have you? Nothing about Neil Armstrong? No books about that, not yet? It wouldn't be out yet, would it, miss?'

Ellie could not find a way through their gibberish, but she smiled at them anyway, because their exhilaration was so startling.

‘No. I'm sorry. I don't remember anything by Neil Armstrong. I would know the name, I'm sure.'

They did not mind. ‘It'll be on telly again, I bet. All the time. We'll see it again. We'll ask Mrs Turton.'

‘Ah.' She was beginning to grasp something at last. ‘It was on television. I see.' She laughed at being taken in by their enthusiasm and shook her head, flicking the world back into place. ‘You should be reading books, not watching television. You'll learn a great deal more from books – a great deal more. Let me find you something on shipping. My grandfather was involved with several shipping lines; there'll be some excellent books, I'm sure. Just wait here a moment.'

She hurried again to the stacks, smiling still at the boys'
odd excitement. She spent several minutes browsing the shelves on the back wall, edging slowly along, running her hands over the familiar spines and ignoring the archive boxes of deeds and papers, the lines of periodicals and tracts. It seemed important to make the right choice, and she was methodical and intense in her search.

She picked out two volumes, wiped their covers with her sleeve, and lodged one of her fingers at the page with the most impressive illustrations of steam ships. But, as she turned to retrace her steps, she noticed that there was another reader in the library, crouching by one of the shelves, his back to her.

‘Oh, my goodness – I'm sorry – can I help you?' She stared at the loose fall of his shirt, unable to think quite what to do with such a visitor. ‘If you're looking for something in particular…'

The reader did not answer her. He kept on scanning the books.

‘Hello again,' he said at last, still crouching, looking at her askance. It did not seem a very clever greeting after such an expectant pause.

‘Dan – I didn't expect to see you here. I never thought…' She could not go on; she found she could not be entirely sure, for a moment, that it was him; it seemed already as though she might simply have imagined him, a wish.

‘No. I suppose not.'

Ellie gripped the books close to her body. ‘Are they coming to fix the van?'

‘No, no – not immediately. It's nothing like that. I just came in to the market, to stock up. I'm… shopping.' He stood up. ‘I noticed the library and came to investigate.
I find books irresistible.' He pushed at his spectacles, his mouth set hard.

‘Oh, yes.' Ellie was breathless. ‘So do I. I remember the lines and say them back to myself, when I'm on my own. It's a whole world to me, the world of books. Sometimes I think it's saved my life.'

He took a step away from her. ‘It's more study, for me. Textbooks, you know, and political commentaries.'

Ellie dropped her gaze. ‘Oh, yes. Of course. Yes, I see.'

‘Do you work here then?' He nodded towards the stacks.

‘Well, I suppose so.' She was surprised by the idea. ‘I assist Mr Quersley – he's the librarian.'

‘You didn't say you had a job.'

‘Well, it's not a job, as such.'

‘What is it then?'

‘I'm not altogether sure.' Her smile faded. ‘Look – I have to take these books to the boys. I promised them.'

But he followed her, and, after she had delivered the books, they went out onto the front steps, as though they had agreed it, standing by the open doors, watching the drift of the street.

When Oscar emerged from the stacks he saw them standing together, on the threshold. He stood quite still for a moment, trying to take in such an unexpected sight, and then he rubbed his palms with sudden ferocity on the sides of his trousers to clean the dust from them.

Ellie caught a glimpse of the movement out of the corner of her eye.

‘Oh, Mr Quersley. This is one of the people…' But she had not told him about their visit to the house, and knew
she could not say anything now. ‘I met him yesterday,' she said instead. ‘And already he's come in – to the library. As a reader.'

‘A reader?'

Ellie supposed this must be why he had come. ‘I think so.'

Oscar was unprepared for such an unlikely claim. The visitor seemed very young, rather shabby. There was confidence, arrogance even, in the way he leaned towards Ellie. Perhaps there had been a mistake.

‘Ah – I see. Yes, very well. So you'd like to join the library, sir?' His doubts leached through, unwelcoming.

Dan bristled. ‘Actually, I was just looking.'

‘It doesn't cost anything to join.' Ellie was encouraging.

‘That was one of Braithwaite Barton's express conditions. All this' – Oscar gestured briefly at the dingy rows of books nearest to them – ‘all this, for the people, for free, for ever.'

‘It's fine. Thanks, man.'

‘We're available four evenings and two mornings a week, and by appointment, if necessary.'

‘Yeah, I was just looking.'

‘So – you don't have a particular interest, sir, which drew you here, with which we could assist, perhaps?'

Dan looked away from him, back to the street, where a woman wheeled a pram cautiously around one of the fractures in the ground. The uneven slump of the roof-lines opposite seemed somehow ignominious.

‘I'm into political economy, actually.' He faced up to Oscar now, a challenge. ‘Well, political science in general, I suppose.'

Oscar was surprised. ‘Machiavelli?'

Dan shrugged. ‘Only as history.'

‘You're a scholar?'

‘Kind of, I suppose. I'm at university, and I read stuff. All kinds of stuff.'

Oscar rubbed his hands again, more fiercely. ‘But you don't study Machiavelli?'

‘Not much. Why would I?'

‘Why?' Oscar seemed astounded by the question. ‘If I may say so, I would have considered a grounding in Machiavelli essential to a proper understanding of political science – indeed, to an understanding of how politics works anywhere, of how the world works anywhere – even here, in Marlford. We have several copies of
The Prince
in the library collection, one of which I have annotated with some care. I can direct you to the entry in the catalogue, if it is of interest.'