The Mask of the Enchantress (4 page)

Then suddenly the ashes fell into the grate and the picture collapsed. I knew it was time I went. Aunt Amelia would be missing me and asking questions.

Christmas was almost upon us. The children went into the woods to gather holly and ivy to decorate the schoolroom. Miss Brent set up a postbox in the hall of her house and we would slip in our cards to our friends. The day before Christmas Eve when school broke up Miss Brent would act as postman, open the paper-covered postbox, take out the cards and, sitting at her desk, call out our names, when we would go up and collect those which were addressed to us.

We were all very excited about it. We made our own cards in the classroom and there was much whispering and giggling as we painted on scraps of paper and with great secrecy folded them and wrote on the names of those for whom the offering was intended and slipped them into the box.

On the afternoon there would be a concert. Miss Brent would play the piano and we would all sing together and those among us who had good voices would sing solos; and others would recite.

It was a great day for us all and we looked forward to it for weeks before Christmas.

More exciting to me was Miss Anabel visit. She came the day before the school party. She had brought parcels for me which had written on them o be opened on Christmas Day.But I was always more excited by Miss Anabel herself than what she brought.

n the spring,she said, el have another picnic.

I was delighted. n the same place,I cried. ill there be chicken bones?

es,she promised. hen you can have more wishes.

might not get the bigger piece of bone.

should think you would,she said with a smile.

iss Anabel, will he will Joel be there?

think he might be,she said. ou liked him, did you, Suewellyn?she asked.

I hesitated. Like was not exactly a word one could apply to gods.

She was alarmed. e didn frighten you?

Again I was silent and she went on: o you want to see him again?

h yes,I cried fervently, and she seemed satisfied.

I was sad when the fly came to take her to the station; but not so sad as usual because, although the spring was a long way ahead, it would come in time and then I had the glorious prospect of the forest before me.

Uncle William had finished the Christmas crib he had made in his woodshed and it was now in the church with a model of the Christ child lying in it. Three of the boys from school were going to be the three wise men. The vicar son was one, because I supposed it was natural that the vicar should want him to be; Anthony Felton was another because he was the squire grandson and his family gave liberally to the church and allowed all the garden parties and sales of work to be held on their lawns or, when it was wet, in the great hall; and Tom was the other because he had a beautiful voice. To hear that angelic voice proceeding from that rather untidy boy was like a miracle. I was glad for Tom. It was an honor. Matty was delighted about it. is father had a voice. So did my granddaddy,she told me. t runs in families.

Tom had stuck an enormous sprig of holly over The Sailor Return in Matty room, which gave it a jaunty air. I had often studied The Sailor Return because it was the sort of picture I should not have expected Matty to have. There was something gloomy about it. It was a print and there was no color for one thing. The sailor stood at the door of the cottage with a bundle on his shoulder. His wife was staring blankly before her as though she were facing some major disaster instead of the return of a loved one. Matty had talked about the picture with tears in her eyes. It was strange that one who could laugh about the trials of real life should shed tears over the imaginary ones of someone in a picture.

I had badgered her to tell me the story. ell,she said, t like this. You see the cot there. There a little baby in it. Now that baby didn ought to have been born because the sailor had been away for three years and she had this little baby while he was away. He don like that and she don either.

hy doesn he? You think he be glad to come home and find a little baby.

ell, it means that it not his and he don like that.

hy?

ell, he what you might call jealous. There was a pair of them pictures. My mammy split them up when she died. She said, he Return is for you, Matty, and The Departure is for Emma. Emma my sister. She married and went up north.

aking The Departure with her?

he did. Didn think much of it either. But I have liked to have the pair. Though The Departure was very sad. He killed her, you see, and the police was there to take him away to be hanged. That what The Departure meant. Oh, I have loved to have The Departure.

atty,I asked, hat happened to the little baby in the cot?

omeone took care of it,she said.

oor baby! It had no mother or father after that.

Matty said quickly: om was in here telling me about that there postbox youe got at school. I hope youe done a nice one for Tom. He a good boy, our Tom is.

e done a lovely one,I said, f a horse.

oml like that. He a rare one for horses. Wee thinking of putting him to learn with Blacksmith Jolly. Blacksmiths have a lot to do with horses.

Sessions with Matty always came to an end too soon. They were always overshadowed by the knowledge that Aunt Amelia would be expecting me home.

Crabtree Cottage was cheerless after Matty. The linoleum on the floor was polished to danger point and there was no holly propped up over the pictures of Christ and St. Stephen. It would have certainly looked out of place there and to have stuck a piece over the disagreeable Queen would have been nothing short of lese majesty.

irty stuff,had been Aunt Amelia comment. rops all over the place and the berries get trodden in.

The day of the party came. We did our singing, and the more talented of us was not among themecited and did their solos. The postbox was opened. Tom had sent me a beautiful drawing of a horse and on the paper was written: merry Christmas. Yours truly, Tom Grey.Everyone in the school had sent everyone else a card, so it was a big delivery. The one I had from Anthony Felton was meant to wound rather than carry good wishes. It was the drawing of a witch on a broomstick. She had streaming dark hair and a black mole on her chin. ishing you a spellbinding Christmas,he had written on it. It was very badly drawn and I was delighted to note that the witch on it was more like Miss Brent than like me. I had had my revenge by sending him the picture of an enormously fat boy (Anthony was notoriously greedy and more than inclined to plumpness) holding a Christmas pudding. on get too fat to ride this Christmas,I had written on it; and he would know that the card carried with it the hope that he would.

A few snowflakes fell on Christmas Eve and everyone was hoping it would settle. Instead it melted as soon as it touched the ground and was soon turning to rain.

I went to the midnight service with Aunt Amelia and Uncle William, which should have been an adventure because we were out so late; but nothing could really be an adventure when I walked between my two stern guardians and sat stiffly with them in the pew.

I was half asleep during the service and glad to be back in bed. Then it was Christmas morning, exciting in spite of the fact that there was no Christmas stocking for me. I knew that other children had them and thought it would be the height of fun to see one stocking bulging with good things and plunging one hand in to pull out the delights. t childish,said Aunt Amelia, nd bad for the stockings. Youe too old now for such things, Suewellyn.

Still I had Anabel presents. Clothes againwo dresses, one very beautiful. I had only worn the blue one she had given me once, and that was when she came. Now there was another silk one and a woolen one and a lovely sealskin muff. There were three books as well. I was delighted with these gifts and my great regret was that Anabel was not there to give them to me in person.

From Aunt Amelia there was a pinafore and from Uncle William a pair of stockings. I could not really feel very excited about them.

We went to church in the morning; then we came home and had dinner. It was a chicken which brought reminders, but there was no mention of wishbones. Christmas pudding followed. In the afternoon I read my books. It was a very long day. I longed to run across to the Greyscottage. Matty had gone next door for the day and there were sounds of merriment spilling out on the green. Aunt Amelia heard it and tut-tutted, saying that Christmas was a solemn festival. It was Christ birthday. People were meant to be solemn and not act like heathens.

think it ought to be happy,I pointed out, ecause Christ was born.

Aunt Amelia said: hope youe not getting strange ideas, Suewellyn.

I heard her comment to Uncle William that there were all sorts at that school and it was a pity people like the Greys were allowed to send their children and mix with better folk.

I almost cried out that the Greys were the best folks I knew, but I was aware that it was no use trying to explain that to Aunt Amelia.

There was Boxing Day to follow another holiday and even quieter than Christmas Day. It was raining and the southwest wind gusted over the green.

A long day. I could only revel in my presents and wonder when I should wear the silk dress.

In the New Year Anabel came. Aunt Amelia had lighted a fire in the parlor rare eventnd she had drawn up the Venetian blinds, for she could no longer complain of the sun doing harm to her furniture.

The room still looked dismal in the light of the wintry sun. None of the pictures took any cheer from the light. St. Stephen looked more tortured, the Queen more disagreeable and Christ hadn changed at all.

Miss Anabel arrived at the usual time, which was just after dinner. She looked lovely in a coat trimmed with fur and a sealskin muff, like the big sister of mine.

I hugged her and thanked her for the gifts.

ne day,she said, oue going to have a pony. I am going to insist.

We talked as we always did. I showed her my books and we discussed school. I never told her about the teasing I received from Anthony Felton and his cronies because I knew that would worry her.

So the day passed with Anabel and in due course the fly came to take her back to the station. It seemed like just another of Anabel visits, but this was not quite the case.

It was Matty who told me about the man at the King William Inn.

Tom was working there after school, carrying luggage into rooms and making himself generally useful. t a second string to his bow,said Matty. n case it don work out with the blacksmith.

Tom had told her about the man at the inn and Matty told me.

regular shindy-do there was up at the King William,she said. e was a very high and mighty gentleman. Staying there in the best room. He arrived in a temper, he did. It was all along of there being no fly to take him to the King William when he got off the train. Well, how could there be? The fly was in use, wasn it?Matty nudged me. ou had a visitor yesterday, didn you? Well, Mr. High and Mighty had to wait, and there one thing that kind of gentleman don like much and that being kept waiting.

t doesn really take long for the fly to come to Crabtree Cottage and go back to the station.

h, but rich important gentlemen don like waiting one little minute while others is served. I had it from Jim Fenner.(He was our stationmaster, porter and man of all work at the station.) here he was standing on the platform ranting and raging while the fly went off carrying your young lady in it. He kept saying, here is it going? How far?And old Jim he says, all upset like, because he could see this was a real gentleman, Jim says, ell, sir, it won be that long. as only gone to Crabtree Cottage on the green with the young lady.rabtree Cottage,he roars, nd where might that be? Tis only on the green, sir. There by the church. Not much more than a stone throw. The young lady could walk it in ten minutes. But she always takes the fly like and books it to bring her back to catch her train.Well, that seemed to satisfy him and he said he wait. He asked Jim a lot of questions. He turned out to be a talkative sort of gentleman when he wasn angry. He got all civil like and gave Jim five shillings. It not every day Jim sees the likes of that. He says he hopes that gentleman stays a long time.

I couldn stay talking to Matty, of course, so I left her and ran back to the cottage. It was getting dark early now and we left school in twilight. Miss Brent had said we should leave at three olock in winter because that would give the children who lived farther away time to get home before darkness fell. In the summer we finished at four. We started at eight in the morning instead of nine as in the summer and it was quite dark at eight.

Aunt Amelia was putting some leaves together. She said: going to take these to the church, Suewellyn. Theye for the altar. It a pity there are no flowers at this time of the year. Vicar was saying it looked bare after the autumn flowers were finished, so I said I would find some leaves and we would use them. He seemed to think it was a good idea. You can come with me.

I put my school bag in my room and dutifully went downstairs. We crossed the green to the church.

There was a hushed silence there. The stained glass windows looked different without the sun or even the gaslight to shine on them. I should have been a little scared to be there alone, afraid that the figure of Christ on the cross might come down and tell me how wicked I was. I thought that the pictures in the stained glass windows might come alive. There was a good deal of torturing in them and there was my old acquaintance St. Stephen up there, who seemed to have such a bad time on earth. Our footsteps rang out eerily on the stone flags.

e shall have to hurry, Suewellyn,said Aunt Amelia. t will be quite dark very soon.

We mounted the three stone steps to the altar.

here!said Aunt Amelia. heyl make some sort of show. I think I had better put them in water. Here, Suewellyn, take this jar and fill it at the pump.

I took it and ran out of the church. The graveyard was just outside. The gravestones looked like old men and women kneeling down, their faces hidden in gray hoods.