A Nice Derangement Of Epitaphs Part 7

The call came eddying back to him from a dozen projections he could not see, repeated in a dozen hopeful, fearful inflections, ricocheting away into silence. Then a last faint and distant sound, out of turn, out of key, started a weak reverberation away on their right.

"There! Hear that? There is is someone!" someone!"

But Dominic was already scrambling wildly up the rattling scree of sand and gravel and sh.e.l.l, the pencil of wavering light wincing away from rocks and water-drips before him, clawing his way up towards the drier reaches of the cave. He stretched out a hand to her and dragged her after him. Stumbling, slipping, panting, they climbed inland; and somewhere ahead of them, distant and faint but drawing nearer, unmistakable sounds of someone else's stumbling, slipping, panting progress came down to meet them.

Into the beam of the torch blundered Paddy Rossall, wiping his dirty face hastily with an even dirtier hand; pallid, wet, and s.h.i.+vering with cold, but alive, intact and alone.

"You don't mind," said Phil, turning in at the drive of Treverra Place, "if we call in here? I don't know that it will do any good, but I just thought, while we're so near-She might remember something something he said, anything that will give us the faintest clue. I know we've asked the same questions already, but it's worth one more try. Oh, George, my poor little boy! I wish I hadn't said no to him. I wish I'd let him go with Tim and Simon-at least he'd have been safe with them." he said, anything that will give us the faintest clue. I know we've asked the same questions already, but it's worth one more try. Oh, George, my poor little boy! I wish I hadn't said no to him. I wish I'd let him go with Tim and Simon-at least he'd have been safe with them."

It was the most she had said in all the hours they had hunted together. As long as there'd been more places to search, more possible people to contact, Phil had been a silent, ferocious force of nature sweeping all before her. Only now, when they had almost exhausted the possibilities, was the edge of desperation audible in her voice, and the shadow of breakdown a perceptible cloud over her face.

Miss Rachel was sitting over the fire in her sitting-room, huddled like a broody bird, with her solitary dinner untouched on a little table beside her. She stiffened her old spine and snapped the imperious lights on again in her eyes when Phil stalked in with George at her elbow, but she knew her back was against the wall.

"Aunt Rachel, didn't he say anything anything about where he was going? There must have been something. You did see him yourself, didn't you? Well, what about where he was going? There must have been something. You did see him yourself, didn't you? Well, what did did he say? I he say? I know know we're s.n.a.t.c.hing at crumbs. d.a.m.n it, crumbs is all we've got." we're s.n.a.t.c.hing at crumbs. d.a.m.n it, crumbs is all we've got."

"Yes, I talked to him, certainly." Miss Rachel looked smaller than usual, but fiercer. Attack is the best defence. "What pa.s.sed between Paddy and me can't possibly have anything to do with any danger to him. But it may-I say may may-account for his naughtiness in staying away like this. If you ask me, that's all it is, and you are just playing into his hands. I was justified in being cross with him. He was exceedingly impertinent and very disobedient, and it was high time someone took steps to bring him to a more chastened frame of mind."

Quivering and aghast, Phil demanded: "But what-for G.o.d's sake, Aunt Rachel, what did did you do to him?" you do to him?"

She couldn't stall any longer, it would only make it worse when it did come out. And besides, she was lonely and frightened and she wanted Paddy back, impertinent or not, disobedient or not, she just wanted him. So somebody had to find him for her.

"It's too much to hope that you'll approve, of course, but I was concerned only for you and Tim, and for the child's own well-being. I told him what he should have been told as soon as he was old enough to understand-that he has to thank you and Tim for taking him in and giving him a good home and the love of good parents, when his own father wanted to get rid of him. I told him he was adopted, and that he should consider how much he owed to you, and try to behave better to you in future, not take everything for granted as he does. That's what I told him, and you'll have reason to thank me for it yet"

Stricken, Phil stood clinging to the back of a chair as to the rocking remnants of her world. "Aunt Rachel! You couldn't! You couldn't couldn't be so cruel!" be so cruel!"

"Cruel, nonsense! It was high time he was told, you'd have had to do it in the end. I don't believe it's done him one jot of harm, either, so-"

"No harm harm!" Groping through the blankness of her misery, Phil arrived at a positive and tonic fury. Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and paled again to a pinched and frightening whiteness. "No harm harm! You drive that poor boy away with the bottom knocked out of his world, not knowing who or what he is, and you say you've done him no harm harm!"

"It means we're probably all wrong about his being in danger from our murderer," pointed out George quickly, with a gentling hand on her arm. "He's shocked and hurt and wretched, he wants to hide, that's all understandable. But it means he's probably staying away of his own will, and when he's come to terms with it he'll come home. It isn't as bad as what we were afraid of."

"It is, George, it's almost worse. He'll be in such a state he might do anything anything." She turned frantically upon Miss Rachel, who was backed into her great chair with hackles erect, ready for a fight. "How would you you feel, you wicked old woman, if you suddenly found you weren't who you thought you were, and your parents weren't your parents, and everything you had was borrowed? Even your ident.i.ty?" She gripped the edge of the table, and demanded urgently: "Did you tell him feel, you wicked old woman, if you suddenly found you weren't who you thought you were, and your parents weren't your parents, and everything you had was borrowed? Even your ident.i.ty?" She gripped the edge of the table, and demanded urgently: "Did you tell him who who he was? But you couldn't-we never told you, thank G.o.d, so you didn't know." he was? But you couldn't-we never told you, thank G.o.d, so you didn't know."

"Oh, yes, my dear Phil, I did know. His father told me himself-right here in the garden, no longer ago than Wednesday afternoon. He told me quite a lot. But I didn't tell Paddy. I don't have to tell everything I know." She drew breath before Phil could ride over her again, and pursued belligerently: "But you'd you'd better. Oh, I know, Simon thinks he can twist me round his finger. Maybe I like it that way. But don't think I've got any illusions about him. I like him very much, but sooner or later he'll make a bid for what he wants. And if you haven't noticed that he's beginning to want Paddy, very much indeed, you'd better wake up, quickly." better. Oh, I know, Simon thinks he can twist me round his finger. Maybe I like it that way. But don't think I've got any illusions about him. I like him very much, but sooner or later he'll make a bid for what he wants. And if you haven't noticed that he's beginning to want Paddy, very much indeed, you'd better wake up, quickly."

George, whose experience in breaking up fights between women was still somewhat inadequate to such a situation as this, felt profound grat.i.tude to the telephone for ringing just then. It gave him something to do, more constructive than listening to family secrets it would be his duty promptly to forget again, and it distracted the attention of both the embattled females. He picked up the receiver thankfully.

"Treverra Place. This is George Felse. Oh, yes-yes, she's here. Phil, it's Tamsin Holt for you."

Phil clutched the receiver convulsively, afraid to hope. "Tamsin, what is it? Have you-You have! Thank G.o.d! He's all right?"

Her knees gave under her, she was suddenly limp as silk, and George slid a chair under her and eased her into it.

"He's all right! They've found him. In the Dragon's Hole. The tide caught him inside there. Aunt Rachel, it's all right! They've found him-Tamsin and Dominic. I don't care now, nothing else matters. I don't care what you told him, he's all right. Tam-we're on our way down, we'll meet you. Take care of him! Don't you let him out of your sight again. The little demon demon! Honestly, I'll murder him! You're sure sure he isn't hurt? G.o.d bless you, Tam! We're on our way." he isn't hurt? G.o.d bless you, Tam! We're on our way."

She let the receiver slip nervelessly down into its cradle. She was in tears, and trembling. "George, can you drive a Mini? I-don't think I'm capable-Oh, George, I want Tim I want Tim!"

George got her to her feet and out to the car. No one had even a glance to spare for Miss Rachel, braced and defensive in her high-backed chair.

As soon as they were out of the doorway she hopped suddenly out of her sanctuary behind the cold dinner-tray, and danced the length of the room and the library, like an agile girl, until her piled grey hair came down round her shoulders, and she was out of breath. Then, having carefully rea.s.sembled her magnificent coiffure and her even more magnificent personal a.s.surance, she rang the bell for Alice, and demanded food.

On their way down through the town they picked up Tim. Phil clung to him in the back seat, pouring out the best and the worst of the news, and swinging breathlessly between rage and joy. Tim held her in his arms and shook with the vehemence of her trembling, and implored her first, and then ordered her, just as ineffectively, to be calm and matter-of-fact, and take the whole thing easily. Hadn't they agreed from the beginning that with a child not your own you must take nothing for granted, that you had to exercise twice as much care and self-control as natural parents, and earn every morsel of your gift-son's affection? Restraint, no too greedy love, no too lavish indulgences and no too exacting demands, that was the way. If she let herself go now, she'd push the boy right over the edge, and break something.

"Here they are," said George at the wheel, and drew the Mini in to the kerb just below the square, the dilapidated trio before them caught and dazzled in its lights. A slim, taut, brittle figure toiled up the hill between two muddy supporters just recognisable as Tamsin and Dominic. He had been drooping badly a moment before, but now he was braced to meet them. The moment was on top of him; he wasn't ready, but he never would be ready, it might as well happen and get it over. A pale, grime-streaked face stared, all enormous, shocked eyes. Phil lunged for the doorhandle and was half out of the car before it came to a halt.

"Phil, you must be calm calm-"

"To h.e.l.l with being calm!" shouted Phil, in a splendid flare of wrathful joy, and hurled herself upon her stray in a flurry of abuse, endearments and reproaches.

Paddy's parent problem was swept away in the warm, sweet hurricane. After all, he didn't have to make any decisions about how to behave, he didn't have to do anything at all. The meeting he had been dreading was taken clean out of his hands. He was plucked from between his henchmen, hugged, shaken, even he seemed to remember afterwards with respect and astonishment, slapped, a thing he couldn't remember ever having happened to him before in his life. Tim s.n.a.t.c.hed him from Phil to feel him all over, swear at him heartily, strip him of his wet and filthy sweater, and bundle him into a warm, dry sportscoat much too big for him. He could hardly get a word in edgeways, all he managed was: "I'm sorry!" and: "I didn't mean to!" and: "I couldn't help it!" at intervals. And he had been shrinking from the thought of moderated voices and careful handling, into which he would inevitably have read all sorts of reservations! There weren't any moderated voices round here, he couldn't hear himself think; and the way he was being handled, he was going to start coming to pieces shortly. This sort of thing there was no mistaking. He was loved, all right. She was frantic about him, and Dad wasn't much better. This, he thought, hustled and scolded and abused and caressed into dazed silence, this is exactly exactly how parents behave. how parents behave.

"Into that car," ordered Tim, growing grimmer by the minute now that he had satisfied himself that he had his son back with hardly a scratch on him. "You're going to apologise to Mr. Hewitt for all the trouble you've caused everybody, and you'd better make it good." And when he had him penned into the back seat, with Phil to cus.h.i.+on him comfortably, he had to rummage out the old car rug and tuck him into it like a coc.o.o.n, and all to go the two hundred yards to the police station.

The rest of the evening always remained to him a crazy confusion, from which fleeting remarks emerged at times to tickle his memory. The one overwhelming thing about it was that all of it, every bit, was good, better than anything had ever been before, or perhaps ever would be again. To have happiness and know that you have it, and know how wonderful it is to know it, that's almost too much for any one day.

He was bundled into the warmth and light of the police station, blinking and exhausted, and made his apologies with quite unexpected grace, out of the fullness of his own plenty. He said thank you to everyone who had gathered there from the great boy-hunt, and requested that his thanks be conveyed to all those who were not there to hear for themselves. Hewitt received the offering with considerable complacency, out of pure relief, but maintained a solemn face.

"Don't you think you've heard the last of it, young feller-me-lad. Your next six months' pocket-money's going to be needed to pay for police shoe-leather. I'll be sending you in a bill." He grinned at Tim over the tow-coloured head that was beginning to be unconscionably heavy. "Take him home, clean him up and put him to bed, Mr. Rossall. I'll talk to him in the morning, he's out on his feet now."

He remembered looking round a whole ring of faces when he said good-night. Mr. Felse was there with his wife, Tamsin was there, and Dominic, and the Vicar, and Uncle Simon. Uncle Simon was looking at him in an odd sort of way, smiling, but without the sparkle, and twice as hard as usual. And he didn't come with them. Why didn't he? Oh, yes, of course, he probably had his own car here, so he had to drive it home. But it didn't look as if that was in his mind, somehow, when he shook his head at Dad, with that odd, rueful smile on his face, and said: "No, I'll follow you down later, old boy. This is a family special."

That reminded Paddy of how this extraordinary day had started. There were things he still had to know about himself, but somehow all the urgency was already gone. In the back seat of the car, rolled up again snugly in the rug, with Phil's arm round him, and Phil's shoulder comfortable and comforting under his cheek, he drowsed gloriously, too tired to know anything clearly except the one wonderful, all-pervading fact that it was all right. That everything was all right, because his belonging to them was everything.

And whoever he might have belonged to in the beginning, he was certainly theirs now. Heaven help anyone who tried to take him away from them, or them from him!

"I'm glad you know I know," he said out of his pillows, bathed, fed, warmed and cosseted, and drowning in a delicious, sleepy happiness. "It did come as a bit of a shock at first, that's why I sheered off from Aunt Rachel's without telling anybody. I wasn't trying to frighten anyone, or run away from home, or anything daft, like that. Honestly! I'm not such a clot."

"I should hope not," said Tim.

"No, but I was afraid you might think-I just felt shaken up, and not wanting to see anybody, or be talked to. You know! I started for home, and then I couldn't face it, not until I'd had time to think. I went up on the Head, instead, but it was swarming swarming. People everywhere. I just ditched the bike, and nipped down the cliff path and into the cave, where I knew I could be quiet. Just till I got a bit more used to it, that's all. But then some kids came in, playing, and I backed up as far as I could, to get out of their way."

Having, thought Phil, who had not failed to distinguish the tear-marks from the general stains of sea-water and cave-grime, an entirely visible and possibly temporarily uncontrollable distress to hide by then.

"Never mind now, darling, you go to sleep. There's time for all that to-morrow. You're home, and that's all that matters."

"Yes, but I just wanted you to know I wasn't sulking, or anything childish like that. It was just by accident I happened to find this pa.s.sage in the top end of the cave. Only a low sort of hole, you have to crawl through it on hands and knees. I was backed up into this corner, and I shoved my shoulder through it in the dark. It goes a long way. That's how I lost time, having to be careful because of not having a light. In the end I did call it a day and decide to come back some other time with a torch, but what with not being able to see my watch, and forgetting because I was interested, by the time I crawled back through the hole I'd had it. The water was almost up to the top of the cave mouth, and I didn't dare dive for it, it was too rough. I had to lie up and wait, there wasn't anything else to do." He looked up with the remembered terror suddenly brilliant in his eyes, squarely into Tim's face. "I was scared green," he said.

"So would I have been. Even knowing that the top part of the Hole's above high water, I'd still have been scared."

"And even there you get a bit battered. And deafened! I couldn't wait to get out, it seemed for ever. I couldn't tell what time it was, you see, I just had to follow the water down, and you have to be super-cautious feeling your way in the dark. But I was on my way out as fast as I dared when they came and found me."

Phil turned the shaded light away from her own face, for fear he should see his ordeal reflected there all too plainly, stroked the fuzz of fair hair back from his forehead, and said: "Yes, well, it's all over now. You just forget it and go to sleep."

"Yes-all right, I will. I just wanted you to know how it was. I'm sorry I caused everybody so much trouble." Half asleep and off his guard, he said with shattering simplicity: "I was just so miserable I didn't know what to do."

Tim hooked a large right fist to the angle of his son's jaw, and rolled the fair head gently on the pillow till a shamefaced grin came through.

"Did you say you weren't a clot? You could have fooled me! Sure you know now where you live?" The drowsy head nodded; the grin had a curious but happy shyness. "And what time the tide comes in? All right, then, you sleep it off. If you want anything we'll be around." He rose, rolled Paddy over in the bed, and smacked the slight hummock of his rump under the clothes. "Good-night, son!"

"Good-night, Dad!"

All the years they'd been saying exactly the same words, and they'd never meant so much before!

Phil kissed the spot where the blonde hair grew to a slight point on the smooth forehead, and was following Tim from the room when a small, self-conscious voice behind her said: "Mummy!"

The tone of it tugged her back to him in a hurry. He hadn't said it without thought, it had a ceremonial solemnity. She stooped over him, and he pushed away the bedclothes suddenly and reached up his arms for her, burrowing his face thankfully into the hollow of her neck.

"Just making sure," he said in a m.u.f.fled whisper. "You are are, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, Patrick Rossall, and don't you dare forget it."

She gathered up his clothes when she left the room. The flannels would have to go straight to the cleaners. She sat down on the rug beside Tim, and extracted from the pockets, smiling over them with a ridiculous tenderness because they were small projections of Paddy's personality, one exceedingly grubby handkerchief, sticky with sea-water, a ball pen down to its last inch, the end chewed, two or three foreign stamps, a used bus ticket, one dilapidated toffee, and a few coins, which she stacked carefully on the arm of Tim's chair.

"He's all right, isn't he?" said Tim, ears p.r.i.c.ked for any sound from upstairs.

"Yes, he's all right." Her smile was heavy, maternal and a.s.sured. "Don't worry about Paddy. Tim, I'm glad! I'm glad she told him. It's a once-only. He knows now."

"He's a nice kid," said Tim. He took up the little pile of coins to play with, because they were Paddy's. "Look, a brand-new halfpenny." He looked again, and froze. "It isn't, though! What is it? Phil, look! It isn't copper. It looks like gold!"

She dropped the crumpled, dirty flannels, and held out her hand curiously for the coin. It lay demurely in her palm, showing a thick-necked female profile, with a curled lock of hair draped over one plump shoulder.

"Tim, it must be a guinea! Or a half-guinea--but it's too big, isn't it? ANNA D DEI G GRATIA. And VIGO underneath her portrait. What does that mean? There's a date on the other side, 1703. R underneath her portrait. What does that mean? There's a date on the other side, 1703. REG. M MAG. BR. F FR. et H et HIB." She looked up at Tim over her spread palm, open-mouthed. "Tim, where on earth did our Paddy get a Queen Anne guinea?"

CHAPTER VI.

SAt.u.r.dAY MORNING.

PHIL LOOKED IN at Paddy's door as soon as she was up on Sat.u.r.day morning. The early sunlight came in softened and dimmed through the drawn curtains, and the boy lay curled comfortably, with cheek and nose burrowed into his pillow, fast asleep. She looked at him with her love like a warm, golden weight in her, and was drawing back silently when a faint movement in the shadows of one corner arrested her.

Simon was sitting in a chintz-covered chair, drawn back where the light could not reach him. He was looking at her by the time she saw him; but she knew very well that until that moment he had been watching Paddy's sleep. He looked as if he had been there half the night. Maybe he had. He had his own key, and she hadn't heard him come in.

Only a few days ago she would have stiffened in jealousy and suspicion, willing him away, and stared her orders unmistakably. Now she stood looking at him thoughtfully and calmly, and in her heart she was sorry for him. It was the first time she had ever achieved that. This morning she was sorry for everybody who wasn't herself or Tim, and hadn't got a son like Paddy; and sorriest of all for Simon Towne, who had had one and lacked the sense to hang on to him while he had him. She smiled, meeting his tired and illusionless eyes. He got up very quietly, as though she had warned him off, and followed her out of the room and down the stairs.

"I'll grind the coffee," he offered, following her into the kitchen. He was handier about the house than Tim, and quieter. She supposed widowers of long experience-nearly fifteen years now-easily might be. She began preparing breakfast. Even the solid blue and white crockery looked new, as if to-day everything began afresh. But not for Simon.

Not because she had the better of him, and knew it, but because he was a figure so much more appealing now that he was shaken and vulnerable and fit for sympathy, she had never liked him so much before. But you couldn't alter Simon, or teach him anything, just by liking him better. He would have to learn the hard way.

"Have you been to bed?" she asked, slicing bread.

"No. I brought the Land-Rover down with Paddy's bike aboard, and then fetched the car and went for a long ride. Then I came home and lay down for a bit, and had a bath. I hope I didn't disturb you when I came in?"

"No, I didn't hear you. How long have you been guarding Paddy's sleep?" She didn't sound either suspicious or resentful; he found that surprising, and for some reason it p.r.i.c.ked a spring of resentment in him.

"I don't know. A couple of hours or so. I enjoy looking at him. Do you mind?"

"No, I'm glad. I enjoy looking at him, too." She came from the pantry with a bowl of eggs balanced on one hand, a jug of milk in the other. Simon left his grinding to take the eggs from her, and being so near, leaned impulsively and kissed her cheek, without apology or explanation. Phil smiled at him. "It's all right, Simon. I know what happened to you, when you were afraid Paddy was gone for good. But do you know what happened to him? A fifteen-year-old bubble burst, my dear, and we're none of us ever going to be the same again. Miss Rachel got annoyed because Paddy was cheeky to her, and because she thought he didn't appreciate his good home as he ought. So she told him he only enjoyed it on sufferance. He knows now that he-" She couldn't say: "He isn't ours." because it wouldn't be true; it would be more monstrously untrue now than it had ever been before. "He knows we adopted him. That's what happened to Paddy."

Simon put the eggs down very carefully on the kitchen table, and straightened up to turn upon her the gravest face, and the least concerned for the effect it might be producing upon the outside world, that she had ever seen him wear. After a long moment of quietness he asked in a voice that was avoiding strain with some care "Did she tell him he was really mine?"

Phil smiled. He hadn't chosen the words as a challenge or a claim, in a sense he hadn't consciously chosen them at all, but they still indicated his implicit belief in their truth. "No, she didn't. But she told me she could have. After all this time, why did did you tell her?" you tell her?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I suppose I simply wanted somebody somebody to know, just so that I could talk about him and be understood. Preferably somebody who'd feel sorry for me, to tell the whole truth. But I never meant this to happen, Phil. I suppose it's because of what I told her that she had this thing in her mind, a stick all ready to beat him with when he offended her. I'm sorry! I never thought of anything like that." to know, just so that I could talk about him and be understood. Preferably somebody who'd feel sorry for me, to tell the whole truth. But I never meant this to happen, Phil. I suppose it's because of what I told her that she had this thing in her mind, a stick all ready to beat him with when he offended her. I'm sorry! I never thought of anything like that."

"I know, I'm not blaming you."

"But since he knows so much-I don't know that I'd feel there was anything now to stop me from telling him the rest." He turned on the gas ring and put on the kettle with steady and leisurely movements. A fine spark of intent had kindled deep in his eyes, and that meant mischief. The faintest hint of the usual bold quirk twitched at the corner of his mouth, and again his face had a wayward acquisitiveness about it. Tamsin's hackles had risen at sight of that debonair and much-admired face with which he pursued his dearest objectives, but it hadn't taught him anything.

"You won't have to bother," said Phil. "I'll tell him myself."

"You?" He was surprised into a genuine laugh.

"I haven't much alternative now, have I? You must know very well that the first thing he's going to ask me, when he gets round to thinking about it seriously, is: Who am I? Of course I shall tell him."

She turned and looked at him sharply, and saw exactly what she had expected to see, the sleek glow of triumph and speculation and hope warming his face into golden confidence. She closed the oven door with a crisp slam.

"Look, Simon, wake up, while there's time. It isn't going to do you any good, you know."

"Isn't it? Phil, you're positively inviting me to see what I can do. Aren't you afraid I'll sneak him away from under your nose even now? Don't you think I could?"

"I know you couldn't," she said steadily. "I don't think you'd even try, if I begged you not to. But I'm not begging you-am I? I don't have to, Simon, that's why. You couldn't get him away from us now whatever you did, fair or foul. You've had a long innings, charming the birds from the trees, and getting golden apples to fall into your lap whenever you smiled. You can't realise, can you, that it isn't going to last for ever? The high days are over, Simon, middle age is only just round another corner or two. You'd better start settling for what you can get, because the long holiday's running out fast. And whatever you do, you won't get Paddy."

For a moment it seemed to her that his brightness had grown sharp and brittle, and his eyes were staring at something he would rather not have seen. Then they took heart and danced again.

"What will you bet me?" he said with soft deliberation.

Remembering the long years of friends.h.i.+p through which Tim had followed him around patiently, picking up the things Simon dropped and putting together the things Simon broke, she wondered for a moment if her motives were as pure as she would have liked. But if it was vengeful pleasure that was prompting her to invite him to his downfall, why was this moment so sad, so strangely the shadowy reverse of the serenity and joy that made this morning a portent and a prodigy? And why should she feel so much closer and kinder to him than she had ever felt before?