What Lies Beneath

Chapter 13

Ella usually walked to school and back home with Clem and Veronica and a few others. None of them lived far from the school, but one of the mothers generally went with them – they told each other you could not be too careful these days; you heard of such awful things happening to children. So they took it in turns to shepherd the children safely through the school gates, then went on for their shopping in Upper Bramley. ‘And for coffee in Peg’s Pantry,’ said Ella’s mother acidly. She was never part of the school-escorting or the shopping and coffee expeditions; she said she had better things to do with her time, and anyway she did not like coffee. Ella sometimes thought her mother would quite like to join in but had never been asked.

Usually the children reached home around half-past four, but on this particular autumn afternoon they were a bit later because they had to stay on to hear who was going to be in the end-of-term play. Ella stayed, too; originally she had thought she would like to be in the play, but when her name was not read out she changed her mind and saw it was a stupid, babyish play. Veronica was in it, of course; she was playing a princess, which Ella thought soppy. She would not have wanted to play a princess herself, and Veronica had only been picked because she smarmed up to the teachers.

A boy called Derek Haywood in Veronica’s class was going to play the prince. He had only just moved to Upper Bramley so nobody knew him very well, but Veronica said his parents had been in an operatic society in the town where they had lived before, and Derek had been on stage twice already, singing in a children’s choir. Clem said it was nothing to do with operatic societies or children’s choirs; it was just that the teachers thought they should make a new pupil feel welcome. Clem himself had not been chosen to be in the play, even though he had sung ‘Someday My Prince Will Come’, and had got all the way through without forgetting the words. He told Ella he did not care and he was going to help write the programme instead. Ella could help if she liked, they could make it really good and have their names in it as the programme’s authors. Ella did not particularly want to write a stupid programme but it would be better than not being part of the play at all, so she said yes. She thought Clem had not been picked because he did not look anything like a prince, whereas Derek Haywood was quite nice-looking.

It was an exciting afternoon. People who had been chosen were bursting with importance and telling their friends how good they would be. Then the mother whose turn it was to walk them home had to be told about it, and it all meant Ella was home a bit late.

Her mother was not exactly angry, but she was a bit annoyed. Where on earth had Ella been? When Ella explained about the play, she said, ‘Oh, that. Are you going to be in it?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I don’t suppose you mind. You wouldn’t want to be bothered with a lot of play-acting anyway.’

‘No,’ said Ella again. ‘But Clem and me—’

‘Clem and I.’

‘—we’re going to write the programme. It’ll be really good, Clem says.’

Her mother was not very interested in the play or the writing of the programme, Ella saw that. She was more bothered about Ella being late because she had to go out. The lady from the end cottage had been going to sit with Ella for the hour it would take, but because Ella was so late she could no longer do so.

‘She says she has to be somewhere else,’ said Ella’s mother, ‘so you’ll have to come with me. Don’t screw your face up like that, it’s ugly and it’s also very common.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Priors Bramley.’

Ella stopped screwing up her face, not because it was ugly or common, but because the words Priors Bramley brought back the remembered horror. She had not exactly forgotten about the man who had poured out the music in the church and sobbed so frighteningly, but after a while the memory had receded. There were all kinds of important things going on in her life – lessons and homework and the school play – and he had got pushed to the back of her mind. But as soon as her mother said this about going to Priors Bramley, it all came back.

‘I can’t come,’ she said. ‘I’ve got homework to do.’

‘What homework?’

‘Um, something for tomorrow’s nature study.’ She did not look at her mother when she said this, because Mum could always tell when she was lying.

‘You don’t have nature study until Friday,’ said Mum.

‘Well, no, but – but it’s the serial on TV Children’s Hour. It’s the last one tonight, so I don’t want to miss it.’

She offered this last excuse hopefully, but her mother was not having it. Ella had not really thought she would. She said, ‘I’m sorry, but I have an important errand and there’s no one else who can come in to sit with you.’

‘I don’t need sitting with. I’ll be all right on my own.’

‘I’m not leaving you in the house on your own. Put on your coat, and you’d better fetch your gloves as well.’

‘Where are we going in Priors Bramley?’

‘To the manor.’

Ella turned round from rummaging in a drawer for her gloves. ‘Actually to the house?’ Nobody she knew had been inside Cadence Manor, so it would put her one up on the others, with their stupid play about princesses and silver curlews. It would even be worth missing the TV programme. Also, they could get to the manor across Mordwich Meadow, which meant they would not have to walk along the main street and past the church at all.

She asked how long the errand would take. Errands were things grown-ups did, and mostly you never found out what they were. ‘I’ve got to run an errand,’ they said, and that was all you were told.

‘Not very long.’ Mum’s voice sounded a bit trembly. ‘We’ll be back for your television serial,’ she said.

As they went along the little back lane towards the manor’s side gate, Ella tried to think about the TV programme and not about whether the man from the church might be prowling around. On one side of Cadence Manor was what had once probably been a lawn. Veronica’s family had a lawn in their garden where they sometimes put chairs and a table; Ella had had tea there several times. But this was a much bigger lawn, although the grass was so long it brushed the hem of her skirt and tickled her knees. They went towards the house, where a French window was partly open on one side.

And then, trickling into the glowing autumn evening, came sounds that sent fear scudding through Ella. Music. Music she recognized – music coming from what sounded like a record player like the one Clem’s parents had. It was the music she had heard that day being played in St Anselm’s church.

As they neared the house there was a movement beyond the French windows, and Ella’s mother said, ‘You stay here, Ella. You’ll be all right. I have to just step inside the house for a moment to see someone, so you wait here like a good girl.’

Ella looked about her, trying to shut out the music. Cadence Manor was very old and there were a lot of trees everywhere. Under one oak, quite near the house, was a blur of blue, which might be gentians. You hardly ever found gentians, and it would be pretty good if she could pick some for nature study. She pointed to these.

‘Could I get some of those gentians? Nobody’d mind, would they? It’d be extra good if I could take them to school for nature study.’

‘I should think so,’ said Mum, looking to where Ella was pointing. ‘Only pick a few, though. And don’t go anywhere else in the grounds.’

‘I won’t. I’ll sit on that bit of crumbly wall when I’ve got them,’ said Ella.

She watched her mother walk up to the house and go through the French window. As she did so, the music shut off with a scrape as if whoever was in there had lifted the needle off the record’s surface and had not done so smoothly. The movement came again and this time an arm came up to the window, drawing thick curtains over it, almost all the way. As Ella watched, the movement was repeated at the two other windows. Whoever was in there had stopped the record and was shutting out the blazing sunset. Ella thought it was a bit peculiar. But the really peculiar thing was that no lights were switched on inside the room.

Ella went over to the blue fuzziness near the trees. They were gentians, and she picked several carefully. A couple of the roots came up with some of the flowers because of the dry ground; Ella thought she could put those in a plant pot and water them, so she wrapped her handkerchief around the roots to protect them, and then her scarf. There was what looked like deadly nightshade as well, growing a bit nearer to the house. Ella was not going to pick any of that; they had all been told it was just about the most dangerous plant there was. ‘Belladonna’, the nature study teacher had called it, warning them before a nature walk and showing a photograph. ‘It means beautiful lady, but you have to remember that some beautiful ladies can be dangerous.’ They had all laughed a bit embarrassedly, but they had promised to be careful.

Ella was not going to touch the belladonna growing in Cadence Manor’s grounds, but she was curious to see the real thing. It would be pretty good if she could tell at school how she had found some. She had just reached the place where it was growing when a sound from inside the house made her turn her head. Had that been Mum’s voice, calling out? Was Ella meant to go into the house? Perhaps she could go quietly up to the window and peep inside to see if Mum wanted her. If not, she could go back to the crumbly wall and Mum would not know she had looked in.

Still holding the gentians in the handkerchief and scarf she went forward, trying not to make any sound. The dry dead grass crunched under her feet but other than that everywhere was quiet, although once she thought something had moved within the old trees and she looked towards them, her heart racing. No, there was no one there, only the old trees with their trunks like gnarled faces. The curtains were still drawn but the French window was open, and Ella could see Mum. She was talking to someone. Ella could not see who it was, but it must be the person who had shut out the evening light.

She took a nervous step nearer and suddenly saw her mother was crying. This was dreadful. Mum never cried at home and she would never ever cry in somebody else’s house. She was always talking about not making a scene in public. But Ella could see that her shoulders were shaking and she was wiping her eyes with her handkerchief. Whoever was in there had made her cry. This did not exactly stop Ella being so frightened, but it made her feel angry. She went nearer. Yes, Mum was crying quite hard. Ella took a deep breath and, pushing open the glass door, stepped through it.

The room beyond the French window was dim and musty-smelling, but there was a faint scent of something sweet overlaying the mustiness, as if whoever lived in this room had tried to smother it by pouring scent everywhere. It made Ella feel slightly sick.

Her mother turned and started to say, ‘Ella, I told you to stay outside,’ but Ella barely heard because her whole attention was on the other figure in the room. It was seated in an old-fashioned high-backed chair, this figure, but the chair was set against one window so it was difficult to make out the person’s features. Ella squinted through the dimness, and saw some kind of high collar turned all the way up. Gloved hands, and dark clothes that fell in folds over the chair. And a blur where the face should be… Her heart started to thud and some of the anger trickled away, letting the fear back in. It was him. It must be. He was hiding from the light, exactly as he had done that day in the church. That was why the curtains were drawn and no lights switched on.

A harsh voice said very quietly, ‘Get that bastard out of my house,’ and Ella flinched, not so much at the word ‘bastard’ – although it was a very bad swear word indeed – but at the voice itself. It was a terrible voice, harsh and grating, as if the owner’s throat was shredded into bloodied strips, or almost as if there was no throat there at all. She glanced nervously at her mother for guidance.

‘You’ve had your last lot of money from this family,’ said the faceless creature from its shadowy corner. ‘And you’ve been well enough paid for your whoring. I bought that cottage for you. But there’s no money left now, do you understand that?’

‘You’re a liar,’ said Mum. ‘You have money, all right. Plenty of it.’

‘How dare you speak to me like that? Remember your place, Ford.’

Ford. That was how people used to speak to servants. As if they were scarcely even people, not even entitled to their own names. Some of the anger came back into Ella, and then the head turned towards her again.

‘Does the child know who she is? Does she know what she is?’

‘No,’ said Ella’s mother at once. ‘She doesn’t need to.’

‘Get her out of my house,’ said the voice. ‘Or did you bring her here to gloat over me? Because if so—’ The figure stood up, moving slowly, and came forward. For the first time Ella saw that the gloved hands held a walking stick.

‘I’m not gloating,’ said Ella’s mother. ‘I never have. I’m sorry for you. But it doesn’t stop me hating you.’

‘You can’t hate me any more than I hate you,’ said the figure. ‘You ruined us all, you slut. And you – child – get out of my house!’

This last was aimed at Ella, and the stick was lifted, threateningly. Ella, frightened she was going to be attacked, flinched, stumbling backwards against the wall. In that moment her mother moved forward, screaming something. Ella couldn’t make out all the words, but it was something about evil cruel monsters.

‘Oh, you’re showing your true colours now, Ford,’ said the voice, and the stick was lifted again. Ella cried out a warning, but her mother had already dodged out of the way. Ella thought she would fall against the table, but somehow she regained her balance and lunged forward. Her fists were clenched and there was an expression on her face Ella had never seen before – a white twisted look of fury, like a snarling animal. It frightened Ella so much that she cowered back into a corner of the room, cramming her knuckles against her eyes so she could not see her mother’s face, trying not to cry in case they heard her, but hearing herself sobbing anyway.

There was the sound of the stick clattering to the ground and of a piece of heavy furniture scraping across the dry floor and banging against something. A dreadful harsh cry came and then there was silence. Slowly and fearfully Ella took her hands away from her eyes. There was the room, shadowy and a bit dingy, with the furniture all the same – desk, cabinet, bookshelves, the gramophone on a small side table, its lid open. But the stick lay on the ground and the chair had skidded back against the fireplace wall. The dark figure was seated in it once again. But it’s all wrong, thought Ella, trying to see clearly through her tears. People don’t sit like that, with their head lolling to one side.

She looked across at her mother, who was standing at the centre of the room. Her fists were clenched, and her hair had come loose from the scarf; several strands hung over her face. Her face was shiny with sweat or tears, and although the snarling-animal expression was fading, it was still there.

But then her mother said, ‘Ella?’ almost as if she was not sure who Ella was.

‘Yes. I’m here.’ She whispered it in case the figure with its lolling head suddenly got out of the chair and came towards them. She did not dare take her eyes from it in case it moved.

‘Are you all right?’ said her mother.

‘Yes.’ Ella was not all right, but it was better to pretend.

‘You’d better wait outside. I won’t be a moment.’

‘Is he all right?’

‘He’s— Yes,’ said her mother. ‘Oh, yes, quite all right. But wait outside.’ It was the familiar, slightly sharp voice, and Ella went out and sat down on the step of the French window. She could hear her mother moving around inside the room. There was a bumpy movement that sounded like a piece of furniture being shunted across the floor, and then into the silence came the music once again. Someone had started the gramophone record again. Had Mum done that? After a moment she came out, dusting her hands on the front of her skirt.

‘Everything’s quite all right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry you saw that, Ella. But people sometimes say horrid things when they aren’t well. It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Should we get a doctor?’

‘Oh, a doctor isn’t necessary. I’ve even put the music back on. I expect you can hear it.’

‘Yes.’

‘But,’ said Ella’s mother, in a different voice, ‘I think it would be better if no one knows we were here today. We don’t need to tell anyone about it. Not even your best friends, do you understand that?’

‘Yes.’

Ella thought she would not want to tell anyone about it anyway, and she specially would not want anyone to know how her mother had looked for those few minutes, all twisted and snarly. Still, she was glad they did not need to get a doctor, which would have meant going to a telephone box and perhaps being asked why they had been inside Cadence Manor. It sounded as if the man had just been knocked out. People did get knocked out, she had seen it on the television.

Neither of them spoke as they walked along the lane, but as they came to the stile on the edge of Mordwich Meadow, Ella’s mother suddenly said, ‘I believe I’ll just sit down here for a moment, Ella. I’m not ill or anything, but my legs are a bit shaky.’ She managed a half-smile. ‘What they call reaction. It’s quite nasty to be shouted at and threatened. So we’ll sit here for a minute or two while I collect myself. I’ll have a drop of my medicine, I think, then we’ll go straight home.’

The medicine was kept in her handbag in a small bottle; she reached for it now and unscrewed the top. Ella waited until Mum had drunk two capsful.

‘That’s better,’ she said, putting the bottle away. ‘We’ll go home in a minute.’

Ella wanted nothing more than to go home to ordinary things that would help her forget the way her mother had looked inside Cadence Manor, and that shadowy lolling figure sitting in the chair. There were lots of things to look forward to. The TV serial, and tomorrow she would be writing the programme for the school play, and on Friday was the nature study lesson, which she always enjoyed…

Nature study.

She said, ‘I left all the gentians in that room. I dropped them on the floor.’

‘For goodness’ sake, that doesn’t matter.’

‘Yes, but I wrapped my hankie and scarf round them because of the roots. And it’s my school scarf with my name on. You said no one must know we were here.’

They looked at each other and Ella saw for the first time that her mother was not just shaky because of being shouted at or because of drinking her medicine, she was frightened. This was the worst thing yet, because Mum was never frightened, not of anything in the world. But here she was, sitting on the stile, which normally she would never have done, her legs all floppy as if they had no bones in them, reaching for another dose of her medicine with hands that shook so badly she spilled some of it down her front. Her face was streaked with tears and she was frightened to death because Ella’s scarf with her name was inside that room.

She mopped up the spilled medicine and tried to sit up straight, but she was still shaking, and when she spoke her voice was trembly. ‘Oh God, Ella. Your scarf. Oh God, that’s terrible.’

Ella could not see why it was so absolutely terrible as Mum seemed to think, but it seemed to matter to her very much, so she said, ‘I’ll go back in and get it.’

‘No! You mustn’t…’ Mum tried to stand up and half fell against the stile. Her eyes had a foggy look as if she was not seeing properly.

‘Yes, it’s all right.’ The thought of going back in the house filled Ella with horror, but she would rather do that than stay here with her mother being blurry and speaking as if she had a flannel in her mouth. ‘What I’ll do,’ she said, pleased that her voice sounded quite brave, ‘is I’ll peep round the edge of the French windows and if he’s there I won’t go in. I’ll come straight back and we’ll go home before he can see us. But if he’s not there I’ll reach inside and pick up the scarf and my hankie – they were just inside the door. If the gramophone’s still on no one will hear me anyway.’

‘But—’

‘It’s all right, really it is. I’ll run fast and I’ll be back before you know I’ve gone.’

She did not say that by the time she got back her mother might have got over the blurriness. Before she could protest any more, Ella turned and ran as hard as she could back along the lane with the wall of the manor on her right, and then in at the side gate and across the tangly gardens.

She paused at the edge of the overgrown lawn to get her breath back. The curtains were still closed over the windows. Did that mean the man was still in there? She no longer felt so brave, but she remembered how upset Mum had been at the thought of the scarf being left in the house so she tiptoed up to the French window, trying to stay flat against the wall so as not to be seen. If the man was in there she would not go inside, and she and Mum would have to think what to do next. But if the room was empty Ella would dash inside, snatch up the scarf, and be outside again in a trice.

The music was still playing, but it seemed to be scraping over and over the same bit of tune. Had the needle got stuck? That had happened once on Clem’s gramophone and it had sounded exactly like this. Surely if the man – or anyone else – had been in that room he would want to put the needle back in place? That must mean it was all right to go in. Moving very cautiously, Ella peered round the edge of the French windows, trying to see into the room. It was pretty dark but nothing seemed to be moving. And there were the flowers and her scarf, lying exactly where she had dropped them, just inside, quite close to the French windows.

She plucked up her courage and stepped over the threshold.