Mandarin summer, p.13
Mandarin Summer, page 13
As for Emily, the child was becoming more and more withdrawn. Today was supposed to have helped that, but it was not succeeding. Constance blamed herself. Luke said that she had indulged the girl. Maybe it was true, but it was hard to separate love from indulgence. Her husband said their daughter was badly behaved, and it was certainly true that she seemed to do irrational and silly things which she had not expected of her. But when she tried to talk to her the tight look would come into her eyes and she would turn away. Constance felt uneasy. It was a little as if Emily didn’t quite believe in something strange and disturbing, in the way that Constance was doubtful of her encounter with Barnsley, yet as if all the time she knew it was true and that no one else would believe her.
She decided to follow Emily. She couldn’t let her go roaming round waterfalls on her own.
The path turned out to be quite short. It was an odd sort of waterfall. She had expected to hear a great commotion of water but there was almost silence until she was upon it. The river wended its slumbrous way round the smooth rocks, there was no gathering together of the waters, no rushing and tumbling, just a wide slow pool which gave no indication that it was fighting its way towards a narrow crevice. Perhaps it was the drought that made it so still, but suddenly she was upon it. The waterfall itself could not have been more than twelve or fifteen feet high but it was what was trapped below that was so surprising. There was a great circular pool underneath totally surrounded by green trailing bush. It was deep and clear and the sense of stillness was heightened by its calmness. She dropped to her knees at the side of the waterfall. In the shade of the trees another trapped little pool, caught by the falling water levels was covered by a dense moss-like plant and in the centre of it floated two perfect waterlilies. It was so beautiful and so unexpected that Constance suddenly wanted to cry. Instead she found herself smiling absurdly. It was an almost hysterical relief at finding something perfect and lovely at Carlyle House. She lifted her head to call Emily so that she could show her.
Instead of Emily she saw Becky Barnsley and Dan Cape. It was amazing that they hadn’t heard her, but probably their own affairs were consuming more of their interest than her scrambling over the rocks might have done. Besides, what a few seconds before had seemed peaceful, now seemed clamorous with noise. She thought it must be in her head, but in fact there were cicadas as ever, and the water was noisy now, and bird song was everywhere. But it was more like shrieking than singing.
Becky had her clothes off. She was on her knees at Dan’s feet cradling her head against her knees. She seemed to be pleading with him. He laughed at her, then smacked her face, so that she fell to the ground. He stood over her laughing, and she lay there whimpering like an injured animal, holding the side of her face and drawing her knees up against her naked breasts. Then unbuttoning his fly, and pulling his white Sunday shirt out of his trousers, Dan Cape sank to his knees and drew her legs apart. Constance looked wildly around for a way to escape, but it was impossible to move without standing up in full view of them. She crouched by the boulder wondering where to go, as Dan straddled Becky. As he moved in her Constance looked away. At the path on the other side of the pool Frederick Barnsley had arrived.
Constance thought she was going to faint. She imagined a scene of incredible violence with Barnsley tearing Dan from his daughter, and … but she did not know what he would do. Beat him? Drown him? Anything was possible.
Yet none of these things happened. Instead, Frederick stood watching quietly, smoking a long thin cigar, holding it delicately in his manicured hands, lifting it in and out of his mouth with his palm facing outward, an affectation Constance detested. A small smile hovered round the corners of his mouth. It was almost, she thought for an instant, satisfaction. Absurd, but she could have sworn that that was what it was. He was facing her directly. Any second now he must see her. She decided she would get up from her ridiculous position and escape with as much dignity as she could.
But as she came to this decision he turned on his heel and walked back up the path. He had given no sign that he had seen her, and yet it was impossible that he had not.
Constance was shaking from head to foot and would have run it she could, but she was physically incapable of any action at all. Besides she still had to find Emily. She tried not to look at Becky and Dan on the far side of the pool but the fascination was too great. Becky started to put on a bathing suit and then Dan Cape vanished into the undergrowth. She supposed she must have been there for five minutes but her limbs were cold and the joints seemed to have the damp and pain of age in them. She supported herself against the rock wondering whether to call out to Emily.
In the distance, from along the path that Brigadier Barnsley had taken, came voices. It was not difficult to distinguish Elva’s voice, almost bell-like as it bounced off the rocks, and then she rounded the corner with the Brigadier. They were arm in arm and they appeared gay and talkative.
As if in some bad dream which could be ended by making an enormous effort to wake, Constance forced herself to call out.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. Barnsley looked at her with surprise, or that was what it appeared to be, she could have sworn that it was the first time that he had seen her there. He smiled politely.
‘Good afternoon Mrs Freeman,’ he said.
‘I –we, that is Emily and I had a little picnic up the river. I’m just collecting her,’ Constance mumbled.
‘Of course, by all means. But don’t you think it’s a little dangerous her prowling around such a deep pool,’ said the Brigadier. ‘She’s not the best of swimmers.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Constance. ‘I really didn’t mean her to come so far. Please – I don’t want to interrupt your outing. I’ll find her as quickly as I can.’
‘Oh please we do not mind,’ said Elva, ‘It is only for the little girl that Frederick is concerned is it not.’
‘Of course, of course.’
Thomas emerged through the trees next. He had a deep sullen scowl on his face.
‘What’s the matter with you young man?’ said his father.
‘Oh he is in a, what you call it, a huff?’ said Elva. ‘Becky left the house without waiting for him.’
Thomas stormed past them without speaking and marched over to Becky who by now was sitting on a rock combing her black hair. Without a word to her Thomas pushed her into the water, and dived in after her. They broke the surface gasping and glowering at each other. Elva and Frederick laughed at them good-naturedly. All good clean family fun thought Constance grimly.
Like the next act in a circus parade Schwass loped through the trees, grunting an unintelligible greeting.
The only person missing now was Emily.
As if reading her thoughts, Frederick said, ‘I hope you find her.’ The party prepared to seat itself on the boulders.
There seemed nowhere else to go except up the path they had all come. Feeling foolish and out of place, Constance pushed her way through the trees, and cast round for the right track. The path forked away in two directions.
‘Emily,’ she called. There was no reply.
The lower path was the beaten one, and it appeared to be the one the Barnsleys and Elva and Schwass must have come by, so if Emily was that way they must surely have seen her. The higher one was more overgrown. Constance pushed through it and saw that it ran under a high bank of deeply shaded boulders covered with thick green moss. The trees along the top of the bank were so dense that she couldn’t see above it, and the bank itself was so smooth that it would be impossible for all but the most agile to climb. As she glanced around, she saw close beside her, sprouting out of the green ground, two scarlet spots like toadstools. Only they weren’t toadstools, they were some strange blood-coloured lilies, with fat stalks and no foliage, standing straight out of the ground. The sight of the rare exotic blood lily, a reminder of the Barnsleys, even in this otherwise wild and natural place, terrified her even more. She started to panic, and called Emily’s name again in a high shrill voice.
A little further along, the track started to run out. Constance was weeping now. Then she saw Emily standing stock still at the point where there was no more path left.
She was very white and sickly in the dim shadows. A large boulder lay at her feet. Her ankle was bleeding.
‘Have you hurt yourself?’ demanded Constance seizing her arm, relief making her sharp.
‘Somebody tried to hurt me,’ said Emily.
‘What d’you mean? What are you talking about?’ said Constance pulling at her.
‘That rock. Someone pushed it over the cliff at me,’ said Emily.
Constance looked at the bank. A round little rock dislodged itself and came rattling down towards them.
‘What nonsense,’ she said. ‘Who would want to hurt you?’
‘I tell you, it was pushed,’ said Emily.
‘That’s the silliest thing I ever heard.’
‘It banged against my ankle.’
‘Is it hurting?’
‘I can walk on it.’
Indeed, the damage seemed slight as they crashed along the path, Constance confused between relief and anger. Another small rock came tumbling towards them.
‘See,’ she said, ‘They’re coming down all the time.’
‘No they’re not,’ said Emily. ‘Otherwise it would be too dangerous for them to come along this way. Those ones are falling because the big one bumped them on the way down.’
Constance hesitated. It was a beautiful bank and a beautiful place that they were in.
‘You imagined it. Please don’t be upset. It’s easy to imagine things when you’re on your own in a strange place,’ she said gently.
They had passed the waterfall pool. Everyone was in swimming except Elva and the Brigadier and they were sitting lazily on a rock in the sun sending up fine blue clouds of smoke as they talked. Nobody noticed Constance and Emily as they hurried back along the river. In the back of Constance’s mind was the uneasy thought that Carlyle House was affecting the balance of her own and Emily’s minds.
‘I’m sure Dad’ll be pleased to see us,’ she said briskly. ‘Come along, we’ve had a lovely time. I’ll put a plaster on your ankle when we get back,’ she said.
‘Thank you for taking me on the picnic,’ said Emily, turning her small bleak face away from her mother.
Seven
So life got lonelier, but as it did, my curiosity increased. My parents worked so hard between the Barnsley household and their piece of land that I hardly saw them. My mother continued to serve the Barnsleys at mealtimes and I received my meals alone at the end of the kitchen table. Hardly anyone spoke to me now, and I slunk like a cat amongst the shadows of this strange household and my ears were becoming just as sharp.
In the evenings my mother would come to my bedroom when I was on the verge of sleep. Her eyes would be heavy with fatigue, the fine chiselled bones of her face draped with soft skin camouflaging the bright quick look I had known.
The night of the picnic she came to my room and stayed briefly. When my lids were heavy and she thought that I was so near to sleep that it did not matter, she said to me in a quiet yet intense way, ‘Who was it Emily? Who did it?’
Then when I opened my eyes to look at her she withdrew as quickly as she had spoken. I knew she did not want to know, that she was testing herself in deep and dangerous waters and that if she did not drown on the first moment of impact she would run as if the wave had never caught her. So I kept silent.
And she had less to fear than perhaps she thought, for the truth was that I didn’t know. Indeed, as I lay there, I was not even sure whether sleep had already begun and if it was another of my fevered dreams. How long it was to be before I knew that at that time, she too was beginning to be parted from reality.
I had heard Thomas scampering through the undergrowth calling out in temper at his sister all along the path. I was sure it was not he who had pushed the boulder down upon me. Yet there was always the possibility that it was his very temper which had made him kick out at whatever was in sight. But then again, the boulder demanded more than an idle kick. And the path that they had taken towards the pool was below me and not above me, so that if anyone had pushed it they would have needed time to cover both paths.
Both Brigadier Barnsley and Schwass had had that time. Which of them was it, or was it either of them? Both had arrived at the pool independently of each other. I knew that because after the boulder had been pushed I had stood for a long time, very still, simply watching what happened below me. I had heard my mother calling. I had seen each and every one of them pass below but I had not moved. Maybe I was being perverse, but I had little will of my own. I knew for the first time that I was in real danger and it was not a pleasant feeling.
As the boulder crashed towards me I had glanced upwards and seen a flash of white. Of that I was sure.
Each one passed along the path, and I saw that Frederick Barnsley was wearing his cream suit. In the green light of the gully, it could as well have been white.
Thomas swung a white towel on his arm, and Schwass carried Elva’s huge white straw hat.
I had not thought to look at Elva herself, but as I could recall her she was dressed in yellow and bronze and the brightest part of her was her crown of gold hair. Of course her shoulders were white, but I could not see her as anything but a russet figure in the shadows, and shadows do not shift rocks.
As the day wore on I no longer believed anything. It is amazing how much one colour will predominate in the most unlikely surroundings if it is seen for an instant and the next instant withdrawn, and becomes impossible in the context of the landscape. Surely there could be no white in a bush setting, yet the possibilities began to multiply. I had seen a tūī only moments before the boulder had crashed towards me. Perhaps it was the bird’s white throat. Or maybe there had been a breeze that had parted the leaves allowing the sun to flash upon a bright surface, or the underside of a pale leaf.
All these thoughts followed each other in rapid succession as I drifted closer to sleep. My mother had been right to be abrupt, to terminate our picnic and to dismiss my fears as ridiculous. Why then did she have to disturb me now?
As she closed the door I caught the faint scent of cigar smoke. The Brigadier had evidently been giving orders in the kitchen again.
For a while then, the days followed in an ordered progression with little to outwardly disturb the peace. Only now something in me had changed. I was wary and I watched and I listened, for sooner or later I knew that something was bound to happen.
In time it did. Schwass had extra duties, my mother told me one morning, and it had been asked that I should take Miss von Hart’s breakfast to her.
‘What are his duties?’ I asked rudely, for I no longer made any attempt to be polite about any of them, particularly to my mother for I knew that my antagonism caused her the most profound distress. Indeed, for all I knew, she was the only one who was distressed, or even aware how unpleasant I was being. It made it worthwhile to be particularly rude to her.
‘How should I know?’ she said, trying to pretend I was not being difficult.
‘You ought to. You’re the cook. Don’t they tell you anything?’
‘I understand he’s doing something for Mrs Barnsley. He asks that you take Miss von Hart her breakfast. Will you?’
‘Why don’t you?’ I retorted. ‘It’s not my job.’
‘It would help me,’ she said patiently. I despised her patience.
Still I took the tray of grapefruit and toast and coffee through to Elva. Even if I had been in a mood to totally defy my mother, and deep down that was not what I really wanted to do, there was still the fascination of Elva von Hart. I could not forget that first rapturous awe she had inspired in me, or the lovely music that poured forth from her fingertips. Whenever I was allowed glimpses of her she engaged my attention totally. There seemed to be all kinds of mysteries surrounding her, and most of them were quite beyond me, but that was part of her charm. That she was so protected from outside influences, including me, heightened the magic aura. I desperately wanted to be closer to her, yet of all the forbidden areas of Carlyle House, this was the one I most respected. So I kept my distance, but accepted with much greater alacrity than I showed my mother, the invitation to present Elva with her breakfast.
As usual she was playing when I approached from down the balcony. Such Mozart. From her part of the balcony I could see beyond the orchard to a long sweep of open fields and where they ended stretched a shimmering blue gum belt, blue-green and grey satin. That and her music whispering on and on. She had a quality which made my heart stand still.
But when I took her food in to her she was distracted and did not want to talk to me. She signalled to me to put the tray on a little cane-legged and glass-topped table near the piano, hardly stopping her music as she did so. I put it down and went to stand where I could watch her as she played. For a moment she did not notice that I was still in the room, but after a few bars she realised that I was still there and her face grew dark and she raised her hands above the keyboard. I thought she was going to crash down on it as I had seen her do before, and I fled towards the door. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure I was leaving the room and then seemed to relax again, her body moving into the music. I slunk out, prepared to hate her too.
The music continued, only more fiercely, as if it needed some extra determination to carry on, as if the very creative act was in itself painful and she might at any moment be unable to continue.
