“Well, well, well,” the librarian droned, “how frightfully interesting. I wonder now,” and he squinted up at Danny, “what would make two city people like you move way out to a place like that? So alone up there, nobody around to protect you, nobody to hear, if you should . . . call for help . . .”
Danny shivered in spite of himself. “We were just tired of living in the city, that’s all.” He was beginning to feel irritated, and even to let it show a bit in his voice. “We
like
the country, we
like
to be secluded, it’s beautiful there.”
“Yes, beautiful it is. So you enjoy living there, do you? Nothing . . . strange . . . about it that bothers you?”
I’m certainly not going to let
this
person know how I really feel, Danny decided. But he does seem to know about the place. Maybe if I’m clever I can find something out. “No, sir,” he said, very innocently. “There isn’t anything that bothers us. We both feel much better there than we ever did in London. Sometimes I feel sorry for Mary Peachy, though, with no date and all.”
“What? What did you say?
Sorry
for her?” He cleared his throat several times, squinting even more intensely at Danny now. “You mean, you don’t find it at all upsetting that she . . . that she . . .” Suddenly he blinked his eyes, shook his head as if gaining control of himself, and looked back at the form. “Let’s see,” he said, rummaging around, “I can make up a card for you right away.”
“That she what?” Danny almost shouted. “That she what?”
“My dear boy,” the man said sternly, “this
is
a library, you know. If this is an example of your behavior, I’m not at all sure that I should let you have a card after all.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Danny whispered. “It’s just that you started to say something, and I wondered what—”
“You must have misunderstood me. Now let’s see, I’ll just print your name here, then I sign it, then you sign it, and everything’s in order. Here you are, my boy, just sign your name right on that line.”
Danny signed the little beige card, almost shaking with suppressed rage and frustration. Yet he realized that if he were ever going to learn anything from this person he would have to be very subtle. And he would have to be polite.
“Now,” the man said, “that chart over there explains the rules, and how the library is arranged. And over there is the card catalogue.” Danny felt the dismissal, and almost forgetting to thank the man, he stepped softly across the floor. A few minutes later he glanced back from the card catalogue. A pale, willowy young fellow slouched at the desk. Danny’s inquisitor was nowhere to be seen.
It didn’t take him long to find the necessary books, for this was one of those libraries where one is allowed to go into the stacks. He found that he enjoyed exploring the narrow, murky avenues, and even liked the feeling of thick dust on his fingers. Many of the books had fascinating titles, and soon he forgot about everything else as he wandered among them.
Eventually, however, he began to think that Philippa might be there to meet him at any minute, and he knew she would never find him in the stacks. As he circled down toward the ground floor, his arms aching with the weight of the books, the thought occurred to him that there might be some information about Blackbriar here. He set the books down and began to search through the catalogue. Soon it began to seem useless, for though there were many books about houses, they all seemed to be concerned with famous estates or unusual architecture. The card catalogue, as stubborn as everyone else in the area, refused to yield a scrap of information.
Hopelessly he pushed in the last drawer. It was particularly frustrating to have expected to find something and then fail. He glanced around the room and noticed that the walls were lined with bound volumes of periodicals. Too dispirited to study, he started examining their titles, and discovered that most of them were local magazines or newspapers. And suddenly he was hopeful again. If there was any information about Blackbriar anywhere, the local publications were where it would be. He began poring through the indexes, worried that Philippa would arrive before he had time to discover anything.
And finally, in a crumbling and yellowed newspaper from 1935, he found what he was looking for.
As she pulled away from the library, Philippa began singing happily to herself. She noticed a cartload of squealing pigs, terrified by the motion of their cart and the unfamiliar sights around them. “The darlings!” she said “Pigs you know, are even cleverer than you are, Islington, dear.” She turned around in a driveway and headed back toward the main street. “How I love this town,” she said softly, and laughed out loud as she fought her way through the traffic. Soon she pulled the car into a side street and parked beside a row of old brick houses.
“Lucky boy, Islington,” she said as she slung her leather handbag over one shoulder. “You get to come with me today.” She set the cat on her other shoulder where he sat, perfectly balanced and at ease, swaying gently as she marched off down the street, his head darting about with intense interest at all the unusual sights.
The first shop she entered was a hardware store. She bought two oil lamps, whitewash, a paraffin stove, an ax, a saw, and a hammer and nails to fix some of the loose steps. But by the time she came out of the store, buried in bundles, her feeling of well-being was gone. The man behind the counter had been very friendly until Philippa had mentioned where she lived. Then, like the others, he had made a few ambiguous remarks and refused to say another word.
Not wanting to carry Islington on her shoulder now, she looped the end of his leash around her waist. But Islington seemed to be feeling as bad tempered as Philippa, and after a few unhurried paces he stopped and sprawled out on the cobblestone sidewalk. “Oh, come
on
, darling!” Philippa said, tugging at the leash as well as she could without dropping anything. But Islington refused to move.
She sighed, shifted her bundles, and pulled on the leash again, this time more forcefully. “You certainly have been a pest today,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let you come with me.” Islington rolled over and began licking his paw. “Will you come
on
!” Philippa almost shouted, and jerked the leash so hard that the cat was dragged a few inches along the pavement. Now even more stubborn, he lay there limply, pretending to be asleep. Philippa’s bundles were beginning to slip from her aching arms.
Just as she was about to give him another tug, a plump little man with shaking jowls rushed blindly past. His foot caught on Islington’s leash and, almost falling over, he slammed into Philippa, knocking most of her parcels to the ground and dragging Islington a few more inches along the pavement. For a moment he seemed terribly angry. “Madam,” he said, “it is people like you, who stand idling in the center of a busy street, who . . . who . . .”
Philippa was about to interrupt with an equally furious retort when suddenly the man caught sight of Islington huddled at his feet. “Why,” he said, “what a
gorgeous
Siamese!” He squatted down and began to stroke the cat passionately, Islington writhing uncomfortably under his touch. “I’m
so
sorry, madam,” he said, looking up at Philippa. “I didn’t realize you were leading this beautiful animal. A male, of course. What depthless eyes, what an uncanny intelligence they seem to possess!” Then, quickly darting around, he began to help Philippa gather up her bundles. Luckily the lamps had not fallen, and since the bags were strong, nothing was scattered over the pavement. When the parcels were restored, he turned again to Islington, holding the squirming, twisting head between his fat hands and staring into the cat’s face.
After the man had remained in that position for just a bit too long he sighed and slowly stood up. He removed his hat, and bowing politely to Philippa, who was speechless, he said, “I must congratulate you for possessing such a fine creature, my dear lady. What spiritual qualities he has! Of course, one realizes that most Siamese have deep inner lives, but this one seems particularly sensitive, particularly open to the highest influences.”
“Well,” Philippa said, who had no idea what he was talking about, “I don’t know about all
that
, but I must admit that he is a wonderful companion, a real boy. But he
can
be an awful pest.”
“Oh, of course, of course,” the man said, his jowls quivering. “But if he weren’t a pest, if he didn’t have a mind of his own, of what importance would he be, after all? Cats like this are impossible to find. Why, I would give anything, anything to own such an animal. Only think of the possibilities, only think how he could be used—” He stopped suddenly, clearing his throat. “Good-bye, madam,” he said, putting on his hat, “and—thank you, thank you!” He trotted off down the street, turning around several times to stare longingly back at them.
“My, my, Islington,” Philippa said brightly, “you certainly seem to have an admirer, don’t you?”
Islington, blinking and alert, seemed more than ready to be on his way.
They returned to the car, where Philippa left her parcels as well as Islington, his leash hooked securely around the steering wheel, while she finished her shopping. She spoke briefly to the people in the stores, and since Blackbriar was not mentioned, the conversations were all very pleasant. Eventually she pulled Lil up in front of the library, and left the car, with the motor running, in a no-parking zone.
For a moment she couldn’t see Danny at all, but then she noticed his blond head bent over one of the tables. She went and stood behind him, but he was so immersed in what he was doing that he didn’t notice her at all until she cleared her throat and said, “Well, well, look at the scholar here. Not going to school really seems to be doing you some good.”
He started at the sound of her voice, then said, sounding strangely tense, “Oh, this isn’t schoolwork, it’s not what you assigned,” adding quickly, “I did find all the books you wanted me to, though.” There was an odd expression in his eyes, as if he weren’t seeing her, or the library, but was gazing off into some other distant world.
“What is it that’s so fascinating, then?” she asked. “
The South County Gazette
, October, 1935? Sounds
deadly
dull to me. What on earth could there be of possible interest in
that
? But we’ve got to hurry. I’ve left Lil in a no-parking zone and Islington’s inside, and . . .” Her words faded as she noticed that his expression did not change. “My dear,” she said softly, laying her hand on his shoulder, “what’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing, really,” he said, wriggling his shoulder uncomfortably. His eyes were finally focused on her face. “Yes, let’s get out of here. I’ve got to put these away. I’ll hurry.” He pushed back the chair and stood up.
Philippa glanced briefly around the library, and said, “I’d better go wait in the car. But do be quick, we’ve still got to stop at the egg lady’s and I’d like to get back up the hill before dark.” As she hurried away Danny put back the heavy volumes he had been using. Then, almost staggering with the weight of all the books he had withdrawn, he descended the library steps to the car.
Danny set the books down in the back of the car and slid in next to Philippa. He put a folded blanket over his legs and reluctantly drew Islington onto his lap.
“Have a currant bun, darling,” Philippa said as they started off. “They’re nice and hot.”
“No thanks,” Danny murmured absently.
“Oh,
do
have one, I’m sure they’re very good. And you’re looking rather peaked. Come on, dear.”
“But I don’t want one. I’m not hungry.”
“After I went to all that trouble to buy them for you, you capriciously decide you’re not hungry. That’s what I call—”
“Oh, all right.”
As soon as he had taken one from the waxed bag by his side, Philippa reached in herself, and ate a bun quickly as she drove. They went back down the main street and left the town through the same gate in the city wall. The cold winter light was beginning to die, and the countryside took on the aura of magic and melancholy that only winter twilight can give. The car seemed a very small thing in a cold, windy universe of dark orange sky and golden hills.
“I was trying to find something about Blackbriar,” Danny said quietly. “That’s why I was reading those newspapers.”
“No wonder you were so interested! That must mean you did find something. What a relief, after all the double-talk we’ve been getting. I found nothing new, of course,” and she described what had happened in the hardware store. “What he said made me feel as though there were something wrong with
me
, as though somehow, there was something evil about the house, and I was part of it. It was so infuriating that I couldn’t bear to mention a thing to anyone else,” she finished. “It would have driven me up the wall to have the same thing happen another time.”
“I’m afraid the people around here just aren’t going to tell us anything,” Danny said, and told her what the librarian had said.
“Mmmm,” said Philippa, “but when are you going to tell me what you found out? Does it make any sense of all this?”
“It sort of does. I mean, it begins to explain it in a way. It was just a little article, about what Blackbriar used to be used for . . .”
“Well? Come on, darling, stop mumbling. What was it? Are you afraid to tell me?”
“No! It’s just kind of surprising, that’s all. It’s just that . . . well . . . Blackbriar was a pesthouse.”
The car came to a gravelly halt. They had stopped at the egg lady’s gate. Philippa switched off the motor and suddenly they could hear the wind, making dry, creaking noises in the trees. “A pesthouse?” Philippa said. “Can’t you be more specific?”