The Daughters of Eden Trilogy: The Shadow Catcher, Fever Hill & the Serpent's Tooth (128 page)

‘No, thank you.’

He paused. ‘Max and I will be in the hotel car. I’ll have the concierge send you a tray.’

‘Thank you, I’m not at all hungry.’

‘You ought to eat something.’

‘I shall be fine,’ she said between her teeth.

You don’t look fine, he thought. You look extremely ill, and rather close to tears.

‘What are you going to do about Max?’ she said abruptly, as if to deflect his sympathy.

‘Max? He’ll share a cabin with me. It’s—’

‘No, I mean, what are you going to do?’

He blew out a long breath. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t had time to talk to the lawyers. Of course, it’s impossible in the long term. I shall have to find some relation of his father’s to take him on.’

‘The poor little thing. Passed from pillar to post.’

That stung. She had a way of doing that: of putting her finger on what was worrying him. ‘I wasn’t aware,’ he said sharply, ‘that you cared for him so much.’

‘I don’t in the least. I’m just glad that he’s your responsibility, not mine.’

‘You’re looking tired,’ he said unchivalrously. ‘Get some rest.’

Damn her, he thought as he made his way back to the others. And damn Sibella, and damn Max. Damn the lot of them.

Ironically, the only one he wouldn’t have minded keeping was the one he’d had to give up. Adam had dropped Billy at the aunt’s in Stoke Newington, having made as certain as he could that she was capable, and glad to have him. Adam had given her twenty pounds to start things off. It had made him feel uncomfortably as if he were washing his hands of the boy.

‘But what else can you do?’ Belle had said when he’d returned to the carriage and they’d started for the small hotel where Granger had found them rooms for the night. ‘You can’t adopt every orphan who needs you.’

Again that finger on the sore spot. He didn’t want to adopt anyone. Especially not Max. It was just that he’d been sorry to see Billy go. And by comparison, Max was a poor substitute. It was something of which Max himself seemed aware, for from his corner of the carriage he’d given Adam a shy, apologetic smile.

The porters were checking the doors by the time he rejoined Granger and the boy on the platform. Max looked as if he hadn’t moved an inch, having taken Adam’s order literally.

What was Sibella
thinking
? Adam thought angrily. Making me his guardian? The child needs a governess. He doesn’t need me.

Max was clutching a large book to his chest, and eyeing a Boy Scout selling flags for the Soldiers’ Comforts Fund. Although it was a warm day for the end of September, he was bundled up in a thick worsted coat, muffler and gloves, with a fur-trimmed cap pulled over his ears. As he’d dressed himself that morning in the hotel, this must be either from choice, or the result of remarkably thorough drilling.

Someone – presumably Mrs Pryce-Dennistoun – had sewn a black armband to his sleeve, but apart from that he showed no visible trace of mourning for the loss of his mother. Perhaps he hadn’t yet understood that she was gone. Or perhaps he simply didn’t miss her.

‘I’m afraid I cannot love him,’ Sibella had once told Adam in one of her customary flashes of honesty. ‘The poor boy is the image of his appalling father, and that gets in the way. I know it’s not his fault, but there we are. So it’s much better for him if he sees me as little as possible, and then when we do meet I can make an effort to be nice.’

‘I’ll take it from here,’ Adam told the courier, and Granger wished him a safe journey with a rueful smile.

Once in their cabin, Adam and Max unpacked their things in uncomfortable silence. The train moved off. They made their way to the hotel car. Adam ordered cutlets for them both, with a glass of milk for Max, and a much-needed bottle of claret for himself. He also ordered an omelette to be taken to Belle, although he guessed that she probably wouldn’t touch it.

‘So, Max,’ he said, when the silence had gone on long enough. ‘You seemed intrigued by that Boy Scout. Are you a member of the Cubs?’

An anxious crease appeared on Max’s pale forehead. ‘No, sir. I wanted to be, but I have a chest, and Mrs Shadwell said not.’

‘Who’s Mrs Shadwell?’

‘My governess. But I
wanted
to be. In the Cubs, I mean.’ He took a quick in-breath which ended in a gulp. ‘I’m not a slacker, you know. I wanted to collect silver paper and roll up bandages. Something for the War. But Mrs Shadwell said not.’

‘Oh,’ said Adam. ‘Well, not to worry.’ But as he said it, he thought what a stupid thing to say. It was no use telling Max not to worry. Any fool could see that he worried about everything.

After an awkward wait, the food arrived. Belatedly it occurred to Adam that he should have ordered something easier for a seven-year-old to deal with, but to his surprise, Max tackled his cutlet with creditable aplomb.

He seemed older than his years, as is often the case with an only child, but with his pale eyelashes and pinched little face he was not prepossessing. He was the sort of boy whom other boys bully. The sort of boy whose timidity irritates adults.

Adam felt a flash of pity, and asked him what he wanted for his birthday.

‘An officer’s suit from Gamages,’ Max said promptly. ‘Only I expect that’ll be too much, it’s seven and sixpence, so then a regimental badge. Not a real one, of course,’ he added, as if he’d overstepped the mark. ‘A pretend one made of tin. They’re one and sixpence, including postage.’

Adam repressed a smile at the thought of the heir to the Clyne fortune longing for a one and sixpenny badge. ‘You seem to know all the details,’ he said.

‘Mrs Clary, she’s the housekeeper, she lent me her catalogue for an afternoon.’

‘And what regiment would you like?’ asked Adam.

‘The Black Watch.’ Then that worried look again. ‘I know that’s your regiment, Captain Palairet, and I’m not saying it because of that. It’s always been my favourite.’ As if to prove his point, he proffered the book which was his constant companion.

‘
Deeds of Pluck and Daring in the Great War
,’ Adam read aloud as he took the book. ‘Hm,’ he said, for want of anything better to say. ‘Although of course,’ he added, ‘the War isn’t over yet.’

‘Oh no, sir, of course not.’

As Max watched anxiously, Adam leafed through the pages, because that seemed to be expected. An engraving caught his eye:
The Trenches in Winter
. In the background, beyond a stretch of wire as neat as a farm fence, the sky was bright with little red and yellow stars of shellfire. In the foreground, three well-muffled soldiers stood in pristine snow, watching the ‘show’. It could have been a fireworks display in Surrey. Adam didn’t know whether to be amused or appalled.

‘That’s the Battle of Loos,’ Max said anxiously.

‘So it is,’ said Adam. He turned to another plate which showed a square-jawed officer brandishing a revolver as he went over the top.
Led by the Young Officer
, the caption read,
the Eager Highlanders Rushed Forward
.

The story seemed to concern the retrieval of a wounded comrade.
The Huns fought gallantly
, read Adam,
but were beaten back by dogged British pluck. The officer succeeded in rescuing his stricken pal, but sustained a bad leg wound himself. Fortunately the wound, though severe, was not fatal. He recovered and was awarded the Military Cross.

Adam closed the book. He could feel the boy’s eyes on him. Some comment seemed required, but his mind had gone blank. That tidy wire fence. Those little red and yellow stars . . .

‘So,’ he said at last. ‘You – like this, do you?’

‘It’s my favourite book ever,’ Max said fervently.

‘Ah. Well, good. And – which is your favourite story?’

‘I can’t decide. Either “The Rescue Of The Wounded Highlander”, or “How They Saved The Pets”.’

‘Indeed,’ said Adam. He handed back the book.

For a moment Max looked crestfallen. Then he hugged his treasure to his chest, as if to reassure it that he still loved it, even if it had been found wanting by a higher authority.

He’s not stupid, thought Adam. Damn it, I ought to have said something jolly and approving. Something soldierly.

The waiter brought coffee for Adam, and bread and butter pudding for Max. Max ate some of the currants, but left most of the pudding. Then he took another of his gulping in-breaths. ‘You were on the Somme, sir, weren’t you, sir?’

Adam gave a wary nod.

‘What was it like?’

Adam looked down at his coffee. How the devil was he supposed to answer that? But Max was watching him with those pale, protuberant blue eyes. ‘It was noisy,’ he said, ‘and cold and muddy. Boring for much of the time. For the rest – extremely frightening.’

Max’s jaw dropped. ‘You were
scared
?’

‘Of course. It’s frightening when people try to kill you.’

Max swallowed.

Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to tell the truth. ‘But I had a dog,’ said Adam, ‘and he cheered things up no end.’

Max brightened. ‘What was he called?’

‘Um – William.’ Now why had he said that? But somehow, ‘Dog’ wouldn’t have sounded convincing.

‘What happened to William when you came home?’

Ah, thought Adam. Dog had been shot one night by an NCO who’d mistaken him for a rat. ‘I had to give him away,’ he lied.

‘Oh. What a shame. To whom did you give him?’

Adam paused. ‘To a little French girl who lived in a pretty cottage well behind the front line. She was awfully glad to have him, as her own dog had died – of old age – the week before.’

‘What was her name?’

‘Er – Mary. Well, Marie, actually. Because she’s French.’

Max’s brow creased with a new worry. ‘But how will William understand her?’

‘Ah,’ said Adam. ‘Well, you see, he’s French too. Having been born in France.’ This was getting complicated. To change the subject, he started telling Max about their destination. ‘It’s a few miles north of Stranraer,’ he explained. ‘That’s a little town by the sea. There’s a house on the beach – well, it’s not actually a beach, it’s the edge of Loch Ryan; which isn’t actually a loch, but a very long, narrow inlet.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, the name of the house is Cairngowrie House, but generally people just call it the House. And about two miles up the hill, through some woods, there’s a bigger house called Cairngowrie Hall. That’s where we’ll be staying, at the Hall. My aunt, Miss McAllister, lives at the House, but she’ll be coming up to stay with us at the Hall, to look after you.’

Max laid down his spoon. ‘Oh,’ he said in a small voice.

‘She’s very nice, you know,’ said Adam.

Which was not, he reflected, entirely true. He pictured Maud’s plain red face and gimlet grey eyes. For more years than he could remember, she’d been the terror of the Sunday School at St Anselm’s, just outside Stranraer. But she’d always been a good friend to him.

It was just that she didn’t care for strangers. She’d met so few in her life: a life of unimaginable dullness, keeping house at the Manse for her father, and then for that dreadful brother, who had followed in the Reverend McAllister’s unbearably worthy footsteps. Small wonder that with unfamiliar people she could be brusque.

And yet, thought Adam as they made their way back to their cabin, she is perceptive, loving, and lonely. Surely she will take to Max?

Maud didn’t.

They arrived when it was still dark, and she met them in the carriage. She took one look at Belle, who’d woken up briefly, and her face stiffened in shock. Max, who was hiding behind Adam, she grimly ignored. But Adam could guess what she was thinking, for he’d heard her say it often enough. ‘If there’s one thing I detest, it’s a ninny.’

Little was said until Stranraer was left behind, and they’d been out on the coast road for some miles. They approached the turning up Cairngowrie Hill, and Adam recognized the tidy brick bulk of the House, with a glowing line of white beach beyond.

Suddenly from the House came an unearthly shriek.

The horses shied.

Max yelped in fright. ‘Is that a monster?’ he whispered to Adam.

‘Of course not,’ snapped Maud. ‘It’s only Julia.’ She turned to Adam. ‘I left her at the House, of course, but I shall have to go down to be with her every day. I take it that that’ll suit?’

‘Of course,’ he said. He was puzzled. He hadn’t expected her to be thrilled at their arrival, but it was unlike her to be so defensive with him. He wondered if something else was wrong – something, that is, in addition to the arrival of two unwelcome strangers for whom she’d reluctantly agreed to care.

Belle had fallen into an exhausted slumber, and Adam watched Maud eyeing her with icy disapproval. ‘She’s wearing
paint
,’ she hissed in his ear. Belle had applied a touch of rouge stick to her lips. ‘What is she, some sort of actress? And where’s her luggage? It’s hardly decent, arriving with just the one dress basket.’

‘I thought I mentioned it in my wire?’ said Adam. ‘Her trunk is being sent on.’

Thwarted, Maud lapsed into twitchy silence.

But as they drove up the rhododendron-fringed drive towards the Hall, she turned to him again, and laid her hand on his sleeve. ‘I’m sorry, Adam. Not much of a welcome for you. You deserve better. It’s the shock, you see. You’re far too thin. What have they been doing to you down in London?’

He smiled. ‘I think that had more to do with the trenches.’

She nodded. Then she returned to the attack. ‘Of course I’ll do my best for her,’ she said in a hoarse whisper, ‘but what if she dies? You’ll have some explaining to do to her parents, won’t you?’

‘That,’ said Adam, ‘had occurred to me.’

‘And as for the boy . . .
well
.’ She could hardly say any more, as Max was listening with open ears.

This is a mistake, thought Adam as Cairngowrie Hall loomed into sight. A great big, disastrous bloody mistake.

Chapter Twenty

‘I
hate
Scotland,’ cried Belle. ‘It’s so appallingly grey. Grey hills, grey sea, grey sky. Hardly ever stops raining. And when it does,
finally
, clear up for a few seconds, that woman informs me that I can’t possibly go out unless I sit in a
cart
.’