Arnie Jenks and the House of Strangers (13 page)

‘Did something not good happen to David and Dirk at one time? Which upset Lord Martlesham quite a lot?'

The old man's eyes darted around suspiciously.

‘A while ago? During a long hot summer?' Arnie tried.

‘Mr Silverthorne told you about that did he?' said Towersee cautiously.

‘He hinted. An accident down at the river?'

‘Well, that's what Master David said it was but where Master Dirk is concerned one can never be sure. He had been going a bit funny up to that point.'

‘Funny?'

‘Yes, as in a bit unpredictable…odd.' Towersee tapped his head with the tip of his finger, ‘in the top storey.'

‘What happened that day?' coaxed Arnie.

‘I shouldn't be telling you really though it's no secret now. He tried to poison himself while his Lordship and young David were out. Somehow he didn't quite manage to do it. He was a lucky young fellow.'

So the medicine worked! Arnie thought, sighing with relief.

‘He was never the same afterwards,' Towersee continued, ‘became very withdrawn. It was a bad time for us all. But there you are. Those were the cards we had dealt.'

‘And his brother – David?'

‘That's a different story.' Towersee inhaled deeply. ‘One that's not for me to tell.'

‘But…' tried Arnie in desperation.

‘No – sorry. There are some things that are better kept within the family.' His eyes sagged a little. ‘Got me?'

Arnie half shrugged but Towersee brushed his objection aside.

‘Now,' he said changing tack. ‘Your fare will be at the door anytime now so I'd get ready if I were you. I need those old clothes you're wearing back.'

Towersee lowered his head and moved across to start placing the breakfast things onto his tray. When his risky task was accomplished, he staggered off into the long corridor mumbling quietly to himself.

Arnie did as Towersee asked and was soon standing on the driveway in his school uniform watching the melting snow dripping down everywhere. The day smelt clean and fresh and the starlings were singing brightly. He clutched his rucksack all ready to leave but Farmer Carter was nowhere in sight. Feeling cold out of the sun, Arnie decided to wait in the hall.

It felt no warmer inside. Slouching around, his mind cluttered with confused thoughts, he found himself drifting past an open door. He looked in.

It was clearly inhabited by someone with little interest in filing. Papers were heaped all over the place: piled high on the floor, stacked along the walls and littered across a desk. There was hardly anywhere one could stand. Arnie shuddered at the thought of Lord Martlesham trying to find a single thing in here so he turned to go. Then he saw it. A large leather trunk with the letters D.C.
carved into the front and the names SHABBINGTON HALL MARTLESHAM painted below. His curiosity tempted him over. He knelt, examining it with a twinge of excitement, like an archaeologist who might be about to crack open an ancient casket and discover lost treasure.

Arnie moved his hands swiftly over the straps tugging them loose from the buckles that held them tight and with a heave, lifted up the lid. Inside, he found bundles of clothes, sporting gear, football programmes, magazines and comics, wads of letters, postcards and an array of other slightly tired looking schoolboy possessions.

As Arnie removed a book on fly-fishing something broke free and fluttered to the ground. It was a photograph.

Two faces stared out at him both of which he recognised instantly, one with his head and one with his heart. Lord Alec Martlesham looking content and beaming joyfully stood next to a younger man who smiled also, directly towards the lens.

Arnie felt his insides churn as he saw his father – David Jenks, younger than he had ever known, somewhere in his thirties but unmistakeably him. His heart beat faster.

‘Dad?' said Arnie, under his breath, ‘what are you doing in this picture? How do you know Lord Martlesham?'

His eyes sank deeper into the trunk and to another photograph of a boy wearing a summer blazer, white flannels and holding a cricket bat. Arnie recognised him as the same young boy he had met outside earlier who was searching for his brother Dirk.

Paper-clipped to the back was a letter. Arnie ran his finger slowly underneath the carefully written words in blue fountain-pen ink as he absorbed their meaning.

Castle House

Frenchingham School

Oxfordshire OX14

July 1
^st
1976

Arnie stared transfixed at the boy's face. ‘Dad! This is
you
!' Steadying himself, he looked up through blurry eyes high above to the heraldic shield bearing the Martlesham family crest. ‘Is this
really
where you come from? You're David
Martlesham
and we've just met outside! That's the funny feeling I had!'

Slowly, he looked down and gazed even harder into his father's youthful features – radiating joy.

‘And if you're a Martlesham that makes me one too,' he spluttered hoarsely, feeling the blood drain from his face.

A crusty voice sailed over him from behind.

‘What are you doing in my study?'

Arnie twisted round to a fuming Lord Martlesham.

‘I know you've a tongue in your head!' he exploded. ‘Explain this intrusion.'

‘I…I,' Arnie croaked.

‘What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost!'

‘I think I might have – several,' he said breathlessly, moving aside to reveal the open trunk.

Lord Martlesham was aghast. ‘What do you think you are playing at? You have no business ferreting about in there!'

‘I do,' said Arnie, recovering a little.

‘What? Explain yourself young man.'

‘These are my dad's things. I've just read his letter and this is him with you isn't it?'

Lord Martlesham's eyebrows arched as he caught sight of the photograph of himself and David still tightly gripped in Arnie's hand.

‘You're talking nonsense,' Lord Martlesham blustered. ‘Now will you kindly put all that back where you found it. It is not yours. And then leave this room.'

Arnie slowly pulled himself together and placing the photograph on the table beside him, stood firmly facing the old man. Quivering, he slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and extracted a thin plastic wallet. From inside he removed a picture of two people smiling and held it up to Lord Martlesham's face.

The old man let out a weak gasp and crumpled against the frame of the door.

‘These are my parents. My mother died when I was six.'

Lord Martlesham slowly recovered and reached out to examine it, exhaling one long sigh.

‘I didn't see Rebecca often,' he said finally, ‘particularly after she had the baby.' He looked at Arnie. ‘You're quite grown up. How old would you be now? Eleven?'

‘Twelve and a half. Almost.'

‘My my. How time slips by.'

‘You recognised something about me didn't you?' recalled Arnie. ‘When we met for the first time.'

The old man scrutinised him closer. Arnie flinched warily.

‘Not for sure but I can see it in your eyes now – the way you are guarding yourself.' Lord Martlesham continued, ‘You
could
be David when he was your age. That dimple,' he levelled a crooked finger at Arnie, ‘his was
just
the same.'

They both remained still – semi-traumatised – neither certain what to do. Then a burst of sound from outside broke the tension. Arnie thought it might be a buzz-saw starting up or a plane overhead but it soon became the drone of a car engine approaching fast. It sped into the grounds and squelched up the drive before braking hard.

Hearing the front door scrape open, Arnie and Lord Martlesham both turned an ear towards the fast moving trip-trap of footsteps across the hall. They approached rapidly before slowing to a stop outside Lord Martlesham's study as if their owner knew they were both inside.

A man of about fifty, unshaven with short greyish hair stood in the doorway. For a moment he seemed uncertain as how to react, but then his haggard expression turned to one of relief.

‘Arnie! There you are! God, I was so worried about you! The minute I heard Lavinia was unable to get here I jumped in the car – I had the Land Cruiser you see. But the snow was too deep for me as well. I'm sorry – I couldn't think what else to do. I just prayed you were in safe hands.'

‘Dad!' Arnie blurted out.

‘I trust everything
is
…all right?' searched his father.

Lord Martlesham who had been standing behind the open door stepped out to join them.

‘This…gentlemen…' Arnie's father hesitated, ‘…has been the one looking after you, has he?'

‘Kind of,' Arnie nodded robotically.

‘Well that's very good of you,' he said, trying to avoid direct eye contact with Lord Martlesham. ‘I hope my son wasn't too much of an inconvenience.'

‘Not at all.' Lord Martlesham spoke quietly. ‘He's a very resourceful young man. You should be proud of him.'

‘I'm pleased to hear that,' he said quickly. ‘And I am. Very proud.' Arnie's father paused. ‘Well, we must be…on our way – mustn't we Arnie? Who knows how long it will take us to get home…'

‘Are you just going to leave?' Lord Martlesham said very directly. ‘Is there nothing more you have to say?'

‘Oh, thank you, of course. I'm sorry, I must appear incredibly rude.'

‘Dad! What's going on?'

Arnie's father shook his head and looked vaguely around the room. ‘As I was just explaining, the weather was atrocious and I couldn't make the last few miles till now…'

‘I mean about
this place
. And
you
. And
me
!' Arnie shouted.

Arnie edged away from the table and exposed the open trunk and the picture of his father in his cricket whites that lay next to the letter that Arnie had read.

‘I see I'm too late,' Arnie's father said wearily, catching sight of the photograph of himself and Arnie's mother clenched in Lord Martlesham's quivering hand.

He looked to the old man. ‘Hello Father. It's good to see you again. Though it's not how I imagined it would be.'

‘You've thought about me then David?' said Lord Martlesham.

David Jenks sucked his teeth. ‘All the time.'

Lord Martlesham's eyes didn't waver.

‘You look well…' said Arnie's father.

‘I'm old David and each day feeling older.'

‘I know, we must talk about things.
If
you want to.'

‘Do
you
, son?'

‘Yes. But as you can see, young Arnie and I have some things we need to sort out first. Could we have a little time alone together please?' he added quietly.

The old man squared up to David considering him carefully. ‘Whatever you tell him, make sure you leave nothing out. You owe him that at least.'

‘I will – promise.'

‘It
is
good to see you again David,' he grunted. ‘Despite everything.'

‘Sure Father – the same. Talk after?'

Lord Martlesham swung a reassuring look to Arnie as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

‘I'm not dreaming then,' concluded Arnie. ‘This is your home.'

David Jenks clasped his mouth in defeat. ‘Was,' he admitted.

‘What do you mean?' said Arnie confused.

David took a pace forward. ‘Come here and give your dad a hug – I've missed you.'

‘No stop – I'm really confused – you're saying this
was
your house and now it isn't?
How come?'

David drew up a chair and sat down, an arm's length away from Arnie who tensed up.

‘I
was
born and raised here and had a pretty good time of it – mostly,' David said, nodding to himself. ‘But one day I left.'

‘What you ran away?'

‘No – I planned to go – God!' he said, rubbing his forehead, ‘This is
so
very hard to talk about.'

‘Try me,' said Arnie. ‘I want to understand.'

David sighed, rubbing his chin. ‘Ok, ok – listen. I've always tried to be honest with you on everything but this is different and happened a long time ago.'

‘Go on then,' Arnie's breathing softened and the pulse in his neck slackened its relentless throbbing.

‘Right,' said his father, composing himself.

‘When I finished college,' David said finally, ‘I felt the need to start a life away from here – travel, see something of the world – do my own thing. I always imagined one day I
would
come back and do what was expected of me – to inherit my father's position and title. But as each year passed, the thought of being
Lord
Martlesham of Shabbington Hall just felt peculiar to me – something that didn't sit right. I was happy living out of a suitcase – being a bit of a hippy. Chilling out. Life felt good – no responsibility except to me. I didn't think of the future. Selfish in retrospect I know.'

‘But everyone here, how could you leave them?'

‘I did keep in touch: wrote, visited, Christmas and such…but I didn't need to be here – not while Father was able to manage the estate. Then things changed.'

‘What happened?'

‘I was told to get a job in the city, to learn business so I could run this place. I refused. My father and I fell out disastrously – he couldn't accept that I might be changing my mind about ever taking over.'

‘Bit tough on him?'

‘It was but I knew my heart could never be in it, “if a job's worth doing it's worth doing well” and all that. My father was too stubborn to see it.'

Arnie tilted his head.

‘Yes I know Arnie, it's a family trait. I can be obstinate as well but in this case it was the right decision.'

‘So you chucked it all away?'

‘Not quite. Soon after that Mother died and my father started to lose interest in everything here at Shabbington – the horses, the farmland and even the gardens – which he adored. His health took a knock and the house started decaying around him. He demanded I return home immediately. I thought how hard it would be.'

‘But you wouldn't have had to do it on your own,' butted in Arnie, ‘lots of people would help! Mr Silverthorne for a start!'

‘No,' his father chuckled. ‘That's not what I meant.'

‘It's not funny!' retorted Arnie.

‘No, it's not – it's serious.' His father raised his hands in surrender. ‘And hear me out, I
did
come back. Though my heart and spirit were elsewhere – I tried. Six months. But it didn't work for me so I bit the bullet and told my father.'

‘What did Lord Martlesham say?'

‘Couldn't understand. Saw it as shameful and an insult to everything he stood for. “Duty and loyalty come before personal feelings,” he said. ‘We didn't speak for a long time after that.'

‘So, because you ditched Shabbington Hall, I lost the chance to know it too,' Arnie said sadly.

David exhaled heavily. ‘I always intended to tell you…'

Arnie stared down at his feet.

‘Look Arnie, it was
my
choice back then. It didn't occur to me what it could mean should I have children. I took one day at a time.'

‘Is that an excuse?'

‘It's a reason. The only future I could see was one of misery imposed on me because of where I came from. Call it rebellion, call it a mistake, but I did what was right for me. And though this must be hard to hear – I have no regrets. It gave me the life I wanted.'

‘You didn't think I could hack it! Knowing the truth!'

‘No! But I did fear how you would react and so couldn't find the courage to tell you. I thought it would also…change the way you felt about me…which is…'

‘Dad?'

David winced and folded his arms tight. ‘…is the only thing I have left in the world that means anything. I didn't want to risk losing you.'

Arnie bowed his head and murmured something quietly to himself.

‘Arnie come here.' His father opened his arms but Arnie stayed put.

‘But why
can't
we live here?' Arnie pleaded, biting his lip. ‘I
like
it. It's a great place! Wild!'

‘But you've only been here one day. You really can't know anything; we've had a complicated history. It's not been a smooth ride…'

‘But that doesn't make it unimportant!' Arnie snapped and headed for the door.

‘Arnie come back!' his father shouted, crossing the study quickly to watch his son disappear down the long corridor into the large room at the far end.