Fire and Hemlock (24 page)

“Laurel,” said Mr Leroy, gently swinging his stick, “my wife, is rather a special person. What’s hers is hers for keeps. So, to put it bluntly, keep your thieving hands off, little girl. This is the last warning you’ll get.”

“What about Mary Fields?” Polly asked angrily. “Do you give
her
warnings too?”

“Mary Fields,” said Mr Leroy, “hasn’t been inside Hunsdon House. Or,” he added, with a specially hard and sarcastic look, straight into Polly’s face, “taken anything away from there.”

Polly knew then that Mr Leroy knew all about the
Fire and Hemlock
picture hanging in Granny’s house above her bed, and maybe about the stolen photograph too. The jolt of guilt that gave her, and the jolt of yet more fear, seemed to shock a lot more courage into her. “You’ve no right to keep warning me,” she said. Her voice sounded so firm it surprised her. “It’s none of your business what I do. You don’t own people – you or Laurel.”

Mr Leroy’s stick stopped swinging and poised, raised. Polly flinched, thinking he was going to hit her with it, but she managed not to cower away. “Do you think you’re safe or something?” Mr Leroy said. He sounded almost astonished. “Do you truly think that pendant you wear is going to keep you safe?” Polly’s hand dived to make sure of the opal pendant. It was still there, a well-known little lump under her sweater. “It won’t,” said Mr Leroy. “I got its measure a while back. Now will you heed my warning?”

“No,” said Polly. She meant it. But one part of her mind suddenly stood away from the rest and wondered. Is this me saying that? What’s so worth getting in a fight with Mr Leroy about?

Mr Leroy’s stick swung and stopped, pointing at Polly. “In that case,” he said, “prepare to regret it, little girl. Believe me, you’ll regret it. You haven’t even begun to see what can happen to you yet.” The pointing stick poised, not quite hesitating. “You’re very young,” Mr Leroy said. “You’ve got angry and decided to be defiant. Change your mind.”

Polly found she was shaking her head. Why? asked the other part that found her doing it. He’s right.

“Or perhaps you don’t understand?” suggested Mr Leroy.

The part of Polly which seemed to be questioning everything at once agreed. No, you don’t understand, do you? You could have got it all wrong. He’s probably only accusing you of stealing pictures. So you’ll give them back before he goes to the police. But the main part of Polly had no doubt at all. She said challengingly, “Then you make me understand. You say what it’s about.”

“All right,” said Mr Leroy. “We are talking about Thomas Lynn. Now, for the third time, will you do as you have been told?”

“No!” Polly almost shouted. The two parts of her came together into a pillar of white anger. “I told you no, and I
mean
no!”

“You silly little girl!” said Mr Leroy. The stick swung a little further, to point properly at Polly, and then swept contemptuously away. Mr Leroy turned as the stick swung and walked off down the street, a triple rhythm of two heavy feet and the sharp
tweet
of the stick hitting the pavement.

Polly hurried home to Granny’s, expecting horrors to jump out at her at every corner. She made herself walk, though, and not run, because she did not want Mr Leroy to know how terrified she was. She was sure he knew everything she did.

“What’s up, love?” Granny asked while she was helping Polly take the white off her face. “Didn’t it go well again?”

Polly did not dare talk about Mr Leroy in case he knew and did something to Granny.

“It was magic!” she said. “And I was superb!”

“That sounds like your friend Nina, not you,” Granny said. “Didn’t Mr Lynn come after all, then?” Polly stared at her. Granny chuckled. “No. I’m not a mind-reader. He rang up and asked if you’d really like him to come. I told him about yesterday, and about Ivy being away, so he said he would.”

So was this how Mr Leroy knew? Polly wondered. Or was it through Nina somehow?

“Didn’t you see him there?” Granny asked.

“Yes,” Polly said grumpily. “Mary Fields came too.”

“Who’s Mary Fields?” asked Granny.

“Mr Lynn’s girlfriend, of course!” Polly snapped.

“I’m glad to hear he’s got one,” Granny said. “And you look worn out. Go straight to bed and I’ll bring you up some cocoa.”

For a long time Polly waited in real terror for Mr Leroy to carry out his threats. But nothing seemed to happen. Ivy and David came back, and Polly went home. Mr Lynn did not send her a Christmas present, but that was the only unusual thing.

School started, with its usual feeling of this term being the dead end of the year. After a fortnight of it, when nothing still had happened, Polly decided that Mr Leroy was either bluffing or trying to play on her nerves. She gave up worrying. If something happened, well, it did. If not, how silly she would be worrying about nothing.

So, as a way of defying Mr Leroy, Polly began compiling a book called
Tales of Nowhere.
First, she made a list of all the things she and Mr Lynn had made up about Tan Coul and Hero. Then she drew a map of Nowhere. She did a tracing of a real map of the Cotswolds and gave the places different names, except for Stow-on-the-Water. This seemed right for the way Nowhere was supposed to mix with real life. It rather pleased her to write DRAGON over the farm where Mary Fields lived. Then, rather thoughtfully, and a little frightened, she put Hunsdon House in too, right in the middle. That seemed right also. The next stage was to paint illustrations for the book she was going to write. Then she settled down to write it. This part of the plan went very slowly.

Nina meanwhile had given up acting and the guitar for boys. She and Polly were out of step again. Nina had come back to school with a figure. It seemed to have grown overnight – or, at least, over Christmas. All the plumpness which had hitherto been all over Nina had somehow settled into new and more appropriate places, and then dwindled, to make a most attractive shape. Nina looked good, and knew it. She spent perhaps half her time with other girls who were in the same happy state, comparing bosoms, talking of diets and discussing clothes. The rest of the time Nina pursued boys. The boys in her own year were considered quite uninteresting. Nina and her friends mostly went after boys in the Third and Fourth Years, but enough of the hunt spilled over into the Second Year for the boys there to start diving under desks whenever Nina appeared, shouting, “Help! Here comes Nympho Nina!”

“It’s a shame she’s started so early,” Fiona Perks remarked to Polly. “What will she have left to do when she’s an old woman of fifteen?”

Polly liked that remark. It was the kind of thing Granny said. “Nina has to be where the action is,” she explained. “She always did.” And she looked upon Fiona with a great deal more friendship after that. She and Fiona were rather thrown together that term anyway. They were both put in the Under Fourteen athletics team, and they both seemed to remain skinny and rodlike while the other girls burst out into hips and bosoms.

“We may be late developers,” Fiona said, “but when it happens, everyone watch out!”

Polly took to Fiona more and more. They were not quite at the stage of sitting together in class, but Polly went once, timidly, to have tea in Fiona’s house. Fiona’s house was quite grand – not as grand as Hunsdon House, but a little on the same lines. Polly wished she dared ask Fiona round to her house in return. But things had become really difficult there.

Ivy had decided David was deceiving her. Their Christmas holiday seemed to have done very little good. Sacrifice in vain! Polly thought bitterly. They could have come to the pantomime for all the good it did! Now, whenever David was out, Ivy telephoned all the people she knew and asked them where David was. One day Polly came in from school to find the kitchen a white fog from the kettle, and Ivy, red in the wet heat, busy steaming David’s letters open.

“I know. I’m insecure,” Ivy said defensively to Polly. “But he’s so secretive. How can I trust a man who doesn’t tell me anything?”

This made things awkward for Polly, because she was still taking notes from David to Mr O’Keefe. She had thought David would stop asking her to take them after the row before the pantomime. She was astonished when he stopped her, the first day of school, and handed her another note.

“Be an obliging wench,” David said pleadingly. “Don’t stop up my only outlet, there’s a gorgeous. I’ll do the same for you one day.”

He seemed to mean it so much that Polly’s annoying tenderheartedness was aroused. Besides, she liked Mr O’Keefe and the way he called her his darling. She agreed to take the note, and a good many others after that. All that term, even after the kettle incident, Polly was taking notes for David.

Then, towards the end of term, she came in from a cycle ride with Fiona to find Ivy opening a parcel. Polly could see the address, because it was on a label and very black, first the name of a book shop in Exeter and then
MISS POLLY WHITTACKER…
“Hey!” said Polly. “That’s mine! It’s from Mr Lynn.”

Ivy’s answer was to thrust the half-opened parcel across the kitchen table at Polly. “Is it?” she said. “Then show me. Open it right out. Go on.”

Under Ivy’s suddenly ominous stare, Polly rather resentfully finished undoing the brown paper. In it was a fat book called
The Golden Bough.
The typed slip of paper with it said it was from Mr Tea-Gell. Polly grinned. But her pleasure was a good deal spoiled by Ivy taking the book by its covers and shaking it, and then spreading the brown wrapping out to make sure there was no other message.

“It’s all right, Mum,” she said. “I know it’s from Mr Lynn. That’s the way he always does it now.”

“Yes, but I don’t, do I?” Ivy said. “Where does it say it’s from him?”

“The name he gave the book shop,” Polly explained. “It’s a joke. His initials are T.G.L.”

“It makes a good story,” said Ivy.

“What do you mean?” said Polly.

“Mr Lynn, Mr Lynn!” said Ivy. “You may be always on about this Mr Lynn of yours, but I don’t believe he exists.
I’ve
never set eyes on him!”

“Yes you have!” Polly cried out. “In London – the first time you went to the lawyer.”

“No I did not,” said Ivy. “You went by yourself in a taxi, as you well remember! You always were a sly little devil, even in those days. I can see now that you went to meet Reg behind my back. Oh, I have been a fool!”

Polly felt horrible. For a moment she wondered if Ivy had gone mad. But she felt so hurt and bewildered that she thought Ivy must be quite normal. If a person is mad, they cannot say things that hurt you. “Granny’s met him,” she said. “Ask her.”

“She’d only stick up for you. It’s no use asking her,” said Ivy. “She spoils you rotten, just like she did your father. And I reap the reward!” The front door clicked quietly. Ivy heard it. “David!” she shouted. “Come in here a moment!”

David came in slowly, sensing trouble. “The old homestead feels a bit stirred,” he said. “What’s the earthquake about?”

Ivy held the book and the typed note out towards him. “David, did you do this?”

David looked, wincing a little. “Not guilty. I couldn’t write a book like that to save my life. All that research—” He stopped, seeing the way Ivy was looking. “I didn’t give it her, if that’s what you mean. It’s that admirer fellow again. Whatsisface.”

“I know it was
supposed
to be,” Ivy said grimly. “My lady here has it all set up for you, doesn’t she? She makes herself up this story about this man who doesn’t exist. No doubt she believes it. She doesn’t know truth from lies, just like her father! Then you step in and start sending her presents, pretending they come from her Mr Nobody!”

“That’s not true!” Polly shouted. And David said at the same time, “Be reasonable, Ivy. Why would I send Polly presents?”

“Why indeed?” Ivy said. There was a sort of miserable triumph to her. “Because she’s been running your errands for you, hasn’t she?
I saw you look!
” she shouted as David’s eyes met Polly’s without either of them being able to help it. “Don’t deny it. She’s been taking your love letters for that Irishman to hand on, in spite of all you
swore
to me before Christmas—!”

“Just the odd pound on the dogs, Ivy,” David said.

He would have done better to have denied everything. The resulting row seemed to shake the house. David got as angry as Ivy and roared that he was not going to stand for being spied on. Ivy screamed that he had reduced her to it by ganging up with Polly. David yelled that he did not care two hoots about Polly. Ivy accused both him and Polly of lying. Polly, in tears by now, tried to make at least David believe that Mr Lynn had sent her the book. That made Ivy angrier than ever, and she sent Polly away upstairs. Polly defiantly grabbed
The Golden Bough
off the kitchen table as she went, at which Ivy screamed, “Yes, take your ill-gotten gains! Much good may they do you!”