Gordon Williams (11 page)

“Oh my God, George – it’s Niles – you’d think he was some kind of innocent victim.”

He looked at his wife in surprise. Louise moved over to the sittingroom window.

“Close the curtains, honey,” he said. “You can’t see anything out there.”

“We could put him upstairs in the spare bedroom, it’s got a key.”

“I said I don’t think we should move him.”

“For God’s sake, George!”

“You don’t need to shout. I’m –”

“I’ll scream the roof off in a minute! I’m not staying in the room with that man.”

George Magruder was not a
real
coward, he was sure of that. The academic, sedentary life didn’t give a man much chance to prove himself in physical challenge, but he was sure he could face danger as well as most men. No, it wasn’t cowardice that normally let Louise get her own way. He
loved
her. These were modern times, men no longer ruled with an iron hand. They were equals. And there was no point to rows between equals, they were a pointless waste of energy.

“Look, Louise, do you really want him upstairs – with Karen just along the landing?”

Louise shut her eyes, clenching her lower lip between her teeth. Damn George, damn him, always so bloody sensible!

“We could lock him in,” she said, less angrily.

“Well I guess we could but he was supposed to be locked up in a lunatic asylum, wasn’t he? Maximum security? If he could escape from them I don’t imagine any old latch would hold him. Of course, you could sit with Karen and I could stay with him.”

“In films they handcuff them to bedposts... and things. Oh well, let him stay there.” They both looked at Niles. His eyes had closed. “I’d better take Karen her hot drink. Thank goodness she had all that cake and stuff at the party, I don’t think I could have cooked
anything
tonight.”

On her way from the kitchen through the dining-room and then up the stairs she felt ashamed of herself – although this didn’t improve her temper. She knew she was behaving badly. She couldn’t help it.

Despite the hot-water radiator, Karen’s room was cold. She put the tray on the bed and went to the curtains to check that the window hadn’t been left open. Down below she saw a patch of light on snow in front of the study window. Wind drove big flakes against the glass. She could hear the movement of the trees across the track.

As she made to pull the curtains her eye seemed to catch a dark movement down below. She put her face close to the pane, but there was nothing to be seen.

“You’d better put a cardigan over your pyjamas,” she said to Karen. “Here’s some Horlicks – I could warm up a mince pie if you’re hungry.”

“I’m not hungry. Who is that man downstairs? Why did you and Daddy shout at each other? I feel awful.”

“Now now, darling, we were a bit upset, that’s all. He’s just a man who was out in the snow, he’s almost frozen to death, poor chap.”

Karen had her father’s habit of staring blankly at you, as though you had just told an obvious lie and she was giving you a chance to recant. It was a common characteristic in America. She’d never discovered whether the dead-pan face was meant to express contempt, or was a sign of incomprehension.

“Why are you staring at me like that, Karen?”

“I don’t like that man. Why did Daddy lock my door, Mummy?”

“Did he, dear? You probably just imagined it.”

“No, I heard him. He locked the door. You unlocked it when you came up.”

Louise heard a noise down below – from outside. She stared at the curtains, a Brer Rabbit pattern on yellow. The walls of the room were white. She listened.

“What is it, Mummy?”

“Nothing, dear. You drink your Horlicks before it gets cold.” She tried to be casual about walking to the window and lifting the corner of the curtain. Again there was nothing to be seen, just snow cascading through light thrown from the downstairs window. She felt terrified.

“I’ll be back up in a minute or two, Karen. You finish your Horlicks.”

“But Mother –”

“Do as you’re told, Karen.”

She tried to turn the key at the same time as she clicked the latch. She put the big key in the pocket of her sheepskin jacket. She walked along the corridor, past the door of their bedroom, past the door of the store-room, past the spare bedroom. The upstairs corridor was just wide enough for one person to walk along with both shoulders almost touching the walls. Off the small, square landing there was the two steps that led to the bathroom and lavatory, and the well of the stairs down to the sitting-room.

Normally, when she went downstairs, she switched off the corridor light. She’d learned to take care of light bulbs. Twice she’d had to drive the eight miles to Compton Wakley when a bulb failed. That was the nearest hardware shop. Her fingers rested on the switch. Then she decided to leave the light on. Somehow it made her feel safer.

“Did you hear something outside, George?”

He was standing by the sitting-room window, his head turning towards her as though she’d caught him doing something secretive.

“Outside? There’s nothing outside. On a night like this? It must have been the wind.”

“You did hear it then?”

“It was the wind. Calm down, Louise, nothing’s going to happen. The police will be here shortly.”

“Yes? Walking all the way from Compton Wakley? They might never get here.” She didn’t like the nasty, brittle tone in her voice, but there was nothing she could do about it. “God, why did
we
have to run into him?”

“Maybe we saved his life. You wouldn’t want him out there, would you? He’d freeze to death.”

“I wish he bloody had.”

“More convenient than hanging him, huh?”

“There isn’t any hanging now.”

“There was when he –”

Somebody knocked on the front door. A heavy, impatient knock. They looked at each other. Relief came into their faces. George went to the sitting-room door. Louise followed, standing in the entrance to the hall, looking back to make sure Niles was still asleep.

George opened the front door. A cold blast of wind rushed round the hall. It was dark outside. He stepped back to the switch which worked the outside porch light.

Three men stood in the shelter of the porch, bulky figures in heavy coats and rubber boots, caps shading their faces.

“You got Niles here?” said one.

“Yeah. Come in.”

George fumbled for the door chain.

“We rang the police,” he said, slipping the chain from its slide. “Come in. They said they’ll be here as fast as they can make it.”

“Us don’t want no police,” said another man. George didn’t pay much attention. The thought of having the responsibility for Niles taken off his shoulders made him excited. He let the first two men
go into the sitting-room. The third hung back in the porch.

“Come in, won’t you? That’s some weather out there.”

The man came in. George closed the front door. It took a few seconds for the three men to get into the sitting-room, their bulk jamming in the narrow doorway. When they saw Louise they took off their caps. George recognised two of them. They’d been in the bar that night he’d gone down to the Inn. A very big man with a red face and a younger guy with dark hair and long sideboards. He didn’t know if he’d seen the third man before or not. A shifty sort of man with a weaselly face.

“That’s him,” he said, pointing to Niles, who was still asleep. “We hit him in the snow, I was on him before I could see him.”

The men looked like farm-workers. The one with the sideboards looked at Niles and said something to the other two, George didn’t catch what he said, the local dialect was beyond him. He could smell liquor.

“You haven’t brought the doctor, have you?” he asked, uncertainly. “I think we might have injured him –”

“Not bloody hard enough,” said the young man. Norman Scutt had been over-awed for a moment or two, in the strange room, with the woman there. “What’s he done with Janice Hedden, that’s what us want to know.”

Suddenly he went past Louise and bent over Niles, shoving his fingers into the sleeping man’s chest. “Wake up, Niles, what’ve you done wi’ Janice Hedden then? Don’t kid on you’re sleeping.”

“Hey, don’t push him,” said George. “He might have a broken rib or something.”

“He’ll have worse if he don’t tell us where Janice Hedden is. Wake up, you, bloody madman. Where’s the little girl?”

Again he shoved hard into Niles’ chest. Henry opened his eyes. He made as though to say something, then closed his mouth. He tried to twist over on to his side, drawing his knees up under the blankets. Norman Scutt grabbed his shoulder and pressed him back against the couch.

“Tell us where the girl is, you bloody pervert!”

Henry blinked rapidly.

George frowned. He didn’t understand why these men had come.

“Look, don’t push him,” he said, his voice still polite and reasoning. “If he’s got a broken rib you could push it into his lungs. Are you one of the search parties? Look, I don’t think he could have had anything to do with Janice Hedden, he was pretty well helpless when we found him, he was walking down the hill, she couldn’t have run all the way –”

“He got her, course he did,” said Norman Scutt. “Who else’d do it? He’s a bloody child murderer, where is she you –”

He raised his right arm as though to punch Niles on the face. George felt he had to do something. Janice Hedden was their business, but he had a responsibility for Niles. He went over to the couch, catching Norman Scutt’s raised arm.

“Look, friend, I know you’re worried, but –”

“Let goa me, you ain’t got nothing to do wi’ it.”

Norman Scutt tried to shrug his arm free. George tightened his grip. Norman straightened up. They were face to face, George the taller. “You can’t
hit
him,” George said, frowning. “I’m as worried about the girl as you are but –”

“Oh yeah? You’re worried, are you? Then what if she’s lying out in the snow? You don’t want him to tell us where? Maybe he didn’t get time to do her in, maybe he just did his bloody tricks on her –”

“I’m telling you, we met him about a mile and a half up the road from the school. She’d only just run away. He was in a bad way then. How could he have done anything to her?”

Norman Scutt didn’t like to hear these things. It was obvious, Niles
must
have got her. Where was she otherwise? He didn’t like the yank holding him. He looked at Phillip Riddaway. Big Phil could take care of the yank. He looked at Louise.

George stood between Norman Scutt and the couch. He tried to remember what he’d been taught about unarmed combat in the army, during advanced training, before he’d become an education officer. He recalled vague fragments – hands smashing into throats, fingers going for eyes. He hadn’t taken it very seriously then. None of it was appropriate now. He felt embarrassed more than anything else.

“Look, I don’t think your friend should stay in the room with Niles,” he said to the two other men. Phil Riddaway stared back. Norman had said they’d force Niles to tell them about Janice. Norman hadn’t said there would be trouble. Phil didn’t know what to think.

The third man – Bert Voizey – never felt comfortable in this kind of fancy house. Like one of his own ferrets, he had a natural instinct for creeping about in darker corners. He was not at ease with loud, confident people who stared you straight in the eye when they talked to you.

“You’d better calm down like, Norman,” he said, smirking apologetically at Louise.

“Us come here to get that bloody pervert,” said Norman.

Louise took it for granted that there was nothing to fear from three local men, however angry they were. In fact, she was just a little bit
pleased to see a man ruffle George’s pomposity. She wondered what he would do.

“Well nobody’s getting him,” said George. “Look, if it makes you any happier I’ll ask him. I don’t believe he’s capable of speaking.” He went over to the couch. “Hey, you awake, Niles?”

Henry seemed to cower, his eyes blinking even more rapidly than before.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you. Did you see a little girl tonight? Before the car hit you?”

Henry opened his mouth several times. He was still shivering, although it was very warm in the sitting-room and he must have been even warmer under the thick blankets.

“Come on, try and tell us, did you meet a little girl? A
girl
?”

Henry seemed to shake his head. Then tears came into his big, wide eyes. George felt embarrassed. He turned to the three men.

“You see? He’s just a helpless mess. I think you guys would be better employed looking for Janice instead of standing here. I’d go with you but I’m not leaving him here with my wife.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Norman Scutt. “That’s different, ain’t it,
your
kid.”

Unsure as he was in dealing with these strangely spoken Englishmen, George resented the imputation.

“I said to the police I’d keep him right here till they arrive,” he said. “They made me responsible for him.”

“Come on, Norman, us are supposed to be doin’ a search,” said Bert Voizey.

With another two drinks in him Norman would have refused to go, but he was just on the right side of caution. A well-lit sittingroom, with a respectable woman present, wasn’t the kind of place
you could start trouble. Not unless you had a good excuse. And the bloody American hadn’t given him an excuse. Phil Riddaway was used to obeying men who spoke with authority.

Grumbling, Norman Scutt allowed himself to be shown to the door.

“If he says anything I’ll let you know,” George said, holding the front door open. They crowded into the porch. “Honestly, I don’t think he could’ve done anything to her.”

“Bugger you an’ what you think,” Norman snarled, but Bert Voizey pulled him away. Phillip followed, not sure what he was expected to do.

“I hope you find her,” George shouted, but they were already moving off into the blizzard. He shut the door.

“God, you really excelled yourself there,” said Louise. “Did it make you feel like a hero, protecting that poor innocent man? I’d have let them tear him from limb to limb if there was the slightest chance he knew where she was.”