The Piper (4 page)

‘We’re all set,’ she said. ‘Let’s be on our way.’

Peter had hoped there would be a motorcar waiting for them, but he was disappointed when Mrs Beesley directed them to a shabby-looking pony and cart, waiting on the road outside the hall. A huge, bearded man sat up in the seat, holding the reins. Despite the warmth of the day, he was wearing a thick tweed overcoat with the collar turned up and a filthy flat cap. He studied the two children as they approached and watched in silence as Mrs Beesley directed them to climb into the back of the cart and make themselves as comfortable as they could.

‘Two of ’em?’ he muttered, as she clambered heavily up beside him. ‘Dunno what Mr Sheldon will have to say about that.’

She directed a withering glare at him. ‘You let me worry about that,’ she growled. ‘If certain people had hurried ’emselves up, there might have been more choice. I had to take what I could get.’

‘It’s not
my
fault,’ he told her. ‘Bessie’s not gettin’ any younger and I’ve told Mr Sheldon, I don’t know ’ow many times, her near hind fetlock needs lookin’ at. There’s summin’ not quite right with it.’

‘None of us is gettin’ any younger,’ said Mrs Beesley. ‘And there’ll be something not quite right with you if we don’t get to the Grange by nightfall. We don’t want to be out after dark, do we?’ She gave him a meaningful look and he reacted instantly, slapping the reins against the pony’s flanks and telling her to ‘giddy up’.

The cart lurched forward and the driver urged Bessie into a brisk trot. They turned left off the street and followed a road which seemed to be leaving the outskirts of town and heading into open country. Sitting behind his hosts in the clattering, juddering cart, Peter studied the backs of their heads for a few moments, hoping that one of them might say something; but when after several minutes neither of them had bothered, he felt moved to break the silence. ‘Is it far to where we’re going?’ he asked.

Mrs Beesley turned her head to look back at him, as though she’d forgotten that he was there. ‘It’s a good distance,’ she admitted. ‘But we’ll be there in an hour or so.’

Peter heard a soft groan emerge from Daisy’s lips at this news. They’d been on the move since early morning and were both desperate to sit still for a moment. ‘And … what is this Grange place?’ he asked.

‘It’s a farm,’ said Mrs Beesley. ‘I expect you two won’t have much idea about farms, eh, what with coming from Lunnen and all?’

‘Lunnen?’ Peter frowned. ‘Do you mean … London?’

Now the driver turned his head, an amused smile on his potato-like face. ‘Cheeky young rip, ain’tcha?’ he said. ‘Aye, London is what she meant, right enough. I’m Adam, by the way.’ He removed one huge calloused hand from the reins and shook Peter’s hand warmly.

‘I’m Peter. This is Daisy. And I didn’t mean to sound cheeky, sir, I’ve just never heard it said like that before.’

‘That’s just my accent,’ said Mrs Beesley. ‘Everyone talks like this round these parts. You’ll soon get used to it.’

‘You’ll get used to
all
our funny ways,’ said Adam and he winked.

‘Will there be animals on the farm?’ asked Daisy hopefully.

Adam smiled. ‘Aye, we’ve animals right enough. You fond of ’em, miss?’

Daisy nodded. ‘I’ve got books with pictures of them,’ she said.

This seemed to amuse Adam. ‘Why, bless thee, pictures she says! We’ve got the real thing at the Grange, don’t you worry about that. There’s sheep mostly. Romney Marsh sheep, I expect you’ve ’eard of ’em. Them’s famous all around the world, them is.’

‘They’re not famous in Dagenham,’ Peter assured him. ‘At least … I don’t think they are.’

Adam guffawed, as if he’d made a joke. ‘Not famous in Dagenham!’ he repeated. ‘Bless my soul. You two are a right pair of jokers, ain’tcha?’

Peter and Daisy looked at each other blankly. Peter hadn’t meant to say anything funny and didn’t think that he
had
, but he decided it would be best not to mention it. He looked out at the countryside into which they were heading, a bleak stretch of flat moorland, through which the dirt road cut straight as a knife. The sun was already quite low on the horizon and turning a dull shade of orange. There wasn’t a single tree or hill in sight, with the result that you could see for miles over the scrubby-looking grass. Occasionally, a channel of sluggish grey water meandered through the land and, here and there, they passed the occasional lake, but there was not much else of note. Peter wondered why none of the other children seemed to be heading in this direction. He suddenly got the strangest feeling: it felt as though he and the other occupants of the cart were the last people left in the world. Then he became aware of the silence. Apart from the clattering of the wheels on the road, the clunking of Bessie’s hooves, and the creaking of her leather harness, there was not another sound to be heard. They rode along in this way for some time. Then:

‘Here comes trouble,’ announced Adam quietly. Peter saw over Adam’s shoulder that a figure was approaching from up ahead, too distant as yet to make out much detail.

Mrs Beesley turned in her seat and pointed to a folded blanket that lay in the bottom of the cart. ‘We’re going to play a little trick on someone,’ she announced. ‘Get down on the floor, pull that blanket over yourselves, and both of you keep nice and quiet.’

Peter looked at her. ‘But why—?’

‘Never mind, why,’ snapped Mrs Beesley. ‘Like I said, it’s a trick. Come along now, cover yourselves up and not a sound from either one of you!’

Bemused, Peter did as he was told, even though the blanket had a rather unpleasant animal smell about it. He and Daisy crouched down on the uncomfortable wooden floor. After a while, the cart eased to a halt and Peter heard a man’s voice calling up to the passengers. It sounded hearty and more refined than Adam’s or Mrs Beesley’s.

‘Hello there! Been into Rye, have you?’

‘That’s right,’ said Adam. ‘We had a few provisions to pick up.’

‘Lots of excitement in the town today, I understand. The evacuees.’

‘So I ’eard,’ said Mrs Beesley’s voice. ‘We only called to the general store for a few bits and pieces, didn’t we, Adam?’

‘Aye, that’s right.’

‘I’d have liked to have billeted a child myself, but I’m not really equipped for it. I can’t cook anything more than a boiled egg and, as I’m sure you know, my housekeeper walked out on me after all that unpleasantness about the book.’

‘Oh, you haven’t found a replacement yet?’ asked Mrs Beesley.

‘Afraid not. Tried everywhere. I don’t suppose you know anyone?’

‘Nobody. Not round ’ere.’

‘Shame really, would have been nice to have a bit of company around the place. I should have thought Alfred could have taken someone though? He’s plenty of room. And it would have been a nice companion for—’

‘You’ll ’ave to excuse us, Professor,’ interrupted Mrs Beesley. ‘Only, it’s getting late and we wants to be back by nightfall.’

‘Oh, you’ve a little while yet, surely? I just wanted to ask you if—’

But then Peter heard the crack of the whip, cutting the voice off in mid-sentence. The cart moved on again.

‘See you later then!’ called the man’s voice from somewhere behind them. He sounded disappointed.

After a little while, Mrs Beesley announced that it was all right to come out from under the blanket.

‘What was that all about?’ asked Peter, brushing his hair out of his eyes. ‘And why did you say you hadn’t seen us?’

‘I told you. We was playing a trick. That fellow back there, he’s a right old busybody. Always sticking his nose into other folks’ business, he is. If he knew you two were staying with us, it’d soon be the talk of the town.’

‘Folks in these parts likes to keep ’emselves to ’emselves,’ said Adam. ‘That’s just the way we are.’

They rode along for some distance in silence. Peter felt moved to say something else, if only to hear the reassuring sound of his own voice.

‘We have a postcard,’ he announced, and the two adults turned their heads to look at him again. ‘We’re to fill it in with your address and send it off as soon as possible, so our mum can write to us.’

Mrs Beesley considered this information for a moment, then made that forced attempt at a smile. ‘Goodness me, what’s your ’urry?’ she asked him. ‘We’re not even there yet. There’ll be plenty of time for all that, once we’ve got you settled. I’ve a room already picked out for you,’ she told Daisy. She glanced at Peter. ‘And I expect we’ll find one for you,’ she added.

‘Can’t we stay together?’ asked Daisy, sounding apprehensive.

‘A big girl like you? Oh, don’t be silly! It’s time you had your own room. Mr Sheldon is the most successful farmer on the Marsh and the Grange is a great big place. So it would be silly to throw you in together, wouldn’t it?’

‘The … Marsh?’ asked Peter.

‘Yes. Romney Marsh, of course. That’s where the Grange is. Did nobody tell you where you’d be goin’?’

‘Nobody told us anything,’ said Peter.

‘Well, that’s where we’re ’eaded, right enough,’ said Adam. ‘Romney Marsh, the biggest wilderness on God’s earth. Lived ’ere all me life, I ’ave. I know the place like the back of me ’and.’ He seemed to think for a moment. ‘If you two should ever chance to be alone out here, you watch out for the canals,’ he said.

‘The canals?’ Peter looked around but he couldn’t see any water.

‘Oh aye. They’re out there, right enough, and sometimes you don’t see ’em until you’re right next to ’em. They can be dangerous. The water’s dark and there’s thick, clingin’ weeds. Why, I remember once—’

‘Let’s have less of the chat,’ Mrs Beesley interrupted him. ‘And can’t you get this ’orse moving faster?’

‘I already told you,’ said Adam. ‘Her fetlock …’

‘Never mind about her blessed fetlock! Use the goad if you have to.’ She indicated a long leather whip that was standing in a container at Adam’s side.

‘It’ll be all right,’ Adam assured her. ‘We’ll be there in time.’

‘We’d better be.’ Peter noticed how Mrs Beesley kept looking towards the western horizon, where the sun was rapidly turning the clouds crimson.

As they moved on, he spotted a tiny stone building to his right. The place had once had a roof but that had fallen in and the remains of a stubby chimney stuck up at one end. It looked far too small for anybody to have actually lived in. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing.

Adam followed his gaze. ‘That? It’s an old sheep ’ouse,’ he said.

‘The sheep live in houses?’ asked Daisy, delighted by the idea.

‘No, that place is where shepherds can stay. Lookers. That’s what we call ’em on the Marsh. So when they ’ave to stay out overnight, they can ’ave themselves a fire and a place to stretch their legs, out of the rain.’

‘But I don’t see any sheep,’ said Peter.

Adam snorted. ‘There’s still some around, but they go where they’ve a mind to,’ he said. ‘There’s no fences nor nothin’ to keep ’em in. So you’ll see huts like that all over the Marsh. Quite a few of ’em are still in use. They goes back to the Middle Ages, they does, round the time of the Great Plague.’

‘What’s the Great Plague?’ asked Daisy nervously.

‘Oh, it’s just something that happened hundreds of years ago,’ Peter told her, not wanting to give her too much information. He knew how she worried about such things. ‘But don’t fret, things from the past can’t harm you.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Mrs Beesley and Peter noticed that she surreptitiously made the sign of the cross. He wondered why she was so scared and what she was trying to ward off.

The cart rumbled on, for what must have been miles. The sun finally began to sink below the horizon and, as the light diminished, the temperature dropped abruptly. Peter was obliged to drape the smelly travel blanket around Daisy and himself again. As darkness gathered, a low mist rose up from the wide expanses of grass on either side of them, thick tendrils of grey curling in over the edges of the track, until the cart appeared to be moving across a rippling ocean of fog.

‘The light’s almost gone,’ observed Mrs Beesley and Peter could detect something new in her voice. Where she had previously sounded anxious, now she seemed terrified.

‘We’ll be all right,’ Adam assured her. ‘It’s only a couple of miles.’

‘We need to go quicker,’ insisted Mrs Beesley. She leaned suddenly across him and snatched up the whip in her hand. ‘If you won’t use this thing, I shall!’ she snarled.

‘Give it ’ere,’ growled Adam crossly. ‘You’ll have somebody’s eye out with it.’ He took the whip from her and then cracked it expertly above Bessie’s head, causing her to lunge forward a little faster than before.

‘Don’t hurt the horse!’ protested Daisy.

‘I shan’t,’ Adam promised her. ‘I wouldn’t ’urt old Bessie. Me and ’er have been together too long.’

‘What’s the big worry about being out in the dark?’ asked Peter.

There was a long uncomfortable silence and then Mrs Beesley said, ‘We could go off the road in this mist and break an axle. Then we’d be stuck, wouldn’t we? We’d ’ave to walk.’ The explanation should have been convincing enough, but something in her voice seemed evasive. What’s more, her anxiety was infectious. Now Peter turned to look at the west to see that the last of the sun was just disappearing over the horizon. Darkness spilled like a great shadow over the world. It wrapped itself around them like a chill cloak, and Peter was aware of his own breath clouding as it left his mouth.

And then he heard it. It was distant but clear as a bell. It was the sound of music playing, a single instrument, a flute perhaps, or a recorder, playing a slow, sweet melody. It rose and fell on the night air and there was something about the tune that was strangely familiar, oddly compelling. It seemed to be calling to him, somehow, inviting him to go and find the source of the music.

‘What’s that?’ asked Peter nervously.

‘What’s what?’ asked Mrs Beesley, keeping her gaze fixed resolutely on the way ahead.

‘That … music,’ said Daisy.

Mrs Beesley glanced at them briefly, then looked away. ‘Can’t ’ear none,’ she assured them.

‘But … you must. It’s really clear.’ Peter glared at Mrs Beesley but she kept her eyes fixed in front of her. ‘Adam? You can hear it, can’t you?’