When Judith crawled into bed that night, she was so tired she hardly knew whether the project had been successful or not. She could not decide what had been its goal. Even if it had been multi-goaled she doubted whether it had achieved anything at all. Except that they had all actually got back alive. Yes, that was something to achieve in the circumstances. There had been a couple of times on their journey to nowhere – which was how Nathaniel had scathingly described it – when she had wondered whether they should call in an air ambulance, or whatever was sent out to rescue people who were lost on Exmoor in the fog.
It was the fog that had made the map and its red arrows directing them to the river of gold so completely useless. It made no mention of any landmarks, though when they came upon the lichen-covered milestone standing in one of the angles of cross tracks in the heather, Hausmann swore he had seen it before and it meant they took the right side of the cross as a fingerpost. So far as Judith’s directional instincts could tell, the track wound in enormous S shapes through heather that turned into furze; and two miles of track probably covered one mile as the crows flew.
She smiled into the pillow as she ran the day’s events through her head like a film. As it had happened, yes, it had been a muddle from start to finish. But then, in retrospect it began to make sense. It began to be … reassuring. Somehow. She curled herself into a foetal position: she was clean at last, she was warm, she was well-fed. And, most importantly, she had friends. The kind of friends you persevered with even when you didn’t like them much. Her smile turned into a slight frown. What on earth did that mean, exactly?
She rewound her memories and started again: on that footpath that was already muddy in the wet fog that pressed down on the moor and turned to rain soon after midday.
Sybil was the first casualty. The furze was not just thorny, it was lethally thorny, and one of the most lethal of the thorns pierced the canvas of her upmarket trainer and the cashmere sock beneath, and went into her second toe. She let out a gasp of pain before she could stop herself, and Nathaniel was on to it immediately.
He removed the thorn and produced a tin of Vaseline.
‘I thought it might help with blisters,’ he said, rubbing it into Sybil’s toe. He frowned, stopped rubbing, then started again. ‘It’s all we’ve got, and it might ease the pain.’ He looked up at Hausmann. ‘Perhaps we should turn back, old man. We weren’t reckoning on this weather – we’ve still got tomorrow, after all.’
Hausmann said resignedly, ‘Up to you, Sybil.’
‘Well, we might as well go on, surely? We must be nearly there.’
‘OK.’ He spoke as if it were her decision, her responsibility, and immediately tramped on and was out of sight. Nathaniel replaced Sybil’s shoe and tied the lace.
She stood up, laughing. ‘You’re very neat-fingered, Nathaniel. Anyone would think you’ve done that sort of thing before.’
Nathaniel laughed too, but uncomfortably. Judith wondered whether Hausmann and Sybil had always teased – almost baited – Nathaniel like this. But Hausmann was presumably some way ahead of them by now, and he actually had the map. She strode her way through the shoulder-high furze and almost crashed into him.
‘Eavesdropping, Mr Hausmann?’ she asked in a saccharine voice.
‘Absolutely, Mrs Jack,’ he came back. ‘Interesting. Nat was always slow, but he got there in the end.’
‘In that case, he should go first. You’ve just got us lost, haven’t you?’
‘Could be.’ He began to walk ahead of her, until he judged they were well out of earshot of the other two. ‘Yes, could be that is one of the objects of the exercise.’
She stopped dead in her tracks. ‘Oh no. Oh my God, Hausmann. We must have done over three miles from the pub, so now we have to go three miles back – and Sybil has a bad foot. What’s the matter with you?’
‘It’s an experiment. That’s all. Breaking points. That sort of thing.’
‘Mine was first?’
‘I wasn’t including you in the agenda. I’m sorry about that. Probably did you good, however. You and Jack coming through all that stuff.’
‘Except that Jack didn’t, did he?’
He sounded impatient suddenly. ‘For God’s sake, Jude – I told you he kept talking about you. All bloody night.’
‘So you did.’ She did not remind him that the description Jack had given had not sounded very like her.
‘So …’ The path widened and she caught up with him. ‘Who’s next in this great experiment? Sybil has passed the test of pain rather well, hasn’t she?’
‘I didn’t have her on my list, either. No, it’s Nathaniel Jones who needs to show his true colours.’
She stopped dead again. ‘What? Nathaniel? What has he done to upset you, Hausmann? Called Mr Gould names when he was a child? Made money from something as boring as a print shop when you can barely survive with your wonderful gift? Oh – or did he manage to grab a kiss from Esmée back in the seventies?’
He was astonished again. ‘Do you think I’m on some kind of revenge thing? Good God, Jude! I’m trying to put things right; punishment does not enter into it! Now if it was my sister-in-law you might be on the right track. But why should I punish Nattie Jones for kissing little Esmée Gould behind the school? And how did you know about that, anyway?’
She gave up. The others were close behind, she could hear Sybil reassuring Nathaniel that she was quite all right, and there was nothing to worry about. And he was saying, ‘D’you know I’m having a déjà vu moment – it’s as if all this has happened before. Do you ever feel like that, Sybil? It is OK to call you Sybil, isn’t it?’
‘Of course it is. And yes, I do. Often. That’s why I came on this weekend to Castle Dove.’
‘I thought it was to see Robert’s work.’
‘Well, yes, of course. But I’ve never lost touch with Robert’s work. I wanted more than that.’
‘Everyone wants to meet him, of course. Are you disappointed?’
‘No, not a bit. I love him.’
‘Ah.’
‘It’s all right. I’m not about to make a fool of myself.’
Hausmann turned and, walking backwards, called out, ‘What would be so wrong about that? To make a fool of oneself is to become completely vulnerable – to surrender to humility—’
He had got that far when his heel caught in a root, his other foot slipped in the mud, and he fell heavily on to his back. The air was knocked out of him with a sound like the trumpeting of an elephant, and then he delivered himself of a string of oaths, some of which might have been in Hebrew.
They gathered around him. Nathaniel got behind him and lifted his shoulders and propped him against his own knees. He panted, ‘I don’t know whether I should do this, old man. If you’ve injured your back—’
‘Of course I haven’t injured my bloody back, the ground is like a bloody sponge! Just let me get my breath!’
‘For God’s sake …’ Sybil was kneeling in front of him and could see his face. ‘It’s obvious you’re in pain. Has anyone brought a mobile phone?’
Nobody had. Nathaniel said, ‘An air ambulance couldn’t do a thing in this weather, and if Robert really is all right we can follow our own tracks back to the Dove Inn.’
‘What? And give up on the project? Are you insane? We’ve got this far, and I’m damned if I’ll let you give up now!’ Hausmann struggled away from Nathaniel’s support, rolled on to his knees and, gasping, got to his feet. He straightened, cursing loudly now and then, and lifted his arms high. Mud dripped from his shoulders. ‘See?’ None of them said a word. ‘Listen. I know what I’m doing. We’re in that triangle of land between Dulverton …’ He jabbed a mud-covered hand ahead of them, ‘… the Ridds’ farm, and the Devon border. We’re still going uphill, so we’re this side of the watershed. We should hear the rushing of the Gould river fairly soon.’
There was a silence; this was his project, no one wanted to resist him.
Judith said, ‘Let’s give ourselves another half an hour. How does that sound? If we haven’t come upon a stream – any stream – by then, we should turn back.’ She pushed up the sleeve of her jacket and peered at her watch. ‘It’s just before one o’clock. We’ve been walking for nearly two hours. We’re all covered in mud. And the weather is getting worse.’ She looked round.
Nathaniel said, ‘Well done, Judith – a generous suggestion.’ He made a rueful face at Hausmann. ‘Sorry, old man. I’d go along with that if you hadn’t had that fall. But let’s face it, John Ridd’s water slide has been mapped and explored ever since Lorna Doone was in the top ten reading lists in the mid eighteen hundreds. We’re on a wild goose chase—’
Hausmann said, suddenly angry, ‘Isn’t that another name for a project, Nattie? I seem to remember you calling all my expeditions wild goose chases!’
He turned to Sybil. ‘Come on. You’ve got the deciding vote here, Esmée. You always had the deciding vote. Go along with Jude’s suggestion, or turn back now?’
There was another silence, very tense. Nathaniel stared through the fog at Sybil and she stared at Hausmann. Judith discovered she was holding her breath.
Nathaniel croaked. ‘Esmée? What are you talking about, Robert? For God’s sake, man! Are you saying Sybil Jessup is Esmée Gould? Our Esmée Gould?’
Sybil turned and faced him. ‘I was, Nattie. I’m not any more. I’m Sybil Jessup, and I came on this trip to see the retrospective. That’s all. To find you and Robert here – it was a shock. But you didn’t recognize me, and if Robert guessed who I was all along, then he did not want to know me, so I left it at that.’
Hausmann barked a laugh and she glanced at him and shrugged.
‘All right. I have the casting vote. I think we need to go on for half an hour, just as Judith has suggested. It depends on you, Robert. Let’s see how it goes, shall we?’
Nathaniel said nothing. He stood where he was and made no attempt to help Hausmann. Sybil took one of Hausmann’s arms and Judith took the other. Hausmann made an enormous effort to stride ahead of them, but after the first few steps it was obvious that was not going to happen. Judith held the elbow of his right arm, and after the first stagger he cursed impatiently and put his arm across her shoulders, using her as a crutch. She was exactly the right height. They went on together. Hausmann’s breathing was laboured and loud, but behind that Judith realized that Sybil had dropped back to Nathaniel. She heard him say something about keeping him in the dark, then Sybil replied in an apologetic voice and Nathaniel answered vigorously that it was, after all, a deception. Sybil said crisply, ‘I had no intention of deceiving you. I was here on an errand of self-preservation, new beginnings, whatever you like to call it.’
He said quietly, ‘Nothing has changed then, has it?’ She was silent.
Hausmann said in a low voice, ‘He’s right there. She was always a selfish, spoiled brat.’
Judith closed her eyes as he levered himself over another intrusive furze branch; he was no mean weight. The picture she had had of the three children in Cardiff was being torn to pieces.
She gasped, ‘Hausmann, can we pause a moment?’ He stopped abruptly and she nearly fell. ‘If you could shorten your steps – match them to mine – I think we would do better.’
‘No need. I can hear water, Mrs Jack. Listen.’
She heard the water. Then above that came Sybil’s furious voice. ‘I know Robert is domineering and totally unreasonable! I have always known that! But Moss was domineering, too! Haven’t you heard that there are some women who actually fall in love with those sorts of men?’
‘Then they are fools. Judith is grieving for a husband who was a partner, who looked after her—’
‘And who stalked my husband through a series of lampoons. D’you know, he cried over that! Yes, actually cried, Nattie! Rather like you did when Robert and I ganged up on you! You didn’t like being called names – Moss didn’t like it. It’s ironic that Jack Freeman and Moss Jessup must have died at the same time! And Judith is no saint, either. She told Robert I was Esmée when she’d promised not to.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Judith called out. ‘He recognized you.’
Hausmann bellowed back, ‘Shut up, you lot! We’re there! Come here, Esmée – tell me if this is the river you and your old Goalpost found. And just why you always insisted it was John Ridd’s river! Come on, stop that stupid bickering – the past is the past. Let’s see if it was as important as we imagine! OK?’
There was another silence and they all heard the stream, running downhill, sliding over pebbles, pulling at the weeds on the banks.
Sybil said quietly, ‘How can I tell? Every stream and river has its own voice, but I need to see it to be sure, and in this fog—’
‘Did you climb it? Of course you did! We’ll have to climb it.’
Nathaniel said flatly, ‘Well, I am going back. Now.’
Judith exploded, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Hausmann! It’s dangerous – remember how hard it was for John Ridd, and he was the biggest man on Exmoor. And younger than any of us!’
‘He was a child when he did it first—’
Sybil said in a tired voice, ‘I think we’ve had enough, don’t you, Robert?’
He said, ‘I’ll do it alone, then. I know what to look for. The little grotto at the top where Lorna had her secret room …’ He was already on the move, edging carefully over the tufts of heather. They followed him, Nathaniel telling him not to act like a romantic idiot, and Judith grimly silent, angry with herself for being here in the first place.
Sybil said warningly, ‘It’s very shallow, Robert. Hardly any banks.’
Hausmann discovered how right she was. He stood ankle-deep in the typical Exmoor stream, turning his face towards them – white in the grey fog – grinning happily. ‘Come on, you laggards! We’re wet and muddy enough already to make poor old Irena foam at the mouth! Let’s give her the full works! Forget all that has happened, this is a bonding exercise of the highest order. Come on in, the water’s fine!’
Nobody moved. Judith said in a low voice, ‘Sybil, he’s doing all this for you; you’ll have to go. Nathaniel and I will wait here.’
Nathaniel moved down the shallow bank. ‘I’ll go with him. You two had better do some exercises – running on the spot – something. To keep warm.’
But Sybil was moving too. ‘According to Judith I have to go.’ She splashed noisily into the water, bumping into Nathaniel as she passed him. He flung up his hands and gave a despairing shout, and would have landed face-first in the stream if Hausmann had not grabbed his arm and swung him round. They clung together, finding their balance, and then, unexpectedly, they began to laugh.
Judith watched them from the shore. Though they were less than two yards from her they were blurred and indistinct in the wet fog, and when Sybil joined them and was scooped into their embrace, they became one mass. And they all stood there, the clear water washing their calves, and the sound of their laughter was muffled yet loud at the same time. And in that moment, she understood them. It was so like the sudden laughter she and Jack had shared. It was a gift. A recognition that they themselves were absurd, and there was nothing to do about it except laugh. The moment became so poignant she thought Jack might materialize at her side, and she looked upstream at the wall of fog; willing him to be there, willing him to send a sign that he was still around.
Hausmann shouted, ‘Come on, Mrs Jack! You can’t stand there all day!’
She splashed into the water. And they began to climb.
Luckily, Nathaniel had tied his scarf to a bending alder before they had left, otherwise they would never have found their old route when they returned. The project – now most definitely an expedition – took them over as they scrambled through the water, often on all fours. Luckily it had been a dry summer and the water never came higher than their knees, but there were two miniature waterfalls where Hausmann – already soaked – hauled himself up with the help of protruding rocks and convenient branches, and then leaned down to haul Nathaniel beside him, and then the two of them swung Sybil and Judith over the lip. Judith had to admit that once she had given herself over to the stream, the sheer hard work drove everything else from her mind; and when they reached some kind of platform and found they were coming out of the fog, she shared the triumph of the other three.
Nathaniel panted, ‘We should do this again – when there’s no fog and we can see the view.’ He was unwrapping their improvised picnic and handing around the rolls and hardboiled eggs.
‘It must be stupendous!’ Sybil agreed, wiping the moisture from her face with a bundle of soggy tissues. ‘We could probably sketch from here, Judith. Like we did at the top of the Lyn.’
Hausmann laughed. ‘Your sketchbooks might get a bit damp.’ He accepted a cold sausage and bit into it with relish.
‘There’s bound to be a footpath, Robert.’
Nathaniel passed around the cheese, then bent over, squeezing water from the bottom of his jeans. ‘Don’t think so. Let’s face it, there are loads of these streams draining off the top of the moor. This is nothing like John Ridd’s. I think we’ve got to admit that the official water slide is the right one.’
Sybil said stubbornly, ‘You can’t be sure, Nattie.’
He spread his hands. ‘Look, we’re above the fog and there’s no sign of a waterfall or a grotto. Remember Lorna had her secret room in the rock face? Also, I hate to tell you this, but only John Ridd, the strongest teenager on Exmoor, could climb that particular water slide. We’re all hovering around middle age, we’re out of condition, yet we managed this one.’
Hausmann said, ‘That’s not the point. Is this the Gould river? Is this the river you and your father adopted, Esmée?’
Sybil’s face was alight. ‘I think it is! I’m coming back here tomorrow if the weather is fine. I’m sure this is the one!’
Judith said, ‘We go home tomorrow. The weekend is over.’
‘Not till five o’clock! We can do it. Say you will! We can bring our sketchbooks.’
Hausmann said, ‘Judith has another engagement tomorrow, Esmée. You’ll have to make do with Nathaniel.’ He stepped gingerly into the water. ‘Come on. We’ve got a couple of hours’ walking ahead of us, and it’s almost three o’clock. We don’t need any search parties!’
It was more difficult going down than coming up. By the time they spotted Nathaniel’s scarf they were soaked not only by their many falls but by the rain which developed from the fog.
The landlord of the Dove Inn eyed them suspiciously. ‘Been trying to re-enact some of the witch trials, ’ave ’ee? You know Judge Jeffreys was round these parts not all that long ago!’
‘Nearly four hundred years back,’ Hausmann growled. ‘And what has happened to the lights in here?’
‘Dun’t need ’em yet, my dear. Clocks dun’t go back for another month. Which is just as well ’cos there’s been one of they dratted power cuts most of the day – we ’ad to get wood for the range and keep the kettles and saucepans going on the hob. Dry your daps in the ovens, if you like.’
Hausmann groaned. ‘That will please Irena – dinner will be late. Better get a move on; she’ll want me to light the fires.’
‘Bart’s got Calor gas stored in the orangery,’ Nathaniel put in. ‘He was always one for providing for the future.’
Hausmann groaned again, louder this time. For some reason Judith giggled. They tramped the mile back to the coast and crossed the causeway without difficulty. The door was as stubborn as ever, the foyer lit by the colours of the window and some oil lamps placed here and there. It was bitterly cold, and no one was about.
They hesitated, suddenly at a loose end. ‘What now?’ asked Sybil.
Hausmann leaned on the counter. ‘They’ve gone to bed – Irena and Bart – I bet you they’ve gone to bed!’
Nathaniel grinned. ‘Can’t imagine it, somehow. What about the others?’
‘They won’t be back yet. Probably eating at Ilfracombe or something.’ Sybil looked around. ‘I don’t want to go to my room. It’s pretty bleak down here, but better than being alone. Where did you say the calor gas was, Nattie? Can we get it and fix it up somehow?’
‘Why not? I don’t quite know where the orangery is—’
Hausmann said, ‘I do. There’s a walkway around the base of the castle. The orangery was built later – it faces southwest, so catches all the sun. It will be a devil trundling gas cylinders along there in the dark.’
‘I think we might be able to get at it from inside.’ Judith was warming her hands at one of the oil lamps. ‘I did a lot of exploring on our first morning – d’you want to have a look? I can show you.’
Strangely, she felt like Sybil; she did not relish her own company, especially if there might be no hot water in the bathroom. She picked up the lantern and made her way confidently to the third door on the other side of the lift and the others followed her very willingly. If it had been bonding Hausmann was aiming for, he had succeeded; they were definitely a group by this time. Judith no longer felt outside it.
The passageway past the rooms beneath her own was lit only by the windows, and by this time seemed very dark indeed, but it was straightforward enough and she reached the corner and found the door in the panelling which led into the library – if that was what it was. Nathaniel was at her elbow, the other two close behind. Hausmann was nagging Sybil to admit this was the best expedition yet, and she was laughing reluctantly and eventually admitted he was right.
The cavernous depths of the library silenced them all. The light from the lanterns did not penetrate very far, and reflected back from the windows, screening any sense of the outdoors beyond.
Judith stopped by the spiral staircase. ‘This is where I climbed up to the Long Gallery, and halfway up I could see the roof of the orangery – so it must be built on a lower level. If we go to the end of the library there should be a door into the next angle of the castle and … another staircase leading down.’
Hausmann, already ahead, confirmed there was a door. ‘I think the damned thing is locked … hang on … let’s put the lantern down … no, it’s OK … there’s a whacking great key here, but it’s not locked. God, it’s heavy! Sorry, I’m pushing instead of pulling!’ They joined him and watched as the door swung majestically inwards without a sound. ‘Well oiled, thank goodness. It’s as heavy as the entry door. I must remember to oil those hinges.’
He picked up his lantern and held it high. Another passage turned to the right, following the angle of the castle, but to the left a much narrower opening framed a staircase. A glimmer of light from below illuminated a layer of dust.
Hausmann said, ‘Well, obviously Bart brought the gas bottles this way – footprints all over the place. But we’ve still got to lug them back up—’
Sybil made a hushing sound. ‘There’s someone down there. Now.’
They all paused; the sound of the sea clawing on the pebbles as it came towards the land, and the usual creaking from the very fabric of the castle, mingled with the silence rather than interrupted it.
Sybil spoke again, a thread of a voice. ‘The light, that’s lantern light. See how it flickers.’
They waited for Hausmann to state the obvious: that Bart and Irena were ahead of them and were already sorting out the bottles. But Hausmann said nothing.
Nathaniel whispered, ‘Is it one of the cleaning staff?’
They formed themselves into a huddle at the top of the narrow staircase, the better to hear each other. Hausmann said, ‘No voices. So just one person?’
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘Bart wouldn’t send someone off along these corridors, unless he came himself.’
Sybil said, suddenly relaxed, ‘Of course. It must be Bart. He’s come to suss out the gas bottles, just as we are!’ She started down the stairs; her lantern illuminated a half-landing, and she turned to go on down. And then stopped abruptly.
Suddenly Judith knew. She crept past the others, finger to lips, and joined Sybil. There was no need for their lanterns, no need to be silent. The orangery was lit by about thirty candles, none of them flickering in errant draughts: the two doors – one leading to a railed walkway outside, the other to the staircase – were obviously well-sealed. The couple inside the glass bubble could see and hear nothing outside it. They were dancing.
The orangery contained no orange trees; it was furnished like most modern conservatories with cane furniture well-upholstered with squashy cushions. Bamboo tables and large pot plants were here and there, and on one of the tables was an old-fashioned gramophone, obviously wound and playing a slow waltz. The couple were joined as one; their feet in perfect unison. He was dressed in tails and a white tie, his suit a pale grey, his hair slicked back in imitation of Fred Astaire. And the woman wore a satin dress cut on the cross and wrapping her like a glove. They held their elbows at a perfect level, her head tilted sideways so that they were cheek to cheek. They both wore gloves.
Nathaniel and Hausmann crowded behind on the stairs. They were all silently amazed, gazing fascinated at the scene below them. The record came to an end and the man kissed the woman and then turned and went to the gramophone, removed the playing arm, and lifted a switch. She wandered dreamily to a pile of records on another table, chose one and took it to him. He wound vigorously.
This time it seemed to be a slow foxtrot; they took long steps, her body arched to fit his, he kissing the length of her neck, his lips wandering down to the deep V-neck of the dress. Judith felt her eyes fill with tears. The couple straightened and stood together, still in their dance position, then the man dropped his partner’s hands, and with his gloved hands he slipped her dress from her shoulders and let it slide to the mosaic-tiled floor. She was wearing nothing beneath the dress.
Judith turned and went back up the stairs, picked up her lantern and pushed at the gallery door until it silently opened. She had reached the spiral staircase when the others came through; she thought she might scream at them if anyone so much as tittered, but no one did. They made their way down the stairs to the library, through the door in the opposite wall, and turned left past the rank of bedroom doors. No one spoke a word.
The foyer was still empty, still cold and unfriendly.
Sybil placed her lantern carefully and said, ‘Oh dear. What are we going to do?’
Hausmann said, ‘I’m going to raid the drinks and go to my room. There will be quite enough hot water in the tanks to provide baths for all the rooms. I suggest we have hot baths, stiff drinks and hope to God the power comes on in time for Irena to rustle up some food. Otherwise it will be sandwiches and long faces. Unless the Markhams decide to join us.’
It was the first time they had mentioned the dancers in the orangery and Sybil drew an audible breath of relief.
‘It was them, wasn’t it?’
Nathaniel nodded and Hausmann said vigorously, ‘Of course it was them – I overheard the Swedish chap saying something cringe-making about them doing something in every room in the castle!’
Sybil said, ‘It was so amazing … so … so … bizarre.’
Judith risked blubbing all over the place; anyway it was too dark for anyone to see. ‘It was wonderful. It was … rather like our expedition. Recreating something very special. Hallowed. In some way actually hallowed.’
Nathaniel said slowly, ‘Yes, you’re right. They had put time and trouble into creating … recreating … something.’
Hausmann barked his laugh. ‘Except that they are not soaking wet and muddy!’
Judith refused to laugh with the others. She said, ‘That was wonderful, too.’
At that moment all the lights came on in the foyer and in the two rooms beyond. The kitchen behind them was staggeringly bright with its fluorescent strips flickering into life. The radiators began to crackle.
Sybil spread her hands. ‘Resurrection!’ she cried.
They all made for the sitting room. Hausmann switched on the fire and drew the sofa close, Sybil went round checking the radiators and finding sherry glasses. Then she gathered their outdoor things and took them into the downstairs cloakroom. In spite of Hausmann’s disgusted face, Judith poured four sherries and took hers close to the fire. They raised their glasses and then hesitated. It was Sybil who said, ‘To this weekend, which has been pretty amazing. On the whole.’
They all repeated the words obediently, drank and then laughed together.
‘What about that green stuff Nattie hung on to? It gave way almost immediately!’ Sybil remembered through her helpless laughter. ‘That was the first full immersion baptism! Dad would have loved that!’
‘I managed to baptize myself in mud,’ Hausmann reminded her. ‘Look, it’s still under my fingernails!’
‘The green stuff was cress. Don’t you remember how John Ridd loved to pick the watercress?’
‘All that iron. No wonder he was so strong.’
‘Do we know where the farm was, actually was?’
‘Plovers’ Barrow? No. Not far from Porlock; remember John rode there to buy lead shot.’
‘He was a lovely man.’ Judith was curled very small into a corner of the sofa. ‘He loved people; most of them, anyway. His mother and sisters and cousins as well as Lorna Doone.’ She knew that was how Jack was; he always said he had to understand his caricatures before he could draw them. Understanding was surely a way of loving?
There was a rattle from the foyer, and Irena wheeled a trolley into the sitting room. She beamed at them with untypical approval. ‘My goodness, you sorted yourselves out quickly! I’ve brought some hot toddies. Thought you would be perished out on the moor in that fog and then rain.’ She took the sherry glasses and replaced them with glass tankards, steaming, packed with lemon and orange slices. ‘Plenty more in the jug.’ She went to the windows. ‘The rain has at last got rid of the fog. You can see the tide coming in. Look at the phosphorescence; isn’t that wonderful?’
Hausmann joined her and actually gave her a bear hug. ‘Everything is pretty wonderful if you’ve got the right specs on, Sis. How are you going to manage supper tonight? We don’t mind sandwiches. In fact, I’ll help you make them!’
She looked at him, astonished. ‘We’ve got the Calor gas, Robert, have you forgotten? I’ve had an enormous casserole in the oven all afternoon, and there’s bread and butter pudding for the last course.’ She almost smiled at his lip-smacking approval but then said, bewildered, ‘You’ve never called me “Sis” before.’
‘No, I haven’t, have I? I must do so in future. I know you’re a marvellous cook and a marvellous manager, and Jude tells me you’ve got a kind heart. What more do I need in a sister?’
‘Someone to keep you on the straight and narrow!’ she came back. But she was smiling. ‘Dinner in an hour. The Olsens should be back by then. The Markhams are having theirs in their room.’
Sybil said innocently, ‘Are they not well?’
Irena looked at her significantly. ‘Hopefully they are very well.’ She lowered herself over the two women on the sofa and spoke confidentially. ‘It’s her fertile weekend. They want a baby. They came to look at the castle five or six weeks ago. Thought it would be ideal: make it romantic instead of … well, medical.’ She smiled widely. ‘If it happens, they’re going to call the baby “Dove”.’
Sybil almost choked on her toddy. ‘Oh my God!’
Nathaniel said, ‘What was that? I didn’t hear.’
All three women seized cushions and threw them, not very accurately.
In the cocoon of her bed, Judith heard something and tried to rouse herself sufficiently to identify it. But she had gone too far into sleep. She knew that the promised casserole had been delicious. She knew that she had somehow acquired three rather odd – and definitely flawed – friends. She recalled with great pleasure the sight of Stanley and Jennifer Markham dancing in the orangery by candlelight. And now she knew the reason for that, and it warmed her heart.
A key rattled in the lock, but her own key blocked it from inside. She slept.