Think of what you have to do – of what must be done, and do it – even before it is wanted.
S. & S. Adams, The Complete Servant
‘How could you?’ Pattern demanded of Mr Grey. She was so angry she could scarcely get the words out. ‘That poor man! Something must be done! He cannot be left there!’
But she got no answer. With a look of distaste, the old man removed a strand of seaweed from his shoulder. Then he turned on his heel and began to pick his way along the path, back in the direction of the villa. Pattern hurried after him, still brimming over with protests.
Finally, at the edge of the wood overlooking the beach, he stopped and faced her. ‘Why do you give a fig for Reverend Blunt? I am sure the priest would not lift a finger to save the likes of you – for you know his opinions on the lower classes.’ He gave a snort. ‘Yes, I may be old, but my eyes are sharp. I spied you peeping from the window while the gentry were at their luncheon.’
Anger made her reckless, but there was little point in keeping up the pretence that she was as noodle-brained as the rest of the party. ‘The Reverend may be an unpleasant man, but nothing justifies such cruelty! I would say the same of Lady Hawk’s other unfortunate gentlemen friends – Captain Vyne and Lord Charnly. So tell me: what was that . . . that creature?’
‘She is Scylla. Show some respect!’ He seemed genuinely offended.
That gave her pause. ‘The same Scylla who appears in the book of Greek myths that Lady Hawk threw in the fire? The book with your name in it?’
He pursed his lips but did not answer.
Pattern brushed out her salt-stained, fish-stinking skirts, and tried to compose herself. She needed to keep her mind clear. ‘It is curious: milady does not seem to like gentlemen very much. Yet she puts such trust in you.’
‘That is because my lady knows I will never abandon her. She has made sure of that.’ Mr Grey glanced out to sea where the dark shadow of Scylla was just discernible.
‘Does Scylla attack whoever tries to leave the island?’
‘Why would anyone want to leave? Isn’t this place a paradise?’ Mr Grey’s tone had a bitter edge. ‘Besides, Scylla would never hurt me. Even when she sleeps, in the hour before dawn, her dreams of me are kindly ones.’
Pattern did not understand it, yet, but intriguing associations were beginning to form in her mind. She, too, looked out from the cliffs. The abandoned row boat had somehow made its way from the inlet, borne by the newly formed whirlpool, and was washed up on the beach below. Both its oars rested inside – Scylla clearly had tidy habits.
‘I would never have thought something so monstrous could be so beautiful.’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘You think her beautiful? Scylla?’
‘I think,’ Pattern said slowly, ‘that she is like this island. Strange, corrupted and filled with loveliness as well as danger.’
‘She was certainly lovely once.’ Mr Grey cleared his throat. ‘Cull derives from a Cornish word. Do you know what it means?’
‘The fishermen told me, yes: loss.’
‘This island has been called many things, in many different languages, but the meaning is always the same. Because this isle is a place of lost things . . . and people.’
Pattern felt a chill breath at her neck. ‘I do not want to be lost.’
‘My lady’s quarrel is not with you.’
‘Because of my class? Or because of my sex?
‘My lady only punishes those who deserve it.’
Pattern did not think this was said with much conviction. ‘So our mistress is not like the old gods in the stories? She is never vindictive and vengeful, but always fair?’
The aged steward screwed up his eyes.
‘She . . . she believes she acts for the best. And perhaps she does, some of the time. In truth, she is as likely to act out of boredom and mischief as from malice. I cannot help but think of the snowdrops. They have always flourished here, despite her efforts to uproot them. Perhaps it is a sign. Some things cannot be changed. Some things – some goodness – can never be entirely cut out.’
Then Lady Hawk might still have a capacity for mercy . . . Pattern hoped he was right.
‘You have not told Lady Hawk of my meddling. You saved me from drowning, and dragged me back to the safety of the boat. Why is that?’
‘Humph! I scarcely know myself. You are certainly a highly unsatisfactory housemaid: you are interfering and insubordinate, and you shirk your work. However, I will allow these are not actual crimes.’ He sighed. ‘My loyalty must be to my lady. I will always protect her, and do her bidding. But this island already has its fill of prisoners. I do not wish to see an innocent soul among them.’
‘Thank you,’ Pattern said humbly. ‘Does . . . does this mean the other servants are safe too? And the lady guests?’
He scowled. ‘That depends. As long as they keep out of my lady’s way – and mine.’
At least Pattern met with no reproach when she returned to the villa, for Mr Ladlaw’s reading had been a lengthy one and was only just drawing to an end. This gave the ladies plenty of opportunity to ask questions and bestow compliments, while granting Pattern time for a much-needed wash and change of clothes. She had previously asked Mrs Robinson if she could miss the event, since she was making a study of The Complete Servant and would like to use the time to catch up on her own reading. Mrs Robinson, who privately feared The Towers of Callabrio was not entirely respectable, had been very happy to oblige.
‘You’re a sight for sore eyes!’ Nate exclaimed as soon as Pattern rejoined her fellows in the servants’ hall. Then, in lower tones: ‘Whatever happened to our pact? Why did you leave a fellow high and dry, and half going out of his mind with worry?’
‘There was hardly any time to think, let alone make plans,’ she whispered back. ‘The Reverend was about to put to sea, and—’
‘Well, you missed a treat, make no mistake,’ said Elsie, coming over to join them. ‘Mr Ladlaw’s story was ever so exciting, for there was a mad pirate ghost, and a wicked count, and a poor captive lady trying to make sense of it all. Mr Ladlaw has such a lovely speaking voice! He did all the accents and everything, and strode up and down waving his arms and such.’
‘It must have been very entertaining,’ Pattern said dutifully.
‘We all thought it was as good as being at a play. Except for Miss Smith, that is. She yawned throughout, and coughed and sneezed quite excessively, I thought – but then she does have a cold, poor thing, so perhaps that’s why she did not pay the attention she should.’
‘What did you think, Nate?’
‘Oh, it was proper rip-roaring. But –’ and here Nate gave Pattern a meaningful look – ‘I warrant you could spin a yarn of your own, given half a chance.’
She looked at him confusedly.
‘That story about the priest who went to sea?’ he prompted.
‘Oh, ah, yes – yes of course. It does not have a happy ending, I fear.’
Nate’s face fell.
‘In my, um, story, the priest tries to save a woman from drowning, but it is all a trick, because she is in truth a kind of monstrous octopus, who throws him into a magic whirlpool that traps him forever and ever. The – er – End.’
‘Dear me, Penny, that wouldn’t do at all,’ said Elsie, shaking her head. ‘Whoever would believe such absurdity? No, if you are going to write a tale of magic and adventure, then you had better read Mr Ladlaw’s first, so you know how it is properly done.’
Nate looked ready to object to this, but Mrs Robinson had returned to the hall and was looking about her in a most suspicious manner. Perhaps she feared the corrupting influence of Mr Ladlaw’s book had already begun to take hold.
‘Seems to me, Mr Ladlaw’s readers are going to be disappointed,’ Nate said as soon as they had left the hall and could speak freely, ‘and his tale of pirate ghosts and lady investigators will be his last.’
‘I fear you’re right.’ Pattern rubbed her eyes. She was very dejected, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to let it show. ‘We have to accept that we cannot protect Mr Ladlaw, or anyone else for that matter. Lady Hawk is too powerful, and her magic too unpredictable. The only course left to us is to persuade the gentleman to escape the island before she has time to strike.’
‘He ain’t going to listen to the likes of us. Not with Miss Hawk’s smiles and her ma’s music to befuddle his brain.’
‘There are ways around that. Miss Hawk’s mechanical charms are already failing, so next we must find a way for Mr Ladlaw to carry a snowdrop at tonight’s concert. Once his mind is clear of magic, I believe we can convince him of the danger. The boat is waiting on the beach, and Mr Grey told me the sea monster sleeps in the hour before dawn. That is when we must make our escape. I do not like to leave the rest behind, but no one else on the island is in danger, if Mr Grey is to be believed.’
‘You trust the old man?’
Pattern related her recent encounters with Mr Grey, and her suspicion that he served his mistress against his will. ‘He said he would always protect his mistress. But I think if we were to attempt to flee he would not stand in our way. For why else would he have told me when Scylla sleeps? Why else has he not already told Lady Hawk that I am working against her? But I confess I do not know how to ensure Mr Ladlaw carries a snowdrop. If we hide a bloom in his clothes, he may change them or take them off – as happened with the Reverend.’
‘Maybe us attempting to conceal the flowers ain’t the answer, then. Maybe we should ask Mr Ladlaw to hide them himself.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, I’ll play Cupid. I’ll sidle up to the gent and whisper that Miss Hawk wants him to wear some of them snowdrops as a token of her affection, but to keep the flowers hidden, on account of her being so bashful and modest and the rest.’
‘Yes, that could work. Perhaps tell him she wishes him to wear the flowers next to his heart? Or is that too much, do you think?’
‘Not for a poet. It’ll appeal to his romantic sensibilities, I reckon.’ Nate rolled his eyes. ‘You know what a sap these lovers can be – he’ll moon over it in secret, like a girl with a wedding ring.’