His Name Was Walter Page 13

  ‘Yes!’ a voice barked.

  Lord Vane was standing by the open window at the far end of the room, looking out at the tree that screened his view of the main street. Beside him on the broad windowsill, blood-red roses bloomed in a crystal vase, filling the chamber with their heady scent. Lord Vane’s hands were clasped behind his back, the fingers opening and closing convulsively as if he were in the grip of some overwhelming emotion. He did not turn round as Walter entered.

  ‘Shut the door,’ he snapped.

  Walter did what he was told, moved forward a little and then stood waiting, nervously feeling again for the papers in his pocket. He could not make himself believe that Lord Vane was as angry as he seemed to be just because the checking work had taken too long. He thought of Master Podge’s smile, and his stomach turned over.

  ‘I have just been informed,’ said Lord Vane, his voice hoarse with rage, ‘that you have been meeting secretly with my daughter.’

  And Walter remembered Podge the Pig speaking of cunning young scoundrels who might try to take advantage of Lord Vane’s ‘afflicted’ daughter. He remembered how many times Podge’s carriage had overtaken him as he walked out of the town on his way to meet Sparrow. He remembered that same carriage splashing over the bridge the previous Sunday, when the willow boughs hung low. He realised that Master Podge had been gathering evidence against him since the beginning, in readiness for this moment.

  ‘Do not try to deny it!’ thundered Lord Vane.

  And with silent apologies to Sparrow, Walter said quietly, ‘I do not deny it, Lord Vane. I love your daughter, and she loves me.’

  ‘Love!’ Lord Vane burst into harsh laughter, and swung round. His handsome face was so red and swollen with fury that for a shuddering instant Walter was reminded of the Beast. ‘You ridiculous pipsqueak! Do you think for one moment that I do not know your slimy game? Do you think that you can delude me as you have deluded a speechless, feeble-minded heiress who would fall into the arms of any man who paid her a moment’s attention?’

  Walter felt a hot stab of anger. ‘I do not care about your riches, Lord Vane,’ he flashed back, in a voice quite unlike his usual quiet, even one. ‘I love your daughter for herself, with all my heart. If only I could, I would marry her tomorrow and take her far away from—’

  from your loathing, Lord Vane; from your orders that she hide her feathered hands and face; and most of all from the Beast you harbour in that cursed palace …

  The words were trembling on the tip of his tongue when out of the corner of his eye he caught a flutter of movement in the tree outside the window. He looked, and his heart lurched.

  Huddled at the tip of a branch that brushed the window frame was a small brown sparrow. Her feathers were ruffled. Her beak was gaping in pure terror. The sight extinguished Walter’s anger like a bucketful of icy water.

  ‘… away from here,’ he finished feebly, appalled to think how nearly he had betrayed Sparrow by revealing how much he knew.

  ‘Would you indeed?’ Lord Vane sneered. ‘You fool! How often have you seen her? Three or four times? Half a dozen? Have you never wondered why she dresses so differently from other girls her age? It is to hide the fact that she is disfigured!’

  ‘She is not—’ Walter began, then broke off, biting his tongue. It would be far better for Sparrow if her father went on thinking she had escaped to the riverbank only a few times. It would be far better if he went on assuming she had kept her face and hands hidden.

  ‘So!’ Lord Vane sneered. ‘You would lure her away from the safety of her home, would you, to eke out a miserable existence on whatever paltry wages you can earn? You would set her down among vulgar people who would see her as a freak? Who would point and laugh at her, throw stones and very possibly do worse? You call that love?’

  Walter hesitated. Perhaps he was thinking of angry, witch-hating voices and smoke rising from a hill. Perhaps he was remembering a cracked voice telling him that he would die young.

  ‘I know that I am not in a position to protect her,’ he said, his voice trembling with all the frustrated misery he felt.

  ‘You certainly are not,’ thundered the man at the window, unaware or uncaring of the curious glances of people passing by in the street. ‘Today I have learned not only that you have betrayed my trust, but that you are an escaped criminal, who for years was hunted by the King’s guards! Your name is soiled! Does my precious daughter know that?’

  ‘Your daughter knows everything about me,’ Walter said steadily, tearing his eyes away from the sparrow in the tree. ‘She knows that I have done nothing wrong.’

  And she knows that the name you call soiled is not mine, he thought but did not say.

  ‘This conversation is at an end,’ snarled Lord Vane. ‘You are discharged from my service from this moment. You will leave town within the hour and never show your face here again!’

  CHAPTER

  18

  ‘I knew that would happen,’ Colin found himself saying as Tara silently turned the page. ‘Lord Vane was always going to find out about Walter and Sparrow. Podge was always going to be the one to tell him, too. I bet that now Lord Vane won’t listen when Walter tries to tell him Podge is a thief. That’s how these stories work.’

  When Tara didn’t answer, he realised with a touch of shame that she knew there was no need. Tara understood that he had spoken just to relieve his feelings, and to try to take the sting out of what he had just read.

  The wind gusted and moaned outside. The house echoed with creaks, scuffles, rattles and taps, and somewhere, Colin was sure, there was a faint, low growling sound. He glanced nervously around. The entrance hall was dark except for the little island of torchlight where he and Tara huddled over the book. Grace and Mrs Fiori still seemed to be fast asleep. Maybe even Lucas was asleep by now, his curiosity about the locked room finally satisfied.

  But Lucas doesn’t know what was in there, Colin thought, with a shudder. He doesn’t know what he did when he opened that room and let the beast-man see us.

  That terrible room … the den of the Beast … the room into which Walter had peered in horror one Saturday night, through a chink in the curtains …

  And Colin realised then that whatever he’d said to Tara, he had in fact finally accepted that this big, desolate house on the hill by the river was the palace of the story. That the rutted track that wound up from the road was once a smooth gravel driveway. That the round room in the cupola, with its barred windows, had once been Sparrow’s tower. That the kitchen had once been the domain of a sullen, ogreish housekeeper whose memory still lingered in the walls like a sour smell.

  That the book told secrets the beast-man wanted kept forever.

  Colin jumped as he felt a hand touch his arm and realised that Tara was urgently whispering his name. She’d already finished the page, and he hadn’t even looked at it yet.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘He’s trying to distract you,’ Tara hissed. ‘Don’t let him! Don’t think! Just read!’

  Quickly Colin glanced at the illustration. It showed Podge the Pig looking scandalised, his front trotters thrown up in alarm. The doorway behind Podge was crammed with anxious animals peering in. The boarding-house hen, wearing a neat straw hat with a bunch of cherries on the brim, was among them. Beside her was a sensible-looking horse in a shadier hat and a navy blue dress covered with little white spots. Somewhere there was the scent of roses.

  Colin’s eyes blurred. He blinked rapidly, gritted his teeth, looked away from the picture and forced himself to start reading the text on the opposite page.

  So it had come. The moment Sparrow had dreaded above all others. The crisis that Walter had made himself believe would never happen.

  ‘We were wrong to meet secretly, I know, Lord Vane,’ Walter began in a low voice, ‘but—’

  ‘Silence!’ hissed the man at the window. ‘I have nothing more to say to you. I do not care where you go or what you do, but make no mistake, you have no
future in this valley — I will see to that. No one will give you work. No one will shelter you. Every door will be closed to you, and every hand will be against you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Walter. And the sparrow in the tree outside the window felt his misery and mourned for him even more than she mourned for herself, because she had always feared that every day they had together might be their last, and she knew he had not.

  Walter straightened his shoulders and took a sheaf of papers from the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘I have checked the books as you asked, Lord Vane,’ he said very formally, holding out the papers. ‘This is my report.’

  ‘Leave it with Podge when you collect your pay,’ Lord Vane said contemptuously, turning away. ‘Get out!’

  ‘You had better read it for yourself,’ Walter replied, without moving. ‘Your clients are being cheated, and the reputation of the treasure house is at stake.’

  Lord Vane stiffened. Slowly he turned back to look at the wad of closely written pages. He took it from Walter, and glanced at the top sheet. His attention was caught instantly, and for a full two minutes he read in silence. He flipped over to the next page. With a final look at the sparrow trembling outside the window, Walter turned to go.

  ‘Wait!’ Lord Vane’s voice was low, but still so full of authority that Walter stopped with his hand on the knob of the door.

  Another page turned, and another. The sounds of carriage wheels, passing footsteps and snatches of conversation drifted through the open window. At last Lord Vane looked up.

  ‘Podge thinks little of you,’ he said coldly. ‘It seems he was wrong.’ He paused. ‘Well … I suppose you think this changes things. You wish to make me feel that I was too hasty in dismissing you out of hand.’

  Before Walter could retort angrily, there was a sudden flurry of movement outside the window. A small brown blur hurtled through the open frame and crashed against the crystal vase standing on the windowsill. The vase teetered and fell, smashing to pieces on the gleaming marble floor.

  Walter yelled in shock and Lord Vane whirled round with a curse. There were shouts of alarm outside the chamber. The door flew open and Master Podge came rushing in, so quickly that he must surely have been lurking just outside waiting for Walter to emerge in disgrace. Other treasure-house staff crowded in the open doorway behind Podge, whispering and pointing at the mess of crystal shards, water and flowers on the floor. With a clatter of tiny wings, a brown bird darted back out the window and vanished among the branches of the tree.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ panted Master Podge, his eyes bulging, his face red and sweating with excitement. ‘Did the young thug attack you?’ He clamped a pudgy trotter on Walter’s arm and raised his voice. ‘Call the guards, someone! The guards!’

  ‘Podge! Let him alone!’ Lord Vane ordered. He was pale and his voice was shaking, whether with shock or with fury Walter could not say.

  ‘It was a panicking bird that broke the vase,’ one of the staff at the door called. ‘A sparrow had got inside. I saw it!’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ the others bleated, nodding in unison. ‘A bird! Absolutely!’

  Walter tore his arm free. ‘I did not give you my report to change your mind about me, Lord Vane,’ he said, as Podge staggered back, spluttering indignantly. ‘I wrote it because it was my duty, and gave it to you because I wanted to make sure it was not destroyed before you could read it.’

  ‘What report?’ blustered Master Podge. ‘What nonsense is this?’

  Lord Vane glanced at him thoughtfully. Walter turned to go, but his path was blocked by the staff in the doorway. A few customers had now joined the throng — Widow Bonnet and the red hen among them.

  ‘Please let me through,’ Walter said. ‘I have to leave.’

  ‘Leave?’ Widow Bonnet exclaimed. ‘But where are you going?’

  ‘The lout has been dismissed!’ Master Podge burst out spitefully. ‘And as for where he’s going — into prison where he belongs, I should think.’

  ‘Podge, get back to your post!’ Lord Vane’s voice was icy. ‘I will speak to you later.’ Podge gaped at him stupidly for an instant, the hectic colour ebbing from his cheeks, then turned and plunged into the murmuring crowd, which parted to let him through.

  ‘What did he mean?’ the red hen demanded, very ruffled. ‘Dismissed, when the poor boy has been slaving till past midnight every night this week?’

  Lord Vane cleared his throat. ‘There has been a slight misunderstanding,’ he said. ‘Our young friend here is leaving us — this very day, unfortunately — but not forever, I hope. He has decided to enlist in the King’s army.’

  Slowly Walter turned to look at him.

  ‘He feels he is duty-bound to fight for his country,’ Lord Vane went on, looking straight into Walter’s eyes. ‘He wishes to prove that he is a man of honour.’

  ‘We know he is that already,’ the red hen crooned, dabbing at her eyes. ‘Oh, this wicked war! Oh, dear boy, how I will miss you!’

  ‘He will be missed by many,’ Lord Vane said, still holding Walter’s gaze, ‘but that is the way things must be. While he is far away, I am sure it will be a comfort to him to think of our safe, peaceful life here going on just as it always has.’

  It was smoothly done. Lord Vane still wanted Walter out of Sparrow’s life, but now he was offering Walter the chance to leave town as a hero, rather than in disgrace. And, far more importantly, hidden in his final words was the promise that if Walter fell in with his plans and went quietly, Sparrow would not be punished for meeting him, but would be left in peace.

  So now Walter’s championed the weak, just like Magda said he would, Colin thought, raising his eyes from the page. He’s saved Widow Bonnet and the other small farmers in the valley from Podge’s thieving. And because of that, he’s going to have to go away to war and be killed.

  It seemed so cruel and unfair. And yet, Colin’s thoughts drifted on, Walter would probably have gone to war in the end anyway. His love for Sparrow and his worry about her had so far stopped him from enlisting, but he’d obviously started to feel guilty about it.

  And at least Lord Vane had listened to what Walter told him. At least Widow Bonnet and the others were going to be all right. And Podge the Pig wasn’t going to get away with what he’d done. That was very satisfying, because Podge—

  ‘Colin!’ whispered Tara, nudging him sharply.

  Realising with a start that he’d been letting his thoughts wander again, Colin bit his lip and returned to the story.

  ‘Young as you are, you have proved to be a loyal employee who works hard and never gossips of treasure-house business to outsiders,’ Lord Vane said to Walter, cloaking in the praise a warning that the report was to be kept strictly between themselves. ‘That is of great value to me. When you return, a good position will be waiting for you here, if you still want it. Naturally I hope you will, but I do understand that you are very young, and time might change the way you feel about … many things.’

  ‘I will not change my mind, Lord Vane,’ Walter said steadily, ‘but I fear I will not survive to take up your kind offer.’

  The watchers in the doorway cried out in protest. Lord Vane bent his head so his eyes were hidden, probably to mask the glint of hope that Walter was right.

  Perhaps it was that, and the fact that sympathetic witnesses were listening, which made Walter push the man a little further. ‘Last Saturday I bought a gift from the furniture-maker in Puzzle Street, Lord Vane,’ he said boldly. ‘I have it in my room at the boarding house. It is a small desk, well suited to a young lady who likes to paint. May I have it sent to the palace before I leave?’

  The onlookers murmured appreciatively. They all knew that Lord Vane’s poor afflicted daughter whiled away her time by painting little pictures, and thought Walter’s gift showed both a proper respect and a kind heart. Lord Vane’s lips tightened, but he nodded graciously.

  ‘Very thoughtful,’ he murmured. ‘Well, we must not keep you. You wi
sh to be on your way to the nearest enlistment centre with no loss of time, I know. To spare you a long walk, I will send my carriage to the boarding house for you in one hour.’

  ‘No need for that, my lord,’ Widow Bonnet put in. ‘Dorothy — my farm hand, you know — and I are already out and about, so it will be no trouble for us to take Walter. We can deliver the desk to the palace on our way, too, and see it taken safely upstairs.’

  ‘Thank you, Widow Bonnet,’ Walter said quickly.

  ‘How kind.’ Lord Vane forced a smile. Behind him, the sparrow fluttered among the leaves of the tree.

  Walter felt strangely peaceful. He heard Magda’s voice in his mind, and was sure that he would not return from the present war any more than his father had returned from the past one. He felt, however, that this time the cause was just, and he would not be dying in vain. He also knew that he had done his best for Sparrow.

  Sparrow would grieve for him, but she would be left in peace. She would be free — freer than ever, now that she had found the courage to roam beyond the riverbank. She would see people and things she had never seen before. She would hear stories about the wider world. And in her tower room she would have the little desk that Walter had told her about, and that he had bought for her with all his savings — the cunning desk with a secret drawer that the thick, fumbling fingers of a thieving ogress would never find. And when Sparrow opened the drawer she would find the gold locket, Abby’s letter, Magda’s sketchbook, a brand new book of good art paper, the brief notes Walter had made over the last week, and a scribbled farewell, yet to be written, that spoke in every word of Walter’s love.

  Walter smiled. The shadows were massing around him, but still he smiled. When he glanced at the tree outside the window again, the small brown bird had gone, but he had expected that. Sparrow had never wanted to say goodbye.

  CHAPTER