The Body at Auercliff Page 13

  “Em -”

  “Where is he?” I ask, hurrying through to Martin's study. I feel an immense sense of fear, but I can't remember why I feel that way. Something dreadful has happened, and I must find Martin so he can make it all better. When I reach the door that leads into his study, however, I see that the light is off and there's no sign of him, although all his usual papers are on the desk.

  “Em?” Barbara says as she catches up to me. “Em, you must -”

  “Where's Martin?” I stammer, turning to her, filled with a sense of confusion. Once again, I feel as if there's a blockage in my mind, something that's keeping me from remembering everything. “Where is he? Barbara, tell me! Where's my husband?”

  Tears are running down Barbara's face now. In the distance, two babies are crying.

  Part Four

  Verity - 1957

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Although it burns bright in the morning sky, the sun is in fact a cooling star. And we are like moths crawling across our world's rocky surface, too timid to...

  Too timid to what?

  Chewing on the end of my pencil, I stare at the words I just wrote in my notebook, and then I turn the pencil around and erase the last part.

  “And we are like moths,” I whisper, “crawling across -”

  “I think we're to go inside now,” Martin says suddenly.

  Ignoring him, I continue to stare at the words on the page.

  “We are like moths, crawling across the -”

  “Verity? We're to go inside now.”

  “Leave me alone,” I mutter, trying to stay focused. “And we are like moths, crawling across...”

  “We don't want to get into trouble.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to keep his words from sinking into my thoughts, before finally giving up. With a sigh, I close my notebook and wedge my pencil behind my ear. Sometimes, I think I shall never achieve anything of any worth, not if I'm constantly interrupted by people who don't understand the artistic process.

  “Come on,” Martin continues, as I get to my feet. “There's no point getting into trouble. You know how much they like us to all have lunch together. Apparently it's an Auercliff tradition.”

  “Oh, stuff Auercliff and its traditions,” I mutter darkly, looking through the trees and seeing the house in the distance. “If it were up to me, I'd take a match and burn the whole place down.”

  “You don't mean that!” Martin stammers, his eyes wide with shock.

  “Don't I? I'd burn it down and then I'd pour salt on the ruins, so that nothing could ever be built there again. And then I'd go and tear the pages from every history book, so that soon nobody even remembered the name. And then, finally, I'd go to a doctor and get him to wipe the memories from my mind, so that not even I had any recollection of that stuffy, pompous, prig-filled house.”

  I pause for a moment, watching as leaves dance in the morning breeze, almost – but not quite – obscuring my view of the house.

  “Auercliff is a house of secrets,” I continue, lowering my voice a little. “Too many secrets over time, all twisted together in knots. It's too bloody old, is the problem. If I were queen of England, I'd decree that any house above one hundreds years in age should be knocked down so that its inhabitants can start again. In fact, I think I'd outlaw history entirely. All I'd keep would be literature and poetry.”

  I pause again, still watching the leaves and the dark house beyond, my gaze focused on the windows. After a moment, however, I can't help breaking into a giggle, and finally I turn to my cousin.

  “What's wrong?” I ask. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

  “Do you really hate Auercliff that much?” Martin replies with a frown.

  “Don't you?”

  “Well, I mean...” His frown deepens. “No. I mean, it's part of our family history, isn't it? It's part of tradition.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Actually, I think I rather like it.”

  “How old are you?” I ask.

  “You know how -”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  He sighs. “Verity, I'm sixteen and you know that full -”

  “Two years older than me,” I continue, interrupting him, “but my word, sometimes you sound like you're two hundred years older. You're so stuffy, Martin.”

  “I am not!”

  “Oh yes you are,” I add, amused by his obvious discomfort. “I don't blame you, not really, but it's clear that the responsibilities of the family are rather weighing you down. I suppose that's inevitable, really, seeing as one day you'll be the one who inherits Auercliff. Your whole life is on rails before you, isn't it? Rails that leads straight into that mausoleum.”

  He sighs.

  “It's true, isn't it?” I continue, warming to my theme. “To you, a successful life would be one where you cause as little trouble as possible and keep the house in decent order, before ending up on a shelf in that ghastly stone tomb.”

  “Well it's better than you inheriting it,” he points out. “After all, you just threatened to burn the place down.”

  “I did, didn't I?” I reply with a grin, before staring at him for a moment. “Oh Martin, how are we going to stir your soul this summer? We simply must find a way!”

  “I don't -”

  “Yes you do,” I continue. “You do need it. You need waking up, my dear cousin. You need to be reminded how it feels to be thrilled by something.”

  “Well, actually I -”

  Before he can finish, I lean closer and plant a kiss on his lips. Nothing too racy, just a brief peck that I hold for a few seconds longer than normal, and then I pull back to see the shock in his eyes.

  Laughing, I turn and scramble down the muddy hill and start running toward the river. Maybe Martin will follow me, maybe he won't. Either way, I want to get further away from the house. Something about Auercliff makes me feel deeply uncomfortable.

  ***

  “What do you think this used to be?” I ask, with my hands clasped behind my back as I wander around the remains of an old stone column near the river. Looking up at the column's crumbling top, I see ivy clinging to the surface, and a moment later I accidentally look straight toward the sun.

  Turning, I start blinking away the spots in my eyes.

  “There used to be some kind of abbey down here,” Martin says, still a little breathless as he finally catches up to me. “Listen, Verity, why did you -”

  “What kind of pavilion?” I ask, taking a step back so I can get a better look at the column.

  “I'm not entirely sure. Verity, why -”

  “And what happened to it?”

  “I suppose over time it fell down.”

  “Is that sad?”

  I wait for an answer, before turning to him and seeing the confusion in his eyes.

  “Is it sad?” he asks cautiously. “What do you mean?”

  “I think it's beautiful,” I continue with a faint smile. “Poetic, even. I should write something about it some time, next time I feel inspired. This so-called abbey had the right idea, crumbling like this. Not like Auercliff. Then again, I suppose one day Auercliff too will fall to the ravages of time.”

  “I doubt it,” he replies. “Auercliff's built on strong foundations.” He pauses for a moment. “Verity, back there just now, why did you -”

  “An abbey in a forest,” I say loudly, turning and making my way to the edge of the river, “next to running water.” Looking down at the river's surface, I can just about see my rippled, silhouetted reflection. Oh, how I wish that was how I looked in real life, made up of lots of dancing fragments. “I bet it was fun down here at the old abbey. I bet people came here to get away from the oppressive atmosphere in the house.”

  I wait, and after a moment I hear Martin's footsteps getting closer from behind.

  “Why did you do that?” he asks.

  I smile, but I don't say anything.

  “Verity? Why did you do that just now?”

  “Do what?”<
br />
  “You... Well, you know.”

  “Do I?” My smile grows as I continue to watch my reflection in the water. “Sorry, Martin, I haven't been paying attention at all. You'll have to remind me. What did I do? And try to make it sound interesting, or I shall instantly forget again.”

  When he fails to answer, I turn and see an expression of pure befuddlement on his face. I know it's mean of me, but I can't help bursting out laughing. In fact, I laugh so hard, I almost topple into the water, and it takes me a moment to steady myself.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I reply, wiping tears from my eyes. “You're going to make someone a fine husband one day, dear cousin. Some lucky girl will marry you and marry your precious Auercliff at the same time, and then she'll start popping out babies, and then the family line will be preserved forever and ever and ever. It's a good job the house will fall to someone like you, because if it fell to someone like me, the whole place would be utterly doomed.”

  “Someone like me?” he asks with a frown. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  I look back down into the water. “Oh, nothing. Just that you're more suited to -”

  Stopping suddenly, I see something poking out of the muddy riverbank, glistening in the dappled sunlight.

  “Oh hello,” I whisper, crouching down in the mud to get a closer look. “And what do we have here?”

  “You're getting your dress all muddy,” Martin points out.

  “So? Maybe I like it muddy.”

  Leaning down further, I reach for the glistening object, which seems to be dark and dirty, and perhaps metallic. Whatever it is, I simply must get a closer look.

  “Careful, Verity,” Martin says after a moment. “You don't want to fall in.”

  “Then hold my legs, dummy.”

  I lean even further, reaching out and almost grabbing the metal object.

  A moment later, I feel Martin gingerly taking hold of my ankles but not daring to grip them too tight.

  “You'll have to go higher up than that,” I call back to him, wriggling a little further over the edge and leaning down until I finally grab the piece of metal. I can feel cold mud soaking through the front of my dress, and I don't mind at all. “Around the knees, at least.”

  “But Verity -”

  “Or are you going to let me fall in, and end up just holding my socks?”

  I take hold of the rusty, rough metal object and start pulling it out of the muddy riverbank. At the same time, I feel Martin cautiously holding my knees, although again he seems unable or unwilling to hold me firmly. Poor boy.

  “God above,” I whisper with a smile, still pulling on the piece of metal. “I do feel sorry for your future wife in some regards. She'll never have much fun unless you develop a firmer grip. In fact -”

  Suddenly I slip, and Martin's grasp fails miserably. Letting out a sudden cry of shock, I slither down the muddy bank and crash headfirst into the water. Fortunately, I'm only at the edge of the river and I come to a rest with just my head and shoulders submerged, and then I quickly manage to turn and start pulling myself up again. I'm soaked, though, and I have to wipe thick mud from my face as I burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

  “Are you okay?” Martin calls out from the riverbank above.

  Once the mud is away from my eyes, I look up at him.

  “You're absolutely covered in mud!” he says, clearly shocked.

  “You could've held on tighter,” I reply with a grin. “You're useless, Martin. Did anyone ever tell you that? Utterly useless, at least when it comes to practical things. It's a good job you're so smart, to make up for it.”

  Squidging through the mud, I finally find the piece of metal and pull it free. To my surprise, I end up with a large, rusty old knife in my hands.

  “Blimey,” I whisper.

  “What are we going to tell them back at the house?” Martin asks, his voice filled with fear. “You'll be in awful trouble for messing your dress up like that, Verity.”

  “Oh, just get me out of here,” I mutter, reaching up toward him. “Or are you too much of a gentleman to even take a lady's hand when she's stuck in the mud?”

  Fortunately Martin manages to grab my hold and hold it tight enough, so I'm able to scramble up the riverbank until finally I crawl back onto the grass with the rusty knife in my left hand. Dropping onto my hands and knees, I wait a moment to get my breath back, and then I slip my hand away from Martin before getting to my feet. At the last moment, however, my foot slips in the mud and I slump back down, and I let out a cry of pain as I feel something slicing through my hand.

  “Damn it!” I hiss, looking down and seeing that the rusty knife has cut across the palm of my left hand. Rich red blood is already trickling out between the mud and flakes of rust that cover my skin, and a fraction of a second I feel a sharp, stinging pain.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “You should get that looked at,” Martin says quietly, as he watches me wrapping a bandage around my hand. “It might be infected!”

  “Oh, rot!” I mutter, feeling a little irritated by his constant nattering. “It's just a cut. Have you never cut yourself before, my dear cautious cousin?”

  “Yes, but -”

  “And did you die a slow, agonizing death as a result?”

  “No, but -”

  “So put a sock in it,” I continue, cutting the bandage and then sticking a safety pin through the end. “I'll tell everyone I cut it in the kitchen, and no-one'll fuss too much.” I turn to him. “And don't you dare go telling them what really happened, either. I put my muddy dress in the wash, and I told Martha not to mention it to anyone. The last thing I want is for Mummy or Daddy to start asking why I was crawling about in the mud. They don't like that sort of business.”

  “But Verity -”

  “Of course,” I add, “I'd hate to have to tell them that it's your fault.”

  His eyes open with with shock. “My fault?”

  “I wouldn't have fallen if you'd held my legs tighter,” I point out. “What's wrong, was that the first time you'd ever touched a girl's legs?”

  Seeing the utter discomfort in his eyes, I slip past him and make my way across the reception room. I can't help smiling as I pick up the knife, which I've already washed in one of the bathrooms. Most of the mud is gone now, revealing the rusty, blackened metal beneath. Whatever this knife was once used for, it's rather large, and it also seems to be very old. I've certainly never seen it before.

  “I wonder if it's an antique,” I mutter, turning it over in my hands.

  “You should show it to someone,” Martin tells me.

  “And let them have all the fun?” I hold the knife up to the light, to get a better look. “Where's your sense of adventure? I want to know what this knife was used for. Perhaps a murder!”

  “Don't talk rubbish.”

  “It must be at least a hundred years old,” I continue, turning to him. “Do you know what happened here a hundred years ago? Or two hundred? Or three hundred?”

  “No,” he replies, “but -”

  “Neither do I,” I tell him. “History usually bores me, but suddenly I feel rather compelled to figure out what happened with this thing. I declare myself officially intrigued.”

  He sighs. “Earlier, you said you wanted to ban history.”

  “So?”

  “So have you changed your mind?”

  “Yes,” I reply bluntly. “Only really, really smart people change their mind. It's a mark of intelligence.”

  He frowns. “It is?”

  “Aren't you curious, my closed-minded cousin?” I ask. “I mean, how did a knife end up buried near the river? It looks like a perfectly good knife, it doesn't appear to have been damaged in any way, so why did someone put it there? What precise series of events had to happen to get that knife into the mud so that I could pull it out all these years later?”

  Turning to him, I can already see the hopeless lack of imagination in his eyes. />
  “Did someone bury it there?” I ask.

  He shrugs.

  “Did someone bury it further up the river bank, and subduction drew it slowly down through the soil until it started poking out just above the water?”

  “Verity -”

  “Was it lost, or was it...” I pause for a moment, filled with a sudden sense of anticipation. “Was it hidden?” I continue finally. “There aren't many reasons why someone would hide a knife, Martin. What if it was used for something really bad? I know we always joke about such things, but what if there really was a murder here at Auercliff once?”

  “I don't know,” he says with a faint sigh, “but I think you're reading too much into the whole thing. It is just a knife, after all.”

  “Nothing's ever just a knife,” I reply, looking down at the ragged blade. “Perhaps if we'd found a buried spoon, I'd be less interested. Nevertheless, a specific chain of events led to this knife ending up in my hands here today. I wonder what that chain of events entailed, and I wonder what chain of events will take the knife out of my hands and off into the future? What impact will this one knife have on the history of the house, and on the people who live here?”

  I pause for a moment, admiring the blade.

  “Are you sure you didn't bang your head on a rock?” Martin asks finally.

  “Very funny,” I mutter, “but you just -”

  Suddenly hearing footsteps in the hallway, I hold the knife behind my back just in time to keep Daddy from seeing it as he wonders through.

  “There you are,” he says, not sounding particularly impressed. He takes a puff on his pipe and then breathes a big, sweet-smelling cloud of smoke straight toward us. “I was looking for you two scallywags earlier, but I suppose you were off on one of your adventures, were you?”

  “Sorry, Daddy,” I reply, forcing a big smile in an attempt to keep him from asking too many questions. “Martin and I were just exploring the gardens, that's all. Auercliff is such a beautiful house, and I wanted to explore its rich history. So I asked my dear cousin to show me around and he obliged magnificently. He's such a wonderfully cultured chap.”