Time for Silence

“I don’t like it,” said Annabelinda. “I forbid you to call me by anything but my proper name.”

When we were alone, my mother said, “What’s wrong with Annabelinda? She doesn’t seem so enamored of the school as you are.”

“Oh, she likes it. She would have liked to stay on and not come home for the holidays, I believe.”

“Oh, dear, we must try to make her change her mind.”

There was so much to do during those holidays, so many things to talk about, that I forgot Annabelinda’s mood.

The Denvers spent Christmas week with us, and after that I went down to Cornwall to be with Aunt Rebecca, which was always enjoyable. Aunt Rebecca was as eager to hear about the school as my mother had been.

We came back to London and preparations for the return to school began in earnest. A few days before we were due to leave, Annabelinda and her mother came to London.

Annabelinda looked no better than she had when the holidays began. She did not seem to want to talk to me, but the night before we left I was feeling so anxious about her that I went along to her room, determined to talk.

I knocked and without waiting for an answer went in.

She was in bed but not asleep.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said ungraciously.

“Annabelinda,” I said. “I’m worried about you. Are you ill or something? Why don’t you tell me? There might be something I could do.”

“You can’t do anything,” she replied. “I shall never see him again.”

“Who?”

“Carl.”

“Carl…You mean the gardener?”

“He wasn’t really a gardener. That was only a bet. He just left without saying. I didn’t know he was going. He didn’t tell me.”

“Was there any reason why he should tell you?”

“Every reason,” she said. “We were friends.”

“Friends,” I repeated. “You only saw him in the gardens…apart from that night in this house.”

“That’s nothing to do with it,” she retorted. “We were friends…special friends. You know what I mean…well, lovers.”

“Lovers!” I gasped.

“Don’t keep repeating what I say. You don’t understand anything.”

“I would if you told me.”

“Well, Carl and I were special friends. It was great fun. I used to see him often…sometimes in the days and…”

Memories of her creeping into the house, coming up the stairs, playing the ghost, came to me. “And at night,” I added.

She smiled and looked a little like her old self at the recollection.

“It was great fun. Lucia knew. She was a real sport. Well, she’d had adventures herself. She helped me a lot. She used to put a bundle in my bed so that it looked as though I were there, asleep…just in case old Arty came in.”

“Is this why you are so upset? He was your friend and he didn’t even tell you that he was going?”

She nodded, miserable again.

“He couldn’t have been much of a friend.”

“It must have been a sudden call from somewhere.”

“He could have left a message.”

“Well, not easily. He wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with the girls.”

I felt shocked and bewildered. All I could say was, “Well, fancy…you and Carl.”

“He is very handsome.”

“I suppose so.”

“And rather unusual. I mean…doing all that for a bet.”

“There is certainly something unusual about him. Perhaps he’ll appear again somewhere.”

“That will be too late. Oh, we did have some fun together! He was ever so interested in the school. He used to ask me a lot of questions about it. He made me draw a plan of it. One night I let him in.”

“Let him in!”

She nodded. “We climbed through the window.”

“As I saw you do.”

“Yes. It was easy. I just unbolted it and left it unbolted so that I could get back. I had an arrangement with Lucia that if I did not get back by two in the morning she would come down and make sure someone hadn’t bolted the window. Lucia was a great help.”

“And you brought him into the school!”

“Only once. There was something he wanted to see about the building. It was so exciting…creeping round in the dark…with a torch, of course.”

“You might have been caught!”

“Disaster!” she said, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

“You would have been expelled.”

“I don’t think so. Grandpère Bourdon would have stopped that. Madame Rochère is very fond of him. I think he must have been her lover years ago when she was young and beautiful. I believe my grandfather has been the lover of half the women in France. He wouldn’t let me be expelled.”

“You are very daring…and now you are wretched because of this Carl.”

She was silent.

“Well,” I said. “I’m glad I know. You are just a deserted maiden, pining for her lover.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I don’t know why I’ve told you.”

“Because, in spite of everything, we are still friends.”

“I suppose so…”

“I was getting quite worried about you. You’ll get over this. There will be others.”

She smiled at me faintly.

“Thanks for coming, Lucinda.”

She was more gracious than she had been for a long time.

“I’m glad I did,” I answered. “Good night.”