Belinda ignored her mother’s eye as she
cut across the green, making a beeline for the cakes. That morning, she had said she wouldn’t be attending the tea because she was stared at enough during school.
“You see, her greed won out,” Mollie remarked.
The three boys had finished eating, and now the seraph and the scholarship lad had begun to tussle on the grass. Belinda filled her plate with scones and a slab of crusted yellow cream before
traipsing along the perimeter of the green to enjoy her spoils in privacy. Several of the students looked up at her with little interest: as a master’s daughter she was off-limits to them.
Yet something about that lonely figure skirting the chattering crowds filled Mollie with pity, and also resentment at what she perceived to be unnecessary furtiveness. Without thinking, she called
out after her.
“Darling!”
The cry made those standing nearby stop to look at the girl, who froze with a startled scowl. For a moment she seemed to stare straight through them all – before turning and continuing
towards a copse of trees in the shadow of the abandoned east wing.
~
Swift was the next person to see her, an hour later, squatting on the steps leading up to the old kitchens with her head in her arms. He knew the girl by sight, but had not
spoken to her since the drinks party at Flood’s five years earlier, when the French master had arrived as a new member of staff. She had been a recalcitrant only child at the time, and Swift
had not warmed to her.
“What’s this?” he said – and by “this” he clearly meant her, here.
Belinda looked up. The fine, almost translucent skin around her eyes was blotchy. She stared at him with a closed look, pressing her palms onto the concrete step.
“Well, now? What on earth is the matter?”
The girl’s face turned even redder as he crouched on the ground in front of her. She shook her head, mouth crumpling to rein in fresh tears.
“If it’s to do with any of the boys, you must tell someone,” he said.
Again she shook her head – impatiently this time, angry.
“Shall I take you home? Perhaps it’s something you’d prefer to tell your mother?”
“She can’t do anything about it,” said Belinda. She nodded at the far side of the kitchen, where weeds grew among the rubble. “It’s too late for anyone to do
anything about it.”
“About what?” asked Swift. Despite himself, he set off to investigate beyond the kitchen wall. Belinda stood up – but then she hesitated, hanging back while the master
disappeared around the corner of the building.
What remained of the walled garden was now overrun with tall nettles and building debris: broken bricks, bits of tile and thick pieces of green glass mixed in with clumps of chalky soil. The
ground was spotted with holes dug by small, burrowing creatures. He told himself that she had probably come across a snake, or a rat. Perhaps she had been stung by the nettles.
A trowel had been left on a ledge of wall, next to which was a pile of freshly turned earth. Over the ledge, something wrapped in a newspaper, preserved from the elements by a piece of patterned
oilcloth. Brownish skin like leather, an open mouth, two arms folded like tiny wings.
By the time he returned to the kitchen steps, the girl had disappeared.
~
“What I don’t understand is how it could have taken this long to turn up,” said Pleming, handing the French master a tumbler and settling in the larger of the
two armchairs. “Half the island buried their silver before the Germans arrived, and half the island dug the place up again once they left. You’d think somebody would have come across it
long ago.”
“One would, yes.”
“Poor old Flood – as if they’d not had enough troubles already.” Pleming arched his back to get a better view of the window. “What are that lot doing?”
From where he sat, Swift could make out the tops of several heads still milling about the police car in the
cut across the green, making a beeline for the cakes. That morning, she had said she wouldn’t be attending the tea because she was stared at enough during school.
“You see, her greed won out,” Mollie remarked.
The three boys had finished eating, and now the seraph and the scholarship lad had begun to tussle on the grass. Belinda filled her plate with scones and a slab of crusted yellow cream before
traipsing along the perimeter of the green to enjoy her spoils in privacy. Several of the students looked up at her with little interest: as a master’s daughter she was off-limits to them.
Yet something about that lonely figure skirting the chattering crowds filled Mollie with pity, and also resentment at what she perceived to be unnecessary furtiveness. Without thinking, she called
out after her.
“Darling!”
The cry made those standing nearby stop to look at the girl, who froze with a startled scowl. For a moment she seemed to stare straight through them all – before turning and continuing
towards a copse of trees in the shadow of the abandoned east wing.
~
Swift was the next person to see her, an hour later, squatting on the steps leading up to the old kitchens with her head in her arms. He knew the girl by sight, but had not
spoken to her since the drinks party at Flood’s five years earlier, when the French master had arrived as a new member of staff. She had been a recalcitrant only child at the time, and Swift
had not warmed to her.
“What’s this?” he said – and by “this” he clearly meant her, here.
Belinda looked up. The fine, almost translucent skin around her eyes was blotchy. She stared at him with a closed look, pressing her palms onto the concrete step.
“Well, now? What on earth is the matter?”
The girl’s face turned even redder as he crouched on the ground in front of her. She shook her head, mouth crumpling to rein in fresh tears.
“If it’s to do with any of the boys, you must tell someone,” he said.
Again she shook her head – impatiently this time, angry.
“Shall I take you home? Perhaps it’s something you’d prefer to tell your mother?”
“She can’t do anything about it,” said Belinda. She nodded at the far side of the kitchen, where weeds grew among the rubble. “It’s too late for anyone to do
anything about it.”
“About what?” asked Swift. Despite himself, he set off to investigate beyond the kitchen wall. Belinda stood up – but then she hesitated, hanging back while the master
disappeared around the corner of the building.
What remained of the walled garden was now overrun with tall nettles and building debris: broken bricks, bits of tile and thick pieces of green glass mixed in with clumps of chalky soil. The
ground was spotted with holes dug by small, burrowing creatures. He told himself that she had probably come across a snake, or a rat. Perhaps she had been stung by the nettles.
A trowel had been left on a ledge of wall, next to which was a pile of freshly turned earth. Over the ledge, something wrapped in a newspaper, preserved from the elements by a piece of patterned
oilcloth. Brownish skin like leather, an open mouth, two arms folded like tiny wings.
By the time he returned to the kitchen steps, the girl had disappeared.
~
“What I don’t understand is how it could have taken this long to turn up,” said Pleming, handing the French master a tumbler and settling in the larger of the
two armchairs. “Half the island buried their silver before the Germans arrived, and half the island dug the place up again once they left. You’d think somebody would have come across it
long ago.”
“One would, yes.”
“Poor old Flood – as if they’d not had enough troubles already.” Pleming arched his back to get a better view of the window. “What are that lot doing?”
From where he sat, Swift could make out the tops of several heads still milling about the police car in the
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