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CHAPTER XIV

‘I beg you, no!’ Miss Atkinson shrieked in her pretty and musical fashion. ‘Leave the poor creature be.’ She clasped her fine hands to her barely dressed bosom. ‘Mr William, you are simply too cruel.’

‘Got the blighter!’ William Knight, handsome in shirtsleeves and high postillion boots, knee-deep in the water, let out a great loud roar of triumph. ‘My fair damsel,’ he called in a courtly manner, ‘I bring you my treasure’ – he lifted his net, turned to the governess, issued a smile – ‘as a token of my sincerest—’

And with that, he pulled his arm back, took aim, gave a flick of his wrist and a great, squirming, wet tench landed just by the hem of Miss Atkinson’s best muslin. The shrill sound of this scream – more piercing, less decorous – brought the other girls rushing to her side.

‘Oh, do look,’ said Marianne.

‘I say, Will. Well done ,’ put in Cassy.

‘I call him a fine specimen,’ Mary Dorothea agreed.

‘How could you all?’ Miss Atkinson, repulsed, took several steps back. ‘He is in agonies .’ They all watched as it writhed on the bank in the full glare of the sun. ‘You girls are beasts. And you …’ She turned to William who now, grinning and dripping, stood by her side. ‘You, sir, are a monster.’

‘Me?’ He was all innocence. ‘But I am his saviour. Watch!’ As if by command, the fish leaped. ‘There you are. Now is he or is he not jumping for joy?’

‘Gasping for breath!’ the governess shot back.

‘Dear Miss Atkinson.’ He took up her hand and bent as if to kiss it. ‘I fear you show yourself up as one raised in the Town. We may be but poor, humble country folk’ – he gestured to the large crowd of Knights and Knatchbulls now gathered about him – ‘but we know relief on a fish when we see it. The poor fellow was very near being drowned.’

‘You are absurd.’ She pulled back her hand and gave in to a smile. ‘Now, pray, do put him back.’

‘Your wish, madam.’ With a flourish, William scooped it up and slipped it back in the water. ‘Good old Tenchy …’ A tail cut the surface and vanished. ‘There he goes … And so’ – he lifted both arms as if in surrender – ‘must I. Miss Atkinson’s displeasure has fair wounded my soul.’ Still fully dressed, including the boots, William leaped into the air, turned head over heels; plunged into the water, issuing a long, plaintive ‘Adieu’. And, because they none of them liked to do things by halves, all of the brothers followed them in.

Mary sank down on to the riverbank, watched them and smiled.

That glorious summer of 1823 was surely the loveliest yet of Mary’s sixteen years. Sir Edward and Fanny were away and the entire Knatchbull offspring were removed for a few weeks to Godmersham. Hearing the call, the great flock of Knight boys swept in for the season and Ned, a singular kingfisher, flashed in and out. By day they all played; by evening they sang; a few danced more than a passable Highland Fling. The whole experience was delicious. And yet …

As if she could sense Mary’s thoughts souring, Miss Atkinson – like a guardian angel – appeared, seated right by her side.

‘Are you happy, my dear?’ The governess’s face was set towards the water, but her soft voice was all for Mary. ‘It gives me great pleasure to see you have fun at last.’ She reached up an arm and put it around her young charge. ‘You were such a sad, lost little thing when first I came.’ She turned to plant a kiss on a cheek. ‘Your joy is my joy.’

Mary let her head drop on the dear lady’s shoulder and gave out a sigh. ‘Oh, Miss A.’ If only life could be all joy … Why must there always be darkness?

She was undoubtedly enjoying a heavenly stay, but Mary could not help but be troubled that it was born out of yet more unpleasant circumstances. Lady Knatchbull had now suffered two – or might it be three? – of her ‘unfortunate events’. According to the doctors, the likelihood of another child was poor. Fanny’s nerves (always delicate) were now totally shredded; her father’s temper (never good) was particularly volatile. And Mary, too, was a little disturbed.

It was not that she had exactly longed for a baby at Hatch. Indeed, when her papa first told her one might arrive, she had found herself violently sobbing. He had presumed the tears to be happy ones; in truth, Mary had gone into shock. For a start, she had not understood theirs would be that sort of marriage. Imagine! Sir Edward and – Well, Mary would rather not. More than that, though, was the new and strange fear that her papa might yet have one more darling daughter. Was not Mary the Girl? Was she not ‘his precious one’? He had told her so, constantly and – in their complicated, unwieldy, not-quite-happy family – she had come to rely on her fairer sex. Having failed to develop another as yet, it was still her only distinguishing feature.

So, certainly, the news had struck as a blow, but Mary was confident – in fact, positive – she had never wished the child any ill. Yet it was hard to deny that the matter of her sadness had come up in her prayers and, though she had only ever sought guidance and of the most general nature, she must now regret it. For when the latest poor baby died, Mary could only feel somehow responsible. After all, His ways were, quite famously, mysterious. Might He be taking these children unto Heaven just to please Mary? No, more likely to punish her, surely. Or was she confusing her private devotions with a contractual arrangement and, thereby, once again in danger of being thought wicked … Oh, weak, foolish creature! How she longed to follow, as taught, the path of a good Christian girl; with what ease was she pulled, by her wayward emotions, astray into sin.

But, as a short shock of cold water sprayed over her head, her troubled mind was brought back to more temporal matters. At once and as one body, the gentlemen were now done with the river and running on to the grass. Mary looked up and watched as they now sprayed all the spectators; soon laughed as the drenched ladies scattered, protesting. Cassy Knight – now firmly established as her best friend in the whole world – skipped over, held out both hands and drew Mary up to her feet.

‘Archery now, on the lawn.’

The sodden menfolk led the way, with Miss Atkinson following them. As was their habit, the two girls dawdled behind.

‘I am not so very bad with a bow,’ Cassy began, ‘though my brothers are better, of course. How about you, dearest? I bet you’re a shot. You are so good at everything , I do sometimes wonder how I can bear it.’

‘Oh, darling, do stop.’ Mary nudged her and laughed. ‘I have never before even seen a bow, let alone held one. You must have noticed by now that my papa “ deplores all frivolity ”.’ She had recently perfected a fair imitation of Sir Edward’s excellent roar. ‘We are never permitted any sort of fun whatsoever.’ It felt a little disloyal to even admit that aloud, but the Knights had rather opened her eyes to a more cheerful way of living. ‘How lucky I am to be staying here at Godmersham, with lovely you . And Emily A, of course.’

‘Oh, Emily A …’ Cassy mock-swooned. ‘ Did my heart love till now? ’

Their crush on the governess was one of the many joys that they shared.

‘ Forswear it sight! ’ Mary returned. ‘ For I ne’er saw— ’

‘Soppy nonsense!’ Norton, slower than the Knight boys and therefore considerably behind, came up and joined them. The girls felt obliged to stop and wait while he lifted his boots and emptied a gallon of river from each. ‘Fancy quoting all that flowery stuff on a day like today. Look about you, for once.’

Mary did as she was bidden, saw the temple on the hill, the sheep in the meadow – the mansion ahead, sitting snug in its Park – and a few lines of Cowper swam into her mind:

‘ The sloping land recedes into the clouds;

Displaying on its varied side the grace

Of hedgerow beauties numberless … ’

‘The nonsense that governess has put in your heads is nothing short of a scandal.’ He harrumphed with contempt. ‘Far too much literature and too little sense . How can you stand here and dwell on the picturesque , when in fact , it is naught but a splendid arena for sporting and games? You see, that is how we men see things.’ Norton was now fifteen years of age. ‘Lord, but women are irrational creatures. And why must you go about holding hands all the time, as if you are sisters ?’ He wrenched them apart and forced himself in. ‘You are not and nor can you ever be, so I don’t know why you insist on pretending.’

‘Darling!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘Are you jealous ? You are! You’re jealous!’

‘What rot!’ Norton muttered under his breath, but Mary could see that he blushed.

They started walking again. ‘Anyway,’ Cassy said, cheerful. ‘We are . Fanny has been like a mother to me for most of my life, and now she is a mother to Mary – sort of.’ The two girls shared a look. ‘So that almost makes us sisters. And it makes not a jot of difference to me whether you mind it or not. I love Mary to bits and that is that.’

Oh! After those long years of loneliness … Mary’s heart danced a jig.

Norton was now thoroughly put out. ‘You remind me.’ His tone was now one of serious business. ‘I still have not yet electrified you. I must get around to it soon, for there is nothing on earth that could bring me greater delight. You two could both do with a horrible shock.’

The girls squealed together. ‘Oh, yes please! We long for it! Do, Norton, do!’

But the three had now reached the lawn, the archers were already begun and Norton ran off to join them.

The two girls settled themselves down upon a tweed blanket. Being not yet of an age to join in with the men – but already too superior by far to be seen with mere boys – they instead adopted the position of two aged chaperones at the edge of the dance floor, from which better to observe the whole party. Their interest in the social behaviour of the Godmersham grown-ups was, anyway, mutual and keen, and that particular summer provided them every opportunity with which to indulge it.

‘Oh, do look at poor Marianne,’ Cassy began in tones of great anguish. ‘I am sure she has not been the same since they banished her clergyman. It seems disappointment is so bad for one’s looks .’

‘A cautionary tale for us all,’ Mary replied, as she watched Marianne drift distractedly about the lawn as if she were the harassed mother of multitudes, rather than a single woman approaching twenty-two years.

‘I fear ,’ Cassy said darkly, ‘there’s not much to be done about it. Parents simply always get their own way, and even our tender hearts will, no doubt, one day be broken. Is that not what we have learned from our novels? First one finds love.’ She ticked off each point. ‘ Then , one is horribly thwarted. And it is only once one is in absolute bits that the happy ending arrives.’

‘Oh, do stop! It’s too gloomy!’ Mary shuddered, suddenly chilled in the sunshine. Having already endured her fair share of misery, she was quite sure she would not survive any more. ‘I simply refuse to be thwarted. Let us pledge, here and now, that will not happen to us.’ She held up one little finger, and Cassy linked in her own, and together they vowed never to bow to authority. ‘Now, darling, I beg you. Pray, change the subject.’

They turned their attentions to the handsome young couple currently enjoying tea on the terrace, displaying a closeness that bordered on intimate.

‘Goodness.’ Cassy’s response was more moral guardian than younger sister. ‘Papa should really keep more of an eye . I know he is bedevilled by gout, but really .’

‘On William and Emily , you mean?’ Mary sighed. They never passed up the opportunity to use the governess’s Christian name. It always brought with it a delicious small frisson.

‘Is she not the most capital flirt?’ They shook their young heads in rich admiration. ‘One can only look on in awe. Dear, funny Will – he does not stand an earthly .’

In the absence of her employer, Miss Atkinson had put away all her governess’s costumes and instead treated her admirers to a daily parade of fine summer fashions.

‘Must they too be obstructed or do you think they could …?’

‘Oh!’ Cassy held up a hand and gave a long blink of emphasis. ‘ Here is our exception. Emily will always prevail. In fact …’ She moved forward to a position of the utmost confidence. ‘Mark my words, come the spring of next year, we shall be at the wedding .’

An unidentified Knight called out: ‘A bullseye!’

‘Ah! Are we not blessed?’ Mary hugged herself with delight. ‘To witness an actual affair …’

The warm air was rent by a scream. And, quite unlike the playing of earlier, this was a scream fit to curdle the blood. They both jumped to their feet.

‘What – who —’ Mary stood on her toes and saw the men gathered round, a small body beneath them. ‘ John! ’

She picked up her skirts and started to run, fast, towards the place where her little brother was fallen. ‘Darling! I’m coming!’ Her heart was pounding. Was it an arrow? Please God, let it not be an arrow. Oh, why had they sat at such a distance? She was nearly there. But her breath was failing. ‘Hold on! I am coming!’

And then a large, barrelling obstacle ran into her path. Young Mr Knight? But he was not of the party! Where had he come from? He paid her no heed and propelled himself forward: stride, long; pace, thundering; dog lolloping on behind. Mary could only follow while the ground shook beneath her and the sheer force of his movement brought a wind to her face.

By the time she arrived, little John already lay cradled – lifeless – in the arms of Ned Knight.

Mary sat in the attic corridor, Norton on one side and Booker the other. With every shriek and sob that came from the nursery, they trembled – cried out – could bear it no longer. Together, the two Knatchbulls approached the locked door and knocked to gain entry, but were denied.

‘Let’s just sit here and wait.’ Kind Booker sat them back down and took a hand from each. ‘He’s all right with Cakey and Mr Ned, I promise you that. They know what they’re doing better than most. Oh, we’ve had that many accidents …’ In an attempt to distract them, she reached back in her memory. ‘There was that time when Master Will got into a fight with a bullock. Oh my days!’ She had distracted herself enough to start chuckling. ‘Never seen such a bloodbath. Eye hung by a thread—’

‘Booker!’ Mary could feel the tears building again. ‘ Please— ’

The nursery door opened then, and Cakey beckoned them in. Mary and Norton entered, each clutching the other; both terrified of what they might find. The sight they beheld defied all expectations.

John was sitting in Ned’s lap, with a long glass of milk. One arm was bandaged and in a sling, but – could it really be true? – by some extraordinary miracle, he was otherwise unharmed. Though the sweet face was still deathly pale, eyes pink with crying, at the sight of his Others, he looked up and beamed. Mary rushed over and knelt down before him. ‘ Dearest! ’

‘Mr Knight saved my life,’ he chirruped with triumph. ‘I was quite dead, you know.’ He took another, deep slurp of milk, smacked his lips and repeated: ‘Perfectly dead. Dead as a dead thing. For ages and ages . Saved my life, yes he did.’

With one elegant foot, Ned rocked the chair; with a strong arm, he clutched the boy around his waist and with remarkable tenderness, kissed the top of the little blond head. ‘Not quite mortal danger, old soldier.’ He smiled. ‘It may be that you fainted. But you’ve been in the wars, right enough.’

Cakey bustled over then, took away the cup and handed over a plate. ‘There now, my chicken. Cook’s cherry sponge is the best sort of medicine.’ She turned back to Mary. ‘Stroke of luck Mr Ned had just ridden in. Just the man you want in a crisis. Always knows what to do and when to do it.’ She stroked the boy’s cheek, which was bulging with cake. ‘Poor little precious – arm quite out of its socket.’

‘Pray, do not look so alarmed.’ Ned half rose and passed the patient to Mary. ‘Sling for a week or two.’ The transfer complete, he prepared to go. ‘And when you’re quite mended, we’ll have a good game of cricket, eh?’ He winked at the little one and left.

At last, the three Knatchbull children were alone in the nursery. The eldest two squashed into the rocker, John settled across both laps and together they wallowed in that sweet relief which descends in the wake of disaster averted.

Norton set the chair into its sway and, by some long latent instinct, Mary began quietly to hum – a tune she could no longer name, nor was she even aware that she knew … But, surely … was this not the lullaby once sung by their own lost mama? Yes! Long trapped by the years, now returned like a gift.

As if to compete, then, the sound of voices drifted up from the lawn: the ancient ritual of a hero receiving his accolade. Mary sighed, and gave a sad smile. So down there were the Knights, of whom she had grown so very fond. But here was her true family; this was her self. Mary Dorothea Knatchbull: thus she had been born; thus she would always be. And that she must take care to remember.