‘Mr Armstrong’s visits continue?’
Helena’s nod was unperturbed. ‘They do.’
Rita caught Vaughan’s face as it flinched at the sound of the other man’s name.
But then Daunt was there. Helena slid the plates back into the box and swung the child into her arms with a wide smile. ‘Where do you want us for the new photographs?’
Daunt looked to the sky to gauge the sun, then pointed. ‘Just there.’
The girl fidgeted and struggled, turned her head and shuffled her feet, and one expensive plate after another had to be abandoned that was not worth developing.
Just as they were on the point of becoming dispirited, Rita made a suggestion.
‘Put her in a boat. She’ll settle on the water, and the river is steady.’
Daunt eyed the river to see how much motion there was in it. The current was untroubled. He shrugged and nodded. It was worth a try.
They carried the camera to the bank. Helena brought the little rowing boat from the days of her girlhood out to the jetty and secured it.
The river pulled at the boat with even energy, tautening the mooring rope. The girl stepped into it. There was no rocking, no need to get her balance. She stood, poised on the shifting water.
Daunt opened his mouth to ask her to sit down, but there then came one of those moments that mean everything to a photographer and he thought better of it. The wind chased the heavy cloud from the sun and put in its place a scant white veil that softened the light and blurred shadows. In response the water lightened to a pearlized finish at the very moment that the girl turned to gaze upriver in just the direction the camera needed. Perfection.
Daunt whipped away the lens cover and all fell silent, willing the sun, the wind and the river to hold. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
Success!
‘Ever seen developing in process?’ Daunt asked Vaughan as he light-proofed the plate and extracted it from the camera. ‘No? Come and watch. You’ll see the darkroom, and how I’ve kitted it out.’
‘That cloud is heading back,’ Helena said, craning her neck to look skywards as the men disappeared into the darkroom. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘We’ll be all right for a bit.’
They returned the little old rowing boat to the boathouse and took out the larger one, suitable for two rowers and a child. Rita set it rocking as she got in and had to find her balance again. Helena stepped in deftly, barely altering the equilibrium of the boat in the water, and before she could turn to lift the child, there she was, by her side, having stepped from land to water as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
They seated themselves, the child on the passenger seat, then Helena, Rita behind. From the minute the boat drew out into the current, Rita felt the power of the other woman’s stroke.
‘Amelia! Sit down!’ Helena cried, with a laugh. ‘She does insist on standing. We shall have to get her a punt or a gondola if she keeps on!’
The little girl’s back stiffened as she raised her head to look intently ahead, but the river was empty, theirs was the only vessel out in the bad weather, and when she slumped, Rita felt the poignancy of her disappointment. ‘What is it she looks for?’ she wondered aloud.
Helena shrugged. ‘She is always interested in the river. She’d spend all day here if she could. I was just the same at her age. It’s in the blood.’
It was not an answer to her question, but nor was it a deliberate evasion. For all the intensity and constancy of Helena’s gazing at the child, Rita had the impression that in certain ways she failed to actually see her. She saw Amelia, her Amelia, for that was what she needed to see. But there was more to this child than that. She, Rita, could not see the child without the urge to lift her into her arms and comfort her. It was an instinct that perplexed her and she tried to bury it in questions.
‘Still no notion about where she was before?’
‘She’s back. That’s all that matters now.’
Rita tried another tack. ‘No news about the kidnappers?’
‘Not a thing.’
‘And the window locks – do you feel secure now?’
‘I still get the feeling that someone is watching.’
‘You remember the man I told you about? The one who asked me whether she was speaking and what the doctor had said?’
‘You haven’t seen him again?’
‘No. But his interest in the six months it might take for her voice to return does make me wonder whether that is the time to look out for him.’
‘The summer solstice.’
‘That’s right. Tell me about the nursery maid Amelia had in the old days … What became of her?’
‘It is good news for Ruby that Amelia is back. She struggled to find work afterwards. There was so much malicious gossip.’
‘People thought that Ruby had something to do with it at the time, didn’t they? Because she was absent from the house?’
‘Yes, but—’ Helena stopped rowing. Rita was getting out of breath from the exertion, so they allowed the river to carry them along, Helena doing just enough to keep them straight. ‘Ruby was the best of girls. She came to us at sixteen. Had lots of little brothers and sisters, so she was experienced with little ones. And she loved Amelia. You only had to see them together.’
‘So why wasn’t she at home the night it happened?’
‘She couldn’t explain. That’s why people thought she had something to do with it, but more fool them. I know she wouldn’t have harmed Amelia.’
‘Did she have an admirer?’
‘Not yet. She had the same dreams as most girls that age. Meeting a nice young man, courtship, marriage, a family of her own. But that was all still in the future. She wanted it, was putting money aside for the future, like a sensible girl, but it hadn’t happened yet.’
‘Might there have been a secret admirer? Some charming rogue she wouldn’t have wanted you to know about?’
‘She wasn’t the type.’
‘Tell me how it happened.’
Rita listened to Helena recount the night of the kidnap. Her voice grew taut as she remembered the events; every so often she paused – to look at the child, Rita guessed – and when her voice took up again it was softer, reassured by the presence of the child who had returned so unexpectedly from nowhere.
When she got to the part where Ruby returned, Rita interrupted.
‘So she arrived back from the garden? And what did she say to explain herself?’
‘That she had gone for a walk. The policemen took her into Anthony’s study and questioned her for hours. Why go for a walk in the cold? Why go at night? Why go when the river gypsies were about? They badgered and bullied her. She wept and they shouted, but still she gave no other answer. She’d been for a walk. That’s all she would say. She went for a walk for no reason.’
‘And you believed her?’
‘Don’t we all do unexpected things from time to time? Don’t we all break habits and entertain the thought of something novel? At sixteen we are too young to know what we are – and if a girl suddenly wants to go for a walk though it is dark, why should she not? I was out on the river at all hours at that age, winter and summer alike. There was nothing ill in it. It might be different if Ruby was a sly or devilish girl, but there is no malice in her. If I am Amelia’s mother and I say so, why will others not believe it?’
Because it needs an explanation, thought Rita.
‘Once the police got it into their heads that it was the river gypsies, they forgot all about Ruby and her nocturne. I wish everybody else had too. Poor girl.’