A tear dropped from her eye and she left off scratching the sow to wipe it away.
The sow blinked sympathetically.
‘Tell him myself? Well, perhaps … I suppose it would be better if he heard it from me first. I could explain. Tell him I meant no harm by it. Yes, I’ll do that.’
Was it foolish, talking to a pig? Of course it was – but nobody was there to hear, and besides, it was a good idea of the pig’s, that she should tell the parson herself. Lily rubbed her face dry on her sleeve.
She stood scratching the sow’s ear a little longer, then told her, ‘Go on, eat something. He’ll leave none for you, otherwise.’
She waited to see that the sow had her snout in the trough, then put the bucket away, transferred Victor’s money from the log to its hiding place in the cottage, and set off for work.
She walked upstream and, in her new confidence born of the idea that had come to her thanks to the sow, took her eyes off the water and noticed the brightness of the day. She did not linger when she passed the Vaughans’ garden, merely glanced briefly over the river and saw that nobody was there. Seeing the clump of elders and bramble where she had hidden caused her spirits to flag, but she rallied them by visiting Ann in her mind. Over there, in the safety of the Vaughans’ house, her sister lived a life that Lily had never known. It was one of comfort and wealth, things Lily could only guess at. She saw a fire burning in a large hearth, a well-stocked basket of logs, a table with several dishes of hot food, enough for everyone and something left over. In another room there was a bed, a real one, with a soft mattress and two warm blankets. For months she had been embellishing her notion of Ann’s life at Buscot Lodge, but now, with the spring freshness starting to show, a new idea occurred to her. Had the Vaughans thought to give Ann a puppy?
A beagle would be patient and gentle with her. But spaniels had beautiful silky ears. Ann would like stroking the ears of a spaniel, she was sure. Or a terrier? A little terrier puppy would be full of fun. She lined up the puppies, and in the end it was the tail that swayed her: surely a terrier had the very best tail for wagging. A terrier it was. She added the puppy to Ann’s blankets and log basket and fur-lined boots and rejoiced at the new detail. A cheerful little companion, yapping with pleasure as he chased and returned the red ball Ann threw, and later fell asleep on her lap. And Lily herself haunted these fantasies, an invisible figure who diverted wasps from the flowers that Ann bent to smell, who removed thorny brambles from the bushes where the red ball landed, damped the sparks that leapt from the fire on to the hearthrug. She averted all dangers, managed all risks, protected from all harm. Nothing could hurt Ann while she lived in the Vaughans’ house and while Lily watched over her from afar: the child’s life was nothing but comfort, safety and delight.
‘Come! Ah! Mrs White!’
Her name was like a blessing in his voice, and it gave her courage. She placed the tea tray on his desk. ‘Shall I pour a cup for you?’
‘No,’ he murmured distractedly, without lifting his head. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Parson …’
He touched the paper with his pen and added another few words in the margin, and she marvelled again at his quickness with ink.
‘Yes, what is it?’
He looked up. She felt her throat tighten.
‘Yesterday, when I was walking home along the river … I happened to stop. It was just opposite where the garden of Buscot Lodge comes down to the bank. Mrs Vaughan was out on the river with Ann.’
The parson frowned. ‘Mrs White—’
‘I never meant to do no harm,’ she went on, in a rush, ‘but they saw I was looking – the nurse rowed over to where I was, after Ann and Mrs Vaughan had got out—’
‘Have you been injured, Mrs White?’
‘No! That’s to say, it’s just a scratch, it was the brambles on the riverbank, that’s all …’
She fidgeted with her hair as if she might still veil the evidence.
‘I never meant to go,’ she said again. ‘I happened to be passing that way because it’s the way home, I didn’t go particular or anything – and it don’t seem wrong to look. I never touched her, I never went near, I was on the other bank altogether, she never even saw me.’
‘If anyone has come to harm, Mrs White, it seems to be you. I will tell the Vaughans that you meant no harm when you were looking at Amelia yesterday. Her name is Amelia, Mrs White. You know that, don’t you? You said Ann just then.’
Lily gave no answer.
The parson went on with great kindness in his voice and in his expression, ‘I’m sure nobody is afraid that you mean to hurt her. But think of the Vaughans. Think of what they have been through. They have lost her once already. It might be distressing for them to have the child watched so closely by someone outside the family. Even if she does – perhaps – resemble a sister of yours whose name is Ann.’
Again she did not answer.
‘Well, Mrs White. Perhaps we have finished with that topic for today.’
The interview was over for now. She crept towards the door. On the threshold she turned, timidly.
The parson had returned to his papers, his teacup halfway to his lips.
‘Parson?’ Her voice was little more than a whisper, like a child who thinks by speaking quietly she can avoid interrupting an adult engaged on some important task.
‘Yes?’
‘Do she have a puppy?’
He looked bewildered.
‘The little girl at the Vaughan’s – the one they call Amelia. Do she have a little dog to play with?’
‘I don’t know. I have no idea.’
‘Only, I think she would like one. A little terrier. When you see Mr Vaughan, when you tell him that I won’t stare across the river no more, perhaps you could ask him?’
The parson was lost for words.
Part 3
The Longest Day
IN SUMMERTIME, THE Swan at Radcot was as sweet a spot as you could imagine. The grassy banks sloped down from the inn, and the river lent itself contentedly to the leisure and delight of mankind. There were skiffs and sculling boats for hire, punts for fishing and pleasure too. Margot carried the tables outdoors in the morning sun, and if it should get too hot in the middle of the day, picnic blankets could be spread in the generous shade of the trees. She called on her daughters, three at a time, and the Swan proliferated with Little Margots working in the kitchen, pouring drinks, and running in and out with trays of food, lemonade and cider. With smiles for all, they never tired. You could say, with truth, that there were few spots more idyllic than the Swan in summer.
This year was different. It was the weather. The spring rain had been regular and moderate in quantity, pleasing the farmers, who looked forward to a good harvest. As the weeks drew on to summer and hopes grew for sunshine, the rain continued, increasing in frequency and duration. The leisure boaters set off optimistically in light drizzle, counting on it clearing up later in the day, but when the rain set in in earnest, as it always did, they packed up early and went home. Four or five times, Margot had looked at the sky and put the tables out, but rare was the day she didn’t have to go out and bring them in again, and the summer room stood empty. ‘It’s a good thing we had such a good winter,’ she concluded, recalling the crowds that packed the room to hear the story of the drowned girl who came to life again. ‘We’d be struggling if it wasn’t for that.’ Two of the Little Margots were sent back to their husbands and children, and she and a single daughter managed the workload with Jonathan to help.