Imogen Robertson - Island of Bones

‘Fascinating. I fear the hour is more advanced than I thought, Mrs Briggs is having her summer party at Silverside this afternoon, so we should return.’

This seemed to wake Miss Hurst. ‘You are staying at Silverside?’

‘We are, madam. Perhaps we shall see you among the guests?’ She shook her head. ‘Or perhaps at the fireworks display in the evening?’

‘I hope so,’ she said, and lowered her eyes.

‘Will you be coming to see the display, Mr Grace?’

Stephen was near enough to hear this exchange, and was caught mid-count by the mention of fireworks.

‘Oh, I had forgotten the fireworks!’ He then turned back to the stones and put his hand to his head. ‘Oh Lord, I have lost count.’

Casper was squinting into the haze. ‘No. Joe and I don’t like the bangs and crashes so much. I’ll head down into Borrowdale till they’re done.’

As the little party passed into Keswick, Casper bowed to them awkwardly then turned to head back out of the town. Then he hesitated and returned to them with a swift step and pulled another of his carvings of the Luck out of his pocket. Taking the Fraulein’s hand, he pressed it into her palm.

‘Here you are, ma’am. A little Luck for you.’ Then he began to move away again with his shoulders hunched.

Quince smiled, tutting a little. ‘Mr Askew will be angry with him for giving away his wares again.’

A look of sudden realisation crossed Stephen’s face and he trotted up the track after Casper, ignoring the tutor’s exasperated sigh.

‘What is it, youngling?’ Casper asked as the boy came panting up to him. He looked fierce, and Stephen was suddenly afraid of him, and backed off a step.

‘I only wanted to say you have no need to worry about Mr Askew because I have asked my mama, and I am to buy a cross from the museum for my Aunt Rachel, and for my little sister Anne too, so you gave one away, but sold two, do you see?’

Casper’s face lightened and he dropped his hand on Stephen’s shoulder. ‘That’s a kindness to me, and one to your aunt, and one to your sister. So there’s one kindness become three. How old is your sister?’

‘Three and a half, Mr Casper. So I think it safe to give it to her. She has stopped chewing things so much, though she is not careful with her toys.’

‘I had a sister once, used to say the same of me.’

‘What happened to her?’

Casper blinked rapidly a few times. ‘She was always walking, and one day she walked away. She wished me luck, and said she was sorry to leave me, but the valley had drawn tight and felt to throttle her. Well, bless her wherever she might be. Sure she says the same to me. So there’s more kindness for the pile.’ He sniffed and settled his bag across his shoulder again. ‘I’ve got to go, youngling. There is smoke in the air, and whispering, and I’ve a mind to be ownsome.’

Stephen stepped aside and Casper set off up the path again, murmuring under his breath. He turned to see Fraulein Hurst and Mr Quince still bent over the little carving. Sophia was smiling at it.

‘Oh, that is kind. I asked my father to buy me one at the museum, but he would not.’

‘How much better to have it as a gift, then, from its maker,’ Quince said.

As Stephen approached Sophia asked him, ‘So do you think Mr Casper is a cunning-man, Master Westerman?’

Stephen considered. ‘I am not sure what he is, Miss Hurst. But I think he is very clever.’

She looked again at the cross in her hand. ‘Yes, I think he is too.’ She drew in her breath and turned to Mr Quince. ‘Sir, I wonder if you could do me a great kindness.’

Mrs Briggs’s garden party was always an event. But this year’s in particular provided much conversation for the gentry of Cumberland in the months that followed. It was the lost Lord Keswick, Mr Gabriel Crowther, who attracted most attention during the party itself, though Mrs Westerman was also narrowly observed by each matron and frankly admired by many of the younger men. Mrs Briggs was as pleasant as ever, the Vizegrafin considered to be rather high-handed, and Felix, until the unfortunate events of the latter part of the afternoon unfolded, was said to have set the hearts of many a young woman beating at an unnatural pace.

Mrs Briggs was acknowledged an excellent hostess by her friends and neighbours, and it was agreed she had surpassed herself this afternoon. Shades had been set out at convenient intervals all about the lawns so as to provide some shelter from the heat. Ices were served on the upper parts of the lawn, and by the lake her guests could watch the gentlemen who were so inclined shoot arrows across the width of the grass, then compete for a silver arrow that had been commissioned in London for the occasion.

Harriet allowed herself to be handed about by her hostess for as long as she could bear it, and paused to watch the archery competition. There were a surprising number of competitors and she was impressed by the quality of the shooting. The prize was taken by a lawyer’s son visiting relatives in Ambleside. He was delighted, but several gentlemen had cause to be sorry at his success. The betting had heavily favoured Felix after the practise sessions, but when the competition was opened he seemed to have been cursed, since his shots were barely competent. He was heard to complain, and the gentlemen were embarrassed at having put any faith in him.

Harriet continued to shake hands, but after the fifth time she had heard herself referred to as ‘original’, she pleaded exhaustion in the heat and retreated to the most shaded part of the lawn, from where she hoped to see Crowther being pursued by the curious for a change, and watch him swat them away like biting flies.

As soon as she seated herself, however, she found she was not to be alone after all. There was a stir in the shadows and a woman appeared, of early middle age and dressed neatly in grey with a bonnet that cast a further shadow over her face, so that her features were almost invisible to Harriet’s heated eyes.

‘Mrs Westerman!’ The lady offered her hand. ‘I am Katherine Scales. My father is the vicar of Crosthwaite. I am delighted to meet you.’

Harriet took the hand offered and gathered her strength for the proper niceties.

‘Now please, Mrs Westerman, I saw the expression on your face as you sat down. You are worn out with meeting people, I am sure. Do make yourself comfortable and we shall watch the party together. Or rather I shall chatter, and you need do no more than pretend to listen.’ Harriet thanked her. ‘I would be a monster to say anything else, but I am glad to meet you, Mrs Westerman! It is like becoming acquainted with a character from a novel. My father loves to hear me read in the evenings, and sometimes encourages me to read from the newspapers as well as from Mr Clarke’s Sermons , so we have heard all about your cleverness and bravery.’

Such speeches normally made Harriet nervous, but it was all spoken with such comfortable warmth she could not help thinking the lady sincere.

‘They write a great deal of nonsense,’ she replied politely, ‘but if they have managed to create a good opinion of me, I shall hold my tongue.’ Her eyes were now adapting themselves to the relative gloom, and she saw she had been correct in thinking Miss Scales was some years over forty. In her figure and features there was much to admire, but the skin on her face and hands was badly marked with the pitted scars of smallpox, and one of her eye-sockets was apparently empty, judging by the way the lid fell over it. She reminded Harriet of a statue of some ancient god found among the rubble of its former temple. The disease had chipped away at her and left her face a ruined memory of itself.