Andrew Taylor - The American Boy

"Lord, Mr Harmwell," Mrs Kerridge broke in. "You talk just like a book."

"What about the ice?" I asked. "Will they start cutting it today?"

"I believe not," he said. "So I cannot see that there will be any objection to your skating. While you can." He raised his stick and pointed towards the south-western quarter of the sky, where clouds were massing. "There may be snow on the way."

We parted. The boys raced ahead. When I reached the lake, they were not in sight. I took the path round the bank to the defile leading to the ice-house. Edgar and Charlie were perched on the trunk of a fallen tree. Half a dozen men were engaged in emptying and cleaning the building. For a few moments we watched them carrying buckets of ice and muddy straw down the path to a hollow where they discharged their noisome burdens.

The foreman touched his hat and asked if we would like to see the scene of their operations. I followed him down the passage, with the boys behind me. The chamber was illuminated by half a dozen lanterns strung round the dome. Two men were working in the pit itself, shovelling the slush into buckets. As we watched, one neatly decapitated a rat with the blade of the shovel.

"It stinks worse than usual, sir," the foreman said. "The drain was blocked."

I looked over the edge. "It looks clear now."

"We rodded it, and it's draining slowly. But not like it should. If we can't clear it properly from this side, we may have to wait till spring."

"How so?"

He jerked his thumb outside. "The water runs into a sump and then flows through a drain to the lake. But it blocks easy on account of the grids that keep the rats out. There's a shaft down to the drain so you can clear it. Big drain, look, you can crawl right up to the sump chamber. But we had a terrible storm in the autumn, and them trees came down, and half the bank besides. We'll need to dig out the head of the shaft all over again."

"The ground's too hard at present?"

"Aye. Like iron." He spat, narrowly missing one of his men, and squinted up at me. "We should have dug it out earlier."

I returned outside and filled my lungs with fresh air. The boys were talking with another of the workmen and jigging up and down with cold and excitement. As I approached, they fell silent. These signs should have made me wary; but I was too taken up with my own thoughts to pay them the attention they deserved. A moment later, we walked back to the lake, where the boys skated slowly up and down, conferring privately together.

That afternoon, my spirits were at a low ebb, and I came close to despair. I reasoned with myself, saying that it was the height of folly that I should entertain any hopes with regard to Sophie; reminding myself that what had happened in Gloucester was exceptional, something that would never occur again; and advising myself to put it and her completely out of my mind.

Mr Carswall called me down to the library to take dictation and make copies. He was writing yet another letter to one of his lawyers, this time concerning the negotiations over the possible sale of his Liverpool warehouses to Mr Noak. I understood from the tenor of the correspondence that Mr Noak's London lawyer had raised a number of questions with Mr Carswall's man. The work was mechanical, leaving my mind prey to a succession of gloomy thoughts.

Yet, looking back on those few hours on Monday afternoon, as the sky grew steadily darker in the south-west, I now see the time for what it truly was: the calm before the storm that was about to break over our heads. With hindsight, I can fix the exact moment when I saw the storm's harbinger approaching.

There had come a pause in the harsh, stumbling torrent of Mr Carswall's words, and I was staring out of the library window. A movement caught my eye in the gathering twilight. Riding up the drive was a solitary horseman.

Captain Ruispidge was shown into the library, not into the small sitting room where the ladies were. I stood silently by the window while he and Mr Carswall exchanged greetings. When they had established that their families were well, and that further falls of snow were likely, the Captain begged the favour of a few words in private.

Carswall opened his eyes very wide. "You may leave us, Shield," he said without looking at me. "Do not go far; I may want you again. Wait in the hall."

So I kicked my heels by the fire in the hall, watched with barely concealed insolence by the thin-faced footman. Few sounds penetrated the heavy door of the library. Occasionally there was an indistinct murmur of voices, and once the bray of Carswall's laugh.

In about ten minutes, Captain Ruispidge emerged, and the upper rims of his ears were pink. He did not wait to pay his respects to the ladies, but called at once for his horse. His eyes settled on me.

"Why are you standing there?" he demanded. "What are you staring at?"

"Mr Carswall told me to wait."

His lip curled. All his affability had vanished. Without another word, he pulled on his greatcoat and, despite the cold, went outside to wait for his horse to be brought round.

Carswall called me back into the library. He did not mention his recent interview, and we continued with the letter. As I wrote, it grew darker and darker, and at last Carswall called for candles. Since Captain Ruispidge's visit, he had been restless, finding it hard to settle either to the letter or in his chair. In the intervals between spates of dictation, I sometimes saw his lips moving, as though he were talking silently to another, or to himself.

When the first flakes of snow began to fall, Carswall said we had done enough for the day and told me to ring the bell for the footman. As I was gathering together my writing materials, I heard him ordering Pratt to close the shutters and then to step across to the ladies' sitting room and desire Mrs Frant to wait upon him. I had no wish to see Sophie unnecessarily – it would only distress her, and add to my humiliation – so I hurried away.

Later that day, when I came down to dinner, I found the drawing room empty apart from Miss Carswall, who was sitting at a table and leafing through Domestic Cookery, She looked up as I entered and gave me the full force of her smile.

"Mr Shield – I am so glad you are come. I was beginning to feel I had been abandoned on a desert island and would never again hear the sound of another human voice."

I looked at the clock on the mantel. "I am surprised that no one else is down."

"Papa has put back the time of dinner by a quarter of an hour. It appears that we are the last to hear." The smile flashed out again. "Still, we must keep each other company. You will not mind?"

"On the contrary." I returned the smile, for it was hard to resist Miss Carswall in this mood. "It will be no hardship, at least for me."

"You are too kind, sir. Pray sit down and amuse me. I am afraid we shall be very dull this evening."

I sat down. "Why so?"

She leaned close to me, so I smelted her perfume and sensed her warmth. "You have not heard? Captain Ruispidge came to call on Papa. I thought the whole house knew."

"I was aware that the Captain was here. I was with Mr Carswall in the library when he was announced."

"Ah – but do you know why he came?"

I shook my head.

Miss Carswall brought her head a little closer still and lowered her voice. "If I do not tell you, someone else will. He wanted to ask Sophie's hand in marriage."

A chill stole over me. I moved away from Miss Carswall and stared at her.

"Surely you expected it?" she said. "I know I did. You must have seen what was in the wind. He was making up to her while Sir George – oh, it is so provoking. I would have liked Sophie as my sister above anything. It would have been such a suitable match for them both."