Joe Treasure - The Book of Air

‘If I’d remembered. That the temple is not a room but a mind ready for learning.’

‘You have somewhere to go.’

I didn’t feel safe to answer, but I saw it wasn’t a question. Or if it was a question, Sarah took my silence for an answer.

‘You’d know how to find them again?’

‘You know about the scroungers?’

‘About them, yes. Some things I once heard.’

‘From Brendan?’

‘Was there a child among them? Not a child any more. A girl of your age.’

‘There’s a girl who lives with Trevor. Brendan took her something, a gift from the Hall.’

‘Tell me about her. What do they call her?’

‘Dell.’

‘Of course. Dell for Adele, orphan child.’ Her eyes shone with tears. ‘Does he take care of her, this Trevor? Is she safe from harm? Is she happy?’

‘They take care of each other.’

‘And you could find your way back to them?’

‘Maybe I could.’

‘Tell me about her. What does she look like? Is she healthy? What colour is her hair?’

‘It springs out from her head like a sheep’s wool before shearing. Not pale like a sheep but dark and lovely. She smiles and laughs and sometimes looks solemn. She helps Trevor feed the Jane Writer and cooks for all the scroungers who come.’

I stopped, afraid that Sarah could no longer hear me for her sobbing. I saw then that her own hair is as dark as Dell’s, with a glow in it like the night sky. Too little of it shows, she wears her scarf so neatly.

When she was quiet again and we had stood together for a moment, she said I should take food from the kitchen and some clean clothes and a blanket to sleep in and leave while it was still dark. She led me out on to the landing.

Seeing Brendan’s door, I wondered if he was studying or asleep or away in the forest. I felt such bitterness that he had left me to answer for our wrongdoing, when he was surely more to blame than I, to be locked away, and now to be banished from everything I had ever known, every place that had comforted me. I thought I might tell Sarah that I was carrying a child and whose child it was. I thought even of telling her about this book, but was too afraid. I asked instead if I could be alone for a minute in the study to remember the times I had been happiest at the Hall. So she left me there and said I should be quick and meet her in the stable. I felt bad but the red room has made me cunning. I feel bad still, thinking about how Sarah saved me and was my true friend, but I’m glad I have the ink.

Sarah had brought a bucket of water to the stable and a towel, so I could wash my face. She stroked my hair and said she would miss me. She has some new book learners, she said – Megan’s sister Peg and Rachel’s boy Ralph – but none as quick as me. She held me close and I felt her tears. She spoke soothingly to Gideon as I saddled him, saying that he must take a good look at the stable that he might not see again for a while. I thought she might have said forever but would not, either for my sake or for her own.

Then I led him quietly out into the yard, climbed on his back, turned once to see Sarah standing in the shadow of the Hall, then rode up into the High Wood to skirt the village. The sky was clear. There was a sweet smell of garlic as I reached the trees, and moonlight enough to wash the colour from the bluebells. I heard a noise of laughter and running and wondered who would be out so late. I slid to the ground, ducked in between low branches, until I could hear nothing but Gideon grazing and the sounds of the wood.

Then something else, close by. A twig cracking and an intake of breath. I was ready to run, to climb on Gideon’s back and kick him to a gallop. I wouldn’t be locked away again. But someone spoke my name and I knew at once who it was.

‘Annie,’ I said, ‘why are you here. Isn’t it late?’

I heard the branches moving as she stepped towards me. ‘The men have tied Roland in the wood. We have to know where, so we can help Megan find him in the morning. And then we can prepare for the wedding day. Oh Agnes, I’m so glad they let you out. What a fool Roland is. He should have waited.’

‘Roland and Megan. So that’s settled then.’

‘I must go to Megan’s cottage to sleep with the others outside her window. Will you come?’ She turned her face towards me in the moonlight and rested her hand gently on my neck. I could see she had more to say and was afraid. ‘I spoke tonight at the Grace Pool. ‘

‘Yes, I heard you.’

‘So it’s true what Bessie said.’

‘They didn’t let me out, Annie. I tricked them and took their key.’

‘I don’t understand. It was only for a month.’

‘I was to stay until I bleed, but I won’t bleed until my baby is born.

‘A baby? Oh Agnes.’ She pulled me against her and I felt how firm and round her belly was. ‘Is it Roland’s?’

‘No. Of course not.’

I thought her next question would be about Brendan. I wouldn’t tell but I didn’t want to lie. So before she could ask, I said, ‘Tell me about Daniel. Is he kind to you, Annie?’

‘He loves me.’

‘And do you love him?’

‘I love not sleeping under my father’s roof. I must cook and clean for him still, as I have done since my mother died, and see him at work in the fields, but I go home to my own cottage with Daniel who has never once hurt me.’

I didn’t want to think about Uncle Morton. So I asked instead about the geese. ‘Do they grow?’ I said. ‘Are they fat and happy?

That made her smile. ‘They’re fierce. They strain their necks when anyone comes in the yard, and run towards them screaming and flapping. When you let them out tomorrow, they’ll be sweet and calm, and you’ll see how they love you.’

‘I’ll never see the geese again, Annie. Someone else will have to feed them, and wring their necks and pluck them for the pot. I can’t go with you to Megan’s cottage. I have to be miles from here before the sun rises.’

She didn’t say anything but stood silently in the mottled shadows, with her arms hanging. Then I heard her sobbing, tight little bleats of grief high in her throat. I took her in my arms and she let herself be held. Her sadness was more than I could bear. So I left her there, stiff and shaking. I climbed on Gideon’s back and set off alone through the wood.

I was not far along the track when I saw Roland. I pulled again on Gideon’s rope and held still. Roland sat on the ground, bound to the trunk of a tree with sacking and bindweed. I watched him from a distance of forty steps, as a cottager might stand in her doorway to watch her neighbour across the street. And I saw that he saw me too. He was there for his calling, tied by the young men of the village to sit out the night, and at first dawn to call to Megan – his soul calling to hers. And from her bedroom she would hear him. She would know, anyway, that it was time, having sat awake all night. And her friends would be there already outside her window to help her down from the sill, and to run with her through the wood. Not finding him, not at first, for all the men whistling and barking from other trees, but moving at last to where they knew he waited, so that Megan might be drawn to claim him, and everyone could start in wonder, and laugh and tell whoever would listen that she had come to his calling. And then such kissing. And the pair of them to be left to make their promises and enjoy each other and watched only later in sleep, and not to be flogged for it either since a wedding was sure to follow.

What children we are, I thought, to play these games. Running in the woods like children. The endtimers knew how to call to each other, but the knowledge is lost to us. We should do what we know how to do, feed and clothe ourselves, and leave these longings. This reaching for what we will never grasp makes us pine uselessly. We are all of us in the red room and the housework neglected.