Eva Ibbotson - A Company of Swans

‘Which one?’ whispered Leo. ‘The Captain wants to know which one’s the girl?’

Edward narrowed his eyes, frowning. The Wilis were getting into rather a state, dashing about a lot, and in the centre Giselle and her Albrecht were dancing a pretty ferocious pas de deux. Then his brow cleared. There were several lightly built, brown-eyed girls, but here now was Harriet, conveniently close to their side of the stage.

‘That one,’ he said, pointing. ‘Fourth from the end.’

Leo scratched his head. ‘You’re sure? They all look alike to me.’

Edward nodded. Any kind of hesitation at this stage would be fatal. ‘She’s the thin one with dark hair.’

‘Jesus, that darn stuff gets up my nose,’ complained Leo. ‘Do they have to have so much blooming mist?’

There was certainly a lot of mist. From swirling round the dancers’ legs it had risen to envelop them to the waist. Now it was rolling out towards the footlights and the conductor had begun to cough. Still it crept across the stage, while old Fernando chuckled with glee and poured another bucket of hot water on the crystals in his tray. He had recognised the chairman of the Opera House trustees instantly, even with the stubble on his chin and the old clothes he wore, and the instructions Verney had given him had made the old man extraordinarily happy. Even without the bank-note Verney had slipped into his pocket and the quick promise of recompense afterwards, Fernando would have gone on making mist. They never let him go on long enough with anything: not the thunder sheet, nor the coconut for the horses’ hooves… and now to be ordered to go on making mist and mist and still more mist…!

A Wili, whipping into a chaîné turn, cannoned into her neighbour and cried out as she received a slap across the face. Mist or no mist, one did not cannon into Olga Narukov. Maximov, groping for Masha’s arm, grabbed the extended leg of the Wilis’ Queen, who crashed to the ground. Upstage yet another Wili lay, felled by the tombstone on Giselle’s grave.

The mist had reached the front of the stalls and a lady in a tiara rose and hurried away, a handkerchief across her mouth. There were exclamations, titters.

‘Just keep your head, Doctor,’ said Leo. ‘She’ll be coming off this way if she’s the one you said. No need to panic.’

‘I’m not panicking,’ said Edward as he peered with watering eyes into the gloom.

Masha Repin came off after her solo, letting off a volley of oaths in Polish. This was Simonova’s doing, all of it — a plot to ruin her triumph — but she would not be beaten, the curtain was to stay up — and hearing her cue, she shot on stage again in search of Maximov.

Two stage-hands came and dragged away Fernando, who was laughing like a maniac, but it was too late, for he had tipped out another bucket full of water and the mist rolled on unimpeded. The act was drawing to a close; soon now the clocks would chime for daybreak and the Wilis melt away into the forest…

‘Now!’ Leo whispered. ‘The Captain says they’ll do it now, while she’s on her own. That is her over there by that rock?’

‘Oh, yes, that’s definitely her.’ Edward spoke with authority, for the pose was one he knew well — the dark head bent, one foot resting against the opposite leg.

‘Hell!’ Sergeant Barra swore under his breath. One minute the girl had been there, standing by the jutting plywood rock. The next minute she had vanished.

‘We’ve lost her,’ said Leo. ‘She must be with that bunch just coming this way. Look out for her as they come through those trees.’

Edward searched frantically among the milling girls just dancing off. Perspiring, confused, rubbing their eyes, they halted in the wings. One was bending over an injured comrade, another was groping for her lost wreath… That wasn’t Harriet… nor that one…

Then someone opened a door, there came a gust of air dispersing the clouds of mist… and with an upsurge of relief, Edward found himself looking straight at Harriet.

‘There!’ he hissed. ‘Over there, quickly! Standing with her foot on the chair.’ Harriet’s familiar face, narrow and grave, her contemplative pose as she tied her shoe, nearly unnerved him. ‘Don’t hurt her,’ he begged — and turned away as Judas himself had done while Sergeant Barra, his cloak at the ready, moved purposefully forward.

And after all it was over very quickly. She struggled, but her cries were lost in the noise and confusion and no one saw her bundled out by the two ruthless men. Hurrying after them, Edward caught only a glimpse of a pinioned white figure being pushed into the cab — and then the driver whipped up his horses and the deed was done.

‘Where are you taking me?’ asked Harriet. She sat leaning back against the seat of the car, still in her white tutu, the wreath of myrtle leaves tumbled in her lap. The terror and agitation one might have expected from a girl snatched off the stage by an attacker who had put a hand over her mouth and pulled her backwards into the shadows was absent. Though her expression in the darkness was not clearly visible, she appeared rather to emanate a kind of dreamy peace.

‘To Follina, of course,’ said Rom, frowning at yet another patch of water through which it was necessary to nurse the great black car. ‘I must say that you seem to have behaved rather strangely. Why no struggles? Why no screams?’

‘I knew it was you. As soon as you put your hand over my mouth, I knew.’

‘In the dark, from the back, you knew?’

‘Yes,’ said Harriet.

He had negotiated the swamp. The road to Follina, impassable in the wet season, was not the best of roads even now, but he had wanted to get Harriet away as quickly as possible. Heaven knew what Edward would do once he discovered his mistake.

‘I don’t mind being kidnapped,’ said Harriet. ‘Don’t think that. Only I wondered why? I mean, I would have come anyway.’

‘I was… constrained by circumstances. Edward had arranged a rather less agreeable form of kidnapping. You were supposed to have been snatched by a most unattractive policeman and bundled on to the boat. In fact you should even now be a captive on the Gregory , preparing to steam out into the river.’

‘Oh!’ The news should have terrified her, but it was difficult to be frightened of anything when she was sitting close to Rom. ‘I thought we had convinced him that I was leading a blameless life?’

‘We had, till you burst out of that damnable cake. He was at the banquet and you can imagine the kind of conclusions he would come to.’

‘I didn’t see him.’ She looked sideways at Rom’s shadowy profile. ‘I’m sorry about the cake. I did have a reason, only I—’

‘I know the reason; Marie-Claude told me. It’s because of her that I was able to get you away. She met Edward in the park and guessed what he was up to. I meant to go to the police first and call them off, but then I decided it would be cruel to keep Edward here any longer: the climate really doesn’t suit him!’

‘Yes, but when he finds out that the police haven’t got hold of anyone—’

‘Ah, but they have! I don’t exactly know who, but I can guess. Edward finds it a little difficult, you see, to tell one dancer from another — and of course the mist didn’t help. It was inevitable that once I had grabbed you from behind the rock he would think some other girl was you. But don’t worry — it’s only a week to Belem — whoever she is, she can be brought back and compensated before the Atlantic crossing starts. I have an office there and I shall see to that. Don’t worry, Harriet.’

‘I’m worrying a bit about that,’ admitted Harriet. ‘And about poor Monsieur Dubrov being two Wilis short. But mostly I was worrying about your hand. If someone hurt it on purpose, I could kill him perhaps?’