The Moth, page 34
‘Well then, that being so, what’s going to happen to the young one?’
‘Miss Millie?’ Peggy screwed up her face as she said, ‘Well, she’ll take her along with her.’
‘What!’ He laughed a strange high laugh now. ‘That fellow only used Millie as a tool to get at the other one.’ It seemed he could no longer refer to Agnes by name. ‘Do you think he’d put up with her? Not on your life. Anyway, she’s always been with us, we brought her up, and I could always get work, they are taking the lame and the blind now.’ He made a deep sound in his throat before going on, ‘The best thing to do is to ask her, bring her down and ask her who she’d like to live with.’
‘No, no.’ Ruthie shook her head. ‘No, Dad, she’s pretty near one of her states, and Miss Agnes gave her some drops this afternoon. She’s . . . she’s a bit dopey.’
‘Go on, bring her down.’ There was a change in his tone now, and the two women looked at each other and when Peggy made a motion with her head Ruthie left the room. But she seemed to be gone only seconds before she came tearing back again, crying, ‘She’s gone! She’s gone! She must have got out of the window.’
‘She’s fallen?’ Peggy’s voice was a loud cry now, and Ruthie said, ‘No, no! She must have climbed down. I looked out and there’s nobody lying there.’
‘Oh my God! We only needed this. She’s on the rampage again. It’s that dog. It got out, she’ll be in the wood after it.’
They all ran into the boot room now and both Peggy and Ruthie pulled coats off the hooks and dragged them on before running out in the yard. And it was Peggy who cried, ‘You take the rose garden, Ruthie. I’ll go towards the lodge. Your dad’ll make for the water.’
It was understood that Dave Waters would make for the water on these occasions because nearly always that was where Millie eventually wound up after she had been on one of her rambles.
But tonight Dave Waters didn’t run as he usually did through the alleyway and sprint down the vegetable garden and around by the greenhouses and so into the wood; instead, he remained standing until he saw his wife and daughter disappear. Then the way was clear for him. There were four cans of paraffin oil in the tack room, and he brought out two and placed them on the kitchen table. The other two he carried at a run through the kitchen, then through the hall and up the stairs, and in the corridor, putting one down, he unscrewed the top off the other.
Starting at the end of the corridor, he kicked open the doors and began sprinkling paraffin here and there. In Millie’s room he saturated the bed. When the first can was empty he made a zigzag trail with the other along the gallery, throwing it up the curtains that hung on the long windows, spraying it over the balustrades; and when that too was empty he ran down the stairs into the kitchen and picked up the other cans.
In the drawing room, he did a thorough job, spraying the curtains and the furniture. He was sparing with the dining room but in the library he emptied the can with great sweeps of his arm over the bookcases. This done, he ran into the kitchen and, taking several pieces of kindling wood from a basket, he thrust them into the fire and when they were alight he ran back up the kitchen, along the passage and into the hall, then to the drawing room, through this and into the library. It was here he threw his first stick. As he ran back through the drawing room he hurled one towards the bottom of the curtains and another on to the hair rug before the fireplace. Back through the hall again he went into the dining room, and lastly he opened the lobby doors before turning and looking up towards the stairs. Already there was a smell of burning in his nostrils and he drew it in and, lifting his arm, he hurled the two remaining sticks towards the bottom of the stairs . . . These he stood watching for a full minute, because although they themselves were burning the stair carpet had not caught alight, nor yet the stanchion post, and he had made sure to soak that.
He was about to move forward when there was a burst of flame, and he stepped back. Then he walked backwards through the lobby until he reached the front door, and as he opened this the fresh draught made the flames flare up and illuminate the entire hall.
The smell of the smoke had brought both Peggy and Ruthie scurrying back, and they stood aghast at the head of the drive not believing their eyes. The whole lower floor of the house was ablaze and there in the light of it on the gravel stood the husband and father.
‘What have you done? What have you done? You madman.’
Dave Waters turned and looked calmly at Peggy, saying now, ‘I’ve done what I’ve intended. He’ll not come and rule the roost here. And what money he’s got won’t rebuild it.’
‘Dad! Dad! You’re mad. And we can’t find Miss Millie.’
‘What’s that?’ He turned on her. ‘She’s in the wood.’
‘She’s not in the wood; at least we can’t find her.’
‘She’ll be down by the water.’
‘We’ve been round there.’
‘The dog.’
‘There’s no sign of the dog.’
‘No, no.’ His eyes were wide now, his mouth agape; his hands stretched upwards as if in supplication and, his voice a scream now, he ran towards the front door yelling, ‘Millie! Me dear. Me dear. Millie!’
They reached him as he stood choking in front of the main doorway and they dragged him back on to the terrace. On the drive they were grouped together tightly when Peggy, gasping and choking, raised her head, then cried, ‘Oh my God! Look!’ And they looked and there at one of the gallery windows, with a dull glow behind it, was silhouetted the poodle. It was at this moment that the trap came at a gallop on to the drive; a farm cart closely followed, and behind this some men were running.
Transfixed by the sight, Robert and Agnes sat for a moment staring at the house. All the ground floor was ablaze. Windows were cracking and smoke and flames were pouring out. The smoke was coming in great gusts from the front door and behind all the upstairs windows fronting the drive there was now a bright pink glow.
When they reached the group on the lawn, Agnes shouted, ‘Millie! Where’s Millie?’
‘Oh, miss. Miss. We thought she was in the wood. She got out, she climbed down the wisteria. We thought she was in the wood, we went looking. But look! there’s . . . there’s the dog up there.’
‘You’ve done this. You’ve done this.’ Dave Waters now sprang at Robert, only to be knocked back by Robert’s forearm as he shouted, ‘You bloody madman! You’ll be locked up. God! You will, if somebody doesn’t kill you. He’s done this, hasn’t he?’ He was yelling at Peggy and she, her face convulsed, cried, ‘He’s not in his right mind. He’s not in his right mind.’
There were voices all about them, crying, ‘Where’s the water? Get some buckets.’
As Robert ran towards the front door, he knew that buckets would be useless here. But he wanted something over his head. He whipped off his coat and half buried his head in it and, bent double, he ran forward. But he got no further than the far doors of the lobby for there the whole place looked like one sheet of flame.
When he staggered out on to the terrace again, Agnes caught hold of him and, both coughing and spluttering, they went down the steps. But then pulling himself from her hold, he cried, ‘Get a ladder, somebody. Get a ladder. Bring it this way!’ He was already running round the corner of the house towards Millie’s window.
Dave Waters was standing alone now, seemingly oblivious of the people running backwards and forwards to the yard tap with buckets. But of a sudden he almost jumped from the ground as he cried, ‘He won’t get her! He won’t get her!’ And he turned about and ran in the opposite direction towards the back door through which only a short time ago Millie had gone. The stairs were full of smoke, but he reached the landing. The door to the gallery was open; the rooms off it were full of smoke but not alight. It was the gallery curtains that were ablaze and the staircase. He went towards the staircase but here he was met by a sheet of flame. Choking, his lungs burning, he turned round several times and lost all sense of direction. He was crawling on his knees now as he fought his way back towards the staircase door, but when he gripped the iron leg of a bed he knew he had entered one of the rooms. When he again found the opening to the doorway his lungs were on the point of bursting. He could see the red glow of the curtains now and he knew that the window was beyond. In one last effort to gain it he put his hand out; it gripped the flaming material and the whole thing fell around him. His struggle now was one of suffocation, not of burning, and he was dead before his clothes really caught alight . . .
Robert found it comparatively easy to climb the wisteria and just as easy to get into the room through the open window. But now he was checked by the smoke. He groped his way towards the bed, fully expecting Millie to be lying there suffocated. But there was no-one on it. He had patted the coverlet and his hand came away damp, and he knew before he smelt it what it was. He crawled round the room now, feeling for her; and when he was sure she wasn’t there he wriggled on his belly towards the landing.
The landing was full of smoke but not yet ablaze, but the gallery, what he could see of it, looked one great sheet of flame, and he was about to turn back into the room when he heard a whining cry. He could see nothing, but he moved towards it. It seemed to come from the end of the bedroom corridor, and then he felt it before he saw it. It was the dog, and as his hand moved over its back he touched the hand that was holding it, the fingers embedded in its wool. Choking and spluttering, he felt along the arm to the body. It was round the corner on the gallery and it was alight. This fact was borne home by the searing pain that shot through his hand, that hand that had patted the eiderdown that was covered with paraffin, for now his hand was ablaze. In the moment he paid no attention to it but dragged the figure around and into the corridor. The dog was quiet now as it too was dragged along.
Once he managed to get her into the bedroom he thrust his foot out and pushed the door closed; then he beat at her with his hands. The dressing gown was alight in parts but being wool it was slow to burn. Not so her nightdress, which had already burned up to the bottom of the dressing gown.
When he attempted to rip the dressing gown off her he was obstructed by the buttons. These undone, he tore at the garment and at her now smouldering nightdress, banging at it with his hands. But when he saw a flicker of light streak up it, he tore it off her, then looked round for something with which to cover her. His hand went out towards the bed then stopped: it only needed that and they’d both be alight.
He took up his coat which had dropped to the floor and put it over her and was about to drag her to the window when a voice came from that direction, shouting, ‘You there? You there?’
‘Aye,’ he croaked. ‘Give her a hand.’
When the man entered the room he coughed and spluttered and Robert gasped at him, ‘When I get through, lift her over.’
‘You . . . you’ll never manage her on your own.’
‘It’s the only way. Two of us can’t go down together. Anyway, she’s no weight.’
He now crawled out of the window and put his feet on the rung of the ladder and the man lifted Millie up as if she was a baby, and as he put her into the support of Robert’s arm the ladder moved and the man yelled, ‘I told you. I told you.’
‘It’s all right, just hang on to it. I’ll be down in no time. And . . . and fetch the dog.’
‘Dog?’
‘Aye,’ he called up between gasps; ‘it’s on the floor.’
Agnes attempted to take Millie from him, but was pushed aside. The place seemed swarming with people now and he was not surprised to hear Doctor Miller’s voice saying, ‘That’s it, cover her up.’ He stood now bent double coughing as if he would bring his heart up, and he didn’t straighten his back until he heard the man who had come up the ladder saying, ‘It’s done for. Put it out of its misery, hit it on the neck.’
‘No, no!’Robert reached out now and grabbed the dog from the man’s hand. The wool all round its haunches was singed, as was that on its ears and its top knot, but its heart was still beating, and he looked at the man now and said, ‘She prized it. She’ll want it later.’
Somewhere a voice said, ‘I doubt if there’ll be any later for her, poor soul.’
Doctor Miller was standing by him now turning his hands over. ‘You’re going to have trouble here,’ he said. ‘They’ll have to be cleaned up. You’d better get on the cart with Agnes. Apparently she knows where she’s going. They’ve laid Millie in it. How in the name of God did this start?’
‘Waters set it alight.’
‘Waters? No!’
‘Yes. He’s been going off his head for some time and this is the result. The place was going to be sold and he couldn’t stand it, that among other things.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Robert looked about him. People had stopped running backwards and forwards with buckets, they just stood in groups gazing at the blaze that was now consuming the whole house. ‘I hope he’s dead,’ he said, ‘because if he’s not, he’ll very shortly wish he was when he’s put away.’
‘Don’t say that, man. Don’t say that.’
They were now walking towards the cart which seemed to be surrounded by more people when Robert stopped and said quietly, ‘You knew there was something fishy about Mr Thorman’s death, didn’t you?’ The doctor said nothing. ‘Well, I can tell you this much, doctor, if anything happens to Miss Millie and Waters is still alive, I’ll tell you all I know of that incident. I want to make sure that he’ll be put where he can do no more harm, because such is his mind at the moment, it will be Agnes next.’
Doctor Miller showed no surprise at Robert’s mention of Agnes rather than of Miss Agnes; he was usually the first one to hear scandal and gossip. ‘Go along,’ he said; ‘I’ll be following on. And don’t touch those hands until I see them. And get Millie into bed. That’s all. I shall be with you as quick as I can.’
Robert went to the cart. Millie lay stretched out, hardly discernible under a number of sacks. Agnes sat by her side, her whole body shivering, her face white, her eyes staring. She looked at him but they didn’t speak. ‘I’ll follow in the trap,’ he said. ‘But here, take her dog.’ He stood aside while a man placed the animal on her lap.
The cart was driven away, and someone brought the trap, but when he tried to mount it the agony in his hands was so great that he bent his head forward. ‘Here, let me,’ one of the men said, then added, ‘Give me a hand.’ And the two men now hoisted him up into the seat. But seeing Robert couldn’t pick up the reins the younger man jumped up beside him and, grabbing the reins, shouted, ‘Gee up there!’
Thus he made his way back home, and as he drove the young fellow talked: ‘Never seen a blaze like that in years,’ he said. ‘Aye, he did a good job. They say it was old Waters. Went off his head. By, it was a brave thing you did to go up that ivy stuff and get the lass down. But I don’t suppose you’ll get any medals for it, you have to be in khaki these days afore people cheer you. I’m in the pits, so I’m all right, but me brother, he’s a clerk, white collar you know, because he had TB, but you can’t shout that out, so he got a white feather last week. By God, if I found out who did that I’d have stuck it in one end of them and pulled it out the other. And so would our Lance. He’s me elder brother. A hewer he is. He’s the one that went up the ladder and helped you down. Strong as a horse he is, doesn’t look it, wiry. All our lot are wiry. What are you?’
It took a great effort for Robert to say, ‘A carpenter.’ He felt sick; he’d never experienced such pain. Looking back he knew he’d never before really experienced any pain at all, not physical pain. He’d had a tooth out once. He had thought that was bad because he had put up with toothache for three weeks as he was afraid to go to the dentist. But this was . . . he hadn’t a name to put to this pain, it was driving him mad.
He told himself it was only his hands that were burnt, yet his whole body seemed to be consumed with pain. He wanted to cry out against it. And poor Millie. He hoped her legs hadn’t caught it much, not if she was to suffer like this. But that poor dog, it must be in agony. He should have let it be put down.
‘A carpenter? Now that’s funny, I wanted to be a carpenter. I do a lot of whittling, make things like, you know. Where do you work?’
‘I have my own business.’ And he had. Yes he had a fine business, a fine house, and he was going to marry a fine splendid beautiful woman, and he was going to build her a house, and he was going to line it with wood and make all the furniture. That’s what he had said. It was as if he had flown in the face of providence. Had he been religious he would have thought that God was checking him for his pride, for would he ever be able to use his hands again? The little finger and the one next to it on his right hand looked stuck together. Perhaps it was only the dirt and the skin.
He held them up as if the cold night air would ease the agony of them, and the young man said, ‘They’re gona handicap you for a time.’
Yes, they would handicap him for a time; but as long as it was only for a time.
As they turned into the yard his companion said, ‘Oh, is this your place? I’ve passed it now and again. ’Tis a nice house. I knew it was a carpenter’s shop, it’s quite famous around. It’s been here a long time, hasn’t it? Did you know them up at the house? I mean is that why you’re bringing them here?’
‘Yes. Yes, I knew them up at the house.’
‘Did work for them likely?’
‘I did work for them.’ God! If only he would shut up.
‘Well, I wouldn’t expect much thanks by what I’ve heard of them up there. Poor as church mice and still lording it, the men anyway. And one of the daughters letting herself down with some workman. Me mother’s always said educated ladies get frustrated and then they get brazen, they’ll take anything. They say the fellow worked up there and he had it off with her, and of course she was only using him. He must have been gullible if he thought anything would come of it. They never step out of their class, not that lot.’ His voice trailed off as he looked into his companion’s smoke-grimed face, the eyes blazing at him now, and it dawned on him too late to whom he had been opening his big mouth. His mother said he always chattered too much. He spluttered now, ‘Can . . . can I help you down?’ And Robert growled, ‘No, you can’t. You’ve helped me enough.’ Then sliding from the seat, he dug his elbows on to the back of the trap, swung himself round and jumped to the ground. The jerk sent waves of pain through his body that made him feel faint, but he gave the young fellow one last deadly look before he followed the men carrying Millie into the house, where Alice was wringing her hands, crying, ‘Dear Lord! Dear Lord! What is this? What’s happened?’
