Читать книгу The Key to the Indian - Lynne Banks Reid - Страница 12
ОглавлениеRacing downstairs to fetch the key, Omri stopped dead.
His parents were out. That must mean, in the car – there was no other way to get anywhere, other than on foot. No doubt they’d gone shopping in the village.
His heart was beating at twice its normal speed. He decided he had to calm down. Think. There must be a spare key somewhere, but he had no idea where. No, he’d have to wait – preferably patiently – till his parents returned.
Meanwhile, he would get Jessica Charlotte a hot drink.
He went to the kitchen, built out at the back of the longhouse. It was quite a simple kitchen, with a big Aga which was always warm, day and night. There was invariably a big heavy kettle simmering away at the back of it.
He rummaged in a drawer till he found what he was looking for – a tin of oil; his mum could not abide a squeaking hinge. It had a narrow spout with a little cap on top. He took this off, put it in a sieve and poured the very hot water over it to clean it. He sniffed it – okay, no oily smell. Then he made a mug of tea with a teabag, added milk and sugar, stirred vigorously and was just carrying it towards the stairs when Gillon came strolling through from the TV room.
“I see you got your cupboard out of the bank,” he remarked.
Omri spilt some tea. “When did you see it?”
“Yesterday.”
“Do you have to go snooping in my room?”
“You have to crash right through my room, about fifty times a day. I don’t get much privacy.”
“You wanted the outside room.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m beginning to think I messed up there. You’ve got the best room.”
“Yours is bigger.”
“This is a crazy old house, no corridors,” said Gillon. “You having hot chocolate? You might’ve made me some.”
“Tea,” said Omri reluctantly. Gillon knew he hated tea.
Gillon gave him a comic look of puzzlement. Omri turned, anxious to get away, and started up the stairs. Gillon followed.
“About the cupboard.”
“What about it?”
“Why’d you get it out of the bank?”
“You told me that it was silly to ask them to take care of it.”
“You didn’t get it out because of me,” said Gillon shrewdly.
“I wanted to have it back,” said Omri. They were in Gillon’s room by now. Omri walked straight across to his own door.
“Can I come and look at it?”
Omri turned sharply, nearly spilling the tea again. “Gilly, listen. I’m not just being – I mean, I’m busy with something. It’s something I’m – busy with. Of my own. You can see the cupboard later. D’you mind?”
Gillon looked at him for a moment, then turned away. “Why should I mind,” he said flatly. “I don’t care a toss about your old cupboard.”
It was obvious his feelings were hurt, even though Omri had tried to be as tactful as possible.
“Sorry, Gilly,” Omri mumbled, and went into his room. He didn’t want to bolt the door because Gillon would hear, and maybe be more hurt. But the need to be safe was paramount. He put the tea down on the desk, and moved the bolt with infinite slowness. Of course it had to squeak.
“Don’t worry!” Gillon called through the door. “You couldn’t pay me to come in now.”
“Sorry,” was all Omri could think of to reply.
He hurried to the bed. He was going to have to whisper – no, breathe – everything he said to Jessica Charlotte. These walls were thin.
She was there, as he’d left her, in the blanket. She’d twisted up her hair somehow and was looking a little better. He poured a drop of the hot tea into the oil-tin cap (spilling more on the floor than went in) and handed it to her.
She took it in both shaking hands and drank and drank. Then she said, “Thank you. Are my clothes dry?”
Omri rubbed the tiny dress between finger and thumb. It was nearly dry. He smoothed its skirt with his fingers, held it by its top and flapped it a little in the warm air above the radiator. He had to stop at once because the flapping nearly blew her drawers away! He handed the dress to her.
“What do you think? Is it dry enough?” he whispered.
“It will do quite well. Please bring my – other garments.”
He lifted his comb, taking great care to keep it level, and carried it to her. She snatched the drawers and the corset-thing and hid them in the blanket.
“I’ll go away while you dress, if you like.”
“I would be obliged.”
He stood with his back to her at the window. For the first time, he stopped to think that his dad was going to be well disappointed about his bringing Jessica Charlotte without him.
After a few minutes, she said, “I am ready.”
He turned. She was standing on the bed fully dressed. Her little weight made a dimple in the quilt. “Now, where is this key you spoke of?”
“I can’t give it to you until my dad gets here.”
“Your father!”
“He knows about the magic. He’s—”
Suddenly Omri heard the sound he’d been listening for. The car! He heard it coming along the lane, and stop near their gate.
“Wait! I’ll get it for you!” Omri said, forgetting to whisper, and dashed to the door. He stopped. No, he must go out the other way, through his parents’ and Adiel’s rooms, and down the other stairs. He couldn’t risk leaving the door between his and Gillon’s rooms open, especially as Gillon might have heard him speak. He wouldn’t blame him if he had a peep now.
He dashed down the other way, out of the house, and met his parents at the gate. They were unloading shopping from the car boot.
“Hi, Om, you look as if you’ve been running!” said his father cheerfully.
“Dad – please – can you come? Bring the key.” The last three words were not spoken aloud. He just mouthed them behind his mother’s back, and gestured turning a key in case his dad hadn’t caught on.
Excitement and secrecy brightened his father’s face. He hefted a big box of shopping and almost ran after Omri up the path and into the kitchen from the back. “What’s up?” he asked eagerly.
“I brought her! Jessica Charlotte!”
His dad gasped.
“Dad, it just happened, and it’s good it did! She was in the river – she was drowning! The magic just got her out in time – I – I sort of saved her life!”
“Is she here?”
Omri nodded.
“She’s upstairs – Jessica Charlotte – she’s upstairs now?” his dad asked dazedly.
“Yes, Dad! And she’s agreed to do the key for us. Only I didn’t have it. Bring it up. You can meet her! Come on!”
His father dropped the box on the table with a thump and was halfway up the nearest stairs before Omri could stop him.
“The other stairs, Dad!” he whispered, and pointed upward to Gillon’s room.
Down, across through four rooms, and up the far staircase they ran, and in five seconds they were in Omri’s room. Omri pointed silently. His father followed his finger, and turned to face the bed. His face when he saw the tiny figure of Jessica Charlotte was a study in wonder. Omri thought that for him, it was like looking at a famous person, from history or fable, standing alive before him, staring back at him.
He moved towards her slowly. He crouched down beside the bed and smiled at her like someone dazed by a miracle. “I’m so pleased to meet you,” he breathed.
“Dad! Shhhh! Let’s go next door!” Omri mouthed.
He picked Jessica Charlotte up very carefully and they went into his parents’ bedroom. There, his father indicated his mother’s dressing-table. It was her favourite piece of furniture. It had a glass top, under which she had arranged a number of family snapshots. Omri put Jessica Charlotte down on its top.
She, it seemed, could no more take her eyes off Omri’s dad than he could take his from her. Her tiny but compelling voice piped, “Are you my Lottie’s son?”
“No,” said Omri’s father. “My wife is Lottie’s daughter.”
“What is her name – her first name?”
“Jane.”
There was a silence. “Well,” she said at last. “At least the initial is the same. It is a sort of bond, even if… accidental.”
“But her second name is Charlotte.”
After a beat, Jessica Charlotte said hoarsely, “After her mother.”
“No. After you.”
Jessica Charlotte seemed to sway where she stood. “How – do – you – know – that?” she asked as if she could barely get the words out.
“Because her grandmother told me so.”
Omri hardly believed what he was hearing. Was his father making this up? But no. He wouldn’t do that. Why had Omri never thought to ask if his mother had a middle name? Why had it never occurred to him that his dad must have met Maria?
“Her grandmother!” Jessica Charlotte gasped. “She was my sister.”
“Yes. And I knew her. Of course I thought the same as you did – that Lottie had named my wife after herself. But one day before we were married, when I was visiting Granny Marie—”
“Granny Marie!”
“Yes, that’s what my wife called her. She got annoyed with my wife over some little thing, and said, quite sharply, ‘That’s your namesake coming out in you!’ My wife said, ‘Do you mean, Mummy?’ meaning Lottie, and Maria said, quite tartly, ‘Don’t run away with the idea that your mother christened you after herself! She never thought of herself as a Charlotte, it was always Lottie. She named you after my wic—’” He caught himself, and stopped, and then went on, “‘—after my sister, Jessica Charlotte.’”
“Is this the truth?”
“Yes it is. I remembered it very clearly when I was reading—”
Omri trod heavily on his foot and he stopped.
“Tell me!” she cried, and Omri saw her clasp her hands at her breast. “Is my Lottie still alive?”
Omri’s mouth went abruptly dry. He almost pushed in front of his father. “Aunt Jessie, we can’t talk any more. It’s – it’s not allowed. If we give you the key, can you take it back with you and copy it?”
She switched her gaze on to him. He thought he saw a look of eagerness – a sort of blaze – in her eyes.
“I will.”
Omri put out his hand for the key, and when his father gave it to him, laid it on the glass at Jessica Charlotte’s feet. She bent down and looked at it.
“How can I manage to carry something so large and heavy? I have a long walk home from the Embankment.”
“When you get back, you’ll be full-size, and the key will be very small. Do you think you can do it?”
“I’ll try. How shall I – go back?”
“The same way you came – through Frederick’s cupboard.”
“Frederick’s cupboard? What do you mean?”
“Never mind. It’s all in your future. When do you think the key will be ready?”
“Tomorrow.”
“We’ll bring you back then.”
Jessica Charlotte bent down again and grasped the key, holding it just below the bulging plastic top part. Just as she was lifting it, with some difficulty, she stopped and pointed at the glass at her feet.
“These are photographs,” she said. “Who are they?”
“People in our family.”
“Who is that?”
She was pointing to a black and white picture of a young woman holding a baby in her arms. Beside her was a tall, good-looking man in naval uniform.
“That’s your Lottie,” said Omri’s father very quietly. “With her husband and Jane. My Jane, Omri’s mother. Jane Charlotte.”
Omri’s Aunt Jessie stood with the heavy key, its end still resting on the glass, in her hands, staring and staring down at the faded photo. When she had looked her fill, she turned, lifted the key, which was nearly as big as herself, and turned her face to them. The tears in her eyes caught the light in starlike pinpoints.
“I will never despair again,” she said. “Now please. Send me about my business.”
