Fire And Hemlock Part 7

And I don't like her! her! she thought as she followed Mr. Lynn back along the muddy lane. She wondered why. Polly was not sure, but she knew the thing which had most upset her about Mary's shocking remark was not the words, but the way Mary had said it in order to shock her. Beyond that, she gave up. She was not used to grownup ladies behaving like girls at school. she thought as she followed Mr. Lynn back along the muddy lane. She wondered why. Polly was not sure, but she knew the thing which had most upset her about Mary's shocking remark was not the words, but the way Mary had said it in order to shock her. Beyond that, she gave up. She was not used to grownup ladies behaving like girls at school.

They got lost driving to Stow-on-the-Water. "The trouble is, I can't drive and and look where I'm going," Mr. Lynn said helplessly over the map. "Can you read maps?" look where I'm going," Mr. Lynn said helplessly over the map. "Can you read maps?"

Polly had never read a map in her life, but she tried. They had lunch at a pub by the river which served huge hamburgers and chips, but they had to eat outside because the dining room was full and Polly was too young to go in the bar. Polly did not mind at all. Mr. Lynn was describing Edna's kitchen to her, so that she could almost smell it too. And they both knew exactly the paraffin-and-dust-and-iron smell in the shop itself. Then Mr. Lynn went on to Awful Leslie, and his greasy black hair and hanging lower lip. He told her some of the rude things Leslie said. Polly wondered then if he was really thinking of Seb, but she did not say so. About that time she got cold in the wind from the river.

"We seem to have chosen a wintry sort of day," Mr. Lynn said, worried about her. "Would you like my anorak?"

"No. I'm an a.s.sistant, not a damsel in distress," Polly said. "Save it for them."

"As you please," Mr. Lynn said humbly. When Polly turned to him to tell him not to be so obedient, he added, "You can be very majestic sometimes, you know."

Polly got into the car, rather scrunched. That was when she realized that a lot of Mr. Lynn's humbleness was a joke, even if some of it was real. She never found it easy to sort out which was which.

Stow-on-the-Water, when they finally found it, was made of the same yellow horse-colored stone as Mary Fields' farm. The main street opened up at one end into a market square, where there was a bridge over the river and a cross in the middle. After they had parked the car-with a jolt and a shriek of brakes that made everyone in the square whirl round to look-Mr. Lynn went over to the cross and leaned toward it studiously. He said he thought it was Saxon. Polly tried to look as if she felt that was old and reverent. A War Memorial would have struck her as just as old and a lot more historic.

"Now," said Mr. Lynn, "to look for ironmongers."

They looked up. And there it was, facing them across the square. Thomas Piper Hardware. There were s.h.i.+ny folding ladders propped outside and stacks of new yellow wood labeled do it yourself. The whole shop had a new, clean look, most definitely modern. But it was there. Thomas Piper Hardware. The discovery shook them both, more than they had bargained for. Polly looked up at Mr. Lynn, and Mr. Lynn looked down at Polly, and his eyes were as round and amazed behind his gla.s.ses as they had been when he first saw the horse.

"What do you make of that!" he said.

"I don't know," said Polly. "I don't-like it somehow."

They stood and stared at the shop. They stood until Polly began to s.h.i.+ver in the wind again.

"We're not being very brave, are we?" said Mr. Lynn. "We can do better than this. Come on."

They sauntered toward the shop. Polly wandered away to the left, pretending she was going somewhere else. Then Mr. Lynn wandered away to the right. But it was only a short distance. In no time they were standing beside the s.h.i.+ny ladders, looking at a display of bright orange jugs, bowls, and lawnmowers in the window beyond.

"We ought to buy something," Mr. Lynn whispered. He sounded nearly panic-stricken. "Think of something we can ask for."

"Tools?" said Polly.

"Yes, people can always use more tools," Mr. Lynn said thankfully.

They went in. The shop was as bright and modern inside as it was outside. Everything was arranged on corridors of clean shelves, rather like Mr. Lynn had described the supermarket where the giant was. A clean, sharp smell of plastic and paint and detergent met their noses. Polly and Mr. Lynn went down the first corridor between teapots and kettles on one side and hoses and brooms on the other. The place seemed empty except for them. They came up the second corridor, between paint and s.h.i.+ny hooks and rails for towels.

From here they saw there was a lady sitting at a desk near the door that said way out, an ordinary, smallish lady with a nice, nervous face and fluffy mouse-brown hair. She was busily doing sums on a sc.r.a.p of paper. But she raised her head as they came up the corridor, without really looking at them, and said, "We'll have to reorder those electric kettles. They've not come."

Somehow it was clear she was saying it to Mr. Lynn. His eyes went round again and met Polly's, almost desperately. Then he managed to say, "I-I beg your pardon?"

The lady's fluffy head shot round to look at them. Her face crumpled with dismay. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir! I quite thought you were Mr. Piper! You have just his walk." Her eyes remained on Mr. Lynn as if they found it impossible to move away. Amazement grew through the crumples in her face. "You really do look such a lot like him!" she said. "Were you looking for something particular?"

Under her eyes Mr. Lynn's face went pale and rather s.h.i.+ny. He swallowed-Polly saw the lump in his throat surge. "Just-just a screwdriver or so," he said rather stickily.

"Down at the end," said the lady. And suddenly she shouted. Her voice filled the silent shop and made Polly jump. "Leslie!" she yelled. " Les Les! Come and help this gentleman and young lady find ascrewdriver!"

Rubber shoes squeaked at the back of the shop. Polly's head and Mr. Lynn's turned that way, fascinated, to see a boy of about Polly's age shoot cheerfully into sight. He was not dark. He had quite a mop of fairish hair. But he did wear an earring, and that earring was a little silver skull with glittering green stones for eyes. He grinned cheerfully at Polly, but the grin faded a bit as he looked up at Mr. Lynn, and he stared as hard as Polly was staring at him.

"Leslie," the lady called from the desk. "Am I going mad? Or does this gentleman remind you of your uncle too?"

"Yeah," Leslie said, staring wonderingly at Mr. Lynn. "They could be twins! Not being awful," he added to Mr. Lynn. It did not sound as if he liked his uncle much. "But you do look just like him."

"Oh not that that like," the lady said hurriedly. "This gentleman's much younger than Tom is, Leslie." She smiled at Mr. Lynn. "That's kids for you. They think everyone over twenty is the same age, don't they?" like," the lady said hurriedly. "This gentleman's much younger than Tom is, Leslie." She smiled at Mr. Lynn. "That's kids for you. They think everyone over twenty is the same age, don't they?"

Mr. Lynn's face had gone from pale to a sort of muddy red. Leslie saw he had overdone things. "Said the wrong thing-as usual!" he remarked to Polly. "Opened my big mouth and put my foot in it. What did you want?"

"Screwdriver," Polly said faintly.

"Sure you don't want a left-handed hammer?" asked Leslie. "Or how about a pound of elbow grease?"

"Leslie!" said the lady at the desk. She gave Polly a grin as cheeky as Leslie's. "He's a terror with his jokes," she said. "Take no notice."

"Down this end," said Leslie, and squeaked bouncily off to the end of the shop.

Polly followed him, scarcely able to see straight for confusion. She knew just how Mr. Lynn must be feeling. Leslie was nice. The discovery made her squiggle inside, in a way that could have been pleasant but was probably nasty. And she could see from the way the lady at the desk watched Leslie, not quite smiling, as he went, that she adored Leslie. She was obviously his mother, and clearlyadored him because, not being stupid like Edna, she knew Leslie was worth it. Utterly confused, Polly looked dimly at rows of screwdrivers, large, small, with wooden handles and transparent plastic handles, and picked up a packet of a.s.sorted small ones because they were nearest. Mr. Lynn, equally at random, seized a couple of large ones from higher up. They followed Leslie back to the cash desk, where Mr. Lynn paid for all of them in a distracted rush.

"Thank you, sir," said the lady. "I do wish Mr. Piper was here. I'd love to see the two of you side by side. I just can't get over how like him you are!"

"He is, you know," Leslie said to Polly. "See you."

"See you," Polly replied, looking to one side of Leslie's earring, and not meaning it at all.

When they got outside, Mr. Lynn's face was white again. "Ye G.o.ds and little fishes, Polly!" he gasped. "I don't believe this!" And he went away across the square in enormous strides. Polly sprinted after him, and together they threw themselves inside a door marked ye olde cotswolde cafe teas. Almost without seeing where they were, they collapsed at a table and Mr. Lynn ordered scones and cakes and c.o.ke and milkshakes after one wild, random glance at the menu. The waitress looked wondering, and asked him if that was what he really wanted. "Yes, yes!" he said, and when she had gone he sat puffing as if he had run a race.

Polly sat sort of recovering too. Ordinary feelings began coming back like pins and needles. "It's all true," she said. "Except that it isn't."

"That's what's so unnerving," said Mr. Lynn. "Mr. Piper, the shop, Leslie-but none of it quite like we thought. Do you think the woman's name was Edna? I was dying to ask her, but I couldn't think of a way to ask that didn't seem rude."

"I bet it was," said Polly. "I can't get over Leslie being nice! And we got the name and the earring right, but he was fair-haired. I can't get used to him not being dark and sulky."

"Much the same with Edna-if that's her name. No dressing gown," said Mr. Lynn.

"And no curlers," said Polly. "But she was was doing sums." doing sums."

"We got her too old-fas.h.i.+oned," Mr. Lynn said glumly. "We got the whole thing about twenty years out of date."

"But it was there," said Polly. "It is still. I can see it out of the window."

"That's what's so appalling," said Mr. Lynn, hunching his shoulders in order not to look.

The waitress came back with a tray and a look which said, "Don't blame me. This is what you ordered." She set out two ice-cream cones, two cheese pancakes, two bright green milkshakes, and an oatcake. Mr. Lynn stared at it rather, but he was too shaken to protest. He took the pancakes and let Polly have the rest, and they did seem to make him feel better. At length he interrupted the snoring noise Polly was making with the bottom of the second milkshake to ask in a rather hushed way, "Mr. Piper wasn't there-why not, Polly?"

Polly looked up, into his gla.s.ses, and found a hunted look staring out at her. "It's all right," she said. "He's not you. She said he was older. And she knew you weren't when she looked properly." All the same, she thought she would have been happier herself if Mr. Piper had had been there and she could prove there definitely were two of them. been there and she could prove there definitely were two of them.

Mr. Lynn's shoulders sagged with slightly unhappy relief. "Then which of us," he said, "do you think is really Tan Coul?"

"You," Polly said. But she was not sure at all, and she knew Mr. Lynn knew.

Mr. Lynn summoned the waitress back then and, very slowly and plainly, asked for a pot of tea. Polly had some c.o.ke to wash down the oatcake. After that, they felt like facing normal life again. They went out into the square, carefully not looking toward Thomas Piper Hardware, and explored the rest of the town. The most interesting thing they found was a small bookshop, which Mr. Lynn dived into like a homing pigeon-no, more like a homing ostrich, Polly thought, with his long legs and the way he bent his head going in.

Mr. Lynn bought a stack of books for himself, and one about dragons which he insisted on giving to Polly.

"I don't think Granny likes you giving me things," Polly said awkwardly.

"I don't think your Granny likes me me," Mr. Lynn said. "But please take it. It keeps my mind off Edna-if her name is is Edna." Edna."

They went back to the square with their parcels. The horse-car had a parking ticket stuck to its windscreen. The waitress from the cafe was standing beside it. Mr. Lynn looked from her to the ominous ticket. "Is this yours?"

"No, that's from Maisie Millet. She's traffic warden round here, not me," said the waitress. She held out another parcel, orange plastic, with piper on it in black. "Edna sent her Leslie over with this after you'd gone." Polly's head and Mr. Lynn's turned to look at Piper's shop. So the lady was was called Edna. "You left it behind," the waitress explained. She had decided, right from the start, that Mr. Lynn was what she called "a bit in the head." She put the orange parcel in Polly's hand as the more trustworthy of the two. "Edna said to tell you she didn't notice straightaway-she and Leslie were talking about you," she said, and went back into the cafe. called Edna. "You left it behind," the waitress explained. She had decided, right from the start, that Mr. Lynn was what she called "a bit in the head." She put the orange parcel in Polly's hand as the more trustworthy of the two. "Edna said to tell you she didn't notice straightaway-she and Leslie were talking about you," she said, and went back into the cafe.

"Polly," Mr. Lynn said in a slightly quaking voice, "what are we going to do with all these screwdrivers?"

"I don't know," said Polly. She gurgled. Mr. Lynn gulped. They both leaned over the car and screamed with laughter.

Mr. Lynn drove even more heroically on the way back. Polly could not blame him. He had a lot on his mind. But some of his maneuvers did bring a slight taste of green milkshake to the back of her throat, and sometimes she could not prevent herself saying things like "Aren't you supposed to drive on the other side of the road?" or "I think that driver was hooting at us." And after he had dropped her outside her house, she did wonder if he would reach London without getting wrapped round a tree on the way.

He must have done. He wrote her a letter a week later.

The thing I hadn't bargained for about hero business, the important part said the important part said is how terribly embarra.s.sing it is. I wished the floor would open in Piper's shop. I squirmed. I realized in one blinding moment that when they speak of heroes having "iron nerve,'1 they do not mean they can spring forward and seize the bridle of a wild horse. That is child's play-sorry, Polly, I mean quite easy by comparison really. No, what they mean by ''iron nerve' they do not mean they can spring forward and seize the bridle of a wild horse. That is child's play-sorry, Polly, I mean quite easy by comparison really. No, what they mean by ''iron nerve'1 is the same as ''a thick skin.' is the same as ''a thick skin.'1 You have to learn not to notice how silly you feel. You have to learn not to notice how silly you feel.

Polly thought sadly that she understood.

You meen, she wrote back, that you want to stop plaing hero binis. I do not blame you. It is up to you, just say.

She got a letter back almost at once. It was on headed paper from a hotel in Edinburgh. Evidently the orchestra was off on its travels again. Mr. Lynn had written it by hand, but he had done his best to print it so that she could read it, though he had clearly been in a hurry.

Dear Hero, I didn't mean that at all. I just meant that being a hero took a different kind of courage than I had thought. No, I am hooked on hero business. Now I have got over squirming, I want to know if everything we make up is going to come true the same way. Must stop. This concert is being broadcast.

Tom The orchestra continued touring about for months. Polly did not see Mr. Lynn again for a long time. In fact, when she looked back over these memories, all coming alive and surging back into her head alongside the plain and normal memories she had thought she had, it surprised her to find how very few times she did see him. Just those three times in over a year. Of course, she saw him again after that, but it seemed odd, considering how well she knew she knew him. Meanwhile, he continued to write her letters and send her postcards of interesting places. Polly was the one who did not write so often. Sometimes she even forgot that hero business.e.xisted.

PART TWO.

NOW HERE.

andante cantabile

1.

And fill your hands o' the holy water And cast your compa.s.s round TAM LIN.

Granny did give Polly a birthday present after all. Polly was staying with Granny the week she was eleven, because Dad was coming back to settle up who was to have what. Ivy said, "You don't want to be in the middle of a row again, Polly," and Polly agreed. And a row there must have been. Both Mum and Dad forgot Polly's birthday. The only present she had that year was the little heart-shaped pendant Granny gave her.

"I was going to wait a few years to give it you," Granny said, "but I think you could do with it now. Take care of it. It was my mother's."

Polly sat with Mintchoc draped purring across her knees and turned the heart shape back and forth in the light. From some angles it looked pearly white, but as she tipped it, colors rippled through it-pale crimson, blue, and deep dragon green. "What is itmade of?" she said.

"Opal," said Granny. "It's a pity it's opal, because opals mean tears, but you keep it and it'll keep you. My mother always said it was the luckiest thing she had."

"Should I wear it all the time?" Polly asked, trying to hook the thin silver chain round her neck. It got tangled in her hair and Granny had to help her fasten it.

"Not in your bath," Granny said. "Water spoils opal." And she told Polly that opals were really a thin slice out of a certain kind of rock, bent over a crystal to bring the colors out. If water got between the rock and the crystal, the colors went.

Polly pulled the opal heart up and managed to look at it again, squinting, with the chain cutting the back of her neck. "That's made me see it in two lights!" she complained.

"Quite right," said Granny. "Get out to the bus or you'll be late for school."

Polly spent a lot of that summer at Granny's too. "Not much of a holiday," Ivy said worriedly, "but the money's tight. I asked Maud to have you, but they're all off to France. Even Reg offered, but I'm not having you stay with him him!"

It was a lonely, sleepy summer, with the warm winds blowing dust in Granny's garden and griming the rustling trees in the road outside. Some days Polly kept up her hero training by going jogging up and down the road. When she came to the end where Hunsdon House stood, she usually stopped and looked through the bars of the gate. You could see a curve of the drive from there, green and dark under the trees, and sometimes, when wind blew the branches aside, there was just a glimpse of the shuttered windows of the house.

"Yes, the place is all closed up and empty," Granny told her. "They're off on their travels again."

When she heard that, Polly seriously thought of getting into the house. She had a longing to go up round the joints of the staircase and see the rest of the rooms up there. And there was a place beside the gate where she thought she just might be able to climb thewall. Next time she went for a run, she stopped a little short of the gate and looked at that place. It was not as easy as she had thought. Though there were two worn parts in the stones, they would only serve as footholds if she could jump high enough to hook her hands over the top of the wall first. Polly went back a step or so, gathering herself to jump her very highest.

Something made her look through the bars of the gate.

Someone was standing halfway up the drive, in the most shadowy part. It was a tall, bulky shape, standing very still. The face, looking straight at Polly, was blurred by the shade and by the bars of the gate in the way. The eyes looked smudged and big. As Polly stood, looking guiltily back, caught in the act of measuring to jump, the face somehow crystallized into Mr. Morton Leroy's, watching her sardonically. They stood and looked at one another. Polly twisted nervously at the opal pendant round her neck. Mr. Leroy just looked. It seemed to go on for an age. Polly was never sure what made her stop standing there, staring. Somehow it was suddenly over and Polly was walking soberly away down the road, knowing that Mr. Leroy had nearly caught her climbing in and that she would not dare to try again now.

She buried herself in books instead. She used Granny's ticket for the local library and got out Black Beauty Black Beauty, which made her cry outraged tears. She was glad Mr. Lynn had bought the yellow horse. Then, trying for something more cheerful, she got out Sherlock Holmes stories and found herself wanting to shake Sherlock Holmes for being so superior. Since he played the violin and obviously looked rather like Mr. Lynn, he should have behaved like Dr. Watson. She wanted to shake Watson too. Then she tried Uncle Tom's Cabin Uncle Tom's Cabin and understood why Mr. Lynn had not wanted her to call him Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom was a slave. Polly read to the place where the villainous Simon Legree came in, and suddenly realized she was reading "Leroy" every time the book said "Legree." She stopped, appalled, and took the book back to the library. and understood why Mr. Lynn had not wanted her to call him Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom was a slave. Polly read to the place where the villainous Simon Legree came in, and suddenly realized she was reading "Leroy" every time the book said "Legree." She stopped, appalled, and took the book back to the library.

By this time she had got a reputation in the library for liking long, hard books. The librarian said to her, "Here's a book you might like. I used to love it. There is a shortened version, but I saved you the long one. Don't be put off if you find it difficult atfirst."

Polly looked at the book. The Three Musketeers The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas. She wondered why Alexandre was spelled wrong, but she had seen the cartoon of by Alexandre Dumas. She wondered why Alexandre was spelled wrong, but she had seen the cartoon of The Three Musketeers. The Three Musketeers. She thanked the librarian and took the book home to Granny's. It She thanked the librarian and took the book home to Granny's. It was was difficult. Half the time she was not sure what was going on, or why everyone lived in hotels, and it was full of conversations where you could not tell which person was speaking. But Polly loved it even so. From the very beginning, when d'Artagnan appears on his yellow horse, she was utterly captivated. She loved huge Porthos and the elegant Aramis, but Athos was the one she liked best. Oddly enough, despite the yellow horse and the fact that d'Artagnan was long and thin, she knew Athos was the one who was most like Mr. Lynn. Athos had once been married to the beautiful, dreadful lady, and the lady was obviously Laurel. difficult. Half the time she was not sure what was going on, or why everyone lived in hotels, and it was full of conversations where you could not tell which person was speaking. But Polly loved it even so. From the very beginning, when d'Artagnan appears on his yellow horse, she was utterly captivated. She loved huge Porthos and the elegant Aramis, but Athos was the one she liked best. Oddly enough, despite the yellow horse and the fact that d'Artagnan was long and thin, she knew Athos was the one who was most like Mr. Lynn. Athos had once been married to the beautiful, dreadful lady, and the lady was obviously Laurel.

Polly read it twice. Then she sat down and wrote a long and excited letter to Mr. Lynn.

Dear Tom, she began. That looked wrong; it was was wrong. She never could think of him as anything but Mr. Lynn, but she supposed she had better practice in order not to hurt his feelings. She told him all about wrong. She never could think of him as anything but Mr. Lynn, but she supposed she had better practice in order not to hurt his feelings. She told him all about The Three Musketeers. The Three Musketeers. Then she told him all the latest ideas she had had about Tan Thare and Tan Hanivar, and a whole set of adventures for them all to have conquering the evil Cardinal Then she told him all the latest ideas she had had about Tan Thare and Tan Hanivar, and a whole set of adventures for them all to have conquering the evil Cardinal Leroy Leroy -sorry, Legris. -sorry, Legris.

She got a postcard back from Cardiff: Thank you, Hero. You have given me some ideas too.

More later, T.G.L.

Granny really did not go in for reading. Polly knew that now. She said too much reading would ruin Polly's eyes, and she taught Polly to cook to take her mind off books. Polly was not good at it. Her first sponge cake had a kind of soggy valley in the middle.

"Well, it's nothing a blind man on a galloping horse wouldn't see," said Granny, "but it doesn't look much like a sponge cake to me."

"It's a new kind," Polly said, "called volcano cake. That runny stuff in the middle is the lava."

"Oh is it?" said Granny. "Put it down for Mintchoc and let's try apple pie instead."