The Secret Passage - Chapter Five
"Someone is Watching Me"
by Nina Bawden

"I'm sure Ben did it," Mary said that night after they had gone to bed and Ben was fast asleep and snoring a little because he had adenoids - so the doctor said - in his nose. "Of course he did. He probably saw the clock and wound it up while we were looking out of the window, just to tease us. It's the sort of thing he would do."

She was pretending to sound cross but she was secretly relieved that she had thought of such a sensible explanation. Mary was a very down-to-earth person who did not like mysteries, or, indeed, anything fanciful: she had always disliked fairy stories, for example, and much preferred to read about real people to whom real things happened.

John was quite different. He was too old to believe in fairies, but anything queer and unexplained fascinated him. He liked to lie awake in the dark and tell himself ghost stories; sometimes he frightened himself quite badly, but it was a nice, exciting kind of fear. He had been thrilled by the thought that someone might have been hiding in the House of Secrets - perhaps a fugitive from justice - and although he knew that what Mary said was probably true, that the ticking clock had just been one of Ben's tricks, he suddenly felt rather depressed all the same. He thought that Mary often made vague, mysterious things seem very ordinary and dull. He said, with a little sigh, "Did he really have time? We only looked out of the window for a minute."

"Ben's very quick and sort of neat, like a cat," Mary said. "And he probably wanted to get his own back because I'd said his horse wasn't valuable."

John thought for a minute. Then he said, "But he didn't have time to polish the brass bedstead, did he?" and laughed, feeling rather pleased.

But Mary had an answer to this too. "I asked Aunt Mabel about brass. She doesn't polish everything - there's a coal scuttle in the dining room and a brass jug in the hall. And she said all brass didn't have to be polished, sometimes it has a kind of varnish on it so it can stay bright for years." She stopped, feeling rather sorry and ashamed. She knew John liked to make up stories in his head and that she often spoiled them by being too matter-of-fact, but she also knew that she was made that way and couldn't help it. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice.

"It doesn't matter," John said. He was silent for a bit and then he said, "I mean it really doesn't matter. It's just as exciting even if there's no one else there. It's secret - no one wants that old attic. We can go there whenever we like and make it our own private place. No one will know we're there."

"We'll have to be careful," Mary warned him. "Aunt Mabel's got eyes in the back of her head." She giggled, thinking of two spare eyes peeping out through the untidy mess of Aunt Mabel's grey hair. "We could clean it up - I suppose we can't wash anything because the water must have been turned off - but we could find a broom - there must be one somewhere - and sweep the dust up. And I could paint some pictures if Uncle Abe will let me have some paints, and hang them on the walls."

John said eagerly, "And we could take some food - sausages and things - and cook them. Uncle Abe's got a little primus stove in his shed. He doesn't use it and it's almost rusted up, but we could drag it through the passage and make it work. And even if there isn't any water in the taps we could fill up one of those old lemonade bottles in the cellar and take that..."

He yawned, not because he wasn't interested in the plans he was making, but because he was simply too tired to stay awake much longer. "We could polish up that old grate in the corner - we might even light a fire - and perhaps we could borrow a rug to put in front of it. There are so many rugs all over the house, no one could mind if we just borrowed one... It'll be such fun, won't it?" he murmured drowsily, "such fun..."

Mary didn't answer because she was already asleep.

They woke up the next morning, their heads full of ideas as if their brains had been working all the time they were asleep. John was going to collect some nails from the cellar, and some pieces of wood to make shelves so that they would have somewhere to put books, when they had books; Mary decided to ask Aunt Mabel if she had any old pieces of material that she could stuff with rags and make into cushions. If the oak chest was polished up and had cushions on it, and there were bookshelves in the corner, the attic would look beautifully bright and comfortable. As for food - it would be unfair to take anything out of the larder, but it would be quite all right if they each saved something from their breakfast, a piece of bread or a sausage or something. "Just something that we would have eaten anyway," John explained. "So it doesn't cost Aunt Mabel anything extra."

It seemed more sensible not to tell Ben anything until breakfast was over and Aunt Mabel had gone out to sell flags for Lifeboat Day. Although Ben was quite good at keeping secrets he was only young. Snatching food from the breakfast table would make him excited and giggly; he might easily give the whole show away.

They had quite forgotten that Aunt Mabel had asked them to help her on Lifeboat Day and she didn't mention it. But when they were halfway through breakfast - just as John had managed to slip a beef sausage into the pocket of his shirt - Uncle Abe appeared in the kitchen.

"I want some volunteers," he said in a loud voice.

The children looked up from their plates and stared.

He looked quite extraordinary. He was wearing a long, pale green tunic fastened at the waist - or where his waist would have been if he had one - by a broad, golden belt. His big, freckled arms were bare, so were his enormous, pale feet. On his head he wore a curious, green head-dress with pieces of real seaweed pinned on to it, and in one hand he held what looked like a huge, three-pronged fork. He grinned at the children a little sheepishly. "I'm supposed to be Neptune," he said. "This is my Trident." He waved it in the air and gave a short laugh. "Well - what d'you think of the outfit, eh?"

The children were silent for a moment. Their faces had gone pink and John's cheeks looked strangely puffed out and tight as a balloon. Finally Mary spoke, in a funny, prim sort of voice because she was trying so hard not to laugh. "I think you look very nice, Uncle Abe," she said.

John made an extraordinary sound, like a bursting paper bag. Then he got up from the table and clatter down the passage towards the garden, whooping with hysterical laughter.

Uncle Abe drew his brows together. "Well," he said. "I knew this rig didn't exactly suit my figure but I didn't think I looked as funny as all that. Dignified, that was the effect we were aiming at. Dignified and striking." At that moment, Aunt Mabel came into the kitchen, carrying a large paper parcel. Uncle Abe said to her, "It doesn't look, you know, as if I'm going to be quite the attraction we thought. Looks as if it might have quite the opposite effect, in fact. Young John has just rushed intemperately from the room." He looked at Aunt Mabel hopefully. "Shall we call the whole thing off? I don't mind making a first class fool of myself - I'm not complaining about that - but we don't want to drive people away, do we?"

"You won't do that," Aunt Mabel said calmly. "You look very..." She paused and looked at Uncle Abe consideringly. "Very - er - suitable," she finished.

Ben said suddenly, "What did he mean about volunteers?"

Aunt Mabel gave him a quick little smile. "We're having a ceremony, Ben," she said. "We want to get as much money as possible for the Lifeboat. So we're having a band, and Uncle Abe is going to sit in a boat at the end of the jetty and when the band strikes up, he's going to get out of the boat and walk up the jetty..."

"Neptune, rising from the sea," Uncle Abe said in a sad, resigned voice. "Striking terror into the hearts of the young men and maidens. An imaginative lot, the Lifeboat committee." He sighed deeply and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

"...and he is going to have two attendant Sea Sprites," went on Aunt Mabel firmly. "They were to have been the grocer's little boy and girl, but unfortunately they have German measles." She put the brown paper parcel down on the end of the table, unwrapped it, and shook out two filmy green tunics. She held them up thoughtfully. "I should think they will fit Mary and Ben quite nicely."

"ME," Ben said in a horrified voice. "ME. You mean I'VE got to wear a DRESS?"

Aunt Mabel nodded. "They're a bit thin and transparent. You'll have to wear a petticoat under them."

"PETTICOAT?"

"Yes. And a good warm vest underneath so you don't catch cold."

"VEST?" Ben said. Uncle Abe winked at him but Ben didn't smile.

Aunt Mabel said, "Yes, Ben. Tunic, petticoat and vest. You'll be warm and you'll be pretty."

"PRETTY," Ben shouted. His face was so red and disgusted that Mary almost laughed although she really felt rather sorry for him: most boys hate dressing up but Ben hated it more than most.

She said soothingly, "Perhaps you can have seaweed in your hair. And a trident, like Uncle Abe. Then everyone will see you're a boy sea sprite."

Ben looked at Aunt Mabel with deep suspicion. "Can I have a trident?" he asked.

"You can have mine," Uncle Abe said quickly. "You can be my Bearer."

"It's an awfully Good Cause," Mary said. "It's to help all the poor sailors who might drown at sea." She glanced shyly at Aunt Mabel as she said this, afraid that it might make her unhappy. But Aunt Mabel was looking just as she usually did: poker-faced and a little cross.

Ben said nothing for a minute. He just glowered round the room, his lower lip stucked out. Then he drew a deep breath and said, very unenthusiastically, "All right. I don't mind."

Mary gave a little sigh of relief. Once Ben had made up his mind, he stuck to it. He didn't look exactly happy - his grim, resigned expression suggested a Roman Gladiator facing certain death in the arena - but he stood quite still while Aunt Mabel dressed him up in the tunic and tied a gold sash round his waist and pinned a few strands of seaweed in his tousled, dark hair. Then he sat glumly in a chair and watched Mary change into her costume.

Mary enjoyed dressing up. It was a pity that the expedition to the House of Secrets would have to be put off for another day but by the time she had fastened the gold belt round the filmy green dress she had quite forgotten her disappointment and was feeling very cheerful and happy. Mary liked pleasing people and it would please Aunt Mabel if she and Ben helped to collect a lot of money for the Lifeboat. She spread out her skirts and danced round the room. "Do I look all right, Aunt Mabel?" she said.

Aunt Mabel looked at her smiling face. "Very pretty," she said. "Pretty as a picture." She swallowed and added, in an odd voice, "You need something for your hair. I won't be a minute."

When she had gone out of the room, Ben said, "Why don't you paint a picture of Mary, Uncle Abe. Aunt Mabel says you used to paint pictures."

"I did once." Uncle Abe gave one of his deep, gusty sighs.

"Did you sell them? That's what you do with your statues, isn't it?"

Uncle Abe grinned. "I try to sell them. But does anyone buy them? That's the point."

"I thought that's why you went up to London yesterday," Ben said.

Mary frowned at him; she thought it was rude of Ben to be so inquisitive. But Uncle Abe didn't seem to mind. He just shrugged his shoulders and said cheerfully. "That's right. But it was fruitless errand, as they say." He scowled at Ben in his mock-fierce way. "Take my advice, my boy, and learn a good trade. Ben a plumber or a greengrocer."

"I'm going to be a man in a Bank," Ben said promptly. "Because they always have money." He thought for a minute and added, "Couldn't we collect money? Like we're going to collect for the Lifeboat - only we could collect just for ourselves?"

Uncle Abe regarded him thoughtfully. "We might, at that. We could dress you up in rags and old newpapers and stand you on the pavement with a notice. 'Starving Family to Support.' How would that do, eh?"

Ben eyes gleamed. "I could cover my face with powder so I'd look pale and sick and go without shoes. I could paint my feet with red paint, so it would look like blood - as if I'd cut my poor feet on the hard stones."

"Fine," Uncle Abe said approvingly. "You've got a flair, Ben. The right touch of inspired imagination. You'll go far."

Ben looked pleased and Mary said quickly, "Oh don't Uncle Abe. If you say things like that he'll think you mean it and he'll go and do it - he'll go collect money and then the police might can and he'd get into dreadful trouble."

"I would not," Ben said crossly. "If I saw a policeman come I'd run. I'd run so fast he couldn't catch me."

"Not in bare feet you wouldn't," Uncle Abe said. "Mary's right, Ben. Begging isn't thought a respectable profession in England." He laughed loudly, wiping his eyes, and when Aunt Mabel came back she eyes him suspiciously. "What's the joke?" she asked.

Uncle Abe hiccoughed. "Not on you'd enjoy, Mabel. Isn't it time we were off?"

"Yes. In a minute. Come here, Mary," Aunt Mabel said, her voice soft and her hands gentle as she smoothed Mary's hair back from her forehead and showed her a little pearl band. The pearls were sewn on black velvet stretched over a stiff frame. "To keep your hair back," Aunt Mabel said. "You can keep it, afterwards."

Mary thought it was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. She drew a deep, happy breath. "Oh, Aunt Mabel, it's lovely." She stood still while Aunt Mabel fitted it over her head and then stepped back to look at her, with a queer, thoughtful expression in her eyes.

"Was it yours, when you were a girl?" Mary asked. "It is nice of you to give it to me." She felt awkward and shy suddenly and said, "Thank you - oh thank you," under her breath.

Aunt Mabel said, "Yes, it was mine. But there's no need to thank me. It's only an old thing I hadn't any use for. Come on - it's time we were off. I don't know what John's doing. I found him skulking in the garden - I told him to keep an eye on Miss Pin."

"Here's your Trident," Uncle Abe said to Ben. "Carry it over your shoulder. And try to look as if you were enjoying yourself."

Ben looked at him in disdain and made no reply.

John waited for about half an hour after the others had gone partly because of Miss Pin and partly because he wanted to savour the thought that he would be in the House of Secrets, all alone. John had alway found that almost the best part of doing something was the excitement of thinking about it beforehand. His heart thumped away inside him all the time he was looking after Miss Pin, taking her the warm milk she always had at ten o'clock and the chopped lettuce and sliced banana for Sir Lancelot. Miss Pin didn't talk to John as she talked to Ben but treated him as a kind of servant; when he had finished filling her kettles she said, "You may go now," in a very grand, regal way.

But John didn't go. He stood by the door where she couldn't see him and waited until he heard a little, fluttery, snoring sound. Then he peeped round the clothes-horse that screened her and saw she was asleep. She would sleep like this, huddled up small in her gay shawl, the feathered hat nodding on her head, until lunch time. John went out, very quietly, and closed the door.

He didn't take any of the things with him that he had planned to take. It would be more sensible to put up the bookshelves another time, when Mary and Ben would be there to help him. He thought he might look for a rug to put in front of the fireplace and perhaps find a broom to sweep up the attic, but first of all he just wanted to be there, by himself, looking at the sea from the window and thinking his own thoughts without anyone bothering him.

John never minded being alone. In a queer way, he was much less nervous of strange and lonely places when he was by himself; as he climbed the big, dark staircase of the house next door, he thought that if there were ghosts - as there well might be in this old house - he wouldn't mind at all. He would creep quietly past without disturbing them, just as if he were a ghost himself.

He didn't go into any of the rooms. He went straight up to the sunny attic, climbed on to the oak chest and pushed open the creaky old window. It was a warmer day than usual and the air felt soft and fresh. It was very enclosed up here with the old roof slanting up on either side of the window, and very private. John liked the feeling that he was shut right away from the world and that no one knew where he was.

He stood on the chest for a long time, blinking drowsily like an owl in the sun. He thought if Mary and Ben were here, they wouldn't let him be so lazy and quiet. They would be talking loudly and wanting to do things. He sighed a little and began to feel guilty. When they knew he had spent the morning in the attic, they would expect him to have cleaned up a bit or done something to make it look nice and homely.

He wondered if there would be anything inside the oak chest that would do to furnish the attic. The lid was heavy and creaked as he opened it and a strong and musty smell came from the inside.

It seemed to be full of old clothes - several pairs of dark trousers and two jackets with gold buttons and gold trimmings - and some bundles and found an old tweed hat with a label fastened on to the side with a pin. The label said, 'Father's gardening hat'. It was a very old hat with moth holes in it - a funny thing to keep so carefully wrapped up, John thought. In another newspaper bundle he found a pair of girl's satin slippers, dirty white with tarnished buckles on the front. He put the slippers and the hat back in their newspaper wrappings, lifted out the trousers and the jackets and found, at the bottom of the chest an odd mixture of things: a wooden box with chess men in it, a packet of seeds, an old hammer and a photograph album tied up with a red ribbon.

John untied the ribbon and opened the album. The photographs were rather brown and faded, and showed stiff looking people in old-fashioned clothes. As he turned the pages, the photographs became less faded and the clothes the people were wearing were much more modern. There was a photograph of two girls, one tall and frowning, one short and plump and smiling. Underneath was written, Mabel and Hetty. John stared at the picture; then, suddenly, his heart seemed to jump right up into his throat. Hetty was his mother's name. It gave him a very strange feeling to see what she looked like as a little girl, with a short dress and bows in her hair. Slowly, he turned over more pages but there were no more pictures of his mother. There was one of Aunt Mabel in a long white dress, holding a bouquet of flowers and several of a big, smiling man in naval uniform. The last page of the album was torn a little and looked as if someone had torn out a photograph rather roughly - a corner had been left behind. John wondered who it was a photograph of and what had happened to it. He closed the album and looked inside the chest. He found it in a corner, screwed up and squashed with all the things that had been lying on top of it. He smoothed it out on his knee and looked at it carefully. It was a picture of Aunt Mabel - a young, pretty Aunt Mabel whose hair was short and curly instead of scragged back from her face. She was smiling and holding a tiny baby wrapped in a lacy shawl.

John wondered who the baby was and thought, perhaps it was himself. He had been born in England and Aunt Mabel had known him when he was small. But why had she torn the photograph out of the album and left it loose in her chest? He knew now that this must be Aunt Mabel's chest. She had packed all these things away in it and left them behind when she sold the house and no one had touched them since. The jackets with the gold buttons must have been her husband's naval uniform; the gardening hat probably belonged to her father. Perhaps she had wanted to keep it, when he died, to remember him by.

John put the things back in the chest, folding the clothes as carefully as he could. He put the photograph of Aunt Mabel and the baby in his trouser pocket; he thought Ben and Mary would be interested to see it. When he had closed the lid, he suddenly felt rather lonely and miserable. For the first time that morning he wished that Mary and Ben were with him and he decided that he would go back home to wait for them.

He went slowly down the attic stairs and opened the door on to the top landing.

And then he stopped, holding his breath.

He could hear something: a slow pretty tune that seemed to float gently up the dark stair well to where he was standing. Someone, somewhere in the house, was playing a piano. There was a piano, he remembered, in one of the big rooms on the ground floor. But who was playing it? It couldn't be a burglar - not an ordinary burglar, anyway, because no ordinary burglar would stop to play the piano. Could it be a ghost? The tune was soft and somehow mournful; the sort of tune a ghost would play if a ghost could play.

For a few minutes John stood where he was, very still and quiet. Then slowly - very slowly - he began to creep down the stairs. His heart was thumping but he was more curious than frightened.

When he reached the hall, he could hear quite plainly where the music was coming from: the big room at the back where there was the picture of the man on the white horse. John went slowly to the door of this room and looked in. There was a large, gilt-frame mirror opposite the door and he could see the piano reflected in it and the person who was playing it. It was a girl in a high-necked brown jersey; a girl with very long, straight, dark hair, a pinched, monkeyish face and big, dark eyes, rather like Ben's. The eyes were looking at John in the mirror, but John couldn't believe she was really seeing him because she went on playing. But the tune got slower and slower and at last she stopped altogether and stood up.

John drew a long breath and went into the room. She was standing by the piano, facing him. She was tall - taller than he was.

"Who are you?" she said. "I thought - I thought someone was watching me."

She wasn't a ghost. Her voice was quite ordinary and she was just as nervous as John was.

He said boldly, "Who are you?"

She didn't answer for a minute, but stood, looking at John and hugging her elbows as if she was feeling shivery. Then she said in a low, breathless voice, "I am Victoria."