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Entire of Herself
She was alone.
The others had piled into the boats, shoved off, and set sail. Even now, they were tacking
down to the south end of the lake to get the longest run for the race to the summerhouse that
had, a couple of years earlier, been the North Pole. (She could not remember exactly what
Titty had decided it was this summer. Shangri-La? The pavilions of Xanadu?)
“You’re marooned!” Bridget had said excitedly. “Shall we rescue you when
we come back?”
“If you want,” Susan said, and shared a glance with John. There was so much to do; and
only the rest of the afternoon to do it in. And everyone wanted to sail. The Ds had
only had Scarab for a week; and they were eager to test all three dinghies against
one another. Nor were the others averse to a race: Nancy, in particular, was sure
that all could be made ready in no time when they got back; and Titty and Roger both
backed her up. Susan, on the other hand, had a fair idea just how much work would be
needed to set the camp up properly before Mother came to visit. So she, at least, was
determined not go along. Remaining on Wild Cat Island alone would give her ample time
to get everything settled in exactly the way she liked it without all the usual interruptions.
John lingered as the others raced along the path to the harbour. “Are you
sure…?” he asked in a low voice.
“At least we got the tents up,” said Susan. That she would not have fancied
doing on her own; and, after all, it was only fair that everyone help when it was their
own tents that they’d be sleeping in that night. “Don’t worry. I’ll
get all the stores sorted away and tea ready before Mother comes.”
Not without regret in her heart, she saw John follow the others, but then girded her
loins and turned her attention back to her chosen duty. The fireplace was not in best
order: this she had spotted as soon as they had hauled their tents and provisions up
from the boats. The largest stones were in position; but someone—or something (though
there were no large beasts nor livestock on the island—had clearly knocked the
smaller ones aside. She carefully collected them and rebuilt the ring. Then, collecting
a bundle of twigs, she tied them with string to a longer stick and swept all the fallen
leaves and needles from the ground around the fireplace. After that, it occurred to her
to go into the tents, one by one, lift the ground-sheets and sweep under those, for it
would be uncomfortable to lie on any loose pebbles. The ground-sheets were then laid
back down and smoothed of any wrinkles, and the sleeping bags unrolled again.
She went round each tent, checking the guy ropes and pegs (and hammering a few of them
harder in, just to make sure).
There was a good stack of driftwood. Probably, Susan thought, it had been collected by
the Amazons and Ds in preparation for the belated arrival of the Swallows. Still, she took
the time to range around for a few small fallen branches and suitable tinder, brought them
back, and laid the fire ready for lighting. After that, she went down to the landing-place
with a cake of soap and washed her hands. She also filled the kettle, ready to be put
straight on the fire as soon as she saw the boats coming back up the lake.
Then it was time to inventory the stores they had brought: tins of pemmican and sardines,
bottles of grog, bunloaf and bread, butter, a pot each of marmalade and strawberry jam, a
dozen eggs, a packet of sliced bacon, a bag of peas already shelled, a large tin of mixed
biscuits, apples, potatoes….
Susan counted them all over carefully and put them away in the old tent that they had used
when the Swallows had first visited Wildcat Island. Bunloaf was sliced and buttered, a
tin of pemmican opened, and good thick sandwiches assembled. By now, she was starting to
get hungry; but she restrained herself from tucking in. Hunger, she knew, was the best
sauce; and, by the time, the others got back, they would be starving. Tea would be much
more enjoyable if they all ate together. She therefore wrapped the sandwiches in a
cloth to keep them fresh, and picked out apples for afters.
Finally, Susan set out the mugs (each with a spoon ready in it, so that all would be
at hand when the others arrived), and went up to Look Out Point. From that position,
she could not quite see into Houseboat Bay; but, on their way from Holly Howe, they had
all seen Captain Flint on the deck of his boat; and he had waved as they passed. Further
away were the islands near Rio; and, far down the lake, she thought she could make out
three small sails—white, brown, and red—tacking back and forth,
seeking the best wind and the slightest advantage. If she was right, they were
nearly at the summerhouse and would soon be on their way back.
Beyond them, lowering over the hills, the sky was grey. It will rain later, Susan
thought, feeling the wind from the north on her face.
It was a rather long wait, especially with everything all ready for tea; so Susan decided
to distract herself from consideration of her empty stomach by fetching Martin Chuzzlewit
out of her knapsack. At any rate, it seemed as good a time as any to get on with her
unfinished holiday task, though she was finding the book rather slow going. Somewhat
later, the wind picked up; shortly after, the first drops began to fall. Rather annoyed,
Susan stuck her finger in the page, found a scrap of bark to serve as a bookmark, and put
Martin safely away in her tent. Then she shifted the sandwiches and apples inside
as well, brought in the little lantern and lit it, and snuggled cosily into her sleeping bag.
The storm broke over the canvas.
By the time she had plowed her way doggedly through to the end of her task, eaten two sandwiches
and an apple, and nipped hurriedly over to the stores tent for a bottle of grog, the storm
sky was darkening further into twilight. The others still had not returned. Where they were
she had no idea. And the wind was clearly too strong for safe sailing. She could only hope
they’d found food and shelter. She, at least, was dry and warm.
She put the book back in her knapsack, and curled down uneasily in her sleeping bag. It was
far too early to feel drowsy. Still, she blew out the lantern and tried to sleep, though
her mind insisted on worrying over and over through scenes of woe, about none of which she
could do anything.
Finally, she heard … she thought she heard … a brush of branches, a crack
of twigs? In an instant, she unzipped the bag and rushed out of the tent into the rain. They
were back! They were back!
Except … they weren’t.
In disbelief, she saw an adult figure nearly concealed behind oilskins. Just as it halted
and tipped back its hat, she remembered that her mother had been supposed to row over to
the island for tea. But tea must surely have been over hours ago?
“Are you all right?” Mother asked urgently.
“Yes, of course,” said Susan blankly. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I—?” Her mother fizzled in brief silence. “Oh, you children
will be the death of me!” Then, even as Susan bridled indignantly, she found
herself being shooed into the largest of the tents, normally shared by the two Amazon
pirates. “In!” exclaimed Mother, “before you catch your death.” Only once
they were seated comfortably on sleeping bags, oilies off, and the lantern lit did Mother
continue. “Because of Mrs Blackett’s telegrams, you dreadful girl! First came one
telling me that you were all at Beckfoot and not to worry; then, no sooner had the poor
lad pedalled back to the village than he returned with another informing me that you were
on Wild Cat Island alone. What on earth were the others doing, going off and leaving you
here all on your own?”
“They wanted to go sailing.”
“Oh, really Susan! Don’t tell me everything here was shipshape and Bristol fashion
in time for them to get down to Beckfoot by the time the storm broke, because I
know how long it takes to make camp—” This was
undeniable. “—and by the time everything was ready and stowed it must have been
clear that a storm was brewing!”
“No, I suppose … but it wasn’t … we
weren’t….”
“They did set up camp before sailing, didn’t they?” asked Mother in a tone
that indicated that she had already guessed the answer.
Oh, dear, thought Susan. “The younger ones wanted to sail this afternoon,” she
explained. “You know it’s the first day we’ve all been here together. And the
Ds—the Callums—now have Scarab. And Nancy, of course, was
keen … especially once I said that I’d stay to get the camp ready.” In
quick exculpation, she added, “They did all get the tents up first.”
“I should hope so!” exclaimed Mother. “But really, what was John thinking? Or Peggy,
for that matter.” Ruefully she said, “Nancy, I can believe. Not that she’d
skimp her share in the normal way of things, but that she’d jump at your offer. But
Peggy’s always seemed more responsible.”
“But of course she had to go!” Susan exclaimed. “She’s an Amazon! You could
hardly expect Nancy to crew the ship on her own.” Hastily she added, “Not that she
couldn’t, of course (she’s very capable); but they wanted to have a race. So they
left ages ago, long before the storm. They were heading up to the North Pole … the
summerhouse at the head of the lake, you know.”
“I remember.”
“Yes, so they were heading back—at least, I think I saw the sails about to head
back—just before the storm. I’m sure,” said Susan, and heard excuses
in her voice, “they would have returned before tea. We knew you were coming, after all.”
“And so I have come,” said Mother. “There was no way I could leave you on your own
here, not knowing how you were getting on. I’m going to have to have a strong word with
John when I see him. Not to mention Titty … and even Roger. Just because you act
like a pelican is no excuse for their taking advantage of you, my girl. And you
are still a girl, though—” She looked rueful. “—you
seem to be growing up fast.” With a sigh, she added, “You may enjoy playing at keeping
house—and I don’t doubt you had fun here in camp on your own—but
it’s your holidays too, love. Enjoy it while you can.”
“Was it a bad row over?” Susan ventured.
“Not much fun,” said Mother quietly. “But the worst of it was not knowing.”
Susan imagined what it must have been like rowing down the lake in the wind and rain. Like
Goblin, she thought, remembering the previous summer’s inadvertent trip to Holland;
but without the dry cabin, the provisions, and the company.
“Well, I’m here now,” said Mother, “and I’ve no intention of rowing back tonight, I can
tell you. I suggest we settle down here—better here together than in separate tents.”
Susan was startled at first, for she had assumed that she would be ordered back to
Holly Howe (or, at least, that Mother would leave, for she never camped out on the island
with the children). Then she realized that the last thing her mother wanted right now
was to have to row back along the lake into the teeth of the storm.
Mrs Walker slid partway into Nancy’s sleeping bag, took off her skirt and folded it,
added it to her shoes, and settled down.
“It’s your camp, Susan, love,” she said. “So I’ll leave it to you to deal
with the lantern.”
The storm blew itself out overnight; and they rose early to sun glinting low through
the trees into the clearing.
“I’ll start the fire,” said Susan, “if you want to go down to the
landing-place and wash.”
“No,” said her mother, with a twinkle in her eye. “I have a better
idea.” And she explained.
Thus, less than a half hour later, they were greeted aboard the houseboat by Captain
Flint, resplendent in a scarlet paisley dressing gown over his pyjamas. He was more than
a little surprised, but hospitable; and, as Mrs Walker explained the events of the previous
day, he got somewhat annoyed (on behalf of his sister) and apologetic (about his
nieces). He entirely agreed with Mother as to the best course of action.
With a butcher’s apron protecting the resplendence, he cooked them all breakfast on the
Primus stoves in the galley. There was bacon-and-egg and fried tomatoes and
yesterday’s mushrooms; and, with a slap at his waistline—which he said took some
keeping up—he added a slice or two of bread at the end, so that it would be richly fried
in the fat. This was all served up with mugs of tea and the end of the milk.
“I’m sure my sister won’t let any of them leave until she’s fed them,” he
declared. “So you might as well tuck in hearty.”
As she cut off her first piece of bacon, added a morsel of egg, and topped it all with
a good smear of fried tomato, Mother turned to Susan and said, “I wish Holly Howe were on
the phone (though, of course, none of the farms is); but then Mrs Blackett and I could
have had a reasonably long chat, and I could have talked to John. As it
is—” She chewed and swallowed. “—all I can do for now
is ask if you have any idea how they finished up at Beckfoot?”
It took Susan half her meal to ponder the question, for it was a real one: if the
others had reached the summerhouse (as she had thought they must when she spotted the
sails), then they would have been heading back south when the storm broke. Why,
then, with the wind in their sails, had they not simply scudded along the lake to Wild
Cat Island? “I think,” she said finally, “that they may have decided that the Dick
and Dorothea aren’t really good enough sailors yet. For bad weather,
anyway. They’ve been staying at Beckfoot until now; so that would be an obvious
place for them to stop. And, of course, there’s Bridget. She swims better than
Roger did at her age; but still—John would worry about her.”
“Well, Molly would certainly never have let them sail out again in the
storm,” said Captain Flint. “So that explains the first telegram. And, once she’d
counted the moving heads a few times, she’d be bound to realize eventually that there was one missing.”
“And still one missing,” said Mother, with some satisfaction. She looked out
through a porthole and saw three little sails in the distance. “I hope when they
get to your camp they spend a good time searching, and worrying what happened to you.”
Seeing her mother’s eyes lift to the lake, Susan twisted round to look. “Oh,
no! We should go!”
“Not at all,” said Captain Flint. “I’ll just put the toast on. Some for you, Mrs
Walker?” And, as she nodded and he got up, he added, “Oxford marmalade or blackcurrant
jam? Or, of course, both.”
“I think I could manage two slices, yes,” Mother said. “What about you,
Susan?” She picked up the teapot before Susan could answer. “Yes, thank
you, Mr Turner. She’ll have a couple of slices as well.” She refilled her
daughter’s mug and offered her the milk and sugar.
“Mother!”
“It’ll serve them right.”
And Captain Flint agreed.
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“Entire of Herself” is set after the events of The Picts and the Martyrs.