swordstick leapt to his mind, and his acquisitive instincts were sharpened at the thought. There was no time, however, for him to rummage among the heaps of metal at the moment, for he was conscious of the old woman’s eyes upon him, and he followed her and Fuchsia out of the hall vowing to himself that at the first opportunity he would visit the chill place again.
The door by which they made their exit lay opposite the flight that led down to the centre of the unhealthy hall. On passing through it they found themselves at the beginning of an ill-lit corridor, the walls of which were covered with small prints in faded colours. A few of them were in frames, but of these only a small proportion had their glass unbroken. Nannie and Fuchsia, being familiar with the corridor, had no thought for its desolate condition nor for the mellowed prints that depicted in elaborate but unimaginative detail the more obviously pictorial aspects of Gormenghast. Steerpike rubbed his sleeve across one or two as he followed, removing a quantity of dust, and glanced at them critically, for it was unlike him to let any kind of information slip from him unawares.
This corridor ended abruptly at a heavy doorway, which Fuchsia opened with an effort, letting in upon the passage a less oppressive darkness for it was late evening, and beyond the door a flock of clouds were moving swiftly across a slate-coloured sky in which one star rode alone.
‘Oh, my poor heart, how late it’s getting!’ said Nannie, peering anxiously at the sky, and confiding her thoughts to Fuchsia in such a surreptitious way that it might be supposed she was anxious that the firmament should not overhear her. ‘How late it
Before them was a large courtyard and at the opposite corner was a three-storied building attached to the main bulk of the castle by a flying buttress. By day it stood out strangely from the ubiquitous grey stone of Gormenghast, for it was built with a hard red sandstone from a quarry that had never since been located.
Fuchsia was very tired. The day had been overcharged with happenings. Now, as the last of the daylight surrendered in the west, she was still awake and beginning, not ending, another experience.
Mrs Slagg was clasping her arm, and as they approached the main doorway, she stopped suddenly and, as was her usual habit when flustered, brought her hand up to her mouth and pulled at her little lower lip, her old watery eyes peering weakly at Fuchsia. She was about to say something, when the sound of footsteps caused her and her two companions to turn and to stare at a figure approaching in the darkness. A faint sound as of something brittle being broken over and over again accompanied his progress towards them.
‘Who is it?’ said Mrs Slagg. ‘Who is it, my only? Oh, how dark it is!’
‘It’s only Flay,’ said Fuchsia. ‘Come on. I’m tired.’ But they were hailed from the gloom.
‘Who?’ cried the hard, awkward voice. Mr Flay’s idiom, if at times unintelligible, was anything but prolix.
‘What do you want, Mr Flay?’ shouted Nannie, much to her own and to Fuchsia’s surprise.
‘Slagg?’ queried the hard voice again. ‘Wanted,’ it added.
‘Who’s wanted?’ Nannie shrilled back, for she felt that Mr Flay was always too brusque with her.
‘Who’s with you?’ barked Flay, who was now within a few yards. ‘Three just now.’
Fuchsia, who had long ago acquired the knack of interpreting the ejaculations of her father’s servant, turned her head around at once and was both surprised and relieved to find that Steerpike had disappeared. And yet, was there a tinge of disappointment as well? She put out her arm and pressed the old nurse against her side.
‘Three just now,’ repeated Flay, who had come up.
Mrs Slagg had also noticed that the boy was missing. ‘Where is he?’ she queried. ‘Where’s the ugly youth?’
Fuchsia shook her head glumly and then turned suddenly on Flay, whose limbs seemed to straggle away into the night. Her weariness made her irritable and now she vented her pent-up emotion upon the dour servant.
‘Go away! go away!’ she sobbed. ‘Who wants you here, you stupid, spiky thing? Who wants you – shouting out “Who’s there?” and thinking yourself so important when you’re only an old thin thing? Go away to my father where you belong, but leave us alone.’ And Fuchsia, bursting into a great exhausted cry, ran up to the emaciated Flay and, throwing her arms about his waist, drenched his waistcoat in her tears.
His hands hung at his sides, for it would not have been right for him to touch the Lady Fuchsia however benevolent his motive, for he was, after all, only a servant although a most important one.
‘Please go now,’ said Fuchsia at last, backing away from him.
‘Ladyship,’ said the servant, after scratching the back of his head. ‘Lordship wants her.’ He jerked his head at the old nurse.
‘Me?’ cried Nannie Slagg, who had been sucking her teeth.
‘You,’ said Flay.
‘Oh, my poor heart! When? When does he want me? Oh, my dear body! What can he want?’
‘Wants you tomorrow,’ replied Flay and, turning about, began to walk away and was soon lost to sight, and a short time afterwards even the sound of his knee joints was out of hearing.
They did not wait any longer, but walked as swiftly as they could to the main door of the house of sandstone, and Fuchsia gave a heavy rap with a door knocker, rubbing with her sleeve at the moisture in her eyes.
As they waited they could hear the sound of a violin.
Fuchsia knocked at the door again, and a few seconds later the music ceased and footsteps approached and stopped. A bolt was drawn back, the door opened upon a strong light, and the Doctor waved them in. Then he closed the door behind them, but not before a thin youth had squeezed himself past the door-post and into the hall where he stood between Fuchsia and Mrs Slagg.
‘Well! well! well! well!’ said the Doctor, flicking a hair from the sleeve of his coat, and flashing his teeth. ‘So you have brought a friend with you, my dear little Ladyship, so you have brought a friend with you – or’ (and he raised his eyebrows) ‘haven’t you?’
