Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and walked down the garden towards the water. The cat glanced at Holdsworth and then stalked away. Holdsworth swore under his breath. Frank was no longer as docile as he had been when they first came here. Then, the regimen at Barnwell had reduced him to a cross between a child and a vegetable. Now he was more assertive, and appeared more capable of sustaining a rational conversation. Sometimes he would lapse and quack and talk nonsense; or he would allow a strange grief to master him; or converse with the cat as though it were his equal. But these episodes happened less frequently.
Now, Holdsworth thought, as he followed Frank through the long grass, there were glimpses of the true nature of the young man. He was physically vigorous. By nature and by upbringing, he was accustomed to lead and to believe that God had ordained him to do so. After all, Frank Oldershaw was a gentleman, and John Holdsworth was not. As far as Frank was concerned at least, it was in the natural order of things that a man like Frank Oldershaw should give the orders.
When Holdsworth reached the willow tree, he found Frank studying the punt. It was much heavier and more crudely built than the ones that Holdsworth had glimpsed on the river in Cambridge. It was no more than a heavy rectangular box constructed of rough planking. To Holdsworth’s eyes, it looked as watertight as a colander.
‘We shall be afloat in a moment,’ Frank said. ‘You take this side and I’ll take this. We’ll turn it on its side first and let the water run out. Then we’ll slide it into the water.’
‘But there’s no pole.’
‘That’s what these branches are for.’ Frank nodded at two mud-streaked sticks leaning against the trunk of the tree. ‘Now lend me a hand, will you?’
Reluctantly, Holdsworth obeyed. They pulled the punt on to its side, emptied out most of the water and lowered it again. They manoeuvred it slowly down the muddy bank. The punt scraped down the bank and slid into the river, where it rocked alarmingly. The cat watched from a safe distance.
‘There’s water coming in,’ Holdsworth said. ‘It’s leaking. It is not safe to go on it.’
‘Nonsense. These old punts always leak. It’s nothing to be frightened of. You may get your feet a little wet but these old tubs never sink. We’ll take off our shoes and stockings and be none the worse for it.’
For a moment, Holdsworth was tempted to assert his authority and insist that they stayed on dry land. He held back, however, not least because he was not perfectly convinced he could make Frank Oldershaw obey him. There were other reasons. Headstrong though he was, Frank was behaving in a manner that was entirely rational, or at least entirely to be expected from one of his rank and age. In other words, he was growing better, and that surely should be encouraged. Also, Holdsworth himself was shamefully scared of going on the water. Was it possible to conquer somebody else’s demons before you had conquered your own?
Frank tossed the branches aboard and scrambled after them. He held the punt to the bank by holding one of the roots of the willow. ‘In you come, man,’ he said. ‘Sit at that end.’
Since the drownings, Holdsworth had avoided boats of all descriptions, even those that made such easy work of crossing the Thames. He climbed aboard and the punt rocked under his weight. His stomach lurched with it. Frank seized one of the branches and pushed off with a jerk. The boat inched out into the stream. In a moment the bank was out of reach.
‘Why, you’re as white as a ghost,’ Frank observed. He pointed at the shore with his makeshift pole. ‘Look, there’s Puss watching us. Quack.’
The ginger cat looked gravely at them.
‘Sit quiet and you will soon be yourself again,’ Frank advised. ‘You seemed such a solid fellow I thought nothing in the world could disturb you.’
Holdsworth gripped the side of the boat, squeezing the rough wood until he felt it biting into his skin. A pain tore into his chest. He forced himself to breathe. ‘It’s not to be wondered at, sir. I cannot swim.’
‘That’s soon remedied. Nothing to it. I’ll teach you.’
Frank threw down his pole and stood up. The punt swayed and rocked.
‘Pray sit down, Mr Oldershaw – have a care – the motion will overset us.’
The punt tilted violently. Frank Oldershaw laughed. And as he was laughing, there was a blur of movement, a great splash and a shower of spray. A wave flooded over the side, soaking Holdsworth’s breeches. Holdsworth shouted, a wordless sound, both a protest and a plea. And also a cry of fear.
Frank was now floating in the water, his white and spectral arms waving to and fro beneath the surface. ‘It’s so refreshing. You see how simple it is. Our bodies are like pigs’ bladders full of air, so we float.’ He swam to the side of the punt and gripped the edge with both hands. ‘If you jump over the side of the punt and hold on to the edge like this, you will find you are perfectly safe. In a moment or two you will grow used to the sensation of your body moving in the water. I assure you, it is delightful, if a little chilly at first. The body becomes so light. I think that angels must move through the air like this.’
Maria, Holdsworth thought. Georgie. Drowned at Goat Stairs. He looked at Frank Oldershaw’s smiling face and saw theirs behind his: and their faces were pale, wet and waxy with death.
‘Take me back,’ he whispered. ‘Pray, sir, pray take me back.’
Frank shook the side of the punt, making it rock. ‘On two conditions.’
‘What?’
‘First, that you allow me to teach you to swim while we are at the mill. Not now, if you want, but later when you have grown more used to the idea, and nearer the bank, where you will be able to feel the bottom under your feet.’
‘Take me back.’
‘Promise me.’
‘No.’
‘And the second condition is this: that you tell me why you woke us this morning.’
‘I do not know.’ The punt rocked again. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Mr Oldershaw -’
‘Of course you know. One always remembers one’s bad dreams.’
Oh yes, Holdsworth thought, the boy is right.
Frank laughed at him, though not unkindly. ‘Come, sir, I shall take your silence for assent. You shall tell me later. See – we are nearly back on terra firma.’
Holdsworth turned his head. For the last few minutes, his misery and his fears had trapped him in a small bubble consisting of the punt, Frank and the stretch of water immediately surrounding it. It was only now he realized that all this time the current of the river had been moving them imperceptibly downstream. The river had entered a shallow bend, and the punt was now no more than a couple of yards from the bank.
Frank suddenly stood up. The water was little higher than his waist. He pushed the punt to the bank. Holdsworth groped blindly over the side for anything to hold on to. He seized a tussock of grass and it came away in his hands. The side of the punt scraped against the sloping bottom. He launched himself over the side, and landed heavily on solid land. On the grass around him were thistles and cowpats. A group of cows, sheltering under the branches of an oak tree in the corner of the field, turned their heads one by one to look at him. He lay there, trembling, wet and panting, and pressed his cheek against the hard, dry ground.
Frank scrambled out of the water and sat down. He was streaked with mud. He pushed back the wet hair from his face and turned towards Holdsworth. ‘I ask your pardon, sir,’ he said. ‘I should not have teased you like that. It was very disagreeable of me.’
Holdsworth sat up and tried to control his rapid breathing with an effort of will. In the circumstances the apology was both unexpected and generous. It was also in its way a perfectly sane gesture. Not for the first time, Holdsworth wondered about the precise nature of Frank Oldershaw’s madness.
‘You were not to know,’ he said quietly.