‘Aye, we are but that lot up there don’t know it yet. One day perhaps…Things’ll be better. You’ll see.’
‘I’m getting out of this clobber.’ Newt made for the stairs.
‘I’ll put the kettle on the hob. I gather she didn’t give you any tea then? I had hoped…never mind. Nowt as queer as folk.’
‘You can say that again,’ snapped Selma. ‘I’m never going back there.’ It wasn’t right to be made to feel small or ashamed of their fancy names as if they didn’t deserve them. Selima was her dad’s choice. It was foreign different. How dare Lady Hester belittle his choosing?
The drill sergeant had them marching up and down the quadrangle of Sharland School. ‘Forward…at the double.’ He wanted them drill perfect for the next inspection day. The officer cadets were soldiers-in-waiting, pride of the school parades, but today Guy was out of step and not his usual efficient self. He couldn’t concentrate. Something was wrong and he didn’t know what. It kept making him lose his rhythm. He kept looking over to where his twin brother was marching, head up, eyes forward, a glint of steel in his eye. He was a born drill merchant, far better than he.
Angus had made a remarkable recovery, only the gash on his left temple bearing evidence of his accident, and this was now hidden under a tuft of blond hair that fell like a forelock when it wasn’t plastered down. In their uniforms they were identical, but now all those pranks and swapping identities would not be so easy to go undetected. Angus was the one with the scar.
Guy felt uneasy. Poor chap had no recollection of the accident or indeed the afternoon picnic or the jump when the Bartleys rescued him. It was as if the whole slate was wiped clean, had never happened until he looked in the mirror at his brow with disgust. Mother kept reminding him to be careful. She’d not wanted him back at school so soon. Angus had shrugged off her worries as fussing and brushed aside Guy’s enquiries about how he was feeling.
Having a twin brother was both a blessing and a curse. There was always your own face looking back at you. It was always the two of them, dressed alike, objects of curiosity. Sometimes he felt as if they were one whole person split into two halves—or he did until the accident. Now he sensed Angus was changing and he was sure he was getting headaches because they throbbed in his own head. It was curious how when one of them was ill the other felt groggy too. Sometimes he sensed they could think each other’s thoughts before they spoke them, knew instinctively what the other was going to say.
He’d noticed that Angus didn’t concentrate on his studies for very long now, that he jumped up and paced round their study room, much more restless than last term. His tri-weekly test scores were much lower than his own and the competitive edge between them had vanished. All Angus wanted to do was run cross-country, chase up and down the rugger pitch and drill. They may still look like two peas in a pod but something had shifted. Guy had tried to speak to Mother and warn her something was up, but she put it all down to going back to school too early.
At least she’d had the Bartleys to tea one afternoon and given them a present each but he was horrified when she’d told them she’d given them a coin as a token. It wasn’t his place to criticise her decision, though. He tried but failed to imagine her putting little Selma and her brothers at ease.
Father would’ve been more gracious, but he was never around these days. Colonel ‘Give ’em hell’ Cantrell was now an important member of Lord Kitchener’s advisory staff. If war did come, as everyone was saying it would, they’d hardly see him.
‘Eyes right!’ shouted the drill sergeant.
Damn! Guy nearly tripped into the back of Forbes Senior.
‘At ease, gentlemen. We will be stepping up training this term and for the foreseeable future. We want all Sharlanders to be prepared for every eventuality, to answer the call to arms, should the situation arise…’
Suddenly there was a commotion in the rear and a chorus of ‘Sir!’ Guy spun round, suddenly sensing that it would be Angus on the ground. ‘It’s Cantrell Junior, sir! He’s fitting.’
Angus was lying on the ground, spasms of jerking limbs, frothing at the mouth and a pool of wetness on his trousers. It was a frightful scene. Guy broke ranks to be at his side. ‘For God’s sake, give him some air!’ he heard himself shouting.
‘Take him to the san,’ someone yelled, but the master shoved them all aside.
‘Wait till he comes round.’ He turned to Guy. ‘How long has he had fits, Cantrell? Better put something on his tongue.’
Someone with a satchel brought out a ruler. Everyone stood around. Guy felt sick and shaky. Then the twitching tremors stopped and Angus woke up dazed, surprised to find himself the object of attention.
‘What’s up? Guy? Did I fall?’
‘You’ll be fine, old chum. You had a bit of a turn, that’s all.’ Guy wanted to cover his wet trousers with his army jacket to mask his brother’s shame. The cadets were dismissed. Angus was carried to the san and the doctor summoned from the village.
‘What’s happened to him?’ Guy asked Matron, suddenly scared at such a public exhibition.
‘He had a seizure…nothing to worry about. It probably won’t happen again. Too much drilling, I expect,’ she fobbed him off. ‘Run along now…we’ll see what Dr Mackenzie has to say. Your parents will be informed in due course. It may be nothing but overtiredness.’
‘Can I stay?’ Guy pleaded, knowing Angus would be feeling strange on his own.
‘No, the boy needs rest and privacy…And he’s never done this before, you say?’
Guy shook his head. Fits were terrifying to witness. He’d felt so helpless.
‘Ah well, growing pains and fits go hand in hand in my book,’ Matron smiled. ‘Doctor will know what’s best for him.’
Guy ambled through the leafy grounds of Sharland School, puzzled, scared and confused. What if they made Angus leave? What if it happened again on the rugby pitch in a match, or riding across the moor, or with a gun in his hand? He was an outdoorsy chap, and Sharland was a school that fostered team spirit, personal challenges, fresh air and exercise. He’d never cope.
Mother would have him home-tutored in a flash if she thought there was any danger.
Guy stared up at the turrets of the stone building. He loved his Alma Mater, with its warren of study rooms, corridors, fine chapel and acres of playing fields.
Angus wasn’t academic. He’d loathe being deskbound or cosseted. He needed open spaces, hunting over the fields to release all his spare energy. He bounded everywhere like an over excited Labrador puppy.
Guy found a hidey-hole under a huge black poplar and whipped out his forbidden pipe. Had Angus’s jump from the Foss left permanent damage. Had it ruined his chance of an army career? Would he be an invalid? Guy couldn’t bear to see him unhappy and frustrated.
Take a hold of yourself, he thought. Don’t get so windy! One fit doesn’t mean life in a basket chair. It was just a warning sign, that was all. If his brother calmed down and took enough rest and some pills, he’d be his old self again. Guy said a silent prayer to the Almighty to put everything back to normal.
Reluctantly he lifted himself out of his funk hole and made for the school. He’d face a barrage of questions from his house chums on his return. It was none of their business but news would have already gone round the school like wild fire. Cantrell Junior had had a fit. The question was, would he have another?
Selma stared into the window of Bow’s Emporium on Market Square in Sowerthwaite. The window was lit up like a magic lantern with fairy figures in silhouette against a glowing sky. She couldn’t wait for