* * *
That afternoon Doctor Forester, with Maxie's help, pitched his tent. The place he chose was about half a mile from the castle itself, out on the breezy headland on which hundreds of sheep were grazing, and which covered the flat terrain on the top.
Here, with the sea on both sides of him, and with only the quiet sheep as companions, Forester felt he would have the stillness and solitude for which he longed. Even the few visitors to Hildick would hardly find the track to this out-of-the-way place which could only be reached by passing through the castle farm.
If he wanted to bathe he could get down to a quiet cove on the opposite side of the headland from Hildick Bay where he would meet none of the others, and which old Mr. Norris assured him he would have all to himself.
That evening the doctor set out to walk beyond his tent to the end of the headland to watch the sunset which promised to be a fine one. He made his way across the grass, cropped short by the large flock, and walked briskly over the headland beyond. The colouring in the golden evening light was superb. There were patches of yellow gorse; tufts of bright purple heather; blue hare bells that trembled in the breeze; clumps of bracken on which the autumnal tints were just appearing, and stretches of green moss interspersed with red sundew and white cotton grass.
It was a perfect feast to the eye, of every shade and variety of color. Forester noticed that the sea was practically all round him; to right, to left, and in front of him he could see the blue water with hardly a ripple on it. He was making his way through the gorse bushes to stand on the end of the headland, when at the foot of one of them something caught his eye. Involuntarily he stooped down and gathered it. It was a sprig of pure white heather.
A short time ago he would have been delighted to find it, but what good was white heather to a man who had no one to whom he could give it? Still, he held it in his hand until he had climbed down the steep descent at the end of the point and was sitting on a rock which jutted out into the water.
The sun had set now. The golden light was gone, and the sea looked dark and leaden. He took his sprig of white heather and threw it into the water, and the receding tide carried it far out to sea.
Then Forester retraced his steps and made his way back to the castle. It was growing dark and chilly when he got in, and he was glad to go to his snug place in the chimney-corner. The old man gave him a kindly welcome. The twins had gone to bed, and their elder brother Leonard was sitting at the table doing his lessons by the light of the lamp. His father Rupert was out, going round the farm buildings to see that his livestock were all right for the night. About nine o'clock they heard the click of the courtyard gate and knew that Rupert was returning. In a few minutes he came in, and Mary began to lay the supper.
"Father," said Rupert to old Mr. Norris, "what have you done with the outhouse key?"
"Nothing," said the old man. "I went in there this morning with the doctor. He wanted to see the loft, but I found the door open."
"Well, the key's gone. I can't find it anywhere. I did a stupid thing last night. What with the rain, and then going to meet the bus and getting back home so late, I forgot to lock up outside. So whether the key was there then I don't know. Anyhow, it's gone now."
"Never mind," said the old man. "What's the use of bothering about it? There's nothing of value in there. Just a few old tools and nails, and a heap of rubbish. There's your bike. Bring that inside. But there's nothing else worth taking, and if there was we're safe enough here. If you'll believe me, sir," he added, turning to Forester, "there's never been such a thing heard of as a burglary at Hildick. All the old ladies in the village go to bed and never trouble to lock their doors. Everybody knows everybody else, and we're like one family, as you may say."
Soon after this the doctor said he was tired and would be glad to go to bed. The corridor looked less weird to him now that he had become familiar with it, and he felt sleepy with the sea air and inclined to rest -- undisturbed by ghosts of any kind whatever.
It was not until the noisy clock in the corridor had insisted on it being three o'clock that he woke with a start, as though some other noise had disturbed him. He sat up in bed and listened, but heard nothing, and he came to the conclusion that it was only the striking of the clock which had woken him. He lay down and had almost fallen asleep when he again became conscious of a noise, and he sat up once more.
The sound was not overhead this time, but seemed to come from the wall in one corner of his room, and just behind the washstand. He crept out of bed quietly, put his ear to that part of the wall, and listened.
Again it was the sound of footsteps, at least he thought so, and they seemed to be descending a flight of stairs, for the noise grew gradually fainter. Every now and then the steps paused, and after a moment or two went on again. Then he fancied he heard a door below gently closed, and after that all was still.
Forester's curiosity was considerably roused by what he had heard. There seemed to him to be some mystery in the castle, of which the Norrises who lived in it were evidently not aware. If he had been staying there longer he would have tried to discover what it was, but as this was his last night here, he did not see much chance of finding out the cause of the sounds. He contented himself with asking old Mr. Norris at breakfast the next morning whether there was any other staircase leading into the loft besides the one up which he had taken him the day before.
"No, sir," said Mr. Norris, "that's the only way up, and there never was another that I know of."
"And that turret is close to the great entrance gate, is it not?"
"Yes, sir, it touches it almost. It's the way the guards went up in the olden time."
"Then there's no staircase anywhere near the room I slept in last night?"
"None at all, sir."
"What is there near that room? If I could make a hole, say behind the washstand, what would I come to?"
"You'd come to one of the old turrets of the castle which has been built into the farmhouse. My father had a large family and wanted more room, so he built a small bedroom out at the back, and the turret comes in the corner of it. Come upstairs and I'll show you."
The old man led the way into the little back bedroom, and Forester saw the round outer wall of the turret just as he had described it.
"Then my room joins this room just here," he said, pointing to the corner where the turret stood.
"Yes, behind your washstand is a curious kind of wainscoting, not like the panelling downstairs. It is not wood, but more like strong basketwork, and behind that is the outer wall of the castle with this turret in it."
"Are there any steps inside this turret, as there are in the one by the gate?"
"None, sir. It's all solid masonry."
"You are sure of that?"
"Quite sure."
Forester was much puzzled. He felt convinced that he had heard footsteps the night before, and they had sounded to him as if they were in that corner. Yet surely old Mr. Norris ought to know.
As soon as breakfast was over the doctor went to his tent, for he knew the Norrises at the castle would be busy preparing for the arrival of the Sinclair family whom they expected that evening. He felt sorry to leave his comfortable quarters, but he would still see a good deal of the castle and its occupants, for he would have to fetch water from the tap in the castle yard every day. There was a pond on the headland, but the water was not pure enough for drinking, though he thought he should be able to use it for washing.
They all begged him to come in whenever the weather was bad or he felt at all lonely, and old Mr. Norris assured him that a seat in the chimney-corner would ever await him.
Now the life of solitude of which he had dreamed was to begin, but somehow or other he did not enter on it with enthusiasm. He even felt a pang of regret as the courtyard gate closed behind him and he went out to begin his hermit life. Camping seemed pleasant enough when the weather was fine and when a number of friends were together, but it seemed a different matter al
together now he was alone.
The loneliness of the place oppressed him, while the voices of the sheep grew more and more monotonous. He wandered over the headland and gazed at the sea, and watched the clouds and listened to the cries of the seabirds until all these palled on him. He simply yearned for the sound of a human voice.
He determined to go down to the bay, look for his old schoolfellow Don Mainwaring, join the happy group on the sands and endeavour to drive away the awful depression which was settling on him. He got up from his camp chair, walked down the hill to the village, and climbed one of the sand dunes to see where everyone was. He saw the two sister, Mab and Dolly Mainwaring, sitting on the rocks reading, while Don Mainwaring and Doris Somerville were wandering along together by the sea.
Presently they stopped, and he watched them playing at ducks and drakes in the quiet water. He could hear Doris's merry laugh as her stone made five, six, seven hops. He could hear Don say, "Well done, Doris, but I'll be even with you yet."
Somehow or other Forester felt that he had not the heart to go down and join them. Who was he, that he should bring a shadow on that merry party? He would go back to his tent and to his solitude.
As he passed the castle on his return he saw a coach and two horses, laden with luggage, standing outside. The Sinclair family was evidently arriving. He wondered how many there were of them, and whether they would be likely to find their way to the headland, which he was suddenly inclined to look on as his private property.