Kitty Whitlace and Lady Mullings had set up the card table, spread with the piece of brocade, and Kitty had ar ranged the pamphlets, the picture post cards, and the visitors' book in a neat row towards the front. The collecting box she tucked under her arm.
Arrietty shuddered as she "heard the rush of coins to one end of it, hoping Timmus would not be hurt. Perhaps it contained a few of those rare pound notes, which might act as buffers. American tourists could be very generous at times.. .
"I expect you'll be wanting to lock up now," Lady Mullings was saying, glancing once more around the church. "Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Platter, I didn't see you! I am so sorry. It's all so beautiful that I suppose you're like the rest of us—almost impossible to tear oneself away." Mr. Platter nodded and smiled weakly. He didn't know quite what to say. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Kitty Whitlace hurrying towards the vestry, the collecting box under her arm. She returned almost immediately, swinging an even larger key, and went towards the door.
They all filed out. They had to: they could not keep her waiting. Mr. and Mrs. Platter came last. They walked like two people in a dream (or was it a nightmare?). Cheerful good nights were said and see-you-tomorrows, and all went their separate ways. Mr. and Mrs. Platter walked reluctantly towards where they had tethered their pony cart. Kitty Whitlace locked the church door.
Chapter Twenty-four
Neither spoke as Mr. Platter untethered the pony and Mrs. Platter, in her awkward way, climbed up onto the seat. Her bicycle lay safely in the back on top of Mr. Platter's tool bag. "Where now?" she said in a dispirited voice as Mr. Platter, reins in hand, took his place beside her.
He did not reply at once, just sat there staring down at his hands. "We've got to do it," he said at last.
"Do what?"
"Break into the church."
"Oh, Sidney, but that's a felony!"
"It's not the first felony we've had to commit," he reminded her glumly. "We know exactly where that creature is—"
"Yes. Locked up, in a locked box, in a locked cupboard, in a locked church!"
"Exactly," said Mr. Platter. "It's now or never, Mabel."
"I don't like it, Sidney." She looked round in the gathering dusk. "It'll be dark soon, and we won't be able to put a light on."
"We can borrow a flashlight from Jim Sykes at the Bull. He's got a good one, for going round the cellars..."
"The Bull!" exclaimed Mrs. Platter; the face she turned towards him looked almost stupid with surprise. Mr. Platter had never been one for visiting village pubs.
"Yes, the Bull, Mabel. And what's more, we're going to stay there up to near on closing time. We'll have a nice glass of stout, a couple of roast-beef sandwiches, and some oats and water for the pony, and leave the cart there till we're ready for it. We're not going to leave that cart and pony parked outside the church—oh, no! It'd be evidence against us."
"Oh, Sidney," faltered Mrs. Platter, "you think of everything..." But she was feeling very nervous.
"No, Mabel, there was one thing I didn't think of." He picked up the reins. "When I took all my locksmith's tools down to Lady Mullings's to open up her attic, I never thought I'd need 'em again for a tricky job of this size. Gid-dup, Tiger!" And the pony trotted off.
When next they reached the church porch, night had completely fallen, but low above the yew trees, a pale moon was rising. Mr. Planter threw it a glance, as though measuring it for size. They had come down on foot, Mrs. Platter carrying the box of keys and Mr. Platter his tool bag and the flashlight.
"Now, you hold the flashlight, Mabel, and pass me the box of keys. I took a good look this afternoon at the key that woman was using, and I'll be blowed if I haven't got one almost exactly like it. Most of these old church locks were made the same..." He was feeling about among the keys. "I took it when they modernized the church at Went-le-Cray. Got antique value, some of those old keys have..."
He was right—on all counts. After a bit of initial fumbling, they heard the lock grind back, and the heavy door squeaked open. "What about that?" said Mr. Platter in a satisfied voice.
They went inside, Mrs. Platter on her tiptoes. "No need for that," Mr. Platter told her irritably. "There's no one to hear us now." But there was somebody to hear them.
As soon as Kitty Whitlace had locked the west door and silence had reigned again in the church, Arrietty climbed down from the rood screen and ran to the harmonium to break the dreadful news. Her uncle Hendreary had his foot up on the sofa (as Pod had prophesied, he was becoming a martyr to gout), and her aunt Lupy was busy preparing a little supper. The candles were all lighted again, and the room looked very cozy. "Oh, there you are!" Aunt Lupy exclaimed. "I couldn't get on till you came: I'm making a sparrow's-egg omelet. Where's Timmus?"
And then Arrietty had had to tell them. It was a dreadful evening. There was nothing anyone could do. For almost the first time, Arrietty realized the utter helplessness of their tiny race when pitted against human odds. She stayed on and on, trying to comfort them, although she knew her own parents must be getting worried. At last she said ( thinking of Timmus's terror and loneliness), "It will only be for one night. When Mrs. Witless opens the press in the morning, he'll be out and away in a moment!"
"I hope you're right," Aunt Lupy said, but she did wipe away her tears, and Arrietty, although she did not fancy the idea of the long walk back in the dark, now felt she might leave for home. It was then that they heard the squeak and the scrape of the main door into the church.
"What's that?" whispered Aunt Lupy, and they all froze.
"Someone's come into the church," said Hendreary, very low. He rose from his couch and, limping badly, blew out the candles one by one. They sat in the darkness, waiting.
A voice spoke sharply, but they did not hear what it said. Footsteps were approaching the vestry. They heard the sudden rattle of the curtain rings, and a strange light was flashing about. The borrowers drew together on the sofa, clasping one another's hands.
"Did you bring the key box, Mabel?" Oh, that voice! Arrietty would have recognized it anywhere; it even haunted her dreams. She began to tremble.
"Shine the flashlight into my tool bag, Mabel." The voice was very close now. They could hear the sound of heavy breathing, the clank of metal, the shuffling of boots on the flagstones. "And take the cloth off that table."
"What are you going to do now, Sidney?" It was Mrs. Platter's voice. She sounded nervous.
"Nail that tablecloth up over the window. Then we can switch on a light. We might as well work in comfort, seeing as we've got all night and the place to ourselves, like..."
"Oh, that will be better. I mean, a bit of light. I don't like it in here, Sidney, I don't like it in here at all!"
"Oh, don't be silly, Mabel. Take that other end—" The borrowers heard the sound of hammering. Then Mr. Platter said, "Draw those other curtains tight together, the ones leading to the church." Again there was a rattle of curtain rings, and the electric light flashed on. "Ah, that's better. Now we can see what we're doing."
The borrowers could now make out one another's faces, and very frightened faces they were. However, the sofa was well back from the glow that seeped in from their entrance.
There was silence. Mr. Platter must be studying the lock. After about five minutes, he said in a pleased voice, "Ah ... now I think I see!"
The oddest sounds were heard as the operation got under way: squeaks, tappings, scrapings, and "Pass me that, Mabel; pass me this, Mabel; no, not the thick one, the fine one; now that thing with a blunt end; put your finger here, Mabel; press hard; hold it steady; now that thing with a sharp point, Mabel," and so on. Mabel did not say a word. At last, there was a long, loud, satisfied "Ah...!" and the faint squeak of hinges: the door of the press was open!
There was an awed silence: the Platters had never seen such treasure. Mr. Platter's amazement was such that he did not make an immediate grab for the collecting box, which stood humbly on the middle shelf.
"Jewel
s, gold ... all those stones are real, Mabel. The rector must be mad. Or is it the parish?" He sounded very disapproving. "Stuff like this ought to be in a museum or a bank or something..." Arrietty, listening, was again surprised by the word "bank"—a bank, to her, was something with grass growing on it. "Oh, well," Mr. Platter went on sternly (he sounded genuinely shocked), "I suppose it's their lookout. Glad I'm not a church warden!"
There was a pause, and the borrowers guessed that Mr. Platter had picked up the collecting box, because they heard the faint clink of loose money.
"Careful, Sidney," warned Mrs. Platter. "We don't want to damage it—I mean that creature inside. Set the box down here on the table."
The borrowers heard a chair being pulled out, and then a second chair. Again there was silence (except for a little heavy breathing) while Mr. Platter picked his second lock. This one did not take so long. Arrietty heard the rustle of paper money and the clink of coins as lingers felt about inside the box.
Mrs. Platter broke the sudden shocked silence. "It's gone! Look, Sidney, how he's piled up the half crowns, and the florins, made a kind of staircase to get out, to reach the slot in the lid—"
"It's all right, Mabel, don't panic. He may have got out of the box, but he couldn't have got out of the cupboard. He's in there all right, hiding among all that stuff."
Again Arrietty heard the scrape of chairs and the shuffle of footsteps on stone. "Oh, goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Platter. "Here's a five-pound note—dropped on the floor!"
"Put it back, Mabel. I'll have to lock that box up again and place it back just where it was. But, first, we've got to take everything out of this middle shelf. You stand by the table and I'll pass things out to you. We'll get to him in the end. You'll see..."
Aunt Lupy began to cry again, and Arrietty put her arms round her—not so much, this time, to comfort her as to prevent her from breaking down into a storm of audible sobs.
The only sound they heard from the vestry was the faint clank of metal on wood. There were a few Ohs and Ahs of awestruck admiration when it seemed that Mr. Platter had handed his wife some particularly beautiful object. Otherwise they worked in methodical silence.
"He doesn't seem to be here..." said Mr. Platter in a puzzled voice, "unless he's behind that ivory thing at the back. Did you look inside all the chalices?"
"Of course I did," said Mrs. Platter.
There was a short silence. Then Mr. Platter said, "He's not on this shelf, Mabel." He sounded more puzzled than desperate.
Then everything happened at once. A sudden shriek from Mrs. Platter of "There he is! There he is! There he goes..." and from Mr. Platter, "Where? Where?...Where?"
"Through the curtains into the church—"
"After him, Mabel. I'll put on the lights—"
Arrietty heard the sharp clicks, one after another: all lights in the church were controlled from the vestry, and it was as though Mr. Platter had run his hand down the whole set. There was a clashing of curtain rings, and Mr. Platter, too, was gone.
She heard the panting voice of Mrs. Platter echoing down the church. "He was on the bottom shelf!"
Arrietty ran out into the vestry. Yes. There was the cupboard wide open and the middle shelf bare. It was on the bottom shelf, the one at floor level, where Timmus must have been hiding: the shelf where the candlesticks were kept. Some of these were so tall and ornate that they nearly touched the shelf above. Timmus must have slid over the outer edge of the middle shelf and onto a candlestick on the shelf below. Perhaps, thought Arrietty, in a strange old cupboard like this the edges of the shelves did not quite meet the backs of the doors when closed. There must have been a little space. Timmus had used it.
Now, if he could reach a bell rope in time, he would be safe. She ran up to the curtains where Mr. Platter had dragged them aside and peered round the edge of one into the church, but started back at the sound of a crash and a cry of pain. She knew what it was: someone, trying to get to the curtains leading to the bell chamber, had knocked over one of Mrs. Crabtree's heavy flowerpots onto somebody else's foot. Cautiously, she went back to the curtain and stared into the church. All the lights were on, and there at the far end was Mr. Platter hopping about and gripping his foot in both hands. Mrs. Platter was nowhere to be seen. Arrietty guessed what had happened. Timmus had dashed under the curtains into the bell chamber. And Mrs. Platter had dashed after him and, in her clumsy haste, had knocked over one of the precious pelargoniums. Plant, plant pot, shards, and earth must now lie strewn on the ground below Lady Mullings's cherished arrangement, completed with so much pride only a few hours before.
Then came a sound, so deep and resonant that it seemed to fill the church, pass through its walls, and throb into the still night air. A lingering sound, a sound that could be heard (by those who were still awake) in every house in the village: the sound of a church bell.
It was then that Mrs. Platter began to shriek. Shriek after shriek. Even Aunt Lupy came out, followed by a limping Hendreary, to see what had happened. All they could see from the vestry steps was an empty church, ablaze with light. But the shrieks went on and on.
And the bell shuddered out again.
Chapter Twenty-five
Kitty Whitlace was upstairs making up a bed for Miss Menzies when she heard the bell (she had managed to dissuade Miss Menzies from cycling "down those lonely lanes at this hour of the night," and Miss Menzies had, at last, agreed). Kitty, trembling and as white as the sheets she had been smoothing, dropped the pillow and the case into which she had been inserting it and stumbled down the stairs into the little sitting room.
"Did you hear that?" she gasped.
"Yes," said Miss Menzies. She had risen from the sofa on which Kitty had left her reclining. Whitlace had gone to bed.
"There's someone in the church!"
"Yes," said Miss Menzies again.
"I left everything locked—everything. I must go down!"
"Not by yourself," said Miss Menzies quickly. "You must go and wake up your husband, and we had better telephone Mr. Pomfret. I'll do that if you like."
"You know where the lights are in the hall?" said Kitty.
"Yes, I think so." Miss Menzies did not sound too certain. She knew the reputation of this house and did not much fancy feeling her way in the dark.
"All right, then," Kitty was saying, "I'll go and wake up Whitlace. It takes a bit of doing once he's gone right off..." And she rushed upstairs again.
Mr. Pomfret (who, by the sound of his voice, had also been asleep) said he would come at once and that no one was to go into the church until he arrived on his bicycle. "You never know. I've got my truncheon, but tell Whitlace to bring a stick..."
As Miss Menzies walked back through the empty old kitchen, firmly leaving the light on in the hall, she rather hoped there would be someone in the church even if they were a bit violent. She felt she would die of shame if, after her last interview with Mr. Pomfret, this late-night call on a possibly weary policeman should turn out to be a false alarm. The bell rang out again. For some reason, this seemed to reassure her.
They waited for Mr. Pomfret by the lychgate. Whitlace had pulled on a few clothes and was armed with a broom handle. There was someone in the church, all right, if the light from the windows was anything to go by. But even this was slightly dimmed by the brilliance of the moon.
"You're sure you didn't leave the lights on by mistake?" Miss Menzies asked Kitty anxiously.
"There weren't any lights. It was still daylight when I locked up. And what about the bell? There it goes again..."
"But not so loud." As the sound died away, Miss Menzies went on to explain, "A bell can go on quite a long time on its own momentum."
"That's right," said Whitlace, "once it's on the swing, like..."
Mr. Pomfret arrived quietly and propped his bicycle against the wall. "Well, here we are," he said. "Got your stick, Whitlace? We men better go first..." and led the way towards the church. Kitty Whitlace felt in her pocket to make
sure she had brought the key. A great beam of moonlight lay across half the porch, and Kitty could see that there seemed to be another key in the door. She pointed this out to Mr. Pomfret and showed him her own. He nodded sagely before trying out the one in the door. But the door had been left unlocked and opened easily (with its usual grinding squeak), and they all followed Mr. Pomfret in. The bell tolled out again, even more quietly this time, as though on a dying fall.
The church looked empty, but somebody had been there, all right. They saw the overturned flowerpot, and after the sound of the bell had died away, they heard a strange noise, a kind of regular gasping; or was it more like a grunting? Mr. Pomfret went straight towards the back of the church, slid behind Lady Mullings's flowers, and (rather dramatically) flung back the curtains leading into the bell chamber. Then he stood still.
The three others coming up behind saw the tableau framed, as on a stage, by the drawn-back curtains.
A largish lady seemed to have fallen to the floor, her hat askew, her hair awry. One leg stuck out before her, the other one seemed doubled somewhere underneath. It was Mrs. Platter. It took him quite a minute to recognize her. She was
sobbing and gasping, and seemed to be in pain. The bell rope, he saw, was moving with a kind of steady indifference, but the "tail," like a frenzied snake, was thrashing about the floor. Mr. Platter, trying to keep clear of it, was rushing back and forth, hopping at times from one foot to the other. Mr. Pomfret did not know very much about bells, but he had heard grim stories about the "tails" of bell ropes: they could whip your head off as likely as not. Mrs. Platter seemed relatively safe: she was at the center of the storm.
The great bell sounded again, quite gently this time. The main rope was moving more slowly, and the thrashing "tail" began to lose its impetus, until at last it settled down, like an exhausted serpent, in curls and whorls upon the floor.