CHAPTER VIII
An Adventure
The transference of Tony cemented the friendship between Gwethyn andGitha. With such a precious bond to unite them, intimacy followed as amatter of course. On closer acquaintance the little Toadstool provedquite an interesting companion; she was humorous and amusing, and thoughnot demonstrative, seemed to have a store of affection hidden behind thebarrier of her reserve. She was seldom confidential, but every now andthen she would open her heart the least little bit, and give Gwethyn apeep at her real feelings.
"Why did you take such a spite against me when first I came?" asked thelatter in one of these rare moments.
"I don't know! I liked you and yet I hated you! I think it was becauseyou and Katrine sprung yourselves so suddenly on me that morning in theorchard. You caught me in my old pinafore feeding the fowls. You bothlooked so smart, and you marched up so confidently asking for milk, andevidently taking me for a farm girl. I could have thrown stones at you!I thought you were conceited, and I'd try and take you down a peg."
"You certainly did your best. You were absolutely vitriolic!"
"Well, I'm sorry. No, I'm not! You were rather conceited at first. Youand Katrine thought you'd just run the show at Aireyholme. You're everso much nicer now. Don't be offended! I always say what I think. Youknow that by this time."
The Toadstool was certainly apt to carry the virtue of frankness beyondall bounds, and to allow it to degenerate into a vice. Gwethyn, however,was a very even-tempered girl, and instead of taking offence she onlylaughed good-humouredly at most of Githa's remarks, and told her not tobe a little wasp. In the circumstances it was the best possibletreatment. People who are fond of making smart and stinging remarks arealways disconcerted if they fall flat. Gwethyn's good-natured tolerationmade Githa rather ashamed of herself. Insensibly she was catching hernew friend's tone. The habit of perpetually sharpening her wit upon hercompanions began to slip away; not all at once, for habits are a stronggrowth, but by distinctly perceptible degrees. Even the girls noticed adifference. "Spitfire isn't half so venomous as she used to be," was thegeneral verdict.
Though Githa might practise plain speaking where other people wereconcerned, she was extremely reserved on the subject of her own affairs.Only very occasionally would she wax confidential and talk about herhome life. Even then the scraps of information seemed to escape herunwillingly. From the few hints thus dropped, and from what the othergirls could tell, Gwethyn pieced together the main outline of herfriend's childhood. It was a sad little story. Lilac Grange had beenfull of tragedy. Six years ago, when on a visit there, Githa's father,mother, and two elder sisters had fallen victims to a virulent outbreakof diphtheria, and had died within a few days of one another. The boyand girl, the sole survivors of the family, were adopted by theirgrandfather, and had lived with him at the Grange until his sudden deaththree years afterwards. Old Mr. Ledbury had often mentioned that hemeant to make provision for his two grandchildren, but apparently he hadallowed the months to slip by without fulfilling his intention. When hisaffairs were investigated, the only will which could be discovered wasone dated ten years back, in which he left his entire fortune to hiselder son, Wilfred Ledbury. At that time he had quarrelled with hisdaughter, Githa's mother, but a reconciliation had followed shortlyafterwards, and the Hamiltons had stayed at the Grange on quite friendlyterms. Mr. Ledbury had had another son, Frank, a headstrong, unsettledfellow, who had also quarrelled with his hot-tempered father and hadgone away to America. That Frank should be entirely cut out of anyinheritance, though unjust, was not surprising; but the neighbourhoodagreed that to leave the orphan grandchildren penniless was an openscandal, and that old Mr. Ledbury had failed in his duty by neglectingto make a will in their favour.
Ill-natured people even whispered sometimes that Mr. Wilfred Ledbury,who had been on the spot at the time of his father's death, had spentthe night hunting through his papers, and had probably suppressed anydocument that was not to his advantage. Such stories, however, were onlyin the nature of gossip. Nothing could be proved. Nobody had seen, orwitnessed, a later will, and Mr. Wilfred Ledbury stepped unchallengedinto his heritage. After all, it was not as good as he had expected. Anumber of securities, which he had believed his father to possess,turned out to have been disposed of beforehand, though what had becomeof the purchase-money it was impossible to tell. Old Mr. Ledbury hadbeen fond of speculating on the Stock Exchange, and he had probably lostit in some unlucky venture. Mrs. Wilfred, thinking the Grange unhealthy,had refused to go and live there, so the furniture was sold, and the oldhouse was to let, though so far no tenant had yet been found to take it.Mr. Wilfred Ledbury was a solicitor in Carford, and owned a pretty housein a much more open and airy situation four miles beyond Heathwell. Hisdaughter was married (to his partner in the firm), and his sons weregrown up, one practising at the Bar in London, and the other a professorat Cambridge. His whole interest was centred in his own children andtheir prospects. He had taken charge of his nephew and niece after hisfather's death, and gave them a home and education, but he let them feelthat he considered them an encumbrance. The boarding-school which hechose for Cedric was not altogether suitable, but he would not listen tothe boy's complaints, or inquire into the justice of his grievances.Githa he simply ignored. He paid the bills for her schooling andclothes, but took no notice of her. She kept out of his way as much aspossible, and rarely spoke to him unless he asked her a question.
Mrs. Ledbury was not unkind, but did not care to be troubled with herniece. She left Githa almost entirely to her own devices. Except whenher brother came back for the holidays the poor child led a lonely lifeat her uncle's home. She amused herself mostly out of doors. She wasfond of animals, kept a few rabbits and white mice in a disused stable,and liked to help to look after the poultry. In the house she wassuppressed and quiet, generally with her nose buried in a book. Her auntsaid that she was a most unresponsive, tiresome, and unaccountablechild, with no sense of gratitude for all that was done for her. The oneperson in the world whom Githa worshipped was her brother Cedric. Shelived for his return from school, and the holidays spent with him wereher landmarks for the year. At present she bestowed the wealth of hersurplus affection upon Tony. He was a fascinating little dog, and sowell-behaved that Mrs. Ledbury offered no objections to his temporaryadoption. She was really kind to her niece in the matter of allowing herto keep pets. Tony took to his new mistress with an enthusiasm thatwould have disgusted Gwethyn, had she seen it. But Githa was discreetenough not to descant too much upon his blandishments, and keep hisaffection as a delightful secret between herself and him.
"I took you first of all to please Gwethyn, you precious!" she wouldsay, kissing his silky head; "but now you're like my own, and what I'lldo when I've got to give you up I don't know!"
Gwethyn, ignorant of the fickle Tony's lightly transferred allegiance,would ask eagerly for news of him each morning. She kept a snapshot ofhim on her dressing-table, and urged Githa to take the earliestopportunity of smuggling him to school for a day. But Githa, under theplea of the gardener's lack of connivance, and fear of Mrs. Franklin'swrath, always managed to find some excuse, and put the matter off to afuture date.
The Marsdens had been again to the Grange with Miss Aubrey, and hadfinished their sketches of the dovecot. It was a pretty subject, and theresult was quite successful. Katrine, contemplating her canvas in thestudio on the following afternoon, was frankly pleased.
"We're both improving," she said to Gwethyn (the two girls had the roomto themselves for once). "I like Miss Aubrey's style of teachingimmensely. It's just what I wanted. She's helped me enormously. By theby, I lost my best penknife at the Grange yesterday. I must have droppedit somewhere by my camp-stool."
"What a nuisance! But you have another?"
"Not so good. I don't mean to abandon that dear little pearl-handledone. Will you come with me now, and we'll go and look for it?"
"Right-o! The Grange is out of bounds, but who cares?"
"Certainly I don't! Mrs. Franklin's rules are ridiculous for a girl ofmy age. Surely I can go and fetch my penknife? Besides, we needn't go bythe road. If we climb the fence in the orchard we can cut across thefields as the crow flies, and get into the lane by the big gate of theGrange."
"I'm your girl! Let's toddle off at once. If any one croaks I'm sure wecan call the fields within bounds."
"I'm not going to be bound by bounds. Mrs. Franklin is a bounder!"retorted Katrine grandly.
Nevertheless, she did not make her exit over the orchard fence until shewas sure no one was watching. Choosing a suitable moment, the girlsscaled the low bars, then skirted round by the hedge along the fieldtill they were out of sight of Aireyholme. By this short cut it was onlya few minutes' walk to the Grange.
The old house seemed more than ever like a story-book palace with anenchanted garden. The lilacs were fading, but the tangle of greenery hadgrown taller and wilder, and even the very windows were invaded and halfcovered by long trails of bindweed and traveller's joy that stretchedout quickly spreading shoots and clinging tendrils, and threatened tobury everything in a mass of vegetation.
"How absolutely still and quiet it is!" said Katrine. "I don't suppose asoul ever comes near except ourselves. It doesn't look as if a footstephad been across the grass for a long time. Why, here's my penknife, onthe walk. I must have dropped it out of my painting-bag. I'm so gladI've found it."
"It's well we came this afternoon. It would have rusted if it had lainthere much longer. I wonder what the old house is like inside?"
"Probably very dark and damp, with the windows shaded and unopened."
"It looks gloomy--as if people had died there."
"It is sad to see it so neglected and overgrown. One feels Nature hasbeen too exuberant, she doesn't care about our little lives andtragedies, it doesn't matter to her what has been suffered here. Shejust pushes that all to one side and forgets, and goes on making freshshoots as if nothing had happened."
"I think it's kind of her to try and throw a lovely green veil over theplace. It's like charity covering a multitude of sins. She's doing herbest in her own way to soften down the tragedy. I'm going to lift herveil and take a peep inside," and Gwethyn pulled back a mass ofsucculent briony and peered through the dim glass.
"Can you see anything?"
"Yes, I can see a hall and long passage. It looks interesting. Thiswindow is not latched. I believe I could push it up if you'd help me.Heave-o! There, it's actually open."
The girls found themselves peering into a small room, which wasapparently the vestibule of a hall. The window was not placed very high,so low indeed that Gwethyn scrambled without much difficulty on to thesill.
"I'm going in!" she declared. "It will be ever such fun to explore. Ialways wondered what the inside was like."
She dropped quite easily on to the floor within, and gave a hand toKatrine, who was not slow in following. Both felt it would be anadventure to investigate the interior of the old house. They stood stillfor a moment, listening, but not a sound was to be heard, so theyventured to go forward.
"I believe we have the place absolutely and entirely to ourselves,unless there are a few ghosts flitting about the passages! They'd seemmore suitable inhabitants than human beings!" proclaimed Gwethyn.
Several sitting-rooms led from the hall, which by their decorationsproclaimed their use. The one with the rosewood fittings was undoubtedlythe dining-room, the larger one with the big bow window could not failto be the drawing-room, and the one to the back, with the oak panelling,must surely be a study or library. The wall-papers were very faded anddilapidated, and the paint dingy; there was an air of shabbiness abouteverything, the numerous damp-stains, the cobwebs, the odd heaps ofstraw and the thick dust helped to render it unattractive, and thegeneral impression was forlorn in the extreme.
"I don't wonder nobody takes it," said Gwethyn. "I should say it will beto let for years and years. Why doesn't Mr. Ledbury tidy it up?"
"Perhaps he thinks it's no use spending the money unless he has apossible tenant. Even if he papered and painted it, it would soon getinto the same state if no one lived here."
"He might have a caretaker."
"Yes, I wonder he doesn't. I expect it's so far away from the villagethat nobody would come without being very highly paid, and he couldn'tafford that when he's getting no rent."
How large the place seemed! The girls peeped into empty room after emptyroom, their footsteps echoing in that strange hollow fashion that isonly noticed in deserted houses.
"It gives me the shivers, it's so wretched," said Gwethyn. "I certainlyshouldn't like to live here. I think we've been nearly all round. Shallwe go downstairs again? Wait! There's just this one passage that leadssomewhere."
"Haven't you seen enough?"
"My curiosity is insatiable."
Katrine hesitated. One room was exactly like another. It did not seemworth while to explore further. She half turned in the direction of thestairs; then noticing that the passage was panelled, and thinking thatthe room at the end might therefore be older and quainter than the rest,she changed her mind. After all, it was disappointing, as bare and emptyas the others, with torn paper hanging in strips from the damp walls.
"There's a fine view of the dovecot though," said Katrine. "I can seethe carving on the gable beautifully from here."
She flung the window open wide. The fresh wholesome outside air camerushing in. The draught banged the door, and a sound of somethingfalling followed, but the girls were too occupied to take any notice.They were leaning out of the window trying to decipher the date on theworn piece of carving.
"It looks like 1600," opined Gwethyn.
"More likely 1690. The tail of the nine is cracked away. It's older thanthe house at any rate. I wish I had my sketch-book here, and I'd havecopied it. Have you a note-book in your pocket?"
"No; and I shouldn't lend it to you if I had. We must be going at once,or we shall be late for prep."
Katrine consulted her watch, and turned to the door. Then she gave a cryof consternation. It was impossible to open it. The knob had beenloose, and when the door banged the whole handle had fallen out into thepassage. They were shut in as securely as if by bolt and bar. Here was adilemma, indeed! They looked at one another in consternation.
"What are we to do?" faltered Gwethyn.
Katrine was trying to wedge the handle of her penknife into the emptysocket, but the effort was useless. It went in a little way, but wouldnot turn. Her attempt to slip back the catch with the blade was equallyfutile. The unpleasant truth was hopelessly plain--they were prisonersin the empty house.
The prospect was appalling. The Grange was in such a secluded spot thatnobody might come near for days. No doubt they would soon be missed atAireyholme, but would Mrs. Franklin think of looking for them here? Theyshouted and called out of the window, but only the birds twittered inreply. They were in the upper story, a good height from the ground, andmuch too far to jump. The creepers were too frail to offer any adequatesupport.
They turned to the door again, and tried to break through one of thepanels, but the wood was well-seasoned oak and resisted their kicks andblows. Were ever two girls in such a desperate situation? The tears wereraining down Gwethyn's cheeks.
"Shall we have to stop here all night?" she sobbed. "I wish we'd nevercome near the wretched place!"
"We're trapped like rats in a cage!" declared Katrine, pacingdistractedly up and down their prison. She paused at the window."Gwethyn! I do believe somebody is in the garden! The blackbirds aremaking such a fuss!"
"Perhaps it's a cat or a hawk that's frightening them."
"Perhaps. But let us call in case it's a human being. Even a burglarwould be welcome!"
"We're rather like burglars ourselves!" said Gwethyn, her sense ofhumour triumphing over her tears. "Only there certainly isn't anythinghere to burgle."
The girls leaned from the window and shouted with all the power of theirlungs. Then they waited and liste
ned anxiously. Was that a footstepcrunching on the gravel.
"O jubilate! somebody's coming!" gasped Katrine. "Let's shout again! Oh,the angel!"
It was Mr. Freeman, sketching paraphernalia in hand, who stepped roundthe corner of the dovecot--a guardian angel in tweed knickers, smoking amost unangelic briar pipe. He looked about to see whence the noiseproceeded, and, spying the girls, waved his hand.
"We're in an awful fix!" called Katrine. "We're locked into this room.Will you please climb in through the vestibule window--it's open--andlet us out?"
"All right! I'll be up in half a jiff," replied Mr. Freeman, laying hispainting traps on the dovecot steps.
In a few minutes they could hear him tramping up the stairs. He soonpicked up the handle, fitted it in its socket, and opened the door. Heregarded the girls with an amused smile of accusation.
"It strikes me you young ladies ought to be at school instead ofexploring old houses on your own," he ventured in reply to theiroverwhelming thanks.
"We're going back now, and a jolly scrape we shall get into if we're notquick about it," said Gwethyn. "The Great Panjandrum will jaw us noend."
"Is your teacher capable of scolding?"
"Rather! You should just hear her!"
"She doesn't look it."
"Oh, you don't know her! She's all right in public, but she can be aTartar in private!"
A shade passed over Mr. Freeman's face. He seemed disappointed.
"Oh, I don't mean Miss Aubrey!" put in Gwethyn quickly. "She's adarling. It's Mrs. Franklin I'm talking about. She's an absolutelydifferent kind of person."
"Well, I'm glad to know somebody keeps you in order, for you seem toneed it," laughed Mr. Freeman. "Have you heard from your father andmother again?"
"We had a letter on Sunday. They're getting on splendidly," repliedKatrine. "Gwethyn, we must bolt!"
"THE UNPLEASANT TRUTH WAS HOPELESSLY PLAIN--THEY WEREPRISONERS IN THE EMPTY HOUSE!"]
With renewed thanks and a hasty good-bye to their rescuer, the girlsmade their exit, and tore back over the fields to Aireyholme. They didnot deserve any luck, but they managed to arrive in the very nick oftime, and walked into their classrooms just as the preparation bellstopped ringing. The teachers, supposing them to be in the garden, hadnot noticed their absence. They had agreed to keep the adventure tothemselves in case it should reach the ears of the monitresses, soGwethyn heroically refrained from relating her thrilling experience toRose or Susie. She had learnt by this time not to trust their tonguestoo far.