Berry And Co. (26 page)

The man returned as we were finishing dinner, and
The History of the Pleydell Family
was brought to Berry while we sat at dessert.

Nuts and wine went by the board.

As my brother-in-law cut the string, we left our places and crowded about him…

Reference to the index bade us turn to page fifty-four.

As the leaves flicked, we waited breathlessly. Then—

“Here we are,” said Berry. “‘WILLIAM PLEYDELL. In 1652 Nicholas died, to be succeeded by his only child, William, of whom little is known. This is perhaps as well, for such information as is to hand, regarding his life and habits, shows him to have been addicted to no ordinarily evil ways. The lustre which his father and grandfather had added to the family name William seems to have spared no effort to tarnish. When profligacy was so fashionable, a man must have lived hard indeed to attract attention. Nevertheless, Samuel Pepys, the Diarist, refers to him more than once, each time commenting upon the vileness of his company and his offensive behaviour. Upon one occasion, we are told, at the play-house the whole audience was scandalized by a
loose drunken frolic
, in which
Mr William Pleydell, a gentleman of Hampshire
, played a disgraceful part. What was worse, he carried his dissolute habits into the countryside, and at one time his way of living at the family seat White Ladies was so openly outrageous that the incumbent of Bilberry actually denounced the squire from the pulpit, referring to him as ‘a notorious evil-liver’ and ‘an abandoned wretch.’ If not for his good name, however, for the house and pleasure-gardens he seems to have had some respect, for it was during his tenure that the stables were rebuilt and the gardens decorated with statuary which has since disappeared.
A sundial’
” – the sensation which the word produced was profound, and Jill cried out with excitement – “‘
a sundial, bearing the date 1663 and the cipher WP, still stands in the garden of the old dower-house, which passed out of the hands of the family early in the nineteenth century.’”

Berry stopped reading, and laid the book down.

“The dower-house?” cried Daphne blankly.

Her husband nodded.

“But I never knew there was one. Besides—”

“Better known today as ‘The Lawn, Bilberry.’”

“Quite right,” said Jonah. “A hundred years ago that stood inside the park.”

“The Lawn?” cried Jill. “Why, that’s where the fire was. Years and years ago. I remember old Nanny taking me down to see it the next day. And it’s never been rebuilt.”

“To my knowledge,” said I, “it’s had a board up, saying it’s for sale, for the last fifteen years. Shall we go in for it? They can’t want much. The house is gutted, the garden’s a wilderness, and—”

A cry from Adèle interrupted me. While we were talking, she had picked up the volume.

“Listen to this,” she said. “‘William Pleydell died unmarried and intestate in 1667, and was succeeded by his cousin Anthony. Except that during the former’s tenure a good deal of timber was cut, White Ladies had been well cared for. The one blot upon his stewardship was the disappearance of the greater part of the family plate, which Nicholas Pleydell’s will proves to have been unusually rare and valuable.
There used to exist a legend, for which the author can trace no foundation, that William had brought it from London during the Great Plague and buried it, for want of a strong-room, at White Ladies.
A far more probable explanation is that its graceless inheritor surreptitiously disposed of the treasure for the same reason as he committed waste, viz., to spend the proceeds upon riotous living.’”

Dumbly we stared at the reader…

The murder was out.

Berry whipped out his watch.

“Nine o’clock,” he announced. “We can do nothing tonight. And that sweep Vandy’s got a long lead. We haven’t a moment to lose. Who are the agents for The Lawn?”

“It’s on the board,” said I, “and I’ve read it a thousand times, but I’m hanged if I can remember whether it’s Miller of Brooch, or a London firm.”

“Slip over there the first thing in the morning,” said Jonah. “If it’s Miller, so much the better. You can go straight on to Brooch. If it’s a London man – well, there’s always the telephone.”

“I hope to heaven,” said Daphne, “it’s – it’s still for sale.”

“Vandy’s got Scotch blood in him,” said Berry. “He won’t lay out fifteen hundred or so without looking round.”

“More like three thousand,” said Jonah.

“It’s a lot of money to risk,” said Daphne slowly.

“Yes,” said Adèle anxiously. “I feel that. I know it’s your affair, but, if it hadn’t been for my dream, this would never have happened. And supposing there’s nothing in it… I mean, it would be dreadful to think you’d thrown away all that money and gotten nothing in exchange. And they always say that dreams are contrary.”

“Let’s face the facts,” said my brother-in-law. “Taking everything into consideration, doesn’t it look like a vision, or second sight?”

We agreed vociferously. Only Adèle looked ill at ease.

Berry continued.

“Very well, then. Less than a month ago all our silver was taken off us by comic burglars. Doesn’t it look as if we were being offered the chance of replacing it by something better?”

Again we agreed.

“Lastly, the insurance company has paid up to the tune of four thousand pounds, which amount is now standing to the credit of my deposit account at Coutts’. I tell you, if we don’t have a dart, we shall be mad.”

“I agree,” said I.

“So do I,” cried Jill. “I’m all for it.”

Only Daphne and Jonah hesitated.

I laid my hand upon the former’s shoulder.

“Supposing,” I said, “we take no action, but Vandy does. Supposing he strikes oil and lands the stuff under our noses… Wouldn’t you cheerfully blow the four thousand just to avoid that?”

My sister’s eyes flashed, and Jonah’s chin went up.

“Anything,” said Daphne emphatically, “anything would be better than that.”

So was the decision made.

We adjourned to the drawing-room, and for the rest of the evening discussed the matter furiously.

The suggestion that Vandy would not wait to buy, but had already got to work at The Lawn, was summarily dismissed. Our cousin was too cautious for that. He knew that the moment we had the book, we should be as wise as he, and that, since we were at loggerheads, we should certainly not sit quietly by and permit him to enrich himself to our teeth, when a word to the owners of The Lawn would compel him to disgorge any treasure he found. No, Vandy was no fool. He would walk circumspectly, and buy first and dig afterwards.

It was Jonah who raised the question of “treasure trove.” In some uneasiness we sought for a book of law. Investigation, however, satisfied us that, if the plate were ever unearthed, the Crown would not interfere. Evidence that an ancestor had buried it was available, and reference to the will of Nicholas would establish its identity. Whether it belonged to us or to Vandy was another matter, but Reason suggested that Law and Equity alike would favour the party in whose land it was found.

We ordered breakfast early and the car at a quarter to nine, but, for all that, it was past midnight before we went to bed.

The next morning, for once in a way, we were up to time. Two minutes after the quarter we were all six in the car, and it was not yet nine o’clock when Jonah pulled up in the shade of a mighty oak less than a hundred paces from the tall iron gates which stood gaunt, rusty and forbidding, to mar the beauty of the quiet by-road.

So far as we could see there was no one about, but we were anxious not to attract attention, so Berry and I alighted and strolled casually forward.

The object of our visit was, of course, to learn from the board in whose hands the property had been placed for sale. But we had decided that, if it were possible, we must effect an entrance, to see whether the turf about the sundial bad been disturbed. Moreover, if we could get Adèle inside, it would be highly interesting to see whether she recognized the place.

Wired on to the mouldering gates, a weather-beaten board glared at us.

FREEHOLD

with immediate possession

TO BE SOLD

This Very Desirable

OLD-WORLD MANSION

Standing in three acres of pleasure grounds

And only requiring certain structural repairs

To be made an ideal modern residence.

F R MILLER, Estate Agent, High St, Brooch.

Considering that the house had been gutted nearly twenty years ago, and had stood as the fire had left it from then until now, the advertisement was euphemistic.

By dint of peering between the corrupted bars, it was possible to see for ourselves the desolation. A press of nettles crowded about the scorched and blackened walls, square gaping mouths, that had been windows, showed from the light within that there was no roof, while here and there charred timbers thrust their unsightly way from out of a riot of brambles, wild and disorderly. What we could see of the garden was a very wilderness. Tall rank grass flourished on every side, carriage-way and borders alike had been blotted into a springing waste, and the few sprawling shrubs which we could recognize hardly emerged from beneath the choking smother of luxuriant bindweed.

The gates were chained and padlocked. But they were not difficult to scale, and in a moment Berry and I were over and standing knee-deep in the long wet grass.

Stealthily we made our way to the back of the house…

The sundial was just visible. The grass of what had once been a trim lawn rose up about the heavy pedestal, coarse and tumultuous. But it was untouched. No foot of man or beast had trodden it – lately, at any rate.

Simultaneously we heaved sighs of relief.

Then—

“Adèle’ll never recognise this,” said Berry. “It’s hopeless. What she saw was a lawn, not a prairie.” I nodded. “Still,” he went on, “there used to be a door in the wall – on the east side.” As he spoke, he turned and looked sharply at the haggard building. “Thought I heard something,” he added.

“Did you?”

I swung on my heel, and together we stared and listened. Eyes and ears alike went unrewarded. The silence of desolation hung like a ragged pall, gruesome and deathly…

Without a word we passed to the east of the ruin. After a little we came to the door in the wall. Here was no lock, and with a little patience we drew the bolts and pulled the door open. It gave on to a little lane, which ran into the by-road at a point close to where the others were waiting.

I left Berry and hastened back to the car.

Exclamations of surprise greeted my issuing from the lane, and I could read the same unspoken query in four faces at once.

“We’re first in the field so far,” I said. There was a gasp of relief. “Come along. We’ve found a way for you.”

Adèle and Jill were already out of the car. Daphne and Jonah made haste to alight.

“Think we can leave her?” said Jonah, with a nod at the Rolls.

“Oh, yes. We shan’t be a minute.”

Hurriedly we padded back the way I had come. Berry was still at the door, and in silence we followed him to where he and I had stood looking and listening a few minutes before.

“O-o-oh!” cried Jill, in an excited whisper.

“What about it, Adèle?” said Berry.

Adèle looked about her, knitting her brows. Then—

“I’m afraid to say anything,” she said. “It may be the place I saw. I can’t say it isn’t. But it’s so altered. I think, if the grass was cut…”

“What did I say?” said my brother-in-law.

“But the pedestal was exactly that height. That I’ll swear. And it stood on a step.”

“What did the words look like?” said I.

“They were carved in block letters on the side of the cornice.”

As carefully as I could, I stepped to the sundial. As I came up to it, my foot encountered a step…

The column was unusually massive, and the dial must have been two feet square. Lichened and weather-beaten, an inscription upon the cornice was yet quite easy to read.

PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR

And the words were carved in block lettering…

A buzz of excitement succeeded my report. Then Daphne turned quickly and looked searchingly at the house.

“I feel as if we were being watched,” she said, shuddering. “Let’s get back to the car.”

As Jonah followed the girls into the lane—

“What about bolting the door?” said I.

Berry shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Any way, we’ve trodden the grass down. Besides, there’s nothing to hide.”

We dragged the door to and hastened after the others.

As we climbed into the car, Jonah started the engine.

“What are the orders?” he said. “Is Miller the agent? You never said.”

“Yes,” said I. “We’d better go straight to Brooch.”

Our way lay past the main entrance of The Lawn. As we approached this, Jonah exclaimed and set his foot on the brake.

Leaning against the wall was a bicycle, and there was a man’s figure busy about the gates. He appeared to be climbing over…

As we came up alongside, he looked at us curiously. Then he went on with his work.

A moment later he slid a pair of pliers into his pocket and, wringing the board clear of its fastenings, lowered it to the ground.

We were too late.

The Lawn was no longer for sale.

Our chagrin may be imagined more easily than it can be described.

We returned to White Ladies in a state of profound depression, alternately cursing Vandy and upbraiding ourselves for not having sent for the book upon the evening of the day of our visit to Broken Ash.

Jonah reproached himself bitterly for giving our cousin the benefit of his detective work, although both Daphne and I were positive that Vandy had identified the pedestal from Adèle’s description before Jonah had volunteered the suggestion that it was a sundial.

As for Adèle, she was inconsolable.