The Manor House School (11 page)

"I'm rather glad, on the whole, that nothing particular happened while you were away," said Cicely. "I should have wanted so dreadfully to tell somebody, I'm afraid Marjorie Butler might have wormed it out of me. As it is, they none of them know, and we still have the secret to ourselves."

The Plot Thickens

After hearing the story of Monica Courtenay, their friend's ancestress, Lindsay and Cicely felt a special interest in her portrait. They strolled one afternoon along the picture gallery to take another look at it. There were the pretty smiling face--so like Monica's--and the bunch of red roses that had saved the life of Sir Piers Courtenay. Was all the good fortune of the race to be hers, and would none of it descend to the namesake who so closely resembled her?

"If she could only come back and be of some use again!" sighed Lindsay. "She ought to know every secret of this house."

"I wish we could make her speak and tell us," said Cicely.

At that moment a distant door banged, and a great gust of wind blew along the gallery. Cicely started violently.

"Lindsay, did you see?" she exclaimed. "The picture moved in its frame!"

"Nonsense! How could it?" said Lindsay, who had been looking the other way.

"I tell you it did!"

"You must have imagined it."

It certainly seemed rather improbable. The portraits were all firmly fixed in the panelled walls, and no breath of air could be expected to penetrate behind them.

"It's almost as if she were alive," continued Cicely, "and just when we were wishing she could talk! No wonder people make up tales about her. I don't think I quite like it."

"How silly you are!" said Lindsay scornfully. "You might have seen a ghost!"

"Well, it is queer! You needn't laugh at me so. I'm not going to stay here any longer; I vote we go out into the garden."

Pictures that moved were rather more than Cicely had bargained for. Mysteries were all very well in their way, but she began to feel it was possible to have too much of a good thing. It was a distinct relief to her to leave the gloomy old gallery, with its armour and tapestry, and walk out into the fresh air and sunshine. There was still half an hour to be disposed of before tea, and the two girls sauntered leisurely in the direction of the kitchen-garden.

"I wish I knew where the boathouse used to be that Sir Piers wanted the key for," said Lindsay.

"It was not very far away, I dare say. The river runs somewhere at the bottom of those fields."

"I wonder if there's a path."

"I believe there's one at the end of the orchard. I saw Scott walking down there once."

"Shall we go and see?"

"All right!"

The orchard was forbidden ground. Perhaps, though, the fact that they risked a scolding, or even a mark for bad conduct, only made the adventure more interesting. They ascertained first that Scott was safely attending to his tomatoes in the greenhouse, then they dived hastily between the rows of young apple trees. Cicely was right. At the far end there was a small gate that led into a meadow.

"The river must be over there, hidden by those willows," said Lindsay.

"I hope we shan't meet a bull," said Cicely, looking nervously at a group of cattle in the distance.

"Oh, come along! You're surely not afraid of cows!"

They had soon crossed the field and reached the shade of the willows by the water's edge. The low bank was covered with reeds and rushes. Tall purple flowers were growing on a green, boggy island close by. It was a very pleasant place, just the kind of spot to choose on a hot summer's afternoon.

"Far nicer than the garden, because we have it all to ourselves," declared Cicely.

"Oh, look what I've found!" exclaimed Lindsay ecstatically.

She had been poking about among the reeds, and now pointed in triumph under the branches of a big willow to a smooth little pool, where there actually floated a punt, anchored by a long chain to the trunk of the tree.

It was a most attractive-looking boat, nicely polished, and with the name
Heatherbell
painted in neat white letters on the prow. It came quite easily to the edge of the bank when Lindsay pulled the chain, and seemed deliberately to invite them to step into it. Such a temptation was not to be resisted. In a moment they were both inside.

"If I can manage to untie it, I'm sure I could punt us out on to the river," said Lindsay.

"Oh, do! And then perhaps we could find some water-lilies," agreed her ever-willing friend.

Lindsay leaned over to reach the chain. It was wound tightly round the tree, and was very difficult to unfasten.

"I'll come and help you!" cried Cicely, and without a thought of the consequences she bounced up, and stepped to the other end of the boat.

Her sudden change of position utterly upset the balance of their small craft. There was a splash, a succession of squeals, and both girls were floundering in the water. Luckily the pool was shallow, and they were in no danger of drowning; but by the time they reached the bank they were wet through, and in an extremely draggled condition.

"What are we to do?" said Cicely blankly, trying to wring the water out of her skirts.

"Go back, I suppose, and put on dry things," replied Lindsay. "We shall get into a fearful scrape, I expect."

"Yes! What will Miss Frazer say?"

Miss Frazer was on the point of collecting her flock in preparation for tea, when two dejected, dripping figures came creeping along the terrace. If they had hoped to reach the side door unobserved, they were soon undeceived; the governess's sharp eyes spied them at once.

"Lindsay and Cicely!" she burst out wrathfully. "You naughty girls! Where have you been? Come at once into the house and change your clothes. You give more trouble than all the rest of the class put together. Miss Russell will have to be told about this."

Miss Russell was angry--really angry. She lectured them both severely, and stopped their recreation for the whole of the next day. This seemed only a very small circumstance in itself, but strangely enough it led indirectly to something of much more consequence.

The two delinquents looked decidedly rueful when, instead of going into the garden as usual, they were obliged to sit in the classroom, and copy out a passage from "Lycidas" in their best handwriting. It was trying, certainly, particularly as the other girls were playing a tennis handicap, and they could hear the soft thud of balls, and the cries of "'Vantage!" or "Game!" It was possible to see a few heads bobbing over the wall, but they could not gather how the tournament was progressing, nor which was the winning side.

Long before tea-time they had finished their allotted portions, and going to the window they leaned out, to try to catch a glimpse of what was happening on the lawn. The classroom was at the back of the house, and overlooked a small paved courtyard. Below, on a wooden bench in the sunshine, sat Scott, leisurely blacking boots, and humming to himself in a voice that had little tune in it. The cat, purring loudly, was rubbing herself vigorously against his trousers.

The girls were just going to call to him, and beg him to peep through the door in the wall and give them some news of the tennis players, when they suddenly changed their intention. Mrs. Wilson had appeared in the porch. She brought out a flower vase, flung the stale water away, and refilled it from one of the butts that stood near.

Scott had evidently seen her too, for he gave a short whistle to attract her attention, then, throwing down his blacking brush, he crossed the courtyard to speak to her. In spite of his lowered tone, his voice rose up clearly to the classroom window above.

"About what we were talking of this morning," he began. "It had best be done as soon as possible. I'll do it to-night."

"I've marked the place," replied Mrs. Wilson, "but I'll come with you to make sure. You'll want a helping hand. It's too much for one."

"You can hold the lantern, at any rate. It's a job that will need some caution. We mustn't attempt it till it's quite dark."

"No, not till everything's quiet," said Mrs. Wilson, as she re-entered the house.

Lindsay drew Cicely back quickly into the room, as Scott returned to his rows of boots on the bench. She did not wish him, at any cost, to see them at the window, or to know that they had overheard the conversation.

"What are they going to do?" asked Cicely breathlessly.

"I don't know. It must be something dreadful if they want to keep it so quiet."

"And do it in the dark, too!"

"I'm afraid both Mrs. Wilson and Scott are bad characters," said Lindsay in an impressive voice. "I expect they've stolen the treasure, and they're going to hide it in the garden. Perhaps even it may have something to do with the prisoner in the lantern room."

"You don't think they've killed him?" gasped Cicely.

"I can't tell. I believe they're capable of anything. I'm quite uneasy for fear they intend to harm Monica. We'll watch to-night, and find out what they're about. I shouldn't wonder if we're on the verge of a great discovery. It was most fortunate we were kept in this afternoon; if we hadn't happened to be at the window just then, we shouldn't have heard their plans."

Cicely's face had lengthened considerably at the idea of the black doings which it was evidently their duty to investigate.

"I don't know how we're to follow them in the dark," she said, after a moment's hesitation.

"We must," declared Lindsay emphatically. "I feel it all depends on us. Monica may be in the greatest danger, and we are the only ones who know anything about the matter, and can save her."

The tea-bell ringing at that moment sent them down to the dining-hall. The meal had been delayed half an hour on account of the tournament, so preparation followed immediately afterwards, and Lindsay and Cicely were obliged, with their thoughts still running on possible tragedies, to endeavour to apply their minds to the unromantic details of parsing.

It seemed of such minor importance whether a verb were transitive or intransitive, weak or strong, compared with whether Mrs. Wilson and Scott were really going to meet in the garden to carry out some fell intention. The time seemed endless until the books were at last put away, and they could snatch a few moments for private talk.

"There's one comfort," said Lindsay, "they won't begin until it's dark, so they can't have been doing anything while we've been in prep."

"It's generally light for quite half an hour after we're in bed," said Cicely. "I don't see yet how we're to know when they're starting."

"We shall find out," returned Lindsay confidently. "I have a kind of feeling that something is going to happen to-night."

"What are you two whispering about?" asked Nora Proctor curiously.

"Oh, only a joke of our own!"

"You've got some secret, I'm sure," said Beryl Austen; "you're always looking at each other and making signs. I noticed you yesterday during arithmetic."

"Do tell us, Cicely," begged Marjorie Butler. "You and I used to be friends, but we never have a secret together now."

"There's really nothing worth telling," declared Cicely, much embarrassed.

"We shall have to be careful though," said Lindsay afterwards. "We don't want the others to hear, and then go poking about and making discoveries."

"Certainly not; if there's anything to be found out, I'd rather we found it out ourselves."

Cicely was tired when bedtime arrived, and ready to curl herself up and forget what might be happening outside. Lindsay, on the contrary, lay with wide-open eyes, watching the room grow darker and darker. When the wardrobe and the chest of drawers and the washstand had at last all merged together into one deep mass of shadow, she got up and peeped through the open window. What she saw there caused her to run hurriedly and shake her sleepy companion.

"Cicely! Do wake up! There's a light moving in the garden."

It took a second or two for Cicely to recover her senses, but when she realized the nature of the news, she hopped out of bed in frantic excitement.

"Is it Mrs. Wilson and Scott?" she asked eagerly.

"I expect so, but of course I can't tell. Be quick! We must go at once and see what they're doing."

The two girls hastily scrambled into their clothes, and tiptoed downstairs to the side door. The servants had not yet locked up, so it was still standing ajar.

"Suppose we were to meet Miss Russell or Miss Frazer!" shivered Cicely, with a nervous glance down the corridor.

"Don't think about it. They're both safe in the drawing-room."

In another minute they had closed the door gently behind them, and were running softly across the lawn. It was a cloudy night, with neither moon nor stars in the sky. The outlines of the trees and shrubs were just visible, but it was very dark indeed under their shade.

"The light seemed to be going through the shrubbery towards the arbour," said Lindsay, feeling her way along the rose avenue.

"There it is!" replied Cicely, as a faint gleam shone in the distance.

"We must be very, very careful," said Lindsay, "not to disturb them on any account. We must stop somewhere near, and just look and listen."

As quietly as ghosts they stole down the path, trying not to rustle so much as a leaf. They were close now to the lantern. They could see it quite clearly, set on the ground, and two figures bending over it.

Skirting round under the bushes, they reached the shelter of an oak tree that grew on the side of a bank, and peeped cautiously round the trunk. Yes, it was certainly Scott and Mrs. Wilson who were in the shrubbery below. Every now and then a glint of light revealed their faces unmistakably. They were talking together in low tones, unfortunately too low for their conversation to be overheard. Scott held a spade in his hand, and was stooping to watch Mrs. Wilson, who, kneeling on the grass, was fumbling inside a large sack.

"Can you see if she's counting money?" breathed Cicely into Lindsay's ear. "I believe they're going to bury it."

"It looks like something bigger and heavier," whispered Lindsay, trying to crane her neck farther forward.