CHAPTER XVIIIn which Amazing Things HappenThe only thing confided to the general public about this surprising development was that Adrian considered the allowance of tide all too short for reaching Salterne, which was true, and had decided therefore to make a day at Peterock. For the latter place everything was convenient, the out-going tide would begin to ebb soon after nine o'clock, and turn between three and four in the afternoon; could anything be better?"I wonder you didn't settle on that in the first place," said Mrs. Romilly, a most reasonable remark. She did not know that Adrian cherished a secret hope to anchor out all night again in Salterne river, whereas Peterock was not the kind of harbour for such pleasures. It was not a harbour at all, in fact, but a lovely watering-place with a pier; within the pier was a makeshift mooring-ground, choked up with various craft. No born sailor would go to Peterock for enjoyment. However, these matters were not within Mrs. Romilly's knowledge, and Peterock would do quite well for hair-cutting.On finding the start was not immediate Mrs. Romilly made out a list of commissions, and Christobel was too busy hearing about these things to have any more time for the mystery. When she and Pamela went off there was a serene atmosphere."Doesn't the dinghy look clean," exclaimed Pamela in warm admiration. "Addie, you've scrubbed the whole thing. She's lovely!"Adrian, who was rowing, looked at his sister quickly. The sincerity of her face was unquestionable.Thus the mystery grew, but Adrian was not ruffled as he had been in the morning. Then, Crow had him at a disadvantage; he could not prove anything; he was forced to feel even foolish in the face of the evidence Christobel brought about the peaceful slumber of the supposed culprits. Now it was different. He was justified by his startling discoveries, and good temper was the result.Christobel looked round as they boarded the yawl, but saw no signs of disorder. All was neat as usual. She and Pamela packed the food into the pantry shelf and set about helping to get the sails up.Poor Pam was very happy. She felt freer than she had done for a long time. Nothing could happen out here. The sea was glorious, and Crow was always the same to her; nothing could come between them, she thought.The breeze was off shore--what is called a "soldier's wind", which means that it serves without tacking. The tide was strong, the sea, with such a breeze, of course was smooth; it was all as perfect as possible."The Floweret could have come to-day without being sick," said Pamela, gazing over the shimmering waste with half-shut eyes; "what a pity Midget is left behind.""He looked rather tired," said Crow from her place at the tiller."Did he; I wonder why. He slept sound enough; he never woke till Keziah called him, and then he went to sleep again," said Pam.Christobel smiled. This was exactly what she had felt sure of, and there was no effort at all in her sister's way of speaking.The start was excellent, the sailing was perfect; "dull care" seemed to have been left behind in Bell Bay--but one never knows!Lunch being planned for rather an early hour, the two girls went down to get things in order about twelve o'clock. Adrian took the tiller, and, steering with his eyes half shut, whistled softly to himself. Christobel began setting the swing table in the saloon--the plan was to lay-to upon the wind and have a proper lunch, as there was time; Peterock cliffs were already in sight, and they would be moving towards their destination all the while on the drift of the tide.Pamela went through to light the stove--hot water would be wanted for washing up, which was never left indefinitely. She had just put the kettle on when she heard Christobel say something, and called out."What's that, Crow?""Howfunny!""What's funny?" Pamela set a saucepan close to the kettle--with a view to egg-boiling--and then swooped through the low door full of curiosity. "What's funny?" she asked again.Crow was sitting on the bunk seat which was generally called hers, holding something in her hand--a handkerchief. Not one of Adrian's "tablecloths", nor one of the girls' strong linen hem-stitched articles with the name letter in the corner. It was small and fine and lace-edged. Crow began turning it round slowly through her fingers, looking for some mark.A spasm passed through Pam's mind. She was beginning to be accustomed to that sudden sick shock, that meant "danger ahead", but it was none the less unpleasant.Christobel came to a corner, and stayed."Goodness!" she murmured. "Isay, Pam, look here!"Pamela had no need to "look here", she guessed."Howextraordinary!" went on Crow with emphasis; "the same letters that were on the safety-pin brooch--and a tiny little coronet. It's awfully pretty, but--who on earth!"She looked up at Pamela; their eyes met, and Christobel was acutely conscious that Pam knew something. She flushed scarlet; then the colour fled and left her very pale; her clear eyes shifted from Crow's gaze, and in their depths was an uneasy, deprecating shadow."Do you know anything about this?" asked Christobel."About the handkerchief, no. Oh no, I don't. Howcouldit come here?"It was perfectly true that she had no idea how the handkerchief came there, but it was not the sort of truth that was natural to Pamela Romilly, and as she said the horrid words she felt sick with herself. In a lightning moment she resolved to go to the Countess and tell her that she intended to state the whole position to Christobel--she would do it; she would warn the girl and have it all above-board.Silence fell like a stone between the sisters. Christobel realized that Pamelahadsome secret; Pamela saw that she did.Slowly the elder girl folded up the handkerchief and put it in her skirt pocket."What shall you do--about it?" asked Pamela nervously."I shall give it to Mother, I suppose. When one considers that the letters and the coronet are the same--well----"Her tone was cold--she was hurt because Pam would not speak.A sudden strange inspiration came to Pamela in that desperate moment. Desperate, because Crow had backed her up and fought her battle right through--she could not bear this last misunderstanding."Crow," she said, leaning forward; her voice shook a little, and her eyes looked suspiciously limpid--"Crow--do you mind my saying something--about it?""Why should I?""Don't say anything to Mother, yet. Take it to Miss Anne.""Miss Anne--Little Pilgrim?" Christobel checked her work, and gazed back startled. "Why?""I can't tell you why--but do. I am sure it would be the best thing to do."The elder girl considered this, not with much sympathy it seemed; then she said:"Oh well, perhaps. I don't know. Anyway, we may as well put lunch; Addie is awfully hungry."So it passed, with a very heavy cloud left behind to darken the clear holiday sky!Lunch was eaten and greatly enjoyed by Adrian. The two girls using a self-control such as only girls know how to call up when necessary, Addie saw no difference in either--but they saw it--in each other.Then came the arrival at Peterock, the smart picking up of moorings, the convenient man doing nothing in a large clinker-built boat close by, with a pipe between his teeth, willing for a consideration to "oblige" and give advice.Then the three went ashore with the afternoon before them, and to make it all more complete they decided to have tea at a gay and joyous tea-shop on the biggest esplanade, and start for home about five-thirty or six; even so with such a wind and the splendid flow-tide they would have ample time. Adrian had his hair cut, while the girls--more or less constrained--looked into shop windows. When they met again Christobel said she did not like the idea of waiting so long in the town, "suppose the wind dropped"--it was lighter. Adrian was disappointed, but he realized that they were not allowing themselves much time for possible accidents."Let's get off at four--about--and have tea on board," said Crow. As a matter of fact the "snap" in the day had gone out for her since that odd conversation with Pamela."Tellyou what we'll do," cried Adrian suddenly, as a new move occurred. He loved new moves. "We'll get off about four; we'll sail down to the cove this side Bell Ridge--you know Champles Creek. We'll drop anchor there and have tea on shore. We shall be home then practically, as we've only got Bell Ridge between us and the bay, and can walk over if the worst comes to the worst.""Why should there be any 'worst'?" asked Crow, not quite convinced."No reason, but one ought to have a bolt hole--always. All wild animals do, and their instincts are--hullo, there's old Timothy Batt--Peterock day, I suppose."Timothy Batt's "van" was drawn up at the curb, bulging with parcels of all shapes. He sat under the canvas hood, while people in shops came out and handed him more things. He was very well known.As the Romilly trio came up he leaned out and made a gesture of summons to Pamela, who stepped forward to meet it.Timothy explained that her bicycle was ready, "if so be" as she would be content to risk a probable collapse of the tyre at an early date."Them at the works," explained Mr. Batt, "can't make no job of it. A new tyre is what 'e wants--they don't take no 'sponsibilities.""They've been such an age over it already," said Pamela, annoyed, "weeks--I must ask about the tyre--I wish I'd known, Timothy.""Well, missie, 'twasn't for want o' me tellin' of you. 'Tis a matter of two weeks or more--us coming up along Folly Ho Road--pretty near dark it were, and that I marked because I says to the missus 'twas a lone place for you that hour. I called out, and stopped be roadside right enough to told you what they says down works. 'Thank 'e', says you--nobbut that, and on you goes. Bein' as I was home goin' and I didn't stop. There 'twas----""Oh," said Pamela uncertainly. "Oh, I see----" She moved on a step, then she turned back to the cart and told Timothy she would write to the works, "or Mother would".Timothy Batt informed the missus that evening that "Miss Pamela looked 'pined'," and "she'd a lost way with her--happen she's growed too tall to be hearty," said the carrier.Pamela certainly felt both "pined" and "lost" as she walked on with the others. She had no doubt whatever that this was another case of her "double", and glancing sideways at Adrian, as he walked along balancing neatly on the curb, saw the look on his face that she had begun to know now. Crow remained perfectly stolid, changing the subject at once to something far removed from bicycles and Timothy Batt.In old days, both would have said to her at once, "What were you doing on the Folly Ho Road at that time?" Now, nobody spoke, and to poor Pamela it was a sort of brand proclaiming her outlawed from the family confidence.On the top of the handkerchief affair it was rather shattering, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. However, she called up her resolution to hearten herself, swallowed the pain, and tried to take it all philosophically. After all, it would be explained presently, and in the meantime she was doing what she thought right by the girl who had asked for her silence.Sails do not always turn out "according to plan", but this one did--as far as getting to the creek below Champles Farm was concerned. It was the loveliest place, though hardly worthy to be called a creek when it came to an anchorage. On such a day, with an off-shore wind, the place was perfection. And once more the spirits of the three recovered the usual level. Adrian dropped the anchor, and the white yawl lay on the smooth sea exactly like "a painted ship upon a painted ocean", while her crew went ashore.A stream came down through a glorious cleft in the rugged height. There were trees and ferns, the former a bit stunted from sea-wind; but Bell Ridge was a barrier on one side, and on the other, the coast-line trending outward made a shield.Two thermos flasks and a weighty basket went ashore with the crew in the dinghy. It was some while after five then; but, as Adrian said the tide would be in their favour till half-past nine, the feeling of ease was delightful. No hurry. No bother about wind or tide. Home was just round the point by sea, and perhaps a mile by land, as the crow flies. More, of course, if climbing is allowed for.Soon after six Adrian said he should bathe. Crow unearthed a magazine, and Pamela said she would climb to the top and look at the view.Everybody agreed that it "was all right", and became absorbed in their different occupations. Time passed so swiftly that it had presently reached the hour of half-past seven. Then Adrian, who had become busy on the yawl in some unexpected direction, came ashore and said it was time to be lifting anchor.Christobel shut the magazine, wishing next month was due to-morrow, and gazed at him with vague eyes."Wake up, old lady; we ought to be getting back. Where's that idiot Pam?""Oh, isn't she on the shore?" said Christobel, stretching. "How heavenly it looks!""Yes, I know, but it's about eight o'clock--or soon will be. We'd better get things on board; I can come and take her off.""Whistle--call," suggested Crow, getting up from her fern seat.Adrian did his best, which was something to be proud of, in the noise line. Christobel had to tell him to stop; she said the lighthouse at Ramsworthy would send the boat up, thinking it was a ship in distress. They both stood on the edge of the rippled sea, looking up at the cliff and the wooded gully that cut it from top to the rocky base."There!" exclaimed Crow."Pam--e--la,hullo--o!" Adrian's strong voice woke echoes that called and called again.Clear of the bushes, on the summit stood the person they wanted, looking down at them apparently, but never a word said she, nor did she make sign or gesture. She just stared.Christobel waved her handkerchief, waved her hat, joined in Adrian's shout:"Go--ing!"Anyone could have heard much farther off than the cliff top. True, it was high, but the scene was so still, the waves but a ripple, and the wind a breath."She's mad," announced Adrian; "she's raving, Crow. I told you she was. If she isn't coming, why can't she answer? I must say this positively passes--well, never mind--get in--we'll go. If she comes down I'll fetch her off, but I shall certainly tell her what I think. Otherwise she can walk home.""I don't understand," said Crow."Of course you don't. People are not expected to understand lunatics." Adrian said that and a few more things more pointed than flattering on the way out to the yawl.Meanwhile Pamela sat down on the edge of the cliff and watched them with apparent interest.By that time the light was beginning to turn into shadow."I suppose it couldn't be anyone else!" ventured Christobel, twisting round in the stern seat to look up at the motionless watcher."Anyone else! My good girl, ask your own senses! Look at her hair! Look at everything! Besides, where is Pamela? Didn't we see her go up to that very place?""Addie, don't you think I'd better go back, and up to her and see if anything is wrong?""How could there be anything wrong? She looks perfectly healthy--there, she's going away. Well, of all the blazing bits of cheek----"It was true. Pamela got up, stood clear against a bit of bare ground so that they saw her figure distinctly; then she turned and walked away, disappearing on the instant from view.Adrian gave a snort--it was nothing less--and boarded the yawl in silence.The voyage home from the creek and the finish up took perhaps half an hour. Adrian left nothing to chance that night: he locked the companion door, he fastened the fore-hatch."You'll have to put up with stinks, Crow," he said bitterly, being most horribly cross; "with the whole of Bell Bay one seething mass of lunatics one has to take precautions."Crow said nothing. She saw it must be so, also she was very much puzzled; there was the handkerchief of course, in addition, from her point of view; Addie knew nothing about that. However, amazements were not yet a thing of the past. When they two got in supper was just beginning--everybody was collected round a cosy, well-filled table, everybody, and--Pamela, who was cutting bread. She looked hot and rather tired."We're just about equal," she said. "I was so sorry to be late.""Late!" came from the two elders in voices of amazed indignation."You were just off. I never saw anything so lovely asMessenger, just leaning over, and spinning along, with the dinghy streaming behind. It was no good then, of course, so I just went back through the gorse ridge and came down the usual way.""Do you mean to say we were sailing when you first saw us, Pam?" said Christobel, in a shocked voice."Sailing, yes--streaking along awfully fast. Have some bread, Addie?""But, my dear girl, we were on the shore when we first saw you," persisted Christobel. "We called and shouted till we were afraid of attracting public attention and being had up for nuisances.""Did you see Pam then, dear?" asked Mrs. Romilly."Seeher, of course, Mummy, but she wouldn't answer. We called--we waved--we were on shore waiting by the dinghy, wondering why on earth she was so late. Then we saw her come to the cliff edge and look down at us. Addie made an awful noise, but she never answered. She just seemed to be staring straight at us. At last we couldn't wait any longer and we put off to the yawl. She watched us reach the yawl and then she turned away and went off. That's whatwesaw.""Howveryodd," said Mrs. Romilly uncertainly. "Tell them just what happened to you, darling.""I went up the cliff to the top," Pamela answered, speaking rather quickly, "then I thought I'd just go to Champles and fetch a few eggs, as it was easy to carry them by the boat. And coming away from Champles I went round above the church, because it was so lovely--and there was a most awful bother going on--Crow, you know where Mr. Badger has all those sheep penned, and the field where the mare and the foal are in with those calves. Well,allthe sheep were out--hundreds--the whole place was covered, the mare had got into the cornfield where the young corn is just coming up green--and the calves had gone. I started to get the mare out, it took ages; then I saw the calves had gone into the field that's nearly hay. It was particularly trying for Mr. Badger, because I knew he would be at Salterne market to-day and not back. Everyone else was gone home, of course. I got the mare back, and the calves, and some of the sheep. It took ages and ages; when I got to the cliff edge there wasMessengersailing away. Certainly I didn't blame Addie for a second. I only went to look on the off-chance of her being still in the creek--it was very late."Adrian made no remark from first to last. He hardly appeared to listen, but ate his supper in absorbed silence. Frankly, he did not believe a word of the story, but he did not know what to think. How his sister could dare to assert that they never saw her, and that the yawl was on her way home, was past understanding.Mrs. Romilly had come to the conclusion--from Adrian's manner and Pam's nervousness--that there had been some tiff on board, and the separation was due to disagreement. She changed the subject, and peace prevailed on the surface.CHAPTER XVIIIMr. Badger calls at Bell House;and Christobel at Fuchsia CottageHughie most tactfully refrained from saying one word to add to Pamela's weariness that night. It was plain she was very tired--plain to her mother, who, for that reason perhaps, was a little inclined to be biased against the elder pair.It was not kind to leave the child alone at Champles Creek, when by their own story they had seen her and called to her."After all, one of you might have gone up to see what was the matter, darling," she said to Crow later."But, Mother,shesays we'd started.""I think she is saying it to shield you both; Pam is very generous," suggested Mrs. Romilly."I suppose you mean that either wayweare wrong," answered Crow, a little wounded."Well, do you think it was quite kind to leave her all alone? After a long tiring day? But never mind--a night's rest will put it right, and certainly Pam bears no malice."That was how the affair looked to Mrs. Romilly. Christobel said no more. She was a wise, kind girl--moreover, she was becoming aware of some strange mesh of misunderstanding that had entangled them all. Pamela had had to bear the brunt of that horrible brooch affair--nowshewas accused of this!The handkerchief was in her possession still, of course, and, as she examined it that night, Pamela's odd suggestion came back to her with new force. At any rate Miss Anne would bring another mind and imagination to bear on these entanglements.Hughie, then, waited till next day, when he conveyed a secret invitation to Pamela to meet him in "the cave" at a certain hour for important conversation. Pamela went, and, curled up happily behind the barricade with her long legs doubled up under her, she heard the story of the Countess' raid on the yawl and the way she had been circumvented."Now what did she want to do?" said Pamela thoughtfully, her head against the big trunk."Irather guess----" said Hughie."What?""She wants to escape from Bell Bay. If I was her," he went on, clasping his ankles as he sat cross-legged--"if I was her, I should escape, but in a more sensible way, of course.""I see, escape to Salterne. I wonder if she has any money," considered Pamela."Sure to--lots.""I wonder," went on Pam, "if Addie found out things on board; he never said a word to me.""Of course he did. The dinghy was all filthy mess, and there must have been a wholefieldon the yawl!Icouldn't stop to clean up. There was that girl, and besides, I was so wet.""Midget, you haven't caught cold, have you?" asked Pamela anxiously."No. I say, Pam--because Addie found out the mess was why you didn't go to Salterne, don't you see? It made things late--then you went to Peterock. I guessed that was it."Pamela saw also, in an instant. Then she told Hughie about the handkerchief; he nodded gravely."Well, if Crow takes it to Miss Lasarge, perhapsshe'llgo and tell Sir Marmaduke. I wish they'd take that girl away--she spoils all our fun." Hughie sighed, then he remarked, "I told her it's no use her raiding the yawl any more--I said Addie would lock her up. I said I'd tell him to, but he'll do it jolly well without me telling."Pamela remained deep in thought as she reviewed this situation."I wonder what that girl will do next," she said at last, and sighed."Well,Iwish she'd put her head in a bag," remarked the Midget with quite unexpected coarseness; "she doesn't seem to be any use."Now if anybody is thinking that the trouble at Champles Farm began and ended with poor Pamela's anxious efforts, "he is deceived by his own vanity", as Mrs. Jeep would have said. The day was not ended before that worthy woman sent in a message by Keziah to know whether she could speak to mistress for a few moments. Mrs. Romilly departed to the housekeeper's room, and presently left that comfortable sanctum more confused in mind than ever.It appeared that Mrs. Jeep considered it her duty to mention what "they" were saying about Miss Pamela. It was "all over the village" that Miss Pamela had removed the hurdle and had caused Mr. Badger's sheep to wander like the Israelites in the desert: some having been found at Peterock, one been run over on the main road to the station, and several still lost. That Miss Pamela had opened the gates at both ends of Spill land--the senseless name of the field in which the mare and the heifers were pastured--and let the animals out."They will have it as Badger's mare is so bad with the colic that she won't get over it. Green corn's shocking food for a horse--well, serve her right, the greedy creature--but the heifers, five of them, have trampled the field he'd laid by for hay something cruel. I'm repeating what they say, ma'am--there may be an ounce of truth to a barrel of lies--we know how they talk. But anyway, it's laid to Miss Pamela. In my opinion, that Badger's trying to make a case for himself. He thinks he knows where the money lays! I don't hold with that Badger, ma'am; never did, he's too free with his gossip. What I say is, Miss Pamela knows the rights of a field just as well as them Badgers. She was never one for mischief--not from a child. It's silly nonsense, that's what it is, ma'am, but I thought I'd tell you in case that feller comes round making out a case for damage."Mrs. Jeep stayed, breathless; she had been fighting the family battles since the milk came from Paramore's in the morning. It was the milkman that first brought the tale; followed shortly by the postman and the baker. Hennery Doe had "known ove night", he admitted, but, as he disapproved of gossip just as decidedly as of eight-hour days, the story had remained with him."Oh dear, ohdear," said Mrs. Romilly, "it really is too absurd. Poor little Pamela seems to be in the wars all round. What is the matter? Why are people so hopelessly idiotic?"Mrs. Jeep sympathized respectfully. She intended to uphold the family whatever turn the matter took, though in her secret heart she thought it not an impossible contingency that Pamela might have left a gate open."Unluckily she was there--in the evening," allowed Mrs. Romilly; "if only I could say she was at home!"There it was.Mr. Badger first of all wrote a letter to Mrs. Romilly. This he followed up by a visit, next morning, and poor Pamela was sent for to the library. She was pale and worried; there was an anxious look in her grey-blue eyes, for the situation was so entirely new to all her experiences that she felt like a convict.Mrs. Romilly said:"Pam dear, tell Mr. Badger what you saw, and what you did."Pamela told, in rather a breathless way, and one strong point in her favour was her visit to Champles to fetch the eggs that were always welcome at the Bell House. Mr. Badger admitted that she had reached Champles before seven o'clock--about a quarter to seven in fact. Badger's contention seemed to be that she had opened the gates before that--soon after six, because witnesses had seen sheep wandering at half-past six."I didn't go that way, Mr. Badger," said Pamela with decision; "I began to climb up from the creek somewhere about six, and went straight to Champles. I camebackround the farm and the field where the mare was. No one was about, and I tried for an hour to get the animals home--the mare couldn't have eaten a great deal; I got her out, but the calves wouldn't go.""I dunno," said Mr. Badger, with a twinkling eye fixed on the cornice--oneon the cornice, that is,oneon Mrs. Romilly--"I dunno as I can save that mare; she's a turrable loss. If she dies the foal's sure to foller; he's full young. As for the hay, an' them sheep----"Mr. Badger believed he had a strong case. He said he could bring witnesses to swear that they saw Pamela about six o'clock going through the Spill land. The witnesses were vague rumour, really, but supposed to be people walking out from Peterock to Bell Ridge and back--these people "had passed a remark" on the subject when the sheep were all over the roads, and remembered a young lady in blue with a long tail of hair, walking in the direction of Peterock."How couldIbe going to Peterock, Mother? Youdosee how improbable it is, don't you?"Mrs. Romilly was firmer than Mr. Badger had hoped. He had planned a "walk over", and pictured himself returning home with a cheque for at least twenty pounds in his pocket! The fact is that Mrs. Romilly was so convinced of Pamela's truth herself that she refused to be shaken."I'm sorry, Mr. Badger," she said; "at the same time, if, as you allow, people were walking out from Peterock to the ridge and back why should not one of them have left your gate insecure? Strangers are careless, we know. As for the young lady in blue with long hair whom they say they saw on the spot--the story is not convincing. They had heard the description of my daughter, and are shielding themselves behind it. I don't think we need say any more."Mr. Badger went, dismissed icily by Keziah, who upheld the honour of the Bell House as first lieutenant to Mrs. Jeep; at the same time she remarked, in privacy:"I've no opinion of Badger, Mrs. Jeep, as you know, but it takes some explaining to see why ever Mr. Adrian and Miss Pamela tell such different tales. Mr. Adrian's ever so gruff, won't hardly speak to Miss Pamela, nor Miss Christobel neither, so far as I can see. Heisput out."Keziah spoke truly, for Christobel could get no opinion from her brother either way. He refused to discuss Badger, or his woes. When Christobel said it was all a story--a fairy tale of gossip--didn't he think so? Adrian said:"My dear Crow, did we see Pamela, or did we not see Pamela! You know what we did, and you know what she did? Well, what's the good of talking."It was conclusive enough to drive Crow into her own room and a consultation with her own mind as to the best course. There was still that suggestion of Pam's about Miss Lasarge. Crow sat in her wicker armchair and gazed up the carriage drive, on which Adrian still declared he had seen the younger pair at four o'clock in the morning. Madness--of course, yet, what about that queer invasion of the yawl? The whole thing was delirium of improbabilities; the more Christobel thought about it, the simpler it seemed to go and ask Miss Anne for advice.So, about four o'clock on the day of Mr. Badger's visit, Christobel announced she was going for a walk, and "made tracks" for Fuchsia Cottage. Miss Anne was at home; she usually was at that hour; and she received the girl with pleasure visible in every line of her small pale face."Now of course you'll have tea with me, Crow; do you know, I was just beginning to pity myself for being all alone, and so you've saved me from a contemptible state of mind. I'll tell Lizzie--and what about the lawn?"Christobel said it was rather windy; she did not want tea out of doors, it was too public. That settled it, because Miss Lasarge understood.Everything went as is usual until the middle of the meal, when outside subjects of conversation had been exhausted; then Crow said:"Little Pilgrim, I'm come really to ask you to help us----""Us?" questioned Miss Anne, undisturbed."Well, it affects us all, so I'd sooner say us. We are in a strange kind of morass--I don't know what to call it. We've never had such a horrible state of things in the family before; you know how happy we are?""I know," agreed Miss Anne; "and so something has happened to spoil it! Suppose you begin at the beginning and tell me. 'Trouble shared is trouble spared', isn't it?""I'm trying to remember when this trouble actually started," said Christobel, leaning her head back on the cushion, and gazing at the flowers on the table with unseeing eyes."It was about the time Mollie went. The first we knew of it was when Pam saved little Ensor. She said, and they said, that she did it alone--you remember. Adrian said it was impossible. Some days afterwards he went to look at the place, and he found a most lovely diamond brooch with two 'A's' for initials and a coronet over them----"Miss Anne stirred in her chair. Crow paused."Go on dear," said Miss Anne.Crow went on, she told the whole story of the brooch, with scrupulous accuracy, adding one after the other the appearances of Pamela in places where she should not have been at such hours. She went on, without interruption, through the very strange story of Adrian's vision at four in the morning, and the even stranger relation of the condition in which the yawl and the dinghy were found. Finally there was the discovery of the handkerchief on board the yawl, andthislatest affair of the picnic at Champles Creek and Pamela's amazing behaviour, followed so quickly by Badger's accusation.Crow was very deliberate; she did not forget the episode of Timothy Batt even, bringing the whole relation up to the present moment, as it were. Then she ceased to speak.Miss Anne was leaning her cheek on her hand, and her elbow on the arm of the chair; she did not look at Christobel, but very intently out at the lawn and flowers."What doyouthink, Crow?" she presently asked. "Have you any interpretation of your own?"Christobel shook her head rather despondently; then she said:"Anyway, I'm absolutely sure Pamela hasn't done anything dishonourable. I don't understand what's happening, but I do know Pam, and I've sometimes thought she might be aiming at some--well--some rather cranky sort of noble deed----" Crow flushed and looked at her companion in a deprecating manner. "She's simply wild about the Girl Guide business; she's only waiting till she gets to school to be one. She reads it up, and soaks it in, and she's awfully set on doing a good deed every day, and helping people whatever it costs. Don't you see how it might lead to--to things, perhaps? One can't tell how, exactly.""She might be shielding somebody?" suggested Miss Lasarge."Yes; if there was anybody to shield. Besides," added Christobel in a more matter-of-fact tone, "a lot of it is sheer muddle--the Badger business, I mean,that'ssinful nonsense."Miss Anne laughed; the fierceness in Crow's way of saying "sinful nonsense" pleased her very much.After that they talked it all over quietly, and the upshot was that one thing especially seemed to puzzle Miss Lasarge, namely the surprising vision Adrian saw at four o'clock in the morning."He could hardly have been mistaken in Hughie," she said."Or in Pam," added Crow.To that Miss Anne made no reply.When Christobel had taken her leave, greatly comforted, though nothing had happened so far to lift the burden, Miss Lasarge looked at the clock; it was half-past five. She hesitated, then made up her mind--and a very firm mind too--because though Miss Anne was small and pale she had a great soul in that small body, and she realized that she must help innocent folk who were suffering through no fault of their own.She put on a grey cloak and little close bonnet with a grey veil, and slipped across the road to Woodrising gates like a grey shadow. It was a cloudy day, and the very young new moon was "lying on her back", as country folk say, which is a sign of tiresome weather. Miss Anne, looking up, saw the silver sickle, pale and slim, for the first time.Mrs. Trewby opened the gate, sighing; she was more bilious than usual by reason of Mrs. Chipman's company, and a large housekeeping allowance. Mrs. Chipman liked what she called "a good table", meaning, of course, the things on it, not the table. Therefore, in doing her best to keep Mrs. Chipman in countenance, Mrs. Trewby had upset herself for weeks, probably months. It was a pity, because it made her very unhappy and darkened her life."I wish to see the Countess, Mrs. Trewby," said Miss Anne."Well, miss, I dunno'----""It's very important," continued Miss Anne, quietly passing inside; "I will answer to Sir Marmaduke."When Miss Lasarge spoke in that voice she was always obeyed, and so she presently found herself within the hall, and Mrs. Chipman discussing the matter with many creakings of the tight bodice."I assure you, Miss Lasarge, that I have agitated in vain," cried Mrs. Chipman; "coercion has been attempted in vain; the temperament of the Countess is opposed to isolation, therefore----""I am afraid we cannot discuss that, Mrs. Chipman; the point is that Sir Marmaduke left orders which must be carried out. Now, if you please, I wish to see the Countess."Mrs. Chipman was for the time suppressed--like the guinea-pigs inAlice in Wonderland--she was rather like a guinea-pig when you come to think of it. She ushered Miss Lasarge into the drawing-room where Pamela had seen the Countess, but nobody was there, and Miss Anne detected in a moment that Mrs. Chipman really was not sure whether she could produce her very self-willed charge. It was a matter of luck!In that moment they both saw the girl in question going swiftly across the lawn towards a shrubbery lower down. Miss Anne did not hesitate; she opened the window--which was of the "French" kind--passed out quickly, and called.The girl stopped, and stood looking to see who had summoned her; saw Miss Lasarge and remained, hesitating. Had it been Mrs. Chipman she would have walked away, that was obvious.Miss Anne went over the grass towards her."I want to have a little talk with you, Countess," she said, without the least asperity. "Won't you come back and entertain me?"They came back together, into the drawing-room, and Miss Anne shut the window, because she preferred to keep the conversation private.She did not find this task at all easy, chiefly because the girl's attitude--in every sense--was so antagonistic.Sir Marmaduke Shard had given her and Major Fraser a sort of partnership as watch-dogs over this girl--chiefly because one was a first-class hospital nurse, and the other a doctor--yet they had no actual authority, only moral authority. He wanted someone on the spot to oversee Mrs. Chipman, and be ready supposing her charge should be ill. He fancied that he had arranged for every contingency in a most complete manner, but being a man as well as a great lawyer, he had of course missed entirely the main points--the practical points--with results already shown.Miss Anne and Major Fraser both had a reason for helping; this came to light afterwards; but even so they would probably have declined all association with the business had they realized how perfectly untamable Sir Marmaduke's ward was going to be.Things had come to a head, though, and Miss Lasarge felt herself on firm ground when she began to talk. She told the girl that she knew everything--including the brooch business and the wanderings over the countryside.The Countess watched her shrewdly--to see how much she really did know--and quickly realized that nothing was said about the night visit to the yawl. Miss Anne did not mention it, because she could not make up her mind about that. How could little Hughie be connected with this girl in such an excursion? It was not possible to understand it, and the Countess decided she did not know, and triumphed.She excused herself about the brooch, saying it was her own; she had dropped it on the cliffs."When you met Pamela Romilly?" suggested Miss Anne."Was there any wickedness in helping to carry the farm boy?" said the Countess."Of course not, my dear; but you should not have been out. You promised Sir Marmaduke in my hearing that you would keep to these grounds for the short time you are staying--you break your word, and, if I am not mistaken, you induced Pamela Romilly to keep your secret, and so have involved her in all sorts of grief and misunderstanding.""She need not keep her promise," said the Countess, with a little smile."But she would, of course. And you knew she would, didn't you?"The girl gave that little shrug with which she met objections she despised, and, as Miss Anne looked at her handsome face and her arrogant supercilious expression, she found herself wondering how, when, and where it would ever be possible to teach this untaught soul a code of honour.
CHAPTER XVII
In which Amazing Things Happen
The only thing confided to the general public about this surprising development was that Adrian considered the allowance of tide all too short for reaching Salterne, which was true, and had decided therefore to make a day at Peterock. For the latter place everything was convenient, the out-going tide would begin to ebb soon after nine o'clock, and turn between three and four in the afternoon; could anything be better?
"I wonder you didn't settle on that in the first place," said Mrs. Romilly, a most reasonable remark. She did not know that Adrian cherished a secret hope to anchor out all night again in Salterne river, whereas Peterock was not the kind of harbour for such pleasures. It was not a harbour at all, in fact, but a lovely watering-place with a pier; within the pier was a makeshift mooring-ground, choked up with various craft. No born sailor would go to Peterock for enjoyment. However, these matters were not within Mrs. Romilly's knowledge, and Peterock would do quite well for hair-cutting.
On finding the start was not immediate Mrs. Romilly made out a list of commissions, and Christobel was too busy hearing about these things to have any more time for the mystery. When she and Pamela went off there was a serene atmosphere.
"Doesn't the dinghy look clean," exclaimed Pamela in warm admiration. "Addie, you've scrubbed the whole thing. She's lovely!"
Adrian, who was rowing, looked at his sister quickly. The sincerity of her face was unquestionable.
Thus the mystery grew, but Adrian was not ruffled as he had been in the morning. Then, Crow had him at a disadvantage; he could not prove anything; he was forced to feel even foolish in the face of the evidence Christobel brought about the peaceful slumber of the supposed culprits. Now it was different. He was justified by his startling discoveries, and good temper was the result.
Christobel looked round as they boarded the yawl, but saw no signs of disorder. All was neat as usual. She and Pamela packed the food into the pantry shelf and set about helping to get the sails up.
Poor Pam was very happy. She felt freer than she had done for a long time. Nothing could happen out here. The sea was glorious, and Crow was always the same to her; nothing could come between them, she thought.
The breeze was off shore--what is called a "soldier's wind", which means that it serves without tacking. The tide was strong, the sea, with such a breeze, of course was smooth; it was all as perfect as possible.
"The Floweret could have come to-day without being sick," said Pamela, gazing over the shimmering waste with half-shut eyes; "what a pity Midget is left behind."
"He looked rather tired," said Crow from her place at the tiller.
"Did he; I wonder why. He slept sound enough; he never woke till Keziah called him, and then he went to sleep again," said Pam.
Christobel smiled. This was exactly what she had felt sure of, and there was no effort at all in her sister's way of speaking.
The start was excellent, the sailing was perfect; "dull care" seemed to have been left behind in Bell Bay--but one never knows!
Lunch being planned for rather an early hour, the two girls went down to get things in order about twelve o'clock. Adrian took the tiller, and, steering with his eyes half shut, whistled softly to himself. Christobel began setting the swing table in the saloon--the plan was to lay-to upon the wind and have a proper lunch, as there was time; Peterock cliffs were already in sight, and they would be moving towards their destination all the while on the drift of the tide.
Pamela went through to light the stove--hot water would be wanted for washing up, which was never left indefinitely. She had just put the kettle on when she heard Christobel say something, and called out.
"What's that, Crow?"
"Howfunny!"
"What's funny?" Pamela set a saucepan close to the kettle--with a view to egg-boiling--and then swooped through the low door full of curiosity. "What's funny?" she asked again.
Crow was sitting on the bunk seat which was generally called hers, holding something in her hand--a handkerchief. Not one of Adrian's "tablecloths", nor one of the girls' strong linen hem-stitched articles with the name letter in the corner. It was small and fine and lace-edged. Crow began turning it round slowly through her fingers, looking for some mark.
A spasm passed through Pam's mind. She was beginning to be accustomed to that sudden sick shock, that meant "danger ahead", but it was none the less unpleasant.
Christobel came to a corner, and stayed.
"Goodness!" she murmured. "Isay, Pam, look here!"
Pamela had no need to "look here", she guessed.
"Howextraordinary!" went on Crow with emphasis; "the same letters that were on the safety-pin brooch--and a tiny little coronet. It's awfully pretty, but--who on earth!"
She looked up at Pamela; their eyes met, and Christobel was acutely conscious that Pam knew something. She flushed scarlet; then the colour fled and left her very pale; her clear eyes shifted from Crow's gaze, and in their depths was an uneasy, deprecating shadow.
"Do you know anything about this?" asked Christobel.
"About the handkerchief, no. Oh no, I don't. Howcouldit come here?"
It was perfectly true that she had no idea how the handkerchief came there, but it was not the sort of truth that was natural to Pamela Romilly, and as she said the horrid words she felt sick with herself. In a lightning moment she resolved to go to the Countess and tell her that she intended to state the whole position to Christobel--she would do it; she would warn the girl and have it all above-board.
Silence fell like a stone between the sisters. Christobel realized that Pamelahadsome secret; Pamela saw that she did.
Slowly the elder girl folded up the handkerchief and put it in her skirt pocket.
"What shall you do--about it?" asked Pamela nervously.
"I shall give it to Mother, I suppose. When one considers that the letters and the coronet are the same--well----"
Her tone was cold--she was hurt because Pam would not speak.
A sudden strange inspiration came to Pamela in that desperate moment. Desperate, because Crow had backed her up and fought her battle right through--she could not bear this last misunderstanding.
"Crow," she said, leaning forward; her voice shook a little, and her eyes looked suspiciously limpid--"Crow--do you mind my saying something--about it?"
"Why should I?"
"Don't say anything to Mother, yet. Take it to Miss Anne."
"Miss Anne--Little Pilgrim?" Christobel checked her work, and gazed back startled. "Why?"
"I can't tell you why--but do. I am sure it would be the best thing to do."
The elder girl considered this, not with much sympathy it seemed; then she said:
"Oh well, perhaps. I don't know. Anyway, we may as well put lunch; Addie is awfully hungry."
So it passed, with a very heavy cloud left behind to darken the clear holiday sky!
Lunch was eaten and greatly enjoyed by Adrian. The two girls using a self-control such as only girls know how to call up when necessary, Addie saw no difference in either--but they saw it--in each other.
Then came the arrival at Peterock, the smart picking up of moorings, the convenient man doing nothing in a large clinker-built boat close by, with a pipe between his teeth, willing for a consideration to "oblige" and give advice.
Then the three went ashore with the afternoon before them, and to make it all more complete they decided to have tea at a gay and joyous tea-shop on the biggest esplanade, and start for home about five-thirty or six; even so with such a wind and the splendid flow-tide they would have ample time. Adrian had his hair cut, while the girls--more or less constrained--looked into shop windows. When they met again Christobel said she did not like the idea of waiting so long in the town, "suppose the wind dropped"--it was lighter. Adrian was disappointed, but he realized that they were not allowing themselves much time for possible accidents.
"Let's get off at four--about--and have tea on board," said Crow. As a matter of fact the "snap" in the day had gone out for her since that odd conversation with Pamela.
"Tellyou what we'll do," cried Adrian suddenly, as a new move occurred. He loved new moves. "We'll get off about four; we'll sail down to the cove this side Bell Ridge--you know Champles Creek. We'll drop anchor there and have tea on shore. We shall be home then practically, as we've only got Bell Ridge between us and the bay, and can walk over if the worst comes to the worst."
"Why should there be any 'worst'?" asked Crow, not quite convinced.
"No reason, but one ought to have a bolt hole--always. All wild animals do, and their instincts are--hullo, there's old Timothy Batt--Peterock day, I suppose."
Timothy Batt's "van" was drawn up at the curb, bulging with parcels of all shapes. He sat under the canvas hood, while people in shops came out and handed him more things. He was very well known.
As the Romilly trio came up he leaned out and made a gesture of summons to Pamela, who stepped forward to meet it.
Timothy explained that her bicycle was ready, "if so be" as she would be content to risk a probable collapse of the tyre at an early date.
"Them at the works," explained Mr. Batt, "can't make no job of it. A new tyre is what 'e wants--they don't take no 'sponsibilities."
"They've been such an age over it already," said Pamela, annoyed, "weeks--I must ask about the tyre--I wish I'd known, Timothy."
"Well, missie, 'twasn't for want o' me tellin' of you. 'Tis a matter of two weeks or more--us coming up along Folly Ho Road--pretty near dark it were, and that I marked because I says to the missus 'twas a lone place for you that hour. I called out, and stopped be roadside right enough to told you what they says down works. 'Thank 'e', says you--nobbut that, and on you goes. Bein' as I was home goin' and I didn't stop. There 'twas----"
"Oh," said Pamela uncertainly. "Oh, I see----" She moved on a step, then she turned back to the cart and told Timothy she would write to the works, "or Mother would".
Timothy Batt informed the missus that evening that "Miss Pamela looked 'pined'," and "she'd a lost way with her--happen she's growed too tall to be hearty," said the carrier.
Pamela certainly felt both "pined" and "lost" as she walked on with the others. She had no doubt whatever that this was another case of her "double", and glancing sideways at Adrian, as he walked along balancing neatly on the curb, saw the look on his face that she had begun to know now. Crow remained perfectly stolid, changing the subject at once to something far removed from bicycles and Timothy Batt.
In old days, both would have said to her at once, "What were you doing on the Folly Ho Road at that time?" Now, nobody spoke, and to poor Pamela it was a sort of brand proclaiming her outlawed from the family confidence.
On the top of the handkerchief affair it was rather shattering, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. However, she called up her resolution to hearten herself, swallowed the pain, and tried to take it all philosophically. After all, it would be explained presently, and in the meantime she was doing what she thought right by the girl who had asked for her silence.
Sails do not always turn out "according to plan", but this one did--as far as getting to the creek below Champles Farm was concerned. It was the loveliest place, though hardly worthy to be called a creek when it came to an anchorage. On such a day, with an off-shore wind, the place was perfection. And once more the spirits of the three recovered the usual level. Adrian dropped the anchor, and the white yawl lay on the smooth sea exactly like "a painted ship upon a painted ocean", while her crew went ashore.
A stream came down through a glorious cleft in the rugged height. There were trees and ferns, the former a bit stunted from sea-wind; but Bell Ridge was a barrier on one side, and on the other, the coast-line trending outward made a shield.
Two thermos flasks and a weighty basket went ashore with the crew in the dinghy. It was some while after five then; but, as Adrian said the tide would be in their favour till half-past nine, the feeling of ease was delightful. No hurry. No bother about wind or tide. Home was just round the point by sea, and perhaps a mile by land, as the crow flies. More, of course, if climbing is allowed for.
Soon after six Adrian said he should bathe. Crow unearthed a magazine, and Pamela said she would climb to the top and look at the view.
Everybody agreed that it "was all right", and became absorbed in their different occupations. Time passed so swiftly that it had presently reached the hour of half-past seven. Then Adrian, who had become busy on the yawl in some unexpected direction, came ashore and said it was time to be lifting anchor.
Christobel shut the magazine, wishing next month was due to-morrow, and gazed at him with vague eyes.
"Wake up, old lady; we ought to be getting back. Where's that idiot Pam?"
"Oh, isn't she on the shore?" said Christobel, stretching. "How heavenly it looks!"
"Yes, I know, but it's about eight o'clock--or soon will be. We'd better get things on board; I can come and take her off."
"Whistle--call," suggested Crow, getting up from her fern seat.
Adrian did his best, which was something to be proud of, in the noise line. Christobel had to tell him to stop; she said the lighthouse at Ramsworthy would send the boat up, thinking it was a ship in distress. They both stood on the edge of the rippled sea, looking up at the cliff and the wooded gully that cut it from top to the rocky base.
"There!" exclaimed Crow.
"Pam--e--la,hullo--o!" Adrian's strong voice woke echoes that called and called again.
Clear of the bushes, on the summit stood the person they wanted, looking down at them apparently, but never a word said she, nor did she make sign or gesture. She just stared.
Christobel waved her handkerchief, waved her hat, joined in Adrian's shout:
"Go--ing!"
Anyone could have heard much farther off than the cliff top. True, it was high, but the scene was so still, the waves but a ripple, and the wind a breath.
"She's mad," announced Adrian; "she's raving, Crow. I told you she was. If she isn't coming, why can't she answer? I must say this positively passes--well, never mind--get in--we'll go. If she comes down I'll fetch her off, but I shall certainly tell her what I think. Otherwise she can walk home."
"I don't understand," said Crow.
"Of course you don't. People are not expected to understand lunatics." Adrian said that and a few more things more pointed than flattering on the way out to the yawl.
Meanwhile Pamela sat down on the edge of the cliff and watched them with apparent interest.
By that time the light was beginning to turn into shadow.
"I suppose it couldn't be anyone else!" ventured Christobel, twisting round in the stern seat to look up at the motionless watcher.
"Anyone else! My good girl, ask your own senses! Look at her hair! Look at everything! Besides, where is Pamela? Didn't we see her go up to that very place?"
"Addie, don't you think I'd better go back, and up to her and see if anything is wrong?"
"How could there be anything wrong? She looks perfectly healthy--there, she's going away. Well, of all the blazing bits of cheek----"
It was true. Pamela got up, stood clear against a bit of bare ground so that they saw her figure distinctly; then she turned and walked away, disappearing on the instant from view.
Adrian gave a snort--it was nothing less--and boarded the yawl in silence.
The voyage home from the creek and the finish up took perhaps half an hour. Adrian left nothing to chance that night: he locked the companion door, he fastened the fore-hatch.
"You'll have to put up with stinks, Crow," he said bitterly, being most horribly cross; "with the whole of Bell Bay one seething mass of lunatics one has to take precautions."
Crow said nothing. She saw it must be so, also she was very much puzzled; there was the handkerchief of course, in addition, from her point of view; Addie knew nothing about that. However, amazements were not yet a thing of the past. When they two got in supper was just beginning--everybody was collected round a cosy, well-filled table, everybody, and--Pamela, who was cutting bread. She looked hot and rather tired.
"We're just about equal," she said. "I was so sorry to be late."
"Late!" came from the two elders in voices of amazed indignation.
"You were just off. I never saw anything so lovely asMessenger, just leaning over, and spinning along, with the dinghy streaming behind. It was no good then, of course, so I just went back through the gorse ridge and came down the usual way."
"Do you mean to say we were sailing when you first saw us, Pam?" said Christobel, in a shocked voice.
"Sailing, yes--streaking along awfully fast. Have some bread, Addie?"
"But, my dear girl, we were on the shore when we first saw you," persisted Christobel. "We called and shouted till we were afraid of attracting public attention and being had up for nuisances."
"Did you see Pam then, dear?" asked Mrs. Romilly.
"Seeher, of course, Mummy, but she wouldn't answer. We called--we waved--we were on shore waiting by the dinghy, wondering why on earth she was so late. Then we saw her come to the cliff edge and look down at us. Addie made an awful noise, but she never answered. She just seemed to be staring straight at us. At last we couldn't wait any longer and we put off to the yawl. She watched us reach the yawl and then she turned away and went off. That's whatwesaw."
"Howveryodd," said Mrs. Romilly uncertainly. "Tell them just what happened to you, darling."
"I went up the cliff to the top," Pamela answered, speaking rather quickly, "then I thought I'd just go to Champles and fetch a few eggs, as it was easy to carry them by the boat. And coming away from Champles I went round above the church, because it was so lovely--and there was a most awful bother going on--Crow, you know where Mr. Badger has all those sheep penned, and the field where the mare and the foal are in with those calves. Well,allthe sheep were out--hundreds--the whole place was covered, the mare had got into the cornfield where the young corn is just coming up green--and the calves had gone. I started to get the mare out, it took ages; then I saw the calves had gone into the field that's nearly hay. It was particularly trying for Mr. Badger, because I knew he would be at Salterne market to-day and not back. Everyone else was gone home, of course. I got the mare back, and the calves, and some of the sheep. It took ages and ages; when I got to the cliff edge there wasMessengersailing away. Certainly I didn't blame Addie for a second. I only went to look on the off-chance of her being still in the creek--it was very late."
Adrian made no remark from first to last. He hardly appeared to listen, but ate his supper in absorbed silence. Frankly, he did not believe a word of the story, but he did not know what to think. How his sister could dare to assert that they never saw her, and that the yawl was on her way home, was past understanding.
Mrs. Romilly had come to the conclusion--from Adrian's manner and Pam's nervousness--that there had been some tiff on board, and the separation was due to disagreement. She changed the subject, and peace prevailed on the surface.
CHAPTER XVIII
Mr. Badger calls at Bell House;and Christobel at Fuchsia Cottage
Hughie most tactfully refrained from saying one word to add to Pamela's weariness that night. It was plain she was very tired--plain to her mother, who, for that reason perhaps, was a little inclined to be biased against the elder pair.
It was not kind to leave the child alone at Champles Creek, when by their own story they had seen her and called to her.
"After all, one of you might have gone up to see what was the matter, darling," she said to Crow later.
"But, Mother,shesays we'd started."
"I think she is saying it to shield you both; Pam is very generous," suggested Mrs. Romilly.
"I suppose you mean that either wayweare wrong," answered Crow, a little wounded.
"Well, do you think it was quite kind to leave her all alone? After a long tiring day? But never mind--a night's rest will put it right, and certainly Pam bears no malice."
That was how the affair looked to Mrs. Romilly. Christobel said no more. She was a wise, kind girl--moreover, she was becoming aware of some strange mesh of misunderstanding that had entangled them all. Pamela had had to bear the brunt of that horrible brooch affair--nowshewas accused of this!
The handkerchief was in her possession still, of course, and, as she examined it that night, Pamela's odd suggestion came back to her with new force. At any rate Miss Anne would bring another mind and imagination to bear on these entanglements.
Hughie, then, waited till next day, when he conveyed a secret invitation to Pamela to meet him in "the cave" at a certain hour for important conversation. Pamela went, and, curled up happily behind the barricade with her long legs doubled up under her, she heard the story of the Countess' raid on the yawl and the way she had been circumvented.
"Now what did she want to do?" said Pamela thoughtfully, her head against the big trunk.
"Irather guess----" said Hughie.
"What?"
"She wants to escape from Bell Bay. If I was her," he went on, clasping his ankles as he sat cross-legged--"if I was her, I should escape, but in a more sensible way, of course."
"I see, escape to Salterne. I wonder if she has any money," considered Pamela.
"Sure to--lots."
"I wonder," went on Pam, "if Addie found out things on board; he never said a word to me."
"Of course he did. The dinghy was all filthy mess, and there must have been a wholefieldon the yawl!Icouldn't stop to clean up. There was that girl, and besides, I was so wet."
"Midget, you haven't caught cold, have you?" asked Pamela anxiously.
"No. I say, Pam--because Addie found out the mess was why you didn't go to Salterne, don't you see? It made things late--then you went to Peterock. I guessed that was it."
Pamela saw also, in an instant. Then she told Hughie about the handkerchief; he nodded gravely.
"Well, if Crow takes it to Miss Lasarge, perhapsshe'llgo and tell Sir Marmaduke. I wish they'd take that girl away--she spoils all our fun." Hughie sighed, then he remarked, "I told her it's no use her raiding the yawl any more--I said Addie would lock her up. I said I'd tell him to, but he'll do it jolly well without me telling."
Pamela remained deep in thought as she reviewed this situation.
"I wonder what that girl will do next," she said at last, and sighed.
"Well,Iwish she'd put her head in a bag," remarked the Midget with quite unexpected coarseness; "she doesn't seem to be any use."
Now if anybody is thinking that the trouble at Champles Farm began and ended with poor Pamela's anxious efforts, "he is deceived by his own vanity", as Mrs. Jeep would have said. The day was not ended before that worthy woman sent in a message by Keziah to know whether she could speak to mistress for a few moments. Mrs. Romilly departed to the housekeeper's room, and presently left that comfortable sanctum more confused in mind than ever.
It appeared that Mrs. Jeep considered it her duty to mention what "they" were saying about Miss Pamela. It was "all over the village" that Miss Pamela had removed the hurdle and had caused Mr. Badger's sheep to wander like the Israelites in the desert: some having been found at Peterock, one been run over on the main road to the station, and several still lost. That Miss Pamela had opened the gates at both ends of Spill land--the senseless name of the field in which the mare and the heifers were pastured--and let the animals out.
"They will have it as Badger's mare is so bad with the colic that she won't get over it. Green corn's shocking food for a horse--well, serve her right, the greedy creature--but the heifers, five of them, have trampled the field he'd laid by for hay something cruel. I'm repeating what they say, ma'am--there may be an ounce of truth to a barrel of lies--we know how they talk. But anyway, it's laid to Miss Pamela. In my opinion, that Badger's trying to make a case for himself. He thinks he knows where the money lays! I don't hold with that Badger, ma'am; never did, he's too free with his gossip. What I say is, Miss Pamela knows the rights of a field just as well as them Badgers. She was never one for mischief--not from a child. It's silly nonsense, that's what it is, ma'am, but I thought I'd tell you in case that feller comes round making out a case for damage."
Mrs. Jeep stayed, breathless; she had been fighting the family battles since the milk came from Paramore's in the morning. It was the milkman that first brought the tale; followed shortly by the postman and the baker. Hennery Doe had "known ove night", he admitted, but, as he disapproved of gossip just as decidedly as of eight-hour days, the story had remained with him.
"Oh dear, ohdear," said Mrs. Romilly, "it really is too absurd. Poor little Pamela seems to be in the wars all round. What is the matter? Why are people so hopelessly idiotic?"
Mrs. Jeep sympathized respectfully. She intended to uphold the family whatever turn the matter took, though in her secret heart she thought it not an impossible contingency that Pamela might have left a gate open.
"Unluckily she was there--in the evening," allowed Mrs. Romilly; "if only I could say she was at home!"
There it was.
Mr. Badger first of all wrote a letter to Mrs. Romilly. This he followed up by a visit, next morning, and poor Pamela was sent for to the library. She was pale and worried; there was an anxious look in her grey-blue eyes, for the situation was so entirely new to all her experiences that she felt like a convict.
Mrs. Romilly said:
"Pam dear, tell Mr. Badger what you saw, and what you did."
Pamela told, in rather a breathless way, and one strong point in her favour was her visit to Champles to fetch the eggs that were always welcome at the Bell House. Mr. Badger admitted that she had reached Champles before seven o'clock--about a quarter to seven in fact. Badger's contention seemed to be that she had opened the gates before that--soon after six, because witnesses had seen sheep wandering at half-past six.
"I didn't go that way, Mr. Badger," said Pamela with decision; "I began to climb up from the creek somewhere about six, and went straight to Champles. I camebackround the farm and the field where the mare was. No one was about, and I tried for an hour to get the animals home--the mare couldn't have eaten a great deal; I got her out, but the calves wouldn't go."
"I dunno," said Mr. Badger, with a twinkling eye fixed on the cornice--oneon the cornice, that is,oneon Mrs. Romilly--"I dunno as I can save that mare; she's a turrable loss. If she dies the foal's sure to foller; he's full young. As for the hay, an' them sheep----"
Mr. Badger believed he had a strong case. He said he could bring witnesses to swear that they saw Pamela about six o'clock going through the Spill land. The witnesses were vague rumour, really, but supposed to be people walking out from Peterock to Bell Ridge and back--these people "had passed a remark" on the subject when the sheep were all over the roads, and remembered a young lady in blue with a long tail of hair, walking in the direction of Peterock.
"How couldIbe going to Peterock, Mother? Youdosee how improbable it is, don't you?"
Mrs. Romilly was firmer than Mr. Badger had hoped. He had planned a "walk over", and pictured himself returning home with a cheque for at least twenty pounds in his pocket! The fact is that Mrs. Romilly was so convinced of Pamela's truth herself that she refused to be shaken.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Badger," she said; "at the same time, if, as you allow, people were walking out from Peterock to the ridge and back why should not one of them have left your gate insecure? Strangers are careless, we know. As for the young lady in blue with long hair whom they say they saw on the spot--the story is not convincing. They had heard the description of my daughter, and are shielding themselves behind it. I don't think we need say any more."
Mr. Badger went, dismissed icily by Keziah, who upheld the honour of the Bell House as first lieutenant to Mrs. Jeep; at the same time she remarked, in privacy:
"I've no opinion of Badger, Mrs. Jeep, as you know, but it takes some explaining to see why ever Mr. Adrian and Miss Pamela tell such different tales. Mr. Adrian's ever so gruff, won't hardly speak to Miss Pamela, nor Miss Christobel neither, so far as I can see. Heisput out."
Keziah spoke truly, for Christobel could get no opinion from her brother either way. He refused to discuss Badger, or his woes. When Christobel said it was all a story--a fairy tale of gossip--didn't he think so? Adrian said:
"My dear Crow, did we see Pamela, or did we not see Pamela! You know what we did, and you know what she did? Well, what's the good of talking."
It was conclusive enough to drive Crow into her own room and a consultation with her own mind as to the best course. There was still that suggestion of Pam's about Miss Lasarge. Crow sat in her wicker armchair and gazed up the carriage drive, on which Adrian still declared he had seen the younger pair at four o'clock in the morning. Madness--of course, yet, what about that queer invasion of the yawl? The whole thing was delirium of improbabilities; the more Christobel thought about it, the simpler it seemed to go and ask Miss Anne for advice.
So, about four o'clock on the day of Mr. Badger's visit, Christobel announced she was going for a walk, and "made tracks" for Fuchsia Cottage. Miss Anne was at home; she usually was at that hour; and she received the girl with pleasure visible in every line of her small pale face.
"Now of course you'll have tea with me, Crow; do you know, I was just beginning to pity myself for being all alone, and so you've saved me from a contemptible state of mind. I'll tell Lizzie--and what about the lawn?"
Christobel said it was rather windy; she did not want tea out of doors, it was too public. That settled it, because Miss Lasarge understood.
Everything went as is usual until the middle of the meal, when outside subjects of conversation had been exhausted; then Crow said:
"Little Pilgrim, I'm come really to ask you to help us----"
"Us?" questioned Miss Anne, undisturbed.
"Well, it affects us all, so I'd sooner say us. We are in a strange kind of morass--I don't know what to call it. We've never had such a horrible state of things in the family before; you know how happy we are?"
"I know," agreed Miss Anne; "and so something has happened to spoil it! Suppose you begin at the beginning and tell me. 'Trouble shared is trouble spared', isn't it?"
"I'm trying to remember when this trouble actually started," said Christobel, leaning her head back on the cushion, and gazing at the flowers on the table with unseeing eyes.
"It was about the time Mollie went. The first we knew of it was when Pam saved little Ensor. She said, and they said, that she did it alone--you remember. Adrian said it was impossible. Some days afterwards he went to look at the place, and he found a most lovely diamond brooch with two 'A's' for initials and a coronet over them----"
Miss Anne stirred in her chair. Crow paused.
"Go on dear," said Miss Anne.
Crow went on, she told the whole story of the brooch, with scrupulous accuracy, adding one after the other the appearances of Pamela in places where she should not have been at such hours. She went on, without interruption, through the very strange story of Adrian's vision at four in the morning, and the even stranger relation of the condition in which the yawl and the dinghy were found. Finally there was the discovery of the handkerchief on board the yawl, andthislatest affair of the picnic at Champles Creek and Pamela's amazing behaviour, followed so quickly by Badger's accusation.
Crow was very deliberate; she did not forget the episode of Timothy Batt even, bringing the whole relation up to the present moment, as it were. Then she ceased to speak.
Miss Anne was leaning her cheek on her hand, and her elbow on the arm of the chair; she did not look at Christobel, but very intently out at the lawn and flowers.
"What doyouthink, Crow?" she presently asked. "Have you any interpretation of your own?"
Christobel shook her head rather despondently; then she said:
"Anyway, I'm absolutely sure Pamela hasn't done anything dishonourable. I don't understand what's happening, but I do know Pam, and I've sometimes thought she might be aiming at some--well--some rather cranky sort of noble deed----" Crow flushed and looked at her companion in a deprecating manner. "She's simply wild about the Girl Guide business; she's only waiting till she gets to school to be one. She reads it up, and soaks it in, and she's awfully set on doing a good deed every day, and helping people whatever it costs. Don't you see how it might lead to--to things, perhaps? One can't tell how, exactly."
"She might be shielding somebody?" suggested Miss Lasarge.
"Yes; if there was anybody to shield. Besides," added Christobel in a more matter-of-fact tone, "a lot of it is sheer muddle--the Badger business, I mean,that'ssinful nonsense."
Miss Anne laughed; the fierceness in Crow's way of saying "sinful nonsense" pleased her very much.
After that they talked it all over quietly, and the upshot was that one thing especially seemed to puzzle Miss Lasarge, namely the surprising vision Adrian saw at four o'clock in the morning.
"He could hardly have been mistaken in Hughie," she said.
"Or in Pam," added Crow.
To that Miss Anne made no reply.
When Christobel had taken her leave, greatly comforted, though nothing had happened so far to lift the burden, Miss Lasarge looked at the clock; it was half-past five. She hesitated, then made up her mind--and a very firm mind too--because though Miss Anne was small and pale she had a great soul in that small body, and she realized that she must help innocent folk who were suffering through no fault of their own.
She put on a grey cloak and little close bonnet with a grey veil, and slipped across the road to Woodrising gates like a grey shadow. It was a cloudy day, and the very young new moon was "lying on her back", as country folk say, which is a sign of tiresome weather. Miss Anne, looking up, saw the silver sickle, pale and slim, for the first time.
Mrs. Trewby opened the gate, sighing; she was more bilious than usual by reason of Mrs. Chipman's company, and a large housekeeping allowance. Mrs. Chipman liked what she called "a good table", meaning, of course, the things on it, not the table. Therefore, in doing her best to keep Mrs. Chipman in countenance, Mrs. Trewby had upset herself for weeks, probably months. It was a pity, because it made her very unhappy and darkened her life.
"I wish to see the Countess, Mrs. Trewby," said Miss Anne.
"Well, miss, I dunno'----"
"It's very important," continued Miss Anne, quietly passing inside; "I will answer to Sir Marmaduke."
When Miss Lasarge spoke in that voice she was always obeyed, and so she presently found herself within the hall, and Mrs. Chipman discussing the matter with many creakings of the tight bodice.
"I assure you, Miss Lasarge, that I have agitated in vain," cried Mrs. Chipman; "coercion has been attempted in vain; the temperament of the Countess is opposed to isolation, therefore----"
"I am afraid we cannot discuss that, Mrs. Chipman; the point is that Sir Marmaduke left orders which must be carried out. Now, if you please, I wish to see the Countess."
Mrs. Chipman was for the time suppressed--like the guinea-pigs inAlice in Wonderland--she was rather like a guinea-pig when you come to think of it. She ushered Miss Lasarge into the drawing-room where Pamela had seen the Countess, but nobody was there, and Miss Anne detected in a moment that Mrs. Chipman really was not sure whether she could produce her very self-willed charge. It was a matter of luck!
In that moment they both saw the girl in question going swiftly across the lawn towards a shrubbery lower down. Miss Anne did not hesitate; she opened the window--which was of the "French" kind--passed out quickly, and called.
The girl stopped, and stood looking to see who had summoned her; saw Miss Lasarge and remained, hesitating. Had it been Mrs. Chipman she would have walked away, that was obvious.
Miss Anne went over the grass towards her.
"I want to have a little talk with you, Countess," she said, without the least asperity. "Won't you come back and entertain me?"
They came back together, into the drawing-room, and Miss Anne shut the window, because she preferred to keep the conversation private.
She did not find this task at all easy, chiefly because the girl's attitude--in every sense--was so antagonistic.
Sir Marmaduke Shard had given her and Major Fraser a sort of partnership as watch-dogs over this girl--chiefly because one was a first-class hospital nurse, and the other a doctor--yet they had no actual authority, only moral authority. He wanted someone on the spot to oversee Mrs. Chipman, and be ready supposing her charge should be ill. He fancied that he had arranged for every contingency in a most complete manner, but being a man as well as a great lawyer, he had of course missed entirely the main points--the practical points--with results already shown.
Miss Anne and Major Fraser both had a reason for helping; this came to light afterwards; but even so they would probably have declined all association with the business had they realized how perfectly untamable Sir Marmaduke's ward was going to be.
Things had come to a head, though, and Miss Lasarge felt herself on firm ground when she began to talk. She told the girl that she knew everything--including the brooch business and the wanderings over the countryside.
The Countess watched her shrewdly--to see how much she really did know--and quickly realized that nothing was said about the night visit to the yawl. Miss Anne did not mention it, because she could not make up her mind about that. How could little Hughie be connected with this girl in such an excursion? It was not possible to understand it, and the Countess decided she did not know, and triumphed.
She excused herself about the brooch, saying it was her own; she had dropped it on the cliffs.
"When you met Pamela Romilly?" suggested Miss Anne.
"Was there any wickedness in helping to carry the farm boy?" said the Countess.
"Of course not, my dear; but you should not have been out. You promised Sir Marmaduke in my hearing that you would keep to these grounds for the short time you are staying--you break your word, and, if I am not mistaken, you induced Pamela Romilly to keep your secret, and so have involved her in all sorts of grief and misunderstanding."
"She need not keep her promise," said the Countess, with a little smile.
"But she would, of course. And you knew she would, didn't you?"
The girl gave that little shrug with which she met objections she despised, and, as Miss Anne looked at her handsome face and her arrogant supercilious expression, she found herself wondering how, when, and where it would ever be possible to teach this untaught soul a code of honour.