Solomon's SeaLEvening PrimrosETasmanian FlaGTormentillALilaCEuphrasY
"The initials read 'settle' and the finals 'legacy'," said Cicely. "How very queer! That hasn't anything to do with flowers."
"Let us look at the end lines again," said Lindsay, and she read aloud:
Please take my initials and finals likewise:The former you'll find to be hiding the latter;If you've solved the enigma you'll see 'tis a matterPerchance may provide you with just a lost link,And bring you a greater reward than you think.
"The initials hide the finals. 'Settle' hides 'Legacy'," repeated Cicely meditatively.
"Why, I see it now!" burst out Lindsay suddenly. "Oh, Cicely, I believe it means a great deal more than an ordinary riddle! It has something to do with the lost treasure. Don't you understand? The settle is hiding the legacy—Monica's legacy!"
"Oh, surely not!" exclaimed Cicely, bouncing up in great excitement.
"But I really think so. The poetry says the enigma is 'to provide the lost link' and 'bring a greater reward than you think'. This is indeed a discovery! It's evidently intended to tell Monica where her money is to be found."
"Can we be quite, quite certain?" hesitated Cicely.
"Well, everything seems to point to it. Don't you recollect Irene Spencer said that in old Sir Giles' will he left 'the Manor and all that it may contain to my great-niece Monica, especially commending to her the volumes in my library, and advising her to pursue the study of botany'? I remember those were the exact words. This must have been the reason. He had written the secret of the hiding-place inside theFloral Calendar, and he thought she would find it there. Perhaps he wasn't so very mad after all."
"I wonder if Monica has seen it and puzzled it out?"
"I don't know. She said she didn't often trouble about the books."
"Then is the treasure hidden inside some old settle in the house?"
"It seems likely."
"In that case we must be wrong about the lantern room."
"Perhaps we are. Well, at any rate this throws new light on the subject, and gives us a clue as towhere to hunt. We'll go over the Manor again, and look carefully at every settle."
"I hope we're really on the right track at last," sighed Cicely. "What a glorious day it would be if we could actually say to Monica: 'Here's your fortune!'"
Lindsay and Cicely thought they understood what a settle was, but, to avoid the possibility of any mistake, they looked the word up in the dictionary. "Settle—a long bench, with high back, for sitting on," was the explanation given by that authority.
"So it 'settles' the matter," said Cicely, trying to make a pun.
"Well, it shows us it's not a chest, anyhow," replied Lindsay, "though the oak bench in the passage near the top of the stairs has a kind of box under it. The seat lifts up like a lid."
There were four pieces of old furniture in the Manor which might claim to answer to the description given in the dictionary. Two were in the dining-room, one in the picture gallery, and another, as Lindsay had said, at the head of the stairs. The girls made a most lengthy and careful inspection of them all, but without the slightest result. Neither their backs nor their seats were hollow, or capable of containing anything. Three of them stood upon carved oak legs, like chairs,and though the last was made in the fashion of a chest, it proved on investigation to be absolutely empty. It was a bitter disappointment.
"Can we have been mistaken about the enigma?" said Cicely, almost in tears.
"I don't believe so. What I think is, that Mrs. Wilson and Scott have been clever enough to find the money and carry it off. Perhaps there was another settle somewhere in the house, and they took it bodily away."
"Wouldn't Monica have missed it?"
"It may have been done just after Sir Giles died, and before she came to the Manor."
"Where would they put it?"
"Possibly in the lantern room, inside some hiding-place they know of."
"Then, until we can find out the secret of the lantern room, it seems to me we can't get any farther."
"And we don't even know that the treasure is still there, because it may be buried in the garden," groaned Lindsay.
The whole affair of the lost legacy was most aggravating and tantalizing. They seemed so continually on the point of unravelling the mystery, only to find themselves again defeated and baffled. Cicely was tempted to throw it up altogether in despair, but Lindsay had a native obstinacy of disposition that could not bear to be beaten.
"I shall go on trying as long as we're at Haversleigh, on that I'm entirely resolved," she declared. "I don't mean to give up until we're actually on our way to the station on breaking-up day."
"And that's only three weeks off now," said Cicely.
The summer term at the Manor had proved so enjoyable that the girls were not nearly so enthusiastic as usual for the advent of the holidays. Most of them felt a keen regret at leaving the beautiful old place, and bewailed the fact that the alterations at Winterburn Lodge were reported to be progressing favourably, and that the drains there would be in perfect order long before they need return in September.
"Couldn't we have school here always instead of in London?" they suggested hopefully to Miss Russell.
"No," said the headmistress; "there are many considerations which would make it impossible. Mrs. Courtenay and Monica will want to live in their own home again, and Haversleigh is too inconvenient a place for a permanency. We have managed wonderfully well for a few months with only Mademoiselle, but we certainly miss Herr Hoffmann's and Monsieur Guizet's classes, to say nothing of drawing and dancing lessons. Visiting masters cannot arrange to come so far away from town. There are no proper educationaladvantages to be had in the depths of the country."
"We shall be sorry when it comes to good-bye," declared the girls.
"We must make the most of our remaining time here then," said Miss Russell, "and try to see all we can in the neighbourhood before we go."
The mistress's birthday, falling on the following Wednesday, offered a propitious opportunity for an excursion such as she suggested. The girls were accustomed to celebrate the occasion with some little festivity, and were delighted when it was arranged that they should visit the town of Appleford, about ten miles away.
"There is the Dripping Well to see, and a fine old church," said Miss Russell. "I am sure we shall be able to spend a very pleasant afternoon there. We must ask Monica to come with us."
There was some doubt at first as to whether Monica would be able to accept the invitation. She had missed her French lesson one day, and arrived at school late on the next, looking pale and upset. Mrs. Courtenay had been very ill, so she explained. The doctor had been sent for, and had given an unfavourable report. Naturally extra care and attention were needful, and who could give these so well as her own daughter?
On the day of the picnic Monica turned up with rather an anxious face.
"I scarcely like to leave Mother," she said, "but she wants me so much to have this treat that she would not rest content until she had seen me put on my hat and start off. Fortunately Jenny is a good nurse, and will look after her nicely. Still, I always feel uneasy when I am long away from her."
The girls were to drive the whole distance to Appleford, and the prospect was so exhilarating that everyone was at the high-water mark of enjoyment. Even poor Monica caught the prevailing spirit, and for the moment, at least, began to forget her cares. There was just room to pack both teachers and pupils into the four wagonettes which arrived from the George Inn, but nobody seemed to mind crushing, and even Mademoiselle was in a good temper.
"I smile because I shall again see shops and streets," she declared.
"I believe Mademoiselle will be delighted to go back to Winterburn Lodge," said Marjorie Butler, who was in another wagonette, but overheard the remark.
"Yes, I think she's absolutely yearning for pavements and lamp-posts," said Cicely. "She'll weep with joy at the sight of a tramcar. She says it is terribly 'triste' here."
"Mademoiselle is French," observed Effie Hargreaves scornfully.
"What a very original remark! You didn't suppose we took her for a German?"
"Well, I mean she's a foreigner at any rate, so we can't expect her to like the country," replied Effie, with true British prejudice.
There were several small excitements on the journey. Beryl's hat was blown by a sudden puff of wind over a bridge, and was in great peril of descending into the river when it was rescued by the driver; the door of the second wagonette burst suddenly open, and nearly precipitated Irene Spencer into the road; while the whole cavalcade was brought to a standstill at a narrow turning by finding a broken-down motor-car blocking up the way.
Appleford proved to be a delightfully quaint old country town, with twisting streets and black-and-white houses.
"I'm afraid Mademoiselle will be very disappointed with the fashions. She certainly won't find Paris modes here," laughed Marjorie Butler, looking at the one row of small shop windows that appeared to satisfy the wants of the population.
"I'm glad there's a confectioner's, anyhow," said Effie Hargreaves, who was burning to spend her pocket-money on chocolates.
"And a place for picture postcards," added Nora Proctor; "I can see a whole tray full of them standing outside that door."
The arrival of four wagonettes containing so many schoolgirls evidently caused quite an excitement in the usually quiet street. Heads were popped out of windows, shopkeepers came to their doors, and people began to collect at corners and stare.
"Almost as if we were a wild-beast show!" said Cicely.
"I believe they hope we're going to march in procession round the market square and sing, or play as a band," declared Nora Proctor.
"Come along, girls! I am afraid we are attracting too much attention," said Miss Russell. "Let us set off for the Dripping Well as fast as we can. You must make any purchases you want when we return; I cannot let you wait now."
Effie Hargreaves had already dived into the toffee shop, and issued with several paper packages in her hand; so she went on her way rejoicing that she had seized the opportunity while there was yet time. Fortunately for the others, she was of a generous disposition, and ready to share her sweets.
"We'll pay you back when we get some of our own," said Marjorie Butler, blissfully sucking a caramel.
The Dripping Well was situated in a wood, about a mile from the town, and was, as the guide-book described it, "a most curious natural phenomenon". The water trickled slowly over a large rock, and was so charged with lime that it left a thin deposit over everything it touched. Articles hung up there, after a short time bore the appearance of having been turned to stone. All kinds of objects were suspended from the rock, in the process of being encrusted by the lime—top hats, boots, stockings, gloves, loaves of bread, and even bunches of flowers.
"It looks just as if the Gorgon had stared at them and petrified them with a glance," said Nora.
"I wonder, if we were hung up, should we turn solid too?" said Lindsay.
The caretaker of the well had many specimens to show them which he had polished, and was anxious to sell. There was quite a large collection in his cottage. The girls, after hastily conferring together, bought a stone bouquet as a birthday present for Miss Russell, an offering which she declared should grace the school museum when they returned to Winterburn Lodge.
"I thought she'd have put it in the drawing-room," said Beryl Austen, rather disappointed.
"Well, of course it is more of a curiosity than an ornament," said Mildred Roper. "It wouldn't have looked very beautiful decorating the mantel-piece, I'm afraid—not nearly so nice as a real bunch of flowers."
Close to the well was a cave in the cliff whicha hermit had once used for his cell—a very picturesque spot to have chosen for his meditations, so the girls decided.
"But horribly damp; the poor man must have been racked with rheumatism," said Miss Frazer, who was of a practical mind.
"Perhaps, like Friar Tuck, he didn't often use it, and preferred to hunt venison in the woods," suggested Kathleen Crawford.
"No, he was a really devout hermit, who told his beads, and lived on bread and water," said Monica. "He dug his own grave in the rock about a hundred yards from here. You can see it still, though his bones have long ago been taken away for relics."
"I wonder if they petrified them first in the well," said Nora Proctor, "and how much they sold them for? There are more than two hundred bones in the human body, so a hermit ought to have been worth a good deal when he was properly divided."
"You naughty, irreverent girl!" said Monica.
Tea had been prepared at the old-fashioned inn in the market square. Afterwards they went to look through the church, where there were some fine examples of Gothic carving, and several beautiful stained-glass windows. One in particular, which Monica pointed out, was in memory of a member of the Courtenay family. There was achained Bible, besides a black-letter Prayer Book, a pair of tongs for turning dogs out of church, and several other curiosities shown by the old verger; so time passed rapidly, and everyone was quite surprised when Miss Russell looked at her watch, and announced that they must be returning home.
"Will someone fetch Monica? I believe she is in the churchyard with the Rector's wife," she said.
Lindsay and Cicely volunteered to go, and found their friend under a big yew tree, engaged in talking to a lady who was evidently making enquiries about Mrs. Courtenay. Not liking to intrude and interrupt the conversation, they stood waiting until they should be noticed.
"The doctor was over yesterday," Monica was saying, with a choke in her voice. "He told me our only chance is to send to London for Sir William Garrett. And how can we? His fee is a hundred guineas."
"That is a heavy amount."
"Impossible for us. You know how gladly I would sell even the Manor to raise the money, but I cannot touch a penny of my property until I come of age, and that won't be for more than four years. I try not to blame Uncle Giles, yet sometimes——"
Here Monica broke down altogether, and wiped her eyes.
"You mustn't give up hope, my dear child,"said the Rector's wife kindly. "Perhaps your mother may be spared to you after all. Strange things come to pass sometimes, and good can often result from evil."
"I wish I could believe so," sobbed Monica. "I don't care in the least about the fortune for myself; I only want it when I think of what it might do for her!"
"Cicely!" said Lindsay solemnly the next morning, as she tied her hair ribbon before the looking-glass, "we simply must have another try to find that treasure."
Cicely paused with her brush in her hand.
"It's dreadful that Mrs. Courtenay may die because they can't scrape together a hundred guineas," she agreed.
"And Monica is breaking her heart over it," continued Lindsay. "She goes about looking so unhappy, it makes me quite miserable too. I'd give everything in the world I have to help her."
"I don't know where we're to hunt next. We seem to have explored every corner, and we never have any luck."
Cicely's voice sounded utterly despondent.
"We can only go to the lantern room again. It's the one place where we're sure there's a secret. If Merle could discover something there, why shouldn't we?"
It appeared a forlorn hope, but anything was better than just sitting down and making no effort at all. Monica's troubles weighed much on Lindsay's mind. The idea that the invalid must slip out of life for lack of the money that might save her seemed too cruel to be endured.
"I wish I had a hundred guineas of my own to give them," she thought sorrowfully. "Oh dear! it's such a big sum—one might as well wish for the moon. I'm afraid there's not the slightest chance for poor Mrs. Courtenay unless the legacy turns up."
It was in rather a dejected mood that the girls betook themselves to the upper landing that afternoon, and once more climbed the now familiar winding staircase. The lantern room looked exactly the same as on their two former visits. There was nothing in it to excite interest or arouse curiosity. A more unromantic chamber could not be conceived.
The window was closed, the rusty firegrate contained only a few ashes, and the door of the cupboard stood open, revealing rows of empty shelves. The one object worthy of notice was the ancient lantern, which hung from a hook in the middle of the ceiling. That, at any rate, was curious. It was of a quaint, medieval pattern, and the sides, instead of being of glass, were of thin pieces of horn.
"It's a funny old thing," said Lindsay. "I suppose they used a dip candle for it. I wonder if there's a piece left in it still?"
She stood on tiptoe, and made an effort to open the lantern, but it was hung too high to allow her to peep inside. Reaching up as best she could, she gave it a jerk, to try to lift it down. Quite suddenly and unexpectedly the lantern and hook descended by a chain from the ceiling. There was a strange grating sound, and, turning round, the girls saw a sight which made them gasp with amazement.
THE SECRET DOORTHE SECRET DOOR
Lindsay and Cicely might well cry out with surprise. A most peculiar thing had happened. A part of the back of the cupboard had opened like a door, revealing a narrow passage behind. Here at last was the hiding-place for which they had sought so long in vain.
They had never suspected the cupboard. It looked so ordinary, with its rows of shelves, that no one would have dreamt it concealed a secret exit. By a clever arrangement the lantern evidently worked a spring, and when pulled down caused the door to unclose automatically. Somebody in days gone by had no doubt constructed it thus to form a refuge in time of danger. The girls were in raptures of delight.
"This, of course, was where Mrs. Wilson vanished," said Lindsay.
"And what Merle saw," added Cicely.
It was an intense satisfaction to have found it out for themselves, especially when they had come upstairs with such small expectation of success.Where did the passage lead? That was naturally the first question they asked each other.
"It looks very dark," said Cicely, peering rather nervously into the opening.
"I wish we had a candle," said Lindsay. "There isn't even an end left inside the lantern, and we've no matches either."
"Shall I go downstairs and fetch some?" suggested Cicely.
"No, no! You might meet 'The Griffin' on the way. We'd better explore now, as quickly as we can, while the coast is clear."
It needed a little screwing up of courage to plunge into the dim obscurity before them. Lindsay went first, with Cicely clinging particularly closely on to her arm behind. The passage seemed to lead along the inside of the wall for about two yards, then took a sharp turn, and ended at the foot of a kind of ladder stairway.
One gleam of light fell from above, as if through some small chink in the roof, just sufficient to allow them to distinguish their surroundings and enable them to scramble up the rough steps. At the top they found themselves in a huge garret, how big they could not tell, for the corners were completely lost in black nothingness. The floor was thick with dust (such old dust!), and was so worm-eaten and rotten that it felt quite soft and crumbling under their feet.
They were close beneath the tiles, to judge from the rafters overhead. The air was hot and stifling, and had that stale, mouldy smell noticeable in places long shut up. They began to walk cautiously along, peering on all sides as their eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness.
"It's just the place for them to have put the treasure," said Cicely.
"If we only had a light!" sighed Lindsay. "I want to go nearer the wall, and see if I can find any heaps of money or silver tankards."
She groped her way a little more boldly across the room, and, putting out her foot, began to feel about.
"Do be careful!" begged Cicely.
It was a most necessary warning. The ancient, rotten boards could not stand the strain of Lindsay's weight, and down went her leg, making a great hole in the floor. Luckily she was not seriously hurt, only scratched and considerably frightened. With Cicely's help she managed to extricate herself, and withdrew to the safer middle of the garret.
"The old house must be almost ready to tumble down," she declared.
"Monica said parts of the Manor were very much out of repair," replied Cicely. "Besides, if this is a secret place, no one could ever come up to mend it."
"I wonder where my leg went to?" said Lindsay.
"Perhaps into some room below."
"In that case Mrs. Wilson will notice a hole in the ceiling, and will know somebody has been up here."
It was not an encouraging incident, but they were determined to venture farther all the same.
"We couldn't think of turning back now," said Lindsay.
At the far end of the room there was a door that seemed to lead into an attic even darker than the first.
"It's not much use going in there without a light," said Cicely.
"Just a few steps," said Lindsay.
She entered, and put up her hand to feel the height of the roof above. Instantly there was a tremendous rushing sound around them. The air seemed filled with flapping, shadowy forms, which brushed lightly against their cheeks. In an agony of fear poor Cicely shrieked and shrieked again, and clung to Lindsay desperately, as to the one substantial and human thing in the midst of what was horrible and unknown.
"All right, they're only bats," gasped Lindsay, in a rather quavering voice. "We've disturbed them, I expect."
Slightly reassured, Cicely dared to raise her head from her friend's shoulder and look round. Theywere surrounded by the fluttering wings of the bats. These little denizens of the darkness must have been hanging in numbers from the ceiling, and Lindsay's entrance had disturbed them. With strange squeaks and hisses they flitted to and fro for a few moments, then flew off to seek some safer retreat.
"I hope they've really gone," said Cicely, heaving a sigh of relief. "Don't go any farther in there, Lindsay. You can't see an inch before your face."
"But it may be the one important place," said Lindsay, yielding reluctantly as Cicely pulled her back into the outer garret. "I'd exchange all my next birthday presents for a candle."
"Hush! I want to listen. I thought I heard something."
"What?"
"A kind of rustling."
"I expect it was the bats, or a rat."
Cicely gave an apprehensive glance behind. Her nerves were not so strong as Lindsay's. Though she had had time to grow accustomed to scratchings inside the wainscots at the Manor, she could not overcome her dread of rats. Perhaps Lindsay was less valiant in her heart of hearts than she would have liked to confess. After all, it was little satisfaction to explore a room where she could see nothing.
She was just deciding to go, when Cicely once more clutched her arm.
"Oh, what is it?"
The exclamation burst simultaneously from the lips of the two girls. Close, almost, as it seemed, in their ears, echoed that horrible low groan which had so terrified them twice before. Heard amidst such strange and dim surroundings, it was more than flesh and blood could stand. Without waiting to make any further investigations, they turned and fled.
They hardly knew afterwards how they had stumbled across the rotten floor and scrambled down the ladder. With blinking eyes they looked into each other's scared faces as they emerged from the dark passage into the bright daylight of the lantern room again.
"What a dreadful place!" shuddered Cicely. "I'm thankful we've got safely away from it. I don't believe I'd venture up there again for all the fortunes in the world."
"We must close the entrance," said Lindsay anxiously. "We must take care to leave everything as we found it."
The secret door shut with a spring, and in a moment there was nothing to be seen again but the innocent-looking cupboard. The lantern had ascended to its former place in the ceiling; the chain worked on a pulley, and, as it ran up or down, it fastened or unloosed the lock.
Cicely, at any rate, was not sorry to descend to the more civilized portions of the house.
"I wonder if Merle explored as far as we did," she said.
"I hardly think so," returned Lindsay. "She couldn't have had time. I believe she must have met 'The Griffin' coming out, and have been frightened into not telling."
The more the girls talked the matter over, the more complicated seemed the mystery. Though they had found Mrs. Wilson's hiding-place, they were no nearer ascertaining whether the treasure was concealed there or elsewhere. Out in the sunshine Lindsay's courage returned, and she began to reproach herself for having given up the search so soon.
"We'll go some other day, and take two candles and a box of matches with us," she announced.
"Is it really any good?"
Cicely's spirit quailed at the prospect of once more encountering the unknown horrors that might be lurking in that dark attic. She could not forget the groans she had heard there.
"Of course it is! I didn't think you'd be the one to draw back," said Lindsay reproachfully. "We've both pledged ourselves to do everything in our power to help Monica. It would be mean and cowardly to give in just because we felt afraid. If you don't care to come with me, Ishall have to go alone. I'm only waiting for a good opportunity."
For several days the opportunity tarried. Mrs. Wilson was too often about the passages to make the expedition safe. On one occasion Cicely went to act scout, but found the housemaid sweeping the top landing, and had to beat a hasty retreat.
They were not able to discover where Lindsay's leg had descended so suddenly through the rotten floor, or whether any of the ceilings in the upper rooms had suffered in consequence. If Mrs. Wilson had found out the damage, she kept her own counsel. When at last they managed to seize a favourable chance, and to steal up the winding staircase, a sad checkmate awaited them. The door of the lantern room was securely fastened with a padlock.
"Scott said he was going to put one on," said Lindsay, after staring blankly at the unwelcome impediment. "Don't you remember, when he was talking to 'The Griffin' in the picture gallery, and she told him we had been here?"
"I'm certain they suspect us," returned Cicely. "Perhaps they only took part of the silver or jewellery away in that sack, and the rest is still up in the garret."
The sole plan of action they could think of after this last disappointment was to keep a watch upon Scott. If he had really concealed a portionof the treasure in the garden, he would probably go to look at it occasionally, to make sure of its safety. At Cicely's urgent request they had already made a careful examination, with a trowel, of the bank where Scott had been digging when they surprised him in the dark. It was fruitless work, however; nothing was there.
"I told you beforehand they wouldn't be so foolish," said Lindsay.
"I thought they might have dropped a piece of money, or an ear-ring perhaps, in their hurry—just something to show us what had actually been here," said Cicely, grubbing about in the loose soil.
"Trust Scott and Mrs. Wilson! They're an uncommonly clever couple. You may be sure they'd take care not to leave even a sixpence behind them."
"I've heard that criminals can't keep away from a place where they've buried anything," continued Cicely. "They always haunt the spot."
"Then we must notice where Scott goes most frequently," replied Lindsay.
For the present, Scott seemed to be particularly attracted to the cucumber frames.
"He's there constantly," said Cicely.
"Far oftener than is necessary, I'm sure," agreed Lindsay.
"It might be a likely place, too," added Cicely meditatively.
Several small incidents seemed to confirm their surmises.
"He was so cross last night when Marjorie Butler sent her ball over the hedge into the kitchen-garden, and went to fetch it," said Lindsay.
"Yes, he said she might have broken the glass in one of the frames; but I don't suppose that was the real reason. She may have gone near him just when he was putting something back."
"I heard Miss Russell asking him when the cucumbers would be ready, and he answered in a great hurry: 'Not for ever so long yet'. And then he said it was 'best not to be lifting the frames, and disturbing them more than needful'."
"He was evidently afraid she was going to ask to see them."
The idea that silver cups, jewels, or spade-guineas might be lying hidden under the glossy leaves of the cucumber plants began to obtain possession of the girls' minds.
"If we could only manage to look while he's out of the way," suggested Cicely eagerly.
Scott's close attention to his duties was most annoying. There really appeared to be something in Cicely's theory of criminals haunting a particular spot. He seemed never absent from the kitchen-garden, at any rate when they were in its vicinity. They could hear him mowing the lawn during lesson hours, but when recreation arrived, and they ran out hopefully to reconnoitre, he would be weeding the strawberries, or gathering peas within a few feet of his cherished hotbeds.
"There's only one way for it," said Lindsay. "We shall have to make a plot. You must hide near the kitchen-garden, and I'll do something to take him off; then, while he's gone, you must rush to the frames and open them."
"That would be grand! What will you do?
"I shall have to think it over. I know! We'll wait till this evening, when he's watering the cucumbers. I'll stand on the pipe of the hose; that will stop the water, and he'll go to see what's the matter."
"Capital!" agreed Cicely.
It took a little scheming to arrange their plan satisfactorily. They were much afraid lest Scott should do his watering earlier than usual, and greatly relieved when they ran out after preparation to find him only just beginning to uncoil his hose. He used a small tank on wheels, which he generally left on the gravel walk outside the kitchen-garden, bringing the indiarubber tubing through the hedge.
To the girls' extreme annoyance, Marjorie Butler spied them, and, coming up, insisted upon readingaloud to them a letter she had received that morning from a sailor cousin. Would she never go away? It was too tiresome of her to confide in them at such an inappropriate time.
"Don't let us keep you, if you want to play tennis," begged Lindsay, with cold politeness.
"Oh, I don't mind at all, thank you! I thought you'd be interested to hear about Cousin Cyril," replied Marjorie.
Lindsay wished sincerely that Cousin Cyril had been at the bottom of the sea, instead of sailing over it and writing long descriptions of its charms. The precious moments were passing by. She could hear the gentle swish of the water as Scott applied the hose; if they were not quick, he would have finished, and the opportunity would be gone.
"I believe Miss Russell is coming out to play croquet to-night," she ventured desperately.
"Is she? Oh! she promised I might be on her side next time. I wonder if she's there yet? I must go and see at once."
"Thank goodness!" ejaculated Lindsay, as their classmate's blue-linen dress disappeared along the avenue. "Now, I'm going to put this heavy stone on the hose pipe, just where it goes through the hedge. Then we'll both creep through that hole into the kitchen-garden."
Without wasting another minute, Lindsay hastily did as she had said, concealing the stoneamong the long grass, after which both girls crawled through the hedge into the midst of a bed of Jerusalem artichokes. As they had expected, their plot answered admirably. Scott gave a grunt of vexation, and looked at his hose. His water supply had undoubtedly failed him. He stumped away, grumbling, to examine the tank.
"I don't believe he'll ever look amongst the grass. He'll think something's wrong with the tap," chuckled Lindsay.
The moment Scott had vanished through the gate, they dashed (regardless of the artichokes!) in the direction of the frames. Lindsay slid her hands rapidly in a search under the large, vine-like leaves; and Cicely, armed with a trowel, began to dig furiously. All in vain! Though they prodded the soil with sticks they could not feel anything particularly solid underneath, and there was no time to make very deep excavations.
"He's coming back!" panted Lindsay. "Smooth the earth over in that corner, and place that leaf to hide it. Quick, or he'll catch us! Don't go through the artichokes; we must run the other way!"
The July days literally flew, and the term was drawing rapidly to a close. Miss Russell seemed determined to make the very most of the last weeks at the Manor, and arranged something fresh for nearly every afternoon. On one day there was a cricket match, on another a putting contest, and on a third a tennis tournament, all of which caused much excitement in the small world of the school.
Both Lindsay and Cicely were fond of games, and anxious to win their share of distinction, so by mutual consent they decided to relax their watch on Scott until after the athletic sports. These were always considered a great event, and this year were to be on a larger scale than usual.
"It's so splendid to be able to have them in these lovely grounds," said Mildred Roper. "There never seemed half enough room on the lawn at Winterburn Lodge."
"I hear Miss Russell is going to give quite a party," volunteered Nora Proctor. "She's invited the Rector and Mrs. Cross and all the peoplewho have called on her at Haversleigh, so we shall have plenty of spectators."
"I wish Mrs. Courtenay could come," exclaimed Cicely.
"I wish indeed she could. I'm afraid she must be worse to-day, as Monica was not at the history class," said Mildred.
All the girls were busy "getting into good form", as they expressed it. The elder ones worked untiringly at tennis, while the younger ones practised running with a zeal worthy of candidates for a Marathon race.
"Miss Russell says there'll be several handicaps, but she won't tell us what they are," remarked Beryl Austen.
"Well, it's much more fun if you don't know beforehand," returned Effie Hargreaves. "They wouldn't be handicaps if we could do them too easily."
"I found a piece of four-leaved clover yesterday," observed Cicely, "so I ought to be lucky. I showed it to Mademoiselle, and she was quite envious. 'Vous aurez la chance!'" she said.
"How jolly! Have you kept it?"
"Rather! I've left it to press between two pieces of blotting-paper, under a pile of books. I'm going to have it put in a locket when I go home."
"I don't believe in luck," declared Nora. "I'msure all the four-leaved clovers in the world wouldn't make Marjorie Butler win a race. She's out of breath before she's run ten yards."
"Is Monica going to take part?" asked Beryl.
"I don't know. She said she had put her name down provisionally. If she does, I expect she'll astonish us all. She can jump most beautifully—she's as light as a feather."
The afternoon of the sports was brilliantly fine. By half-past two the guests had assembled on the big lawn. They looked quite a small crowd. The school had aroused interest in the neighbourhood, and people had come from several miles' distance in response to Miss Russell's cards of invitation. Irene Spencer was the only girl who could boast of having any relations present, her uncle, aunt, and several cousins having driven over from Linforth Vicarage. The visitors were evidently prepared to enjoy everything.
"It is not often we have an opportunity in the country of witnessing Olympic games. I am looking forward to seeing so many young Atalantas run races. Where are the wreaths of laurel and parsley that are to grace the occasion?" said Mr. Cross, the genial rector, who was fond of a joke, and at home among schoolgirls.
"There aren't any," laughed Cicely. "Miss Russell uses the laurel leaves to flavour the custards, and the parsley to garnish the hams."
"I'm astonished at her putting such classic plants to such ignoble purposes. She has asked me to distribute the prizes, and I thought I should be expected to place green chaplets upon the brows of the victors. It's too bad, when I had composed a speech on purpose. You suggest I should make up another? Not so easy, my dears. I shall come to some of you for assistance. I wonder if Miss Frazer would be equal to the occasion?"
"I'm sure she couldn't think of anything funny," declared Cicely.
"Then I shall have to trust to what I can say on the spur of the moment. If you notice I'm breaking down, please begin to clap, and then everybody will suppose I have finished. Here comes Miss Russell. I believe she wants me to act umpire too. Greatness is being thrust upon me. I hope I shan't disgrace my high position."
In spite of the Rector's mock protestations, he seemed very capable of managing the sports, and reviewed the rows of waiting girls with the eye of a general.
"It takes me back to my own schooldays," he said. "I used to think then I would much rather win the long jump than be made Archbishop of Canterbury; and I considered the captain of our cricket club a far bigger fellow than the Prime Minister. Where's Monica? Isn't she joining in to-day's doings?"
Monica arrived at the last moment, just when everybody had given her up, and took her place quietly among the members of the first form.
"I was afraid I couldn't come at all," she explained; "but Mother is asleep now, so I can leave her for an hour, at any rate. I have told Jenny to send for me if she wakes."
The first item on the programme was a tennis contest, limited to the elder girls. It was a hard-fought battle, as the competitors were evenly balanced, and it ended in a victory for Mildred Roper and Kathleen Crawford. Monica played well, but she had not been able to spend so much time at practice as the others, and she missed several balls.
"It was very stupid of me," she apologized. "I never seem to grow accustomed to Mildred's fast serves."
A race followed for the second class, which Irene Spencer, much cheered by her cousins, nearly succeeded in winning, though she was beaten at the last by Merle Hammond, who made a sudden and unexpected spurt. It was now the turn of the third-form girls. They were to run a handicap, and awaited particulars with much eagerness.
"Miss Russell seems to set as severe tasks as the wicked stepmother in the fairy tales," said Mr. Cross. "She decrees that you are each tobe given a small box of peas and beans and buttons mixed together, and that you are to sort them before you start to run the race. Will you please all kneel on the grass with your boxes in front of you. Are you ready? One—two—three—off!"
It was a question of deftness of fingers. Effie Hargreaves justified the old proverb, "More haste, less speed", by upsetting her box; and Marjorie Butler got her piles mixed in her agitation. Cicely finished first, and was halfway across the lawn before Nora Proctor overtook her. It was a keen struggle between these two. All the others were some distance behind, for Lindsay was not so fleet of foot, and Beryl Austen slipped and fell on the dry grass.
"It's Nora! No, it's Cicely!" cried the girls. "Well done, Cicely! Go on, Nora! She's gaining! No, she isn't! Why, it's Cicely after all!" as the latter reached the winning-post a couple of yards in advance of her opponent.
"Well run!" said the Rector. "You got over the course like young greyhounds. If you learn lessons at the same speed, you will turn out prodigies. Why is Miss Russell shaking her head? She says there is no danger of that. Really, I feel quite relieved to hear it. I was beginning to be almost afraid of you. I believe you are expected to pick up the beans before we continue our proceedings."
The programme was arranged so as to be as varied as possible. There were a round at clock-golf, a skipping tournament, an egg-and-spoon race, and an archery contest.
"It's jumping next," said Lindsay, as Miss Frazer and Miss Humphreys came forward, carrying a rope; "the first-form girls are to begin. I particularly want to see Monica."
Monica had taken her place modestly at the very end of the line, so that at each trial she was the last to compete. Her movements were very light and graceful, and the girls watched her with approval. One by one, as the rope was raised higher, the competitors began to thin, till at length their number was reduced to three—Kathleen Crawford, Bertha Marston, and Monica.
All looked eagerly to see the next attempt. Kathleen just managed to scramble over, Bertha failed utterly, but Monica took the jump with absolute ease.
"This will be the final test, I expect," said Miss Russell, when the two successful ones returned to the starting-point.
"I don't think they can do that!" murmured Lindsay, gazing with awe at what was to her the impossible height required.
It was too much for Kathleen. She ran, balked, and made another vain effort, to give it up.
"Now, Monica!"
The name was on everybody's lips.
Monica appeared to be perfectly cool, far less excited, indeed, than the spectators.
"Rest a moment, my dear, if you are out of breath," suggested Miss Russell.
"No, thank you. It would hardly seem fair to Kathleen. I'll try now."
"Took it like a bird!" cried the Rector, clapping his hands, as the rope was once more successfully cleared.
The girls raised a storm of cheering, to show partly their admiration for the skilful deed, partly their appreciation of Monica herself.
"She is a great favourite in the school," Miss Russell explained to Mr. Cross.
"I am delighted to see her mixing with other young people," he replied; "she has a dull time, poor child, as a rule, and has felt the disappointment about her uncle's property more than she cares to confess. Mrs. Courtenay's illness is very distressing. My wife was speaking to the doctor yesterday: he considers Sir William Garrett ought to be sent for at once; in a few weeks it may prove too late."
"You have known the family a long time?" asked Miss Russell.
"Since Monica's birth. I was as well acquainted with old Sir Giles as he would allow anyone to be. I used to call and see him sometimes, and discussbotany, the only subject in which he showed any interest. He lived so penuriously that his income must have accumulated for many years. He rarely spoke of business matters, but on one occasion he requested me to sign my name as witness to some document, the contents of which he did not tell me.
"He referred, however, to Monica as if she were to benefit substantially under his will, and asked me if I considered it harmful for a girl to be left an heiress. I assured him it would not be so in her case; both her disposition and upbringing were such that money could not spoil her.
"'A season of adversity is often the best preparation for prosperity,' he replied.
"I have remembered his words ever since.
"He sent for me on his deathbed, and I have sometimes wondered if there were any secret he wished to confide to me. Most unfortunately I was visiting a sick parishioner several miles away, and did not get the message in time. When I arrived at the Manor he was past speech. He tried to scrawl a few lines on a piece of paper, but the writing was quite undecipherable. If he regretted any earthly act, it was too late then to alter it; he was going to settle his great account."
While the Rector and the headmistress were talking, tea had been carried into the garden, and the girls now busied themselves in attending on the guests.
"I think the competitors must need refreshment more than we do," said Mrs. Cross, as Cicely handed her the cream.
"They are not forgotten," said Miss Russell, "but they are only too pleased to make themselves useful first."
Certainly the girls could not complain of being neglected; both cakes and strawberries were waiting for them on a separate table, where Miss Frazer was presiding.
When tea was over, the prizes were brought out, and the Rector, with a few appropriate remarks, began to distribute the awards. Cicely went up proudly to receive a pencil-case, and Nora Proctor, who had won the egg-and-spoon race, was presented with a box of chocolates.
"First prize for high jump, Monica Courtenay," announced Mr. Cross.
Everyone looked round for Monica, but she was nowhere to be found.
"She was here just before tea," said Miss Humphreys.
"I saw their maid come and speak to her during the archery competition," said Beryl Austen. "She went away immediately."
"She was obliged to go to her mother, no doubt, and did not wish to interrupt the shooting by saying good-bye," commented Miss Russell. "We must keep her prize for her."
"She won't get the clapping, though," lamented Lindsay.
"I think Monica will be rather glad to avoid that," said Mildred Roper. "She's so shy and retiring, she doesn't like to be made a public character."
The day following the sports was hopelessly wet. Lindsay and Cicely were awakened in the morning by the drip, drip of the rain on the ivy outside, and the splashing of water as it fell from the spout into the butt underneath. It was an absolutely drenching downpour, coming from a leaden sky that showed no prospect of clearing.
The weather had been so glorious during their stay at the Manor that they felt aggrieved at the change. It was particularly annoying, because Irene's uncle and aunt had invited all the girls to walk over to Linforth that afternoon, promising to show them the church, and to regale them with cherries afterwards in the Vicarage orchard.
"Wet at seven, fine at eleven!" said the sanguine Cicely.
"Not to-day, I'm afraid," replied Lindsay. "The glass was dropping last night. It's set in for a deluge."
The whole school seemed slightly depressed in spirits in consequence of the rain. No doubt it was a reaction from the excitement of the afternoon before. All their favourite occupations lay outside,and it was so long since they had been weather-bound that they seemed scarcely able to amuse themselves in the house. Everybody lounged about idly during afternoon recreation, looking dismally out of the windows at the lawns, where the markings of the tennis courts were being rapidly washed away.
"It's no use staring at the puddles," said Lindsay. "We can't possibly go to Linforth. It's just a piece of abominably bad luck. Everything's horrid!"
Lessons had not been a success that morning. Perhaps Miss Frazer also felt the influence of the gloomy day. Her pupils, at any rate, had been unusually stupid and inattentive; Lindsay, in particular, had merited a sharp scolding, and was dejected in consequence.
"We must do something," said Cicely. "I vote we hunt up the rest of our class, and go upstairs and have a really good game of hide-and-seek."
As anything seemed better than sitting still, the other girls agreed readily to come and play.
"Two can hide and four can look," said Marjorie. "Only, we'll keep on this landing."
The old Manor offered a splendid field for the purpose; it was so full of cupboards and crannies and odd nooks that it was quite hard to find anybody. The dull day improved the fun, fortwilight reigned in most of the passages, and rendered many hairbreadth escapes possible. Nora actually had her hand on Beryl's foot without discovering the fact; Effie crept inside a suit of armour, and baffled pursuit for ever so long; and Marjorie was almost given up, but at length was discovered crouching in a dark angle which the others had passed several times without noticing her.
It was now the turn of Lindsay and Cicely to hide. They were determined to choose a specially good place, and debated the point until the latter grew impatient.
"Do be quick!" she exclaimed. "They'll soon have finished counting a hundred."
"I can't make up my mind whether it's better behind the tapestry or under the ottoman," deliberated Lindsay.
"Cuckoo!" cried Beryl's voice.
"They're coming! We've no time for either. We must get into the old box-settle."
It was the only possible retreat near at hand. Already they could hear the girls' footsteps creaking along the oaken boards of the picture gallery; in another moment they would have turned into the passage, and reached the top of the stairs. Without more ado both hiders scrambled inside the settle, and pulled down the lid over their heads.
It was a very tight fit indeed for two, and most uncomfortable.
"Could you let me have an inch more room?" begged Cicely in an agonized whisper.
"I'll try," returned Lindsay.
It was difficult to stir in such narrow quarters. To move at all, she was obliged to make a vigorous heave towards her end of the chest. The effect was as unexpected as extraordinary. Lo and behold! the entire bottom of the settle seemed to give way, and without any warning the two girls were precipitated into some unknown place below.
So sudden was their descent that Lindsay and Cicely had no time even to cry out. They evidently had not fallen far, and though for a moment they both thought they were killed, they soon found that beyond a few bruises neither was hurt. They picked themselves up in a state of bewilderment, and stared around them as if hardly realizing yet what had happened.
They were in a little low chamber about eight feet square. The walls were of unpolished oak timbers, roughly plastered in between, and the floor also was of oak beams. In one corner there was a tiny window, covered with a mass of cobwebs, through which nevertheless came sufficient light to enable them to see their surroundings. The trapdoor in the ceiling, through which they had dropped so unexpectedly, must have worked on a swivel, for it had righted itself again, and was once more closed above them.
Still half-dazed, the girls stood for a momenttrying to recover their scattered wits, too shaken and amazed even to speak.
"Well!" exclaimed Lindsay at last, with a volume of meaning in the monosyllable.
"This is a house of surprises!" cried Cicely.
"Where are we?"
"How can I tell?"
"We seemed to tumble through the bottom of the settle."
"Yes, after you gave that great lurch to your end."
"We must be in another secret hiding-place."
"Then I vote we hunt about, and see what's in it."
One side of the small room was completely filled, as high as the ceiling, with a pile of boxes. They seemed a very miscellaneous collection. There were ancient hair trunks, such as were in use seventy or eighty years ago, made of wood covered with cow hide, with the hair left on; there were leather portmanteaux with strong brass corners, tin trunks, and even plain wooden packing-cases. On the floor, and leaning against the boxes, stood a row of fair-sized linen bags, and a couple of larger sacks.
It seemed to the girls as if they must have penetrated to some forgotten lumber room. Everything was thickly covered with the accumulated dirt and cobwebs of years. They could havewritten their names in the dust. As if she were moving in a dream, Lindsay stooped, and picked up one of the linen bags.
"How heavy it is!" she said. "I wonder what's inside?"
"It feels like something hard," replied Cicely, pinching it critically with her finger and thumb.
The mouth was secured by a cord, and Lindsay fumbled long trying to untie the knot.
"Oh! don't bother over it; here's my penknife," cried Cicely, waxing impatient.
In another moment she had cut the string, and a shower of golden sovereigns came pouring out on to the floor. The two girls looked at each other, with faces that were almost awe-stricken.
"Cicely!" said Lindsay solemnly. "I verily believe we have found Sir Giles's fortune!"
A further examination established the matter beyond any doubt. The bags were filled to the brim with gold pieces. In a state of intense excitement the girls continued their investigations. The two large sacks contained salvers, tankards, and goblets, dull and tarnished indeed, but unmistakably of silver. It was difficult to get at the boxes, but they managed to clamber up and open one at the top of the pile, disclosing more silver articles and some ornaments of gold.
"Don't let us pull out too many things, or weshan't be able to stuff them back again," said Cicely, trying to close the lid of the overflowing hair trunk.
"No doubt these underneath are filled with money or jewels," said Lindsay rapturously.
"This little box seems made of silver," remarked Cicely, taking up a small antique casket that specially claimed her attention. Its sides were beautifully chased in classic designs, and it bore the Courtenay arms on the lid.
"It's full of pieces of paper, with figures on them," she continued.
"Let me look!" cried Lindsay. "Why, don't you see?—they're bank notes!"
They were certainly in the midst of treasures. The extent of Sir Giles's hoard had evidently not been exaggerated. At the bottom of the casket lay a letter addressed:
"TO MY GREAT-NIECE MONICA COURTENAY."
"The writing on the envelope is exactly the same as in theFloral Calendar," said Cicely. "I remember those funny flourishes, and the 'a's' not closed at the top."
"So it is; I should know the sprawling look of it anywhere."
"It's such funny, old-fashioned writing, as if it were done with a quill pen. I think we had better put this away again."
Lindsay replaced the letter carefully with the bank notes inside the silver box.
"Then Sir Giles did intend the enigma for a guide," she observed. "The last lines were right.
'... you'll see 'tis a matterPerchance may provide you with just a lost link,And bring you a greater reward than you think.'"
"And the settle concealed the legacy after all!"
"Yes, a great deal more safely than we supposed."
"I never imagined the treasure would be in a place like this, all stowed away in old boxes! I thought we should press a secret spring, and a panel would fly open in the wall, and then we should see money and jewels lying together in a big heap!"
"I don't mind how we've found it, so long as it's here."
"Still, it's a surprise!"
"It will be a splendid surprise for Monica. This is actually her very own."
"She would have been content with a hundred guineas, and there are more than a hundred guineas here," said Cicely, letting some of the sovereigns slide through her fingers with a sigh of satisfaction.
"She ought to know about it at once," returned Lindsay. "If you can tear yourself away fromthese money bags, we'd better be thinking of going."
"Yes, I suppose it's time we went back. By the by, how are we to get out of this place?"
Ah! How to go back?—that was the question! The trapdoor had shut itself high above their heads.
"I expect if we stand on one of the boxes, we can push it up!" said Lindsay.
With much difficulty they dragged a heavy chest across the floor and climbed upon it. It was a fruitless effort. However hard they might try, the trapdoor would not budge an inch.
"There may be a secret spring," faltered Cicely, feeling in every direction to find some bolt or knob, but all in vain. Then the horrible truth broke upon them. They were locked up as securely as the legacy!
"What are we to do?"
Lindsay's pink cheeks were white with alarm.
"Let us call. Perhaps the girls are hunting for us still in the passage, and they may hear."
Both shouted until they were hoarse, yet there was no reply. This was indeed hide-and-seek with a vengeance. Their game had turned out more than they had bargained for.
"I'll bang on the ceiling. It may sound louder than calling," said Lindsay. "The girls must have given us up, and gone downstairs, for nobody seems to hear," she continued, after belabouring the trapdoor for several minutes.
"Perhaps they're at tea," suggested Cicely.
They examined the little window in the corner, but the fastenings were so rusty from long disuse that, tug as they would, they could not open it. They wiped away the dust and cobwebs from it, and peeped out.
"If it overlooks the garden, we could smash the glass and wave a handkerchief, at any rate," proposed Lindsay. "Scott would be almost sure to notice it, even if nobody else were out in the rain."
Alas! the window appeared to be securely hidden away among the gables, and absolutely out of sight from below.
"Would it be possible to crawl on to the roof?"
Lindsay shook her head in reply. The frame was too small for even the slim Cicely to squeeze through. The girls sat down and surveyed the piles of treasure around them with dismay. If they had required a sermon on the vanity of riches, it was there without any need of words.
"We can't eat bank notes, nor sleep on beds of sovereigns," remarked Lindsay at last.
"We may be shut up here for days and days before they find us," said Cicely blankly.
"They'll miss us directly, of course; but they won't know where to look. Even if they peeped inside the settle, they wouldn't be any the wiser."
"Do you remember the piece of poetry we read last week about Ginevra? She hid inside a chest on her wedding day, when they were playing hide-and-seek, and the lid snapped with a spring lock. They never found her—only her bones, years afterwards!"
"Don't talk of such horrible things."
"How long does it take people to starve?" continued Cicely in a tremulous voice.
"About ten days, I believe. They grow gradually weaker and weaker."
Cicely groaned.
"There isn't anything to drink either, and I'm getting so thirsty," she said, her eyes filling with tears.
"We must try again," declared Lindsay, jumping up. "Let us pull out another trunk, and manage to lift it on to the chest. I believe if I were nearer the ceiling I should be able to push harder."
The boxes were arranged in a rather random fashion, so that as the girls dragged one from the bottom, the whole pile came tumbling down in confusion. They had to jump aside to avoid being hurt. When the upset was over, Cicely pointed silently to the wall opposite. In the part which before had been hidden was a small, low door. Here, surely, was a chance of escape.
They scrambled over the packing-cases andtrunks without troubling to look inside them, though some had burst open in the fall. To find a way out seemed at present far more important than more silver tankards and salvers.
Was this exit also secured? With trembling hands Lindsay raised the latch. To her intense relief the door opened, showing a very narrow, unlighted passage.
After their experience in the garret it was not encouraging to find themselves once more obliged to explore in the dark, but there seemed nothing else to be done.
"It must lead somewhere," said Cicely. "I'd rather go anywhere than stay here."
"We'd better step carefully, in case the floor is as rotten as it was in the other place," cautioned Lindsay. The passage smelled dank and close. The air in it had probably been unstirred for many years. The faint light which entered it from the treasure room was soon lost, and they were obliged to grope their way by feeling along the walls. On and on they went for what appeared to be a considerable distance, sometimes turning sharp corners, and sometimes going up or down rickety steps.