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[Illustration: "WHAT IS IS THIS TINY DOTTED LINE ACROSS THE GROUNDS?"
WIN INQUIRED]
THE SPANISH CHEST
BY
EDNA A. BROWN
ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN GOSS AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF FLORENCE AND CLARA
who shared a winter spent in the Channel Islands and have now gone on a
longer journey.
This little book I wrote for thee
Thy friendly eyes will never see.
It was not meant for critics' reading,
Nor for the world that scans unheeding.
For there are lines washed in with tears,
As well as nonsense, mocking fears.
Alas! thine eyes will never see
This little book I wrote for thee.
THE SPANISH CHEST
FOREWORD
Once upon a time a clever Japanese artist drew a sketch of a man who
sat industriously painting, when, to his great amazement, all the
little figures on his canvas came to life and began to walk out of the
picture.
Something like that happened to this book. Books grow, you know,
because somebody thinks so hard about the different characters that
gradually they turn into lifelike people, who often insist on doing
things that weren't expected. When this especial book began to grow,
two persons who hadn't been invited, came and wanted to be in the story.
The author politely remarked that they were grown-up and couldn't
expect to be in a book for young people.
They said that they were not so very grown-up, only twenty-three and a
half and that they still knew how to play.
Connie said that her home was in the Island of Jersey where the story
was going to be, and if she came in, she could make things much more
pleasant for the other characters.
Max said that the story would go to smash without him, because he
should be needed at an important moment.
So, because they looked most wistful and promised very earnestly to
behave as though they were nice children, and not be silly, the author
said they might have a share in the story.
Connie at once offered to lend her collie. So that is how the beach dog
happens to be in the book.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. AT ROSE VILLA
II. FRAN ENGAGES LODGINGS
III. ST. HELIER'S
IV. THE BEACH DOG
V. MONT ORGUEIL
VI. A RACE WITH THE TIDE
VII. MR. MAX
VIII. RICHARD LISLE'S LETTER
IX. CHRISTMAS IN JERSEY
X. THE BUN WORRY
XI. THE MANOR CAVE
XII. WIN VISITS THE LIBRARY
XIII. ABOUT THE SPANISH CHEST
XIV. IN THE VAULTS
XV. THE HAUNTED ROOM
XVI. THE MANOR GHOST
XVII. THE DOTTED LINE
XVIII. ROGER THE MAROONED
XIX. AT CORBIERE
XX. WIN WONDERS
XXI. THE TWO CHAINS
XXII. THE CHEST ITSELF
ILLUSTRATIONS
"What is this tiny dotted line across the grounds?" Win inquired
The Village of St. Aubin's
"For a long time people supposed they were called Martello towers from
the man who built them"
Above and behind towered the ruined castle of Orgueil
"Look there is a Jersey cow among the cabbages"
"He'll come for us! He means us to climb this rock and wait"
A most interesting little Church almost on the water's edge
The old Norman gateway leading to Vinchelez Manor
They came upon the loveliest of little beaches
Plémont is the spot where the cable comes in from England
Win's plan of the Manor cellars
What was undoubtedly the Spanish Chest
THE SPANISH CHEST
CHAPTER I
AT ROSE VILLA
The silence in the little drawing-room had lasted for some moments
before being broken by the man seated in the big wicker chair. His
dress indicated a clergyman of the Church of England, his face betrayed
lines of kindliness and forbearance, but its present expression showed
a perplexity not unmixed with disapproval.
"I suppose, Miss Pearce," he said at length, "there is no use in trying
further to dissuade you from your plan, and of course it may work out
for the best. But--you will excuse me, my dear, for I have daughters of
my own--you seem too young to undertake a lodging-house. Now a position
as governess in a nice family--"
Estelle Pearce interrupted him quickly.
"There is Edith, you know. Should I try teaching, it would mean
separation from her. And I _must_ keep Edith with me. We have only each
other now. No, Mr. Angus, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for
your interest in us, but I am sure it is best to try my plan. You see I
have the house on my hands. When we came to Jersey, Father leased it
for the winter and I can't afford to forfeit thirty pounds. And there
is Nurse as well as Annette. Surely Nurse lends dignity to any family.
But I am older than you think," she ended with a smile and a pretty
blush. "I am twenty-four, Mr. Angus."
A kindly look came into the eyes bent on her slender, black-robed
figure. "You do not look it, my dear," her visitor said after a pause.
"Well, with two good servants, the plan may be successful. Much depends
on what class of lodgers comes your way. I am told that Americans are
rather desirable inmates, that they pay well and are not exacting. If
you could let your rooms to some refined American ladies, things might
adjust themselves very satisfactorily. To be sure, few Americans visit
the Channel Islands; they are given to wandering farther afield. But I
will speak of your plans to the postmaster and one or two others. It
might be advisable to put a card in the circulating library at St.
Helier's. Rest assured that both Mrs. Angus and I will do all we can
for your father's girls. Lionel and I were good friends at Oxford
though we saw so little of each other afterwards. I did not think when
he wrote me scarcely six weeks ago that it was to be Hail and Farewell.
"I must go," he added quickly, seeing that Estelle's eyes were
brimming. "Where is Edith? I hoped to see her also."
"She has gone to the sands," replied Estelle. "It is dull for her,
moping here, so I sent her for an errand and told her to run down and
see whether the tide had turned. She begins school on Monday."
Mr. Angus took his leave, and still looking doubtful, went down the
steps of Rose Villa, a quaint little house, covered with tinted
plaster, as is the pretty custom of the Channel Islands, and appearing
even to a masculine ignorance of details much more neat and attractive
than its neighbors.
So Mr. Angus thought, as he turned from his puzzled survey of its
exterior, to walk slowly down the short street at the end of which
glittered the waters of the English Channel.
The tide was on the turn but the expanse of sandy beach lay yet broad.
Far toward St. Helier's the curve of the port showed the high sea-wall,
for this same innocent-looking tide that ebbs and leaves behind miles
of sandy stretches and rocks, can return with force sufficient to dash
over even the lofty breakwater and surprise the placid Jerseymen at
times, by scattering large stones in the esplanade.
But here at St. Aubin's the curve of Noirmont Point sheltered the
little town from the full force of the waves. Dr. Angus looked from the
end of Noirmont Terrace straight down to the sands and saw in the
distance the sunset air filled with wheeling gulls, a group of boys
playing football on the wide level, and somewhat nearer, a slender girl
of fourteen, dressed in black, with long fair hair floating over her
shoulders.
She was walking slowly and the kind clergyman attributed her leisurely
pace to dejection, but as a matter of fact, Edith was feeling quite
happy and much interested in the tiny bright yellow snail shells the
beach was providing for entertainment. She had been spared all that was
possible of the depression and sorrow of the past weeks. Daddy had been
poorly for years and Edith could not remember him as ever well and
strong. His loss affected her more because it grieved Estelle, the only
mother she had known.
There had been a few sad confused days when nothing seemed real, and
strangers had been kind in a way that Estelle accepted with a sort of
resentful patience, plain even to Edith. But since then, life had been
rather cheerful, with a great deal of attention from Nurse, and
Estelle's time almost wholly given to her. It was gratifying to share
Sister's confidence and to help arrange the rooms attractively for the
possible delightful people who ought to come to lodge with them.
That they might not be delightful, Sister would not admit for a moment,
so of course they would be. St. Aubin's itself was far more desirable
as a place of residence than the noisy Exeter street where Edith had
spent much of her life. Far back in the past she could just remember a
charming Surrey village with a pretty vine-covered church where Daddy
used to preach. She could recall exactly how her fat legs dangled
helplessly from the high pew seat. Directly behind sat a stout farmer
with four sons. The boys made faces at Edith on the sly; their mother
sometimes gave her peppermints.
Edith's thoughts had wandered rather far afield, though still alert for
any gleam of the yellow shells, when she arrived opposite Noirmont
Terrace and reluctantly left the sands. A light shone from the
drawing-room and she knew that Annette would be bringing in supper, and
Sister would be found poring over a little account book with a "don't
speak just now" look in her eyes.
But Estelle proved to be waiting at the open door and as Edith began to
run on catching sight of her, she thought that Sister somehow looked
happier.
"Did you meet Mr. Angus?" Estelle inquired. "He went toward the sands."
"I saw him in the distance," replied Edith. "Why, Star, you look
like--like a star," she ended laughing. "Was Mr. Angus agreeable? Did
he say you oughtn't to take people?"
"I think he doesn't wholly disapprove now," answered Estelle gently.
"And he is going to do what he can toward sending pleasant lodgers.
Wouldn't it be nice if some dear old ladies should come and want to
stay with us all winter?"
"Just ladies?" queried Edith. "Do they have to be old?"
"I shouldn't take gentlemen," said Estelle. "Nurse wouldn't approve,
and ladies would be pleasanter. Perhaps there might be a young mother
and some ducky little children. How would you like that?"
"Much better," responded Edith. "I don't want any fussy old freaks with
false fronts and shawls. They'd expect to be read aloud to and waited
on within an inch of their lives. I'd like some babies to take down to
dig and paddle. Do say you'll have children, Sister."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I think we'll have to take the people who
want to come," replied Estelle sensibly. "Let's just hope that somebody
very nice will think we'd be nice to stay with. Come in now, Edith.
Annette has shrimps for supper and after we are finished, we will put a
card in the window and see what happens next."
But the little white card that most modestly announced "Lodgings"
remained in the drawing-room casement for a week, and every day as
Edith came from school, she looked anxiously to see whether it was
gone. Its absence would mean that some one had looked at the rooms with
approval.
One afternoon as she came up the Terrace, the sight of an unknown face
at an upper window sent a thrill down her back. The card was yet in
evidence but the presence of strangers indicated that some one had felt
attracted by Rose Villa. Yes, there was a cab at the door.
As Edith entered quietly a voice struck her ear, struck it
unpleasantly, an English voice, high-pitched and rather supercilious.
"I should require to see your kitchen, Miss Pearce, and your servants.
I am most particular. In fact, I must be free at any time to inspect
the scullery. There must be a definite arrangement about Marmaduke's
meals. He likes a light breakfast with plenty of cream, and for dinner
a chop or a bit of chicken. His dinner must be served with my luncheon.
Then for tea--"
"I am afraid my servants would be unwilling to cook especially for a
dog," interposed Estelle's voice, courteous but with a chilling tone
Edith had never suspected it possessed. "It is useless for you to
consider the lodgings."
"Oh, your rooms are very passable," said the voice. "Small, of course,
and underfurnished, but some pictures and antimacassars would take off
that bare look. And Marmaduke is adorable. Your cook would soon be
devotion itself. Why, at my last lodgings--"
"I really cannot undertake the care of a pet animal," said Estelle
firmly. "I hope to have other lodgers and his presence might be
objectionable to them. You will excuse me now, as I have an engagement.
I will ring for Nurse to show you out."
"Well, really, Miss Pearce," began the voice, but Nurse appeared on the
scene so promptly that one might have suspected her of being all the
time within hearing distance. Edith scuttled into the drawing-room,
just avoiding a very large, over-dressed person, who came ponderously
down the stairs, a moppy white dog festooned over one arm. Her face was
red and perspiring and she seemed to be indignantly struggling with
feelings too strong for words. Edith could not suppress a stifled laugh
as she was ushered from the house in Nurse's grandest manner.
Emerging from her refuge, Edith saw Estelle on the landing, her face
pale except for a tiny red spot on either cheek, her eyes unnaturally
bright.
"My word, Star!" said Edith, giggling, "didn't you get rid of her
finely? What a fearful person!"
"She was impossible," said Estelle. "Oh, Nurse," she exclaimed
impetuously, seeing the old family servant still lingering in the hall,
"do you suppose only people like that will want lodgings?"
"No, indeed, my lamb," replied Nurse, casting a glance of satisfaction
after the cab disappearing from the terrace. "Don't you fret, Miss
Star, and don't you take the first people who come. Just bide your
time, and there'll be some quality who will be what you ought to have."
"Mr. Angus thought Americans might be rather desirable," said Estelle
hesitatingly. To prepare Nurse for such a possibility might be wise.
Nurse pursed her lips significantly. "Well, it's not for me to disagree
with the reverend gentleman," she remarked. "And I haven't been in
contact with Americans. No doubt they're well enough in their country,
but I hope, Miss Star, it'll be some of our people that want to come.
Now an elderly couple or some middle-aged ladies would be quite
suitable and proper, but Americans--Well, I don't know."
Nurse shook her head dubiously as she left the room. Edith came to put
her arms about Estelle.
"What a fearful woman that was!" she repeated, drawing her sister
toward the window. "Poor Star, I'm sorry you had to talk to her. Rooms
underfurnished, indeed! And you tried so hard not to have them crowded
and messed with frightful crocheted wool things. She'd want a tidy on
every chair and extra ones for Sunday. And you've made things so
pretty, Star!"
"We think so, don't we!" replied Estelle, kissing her little comforter.
"Somebody may yet come who will agree with us. We won't give up hope."
Estelle was silent for a moment. She did not want Edith to suspect how
very necessary it was that those rooms should prove attractive to
somebody.
"Is that the Southampton boat just rounding the point?" she added.
"She's extremely late."
"They must have had a rough passage," agreed Edith, looking at the
steamer ploughing into the smooth water of St. Aubin's bay. "Let's put
a wish on her, Star. Let's wish, _hard_, that she has on board the
nicest people that ever were and that they're coming straight out here
and say they'd like to spend the winter with us!"