At some little distance from where we now stood was a sort of
terrace-walk, for this side of the house, though not that of the front
entrance, was evidently intended to be the best. The windows looking
out this way were somewhat wider, one or two reaching to the ground, as
if to give easy egress from the rooms within.
At one side of the walk was a carefully kept piece of lawn; on the
other--that nearest the house--a border, even at this early season
presenting a lovely, and, in contrast to the severity and gloom of the
building itself, an almost startling blaze of colour. It was filled
with spring flowers, tulips, hyacinths, etc, beautifully arranged, so
that the groups and their shades harmonised perfectly together. It was
evidently a sheltered spot, and evidently, too, this bit of garden
ground was most carefully tended. One felt by instinct that it was
somebody's pet or hobby.
"How lovely!" Zella exclaimed under her breath. "I had no idea that
there were flowers at this side. Naturally so, for of course we
couldn't see it from the road. We have no spring show to compare with
this at the Manor-house, Regina!" And she was moving on eagerly,
forgetting in her excitement for she was a great gardener--that we were
trespassers, when suddenly there broke on our ears the peculiar sound of
"tap tap" coming round the other side of the house, and in another
moment we caught sight of the slowly approaching figure of the younger
Mr Grey, the cripple brother, with his crutch.
In less time than it takes to tell it, we had fled--fled ignominiously--
too startled to know whether we were ashamed of ourselves or only
alarmed.
But as soon as we had reached the friendly shelter of the farther side
of the bushes, my audacity reasserted itself.
"Stop, Isabel," I whispered. "Do let us see what he is going to do. He
can't possibly have caught sight of us."
"I don't know that," returned Isabel, who was all in a quiver. "He may
have _heard_ us, if he didn't see us--the sound of our skirts as we
rushed off, in this perfect silence." And so it appeared. For, as we
stood there peeping out, we saw that the newcomer stopped short and
seemed to be listening attentively.
"Good gracious?" I ejaculated, "he has heard us. There is something
rather uncanny about him. I dare say he has extra-acute eyes and ears--
delicate people often have--for we made next to no sound. But we must
stay here for the present," I continued, rather pleased, in spite of our
alarm, that we were forced into remaining where we were, as with care it
was quite possible to watch the newcomer.
"Do be quiet," said Isabel in a whisper, speaking, for once, almost
crossly. "Your voice will be heard if you don't take care."
I subsided meekly enough, for I felt conscious that in my excitement I
had not been very cautious. So we stood there like two naughty
children, as indeed in a sense we were, furtively watching the poor
man's movements. It was touching to see him. He walked and stooped
with difficulty, but his heart was evidently in his work as he carefully
removed any dead flowers and leaves and raised here and there a drooping
tulip in need of support, standing still now and then, while he drew
back a few paces, to enjoy apparently the whole beautiful effect of the
lovely colours.
"I dare say," I thought to myself, for I did not venture to speak at
all,--"I dare say he is an artist as well as an amateur gardener. If
so, he is not so much to be pitied after all, though he must long
sometimes to pull down that hideous house!"
He went on quietly attending to the borders for some little time, having
apparently reassured himself as to the sounds he had heard. And at
last, when he had moved on a little, Isabel touched my arm, whispering--
"Don't you think we might go now?"
I agreed, and we were on the point of stealing away, when another little
incident revived our curiosity, and made us stop short. We heard a
whistle; in response to it the cripple raised himself from bending over
a flower-bed and listened. The whistle was repeated, and then Mr Grey
called out--
"Here I am--waiting for you."
"Your brother wants you for a moment," was the reply, in a man's voice
undoubtedly, though assuredly not that of a servant. "He won't keep us
long, and then we can--" But the rest of the sentence was inaudible.
The cripple moved in the direction of the voice, and as he turned the
corner of the house, the tap of his crutches growing fainter, we heard a
cheery voice greeting him and the sound of laughter, to our amazement,
reached our ears.
"There now!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps you'll be convinced at last,
Isabel! There _is_ a fifth person living in that house."
"Wait till we are outside to talk about it, for goodness' sake," said
Isabel. "I never knew any one so impulsive as you are, Regina."
But I was too elated by what I considered our successful investigations,
even though to some extent they had but deepened the mystery, to take
offence.
We closed the door in the wall cautiously, for I was rather afraid of
its shutting with a spring, and thus debarring us from ever making use
of it again. And as soon as we were safely outside I took up the thread
of my discourse.
"You see, Isabel," I went on, "the person who whistled and called was a
_man_ evidently, and a gentleman, and assuredly not the elder brother,
as he spoke of him. I believe in my heart that it was the very man I
met the other day--possibly the one you met some time ago."
Isabel looked perplexed and a little worried. Her nerves had suffered
with the morning's excitement and adventures, which in my case had only
stimulated my curiosity and audacity.
"Perhaps so," she replied; "but really, Regina, I wish you'd forget
about it. I never felt so ashamed and frightened in my life as when we
were hiding behind these bushes."
"I do think you are exaggerating," I said, gently I hope; for though I
was rather provoked by her want of adventurous spirit, as I called it to
myself, I was also sorry for her, and at the bottom of my heart I almost
think I felt a little guilty for involving her in anything that her
father would disapprove of. Possibly, too, though I did not acknowledge
it to myself, the salve which I applied to my own misgivings was not
altogether effectual, though I proceeded to use it for Isabel's benefit.
"Don't you see," I continued, "we may perhaps be on the way to be of
real use to these poor people by finding out a little more about them?
I would not have minded--indeed I was almost hoping for it--if the
cripple Mr Grey _had_ seen us and asked what we wanted."
"Oh," exclaimed Isabel, "I should have died of shame!"
"Not at all," I replied. "We could easily have said that we were
tempted by the open doorway to take a look at the grounds; or even," I
proceeded, "we might have asked him if he knew that the door had been
left open, as we felt sure it was not intended to be!"
"That would have been," said Isabel sharply, "not--"
"You are not to say that it would have been untrue," I interrupted
rather indignantly. "It would only have been part of the truth, I
allow, but still--"
"Oh, well, don't let us quarrel about it," said Isabel, smiling; "but I
do think, Regina, we had better not continue our investigations; we
might get ourselves, and possibly other people, into trouble somehow."
"Ourselves perhaps," I agreed, "but not other people, that I can see.
And I don't mind risking something myself, if it could do any good."
"It might do harm," Isabel persisted. "Whatever it is, the motive must
be of the strongest--the Greys', I mean--which compels them to live as
they do. And any attempt at breaking down the barrier might lead to
mischief that we cannot picture to ourselves, so completely in the dark
as we are."
I did not agree with her, or perhaps, to speak more accurately, my true
judgment was more than half convinced, but my self-will would not allow
me to be guided by it.
The result was, that I felt, and probably appeared, very cross. But an
unexpected distraction of my thoughts was in store. That afternoon's
post brought two letters for me, both with the same news, though from
different sources. One was from mother and one from Moore.
They announced that an epidemic of some kind, though not of a very
serious nature, had broken out in his "house," and that the boys were
disbanded for two or three weeks, Moore amongst them, as no exceptions
could be made under the circumstances, though as it was an illness he
had already had, he was considered proof against infection.
"He is coming home," wrote my mother, "at once. It is a great pity, and
I shall not know what to do with him alone here. He will miss you so
dreadfully. If it were not a shame to propose it, I should be inclined
to shorten your visit."
And Moore's lamentations were even more outspoken.
"Do come back as soon as ever you can, Reggie," he wrote. "I really
can't stand home without you, and you can go back to Millflowers again
later."