The Beacon Fire
The girls at the Dower House were extremely keen upon celebrating, with
due ceremony, every festival that was marked in the calendar. They
bobbed for apples on All-Hallows Eve, made toffee and let off fireworks
on 5th November, tried to revive St. Valentine's fete on 14th February,
practised the usual jokes on 1st April, and plaited garlands of flowers
on May Day. They had thoroughly enjoyed Life-boat Monday, and now turned
their attention to providing adequate rejoicings on Empire Day. All
through the winter they had been collecting drift-wood on the beach, and
carrying it to the headland to form the huge bonfire which they intended
should be a beacon for the neighbourhood. They had built up their pile
with skill and science, and, thanks to their heroic exertions, it had
reached quite large and important proportions. A kindly wind had dried
the wood, so that there was every prospect of its burning well, and Mrs.
Trevellyan had promised a large can of paraffin, to be poured on at the
last moment before lighting, so as to ensure a blaze. The only flaw in
the arrangement was the fact that the sun did not set until past eight
o'clock, and that owing to the long twilight it would probably not be
really dark until ten, so that the effect of their beacon would be
slightly marred.
"If we could have had it at midnight!" sighed Annie Pridwell.
"Yes, that would have been scrumptious, if we could have got people to
come. Ronnie wouldn't have been allowed."
"No; Mrs. Trevellyan's making a great concession as it is to let him
stop up till nine. It's a pity she's laid up with sciatica, and can't
come herself."
"She'll watch it from a window, and Miss Herbert will bring Ronnie."
Mrs. Trevellyan had been extremely kind in the matter of the bonfire;
she had given Miss Birks carte blanche in respect to it, and told her to
regard the headland as her private property for the evening, and ask any
guests whom she wished to join in the celebration. Quite a number of
invitations had been sent out to various friends in the neighbourhood,
and a merry gathering was expected. Some were to arrive at the school
and walk over the warren, and others had decided to come by boat to the
little cove directly under the headland, an easier means of getting from
Porthmorvan or St. Gonstan's than going round by road.
Naturally, the girls were all at the very tiptop of expectation: even
the dignified Sixth betrayed signs of excitement, and VB was in a state
verging on the riotous. To their credit they all accomplished their
shortened evening preparation with exemplary quiet and diligence, but
once released, and speeding over the warren to the headland, they
allowed their overwrought spirits to find relief. They danced ragtimes,
sang, halloed, and cooeed, and generally worked off steam, so that by
the time they reached the beacon they had calmed down sufficiently to
satisfy Miss Birks's standard of holiday behaviour, and not make an
exhibition of themselves before visitors.
Already people were beginning to arrive both by land and sea. Miss Birks
brought a select party who had motored from Kergoff, and at least half a
dozen boats were beached upon the little cove. Ronnie was already on the
scene in charge of Miss Herbert, immensely proud of being allowed to sit
up beyond his usual bedtime, and running here, there, and everywhere in
the exuberance of his supreme satisfaction.
The girls had fixed a stake into the rocks close by, from which a Union
Jack floated to give the key-note of the proceedings, and had prepared
buttonholes of daisies, the Empire flower, to present to all the guests.
They had twisted daisy-chains round their own hats, and even decorated
their flagstaff with a long garland, so they felt that they had done
everything possible to manifest their loyalty to King George. Mrs.
Trevellyan's head gardener had brought the large can of paraffin, and
filling a greenhouse syringe from it, began carefully to spray the wood,
especially in the places where it was most important for the fire to
catch. The company then drew back, and formed a circle at a safe and
respectful distance. A thin train of gunpowder was laid down, and under
the gardener's careful superintendence Ronnie was allowed the immense
privilege of applying a taper to the end. The light flared up, and wound
like a fiery snake to the beacon, where, catching a piece of gorse
soaked with paraffin, it started the whole pile into a glorious blaze.
Up and up soared the flames, roaring and crackling, and making as much
ado as if the Spanish armada had been sighted again and it were warning
the neighbourhood to arms. The girls could not help starting three
cheers, the guests joined lustily, and Ronnie, almost beside himself
with excitement, pranced about like a small high-priest officiating at
some heathen ceremonial rite.
Miss Birks had added a delightful feature to the celebration by
providing a picnic supper. It was of course impossible to hang kettles
on the beacon, but the large cauldron had been brought, and was soon at
work boiling water to make coffee and cocoa. The girls helped to unpack
hampers of cups and saucers, and to arrange baskets of cakes, and when
the bonfire had formed a sufficient deposit of hot ashes, rows of
potatoes were placed round it to cook, and to be eaten later. It was a
very merry supper, as they sat on the short grass of the headland, with
the beacon blazing on one hand, and on the other the western sky all
glorious with the copper afterglow of sunset. The new moon, like a good
omen, shone over the sea, and from far, far away came the distant chime
of bells, stealing almost like elfin music over the water. From the
beach below came the long-drawn, monotonous cry of a curlew.
"The fairies are calling!" whispered Gerda to Ronnie. "Listen! This is
just the time for their dancing--the new moon and the sunset. They'll be
whirling round and round and round in the creek over there."
"Really? Oh, Gerda! could we truly, truly see them?"
The little fellow's blue eyes were wide with eagerness. He sprang on his
friend's knee, and clutched her tightly round the neck.
"You promised you'd take me!" he breathed in her ear.
"Yes, if you're very quiet, and don't tell. Not a living soul must know
but you and me. If anyone else sees us the fairies will all just vanish
away. They can't bear mortals to know their secrets."
"But they'll let you and me?"
"Yes, you shall see the Queen of the Fairies, and she'll give you a
kiss."
"Oh, do let us go, quick!"
"In a moment. Remember, nobody must notice. Let us walk over there, and
pretend we're looking at the flag. Now, come gently round this rock.
Hush! We must steal away if we're to find fairies! I believe we're out
of sight now. Not a soul can see us. Give me your hand, darling, and
we'll run."
It was perhaps a few minutes after this that Miss Herbert, who had been
engaged in a pleasant conversation with the curate from Kergoff, missed
her small charge.
"Where's Ronnie?" she asked anxiously.
"I saw him just now," said Miss Harding. "He was with the girls as
usual. Gerda Thorwaldson had him in tow."
"If he's with Gerda he's all right," returned Miss Herbert, evidently
relieved. "She's always so very careful. No doubt they'll turn up
directly."
"I expect they're only fetching more potatoes from the hamper," said the
curate. "We'll soon hunt them up if they don't put in an appearance."
Deirdre, who was standing near, chanced to overhear these remarks, and,
jealous of Gerda's hold over Ronnie, turned in search of the missing
pair. They were not by the bonfire, it was certain, nor were they among
any of the groups of girls and guests who still sat finishing cups of
coffee, and laughing and chatting, Deirdre walked to where the hamper of
potatoes had been left, but her quest was still unrewarded. She returned
hastily, and calling her chum, drew her aside.
"Gerda and Ronnie have disappeared," she explained briefly. "I don't
like the look of it. Gerda has no right to monopolize him as she does. I
vote we go straight and find them, and bring them back."
The two girls set out at once, and as luck would have it, turned their
steps exactly in the direction where the truants had gone. They ran down
the steep hillside behind the flagstaff, till they reached a broad
terrace on the verge of the cliff overhanging the cove where the boats
were moored. Ronnie was so fond of boats that they thought he had
perhaps persuaded Gerda to take him to the beach to look at them.
Advancing as near to the edge as they dared, they peeped over on to the
sands. There was nobody to be seen, only the row of small craft lying on
the shingle, just as they had seen them an hour ago. The tide had risen
higher, and had begun to lap softly against them, but was not yet
sufficiently full to float them; moreover they were all secured with
stout cables. Stop! There was something different. Surely there had only
been six boats before, and now there was a seventh added to the
number--a seventh in whose shadow lurked the dark figure of a man.
Suddenly from the beach below rang out Ronnie's clear, rippling laugh,
followed by an instant warning "Sh! sh!" and immediately he and Gerda
stepped from the shadow of the cliff on to the shingle. They ran hand in
hand towards the seventh boat, and the boatman, without waiting a
moment, jumped them in, one after the other, pushed off, sprang into his
seat, and began to row rapidly away across the creek.
"Look! Look!" gasped Deirdre in an agony of horror. "It's the man in the
brown jersey!"
Of his identity they were certain. Even in the failing light they could
not be mistaken. And he was kidnapping Ronnie under the very eyes of his
friends--Ronnie, the "King of the Castle", the idol of the school, and
the one treasure of Mrs. Trevellyan's old age! Where were they taking
him? Was he to be held for ransom? Or kept in prison somewhere as a
hostage? Gerda, with her smooth, insinuating ways, had betrayed him, and
led him away to his fate.
"We must save him!" gasped Deirdre. "Save him before it is too late!
Quick, quick! Let us run down to the shore. We mustn't let them get out
of our sight."
The two girls tore frantically down the path which led to the sea in
such haste that they had not time to realize their own risk of slipping.
That Ronnie was being kidnapped was the one idea of paramount
importance. As they reached the belt of shingle the dinghy had already
crossed the creek, and was heading round the corner of the cliffs to the
west.
"What can we do?" moaned Dulcie, wringing her hands in an agony of
despair. "Shall we go and call Miss Birks, and get somebody to follow
them with a boat?"
"By the time we'd fetched anybody they'd be hopelessly out of sight, and
gone--goodness knows where. No! If Ronnie's to be saved, we must act at
once, and follow them ourselves. You can row, can't you?"
"Yes, I learnt last holidays at home on the river."
"So can I. Then come, let's choose the lightest boat we can find. We
mustn't waste a minute. We're both strong, and ought to be able to
manage."
After a hasty review they selected a small skiff as looking the most
likely to respond to amateur seamanship, and loosing the cable, which
had been secured round a rock, coiled it and placed it inside. The tide
had risen so fast that it did not require any very great effort to push
off the boat.
"Are you ready?" said Deirdre. "Don't mind getting your feet wet; it
can't be helped. Now, then! Heave, oh! She's off!"
With a simultaneous splash the two girls scrambled on board in the very
nick of time, and, taking their places, gingerly unshipped the oars.
They were neither of them skilled for their task, and both realized that
it was rather a wild and risky proceeding. For Ronnie's sake, however,
they would have ventured far more, so they mutually hid their feelings,
and pretended it was quite an everyday, easy kind of performance. If
they had not much experience, their zeal and their strong young arms
made the light little skiff fly like a sea-swallow, and they had soon
gained the headland round which the other boat had disappeared. Very
cautiously they proceeded, for fear of currents, but they managed
successfully to pilot their craft past a group of half-sunken rocks and
take her round the corner into the next bay. In front through the
gathering darkness they could just distinguish the object of their
pursuit making a landing upon the opposite shore. They could hear the
grating of the keel on the shingle and an excited exclamation from
Ronnie. They strained their eyes to watch what was happening. The man in
the jersey helped Gerda to land, then taking Ronnie on his back strode
rapidly away with him, Gerda walking close by his side. In another
moment they had disappeared behind a group of rocks.
If the girls rowed fast before, they now redoubled their efforts. Both
were flushed and panting, but they struggled valiantly on, and
succeeded in beaching their skiff within a few yards of the white
dinghy. They did not wait to cable her, but, anxious not to lose a
moment of valuable time, made off in quest of the fugitives. At the
other side of the group of rocks it was lighter, for they faced the
west, and caught the last departing glories of the sunset. On the sands,
bathed in the golden dying gleam of the afterglow, a lady was kneeling
and clasping little Ronnie tightly in her arms. Even from the distance
where they stood the chums could see how very fair and pretty she was.
Her hat had fallen on the beach, and her flaxen head was pressed closely
against the child's short curls.
"Why, she's actually kissing him!" exclaimed Dulcie.
The scene was so utterly unanticipated, and so entirely different from
what they had expected to find, that the two girls stood for a moment
almost at a loss. At that instant Gerda spied them, and turning to her
companions made some remark in a low tone. The lady immediately loosed
Ronnie and rose to her feet. Seeing their presence was discovered, the
chums judged it best to walk boldly forward. They had come to rescue
Ronnie, and it seemed high time to interfere.
"Miss Herbert's looking for you! You must go back with us at once," said
Dulcie, laying an appropriating hand on the child's shoulder and glaring
defiance at his kidnappers.
Gerda had blushed crimson. She looked egregiously caught. She glanced at
the faces of her fellow conspirators as if seeking advice. The man in
the brown jersey nodded.
"Yes--we'll go back at once," she stammered. "I--I was only trying to
give Ronnie some fun."
"Miss Herbert doesn't think it fun," said Dulcie grimly. "You'd no
business to take him away!"
The chums each seized the little boy by a hand and began to hurry him
along towards the boats.
"But where are the fairies? Gerda promised I should see the fairies!" he
objected.
"The fairies can't dance now, dear," replied Gerda sadly. "You remember
I said they could only come if nobody was watching."
In silence the whole party returned to the shingle bank. Deirdre and
Dulcie were too indignant for words, and Gerda seemed overwhelmed with
embarrassment. The fair-haired lady was crying quietly. Still, keeping a
tight hold on Ronnie, the chums approached their skiff. Then for the
first time the man in the brown jersey spoke.
"You'd better all come into my boat," he remarked briefly. "I'll fasten
yours on to the stern and tow her along."
The chums started with surprise. Instead of the local dialect of a
fisherman or, as they expected, the foreign accent of a German, he had
the cultured, refined tone of an English gentleman. For a moment they
hesitated. Did he mean to kidnap them as well as Ronnie? Perhaps he saw
the doubt in their eyes.
"You needn't be afraid. I'll take you straight back," he urged.
Glad to escape the risky task of rowing round the point and steering
clear of dangerous currents, the girls consented, though rather under
protest, and wondering at the novelty of the situation which had made
them, the pursuers, return in charge of the stranger whom they still
distrusted. They sat in the stern, with Ronnie between them, guarding
him like two faithful bulldogs. The lady stood upon the shore watching
them as the boat pushed off. There was a sad, wistful look in her eyes.
She did not attempt to say good-bye.
The chums felt considerably relieved when at last they arrived at the
cove again in safety. The man in the brown jersey helped them all to
land without a word; then he unloosed the skiff, beached her on the
shingle whence she had been taken, and rowed out alone into the bay.
Ronnie was growing sleepy; it took all Deirdre's and Dulcie's efforts to
help him up the steep cliffside. Gerda followed a short way behind. Miss
Herbert, who had really been uneasy about her charge, hailed their
arrival with relief.
"Here you are at last! Where have you been, Ronnie? To see fairies!
Gerda mustn't tell you such nonsense. Wake up! We must be going home at
once. It's after nine o'clock."
The bonfire had burnt low, and the girls were packing the cups into
baskets, ready to be carried to the Dower House.
"We ought to tell Miss Birks about this," whispered Dulcie, and Deirdre
agreed with her.
Late as it was when they got in, the two girls sought the Principal in
her study and poured out the whole of the story--their alarm on Ronnie's
behalf, their dread of the man in the brown jersey, and their suspicion
that Gerda was a German spy plotting against the country. Miss Birks
listened most attentively, putting in a question here and there.
"I don't think either England or Ronnie is in any immediate danger," she
said. "You may make your minds easy on that respect. I shall have a word
with Gerda presently. You have done right to tell me; but now you may
leave the whole matter safely in my hands, and need not worry yourselves
any more over it. On no account talk about it to anybody in the school,
and unless Gerda refers to it herself, do not mention the subject to
her."
"Trust Gerda not to speak of it," said Dulcie as they went upstairs.
"The Sphinx isn't likely to offer to unravel the mystery."
"It's a jig-saw puzzle I can't fit together," replied Deirdre. "It's all
in odd pieces. Why was that lady crying? And what have she and the man
in the brown jersey got to do with Ronnie?"