At Tiverton Keep
Since Miss Ward's return to The Towers Violet had begun lessons again,
and was occupied each morning with her governess in the schoolroom.
Mildred, who was still enjoying holidays, was therefore left for several
hours every day to her own devices. She found it no hardship, for it was
easy enough to amuse herself. Sometimes she sat with a book in the
garden, sometimes sauntered round the grounds, or explored the beautiful
borders of the lake. She had brought her camera from home, and the
taking and developing of photographs gave her plenty of occupation. She
was making a little collection of views of Castleford, and meant to
paste them in an album as a reminiscence of the lovely scenery. One
glorious warm morning it occurred to her that she would like to take
snapshots of Tiverton Keep, an old border turret which stood on a hill a
mile and a half above The Towers. So far, while Violet and Miss Ward
were busy, she had kept strictly to the private grounds of the Castle,
but to-day she thought there would surely be no harm in venturing
farther afield. She would have asked permission, but Sir Darcy was out,
Lady Lorraine was in bed with a headache, and Miss Ward was giving
Violet a music lesson; so Mildred decided that she might very well make
the expedition on her own authority. Down the road through the wood she
started, therefore, rounding the corner of the lake and turning up
through the village. As she passed the Vicarage she met Diccon, the
youngest boy, wheeling his motor bicycle out at the gate.
"Hello, Mildred!" he cried. "Where are you off to? You told me you never
stirred out of the garden till the thermometer dropped. Whence this
thusness?"
"I'm going to take some snapshots of Tiverton Keep. It's such a glorious
morning for photographing. The light and shade will be just perfect."
"Wish I could have gone with you! I'm obliged to ride over to Whiterigg
to send off a parcel by train to London. By the by, if you're going to
Tiverton, keep a look-out for the lunatic!"
"What do you mean?"
"What I say. Someone of unsound mind has been haunting the place lately,
and he might, perhaps, give you a fright."
"I haven't heard of anybody."
"He's been there, though. He's quite a young chap, so I'm told (that's
the pity of it!), but he's been overworking at classics, and gone clean
dotty. His relations have brought him here to recruit, and generally
they keep a good eye over his movements, but sometimes he dodges them
and scoots off by himself. Then he's apt to play some uncommonly queer
pranks. He's taken a tremendous fancy to the Keep, goes poking about,
filling his pockets with pebbles and things, and insists that the place
is still in the mediaeval condition, and inhabited by people who lived
in the days of the Plantagenets. He gets violently excited and dangerous
if anyone ventures to contradict him. They have to pretend all sorts of
nonsense to humour him. The family are staying at Lowood Farm."
"I heard that some people are there for the summer," replied Mildred,
"and I certainly saw two girls in the lane with a young man of about
twenty. He didn't look insane. What a most fearful affliction!"
"Yes, it's a warning against overworking oneself," said Diccon. "Shall
you venture to the Keep?"
"I must go and take those photographs. I don't suppose I shall meet this
unfortunate young fellow. If I do, I'll be careful to give him a wide
berth. His family ought to have an attendant for him, if they can't look
after him properly themselves."
Tiverton Keep was still a mile away--a beautiful walk up a rocky glen,
and then over the open fell. It was much cooler on the moorland than in
the village; quite a pleasant breeze was stirring, there was a
refreshing bubbling sound of small brooklets trickling between clumps of
heather and lady fern, while below lay the silver gleam of the lake. The
old castle stood on a slight eminence, commanding an excellent view of
the surrounding country, and in former days it must have been a useful
factor in border warfare. Only a portion of the Keep was still standing,
but the ancient guard-room remained intact, and a winding staircase led
to the battlements. The day was an ideal one for using the camera. The
light was perfect, and Mildred congratulated herself that she would be
able to take a splendid series of snapshots.
"How delightful it is to have the place to oneself, without any tourists
about!" she thought.
She did not spare her films, and after photographing the exterior and
the ground floor, she toiled up the winding stairs till she reached the
broad walk that ran round the top of the tower. Here she took several
pictures, and finally climbed a few remaining steps which led to a
little turret at the extreme summit of the Keep. From this crow's-nest
she had a grand bird's-eye prospect of the whole landscape. How small
everything looked! The windmill at the other side of the glen was like a
child's toy, and the sheep grazing on the moor seemed white dots. She
leaned her arms on the railing, and peered down into the castle
courtyard below. Someone was walking about there, for she heard the
sound of footsteps, and presently the intruder came in sight. Mildred's
heart gave a sudden uncomfortable jump. She recognized in an instant the
tall figure of the classical student who was staying at Lowood Farm. He
moved slowly, with his eyes fixed on the ground, as if he were searching
for something, and every now and then he dived among the piles of loose
stones, apparently picking up small objects which he placed in his
pockets.
"So Diccon was right!" thought Mildred. "How fearfully sad! He looks
such a fine young fellow physically, one wouldn't imagine he'd lost his
mental balance. Poor creature! Filling his pockets with rubbish! I hope
he's not here all alone. Where are his sisters?"
She looked around anxiously to see if a feminine petticoat were
fluttering in the vicinity, but there was no sign of anyone.
"He must have escaped again, and run from them, I suppose," she
soliloquized. "I hope he won't notice me on the tower, for I certainly
don't want to encounter him."
After a little consideration she decided to stay where she was, to give
the intruder time to go away before she ventured from the battlements.
He soon disappeared out of the courtyard, but whether to enter the
guard-room, or to take his departure, Mildred had no means of
ascertaining. She lingered for what seemed an immense while, and heard
no sound of further footsteps.
"I've been here for ages; I'm sure it must be nearly half-past twelve,"
she thought. "I wish I had put on my watch. I can't wait for ever. I
expect he's gone, so I'm going to risk it," and she sallied down from
the turret.
She had walked half-way round the battlements, and was just gaining
confidence, when she suddenly saw a head appearing up the winding
staircase, and before she could beat a retreat a tall figure in tennis
flannels stepped on to the parapet. He glanced at Mildred with a mixture
of confusion and consternation in his face, hesitated, seemed for a
moment inclined to retrace his steps, then walked forward with a
determined air.
"Good morning! Admiring the view here?" he remarked politely.
Mildred was shivering with alarm, but she had the presence of mind to
assent calmly.
"Whatever I do, I mustn't let him see that I notice anything unusual
about him; I believe lunatics are very sensitive on that score. If I
behave in an ordinary manner, perhaps he'll go away soon," she thought.
"I'm particularly fond of the battlements, they seem such a great height
up," she added aloud, leaning over the wooden railing which guarded the
parapet.
He glanced hurriedly down, as if measuring the distance to the courtyard
beneath, then turned to her with a marked uneasiness in his gaze.
"It's really nicer below on the grass," he urged. "Won't you come down
and try the difference?"
"No, thanks, I prefer remaining here," replied Mildred, hoping that her
unwelcome companion would depart by himself to test the superior merits
of the courtyard.
To leave her, however, did not seem to enter his calculations. He stared
at her again, with a queer look, almost of apprehension, fidgeted a
little, coughed, turned rather red, and finally remarked shyly:
"They're waiting for you in the hall."
"Who?" asked Mildred.
"Why, the seneschal and the Baron, and the retainers, and--er--the
jester, and all the rest of them."
"There! He's begun on the mediaeval topic!" thought poor Mildred. "He's
evidently as mad as a hatter. I mustn't irritate him. Diccon said he
grew very violent if contradicted. I must try and humour him."
"The Baron may wait my pleasure," she replied, with an attempt at what
she hoped was the hauteur of a _grande dame_ of the Plantagenet period.
"As for the rest, they are but vassals and serfs."
"True, lady, but they long for the sunshine of your presence. Will it
not please you to show yourself to them on the dais?"
"The dinner is not yet ready," faltered Mildred, trying to conjure up
any plausible excuse, though she could not frame it in mediaeval
language.
"My lady mistakes. The scullions are even now removing the wild geese
from the spits, the boar's head is placed on the trencher, the venison
pasties are baked, and the ale is broached."
"He knows far too much about old customs," thought Mildred ruefully.
"How shall I get out of it? I must put him on another track." Holding
her hand to shade her eyes, she gazed at the distant horizon. "Methinks
there is a rumour that the Scots are abroad. Tell me if you see aught
that looks like a body of armed men on yonder fell."
Her companion scanned the hillside seriously and earnestly, as if he
really expected to find flashing pikes and helmets, though nothing more
dangerous than a flock of sheep was to be seen.
"It will perchance be the Black Douglas," he answered in solemn tones.
"Lady, your position here is one of danger! You are a mark for every
arrow. I pray you descend to the safety of the guard-room."
"They are not near enough yet to shoot," said Mildred quickly. "Indeed,
I am not certain whether it is the foe, or merely a band of peaceful
pilgrims. If you would mount into yonder watch-tower, you could call to
me if you recognize the banner of the Black Douglas."
Mildred hoped by this suggestion to send her companion up into the
little turret, and the moment his back was turned she intended to bolt
down the winding staircase. Apparently he saw through her design, for he
replied at once in the negative. He moved a step nearer to her, and a
watchful look came into his eyes.
"How atrociously clever lunatics are!" thought Mildred. "It seems
impossible to outwit him. Yet I simply daren't walk down the stairs with
him. He might give me a sudden push. What can I possibly say to him
next? I'll try flattery."
Looking him over coolly from head to foot, she announced:
"Methinks I like not my lord's attire. 'Tis unworthy of so handsome a
knight. I would have you put on fresh bravery, and present yourself to
me in your velvet doublet and the trunk-hose which even the Baron
envies. They would do justice to your comely person."
Her companion glanced at his tennis flannels and blushed--yes, actually
blushed. He gazed at her for a moment almost despairingly, then took a
hasty walk up and down the parapet, twisting and untwisting his hands
with a nervous action.
"I hope he's not getting excited and violent," thought Mildred.
He returned at last, as if for a final appeal. "If my lady will come and
review my poor wardrobe, perchance she may find something to her taste,
and I will don it at her command."
He held out his arm, awkwardly enough, and not at all with the grace of
a mediaeval courtier, as if to lead her from the battlements. Mildred
edged away from him, holding on to the railing. Would no one come to
the rescue? She thought she heard a footstep, and glanced down anxiously
into the courtyard below, hoping that one of his sisters had arrived in
search of him. To her horror he immediately rushed at her and grasped
her firmly by the arm.
"You shan't take your life if I can prevent it!" he exclaimed.
To find herself thus in his clutch was more than Mildred's self-command
could stand. She shrieked with terror, trying to tear herself away, but
the more she pulled the more tightly and determinedly he gripped her.
"There! There! That'll do, Chorlton. Let her go; she's all right,"
shouted a familiar voice; and loosed as suddenly as she had been seized,
Mildred turned and saw the grinning face of Diccon appearing from the
doorway of the staircase. He advanced along the parapet in explosions of
laughter, which were certainly not shared by either Mildred or the
stranger, both of whom stood regarding him with amazement.
"Oh, you simpletons! You credulous pair of infants! I never imagined
you'd both swallow it whole. Oh, it's too ripping for anything! It's
absolutely killing me! I've been listening to the whole interview. Oh,
let me get my breath!"
In a flash Mildred comprehended.
"Diccon! You odious boy! Do you mean it's all a hoax?"
"Of course it is! Poor old Chorlton's as sane as you are! Oh, I say,
Chorlton! Don't look so deliciously blank, or I shall have a fit!"
"This wretched boy told me you were mad," faltered Mildred
apologetically to her companion.
"And he told me that you were mad, with a suicidal tendency," replied
Mr. Chorlton.
"The whole thing worked out so neatly," chuckled naughty Diccon. "Please
allow me to recount my own joke. I told Mildred that you were violent
unless humoured on the subject of mediaevalism, and I told you that she
might fling herself over the battlements if she were contradicted in
supposing herself a lady of the Plantagenet period."
"You thoroughly deserve a thrashing, you young imp!" declared Mr.
Chorlton.
"No, I don't. I've afforded you each a most exciting adventure. You
didn't know Chorlton was a college friend of Eric's, Mildred? We only
discovered last night that he's staying at Lowood Farm. I stuffed you
about him for a lark, and then when I met him in the village just after
you started, I couldn't resist the fun of playing a trick on you both.
Chorlton was going to the Keep, too, so I told him a yarn about an
unfortunate demented girl who occasionally escaped there and tried to
commit suicide. He went up the battlements on purpose to cajole you down
to safety. Oh, it was prime to hear you fencing with each other!" and
Diccon rubbed his hands in his glee.
"I think you've treated Mr. Chorlton abominably," said Mildred.
"Then you'll consent to descend the staircase with me now?" said Mr.
Chorlton, smiling.
"Yes, if you promise not to don trunk-hose and a velvet doublet."
"Trust me! I was racking my brains all the time for mediaeval terms. I
must have appeared an awful lunatic!"
"But may I ask why you were picking up pebbles in the courtyard? That
did look rather peculiar, I own."
"They weren't pebbles. They're land-snail shells. I'm collecting them.
Mad on conchology, if you like!"
"I had to sprint to Whiterigg and back, so as to be able to follow you,"
chuckled Diccon. "I was so afraid I might be too late for the fun. It
was luck to get here just in time."
Mildred had much to tell on her return to lunch at The Towers. Violet,
to whom Diccon's practical jokes were well known, was immensely amused,
though Sir Darcy and Lady Lorraine were not inclined to treat the
episode so humorously.
"Mildred must not take solitary walks again," said her aunt. "I should
never have given her permission to go out alone, and she must remember
that in future."
"I won't forget," promised Mildred. "I was horribly scared at the time."
"Oh, it was funny!" laughed Violet. "That wretch Diccon deserves to be
paid back in his own coin, though. I wonder if we couldn't manage to
play a trick upon him? I'm going to cudgel my brains till I think of
something."