THE LOSS
Mistress Mowbray had not long to wait. The day after the matter of
Newbiggin was settled Father Laurence was crossing Middleton Bridge,
when he met “Moll o’ the graves” coming in the opposite direction. He
instinctively crossed himself at her approach. She saw his action, and
stopping on the side of the bridge in one of the refuges, she pointed
her finger at him and laughed a shrill discordant laugh. “Ha, ha, Sir
Priest, you think you will triumph in my despite. I dreamed a dream
last night and all the devils in hell got hold of thee.”
“Peace, woman, peace, brawl not upon the Queen’s highway.”
“Nay, it is not peace,” she said; “who talketh to me of peace?”
“Mary, you had better go home,” said the priest kindly. “I was glad to
hear that little Mistress Aline Gillespie put in a word for you and
your folk at Newbiggin yesterday, so that there is the more reason for
your peaceful homecoming.”
“Mistress Aline Gillespie,” said the old woman calming down and looking
mysteriously about her. “Mistress Aline Gillespie, nay, she is not on
our side. I see the hosts gathering for battle and she and thou are
with the legions of the lost. Nay, Sir Priest, mock me not and mock
not the forces that are over against you.”
“Woman,” said Father Laurence, “you speak that you know not, the powers
of darkness shall flee before the powers of light.”
“No, never, nothing groweth out of the ground but it withereth, nothing
is built that doth not fall to ruin, nothing made that doth not grow
old and perish, nothing born that doth not die. Destruction and death
alone triumph. Shew me one single thing of all the things that I have
seen perish before my eyes and that liveth again. No, you cannot, Sir
Priest.”
“The things that are seen are temporal, the things that are unseen are
eternal,” he answered.
“And who, thinkest thou, knoweth the unseen, thou or I? I tell thee
that all alike shall pass save the darkness and the void into which
all, both seen and unseen shall be swallowed up. Yes, in this very
valley where we now stand, you shall see iniquity triumph and all your
feeble prayers be brought to naught. Avaunt, avaunt, nor may I tarry
here longer.”
She brushed past him as she spoke, and the old priest looked sadly after
her. “Poor thing,” he said, “she is indeed in the hands of Satan.”
He passed up the road on the way to Holwick and, as he entered
Benjamin’s cottage, he met Aline coming forth. The wind blew her hair
out somewhat as she stepped into the open, and the sun’s rays caught
it, while she herself was still a little in shadow and it shone like
a flaming fire. “It is a halo of glory,” said the old man to himself
as he looked into the beautiful innocent face. “Child, you did well
yesterday,” he said.
“Oh, but I am afraid, Father.”
“Afraid of what, my child?”
“Afraid that Mistress Mowbray was not pleased.”
“Fear not, Mistress Mowbray is an honest woman, she will approve of
what thou hast said.”
Aline did not like to say more; she wondered whether she had misjudged
the lady of Holwick, or whether the old man’s estimate was too
charitable.
“God bless you, Aline,” he said, as she turned to go up the hill, and
before entering the door he stood and watched her out of sight.
She went straight up to the Hall and found Audry. “I wonder what Ian is
doing in Carlisle now,” said Aline. “Let us go down to the secret room.
I have just met Sir Laurence Mortham. I think he looked sadder than
ever, but he is a right gentle master. Do you remember that talk we
had with Ian about our forebodings? I thought that it must have meant
Ian’s departure, but it is something more than that. I felt it again
strangely to-day when I met Father Laurence, and somehow it seemed to
me as though there was some terrible conflict going on somewhere, and
Father Laurence was trying to stop it, but that he could not do so.”
“Oh, do not talk like that, Aline, you do not know how creepy you make
me feel. Come.”
“The room looks very melancholy now,” Audry said when they had
descended. “I always associate this room with Master Menstrie. It seems
very curious that we should discover him and the room at the same time.”
“It is very cold down here,” said Audry, “let us light a fire. That
will do something to make the place more cheerful.”
“Are there any fires lit upstairs?” asked Aline, pointing to the
inscription over the fireplace.
“Oh, yes,” said Audry, “several, it is getting nearly winter.”
So the children lit a fire and occupied themselves in giving the room a
thorough cleaning.
“I wish we could open this chest,” Audry exclaimed, as she was dusting
the great iron coffer. “It is very strange that it has no lock.” Aline
came and bent over it too. But although they pressed here and pushed
there and peered everywhere, they only succeeded in getting their hair
caught on a rivet, so that both children were fastened to each other
and to the chest at the same time. So with much laughter they abandoned
the attempt for that day.
“You know it’s my belief,” said Audry, “that that old iron coffer is
the most important thing in this room; people don’t put great heavy
iron coffers into secret rooms unless they have secrets inside.”
“But the secrets might have been taken away,” said Aline, “although I
admit that it does not look likely. The room seems to have been unused
for so very long. But do you remember, Audry, we never finished reading
that book after all. Why should it not tell us about the chest?”
“I expect it would; where is the book?”
“It is in this room, I think, in one of the bookcases.” Aline rose to
fetch it, but the book was not to be found. The children hunted all
round the room, but they could not find it. They then went upstairs to
their own room, but still it was nowhere to be seen. They looked at
each other aghast.
“Oh, whatever shall we do?” said Aline. “Suppose that they find it,
then our secret room will be no longer safe.”
“But they may not be able to read it,” Audry suggested.
“Oh, they are sure to find out, for they will have the parchment.”
“The parchment,” echoed Audry, “the parchment; then you will not be
able to write any more letters to Master Menstrie. Why, you must have
had it last night when you read his letter.”
“So I must,” said Aline. “Well, that proves it cannot be out of the
house, for I have not been out except to see Walter Margrove go, and I
am certain I did not take it with me then. So it must be somewhere here
in our room.”
They turned everything off the bed, they looked in the ambry, they
lifted the movable plank and looked under the sliding panel, but the
book had absolutely disappeared.
“It is very mysterious; do you suppose any one has been in and taken
it, Aline; it is very small and thin, it is true, but it could not
actually vanish.”
Aline sat down on the bed and could not keep back the tears. “There is
only one comfort,” she said, “and that is that Master Menstrie told us
how to make another parchment; besides I read his letter three times
over last night and I think I could make a new one from that, for I
believe I could remember it. But, oh, dear, I am certain some one has
taken the book and it will be found out, and then they will see that
the secret room has been used and will guess that that was how Master
Menstrie escaped and that we helped him. It may even lead to their
finding out where he is.”
Audry knelt down on the floor and put her head in her cousin’s lap, and
her arms round her waist. The late Autumn sunshine flooded the room,
but it brought no joy to the sorrowing children.
“Who can have been in the room?” Audry said at last.
“Elspeth, I suppose,” said Aline. “I think we must run the risk of
asking her. She cannot read, but even if she has not seen it, she might
tell some one that we had lost it. However, we must take our chance.”
So they went and found Elspeth and began to talk to her about the
packman’s visit. Just as they were going Audry managed to say quite
casually, “Oh, by the way, Aline, I suppose Elspeth cannot have seen
your little book.”
“What book, hinnie?” said the old dame. “I cannot read and all books
are alike to me.”
“Oh, it was a very thin little book; I must have mislaid it in our
room. You may possibly have noticed it lying round somewhere if you
have been in there this morning.”
“I have seen no such book, dearie, and I would not have touched it if I
had.”