The Sea-nymphs' Grotto
To make amends to Monica for having doubted her word, Lorraine took her
on Saturday afternoon to see the Castletons. They found all the younger
members of that interesting family amusing themselves in the garden,
digging their war plots and sweeping up dead leaves. They were
warm-hearted, friendly children, and adopted Monica immediately. By the
end of ten minutes she was seated on the dead leaves inside the
wheel-barrow, nursing Perugia, with Madox squatting at her feet, Beata
and Romola chattering one on each side, while Lilith and Constable
brought dilapidated toys for her inspection. As she seemed to be
perfectly happy and to be thoroughly enjoying herself, Lorraine
suggested leaving her there for a while.
"I thought perhaps you'd like to come and walk with me?" she said to
Claudia.
"I'd love it above everything. May Morland and Landry go too?"
"Why, of course, if they care to!"
"You won't mind Landry?" Claudia hesitated and blushed rosy pink. "You
know he's not quite the same as other boys. You mustn't expect too much
from him. But he's very affectionate, and he likes to come with us."
"Oh, please bring him! I quite understand!"
Lorraine had indeed seen at once, without any explanation from Claudia,
that poor Landry, in spite of his fourteen years, was more childish than
Madox. He was a fine well-grown boy, in features perhaps the most
beautiful of all the handsome family, with china blue eyes and pale gold
hair that curled from the roots, and a mouth that would have done credit
to one of Botticelli's cherubs. In mind, however, Landry had never
advanced beyond the age of seven. He was quiet and inoffensive, spoke
little, and seemed to live in a sort of dream world of his own. He was
devoted to Claudia, and quite happy and contented if he might follow her
about and be near her. With the rest of the family, and especially with
his stepmother, he was sometimes fractious, but Claudia could always
manage him and calm him down. Her invariable kindness to him was one of
the nicest features in her character. He clung to her arm now as the
four young people set off across the moor.
"He's been having rather a blow-up with Violet," explained Claudia.
"It's your own fault this time, Landry, you know! Still, it's just as
well to take a walk and let the atmosphere clear before we come back.
Violet easily fizzes over, but she doesn't keep it up long. Where shall
we go, Lorraine? You know the walks here better than we do."
"Suppose we go past Pettington Church and along the cliffs to Tangy
Point?"
"Right you are! Anything you like will suit us," agreed Morland easily.
So they turned through the farmyard and down the steep lane that led to
the small church whose square grey tower and carved Norman doorway
looked out across the green cliff-side to the sea.
"Father was sketching here yesterday," volunteered Claudia, pausing to
peep in at the gateway.
"What was he painting?" asked Lorraine, stopping also to look and
admire, for the mellow October sunshine glinting on the grey walls and
the autumn-clad trees and the gleaming sea made a picture all in russet
and pearl.
"It's one of a series of illustrations for Matthew Arnold's poem, 'The
Forsaken Merman'. You know it, don't you? Well, this is 'the little grey
church on the windy hill', where Margaret came to say her prayers. You
remember she left her merman husband and her children in 'the clear
green sea' because--
''T will be Easter time in the world--ah me!
And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee.'
She promised to come back to them all, but she never came, so they went
to look for her.
'From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers,
But we stood without in the cold-blowing airs.
We climbed on the graves, on the stones, worn with rains,
And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes.
She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear:
'Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here.'"
"That's the part Daddy's drawing--just where they're peeping in through
the windows. He sketched Lilith this morning for the youngest mermaiden;
he's given her a little fish's tail, and she looks such a darling! And
Beata and Romola are bigger ones, leaning on a gravestone with their
arms round each other's neck, and garlands of shells in their hair, and
Constable is holding up a great trail of sea-weed. Father's going to
draw me as Margaret for one illustration; I'm to be sitting at my wheel
'in the humming town'. He's just bought a ducky little spinning-wheel on
purpose!"
"What fun to be put in a picture!"
"No, it isn't! We all think it a horrid nuisance to have to be Daddy's
models and sit still for hours just when we want to do something else.
But you'll like the merman picture, especially Lilith. She's really
sweet!"
"You've seen the mermaid carved on the chancel bench inside?" asked
Lorraine.
"No, I haven't. I've not been to the church on week-days."
"I go sometimes. Mr. Jacques lets me practise on the organ," said
Morland. "But I've never noticed any mermaid there."
"Oh, come in and look at her, then! She's worth seeing."
The church was open, so they stepped from the sunshine outside into the
soft diffused golden light glowing on sandstone pillars, oak-beamed
roof, and saint-filled windows. It was newly decorated for harvest
festival--great clumps of Michaelmas daisies hid the font, scarlet
bryony berries trailed from the lectern, and chrysanthemums screened the
pulpit. The air was sweet with the scent of flowers. Lorraine led the
way to the chancel, and, moving aside some torch lilies, disclosed to
view the end of a choir-bench, where, on the ancient black oak, was
roughly carved the figure of a mermaid, with comb and glass in hand.
"There's a story about her," said Lorraine. "There was a young fisherman
who sang in the choir. He had such a lovely voice that it was more
beautiful even than her own, and she fell in love with him. She used to
come on Sunday evenings and sit outside the church to listen to him
singing. Then, one day when he was out in his boat, she rose up from the
waves and beckoned to him. He rowed close to her, and she suddenly
clasped him in her arms and carried him down into the sea. He was never
seen again; and the villagers carved the picture of the mermaid in the
church to remind people of what had happened."
"What a most amazing story! I must tell Daddy. Perhaps he'll like to
draw that too," said Claudia. "By the by, where's Landry?" looking round
anxiously after her charge.
"He's all right," Morland assured her. "He's gone up those dusty stairs
into a little musty, cobwebby gallery. He always goes and sits there
while I'm practising the organ. Can't think why he should like it; but
he doesn't do any harm, so I let him. Look! You can see him."
Morland pointed upwards, where, at the west end of the church, ran a
small gallery. Over its carved oak balustrade leaned Landry, like a
cherub on a Jacobean monument. The sunlight, glinting through the window
above, turned his golden curls into a halo.
"He's waiting for me to play," continued Morland.
"Oh, do!" cried Lorraine.
The organ was unlocked, so Morland seated himself and began to improvise
slow, dreamy, haunting music, that rose and fell through the little
church like the murmur of the sea. Whatever faults of character the boy
might have, his face was rapt when he played, and to Lorraine it seemed
as if the very saints and angels in the stained-glass windows were
looking and listening. Landry sat with parted lips and far-away blue
eyes.
"He's always quiet when Morland is playing," whispered Claudia. "He
loves music. I wish we could teach him. I've tried, but it's absolutely
hopeless. He'd sit there all the afternoon, and I verily believe Morland
would too, once he's started on that organ. We shall have to stop him if
we want to go on with our walk. Morland! We're keeping Lorraine
waiting!"
Morland came back from the clouds and closed the organ, Claudia beckoned
Landry down from the gallery, and they stepped out again into the
sunshine and the fresh salt breeze that blew up from the shore.
It was a beautiful path to Tangy Point, all along the edge of the
cliffs, with great rugged rocks below, and the sea lapping gently on the
shingle. Gulls flashed white wings against the autumn blue of the sky,
and linnets twittered among the gorse bushes; here and there a few wild
flowers lingered, and Claudia picked quite a summer-looking bouquet. The
Point was a narrow spit of land crowned with a cairn, and here the young
people climbed to get the view over the western sea.
"I believe all here under the water is the lost land of Lyonesse!" said
Lorraine. "In King Arthur's days it was a prosperous place with
cornfields and villages, and then the sea came and swallowed it all up.
Fishermen say there's a castle and a church under the waves still, and
that sometimes they can hear the bells ringing, but of course that's
just imagination."
"Perhaps the mermaids live there!" laughed Claudia.
"You'd better send Lilith to look!"
"I say," said Morland, "there's a sort of a path down here. Are you game
to come and explore?"
"Of course we are! It will be topping down on those sands. Leave your
flowers here, Claudia; you can get them when we come back."
The path down to the sands was a scramble, but not particularly
difficult for agile young limbs. It led them on to a belt of rocks,
where ghost-like little fishes were darting across silvery pools, and
small crabs were scuttling among tangled masses of sodden, salt-scented
sea-weed, and sea-anemones spread scarlet tentacles in the clear water.
The wall-like, reddish-brown cliff rose almost sheer above, with gulls
and puffins and guillemots and cormorants perched on its rugged crags,
or rising to circle screaming in the air.
"Looks like the entrance to a cave over there!" said Morland. "Bet you
six cigarettes to six chocolates I'm right!"
"You oughtn't to bet, you naughty boy!" returned Claudia. "Besides, we
can't get any chocolates nowadays. We'll go and see, though, if it
really is a cave. I love exploring."
To reach the place Morland had pointed out, they were obliged to
struggle through jungles of brown sea-weed, and to slip down little
precipices slimy with green sea-grass, and to scramble over rough
projecting points of rock, honey-combed into queer shapes by the action
of the tide. A jump across a crevice and a climb up a few feet of sheer
precipice landed them at the entrance of the cave. Morland scrambled in
front, and gave a hand to the others.
They found themselves in a large, rounded grotto, the walls of which
shelved gently in a series of natural ledges; the floor was dry, and
covered with fine silvery sand, and at the far end lay a pile of timber,
washed in perhaps from some wreck by an abnormally high tide. The
afternoon sun shone through the entrance and gleamed on little bits of
mica and spar in the walls, making them glitter like diamonds.
"What an adorable place!" exclaimed Claudia with enthusiasm.
"Topping!" agreed Morland.
"A regular sea-nymphs' grotto!" exulted Lorraine, and Landry, who was
not given to words, smiled, and pulling out a piece of timber sat down
upon it.
"A good idea!" said Lorraine, following suit. "Look here, I've just had
a brain wave. Let's appropriate the cave, and call it ours. Except just
in the August holidays, I don't suppose anybody ever comes here, so we
should have it quite to ourselves. It shall be a real sea-nymphs'
grotto. We'll get shells from the shore, and make lovely patterns with
them all along those ledges, and hang sea-weeds about, and make some
seats with those pieces of wood, and we'll come out here on Saturdays
sometimes, and bring our lunch. What votes?"
"A1! I'm your man, or rather your merman!" grinned Morland. "Any good
recipe for growing a fish's tail, please? A diet of whelks and winkles
not welcome, for my digestion's delicate."
"It's a chubby idea!" beamed Claudia. "I'd love it, only I _do_ bargain
we keep it to ourselves. I don't want the whole tribe trailing after us
every time we come. The little ones mustn't know anything about it."
"_I_ shan't tell them, you bet!" declared Morland.
"It isn't a suitable place to bring children," agreed Lorraine. "I
won't say anything to Monica, or even to Mervyn, because he'd be sure to
blurt it out to her. It shall be just our own secret."
"I expect it has been a sort of secret place," said Morland. "Those
ledges look literally made for smugglers. No doubt they kept kegs of
brandy there, and chests of tea, and bales of silk and lace in the good
old days."
"Why shouldn't we keep a few things here?" suggested Claudia. "A kettle,
and a tin of cocoa and milk, and some matches, and a box of biscuits.
Then we could light a fire and have a little feast any time when we
came."
"A ripping notion. I'll make a sort of cupboard with some of that wood
to keep the things in. We'll bring cups and saucers as well as a
kettle."
"And a frying pan in case we catch flukes down in the pools," put in
Lorraine eagerly.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Morland, quite roused to enthusiasm.
"I'll come over on Monday and bring a saw with me, and a hammer and
nails, and see what I can knock together in the shape of a cupboard and
seats. Then next Saturday we'll tramp over and have our picnic."
"Splendiferous!"
"We'll have to come in the morning, because of the tide."
"Right you are! I guess we'd better be getting back now. I haven't grown
my merman's tail enough yet to swim with, and I've no wish to stop here
all night."
Morland kept his word, and went on Monday to the cave, armed with
various useful tools. He could work well enough at anything that took
his fancy, and, though he never knocked in a nail at home, he toiled
here in a way that would have amazed his family if they could have seen
him. Landry went also, and helped in a fashion. He could not do much,
but he held pieces of wood steady while his brother hammered, and he
collected whole pocketfuls of shells from the beach.
Morland whistled cheerily as he worked. He wanted to give the girls a
surprise, and, as they were busy at school all the week, he had the
field to himself until Saturday. His artistic temperament found scope in
the decoration of the cavern; fresh ideas kept occurring to him, and he
enjoyed carrying them out. He felt like a kind of combination of
Robinson Crusoe and the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, with a spice of
poetry running through it all.
Next Saturday Lorraine, having obtained permission from her mother to go
to a picnic with the Castletons, started off, basket in hand, resisting
the agonized entreaties of Monica, who implored to be allowed to
accompany her.
"Sorry I can't take you to-day, Cuckoo! But you see they didn't ask
you--only me. Beata and Romola aren't going either."
"But why shouldn't we _all_ go, and Madox too?" wailed Monica the
spoilt.
"It's too far. Look here, I'll ask Mother to let you have some of the
Castleton children to tea one day. Would that content you?"
"Ye--es!" conceded Monica doubtfully. "But it doesn't make up for this
morning. I think you're _ever_ so mean, Lorraine!"
"Poor old Cuckoo! But you know you couldn't really have come in any
case, for you're to be at the dentist's by eleven."
"Strafe the old dentist! I wish he were at the bottom of the sea!"
declared the youngest of the Forrester family, with temper.
Lorraine ran away at last, and pelted up the hill to the Castletons'
house, meeting Morland, Claudia, and Landry in the lane, whither they
had fled to avoid a contingent of younger ones. They were laden with a
cargo of miscellaneous articles--a kettle, a pan, some plates, and
various tins.
"It's like a young removal," said Claudia.
"Or emigrating to the wilds of Canada," laughed Lorraine. "I've brought
an enamelled mug, because it doesn't break like a teacup, and a little
old Britannia metal teapot that I prigged from the attic. It was only
going to be sent to a rummage sale, so we may just as well have it."
"Do mermaids drink tea, please?"
"No doubt they do when they can get it. Perhaps the smugglers taught
them how."
Morland had intended to give the girls a surprise, and when they
entered the grotto their amazement quite came up to his expectations.
The cave seemed truly transformed into a sea-nymphs' palace. Landry had
worked untiringly all the week picking up shells, and these were
arranged in patterns, with long pieces of sea-weed draped artistically
here and there. Fragments of wreckage had been neatly sawn and nailed
together to form a cupboard, a table, and some seats, and just inside
the entrance, in white pebbles, was the word "Welcome".
Landry, in his own way as pleased as his brother, stood beaming.
Morland, though inwardly proud, affected nonchalance.
"Couldn't make it look much, of course," he apologized.
"Much? Why, it's topping!"
"It's like a fairy-tale! However did you find time to do all this?"
"Oh! I just worked a bit," murmured Morland modestly.
The first picnic in the grotto was a huge success. To be sure the table
was unsteady, and had a decided lop to one end, and the benches felt
slightly insecure, but the girls said that added an element of
adventure, for you never knew when you might be suddenly precipitated on
to the floor. They put the cocoa, biscuits, and matches in tins, and
stowed them away inside the new cupboard which Morland had placed in an
angle of the rocky shelf, then, fearing that the rising tide would cover
the shore below and cut off their retreat, they bade a regretful
farewell to all their arrangements, promising themselves the pleasure of
coming often again.
It seemed too early to go straight home, so they spent the afternoon
rambling about the cliffs, watching the sea-birds or the waves that were
dashing below. Time flew apace, and when they came down the hill again
from Tangy Point the sky was golden with sunset. The warm evening light
flooded the common, where brown bracken grew like a forest, and
goldfinches flitted about among a grove of thistles. Lorraine, who had
an eye for colour, picked a large wand-like sheaf of yellow ragwort,
and, holding it over her shoulder, trudged through the thistles, sending
showers of down to float in the breeze, and dispersing the goldfinches
from their feast. With her eyes on the horizon instead of on the ground
in front, she nearly walked into an easel that was stationed among the
bracken. Its owner sprang up to save it, and Lorraine, stopping just in
time, paused with her russet dress and flying brown hair a dark mass
against the gold of the sky and the thistle-down background. There was a
second of silence as a pair of clear hazel eyes grasped the picturesque
impression and registered it; then a mellow voice murmured: "Kilmeny!"