The Wishing Well
Mr. Ledbury, feeling rather doubtful whether Mr. Hawkins's tuition had
been up to the required standard, had decided to send Cedric to receive
some special coaching before going in for his naval examination. The boy
departed to London in high spirits, leaving his sister visibly depressed
at his absence. Mrs. Ledbury had lately been far more sympathetic with
Githa, and noticing that the girl seemed to be moping, she suggested
inviting a school-mate to spend Friday to Monday with her. Her aunt had
never before made such an amazing proposition. Much as Githa would have
liked to entertain an occasional visitor, she had not dared to ask to be
allowed to do so. She looked so utterly delighted that Mrs. Ledbury, who
generally saw her most undemonstrative side, was frankly astonished.
"It's good for you to make friends of your own age," she remarked. "Tell
me which girl you would like to have, and I will write a note to Mrs.
Franklin."
Githa's choice promptly fell on Gwethyn. The invitation was sent, and
Mrs. Franklin, after an interview in the study, gave majestic permission
for its acceptance. The proposed visit caused much amazement in the
school. Mr. and Mrs. Ledbury had been looked upon rather as bogeys by
the girls. Githa had been so guarded in her information about her home
life that it was always presumed she was unhappy. How she spent her
spare hours she had never divulged. Her doings, away from Aireyholme,
had always been more or less of a mystery.
"I hope you'll have a tolerable time!" said Gwethyn's friends to her in
private, their tone clearly expressing anticipation of the contrary. "I
suppose Mrs. Ledbury's most frightfully strict. You'll have to be
'prunes and prism' personified."
"I'll worry through somehow without shocking her more than I can help,"
returned Gwethyn. "It's ever so decent of her to ask me."
"Well, of course you couldn't refuse," decided her chums.
If Gwethyn had any misgivings upon the subject, the sight of Githa's
pathetic eagerness was sufficient to nerve her to brave a hundred strict
and particular aunts. The poor little Toadstool had been so friendless,
that it was an immense event in her life to be able to bring a companion
back with her on Friday afternoon. Gwethyn had really grown to like her,
so the visit was one of inclination, and not, as her chums insisted,
sheer philanthropy. Perhaps a little curiosity was mixed up with it. She
would certainly be the first Aireyholme girl to see the Ledburys at
home. There was much debating as to whether Tony should accompany them,
but in the end they reluctantly decided to leave him at school. He could
not keep pace with bicycles, and it was almost impossible to ride and
nurse him, so that to take him would necessitate wheeling the machines
the whole way. He possessed such a host of admirers that they could not
honestly flatter themselves that he would pine for their society. Yvonne
would be only too proud to give him his Saturday bath, and he could
sleep on Katrine's bed. Gwethyn's luggage was sent by the carrier, and
when school was over on Friday afternoon she and Githa started off to
cycle.
Gwethyn laughed as she reminded her companion how she and Katrine had
first approached the Gables on the morning of their unauthorized ride.
The house, which from the back had looked like a farm, proved a very
different building when viewed from the front. It was a handsome modern
residence, with beautifully kept grounds and immaculately rolled gravel
drive.
Mrs. Ledbury received Gwethyn very graciously; if her manner was not
expansive, she evidently intended to be kind. She was not at her ease
with young girls, that was plainly to be seen, but she made some efforts
at conversation, to which Gwethyn responded nobly. Tea, served in the
garden, was rather a solemn business, for Githa scarcely spoke once
before her aunt, and there were long pauses of silence, during which
Mrs. Ledbury seemed conscientiously endeavouring to think of some fresh
remark to address to her youthful visitor. All three were secretly
relieved when the ordeal was over, and Mrs. Ledbury went into the house,
leaving her niece to entertain her friend alone.
Githa had much to show to Gwethyn, and they adjourned at once to
inspect the menagerie of pets which she kept in a disused stable.
Gwethyn loved animals, and was ready to wax enthusiastic over the
waltzing mice, the guinea-pigs, the rabbits, the silk-worms, and the
formicarium with its wonderful nest of ants. The latter especially
fascinated her, when Githa removed the cover, and she was able to watch
the busy little workers running hither and thither at their domestic
operations.
"How do you feed them?" she asked.
"I put honey inside this doorway, and water inside the other; that's all
they need."
Rolf, the collie who had given Gwethyn so churlish a reception on her
former visit, was now ready to make friends, and a grey stable cat also
condescended to be petted and stroked. Githa took a deep interest in
poultry, and was anxious to show the flock of young turkeys, the
goslings, the chickens, and ducks, all of which she had helped to rear.
"Of course I can't look after them altogether when I'm at school all
day, but I get up very early, so that I can give them their morning
meal, and I feed them in the evening too. They know me as well as they
know Tom. I just love taking care of them. When I grow up, I'd like to
have a poultry farm."
Gwethyn had to see Githa's garden, the seat she had made in the
apple-tree, the field where she often found Nature specimens to bring to
school, and the bushes where the nightingale sang in spring. Indoors
also there were her books and picture post-cards to be inspected, and
some fancy work upon which she had been busy. Mr. and Mrs. Ledbury
dined at seven, and the two girls had supper by themselves in the
morning-room.
"I do my lessons here in the evenings," Githa explained, "but, thank
goodness, we've none to-night. What would you like to do now? Shall we
play tennis, or go for a walk down the fields?"
Gwethyn, knowing from school experience that Githa's tennis capabilities
were not of a very high order, chose the walk. It was a greater change
for her; she loved exploring, and Aireyholme rules did not give her as
much scope in that direction as she would have wished. Mr. Ledbury owned
some of the land near The Gables, and Githa proposed that she should
take her friend to see the church, and that they could then come back
through her uncle's plantations. It was a lovely summer evening, with a
fresh little breeze that was most exhilarating after the heat of the
day. They strolled down a lane where wild strawberries were still in
their prime, and could be found for careful searching. Through
cornfields and across a pasture, then down a deep lane, a very tangle of
traveller's joy, their way led to the church, the object of their
expedition. It was a beautiful old Norman building, standing solitary
and apart, with no hamlet or even a farm near to it. It had a neglected
appearance, for the porch was unswept, the walk a mass of weeds, and
grass grew high over the graves.
"It seems such a lonely place for a church," said Githa. "I often wonder
if there used to be a village here in the Middle Ages. It's a chapel of
ease now to Elphinstone; we only have service here on Sunday afternoons,
except on the first Sunday in the month. Not many people come, only a
few of the farmers about. I wish I could take you inside, but the door's
locked, and the clerk lives too far off for us to go and borrow the
keys."
By peeping through the windows they could see the ancient carved choir
stalls, and some tattered flags, placed as memorials of long-ago
battles. A few sculptured tombs, with knights in effigy, were also dimly
discernible in the transept.
"They belong to the Denham family," explained Githa. "They used to be
the great people of the neighbourhood once, and they still own Malbury
Hall, that quaint old place with the moat round it. No, they don't live
there; it's let to some Americans. The Denhams are too poor now to keep
it up. This is their coat of arms over the porch--a griffin holding a
sword. Once they used to come to church with all their followers; it
must have been a grand sight. I often wish I could shut my eyes and
catch a vision of it. They tied their horses to those yew-trees; the
rings are still there. Then they would come clattering with their spurs
up the paved path, and the ladies would come too, with little pages to
hold up their Genoese velvet trains, and the very same bell would be
ringing that rings now, and perhaps some of them would sit in the same
places that we do. They were all baptized, and married, and buried
here."
"And do they haunt the church?" asked Gwethyn with a little shudder.
"Many people say they do. I don't think anyone cares to come here after
dark. Sir Ralph is supposed to walk, and Lady Margaret. They go down
that path, towards the Wishing Well."
"Really a 'wishing well'?" queried Gwethyn.
"So folks say. It's very, very ancient. Shall we go and look at it? Oh,
we shan't meet Sir Ralph and Lady Margaret! Don't be afraid--it's hardly
dusk yet."
Githa led the way along an overgrown little path among the bushes. In a
corner of the churchyard, overshadowed by thick trees, lay the well, a
pool of water about six feet square, with walls like a bath. A few
broken pieces of masonry lay about.
"It's sometimes called the Black Friar's well," continued Githa, still
acting as guide. "He lived during the great Black Death in the reign of
Edward III. The church was closed then, because the rector and most of
his flock had died of the plague; but one of the Dominican friars used
to come from Cressington Abbey and preach in the churchyard to the few
people who were left, and baptize the babies in this well. There was a
sort of little chapel over it once, but that's supposed to have tumbled
down long before the time of the plague, perhaps even before the church
was built."
"What have Sir Ralph and Lady Margaret to do with it? Did they die of
the plague?" asked Gwethyn.
"No, that's quite another story. They lived in the time of the Civil
Wars. They were on the side of the King, and after Charles's execution,
Sir Ralph was considered a rebel by the Commonwealth. A troop of
Parliamentarian soldiers was sent to arrest him. They stopped at
Cressington Abbey, which was then the country house of Sir Guy Meldrum,
a Roundhead. His wife, Dame Alice, was cousin to Sir Ralph, and though
of course they were on opposite sides, she was anxious to save him. She
did not dare to write him a letter, or even to send him a verbal
message, but she wrapped a feather in a piece of paper, and made a
stable-boy run across the fields with it to Malbury Hall, while she
delayed the troopers as long as she could at Cressington. People in
those troublous times were very quick at taking hints. Sir Ralph guessed
that he had better fly, but the difficulty was where to go. No one would
be anxious to receive him, and get into trouble with the Parliament. In
desperation he fled to the church, and hid himself in the crypt
underneath the chancel. It was a horrible, dark, gruesome place to take
refuge in, and of course he needed food while he was there. The troopers
had established themselves at Malbury Hall, and kept close watch, but
Lady Margaret, his wife, used to steal out at night, and go to visit her
husband in the churchyard. It must have been terrible for her to walk
there all alone, and she was afraid of being followed by the soldiers.
Her fears were only too well justified. In spite of all her precautions,
the captain of the troopers was too clever for her.
"One night she stole to the crypt as usual, bringing food and wine for
her husband, and as all seemed safe and quiet, he came up into the
churchyard to get a little fresh air and exercise. They were walking
together along the path that leads to the well, when suddenly there was
a shout, and they found themselves surrounded by the band of troopers.
Their captain had discovered that someone left the house at night, and
had kept watch with extra care. He had caused his men to tie cloths
over their boots, so that they could walk very silently, and when Lady
Margaret was seen vanishing down the garden, they had followed her. They
tried to make Sir Ralph prisoner, but he was determined not to be taken
alive, and fought desperately, with his back to the little bit of stone
wall left near the well. One man had no chance against a troop of
soldiers, however, and he was soon despatched. When they found he was
dead, they laid him down beside the well, and left him until they could
return by daylight and carry his body away. They arrived the next day
with a stretcher, and there, lying close by his side, with her arms
flung round him, they found Lady Margaret--quite mad. They treated her
gently, and took her back to Malbury Hall, and she lived there many
years; but she never recovered her senses, and whenever she could escape
from her keepers she would try to run by night to the churchyard. They
guarded her as carefully as they could, but she was cunning, and at last
she managed to evade them, and get a start. When they discovered her
loss, they followed her, and found her lying drowned at the bottom of
the well. They buried her beside her husband, in the transept, and a
beautiful monument was erected over their grave."
"I don't wonder they're supposed to haunt the place," commented Gwethyn.
"I vote we go. This churchyard is too spooky for my taste. I don't want
to meet either Cavaliers or Roundheads, thank you!"
"You mustn't go before trying your luck at the well," said Githa.
"Everybody who comes here goes through the ceremony. It's most ancient."
"What have I got to do? Will it raise ghosts?"
"Certainly not. You utter a wish, then you throw a stone into the water,
and count the bubbles that rise. If they are an odd number, you'll get
the wish, but if they're even you won't!"
"All right--here goes! I wish Mother may bring me back an Australian
cockatoo from Sydney. What a splash! Now, how many bubbles?
One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight! Oh, what a sell! I suppose she
won't, though I've asked her in several of my letters. It's your turn
now. What are you going to wish?"
"That some time I may go and live at the Grange again. My stone went in
with a plop, didn't it? One-two-three-four-five-six-seven! O jubilate! I
shall get it."
"Please invite me when you're settled there."
"You bet I will!"
"Now I'm not going to stay in this haunted hole two seconds longer,"
proclaimed Gwethyn. "It's growing ever so dark, and Sir Ralph and Lady
Margaret may come promenading out any time. I'd rather have burglars
than ghosts."
"Right-o! We'll go across the stile here, and take a short cut home
through the plantation," agreed Githa, leading the way.