The Plot Thickens
After hearing the story of Monica Courtenay, their friend's ancestress,
Lindsay and Cicely felt a special interest in her portrait. They
strolled one afternoon along the picture gallery to take another look at
it. There were the pretty smiling face--so like Monica's--and the bunch
of red roses that had saved the life of Sir Piers Courtenay. Was all the
good fortune of the race to be hers, and would none of it descend to the
namesake who so closely resembled her?
"If she could only come back and be of some use again!" sighed Lindsay.
"She ought to know every secret of this house."
"I wish we could make her speak and tell us," said Cicely.
At that moment a distant door banged, and a great gust of wind blew
along the gallery. Cicely started violently.
"Lindsay, did you see?" she exclaimed. "The picture moved in its
frame!"
"Nonsense! How could it?" said Lindsay, who had been looking the other
way.
"I tell you it did!"
"You must have imagined it."
It certainly seemed rather improbable. The portraits were all firmly
fixed in the panelled walls, and no breath of air could be expected to
penetrate behind them.
"It's almost as if she were alive," continued Cicely, "and just when we
were wishing she could talk! No wonder people make up tales about her. I
don't think I quite like it."
"How silly you are!" said Lindsay scornfully. "You might have seen a
ghost!"
"Well, it is queer! You needn't laugh at me so. I'm not going to stay
here any longer; I vote we go out into the garden."
Pictures that moved were rather more than Cicely had bargained for.
Mysteries were all very well in their way, but she began to feel it was
possible to have too much of a good thing. It was a distinct relief to
her to leave the gloomy old gallery, with its armour and tapestry, and
walk out into the fresh air and sunshine. There was still half an hour
to be disposed of before tea, and the two girls sauntered leisurely in
the direction of the kitchen-garden.
"I wish I knew where the boathouse used to be that Sir Piers wanted the
key for," said Lindsay.
"It was not very far away, I dare say. The river runs somewhere at the
bottom of those fields."
"I wonder if there's a path."
"I believe there's one at the end of the orchard. I saw Scott walking
down there once."
"Shall we go and see?"
"All right!"
The orchard was forbidden ground. Perhaps, though, the fact that they
risked a scolding, or even a mark for bad conduct, only made the
adventure more interesting. They ascertained first that Scott was safely
attending to his tomatoes in the greenhouse, then they dived hastily
between the rows of young apple trees. Cicely was right. At the far end
there was a small gate that led into a meadow.
"The river must be over there, hidden by those willows," said Lindsay.
"I hope we shan't meet a bull," said Cicely, looking nervously at a
group of cattle in the distance.
"Oh, come along! You're surely not afraid of cows!"
They had soon crossed the field and reached the shade of the willows by
the water's edge. The low bank was covered with reeds and rushes. Tall
purple flowers were growing on a green, boggy island close by. It was a
very pleasant place, just the kind of spot to choose on a hot summer's
afternoon.
"Far nicer than the garden, because we have it all to ourselves,"
declared Cicely.
"Oh, look what I've found!" exclaimed Lindsay ecstatically.
She had been poking about among the reeds, and now pointed in triumph
under the branches of a big willow to a smooth little pool, where there
actually floated a punt, anchored by a long chain to the trunk of the
tree.
It was a most attractive-looking boat, nicely polished, and with the
name _Heatherbell_ painted in neat white letters on the prow. It came
quite easily to the edge of the bank when Lindsay pulled the chain, and
seemed deliberately to invite them to step into it. Such a temptation
was not to be resisted. In a moment they were both inside.
"If I can manage to untie it, I'm sure I could punt us out on to the
river," said Lindsay.
"Oh, do! And then perhaps we could find some water-lilies," agreed her
ever-willing friend.
Lindsay leaned over to reach the chain. It was wound tightly round the
tree, and was very difficult to unfasten.
"I'll come and help you!" cried Cicely, and without a thought of the
consequences she bounced up, and stepped to the other end of the boat.
Her sudden change of position utterly upset the balance of their small
craft. There was a splash, a succession of squeals, and both girls were
floundering in the water. Luckily the pool was shallow, and they were in
no danger of drowning; but by the time they reached the bank they were
wet through, and in an extremely draggled condition.
"What are we to do?" said Cicely blankly, trying to wring the water out
of her skirts.
"Go back, I suppose, and put on dry things," replied Lindsay. "We shall
get into a fearful scrape, I expect."
"Yes! What will Miss Frazer say?"
Miss Frazer was on the point of collecting her flock in preparation for
tea, when two dejected, dripping figures came creeping along the
terrace. If they had hoped to reach the side door unobserved, they were
soon undeceived; the governess's sharp eyes spied them at once.
"Lindsay and Cicely!" she burst out wrathfully. "You naughty girls!
Where have you been? Come at once into the house and change your
clothes. You give more trouble than all the rest of the class put
together. Miss Russell will have to be told about this."
Miss Russell was angry--really angry. She lectured them both severely,
and stopped their recreation for the whole of the next day. This seemed
only a very small circumstance in itself, but strangely enough it led
indirectly to something of much more consequence.
The two delinquents looked decidedly rueful when, instead of going into
the garden as usual, they were obliged to sit in the classroom, and copy
out a passage from "Lycidas" in their best handwriting. It was trying,
certainly, particularly as the other girls were playing a tennis
handicap, and they could hear the soft thud of balls, and the cries of
"'Vantage!" or "Game!" It was possible to see a few heads bobbing over
the wall, but they could not gather how the tournament was progressing,
nor which was the winning side.
Long before tea-time they had finished their allotted portions, and
going to the window they leaned out, to try to catch a glimpse of what
was happening on the lawn. The classroom was at the back of the house,
and overlooked a small paved courtyard. Below, on a wooden bench in the
sunshine, sat Scott, leisurely blacking boots, and humming to himself in
a voice that had little tune in it. The cat, purring loudly, was rubbing
herself vigorously against his trousers.
The girls were just going to call to him, and beg him to peep through
the door in the wall and give them some news of the tennis players, when
they suddenly changed their intention. Mrs. Wilson had appeared in the
porch. She brought out a flower vase, flung the stale water away, and
refilled it from one of the butts that stood near.
Scott had evidently seen her too, for he gave a short whistle to attract
her attention, then, throwing down his blacking brush, he crossed the
courtyard to speak to her. In spite of his lowered tone, his voice rose
up clearly to the classroom window above.
"About what we were talking of this morning," he began. "It had best be
done as soon as possible. I'll do it to-night."
"I've marked the place," replied Mrs. Wilson, "but I'll come with you to
make sure. You'll want a helping hand. It's too much for one."
"You can hold the lantern, at any rate. It's a job that will need some
caution. We mustn't attempt it till it's quite dark."
"No, not till everything's quiet," said Mrs. Wilson, as she re-entered
the house.
Lindsay drew Cicely back quickly into the room, as Scott returned to his
rows of boots on the bench. She did not wish him, at any cost, to see
them at the window, or to know that they had overheard the conversation.
"What are they going to do?" asked Cicely breathlessly.
"I don't know. It must be something dreadful if they want to keep it so
quiet."
"And do it in the dark, too!"
"I'm afraid both Mrs. Wilson and Scott are bad characters," said Lindsay
in an impressive voice. "I expect they've stolen the treasure, and
they're going to hide it in the garden. Perhaps even it may have
something to do with the prisoner in the lantern room."
"You don't think they've killed him?" gasped Cicely.
"I can't tell. I believe they're capable of anything. I'm quite uneasy
for fear they intend to harm Monica. We'll watch to-night, and find out
what they're about. I shouldn't wonder if we're on the verge of a great
discovery. It was most fortunate we were kept in this afternoon; if we
hadn't happened to be at the window just then, we shouldn't have heard
their plans."
Cicely's face had lengthened considerably at the idea of the black
doings which it was evidently their duty to investigate.
"I don't know how we're to follow them in the dark," she said, after a
moment's hesitation.
"We must," declared Lindsay emphatically. "I feel it all depends on us.
Monica may be in the greatest danger, and we are the only ones who know
anything about the matter, and can save her."
The tea-bell ringing at that moment sent them down to the dining-hall.
The meal had been delayed half an hour on account of the tournament, so
preparation followed immediately afterwards, and Lindsay and Cicely were
obliged, with their thoughts still running on possible tragedies, to
endeavour to apply their minds to the unromantic details of parsing.
It seemed of such minor importance whether a verb were transitive or
intransitive, weak or strong, compared with whether Mrs. Wilson and
Scott were really going to meet in the garden to carry out some fell
intention. The time seemed endless until the books were at last put
away, and they could snatch a few moments for private talk.
"There's one comfort," said Lindsay, "they won't begin until it's dark,
so they can't have been doing anything while we've been in prep."
"It's generally light for quite half an hour after we're in bed," said
Cicely. "I don't see yet how we're to know when they're starting."
"We shall find out," returned Lindsay confidently. "I have a kind of
feeling that something is going to happen to-night."
"What are you two whispering about?" asked Nora Proctor curiously.
"Oh, only a joke of our own!"
"You've got some secret, I'm sure," said Beryl Austen; "you're always
looking at each other and making signs. I noticed you yesterday during
arithmetic."
"Do tell us, Cicely," begged Marjorie Butler. "You and I used to be
friends, but we never have a secret together now."
"There's really nothing worth telling," declared Cicely, much
embarrassed.
"We shall have to be careful though," said Lindsay afterwards. "We don't
want the others to hear, and then go poking about and making
discoveries."
"Certainly not; if there's anything to be found out, I'd rather we found
it out ourselves."
Cicely was tired when bedtime arrived, and ready to curl herself up and
forget what might be happening outside. Lindsay, on the contrary, lay
with wide-open eyes, watching the room grow darker and darker. When the
wardrobe and the chest of drawers and the washstand had at last all
merged together into one deep mass of shadow, she got up and peeped
through the open window. What she saw there caused her to run hurriedly
and shake her sleepy companion.
"Cicely! Do wake up! There's a light moving in the garden."
It took a second or two for Cicely to recover her senses, but when she
realized the nature of the news, she hopped out of bed in frantic
excitement.
"Is it Mrs. Wilson and Scott?" she asked eagerly.
"I expect so, but of course I can't tell. Be quick! We must go at once
and see what they're doing."
The two girls hastily scrambled into their clothes, and tiptoed
downstairs to the side door. The servants had not yet locked up, so it
was still standing ajar.
"Suppose we were to meet Miss Russell or Miss Frazer!" shivered Cicely,
with a nervous glance down the corridor.
"Don't think about it. They're both safe in the drawing-room."
In another minute they had closed the door gently behind them, and were
running softly across the lawn. It was a cloudy night, with neither moon
nor stars in the sky. The outlines of the trees and shrubs were just
visible, but it was very dark indeed under their shade.
"The light seemed to be going through the shrubbery towards the arbour,"
said Lindsay, feeling her way along the rose avenue.
"There it is!" replied Cicely, as a faint gleam shone in the distance.
"We must be very, very careful," said Lindsay, "not to disturb them on
any account. We must stop somewhere near, and just look and listen."
As quietly as ghosts they stole down the path, trying not to rustle so
much as a leaf. They were close now to the lantern. They could see it
quite clearly, set on the ground, and two figures bending over it.
Skirting round under the bushes, they reached the shelter of an oak tree
that grew on the side of a bank, and peeped cautiously round the trunk.
Yes, it was certainly Scott and Mrs. Wilson who were in the shrubbery
below. Every now and then a glint of light revealed their faces
unmistakably. They were talking together in low tones, unfortunately too
low for their conversation to be overheard. Scott held a spade in his
hand, and was stooping to watch Mrs. Wilson, who, kneeling on the grass,
was fumbling inside a large sack.
"Can you see if she's counting money?" breathed Cicely into Lindsay's
ear. "I believe they're going to bury it."
"It looks like something bigger and heavier," whispered Lindsay, trying
to crane her neck farther forward.
"Is it silver plate?"
"It might be anything in that huge sack."
"Oh! Not a body!"
I believe Cicely would have fled precipitately if Lindsay had not held
her tightly by the hand. The fear that old Sir Giles Courtenay was being
finally disposed of oppressed her like a nightmare.
"No! I expect it's the treasure. We must notice exactly where they're
putting it."
[Illustration: AN UNFORTUNATE ACCIDENT]
Lindsay took a step nearer, to gain a better view of the proceedings,
but as she did so her foot trod noisily on a dead twig.
"What's that?"
The question was in "The Griffin's" well-known voice.
There was a growl in reply from Scott.
"Best take a look, anyhow," came from Mrs. Wilson.
Scott seized the lantern, and began to flash it round in every
direction. Then, oh horrors! he walked straight towards the oak where
the two girls were hiding. Nearly paralysed with fear, they did not dare
to run away, and could only hope that, after all, under cover of the
darkness, he might chance to overlook them.
In her desperation, Lindsay tried to draw farther behind the trunk of
the tree. To do so she perforce pushed Cicely back. The latter was not
quite prepared for the sudden movement, the ground was uneven, she
swayed, clutched violently at her companion to save herself, and over
they both rolled down the bank, almost to the very feet of Scott
himself.
As Lindsay and Cicely came crashing down the bank, Scott uttered a cry
of consternation. In the suddenness of his dismay, the lantern dropped
from his hand, extinguishing the light in its fall.
Instantly the two girls were on their feet, and rushed helter-skelter
across the garden through the darkness. They plunged anyhow through
bushes and over flower-beds, scratching their faces on overhanging
boughs, and tearing their dresses on thorns, their one fear lest Scott
should be pursuing them, and their one anxiety to gain the safe shelter
of the house.
They reached the side entrance without hearing any footsteps behind
them. If Scott had tried to follow them, they had evidently managed to
elude him, and he must have given up the chase. The door was still
unbolted, and they hurried breathlessly upstairs, luckily meeting nobody
on the way. What a harbour of refuge it seemed to be, back in their own
room! Without daring to light the candle, they went back to bed again
with all possible speed.
"Well, we have had an adventure!" began Lindsay, when they were once
more comfortably ensconced between the sheets.
"Do you think Scott noticed who we were?" whispered Cicely.
"I can't tell. He had just time to catch a glimpse of our faces before
the lantern went out."
"I'm sure they were doing something dreadful that they wanted to keep
secret, he looked so utterly horror-stricken at seeing us."
"There's no doubt about it. The unfortunate part is that now they find
they've been discovered, they'll bury the treasure somewhere else
instead."
"What a pity we fell just at that moment!"
Cicely's voice was very doleful.
"It will have aroused their suspicions, too, and will make them extra
careful," lamented Lindsay. "If Scott recognized us, he and Mrs. Wilson
will know we're watching them. They'll owe us a grudge. 'The Griffin'
was bad enough before, but she'll be worse than ever now."
They scanned the old housekeeper's face narrowly next morning, as she
carried the coffee into the dining-room, but her countenance wore its
accustomed aspect of grim inscrutability. If she connected them with
last night's happenings, she certainly did not betray the knowledge; it
was impossible to tell whether she mistrusted them or not, or what
feelings lay concealed under her forbidding exterior.
The moment breakfast was over, they rushed into the garden to renew
their acquaintance with the scene of their adventure. Somebody had
plainly been digging in the bank, though the traces had evidently been
tidied carefully up, and the sods replaced.
"Do you think there could be anything here?" said Cicely wistfully,
poking a stick into the loosened soil.
"Oh, dear me, no!" replied Lindsay. "Why, the first thing they'd do
would be to rush off with that sack to some safer spot. Even the very
stupidest persons wouldn't have gone on burying valuables in a place
where they knew they'd been watched. 'The Griffin' and Scott are
certainly not idiots!"
"If we could only guess where they'd put it!" sighed Cicely.
For the present they had had such a fright that, though neither would
confess it, both were a little inclined to let the matter rest in
abeyance. It needed courage to risk the anger of Mrs. Wilson and Scott
if they were once more caught meddling. It had seemed pleasant enough to
search for the treasure themselves in the house, but the affair was now
beginning to assume a graver aspect.
"I sometimes wonder if we ought to tell Monica or Miss Russell," said
Cicely, who occasionally had uneasy scruples as to the wisdom of their
plan of secrecy.
"It wouldn't be of the slightest use," declared Lindsay. "'The Griffin'
and Scott would simply deny everything. They'd make out it was all
nonsense on our part, like grown-up people generally do. And how could
we prove we were right? Miss Russell would tell us to mind our own
business, and we should only get into a scrape for our pains. No, we
shall just have to let things take their course, and trust to luck."