Lindsay Makes a Resolve
Lindsay and Cicely thought they understood what a settle was, but, to
avoid the possibility of any mistake, they looked the word up in the
dictionary. "Settle--a long bench, with high back, for sitting on," was
the explanation given by that authority.
"So it 'settles' the matter," said Cicely, trying to make a pun.
"Well, it shows us it's not a chest, anyhow," replied Lindsay, "though
the oak bench in the passage near the top of the stairs has a kind of
box under it. The seat lifts up like a lid."
There were four pieces of old furniture in the Manor which might claim
to answer to the description given in the dictionary. Two were in the
dining-room, one in the picture gallery, and another, as Lindsay had
said, at the head of the stairs. The girls made a most lengthy and
careful inspection of them all, but without the slightest result.
Neither their backs nor their seats were hollow, or capable of
containing anything. Three of them stood upon carved oak legs, like
chairs, and though the last was made in the fashion of a chest, it
proved on investigation to be absolutely empty. It was a bitter
disappointment.
"Can we have been mistaken about the enigma?" said Cicely, almost in
tears.
"I don't believe so. What I think is, that Mrs. Wilson and Scott have
been clever enough to find the money and carry it off. Perhaps there was
another settle somewhere in the house, and they took it bodily away."
"Wouldn't Monica have missed it?"
"It may have been done just after Sir Giles died, and before she came to
the Manor."
"Where would they put it?"
"Possibly in the lantern room, inside some hiding-place they know of."
"Then, until we can find out the secret of the lantern room, it seems to
me we can't get any farther."
"And we don't even know that the treasure is still there, because it may
be buried in the garden," groaned Lindsay.
The whole affair of the lost legacy was most aggravating and
tantalizing. They seemed so continually on the point of unravelling the
mystery, only to find themselves again defeated and baffled. Cicely was
tempted to throw it up altogether in despair, but Lindsay had a native
obstinacy of disposition that could not bear to be beaten.
"I shall go on trying as long as we're at Haversleigh, on that I'm
entirely resolved," she declared. "I don't mean to give up until we're
actually on our way to the station on breaking-up day."
"And that's only three weeks off now," said Cicely.
The summer term at the Manor had proved so enjoyable that the girls were
not nearly so enthusiastic as usual for the advent of the holidays. Most
of them felt a keen regret at leaving the beautiful old place, and
bewailed the fact that the alterations at Winterburn Lodge were reported
to be progressing favourably, and that the drains there would be in
perfect order long before they need return in September.
"Couldn't we have school here always instead of in London?" they
suggested hopefully to Miss Russell.
"No," said the headmistress; "there are many considerations which would
make it impossible. Mrs. Courtenay and Monica will want to live in their
own home again, and Haversleigh is too inconvenient a place for a
permanency. We have managed wonderfully well for a few months with only
Mademoiselle, but we certainly miss Herr Hoffmann's and Monsieur
Guizet's classes, to say nothing of drawing and dancing lessons.
Visiting masters cannot arrange to come so far away from town. There are
no proper educational advantages to be had in the depths of the
country."
"We shall be sorry when it comes to good-bye," declared the girls.
"We must make the most of our remaining time here then," said Miss
Russell, "and try to see all we can in the neighbourhood before we go."
The mistress's birthday, falling on the following Wednesday, offered a
propitious opportunity for an excursion such as she suggested. The girls
were accustomed to celebrate the occasion with some little festivity,
and were delighted when it was arranged that they should visit the town
of Appleford, about ten miles away.
"There is the Dripping Well to see, and a fine old church," said Miss
Russell. "I am sure we shall be able to spend a very pleasant afternoon
there. We must ask Monica to come with us."
There was some doubt at first as to whether Monica would be able to
accept the invitation. She had missed her French lesson one day, and
arrived at school late on the next, looking pale and upset. Mrs.
Courtenay had been very ill, so she explained. The doctor had been sent
for, and had given an unfavourable report. Naturally extra care and
attention were needful, and who could give these so well as her own
daughter?
On the day of the picnic Monica turned up with rather an anxious face.
"I scarcely like to leave Mother," she said, "but she wants me so much
to have this treat that she would not rest content until she had seen me
put on my hat and start off. Fortunately Jenny is a good nurse, and will
look after her nicely. Still, I always feel uneasy when I am long away
from her."
The girls were to drive the whole distance to Appleford, and the
prospect was so exhilarating that everyone was at the high-water mark of
enjoyment. Even poor Monica caught the prevailing spirit, and for the
moment, at least, began to forget her cares. There was just room to pack
both teachers and pupils into the four wagonettes which arrived from the
George Inn, but nobody seemed to mind crushing, and even Mademoiselle
was in a good temper.
"I smile because I shall again see shops and streets," she declared.
"I believe Mademoiselle will be delighted to go back to Winterburn
Lodge," said Marjorie Butler, who was in another wagonette, but
overheard the remark.
"Yes, I think she's absolutely yearning for pavements and lamp-posts,"
said Cicely. "She'll weep with joy at the sight of a tramcar. She says
it is terribly 'triste' here."
"Mademoiselle is French," observed Effie Hargreaves scornfully.
"What a very original remark! You didn't suppose we took her for a
German?"
"Well, I mean she's a foreigner at any rate, so we can't expect her to
like the country," replied Effie, with true British prejudice.
There were several small excitements on the journey. Beryl's hat was
blown by a sudden puff of wind over a bridge, and was in great peril of
descending into the river when it was rescued by the driver; the door of
the second wagonette burst suddenly open, and nearly precipitated Irene
Spencer into the road; while the whole cavalcade was brought to a
standstill at a narrow turning by finding a broken-down motor-car
blocking up the way.
Appleford proved to be a delightfully quaint old country town, with
twisting streets and black-and-white houses.
"I'm afraid Mademoiselle will be very disappointed with the fashions.
She certainly won't find Paris modes here," laughed Marjorie Butler,
looking at the one row of small shop windows that appeared to satisfy
the wants of the population.
"I'm glad there's a confectioner's, anyhow," said Effie Hargreaves, who
was burning to spend her pocket-money on chocolates.
"And a place for picture postcards," added Nora Proctor; "I can see a
whole tray full of them standing outside that door."
The arrival of four wagonettes containing so many schoolgirls evidently
caused quite an excitement in the usually quiet street. Heads were
popped out of windows, shopkeepers came to their doors, and people began
to collect at corners and stare.
"Almost as if we were a wild-beast show!" said Cicely.
"I believe they hope we're going to march in procession round the market
square and sing, or play as a band," declared Nora Proctor.
"Come along, girls! I am afraid we are attracting too much attention,"
said Miss Russell. "Let us set off for the Dripping Well as fast as we
can. You must make any purchases you want when we return; I cannot let
you wait now."
Effie Hargreaves had already dived into the toffee shop, and issued with
several paper packages in her hand; so she went on her way rejoicing
that she had seized the opportunity while there was yet time.
Fortunately for the others, she was of a generous disposition, and ready
to share her sweets.
"We'll pay you back when we get some of our own," said Marjorie Butler,
blissfully sucking a caramel.
The Dripping Well was situated in a wood, about a mile from the town,
and was, as the guide-book described it, "a most curious natural
phenomenon". The water trickled slowly over a large rock, and was so
charged with lime that it left a thin deposit over everything it
touched. Articles hung up there, after a short time bore the appearance
of having been turned to stone. All kinds of objects were suspended from
the rock, in the process of being encrusted by the lime--top hats,
boots, stockings, gloves, loaves of bread, and even bunches of flowers.
"It looks just as if the Gorgon had stared at them and petrified them
with a glance," said Nora.
"I wonder, if we were hung up, should we turn solid too?" said Lindsay.
The caretaker of the well had many specimens to show them which he had
polished, and was anxious to sell. There was quite a large collection in
his cottage. The girls, after hastily conferring together, bought a
stone bouquet as a birthday present for Miss Russell, an offering which
she declared should grace the school museum when they returned to
Winterburn Lodge.
"I thought she'd have put it in the drawing-room," said Beryl Austen,
rather disappointed.
"Well, of course it is more of a curiosity than an ornament," said
Mildred Roper. "It wouldn't have looked very beautiful decorating the
mantel-piece, I'm afraid--not nearly so nice as a real bunch of
flowers."
Close to the well was a cave in the cliff which a hermit had once used
for his cell--a very picturesque spot to have chosen for his
meditations, so the girls decided.
"But horribly damp; the poor man must have been racked with rheumatism,"
said Miss Frazer, who was of a practical mind.
"Perhaps, like Friar Tuck, he didn't often use it, and preferred to hunt
venison in the woods," suggested Kathleen Crawford.
"No, he was a really devout hermit, who told his beads, and lived on
bread and water," said Monica. "He dug his own grave in the rock about a
hundred yards from here. You can see it still, though his bones have
long ago been taken away for relics."
"I wonder if they petrified them first in the well," said Nora Proctor,
"and how much they sold them for? There are more than two hundred bones
in the human body, so a hermit ought to have been worth a good deal when
he was properly divided."
"You naughty, irreverent girl!" said Monica.
Tea had been prepared at the old-fashioned inn in the market square.
Afterwards they went to look through the church, where there were some
fine examples of Gothic carving, and several beautiful stained-glass
windows. One in particular, which Monica pointed out, was in memory of a
member of the Courtenay family. There was a chained Bible, besides a
black-letter Prayer Book, a pair of tongs for turning dogs out of
church, and several other curiosities shown by the old verger; so time
passed rapidly, and everyone was quite surprised when Miss Russell
looked at her watch, and announced that they must be returning home.
"Will someone fetch Monica? I believe she is in the churchyard with the
Rector's wife," she said.
Lindsay and Cicely volunteered to go, and found their friend under a big
yew tree, engaged in talking to a lady who was evidently making
enquiries about Mrs. Courtenay. Not liking to intrude and interrupt the
conversation, they stood waiting until they should be noticed.
"The doctor was over yesterday," Monica was saying, with a choke in her
voice. "He told me our only chance is to send to London for Sir William
Garrett. And how can we? His fee is a hundred guineas."
"That is a heavy amount."
"Impossible for us. You know how gladly I would sell even the Manor to
raise the money, but I cannot touch a penny of my property until I come
of age, and that won't be for more than four years. I try not to blame
Uncle Giles, yet sometimes----"
Here Monica broke down altogether, and wiped her eyes.
"You mustn't give up hope, my dear child," said the Rector's wife
kindly. "Perhaps your mother may be spared to you after all. Strange
things come to pass sometimes, and good can often result from evil."
"I wish I could believe so," sobbed Monica. "I don't care in the least
about the fortune for myself; I only want it when I think of what it
might do for her!"
* * * * *
"Cicely!" said Lindsay solemnly the next morning, as she tied her hair
ribbon before the looking-glass, "we simply must have another try to
find that treasure."
Cicely paused with her brush in her hand.
"It's dreadful that Mrs. Courtenay may die because they can't scrape
together a hundred guineas," she agreed.
"And Monica is breaking her heart over it," continued Lindsay. "She goes
about looking so unhappy, it makes me quite miserable too. I'd give
everything in the world I have to help her."
"I don't know where we're to hunt next. We seem to have explored every
corner, and we never have any luck."
Cicely's voice sounded utterly despondent.
"We can only go to the lantern room again. It's the one place where
we're sure there's a secret. If Merle could discover something there,
why shouldn't we?"
It appeared a forlorn hope, but anything was better than just sitting
down and making no effort at all. Monica's troubles weighed much on
Lindsay's mind. The idea that the invalid must slip out of life for lack
of the money that might save her seemed too cruel to be endured.
"I wish I had a hundred guineas of my own to give them," she thought
sorrowfully. "Oh dear! it's such a big sum--one might as well wish for
the moon. I'm afraid there's not the slightest chance for poor Mrs.
Courtenay unless the legacy turns up."
It was in rather a dejected mood that the girls betook themselves to the
upper landing that afternoon, and once more climbed the now familiar
winding staircase. The lantern room looked exactly the same as on their
two former visits. There was nothing in it to excite interest or arouse
curiosity. A more unromantic chamber could not be conceived.
The window was closed, the rusty firegrate contained only a few ashes,
and the door of the cupboard stood open, revealing rows of empty
shelves. The one object worthy of notice was the ancient lantern, which
hung from a hook in the middle of the ceiling. That, at any rate, was
curious. It was of a quaint, medieval pattern, and the sides, instead of
being of glass, were of thin pieces of horn.
"It's a funny old thing," said Lindsay. "I suppose they used a dip
candle for it. I wonder if there's a piece left in it still?"
She stood on tiptoe, and made an effort to open the lantern, but it was
hung too high to allow her to peep inside. Reaching up as best she
could, she gave it a jerk, to try to lift it down. Quite suddenly and
unexpectedly the lantern and hook descended by a chain from the ceiling.
There was a strange grating sound, and, turning round, the girls saw a
sight which made them gasp with amazement.