LINNETS AND VALERIANS
Elizabeth Goudge
ABOUT THE BOOK
There was only one thing to do—escape. At least that’s what the four Linnet children thought when they found themselves in the care of a grandmother who on the one hand despised dogs and on the other hand believed in boarding schools and instant obedience.
And escape they did—into a beautiful world knee deep in bluebells, presided over by an admirable uncle, peopled by such romantic characters as Ezra, a one-legged gardener who talked to bees, Lady Alicia who refused to go outdoors except in the moonlight, and Emma Cobley, a witch who was at the heart of whatever unhappiness there was in the village of High Barton. Allied with Emma Cobley, there were giants and magic cats but in the end, although they created some hair-raising episodes, they were no match for the Linnets.
This is Elizabeth Goudge at her magical best, creating a story that is bound to live happily ever after in the hearts of its readers.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ELIZABETH GOUDGE was born in 1900 at Wells, in Somerset, England, where her father was the principal of the Theological College. She has lived in Ely, Oxford and Devonshire. She now has a seventeenth-century cottage in Oxfordshire.
Her fame as a novelist is worldwide. Not only are her novels best sellers throughout the English-speaking world, they are equally well known in translation in Europe.
CONTENTS
Chapter
1 THE ESCAPE 9
2 WHERE THEY WENT 25
3 EMMA COBLEY’S SHOP5 4
4 LADY ALICIA 70
5 THE CAVE IN THE ROCK 96
6 THE GARDEN OF THE FOUNTAIN 109
7 NAN’S PARLOR 129
8 SUNDAYH79HUGO VALERIAN’S LIBRARY 168
10 LION TOR192uSTRAWBERRY JAM 213
12 THE LITTLE FIGURES 232
13 SINGING IN THE WOOD 252
HAPPY EVER AFTER 277
The Escape
Robert gave the storeroom door a resounding kick, merely for his own satisfaction for he knew that only the kick of a giant would have made any impression on its strong oak panels, and sat down cross-legged on the floor to consider the situation. Betsy was roaring in the bathroom, Timothy was yelling in the broom cupboard, Nan was sobbing in the linen room and Absolom was barking his head off in the small cupboard where the boots were kept. None of them could get out for everything in this house locked firmly on insubordinate children. Grandmother said they were insubordinate; Father only thought them high-spirited. But it was what Grandmama thought
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that counted now for Father had gone to Egypt, on his way back to India and his regiment, and they had to stay behind and live with Grandmama.
They had no wish to live with her for she was a very autocratic old lady, a grandmother of a type that was to be met with in 1912, the date of this story, but is now extinct. She believed that children should be instantly obedient and she did not like dogs. She said that Abso- lom had fleas and must be given away, and as if that was not enough she had arranged for Robert and Nan to go to boarding school while her companion Miss Bolt taught Timothy and Betsy at home. The children were in despair. They did not want to be educated and they did not want to be separated, either from each other or Absolom.
Robert listened. He was not disturbed by Betsy’s roars for she liked roaring and there was a window in the bathroom, but Timothy’s yells had a hysterical note. It was dark in the broom cupboard and he didn’t like the dark. Nan’s sobs he could not actually hear for she was a quiet person, but he guessed she was sobbing. Absolom was now not only barking but hurling his body against the door of the boot cupboard with resounding thuds. It’s like the Bastille, thought Robert.
And then suddenly he knew what they would do and it was so simple that he wondered he had not thought of it before. Escape. People always escaped from prison if they could. The question was, could they? Robert was ten years old, stocky and strong, and he had a penknife, green
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eyes and red hair, and when a question like this presented itself to his mind he did not ask it twice. He had heaved a small tin trunk on top of a larger one, poised a hatbox on top and mounted to the summit while the question was still passing through his mind. The high window had not been opened for a long time and it was covered with ivy outside, but the penknife and obstinacy got it open and clear. To get himself off the hatbox and through it called for both agility and courage, and he was pleased with himself when after a considerable struggle he landed outside on the flat bit of roof that made a platform for the rainwater tank. He decided he would be a burglar of international reputation when he grew up. Until this morning he had been going to be an engine driver but he realized now that he could do better than that. Any man of normal intelligence can drive an engine but only a superman can be a master burglar, and there was probably more money in it.
But great gifts take their toll and after the struggle through the window and the ivy Robert found he was hot, dirty and breathless, and he sat down to cool off. It was comfortable with his back against the rainwater tank and the spring sunshine was warm on his face. And from up here on the roof of the old house there was a grand view. He had not known it was like this beyond Grandmama’s house. Four years ago Father had brought them all home from India to visit her, but he had only been six years old then and in the strangeness and confusion of being in a new country he had not noticed
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his surroundings very much, and this time they had been kept within the large enclosed garden, except when they had gone for short walks through the town with the Thunderbolt. There had been the train journeys from the boat to London and from London to Grandmama, but the knowledge that Father would go back to India without them, cutting short his time in England because of a selfish desire to go exploring in Egypt, was so dreadful that again he had not noticed much. He had had no idea that England was like this.
The town was an old one, with attractive crooked houses and winding narrow streets, and beyond it was a green land of meadows and woods, and streams that glinted in the westering sun. And beyond the greenness and the glinting rose the ramparts of the mountains. They were really no more than high hills, misty and blue, but they seemed to Robert higher than they were because they rose so abruptly from the green plain, and because their blueness was almost lost in the blue of the sky. They were mysterious and exciting and their silence called louder than any trumpet. The weathercock on the church tower told Robert that they lay due west.
He stood up and looked around him to get his bearings. He remembered that Elsie the housemaid’s bedroom was beside the storeroom. Behind him and the tank was the storeroom window, to right and left sloping roof, in front of him the sheer drop down to the garden. It made him feel dizzy to stand above that drop and look sideways, but he saw the dormer window only a few feet
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away from him and the gutter below it looked strong. All the same he never knew how he did it. And yet there was not much to it really and if it hadn’t been for that drop it would have seemed a mere nothing, for it only meant stepping onto the gutter and then, facing inward with his body leaning against the sloping roof and his fingers gripping the irregular tiles, edging along step by step until he came to the window, whose casements opened inward and were mercifully wide at the time. After that it was just a question of taking a leap onto Elsie’s dressing table. It was that stepping onto the gutter that was the worst part.
Nevertheless, lying on Elsie’s bedroom floor all mixed up in her brush and comb and a crochet mat that had been on
the dressing table, and damp because a bottle of violet scent had smashed all over him, Robert found he was sweating profusely and trembling like an aspen leaf. He did not know what an aspen leaf was but he knew it was what you trembled like when a moment of supreme crisis was safely passed. At first there was only one thought in his mind; was there more money in burglary or acrobatics? How much did those fellows get who walked on tightropes in circuses?
Robert’s thoughts ran on money so constantly because he wanted a pony and though he had been saving for it for a long time he still only had sixpence. That was because he kept seeing other things he wanted, like the penknife, and Absolom whom he had bought in London, when Father’s back was turned, from a waiter in a hotel
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where they had stayed, only half a quid because he was a mongrel.
Robert staggered to his feet and went out into the passage, where he found to his satisfaction that all the keys had been left in the doors; which just showed that the Thunderbolt had not yet realized that Robert was a force to be reckoned with. Betsy and Absolom were still roaring and barking but Timothy wasn’t yelling anymore and Robert let him out first because he didn’t like the dark. He was eight years old and supposed by Father to be delicate. “Come on out, you little devil,” said Robert kindly. “Keep your mouth shut and run straight downstairs and out to the rubbish heap.”
Timothy picked himself up from among the brooms and sped down the stairs as though airborne, for he was very lightly made with smooth gold hair and very blue eyes. But these effeminate embellishments were not his fault and were no indication of weakness of character. He could yell, kick and bite with the best and it was only the dark that frightened him.
“Stop that row, Betsy,” said Robert as he cautiously unlocked and opened the bathroom door. Caution was necessary with Betsy for she always emerged from anywhere as though shot from a catapult and her small round body was very hard. Robert sidestepped skillfully and she landed out in the passage on her nose, her roars soaring to a fine crescendo. Robert lifted her up by the gathers of her smock with one hand and clamped the other over her mouth. Her face was crimson and her
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green eyes shot sparks. Her rough red curls were as angry as they could be all over her little bullet head and she kicked out at Robert’s shins with all her strength. Robert kicked back, but gently, for she was only six and he was fond of her because she reminded him of himself when young. “Another screech out of you, Betsy, and I’ll skin you alive,” he said. “Go straight down to the rubbish heap and wait there till I come.”
She made for the stairs, thumping down from step to step as though she weighed a ton. She was always very heavy on her feet when she was in a passion, for anger does weigh heavy. But she did not roar anymore for where she trusted she was obedient and she trusted Robert. All the children trusted each other and their father, and he them. To be separated from him was the most awful thing that had ever happened to them, for Mother dying five years ago was now a little dim to everyone except Father, and Betsy did not remember it at all. But they understood that they had to be parted from Father, for he had explained about the new place where his regiment was going being too hot for children, and they knew it was not for always. Nevertheless Betsy, as she thumped downstairs, was calling over and over inside herself, Father, Father. But it didn’t do any good. He was in Egypt by this time and he didn’t hear.
Robert let Nan out next. She had stopped sobbing and was counting the linen to see how many pillowslips Grandmama had. She was twelve years old and, as the eldest of the family, of a domesticated turn of mind.
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“Come to the rubbish heap, Nan,” he said. “I’ve an idea.”
Nan nodded and followed him, waiting while he let out Absolom and stowed him under his arm. “You smell dreadful,” she said.
“Elsie’s violet scent. I smashed it all over myself.”
She nodded again and ran with him down the stairs. She did not ask him why he was drenched in Elsie’s scent, for after long experience she had found it best not to know what Robert had been doing, so that when questioned by authority she need not lie. Nan was truthful, loving and serene and it was hard that her hair was sandy and straight and her nose too large for she was such a dear person that she deserved to be beautiful, but people do not always get their deserts in this world. She and Robert ran down the stairs shoulder to shoulder, very companionably, for they got on well together. Though he was two years younger, the number of ideas that he had made him seem older than his age. Nan did not have many ideas of her own because it was she who had to deal with what happened after Robert had had his.
To reach the garden door they had to pass the drawing room where Grandmama was entertaining a tea party with the Thunderbolt to help her, but there was such a clatter of cups and saucers and voices that there was no danger of their footsteps being heard. It was this tea party that had been the cause of their all being put into the Bastille. Grandmama had arranged it to show off her grandchildren of whom, had they but known it, she was
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extremely proud, but they were not socially minded children and they disliked parties. It had been Robert’s idea that they should barricade themselves in one of the hen houses at the bottom of the orchard, with rhubarb stalks for weapons. The Thunderbolt’s idea, after she and the gardener had found them and overcome the defense, too late for them to be cleaned up for the tea party, had been to lock them up until they should apologize; which they would not have done had she left them there all night for they were not apologizing children.
And here it should be said that neither the Thunderbolt nor Grandmama was really as bad as the the children thought they were. Grandmama could be charming to those who obeyed her and three of her four sons, the children’s father among them, were devoted to her. Only her eldest son Ambrose had not inherited from his father that yielding gentleness which Grandmama found so pleasing in her younger sons. The children had not seen Uncle Ambrose for he lived some distance away and did not like either visiting or being visited. Also he had been a schoolmaster and upon retirement had been heard to remark that he hoped never to set eyes on a child again. But even he could appreciate Grandmama from a distance and the children would perhaps have done so close to had they given themselves time. The Thunderbolt too had a bark worse than her bite and was only engaged just now in trying to get the children sufficiently under control for it to be possible to live with them. But it takes a long time to learn to appreciate the
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excellent motives of those who are trying to control you and patient waiting was not the strong point of the Linnet children. They had the charming surname of Linnet and it was a pity it did not suit them.
The rubbish heap was at the bottom of the kitchen garden, hidden from the world by a tall yew hedge that bordered the garden on the west. It was private, and a good place for counsels of war. Usually they sat cross- legged on the rough grass for the discussion of their affairs but today Robert did not stop to sit down before announcing, “We’re escaping. We will walk to the mountains and earn our living there.”
“Are there mountains?” asked Nan cautiously. Robert had such a fine imagination that it was necessary to distinguish between what was there and what he thought was there. They were sometimes the same but not always.
“I’ve seen them,” said Robert. “Westward where the sun sets.” And he swung around dramatically with one arm outflung toward the yew hedge. Should he be the greatest actor of the age? he suddenly wondered. Would there be more money in being a great actor than in burglary or acrobatics? He was so busy wondering that he did not actually look at the yew hedge and it was Timothy who yelled, “Look!”
Behind the hedge the sky was a bright gold. It dazzled the eyes and got inside the head and exploded there as a wild desire for wings so t
hat one could take off and soar up into it. There was a bird up there who had done just that, and his song came down to the earth he had left in a
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clear fall of music that was lovelier than anything the children had ever heard. Leaning against the yew hedge was a ladder that the gardener had forgotten to take away. Timothy was up it in a flash. His smooth fair head showed for a moment gold against the gold of the sky and then he was gone. Robert gave a gasp of astonishment and then he leapt after Timothy, Absolom still under his arm. Betsy scrambled after him clutching at Absolom’s plume of a tail to help herself up, and Nan came last rather more soberly. She was not expecting to take off into the golden sky as the lark had and it did just cross her mind that it might not be as easy on the other side of the hedge as Robert seemed to think. But she climbed steadily to the top of the hedge, for Father had told her to look after the others, and resignedly she fell off it onto the struggling mass of the other four down below.
At first there was a good deal of noise, for though they had fallen onto the grass along the edge of a narrow lane it had been a considerable fall. Betsy was roaring because she had bumped herself, Absolom was yelping because she still had hold of his tail, and the boys were shouting at them both to stop their din.
“Do you want to bring the Thunderbolt out on us?” asked Nan as soon as she could make herself heard. “Because if you don’t, keep quiet.”
They disentangled themselves in a sudden silence, got up and looked about them. The lane ran between gardens and backs of houses and only a short distance to their right turned left toward the sunset. “That’s the way,”
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said Robert, and ran down it, the others after him, Absolom bringing up the rear with his tongue out and his ears flopping. He was a medium-sized mongrel, dirty white, very hairy, and apt to get caught in bushes because he was so hairy. His great dark eyes were his only beauty but it was difficult to see them through the thicket of hair that fell over them. But he could run fast. He had to.
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