CHAPTER XXI
A JACKDAW'S TAIL FEATHER
One of the first mornings after the coming of the Caw girls--just as wewere all sitting late over our breakfast, having waited for Constantia(Harriet was always on wing with the lark)--Grace Rigley came up theback stairs, shuffling her feet and rubbing her nose with her apron formanners, and told my mother that there was a gamekeeper man who wasvery anxious to see her down in the kitchen.
"Go, Joseph!" said my mother. "See what he wants. I cannot be fashedwith such things at such a time."
She had been listening to Harriet's lively lisp and mimicry ofConstantia's many aspirants. But that did not matter. I went down,and there, sitting on the edge of a chair--he had evidently just satdown--was Peter Kemp, the gamekeeper at Rushworth Court, where myfather had been so long building greenhouses and doing othercontracting jobs.
"Hello, Peter Kemp!" I said. "What brings you here so early in themorning?"
The man seemed a little bit scared; but whether because of his errand,or because I had come in at an inopportune time, or just that he felt alittle awkward, I cannot say.
"Why, this, Master Joe!" he said, holding out something that lookedlike a rook's feather, but smaller and with a thicker quick.
The bottom of the quill had been cut away very deftly, and plugged withsomething white--bread crumbled between the fingers, I think. The plughad evidently been removed before, and as I looked curiously at it thegamekeeper said--
"I did that, Master Joe. You see, I had never seen the like before."
Out of the hollow quill I drew a spiral of paper, like what people usedto light pipes with--spills, they call them--only quite little, forsuch pipes as fairies might smoke. And there, written in my father'shand, in a sort of reddish-grey ink, were the words--
"To whoever finds this.--Please to inform Mrs. Yarrow, Breckonside,that her husband has been assaulted, carried off and confined, tocompel him to sign papers. Otherwise not unkindly----"
It broke off there, as if something had occurred to bring the writingto a close.
"How did you get this, Peter?" I asked of the Rushworth gamekeeper.
"I will tell you, Joe." (It was marvellous with what suddenness peopleresumed the "Joe," after calling me "Mister"--or "Master," at least.)"I got 'un off the tail of a jackdaw when I was thinnin' out them rooksup at our old ellums by the hall. Jackdaws flock with them sometimes,you know, Joe."
"But that's no jackdaw's feather," I said; for, indeed, it was muchbigger.
Peter Kemp scratched his head.
"No, Joe, it ain't," he said; "and that made me wonder myself. It's arook's wing feather; but, true as truth, it was sticking out of the dawbehind, like the tail of a comet. Perhaps it was that which made mepepper him. It sort of drew the eye, like."
"Well," I told Peter, "that's a message from my father. He's hidsomewhere--kept hidden, that is--against his will."
"So I was thinkin'," said Peter Kemp uneasily.
"Have you any idea where?"
"Why, no, Joe," he answered slowly. "You see, the daw was with therooks scratchin' about in a plowed field near the ellums, and it mighthave come from anywhere. There's no sayin'. But there's one thing,Joe, them jackdaws is all for old castles and church steeples andsuch-like. If your father wrote that and tied it to the jackdaw'stail--as is likely--he will be in some o' them places--up a steeple ofa church, most like; nobody goes there. Thank 'ee, no, Joe. I'd domore than that for Mr. Yarrow, if only I knew how. But I'll keep abright look-out for daws with extra tail feathers. If any come along,Peter Kemp'll spend a cartridge or two on them that old Sir Eddard 'llnever miss."
I hardly knew how to break the tidings to my mother, or whether to tellher Peter's news at all or not. But, luckily, she was interested insome tale that Harriet was telling. She was laughing, too, whichsomehow grated on me. I can't tell why, for I now had good reason toknow that my father was alive and apparently, in no immediate danger.
Well, I slipped out, and went through the fields into the woods behindMr. Mustard's school. I knew that Elsie would soon be coming, and ifonly she were minded to help, she had the levellest head of anybody;and I would rather take her advice than that of any minister in theplace--especially after hooking down the Hayfork Parson like a smokedham off the wall, a thing which lessens your respect for the clergy, ifindulged in.
Well, I saw her coming, and I stood right in the way, just beyond theturn, well out of sight of old Mustard, for I knew he would be allfixed and ready to give Elsie her morning lesson. But the funny thingwas that she didn't seem to see me at all, and would have passed by,reading out of a book, like a train that doesn't stop at a station.But I stood right slam in front, and taking the book--"snatching itrudely," she said afterwards--I held out the little unrolled scrapwhich Peter the gamekeeper had fetched in his jackdaw's quill. I hadthe quill, too, in my jacket pocket, in case she should want to seethat.
"There," I said, "be all the 'outs' with me you like afterwards--Ican't help girls' tempers--but if you want to help save my father, youread that."
And I believe, just because I took her sharp like that without whiningto be forgiven and twaddle of that kind, her hand closed on the paper,and she read it.
"Where did you get this?" she asked just as I had done myself fromPeter Kemp. So I told her all about it--everything there was to tell,and smartly, too. For I knew she was very late; we should have oldMustard's weasely muzzle snowking down the lane after us. This was nograndfather's clock, puss-in-the-corner game, this.
So I put off no time, and Elsie never remembered about wading into meabout the Caw girls, but just wrinkled her brow and thought like a goodone. She was death on thinking, Elsie; I never met her match. I was afool to her; and in spite of what father says, I am not generally takenfor one, either.
At last it came--the wisdom over which Elsie had knit her brows.
"If I were you, I would have another turn at that drain--the one youtold me about going up with Mr. Ablethorpe," she said; "and likewisetake a look at the ruin near which we saw Mr. Stennis get down from hishorse."
I told Elsie that I had no stomach for going alone. The oily curls andbig knife of Mad Jeremy had weaned me from the love of adventure.
"I will go, if you will, Elsie," I said, thinking this to be impossible.
For one instant her eyes flashed, and I felt sure she was going to say:"Take your caws and crows and rooks, and get them to go with you!"
However, whether it was that she caught the imploring look in my eyes,or from some secret relenting within herself, I do not know; but shesuddenly put out her hand, clasped mine for a moment, and said--"I willcome on Saturday. There!"
She was gone, and not a whit too soon; for I had hardly got back behindthe hedge among the trees when old Mustard poked his bent shoulders andred, baldish head round the corner, looking for her. But he sawnothing; for Elsie was coming along, already deep in her book. Hewaited for her, smiling like a hyena, and they went up to the schooltogether.
Saturday was the day after to-morrow, and when I thought of Elsie'spromise, and the hope of finding my father without any other person inthe world to help us, I snapped my finger and thumb like a pistol shot,and cried as loud as I could--
"That for old Mustard! Wait till Saturday!"
All the same, I thought it best for the moment to say nothing at allabout the matter to my mother. Indeed, I looked out for Peter Kemp onmy way up the village and swore him to secrecy. He said that nobodyknew about it but Tommy Bottle, who was now dog-boy andcartridge-filler at Rushworth Court. The gamekeeper said that he wasall right. And he was. For Tommy Bottle knew me, and also that Iwould flay him alive if he told anything I wanted him not to.
I was, if one may say so in the circumstances, jubilant. I don't knowthat I had loved my father more than just average. He never gave memuch chance, you see. But I liked to think of him so strong and ready.And, above all, I thought with pride of his coming back, and findingth
at I had kept everything in good order, with the help, of course, ofJohn Brown, our good cashier, in the office, and Bob Kingsman in theyard.
But after all, between Thursday and Saturday there is always Friday.And all sorts of superstitious people call that an unlucky day. Now, Inever could see any difference myself. A day on which I lost moneythrough a hole in my pocket, or got a cut finger, or got caught at thecupboard, or had a headache, was "an unlucky day, whether it happenedto be Monday or Friday. And Sunday was Sunday, and the worst of all,mostly; for if mother caught me in a secluded crib reading what shecalled a "novelle," she marched me straight up to my father, who whaledme proper--not that he cared himself, but just to satisfy mother'sconscience and for disturbing him in his after-dinner nap.
But, at all events, there was this Friday, which proved to be unluckyor not--just as you look at it. At any rate, it was with that day thatthere began the solving of the real mystery of Deep Moat Grange, whichhad puzzled Breckonside in general, and me in particular, for so long.
Somehow I made sure that Elsie would be looking out for me at the samecorner of the road on Friday morning, just where I had met her the daybefore. At any rate, I did not doubt but that she would have it in herhead. And I was such a fool that it pleased me, like a cat stroked onthe back, to think that Elsie was thinking about me.
It was all right having Harriet and Constantia in the house, though.And not at all like what Elsie had feared. They were really very goodto mother. And Harriet being always merry, and Constantia all the timewanting things done for her, it was good for mother, and took her mindmore off her trouble.
Besides, you can't really keep on being angry with a pair of prettygirls about a house. They brighten things wonderfully. The very sightof them does, and you can't help it. And though both of them togetherwere not worth an Elsie, nor half so pretty, yet they laughed more, andbeing town girls, of course they had any amount of nice dresses, prettyblouses, belts for the waist, and lace for their necks; while Elsie hadjust a white turn-over collar like a boy, and a broad brown leatherbelt for her blue serge dress. I gave her that belt, and she alwayswore blue serge, because she said that, with good brushing, she couldmake a not Sunday dress look almost like a Sunday one.
Well, as I say, of course all the Caws that ever were could never belike Elsie. But still it is a wonder and a marvel to me to think howmuch I liked having them in the house. Harriet was as merry as a grigwhatever that may be; they don't live in our parts--and pretty, too,with a piquant expression that was never twice the same. She alwayslooked as if she were going to cheek you. And that interested you,because, not being a boy, it put you in a fret to know how she wasgoing to set about it this time. If she had been a boy, she would havegot pounded--sound and frequent.
And then Constantia! She was more "keepsake" girl than ever, andslopped about all over our plain furniture like the "window-sill" girl,and the "Romney" girl, and the "chin-on-elbows" girl--that wasCinderella. But Constantia was always dressed to the nines--no holesin her dress, and not a very big one even where her waist came through.Oh, she was a Miss Flop from Floptown if you like! But lovely, I tellyou! How everybody stared, as if they had never seen a girl with curlsand big eyes that looked as if they were going to cry! They calledthem "dewy"--dewy, indeed! She kept an onion in her handkerchief onpurpose. Once it fell out, and rolled right under the sofa. I nailedit, and in a minute had "dewy" eyes, too--right before her nose. Therewere gentlemen calling, too--your lawyer fellows with cuffs anddickeys! She said I was a horrid beast, but Harriet was quite jollyabout it. She never "dewied" any, but kept laughing all the time. Andif it had not been for thinking about Elsie and my father, she wouldhave got a fellow to like her in time. She was the right sort. Butthe funny thing was, that of the two Elsie rather took to Constantia.She never could abide Harriet. Now, I was quite different.
Now, I know all this about girls' likes and dislikes is as tangled ascan be. I asked Mr. Ablethorpe about it once. And he let on that heunderstood all about it; but when I asked him to explain, he said thathe was bound by the "professional secret."
Which was all right, as a way of getting out of it. But as forunderstanding about girls, and what they like and don't, that was morethan a bit of a stretcher, if one may say such a thing of a parson.
Well, on Friday morning, as I was coming down from my room, ready to goout and meet Elsie, just at the corner where stood the clock--which, asthe books say, has been previously referred to in these memoirs--I cameon Harriet rigged out in the smartest little dusting dress--the kind ofthing that costs three shillings to buy and three pounds to make. Shehad her sleeves rolled up, because her arms were dimply, and she wassweeping crumbs into a dustpan. There had not been a crumb in thatspot to my knowledge for ten years, but that made no matter. She wasjust tatteringly pretty--yes, and smart. I like that sort of girl,nearly as much as I dislike a loll-about,siesta-with-ten-cushions-and-a-spaniel girl--I mean Constantia.
Well, up jumps Harriet from her knees--quite taken aback she was--andmakes believe to roll down her sleeves; but with a dustpan and acrumb-brush, of course you can't. And so she said--
"Do them for me."
And what was a fellow to do? He can't say "No," and look a fool--feelone, too! So I up and did it--rolled the sleeves both down, slowmovement, and slid in the buttons careful--at least, I thought so. Butnot, as it seemed, careful enough for Harriet. For in getting thesecond button at the wrist through the buttonhole I took up a bit ofthe skin, and then, if you please, there was a hullabaloo. You neverdid see! I expected mother or Constantia every minute. Harrietpretended that it hurt, and that I had done it on purpose. Silly! IfI had wanted to do anything to her on purpose, it wouldn't have been afooty little thing like that. Oh, no! I'd have given her something toremember me by. But it was all the same to Harriet, and, if you willbelieve me, she would not be satisfied till I had "kissed it better."
Just think what an ass I looked! I didn't want a bit to do it--indeed,I was as mad as blitz. But, to get rid of her, I did at last. And itwas not so bad, only she bent down and kissed me, too, whispering thatit was all right now. And just then Constantia popped her head overthe banisters and said:
"Ah-ha, you two! Very pretty, indeed!"
And I had a face on me like fire as I went down the two flights ofstairs in three hops.
How I stamped and raged when I got outside! To be kissed by agirl--well, that's nothing to cry about, if nobody sees and you had notyour mind filled with another girl, especially the former. But to getcaught, and by that Constantia! I believed she had been watching fromthe beginning, the nasty, floppy, hang-her-out-on-a-clothes-line"keep-saker" that she was!
Worse than all, she made me miss Elsie that Friday morning, for I sawher boot tracks in the snow as soon as I got to our corner. I hadfixed india-rubber heels on her boots, so I knew. She said that thatsort kept her drier, but I knew very well that it was to make hertaller than Harriet Caw, whom she hated.
If she had only known why I was late! But, after all, what is the useof giving pain to others unnecessarily? It was contrary to my natureand against my principles. So I resolved that I would not tell Elsieabout my buttoning Harriet's sleeve, or, indeed, anything. My greataim in life had always been Elsie's peace of mind. Besides, I don'tthink she would have taken my explanation in good part. There are somethings that Elsie doesn't seen fitted to understand.
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