by Joan Aiken
‘What a strange thing!’ thought Sylvia in astonishment. ‘Can he be recovered? Or was he never really ill? Can he have known Miss Slighcarp before? He seemed so different on the train.’
At that moment she heard a familiar voice beside her, in the rapidly-thinning crowd of servants, and found Pattern at her elbow.
‘Miss Sylvia, dear! Thank the good Lord I saw you. That wicked Jezebel is paying us all off and sending us away, but she needn’t think I’m going to go and leave my darling Miss Bonnie. Do you and she come along to the little blue powder-room, Miss Sylvia, this afternoon at five, and we’ll talk over what’s best to be done.’
‘But Bonnie can’t! She’s locked up!’ gasped Sylvia. ‘In the schoolroom cupboard!’
‘She never has…! Oh, what wouldn’t I give to get my hands round that she-devil’s throat,’ muttered Pattern. ‘That’s because she knew Miss Bonnie would never stand tamely by and let her father’s old servants be packed off into the snow. Let her out, Miss Sylvia! Let her out of it quick! She never could endure to be shut up.’
‘But I can’t! Miss Slighcarp has the key.’
‘There’s another – in the little mother-of-pearl cabinet in the ante-room where the javelins hang.’
Sylvia did not wait. She remembered how to find her way to the little ante-room, and she flew on winged feet to the mother-of-pearl cabinet. She found the key, ran to the school-room, opened the door, and in no time had her cheek pressed lovingly against Bonnie’s tear-stained one.
‘Oh, you poor precious! Oh, Bonnie, she’s wicked, Miss Slighcarp’s really wicked! She’s dismissing all the servants.’
‘What!’ Bonnie was distracted from her own grief and indignation by the tale Sylvia poured out.
‘Let us go at once,’ she exclaimed, ‘at once, and stop it!’ But when they passed the big schoolroom window they saw the lonely procession of servants, far away, toiling across a snow-covered ridge in the park.
‘We are too late,’ said Sylvia in despair. Bonnie gazed after the tiny, distant figures, biting her lips.
‘Is Pattern gone too?’ she asked, turning to Sylvia.
‘I believe not. I believe she means to hide somewhere about the house.’ Sylvia told Bonnie of Pattern’s wish to meet them that afternoon.
‘Oh, she is good! She is faithful!’ exclaimed Bonnie.
‘But will it not be very dangerous for her?’ Sylvia said doubtfully. ‘Miss Slighcarp threatened to send for the constables if she saw any of the servants near the house. She might have Pattern sent to prison!’
‘I do not believe Pattern would let herself be caught. There are so many secret hiding-places about the house. And in any case all the officers are our friends round here.’
At that moment the children were startled by the sound of approaching voices. One of them was Miss Slighcarp’s. Sylvia turned pale.
‘She must not find you out of the cupboard. Hide, quickly, Bonnie!’
She re-locked the cupboard door, and pocketed the key. As there was no time to lose, the two children slipped behind the window-curtain. Miss Slighcarp entered with the footman, James.
‘As I have done you the favour of keeping you on when all the others were dismissed, sirrah,’ she was saying. ‘you will have to work for your wages as never before.’
The blue velvet curtains behind which the children stood were pounced all over with tiny crystal disks, encircled with seed-pearls. The little disks formed miniature windows, and, setting her eye to one, Bonnie could see that James’s good-natured face wore a sullen expression, which he was attempting to twist into an evil leer.
‘First, you must take out and crate all these toys. Put them into packing-cases. They are to be sent away and sold. It is quite ridiculous to keep this amount of gaudy rubbish for the amusement of two children.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘At dinner-time bring some bread-and-water on a tray for Miss Green, who is locked up in that cupboard.’
‘Shall I let her out, ma’am?’
‘Certainly not. She is a badly-behaved, ill-conditioned child, and must be disciplined. She may be let out this evening at half past eight. Here is the key.’
‘Yes ma’am.’
‘The other child, Miss Sylvia Green, may lunch in the schoolroom as usual. Plain food, mind. Nothing fancy. From now on the children are to make their own beds, sweep their own rooms, and wash their own plates and clothes.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘After dinner I wish you to see to the grooming of the horses and ponies. They are all to be sold save four carriage horses.’
‘The children’s ponies as well, ma’am?’
‘Certainly! I shall find more suitable occupations for the children than such idle and extravagant pursuits! Now I am going to be busy in the Estate Room. You may bring me a light luncheon at one o’clock: chicken, oyster patties, trifle, and a half-bottle of champagne.’
She swept out of the room. The moment she had gone James went quickly to the closet and unlocked it, saying in a low voice, ‘She’s gone now, Miss Bonnie, you can come out.’
He seemed greatly astonished to find the cupboard empty, but next minute the children ran out from behind the curtain.
‘James, James!’ cried Bonnie, ‘what does it all mean? How dare she sell my toys, and Papa’s horses? What is she doing it for?’
‘Why, she’s wicked!’ Sylvia exclaimed indignantly. ‘She’s a fiend!’
‘You’re right, miss, she’s a thorough wrong ’un,’ said James gloomily, when he had got over the surprise of Bonnie’s not being in the cupboard after all. ‘How your pa came to be so deceived in her I’ll never know.’
‘But he had never met her! It was arranged that she should come here to look after us by his lawyer in London, Mr Gripe. And after all, she is a relative.’
‘Ah, I see,’ said James, scratching his head. ‘Even so, it’s a puzzle to me why Sir Willoughby didn’t rumble her when he saw her. One look at her face would be enough to show the sort she is, you’d think. But I suppose he was worried over her ladyship.’
‘But James, why is she dismissing the servants, and why has she kept you on?’
‘Why, miss, I suppose she means to make hay while the sun shines – save the servants’ wages and pop as much of your pa’s money into her own pocket as she can while he’s away. Then before he comes back, I suppose she’ll be off. She’s kept on three or four servants, just to look after her, like. The worst of it is, she’s kept on all the untrustworthy ones, Groach, the keeper, and Marl, the steward that Sir Willoughby was giving another chance to after he was caught pilfering, and Prout, the under-groom that drinks – I dare say she liked the looks of their knavish faces. I saw how it was going, so I tried to make myself look as hangdog and sullen as I could, and the trick worked: she kept me on too. I couldn’t abear to think of you, Miss Bonnie, and Miss Sylvia, being left all alone in the house with that harpy and such a pack of thieves. Poor Pattern had to go; in a mighty taking she was.’
‘But she hasn’t gone far,’ Bonnie told him and explained about the scheme to meet in the little blue powder-room. James’s face broke into a slow grin.
‘I might ha’ known she wouldn’t be driven off so easily,’ he said. ‘Well, we’ll have a proper old council then and decide what to do. In the meantime I’d better be getting on with packing up these things, Miss Bonnie, or I shall lose my place and not be able to help you.’
‘Pack up my toys? But you can’t!’ exclaimed Bonnie in grief and horror, looking at her treasured things. ‘Couldn’t you hide them away in one of the attics?’
‘Can’t be, Miss Bonnie dear. She’s going to go through ’em when they’re in the boxes. I could save out a few, though, I dare say,’ James said pityingly.
Half-distracted, Bonnie looked among her toys, trying to decide which she could bear to part with – ’Dolphus must go, for he would be missed, and so must the dolls’ house and the bigger dolls, but she saved Conchita, her favour
ite, and an ivory paintbox as big as a tea-tray, and the skates, and some of the beautiful clothes from the dolls’ house, while Sylvia mournfully sorted out the most interesting-looking and beautifully illustrated books from a large bookcase.
‘Oh, and I must keep my little writing-desk, James, for I mean to write to Papa this very day and tell him how wicked Miss Slighcarp is. Then he’ll soon come home.’
‘I’ll put the desk in the attic for you, miss,’ promised James, ‘but it’s no use writing to your papa. Rather write to Mr Gripe.’
‘Why, James?’
‘Why, your papa’s at sea now. His ship won’t reach a port for three months.’
‘Oh dear — nor it will,’ said Bonnie sadly, ‘and I don’t know Mr Gripe’s direction in London. What shall I do? For we can’t, can’t endure this dreadfulness for three months – and then it would be another three months before Papa could come home, even supposing Mamma was well again.’
Just then they heard Miss Slighcarp’s step approaching once more, and her voice calling, ‘James, come here. I need your help to move a heavy deed-box.’
‘I must go, miss,’ whispered James hurriedly. ‘Don’t let yourself be seen. I’ll bring your luncheon up by and by.’
He hastened from the room.
The day passed unhappily. As Bonnie was supposed to be shut in the cupboard, she could not leave the schoolroom for fear of meeting Miss Slighcarp, and Sylvia would go nowhere without her. They tried various occupations, reading, sewing, drawing, but had not the heart to pursue them for long. At noon they heard Miss Slighcarp’s voice in the passage outside. Bonnie whisked behind the curtain, but the governess did not come in. She was speaking to James again.
‘Is that the young ladies’ luncheon?’
‘This is the bread-and-water for Miss Green, ma’am,’ he answered respectfully. ‘I’ll fetch Miss Sylvia’s tray when I’ve taken this in.’
‘She’s not to come out of the cupboard to eat it, mind.’
‘No, ma’am.’
He appeared, grinning broadly, plonked a dry-looking loaf and a jug of water on the table, and then whispered, ‘Don’t touch it, Miss Bonnie. Just as soon as the old cat’s out of the way I’ll bring something better!’ And, sure enough, ten minutes later, he returned carrying a tray covered with a cloth which, when taken off, revealed two dear little roast partridges with bread sauce, red-currant jelly, and vegetables.
‘You’ll not starve while I’m here to see after you,’ he whispered.
The children ate hungrily, and later James came back with a dish of trifle and took away the meat dishes, carefully covering them again with the cloth before venturing into the corridor.
‘I wish I knew where the secret passage came out,’ he murmured. ‘Porson, the old steward, always used to say there was a sliding panel in this room and a passage that led down to the dairy. With that she-dragon on the prowl it would be rare and useful to have a secret way into here. You might have a bit of a search for it, Miss Bonnie.’
‘We’ll begin at once!’ exclaimed Bonnie. ‘It will be something to pass the time.’
The moment James had taken away the pudding-plates they began testing the walls for hidden springs.
‘You start by the door, Sylvia, and I’ll begin at the fireplace, and we’ll each do two sides of the room,’ Bonnie suggested.
It was a big room, its walls covered in white linenfold panelling, decorated with carved garlands of roses painted blue. The children carefully pushed, pulled, and pressed each wooden rose, without result. An hour, two hours went by, and they were becoming disheartened and beginning to feel that the story of the secret passage must have been merely an idle tale, when Sylvia suggested:
‘We haven’t tried the fireplace, Bonnie. Do you suppose it possible that part of the mantlepiece should be false?’
‘Clever girl!’ said Bonnie, giving her a hug. ‘Let us try it at once.’
The mantel was large, and beautifully carved from some foreign stone with a grey, satiny surface. It extended for several feet on either side of the fireplace to form two wide panels on which were carved deer with elaborately branching antlers. The children ran to these and began fingering the antlers and trying to move them. Suddenly Sylvia gave an exclamation – as she pushed the deer’s head to one side the whole panel slid away into the wall, leaving a dark aperture like a low, narrow doorway.
‘You’ve found it!’ breathed Bonnie. ‘Oh, what fun this is! Let us go in at once and see where it leads. Sylvia, you are the cleverest creature in the world, and I do not know what I should have done if you had not been here to keep me company. I could not have borne it!’
She was about to dart into the hole when the more prudent Sylvia said, ‘Should we not take lighted candles? I have heard that the air in this kind of disused passage is sometimes very foul and will put out a flame. If we had candles we should be warned in time.’
‘Very true! I did not think.’ Bonnie ran to a cupboard which held wax tapers in long silver holders and brought two each, which they kindled at the fire. Then they slipped cautiously through the narrow opening, Bonnie leading the way.
“We had better shut the panel behind us,’ she said. ‘Only imagine if Miss Slighcarp should come into the schoolroom and find it open!’
‘What if we cannot open it again from the inside?’
‘Perhaps it will be possible to leave just a crack.’
Unfortunately the panel proved to be on some sort of spring. As soon as Sylvia touched it, it rolled smoothly shut. A small plaster knob seemed intended to open it from the inside, but when Bonnie rather impatiently pressed this, it crumbled away in her hand.
‘How vexatious!’ she said.
Sylvia was alarmed at the thought that they might have immured themselves for life, but Bonnie whispered stoutly:
‘Never mind! The passage must come out somewhere, and if we are shut up, at least it is no worse than being shut up by Miss Slighcarp.’
They tiptoed along, through thick, shuffling dust.
The passage was exceedingly narrow, and presently led them down a flight of steep steps. It was not pitch dark; a tiny hole let in a glimmer of daylight, and, placing her eye to these holes, Bonnie was able to discover their whereabouts.
‘Now we are behind the Great Hall, I can see the coats of arms. This is the silver-gilt ante-room. Now we are looking into the armoury, those are gun-barrels. Imagine this passage having been here all this rime and my never knowing of it! Oh, how I wish Papa and Mamma were at home! What famous times we should have, jumping out and surprising them! And we should discover a whole lot of secrets by overhearing people’s private conversations.’
‘Would that be honourable?’ Sylvia doubtfully whispered.
‘Perhaps not with Papa and Mamma, but it would be quite another matter with Miss Slighcarp. I mean to listen to her all I can!’
They soon had an opportunity to do so, for the next peep-hole looked into the library, and when Bonnie put her eye to it she saw the governess in close consultation with Mr Grimshaw. They were at the far end of the large room, and at first out of earshot, but they soon moved nearer to the unseen watchers.
‘Poke up the fire, Josiah,’ said Miss Slighcarp, who was studying a large parchment. ‘This must be burnt at once, now that we have succeeded in finding it.’ The children heard Mr Grimshaw stirring up the logs, and realized that they must be standing beside the fireplace and that their spyhole was probably concealed in the chimneypiece. It was possible that there was another opening panel, similar to that in the schoolroom, but they were careful not to try pressing any projections, having wish to be brought suddenly face to face with their enemies.
‘Take the bellows and blow it into a blaze,’ Miss Slighcarp said. She was reading the document carefully. ‘What a good thing Sir Willoughby was careless enough to leave his will at home instead of keeping it with Mr Gripe. It has saved us a deal of trouble.’
‘Indeed, yes,’ said Mr Grimshaw comfortably. �
��And is it as you thought – does he leave everything to the child?’
‘Almost everything,’ said Miss Slighcarp. She read on with compressed lips. ‘There is a legacy of twenty thousand pounds a year to his niece, a few hundred to me in gratitude for my services – pah! – and some trifling bequests to servants. Mention, too, of his sister Jane, my distant cousin. Is she likely to come poking her nose and being troublesome?’
‘Not a fear of it,’ Mr Grimshaw answered. ‘I made inquiries about her when I was in London. She is extremely elderly and unworldly; moreover, she is frail and unlikely to last long. She will never interfere with our management of the estate.’
‘Excellent. I will burn this will then – there, on the fire it goes – and you must set to work at once to forge another, leaving everything to me. Have you practised the signature sufficiently?’
‘I could do it with my left hand,’ Mr Grimshaw said. ‘I have copied it from every document in this room.’ He drew a chair to a table at a little distance, pulled a piece of parchment towards him, and began slowly and carefully writing on it.
Miss Slighcarp, meanwhile, was tearing up and burning a great many other documents. ‘The more confusion his affairs are found to be in, the better,’ she observed. ‘It will give us the more time to make our plans.’
‘You sound very certain that he – that the event will take place. Suppose he should, after all, return?’
‘My dear Josiah,’ said Miss Slighcarp meaningfully, ‘the master to whom I spoke was very certain about the state of the vessel. He said she could not last another voyage. But even if that plan should miscarry, what then! Sir W. cannot be back before a year is up. We shall have ample warning of his return and can be clear away and embarked for the colonies before he arrives. We shall never be caught.’
‘What of the children? You will not keep them here?’
‘Not for long. They can go to Gertrude,’ said Miss Slighcarp ominously. ‘She will soon knock the nonsense out of them. Now, do not disturb me. I must master the details of this deed.’ She picked up another document and began studying it absorbedly.