by Jane Ashford
And so, they did. They walked back up through Oriel and All Souls, looked at the Radcliffe Camera and the Bodleian, and ended up on Broad Street again. Throughout, Sir Rollin’s mood seemed odd. At moments, he appeared to be enjoying himself, but most of the time his comments were sarcastic. He paid no attention to anyone else’s wishes in the matter of sights, but went just where he pleased and stayed as long as he was diverted. Constance’s mouth began to tighten, and Joanna was puzzled.
As they came out on the Broad once more, Constance said determinedly, “I should like to go up in the Sheldonian now.” The look in her eye seemed to challenge Sir Rollin to deny her, but he made no move to do so.
They walked down to the theatre, looked at the inside, and got the caretaker to let them into the stairs for the cupola. In a few moments, all were on top, looking out over the spires of Oxford. Constance was very pleased. She hurried to an opening and began to point out various landmarks to Jack. “See, there is the Magdalen tower,” she said. Jack muttered some reply as Joanna walked over to another aperture. She had been here before, but not often, and she loved the view from the top of the building. The roofs of Oxford were spread out below them, each seeming more fanciful than the last. Here, one was ornamented with grotesque figures and gargoyles; there, slender carved spires pointed to the heavens. And perhaps the best part was the diversity. Each small building or college quad had its own distinct style. Some of the garden enclosures, with bright flowers in the sun, were also visible.
They stayed for some time, all but Sir Rollin enjoying the view and trying to pick out the buildings they knew. Denby leaned in one corner, listening to their talk with an amused expression, but contributing nothing. His interest in Oxford seemed to have been exhausted.
It was nearly one before they descended again, and the streets below were getting quite hot. A breeze in the cupola had obscured the growing heat of the day.
“Time for refreshment, I think,” said Denby. “Shall we go back to The Bear? They used to serve tolerable cold meat.”
No one objected, and they retreated in the direction they had come, more quickly and with less indirection. By the time they reached the little inn, Joanna was very hot indeed and very ready to go inside and relax.
They had a light luncheon of cold meat and fruit, with large pitchers of lemonade and ale to cool them after their walk. Conversation came chiefly from Constance, who knew a great deal about the town’s history. Seeing the others had little to say, she shared her knowledge.
By the time they left the inn, it was midafternoon and sultry. They had decided to sit in one of the shady gardens for a while before riding home, but when they came into the lane once more, Jack Townsend noticed a bank of clouds on the horizon. “Thunderstorm,” he said positively, and so they ordered their horses at once, having no wish to be caught in a downpour.
In less than a quarter of an hour, they were riding up Catte Street on their way out of the town. They went quickly and said little, one or the other glancing back from time-to-time to see whether the clouds were much closer. They had passed the corner of Catte and Broad and were riding by Trinity Garden, when Joanna heard someone call her name. She turned and saw Gerald standing on the pavement waving to her. She pulled up, and he came over, but she said only, “Hello, Gerald. I didn’t think to see you. We have been looking about Oxford, but now we are hurrying home. There is a storm approaching.”
Gerald held her bridle. “There is indeed. You will be lucky to make it to the house before it breaks.”
“Well, let me go then,” retorted Joanna.
“Yes, of course.”
At this moment, the rest of the party came up. Gerald started a little when Constance spoke to him.
“Let go,” said Joanna again, more sharply.
Gerald stared at her like one in a trance, then stepped back hastily. “Of course,” he said again.
“I will see you Thursday,” Joanna called back over her shoulder, not wishing to be uncivil to her brother.
Gerald waved vaguely, his eyes following their group as it trotted down the road away from him.
When they left the town, they stepped up the pace. Dark clouds covered a good part of the sky now, and there was no question that it would soon rain. Sir Rollin seemed particularly averse to the idea of a wetting. On his more powerful mount, he gradually moved to the head of the group, and then pulled away a bit until he was leading by several lengths. The others kept generally together.
When they were about half way home, they heard the ominous roll of thunder behind them. The clouds had obscured all but a line on the opposite horizon, and the storm was very near. Joanna saw one or two large drops spatter the dust on the road.
“It’s beginning,” Denby called back over his shoulder. “We had best gallop from here or we shall be thoroughly wet.” Without waiting to see if the others agreed, he spurred his big black and pulled ahead.
Jack Townsend frowned a little, but he agreed. “He’s right. Are you set for a run?”
Joanna nodded, and Constance added, “I suppose we must.” Constance was a fair rider, but she did not hunt and preferred a more sedate pace.
The three of them urged their mounts to a gallop. Though the horses were a little tired, they seemed as eager as their riders to reach a dry haven before the storm burst. As they hurtled along, they occasionally glimpsed Sir Rollin ahead of them. His powerful horse pulled further and further away as they rode.
They had covered another quarter of the distance, when Constance suddenly cried out. Joanna turned quickly to see that her horse had stumbled in the road and was trying desperately to recover its stride. “Hold his head up,” cried Jack Townsend, and Constance valiantly tried to do so, but her mount’s imbalance was too great, and in another moment, both she and the horse were down in the middle of the lane.
Joanna had already pulled up, and now she jumped down, holding her horse’s bridle and running toward Constance. But although she had been quick, Jack was before her, leaping from his mount even before it stopped. He reached Constance first. He took her arm and leaned over her.
“I’m all right,” said Constance shakily, “only bruised. How foolish of me.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” answered Jack laconically, “bad rut just there.”
Joanna came up, and Jack left Constance to her as he went to the latter’s struggling horse. He got it up and began running his hands down its legs.
Joanna put an arm around Constance to help her up. The girl started to stand, but when she put her left foot on the ground, she cried out again and would have fallen if Joanna had not supported her. “Oh, my ankle,” said Constance. “I must have come down on it.”
Jack looked up. “Can you walk?”
Constance tried, leaning on Joanna’s arm. “Ow! No. Oh, I am sorry.”
“Nonsense,” put in Joanna. “It was not your fault at all. It might have happened to anyone.”
The other girl smiled wryly. “But it did not, did it? You three all ride better than I.”
Jack came to their side. “Well, you will have to ride my horse,” he said. “Yours has a badly strained shoulder; shouldn’t be ridden.” He looked about for his gray, and at that moment, they all realized that Jack’s horse was gone. He had not held it when he leaped off.
As they gazed helplessly up and down the road, trying to see it somewhere near, the storm broke violently over their heads, huge drops of rain pelting them backed by a stiff wind.
“Damn!” exclaimed Jack, not bothering to excuse himself.
As one, they turned their backs to the wind and rain, using the two horses as a shield. Already, they were soaked through. “Constance can ride with me,” gasped Joanna, the cold water making her breathless.
“It looks as if she will have to,” agreed Jack. “I can lead her horse home.”
“Oh, no,” cried Constance. “You mus
tn’t.”
The young man shrugged. “Well, I must walk in any case, since I was so foolish as to let go of the reins. Thunderbolt is my newest horse; he won’t know to come back. And if I am walking, I may as well lead yours.” A flash of lightning and clap of thunder followed one another very closely. The girls jumped.
“Sir Rollin will see that we are gone and come back,” said Joanna. “Then you can ride with him.”
They all looked down the road; they could see nothing but rain. Jack looked doubtful.
“Of course,” replied Constance, but she sounded unsure.
“Well, you must go along,” Jack said finally. He lifted Constance onto Joanna’s horse, she helping all she could with her right foot. Then, he helped Joanna get up behind her and gave Joanna the reins. “You will have to go slowly,” he added. “The mud will be slippery, and your horse is overburdened. Take care.”
“We will,” answered Joanna. The two girls looked down at him.
“Go on.”
“Leaving you here…” began Constance.
But Jack made an impatient gesture. “It will do no good for all of us to stand about in the storm. Go on.”
Joanna tightened the reins. “We will send Sir Rollin to you when we come up with him,” she said. “He is probably searching for us now.”
“Do,” replied Jack. He picked up the trailing reins of Constance’s horse and started forward. The animal limped slowly along.
“Well, good-bye,” said Joanna.
“Yes, yes. Go on.”
Joanna touched the mare’s flanks, and they started off. Their pace was barely above a fast walk, but they left Jack behind even so. Both girls huddled against the storm, bending their heads and trusting the horse to keep on the road.
Though the remaining distance was not long, it seemed so. Constance said little, and Joanna was certain that her ankle pained her. The wind drove the rain into their backs, and it dripped down their collars clammily. Before long both were shivering. The air was much cooler than it had been earlier.
They reached the vicarage without seeing anyone on the road. Joanna wondered briefly what had become of Sir Rollin, but she was too grateful to see the house looming ahead to do more than that. She pulled up in front of it and carefully slid to the ground, turning to brace Constance as she did likewise. Then, with Constance leaning heavily on her arm, they walked slowly up the two steps and into the front hall. The door, thankfully, was not locked.
As soon as they were safely in, Constance sank onto a chair. “Oh, I am cold,” she said.
Joanna shut the door. “I will find your mother.” But she was not required to go looking, for at that moment, attracted by the noise of the door, the butler came into the hall. He exclaimed when he saw the dripping girls and began ringing bells and snapping orders at once.
Twenty minutes later, Constance and Joanna sat in the former’s bedroom before a crackling fire. Their drenched habits had been taken away to be dried, and both wore dressing gowns, Joanna’s borrowed. Mrs. Williston was examining her daughter’s ankle, while Joanna stared out at the darkening day. “Oh, I hope they have found Jack,” she said, for the third time.
“I’m sure they must have,” replied Mrs. Williston soothingly. “Well, I do not think it is broken, Constance. But it is a nasty sprain, I believe. We will have the doctor.”
“Oh, I feel so foolish,” said Constance.
“There is one of the grooms with your mare,” cried Joanna from the window. “They must have found him. But where is he?”
“I daresay he went to his own house,” said the older woman. “It is hardly a step.”
“Yes, of course.” Joanna came and sat before the fire. “I am so glad he is not still out walking in this rain. I suppose the note I sent to my mother has arrived also.”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Williston got up. “And if the rain has not stopped after dinner, we will send you home in a closed carriage, just as we told her.” She glanced out the window. “I don’t believe it will stop.” With this, she went out.
Constance leaned her head on the back of the chair she sat in and sighed. “Does your ankle hurt you?” asked Joanna sympathetically.
“Only a little. But I feel strangely tired.”
“Yes, I am tired, too. It was a long day.” She rose and went to the window again. “Whatever can have become of Sir Rollin? I hope he did not lose his way in the storm.”
Constance grimaced. “I imagine that he rather got home dry and safe. At the pace he was going, he should have.”
“Oh, no. He must have looked for us.”
Constance raised her eyebrows, then shrugged.
“Constance! He would have. No one could have left us in that storm.”
The other girl shrugged again.
“Well, I know he would have. I hope he did not blunder down some lane and lose his way. He does not know the neighborhood.” Joanna looked out at the driving rain once again. “I suppose it’s no use sending someone to look for him.”
Constance frowned, started to speak, then changed her mind. “He must have found his way home by now,” she answered drily. “It is nearly six.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Constance looked at her for a moment, then with a tiny shake of her head, abandoned the subject.
Fourteen
The only member of Joanna’s family who was excited by the story of her adventure was Frederick. Her mother, after ascertaining that Joanna had taken no hurt from the mishap, dismissed it, though her mouth tightened when she heard the part Denby had played. Mr. Rowntree scarcely seemed to listen when she recounted the events of the day, but Frederick was charmed and asked innumerable questions. The following morning he was up early and off to the Townsends to see his particular friend Johnny Townsend and to hear more about Jack’s part in it.
Joanna spent a very quiet morning, rising late, doing a little sewing, and reading. Though she felt quite well, the exertions of the previous day urged quiet. The sky remained overcast, and it rained lightly from time to time, but the air was cooler than it had been for weeks. There was no digging because of the damp.
When Frederick returned about eleven, he came directly to the drawing room to find Joanna. She sat there alone, reading a novel. “Jack Townsend has taken a severe chill,” said Frederick as soon as he walked through the door. “He’s in bed.” The boy seemed to relish the idea.
“Oh no,” exclaimed Joanna, putting her book aside. “I must go to see how he does.”
“Can’t,” answered her brother smugly. “No one is to see him.”
Joanna frowned. “Well, I shall send a note then.” She rose and went to the writing desk in the corner.
“Johnny says he’s coughing and wheezing like a buzzard,” added Frederick. Joanna ignored him and began to write. “He walked the whole way home leading that mare,” added the boy. His sister bent her head. Frederick shrugged and walked over to the window. It was raining harder now, and he watched the droplets run down the panes until Joanna finished her note and sealed it. When she had taken it out to a footman and returned, Frederick came to sit beside her on the sofa and lean forward confidentially. “You know what else I found out today?” he asked. “Something much more important.”
“Oh, Frederick, do leave me alone,” said Joanna crossly.
He sat back, offended. “Well, perhaps I shall. And perhaps I shan’t tell you the news about the treasure.”
Joanna turned back to him. “What news?”
Her brother rose, jammed his hands in his pockets, and strolled to the window again. “Can’t say. I’m to leave you alone.” He looked out once more and began to whistle an irritating high-pitched tune.
Joanna grimaced. “I’m sorry, Frederick. What is it?”
The boy turned eagerly, his blue eyes lighting. “I’ve found out that there were no ‘boys’ nos
ing around the abbey ruins, that’s what. I’ve asked everyone and their friends too. Not one of them went over there that night.”
Joanna looked disgusted. “Is that all? I daresay they are afraid to tell you they were there. That is not news, Frederick.”
“Is it not? Well, I am not such a gapeseed as you think me. I did not ask them outright. I was very careful. There were no boys.”
“What difference can it make?”
Frederick looked amazed. “What difference? Don’t you see? If it wasn’t the boys, it must have been someone else.”
“And so? I don’t see…”
“Dunce!” exploded Frederick. He leaned toward her again. “There must be someone else searching for the treasure. Don’t you see that? And we must find it first.”
“You are imagining things. You always do. Perhaps it was a tramp or a gypsy looking for shelter for the night.”
“Digging?” answered her brother incredulously.
“Oh…well…”
Frederick put his hands on his hips and looked down at her disgustedly. “You are the stupidest thing, Joanna. What if he finds the treasure first? He will go off with it, and we shall never see a penny.”
“There is no he. You have imagined the whole.”
Her brother turned away. “All right. We shall see. But I mean to keep a watch. And I am going to the Abbey this afternoon to tell Mr. Erland what I have found out. He will see how important it is.”
“Has he invited you?”
“I am always welcome. He said so.”
“That is a polite nothing, Frederick. You go over there too often. He must be heartily sick of it by now.”
“He is not! You think you know everything, Joanna, but you are quite out there.”
Joanna frowned. She could not believe that Mr. Erland welcomed the constant visits of a schoolboy. “I shall go with you,” she said. She would see for herself.
“You? Why?”