Miss Buncle's Book

by D. E. Stevenson

  “I wonder how she finds the time,” said Mrs. Greensleeves inquisitively.

  Nannie didn’t answer; she thought it was a silly remark to make. What else had Mrs. Walker to do but to make nice clothes for the twins? She had three maids and a nurse so there was no need for her to do a hand’s turn in the house. Still, apart from her silly remark, Mrs. Greensleeves seemed nice and she had a tall gentleman with her that Nannie rather liked the look of, and a tall lady. Nannie decided that they were a brother and sister for they had the same kind of nose, slightly hooky.

  Mrs. Greensleeves sat down beside the twins and talked to them. They were quite friendly with her, and Jack offered her a bite of his chocolate biscuit.

  “Just pretend to bite it,” Nannie advised her.

  Mrs. Greensleeves pretended.

  “Here,” said the tall gentleman. “Is that a girl or a boy making up to you, Vivian? I don’t mind so much if it’s a girl—”

  “I’ve no idea which it is,” replied Mrs. Greensleeves, laughingly.

  The children’s tea was nearly over now, and the other nannies were going downstairs to the housekeeper’s room to have theirs. Mrs. Greensleeves suggested to Nannie that she should go with them.

  “I’ll look after the twins,” she promised.

  There seemed no reason why Nannie should not go. The twins were quite happy with Mrs. Greensleeves. They were moving into the drawing-room now, for some games, so there was no chance of the twins over-eating themselves upon unsuitable food while she was gone.

  “You’re sure it will be all right, madam?” Nannie asked. “You won’t let them get too wild, will you? If they’re not happy you could ring and send for me, couldn’t you?”

  “We’ll look after them,” said the tall gentleman, “off you go and have your tea, Nannie.”

  Nannie went as far as the door and waited. They were quite happy; they had not even noted her departure. Somebody had started to play the piano and dozens of colored balloons had been let loose on the floor. The children were all laughing and scrambling after them. She went downstairs to the housekeeper’s room and joined the other nannies. It was a cheerful and pleasant party.

  Nannie was away about half an hour. When she came back up the stairs she heard the sound of musical chairs in the drawing-room—a few bars of music and then silence, and then loud shrieks, and then another few bars of music. Musical chairs was rather beyond the twins. Nannie hoped they hadn’t been allowed to play; it was a rough game for tiny children. She hastened her steps. The door of the drawing-room was open. She stood in the doorway and looked all around the room for the two little blue figures. She saw the Shearer children, and the Semples and the Turners, but where were Jack and Jill? In about a minute Nannie was certain that they were not in the room. Mrs. Greensleeves and the tall gentleman had also vanished. She wondered what on earth had happened—there was the possibility that they had fallen down and hurt themselves and been taken upstairs to have a knee bandaged or something, but it didn’t seem likely. Surely Mrs. Greensleeves would have rung the bell for her if anything had gone wrong. She began to feel a little nervous and frightened. Perhaps it was silly of her to have left them, they were so small, but what could have happened to them here?

  Presently she edged round the room and touched Mrs. Featherstone Hogg on the arm.

  “Please, madam, where are the twins? It’s about time I was getting on their things to go home. Mrs. Walker does not want them to be late.”

  Mrs. Featherstone Hogg seemed excited, her face very flushed and her eyes glittering strangely—almost as if she had been drinking, Nannie thought—

  “Oh, they’ll be all right,” she said.

  “But where are they?” demanded Nannie.

  “Mrs. Greensleeves is looking after them. I think she and Mr. Stratton took them out for a run in Mr. Stratton’s car.”

  “A run in his car,” echoed the twins’ guardian in dismay.

  “They were too small to join in the games.”

  “But I should have gone too—Mrs. Walker wouldn’t like it. Mrs. Walker will be annoyed about it—”

  “They will be quite safe in Mr. Stratton’s car. He and his sister are staying with Mrs. Greensleeves for the weekend.”

  “Oh, why did I leave them?” cried Nannie. “And it’s so frightfully cold and damp. When will they be back?”

  “Mr. Stratton will probably take them straight home,” said Mrs. Featherstone Hogg. “You had better go home too, and then you will be there when they arrive.”

  Nannie was aghast; how could she possibly go home without the twins? She couldn’t possibly. Mrs. Walker would be furious, and with good cause. She began to explain all this to Mrs. Featherstone Hogg. Meanwhile the musical chairs was continuing with its maddening pauses; the noise was increasing. Nannie had to shout louder and louder to make herself heard above the din.

  “I can’t help all that,” said Mrs. Featherstone Hogg, interrupting Nannie’s explanations and lamentations crossly. “If they’re so precious you shouldn’t have left them.”

  She left Nannie there gaping, and swept across the room to speak to Lady Barnton.

  The whole thing was utterly beyond Nannie’s comprehension, such a thing had never happened to her before in all her years of nannyhood. She turned it over in her mind and decided to telephone to her mistress for orders. Mrs. Walker would probably be angry about it but that couldn’t be helped; it was too serious to be hidden or glossed over. She made her way out of the hot noisy drawing-room and hunted about the house until she found a telephone. It was in Mr. Featherstone Hogg’s study, but Mr. Featherstone Hogg was playing with the children so he was not there. Nannie was so panic-stricken by now that she would not have cared for half a dozen Mr. Featherstone Hoggs. She rushed to the telephone and gave the doctor’s number in a trembling voice. “If only the doctor is back,” she prayed. “Oh God, please let the doctor answer it.”

  Unfortunately the doctor was not back. Mrs. Walker answered the phone, and Nannie was obliged to explain the whole thing to her mistress. She explained exactly what had occurred as clearly as her state of mind would allow her. “I shouldn’t have left them,” she wailed down the telephone. “But really they seemed all right, and I never thought of anything like this. Never.”

  “It’s not your fault at all, Nannie,” said Mrs. Walker in a peculiar voice. “I was an absolute fool to let them go. I should have thought of it. Oh Nannie, nobody would harm them, would they?”

  “Harm them!” cried Nannie.

  “Never mind,” said Mrs. Walker. “I’ll come straight up and see Mrs. Featherstone Hogg at once. You had better wait there till I come. Try to find out where they’ve gone.”

  “How?” inquired Nannie. “Who shall I ask?”

  “I’ll come at once,” Mrs. Walker said. “Wait for me in the hall.” And she rang off.

  Sarah was shaking all over with fright—but she tried to pull herself together. No good to collapse now; she must get her babies back first. If only John had been here, he was so strong and dependable; but there was no knowing when John would be back, she must tackle the matter herself. She kept on assuring herself that they wouldn’t dare to harm the twins; they were just doing it to frighten her, of course, that was all. If only I had somebody to go with me—thought poor Sarah. Who could she get? Ellen King would have been the person, but Ellen King had gone, and Margaret had gone, and Dorothea was honeymooning at Monte Carlo. There was Barbara Buncle of course—Barbara was a nice kind creature and it was she who had warned Sarah that some deep scheme was being laid to her undoing. If only I had taken it more seriously—Sarah thought, as she lifted the receiver and gave Barbara’s number—

  Barbara was writing when Dorcas came to say that Mrs. Walker had rung up. She laid down her pen and went to speak to Sarah.

  “They’ve done it, Barbara,�
�� said Sarah’s voice in her ear.

  “Done what?”

  “They’ve stolen the twins. I thought I had better let you know. I’m going straight up to see Mrs. Featherstone Hogg.”

  “Good gracious!” said Barbara, trying to take in the situation, and make up her mind what was to be done.

  “Unless they return the twins immediately I shall get the police,” Sarah continued in a queer hard voice. “But I don’t want to do that if I can get them back without. Nobody could do them any harm, could they, Barbara. It’s just to frighten me, isn’t it?”

  “It’s just bluff,” Barbara assured her. “It’s just bluff. We’ll get them back at once. Don’t worry, Sarah—or at least don’t worry more than you can help. It will be quite all right when I’ve seen Mrs. Featherstone Hogg. Wait for me and we’ll go up together and make her—no, you must wait for me,” she added, as Sarah began to say she couldn’t wait a single moment. “It will be much better if you wait for me—I’ll run all the way—I can’t explain now but I can make everything all right.”

  She rushed upstairs and dragged on her clothes anyhow. Dorcas was waiting for her in the hall.

  “Lor’, Miss Barbara, you’re never going out now?”

  “Yes,” said Barbara breathlessly. “I’m going up to The Riggs. If I’m not back in two hours you can ring up your friend Sergeant Capper and tell him to search for my dead body in the cellars—where’s my umbrella, Dorcas? Where on earth’s my umbrella?”

  “In the stand, of course. But, oh, Miss Barbara, what do you mean? For goodness’ sake don’t go and do nothing rash, now—”

  “It’s all right,” Barbara told her, fumbling with the safety chain on her front door. “It’s all right, Dorcas. I don’t suppose they can do anything to me, really. I was just joking—just joking, Dorcas. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in an hour or an hour and a half—”

  She fled down the path. Poor Sarah, it was frightful. It must all come out now, of course. She must tell Mrs. Featherstone Hogg that she was John Smith—not Sarah at all, and then they would give Sarah back her babies. She ought to have owned up before; but who would have thought the plan would have been such a fiendish plan as this? Of course it was all a gigantic piece of bluff, but still—

  The road into the village had never seemed so long. Barbara ran, and walked, and ran again. She pictured Sarah’s agony of mind. She wondered if it would have been better and quicker to ring up Mrs. Featherstone Hogg and explain matters over the telephone—perhaps it would have been better. On the other hand it might not have been so efficacious. Better to do the thing thoroughly, as it had to be done. Better to face it out in person—more difficult of course, but braver, to walk into the august presence and say, “I’m John Smith so please give Sarah back her babies at once—”

  As she neared the doctor’s house she expected to see Sarah waiting for her on the doorstep ready-dressed to fly to the rescue of her twins. But there was no sign of Sarah, the house was perfectly quiet, the door was shut. Barbara rang the bell and waited impatiently. It seemed hours before Fuller answered the door. (Fuller was the doctor’s parlormaid; she had been with the Walkers for years. She knew Barbara well, of course).

  “Oh, Fuller!” said Barbara breathlessly. “Isn’t Mrs. Walker ready?”

  “Mrs. Walker’s engaged,” said Fuller. “She said I was to ask you to wait a few minutes in the drawing-room.”

  Barbara was amazed at the information that Sarah was engaged. What could be so important as to engage her at this critical moment with night coming on and the twins lost?

  “Who is it, Fuller?” she inquired as they passed the door of the study.

  “It’s a strange lady,” whispered Fuller. “Not a Silverstream lady. I never saw her before—Miss Stratton her name was.”

  “Fuller! D’you think it’s all right?” asked Barbara anxiously. “I mean she couldn’t do anything to Mrs. Walker, could she?”

  “Lor’!” exclaimed Fuller, startled for once out of her propriety. “Lor’, Miss Buncle! You don’t reely think anyone would ’arm the mistress, do you?”

  They paused outside the study door and looked at each other with wide eyes. Miss Buncle’s nerves had been completely upset by the kidnapping of the twins, and the distressing knowledge that it was her fault. It would be her fault too if the stranger did Sarah bodily harm. She visualized the stranger stabbing Sarah between the shoulder blades and escaping out of the study window; she visualized Sarah lying on the floor in a pool of blood, breathing her last. Miss Buncle frequently bemoaned the fact that she had no imagination, but one feels she must have had a little to visualize such a terrible scene in the placid atmosphere of the doctor’s hall. The atmosphere was not so placid as usual tonight, of course; even Fuller seemed a little upset, and not quite her ordinary machine-like self. Barbara wondered if Fuller knew about the twins; she probably did.

  “Couldn’t you go in, and see?” suggested Barbara in trembling accents. “Do go in, Fuller. You could pretend you were going in to draw the curtains or something—”

  “The curtains have been drawn hours,” said Fuller. “But perhaps I could go in and say you had come, Miss.”

  “Yes, oh yes, do, Fuller,” entreated Barbara.

  She remained outside the door while Fuller went in, and waited, trembling. She heard Fuller say, “Miss Buncle is here, madam,” and Sarah reply, “Please ask her to wait in the drawing-room, Fuller.” A strange, rather high-pitched voice added, “We have nearly finished our business—may I use your telephone?” then Fuller came out again and the door was shut.

  “It’s quite all right, Miss,” Fuller said in a relieved tone. “They’re signing papers on the doctor’s table.” She led Barbara to the drawing-room, made up the fire, and left her to her own devices.

  Barbara was bewildered. It was so queer for Sarah to be transacting business with a strange woman instead of dashing up to The Riggs to rescue her twins. What could be the meaning of it? Sarah had sounded absolutely frantic when she had spoken to Barbara on the telephone. “I can’t wait a moment,” she had said, and here she was calmly signing papers on the doctor’s table, and making no attempt to do anything about the twins. I suppose I must just wait—thought Barbara helplessly—it wouldn’t be any use me going up to The Riggs without Sarah. Besides, she said I was to wait.

  She walked about the room, restlessly; counting the patterns on the carpet, and, when that was done, looking at the photographs. More than half the photographs depicted the twins at various stages of their short career—the twins in long clothes, the twins in short clothes, the twins in practically no clothes at all, the twins standing on a staircase in jumper suits, the twins playing in the garden in overalls. In no case could Barbara determine which was which.

  “Goodness!” said Barbara aloud. “Goodness, how I wish she would come! It’s worse than waiting at the dentist.”

  She decided to shut her eyes and try to remember all the furniture in the room, perhaps that would pass the time and keep her from going mad. There’s the piano, thought Barbara, and the cabinet with the Dresden figures, and the two armchairs near the fire, and the chesterfield of course. And there’s a nest of tables near the door, and a lacquer screen—

  “Are you ill, Barbara?” said Sarah’s voice suddenly. She had come in quietly and found Barbara sitting there with her eyes shut and murmuring to herself—no wonder she thought Barbara was ill.

  “Oh Sarah!” cried Barbara, opening her eyes and jumping up out of her chair. “Thank goodness you’ve come at last. I’m John Smith.”

  “So am I,” smiled Sarah with remarkable calm.

  “But I really am,” cried Barbara, seizing her arm and shaking it fiercely. “I wrote the book, Sarah, do you hear? We’ve only got to go up to The Riggs and tell them that I’m John Smith, and not you at all, and they’re bound to give us the twins immediat
ely.”

  “It’s sweet of you, Barbara,” said Sarah affectionately. “It really is perfectly sweet of you to think of it, but they’d never believe you, for a moment; you’re such a rotten liar, you know. But you’re an absolute lamb to think of doing it. I’m not John Smith either, of course, but they’ve got it firmly fixed in their heads that I am and nothing will convince them otherwise. So the only thing—”

  “But, Sarah, if I go and tell them that I am John Smith—I am, really and truly.”

  “It’s all right. It’s all settled,” said Sarah. “They are sending the twins home at once.”

  “Thank goodness!” exclaimed Barbara, sinking back in her chair with a sigh of relief.

  “Yes, they only wanted me to sign a paper saying that I apologized for all the things I had said about them and that they were all quite untrue—”

  “And you signed it?” gasped Barbara.

  “Of course I signed it,” said Sarah laughing. “D’you think it mattered to me what I signed so long as I could get Jack and Jill home safe and sound? I just signed my name wherever the woman told me to sign it and she went away quite pleased. She’s a friend of Vivian Greensleeves and Vivian had evidently roped her into the plan without giving her much idea of what it was. She was quite decent really—I don’t think she liked her part very much.”

  “You signed a paper saying you were John Smith?” inquired Barbara again in bewildered tones.

  “Yes, I told you, Barbara,” replied her friend. “I signed everything she had with her. I signed a letter to the publisher as well. She telephoned to her brother from here and he said the twins were all right and he would bring them back in about twenty minutes.”

  “But Sarah, you signed a letter to the publisher?”

  “Yes, Barbara, I did. Mr. Abbott will be surprised when he gets it, but I don’t expect it will worry him much. I expect publishers often get letters from raving lunatics, don’t you?”

  “What did it say?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t read it very carefully. Just that I wanted my novel suppressed or something—my novel mark you!”