“Now?” asked Dick.
“Not now,” said Peggy. “When we’ve gone back to tea.”
“Where’s Nancy?” asked Dorothea.
“She’s bringing Amazon up the river, with a scythe.”
“For cutting hay?” asked Dick.
“Waterlilies,” said Peggy. “Reeds … She’s going to make the harbour for Scarab.”
“Here’s our letter-box,” said Dick, and showed her the hole in the wall.
“Good,” said Peggy. “Do for us too. Half a minute while I see if the road’s clear.”
She went through the gap and into the road, looked right and left, beckoned silently, turned left and ran. Dick and Dorothea hurried after her. She was waiting for them round the next corner where the Beckfoot coppice ended and a field began. “Bit near the house,” she said. “She’s probably in the drawing-room waiting for the doctor to take her temperature, but we mustn’t risk being seen together … Nancy’s orders. Nancy’ll be here in a minute …”
“She’s here now,” said a cheerful voice. “You’ve been an age. But I don’t think we’ve missed him.” Nancy, complete savage, in bathing things, was climbing over the gate out of the field. She had a letter in her hand.
“Another letter for us?” said Dorothea.
“No. It’s the G.A.’s letter. I’ve got to show it to the doctor. Did you get yours all right? It was pretty awful when the postman gave it to the G.A.”
“Yes,” said Dorothea.
“Where’s Amazon?” asked Dick, looking through the gate across the cut hayfield to the tall reeds that hid Octopus Lagoon.
“Close here,” said Nancy. “Peggy, you’d better go and get into your bathers. Have the others brought theirs?”
“We haven’t,” said Dick. “Shall I go back for them?”
“Waste of time,” said Nancy. “Peggy and I’ll be doing the really wet work. Buck up, Peggy. And look out for the scythe. It’s a brute in the boat. I’ve tied up at the usual place. All right to land at, but no good for a harbour. We’re going to make you a beauty in the lagoon. Get it done today if only that doctor doesn’t keep us too long.”
Peggy was already over the gate and hurrying along the edge of the coppice. She disappeared into the trees.
“What will the doctor want us for?” asked Dick.
“He doesn’t want us,” said Nancy. “We want him. He’s like the postman and Timothy. He knows you’re here, and we’ve got to stop him from letting it out to the Great Aunt.”
“We’ve seen Timothy,” said Dick.
“So’ve we,” said Nancy … “Listen! There’s a motor car coming now … Spread out. Don’t give him a chance of charging past. Ahoy! Hey! Stop!”
The motor car came to a standstill close to them. The doctor put his head out.
“Nancy, you young donkey, you’ll be getting yourself run over if you play the fool like that. If I hadn’t good brakes and wasn’t one of the world’s most careful drivers, you’d be a patient this minute instead of the usual pest. What are you stopping me for? Why! Hullo! Dick Callum, isn’t it, and Dorothy?”
“Dorothea,” said Dick.
“Dorothea,” said the doctor. “So it is. Well, you never got mumps that time. You’ll get them sooner or later. Out of the way, Nancy. Can’t stop now. I’ve got an appointment to keep with Miss Turner.”
“That’s just it,” said Nancy. “When you see her you must be jolly careful not to say one single word about Dick and Dorothea.”
“What?” said the doctor. “In disgrace already?”
“SHE DOESN’T KNOW THEY’RE HERE.”
“Where does she think they are? Doing holiday tasks on a fine day like this?”
“SHE DOES NOT KNOW THEY ARE HERE.”
“Well, I don’t see that it matters.”
“Shiver my timbers,” said Nancy. “You don’t understand. She doesn’t even know they exist. She’s never heard of them. And she jolly well mustn’t.”
“But aren’t they staying at Beckfoot? Your mother told me …”
“They aren’t. They’re in the hut in the wood. Cook knows, but the Great Aunt doesn’t and mustn’t. Listen. Mother and Uncle Jim didn’t tell her they were going away. Some horrid old cat must have told her. Mother never asked her to come and stay with us. She jolly well wouldn’t. Mother meant us to be in charge. She said so. The Great Aunt came on her own. She simply said she was coming and came. She’ll make it beastly for Mother anyhow. She always does. But she’ll make it much worse if she finds out that Mother let us have Dick and Dorothea to stay with us while she was away. You know the G.A. You know what it was like when she was here last time.”
“I do,” said the doctor. “But what’s all this about your Mother not inviting her?”
“Read this,” said Nancy. “Then you’ll understand. Cook didn’t know she was coming. We didn’t know. Mother didn’t know. It’s all her own idea. She sent a telegram and I tried to squash her but failed. She sent this letter. Read it. Read it.” Nancy passed the Great Aunt’s letter through the window of the motor car. The doctor looked at the address on the envelope.
“She wrote to you,” he said.
“Of course she did. But she didn’t give us time to stop her. You just read it and you’ll see what Mother’s in for.”
The doctor pulled off his gloves and took the letter out of its envelope. They saw his lips curl into a smile and then grow serious again.
“Why didn’t you put the Callums off?”
“They were here when the letter came. The only thing we could do was to get them out of the house. Even Cook agreed.”
“I don’t suppose you gave her much of a choice.”
“Do you think we ought to have gone home?” asked Dorothea.
“Of course not,” said Nancy. “Mother had invited you herself.”
The doctor read the letter through again and then a third time.
“I expect Miss Turner knows perfectly well they are here,” he said.
“She doesn’t,” said Nancy. “The postman brought a letter for Dorothea this morning, and the G.A. wrote ‘Not known here’ on it, and gave it back to him. It was the narrowest shave. If he hadn’t seen the faces I was making at him he’d have gone and told her. I explained to him afterwards and he was quite decent about it.”
“He’s going to leave our letters for us in a hole in the wall,” said Dick.
“Nancy,” said the doctor. “You are the most dangerous animal ever let loose in this world. Poor old postman’ll be in trouble if this gets found out.”
“And so will Cook, and so will we, and Mother most of all,” said Nancy. “It’s just not got to be found out. That’s why you’ve got to be careful. The G.A.’s going the day before Mother and Uncle Jim get back. We’ve only got to hold out till then, and everything’ll be all right. Peggy and I are being angels all the time, keeping her happy and wearing best frocks.”
“Best frocks?” said the doctor with a grin, looking at the half-naked Nancy.
“All the time,” said Nancy, “except when we can get out of her sight. Then we jolly well wear comfortables or bathing things just as if Mother was at home.”
“What about that friend of your uncle’s … Stedding. Isn’t he keeping an eye on you?”
“Oh, Timothy!” said Nancy. “I nearly forgot. You mustn’t say a word about him either. She’s never heard of him. We met him this morning when we were being taken for a walk … white frocks and all the rest of it. He bolted at the sight of us. The G.A. said he was a dangerous looking tramp.”
“And hasn’t she friends here? Somebody’s sure to give you away.”
“Nobody will unless you do,” said Nancy. “Everybody she used to know here has gone except Miss Thornton at Crag Gill and she had a row with her ages ago. They haven’t been on speaking terms for years.”
“Well, it’s no good trying to drag me into it,” said the doctor, giving her back the Great Aunt’s letter. “You can keep your hornets’ nests fo
r other people.”
Nancy stamped her foot. “Coward,” she said. “And traitor. Wait till Uncle Jim comes home and hears you’ve been the one to get Mother into trouble …”
“Shut up, Nancy,” said the doctor. “Let me think … What, exactly, are you asking me to do?”
“We’re not asking you to do anything,” said Nancy. “We’re only asking you not to do something. Don’t say anything about Dick and Dot. Don’t say anything about Timothy. Just do the usual thing. You know. Holding her claw and taking her temperature and telling her she’s got to be careful. That’s all she wants you to do. And … oh yes … if you want to help a bit you could tell her she must always lie down for a rest in the afternoons. That’ll give us an hour or two every day and if we can never get away at all we’ll simply bust. Dick and Dot have got a new boat. And we’ve got to help them to get her going.”
“But if she asks about them?”
“She won’t.”
“Well,” said the doctor. “I’ll do that much for you. If she doesn’t mention them first, I’ll say nothing about Dick and Dorothea. And I’ll say nothing about the wretched Stedding. He must look after his own skin. But if she asks any questions I’ll have to answer them.”
“That’s all right,” said Nancy. “And you needn’t think you’re doing it for us. You’re doing it for Mother. And it’s better for the G.A. too. We’re going to keep her happy all the time. We’re practising on the beastly piano. We’re wearing party frocks. We’re even doing our holiday tasks. Learning poetry and spouting it at her with our hands behind our backs. We’re going to keep her happy if it kills us. You’re simply helping the good work.”
“Nancy,” said the doctor.
“Yes,” said Nancy.
“I wish you were at the bottom of the deep blue sea.”
He slipped in his clutch and the car moved on.
“Don’t forget she’s got to lie down in the afternoons,” called Nancy.
“Timothy said something like that,” said Dick as the car disappeared. “A message. He said we were to tell you that he knew somebody who’d like to wring your neck. He meant he would, but he didn’t say why.”
“Natives are all alike,” said Nancy. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Is the doctor going to be all right?” asked Dorothea.
“He’s never as bad as he pretends. But we’d better make sure. Somebody’ll have to wait in the road till he comes back. We can’t all wait because if we don’t start making that harbour at once we’ll never get it done. And Scarab’ll be ready tomorrow.”
“Shall I wait for him?” said Dorothea.
“Right,” said Nancy. “I can manage with Dick and Peggy. Come on, Dick. We’d better get started anyhow. But if he hasn’t told her to lie down we’ll have to give up and go back.”
“Do you think he’d post a letter for me?” asked Dorothea.
“Of course he will.” Nancy was already over the gate. Dick was climbing after her. “Good excuse. Give him your letter. Ask him if he’s been a traitor or not? And find out if she’s in her lair or on the prowl. And then come and squeak gently in the coppice as near the lagoon as you can get. Come on, Dick. We’re going to have a job cutting those reeds. And the waterlilies are worse!”
*
Dorothea watched them race along the edge of the wood and dive into the trees near where the river must be. She tried to get some of the creases out of her letter, which did not look as fresh as it had before she squashed it into her pocket. Peggy’s scraps of news had set her thinking of what was happening at Beckfoot, of Nancy left in charge of the house, deposed from her place at the head of the table, not allowed to order meals, made to wear the clothes she hated, forbidden this, forbidden that, and, in spite of all, determined to keep the Great Aunt happy. And Peggy was the same. There they were, the two of them, their own holiday spoilt but determined to see that she and Dick had just the holiday Mrs Blackett had planned for them. And yet there was Timothy wanting to wring Nancy’s neck. And kind old Cook bothered out of her life. And the postman in a stew. And now the doctor. If only it had been a story, things would have been simpler. In a story, villains were villains and the heroes and heroines had nothing to worry about except coming out on top in the end. In a story black was black and white was white and blacks and whites stuck to their own colours. In real life things were much more muddled. Real life was like one of those tangles of string where if you found an end and pulled you only made things worse. Nancy had turned them into Picts simply because it was the best she could do to save her mother. And now, look at all the other people who were getting mixed up in things. Anybody could see that Nancy was doing her best. But look at the doctor. Instead of being eager to help her he was wishing she was drowned. Dorothea liked the doctor and if she had been writing a story she would have counted on the doctor to be on Nancy’s side, and to pull his hardest in the white team … Why, in a story he would have ladled out pills and other medicines and kept the Great Aunt not exactly ill but anyhow not well enough to be a nuisance. Instead it was almost as if the doctor and Timothy and the postman were wishing the Great Aunt had been allowed to find Nancy and Peggy with visitors in the house and no natives about except Cook.
Dorothea was looking far away up the valley to the high slopes of Kanchenjunga. The sun was pouring down on purple patches of heather. Dorothea did not see them. It was as if she were looking at the hills with blind eyes. A horrible thought had struck her. What if the doctor and Timothy were right? What if the whole plan was a mistake? The Great Aunt was cross with Mrs Blackett anyhow. Her letter showed that. Would she have been very much crosser if she had come to Beckfoot to find Dick and Dorothea as well as her nieces? Now, of course, if she were to find out that they were being Picts, living in a hut in the wood just round the corner, she would be very cross indeed, much crosser than if Nancy had just let things slide. She would be cross with Nancy and Peggy as well as with Mrs Blackett. She would never think for a moment of how Nancy and Peggy were doing every single thing they could do to keep her happy and contented.
And with that Dorothea shook herself and saw things clear once more. There could be no going back now. At all costs the Great Aunt must not be allowed to find out. Nothing must happen that would mean that Nancy and Peggy had been martyrs all for nothing.
She heard a heavy splash from behind the reeds on the other side of the field. For a moment she thought Dick had fallen in. Then the clear ring of Nancy’s laughter. It couldn’t be anything serious. But splashing and laughter so near the house was serious enough. That was a risk that need not be taken. Wouldn’t it be better to let Scarab stay at the boatbuilder’s till the Great Aunt was gone? Dick would be disappointed. She saw him sitting in a corner of the railway carriage reading the book on sailing. But, after all, theirs was the easier part, just being Picts in a house of their own. And Dick had his birds. She was sure he would agree. If Nancy and Peggy could be martyrs in a good cause, she and Dick could do without Scarab. And even if the harbour was already made it would be a pretty big risk, keeping the boat in the river that flowed past the Beckfoot lawn. Bother the doctor. She wanted to get down to the river at once to tell them that Scarab could stay in Rio till the Great Aunt had gone.
But the doctor was coming, coming now. She heard the hoot of his motor car as he turned out of the Beckfoot gate. There it was and in another moment the doctor had pulled up beside, where she stood waving her letter.
“Have you told her she must lie down?” she asked.
“Not because of any game of Nancy’s,” said the doctor hurriedly. “Nothing to do with Nancy. I’d have given her the same advice in any case. Yes. I’ve told her it would be as well if she made a practice of resting after luncheon.”
“And you haven’t told her anything about us?”
“No, I haven’t,” said the doctor almost angrily. “She didn’t ask any questions. But I’ll be in trouble if she finds out, just the same.”
“Thank you very
much indeed,” said Dorothea.
“Don’t you dare to thank me,” said the doctor. “I haven’t done anything for you. I won’t do anything for you. I won’t have anything to do with it. Goodbye.”
“Can I tell Nancy it’s all right?”
“You can tell her I haven’t said anything to make it worse than it is.”
“That’s all right,” said Dorothea.
“No, it isn’t.”
He was just starting off again when Dorothea asked him if he would post her letter for her. “It’s to Mother,” she said.
“Of course I’ll post it for you. Have you told your mother about this mess?”
“But there isn’t any mess,” said Dorothea. “I’ve told her Dick and I are being Picts.”
“Picts?” said the doctor. “What are Picts? Is that another of Nancy’s?”
“Oh no,” said Dorothea. “That’s us. Picts were the people who went on living secretly when everybody thought they were extinct. At least I think so. I’ve asked Mother to find out from Father. He’ll know.”
“Beyond me,” said the doctor. “Well, I’ll post the letter. Goodbye and, if you don’t mind, I’d very much rather not see you again.”
Something in Dorothea’s face stopped him. “Nothing against you,” he added. “Only, if you’re supposed to be extinct, I oughtn’t to be able to see you except in a museum. Goodbye.”
The motor car shot away, and Dorothea climbed the gate and hurried along the edge of the wood. The doctor’s news was good as far as it went, but the sooner they stopped worrying about Scarab the better. At least that would be one risk the less.
The Picts and the Martyrs Page 8