‘Do you mind?’ asked Roger. Dorothy said that she did not mind at all. He opened the door and dropped on to the line—a surprising distance—aided by the light of the lantern. He returned in about ten minutes.
‘Fellow appears to have had a shock all right,’ he said, when he resumed his seat beside Dorothy. ‘Comfort he doesn’t have to steer, for I don’t think he’s capable of it.’
‘What’s the matter with him, then?’
‘Oh, his wife’s going to have a baby, and it seems to have got on his nerves.’
‘In what way?’
The train, with a good deal of noise, steamed on again.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Signs and wonders, and all that. Anyhow, he’s prepared to carry on. Personally, I shall be glad when we get to our station. I don’t much care to be behind a driver who sees headless corpses where no headless corpses should be.’
‘Oh, heavens! Is that what he said?’
‘It is. However, we’ve soothed him. Funny thing, though. I smelt his breath. He’s dead sober. Ah, here’s our station! Now I wonder how long we’ve got to wait?’
The train was already slowing down. The lights of the station came into view. Roger hauled down his rucksack and slung the straps over his arm. He picked up his ashplant, opened the carriage door, got out, and helped Dorothy out. There was an empty seat on the platform under a lamp. He guided her to it, slung down his luggage beside her, and went off to find a porter.
‘This platform, but we’ve got an hour and a half to wait,’ he said, with a groan, on his return. ‘We’ve missed the connection. I’m really terribly sorry. Old Bob will have my blood! I say, are you hungry again, as well as sleepy?’
‘Good heavens, no! I couldn’t eat a thing! And, anyway, I’m not sleepy now.’
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘Please do.’
‘Cigarette?’
‘Thank you.’
Scarcely had they lighted the cigarettes when the chauffeur Sim came through a side gate on to the platform.
‘I thought I might find you here, sir,’ he observed. ‘I’ve got the car outside. I’m very sorry, sir, but I did not have orders to take you further than the station. However, I’ve come now, sir, to drive you home.’
‘Well, thanks very much,’ said Roger, getting up. ‘Anything’s better than waiting an hour and a half on this beastly station.’
Sim seemed to know the route well, and drove very fast through the darkness. He had not even asked for an address. This was all explained when, two hours after they had left it, they found themselves at the mysterious house again.
‘Here, what the devil!’ said Roger, as soon as he stepped out of the car.
‘I’m very sorry I had to deceive you, sir,’ said the chauffeur. ‘But my orders were at all costs to get you back here.’
The guests were still at table. Conversation was general, but there was an air of strain about the party. Lady Catherine greeted the arrivals very cordially, and asked them to sit down at once as the party was thirteen at table. Roger, who had halted in the doorway with Dorothy just behind him and looking over his shoulder by standing on tip-toe, merely glowered at the party.
‘Do you mean to say,’ he said, when, sweetly but peremptorily, she had repeated her request, ‘that you’ve all had to sit and sit because nobody had the sense to get up and break the spell?’
‘Lady Catherine was so much distressed at the idea that somebody should bring death upon himself within the year by rising first from the board, that we felt we had to give in,’ Mrs Bradley responded. ‘And, further, dear child, in ten minutes more we are promised a violin solo to reward us for our exemplary behaviour. Won’t you stay and listen? It is so very late for you now, that another half hour won’t signify anything particular, and, after that, I myself will drive you home.’
‘I certainly should like to hear Mrs Denbies play,’ said Dorothy, over Roger’s shoulder. ‘Go on, silly! Sit down,’ she added into her fuming protector’s left ear.
So they seated themselves, and, at a motion of Lady Catherine’s hand, the whole company rose. George, who had fallen asleep, was lifted up by Bugle and carried away, and the others went into a large chamber on the ground floor in which there was a grand piano on a low platform.
Claudia Denbies tuned her violin, played Bach’s Partita in E Minor on it, and then, on the ’cello, Andrea Caporale’s Sonata in D Minor and Fauré’s Elégie.
‘I’ve strained my back, I think,’ she said, in response to a demand from Captain Ranmore for another piece on the violin, ‘and find the ’cello a bit easier to manage tonight because I can sit down to it. I hate sitting to play the fiddle.’
‘I knew you shouldn’t have gone out riding this afternoon,’ said Lady Catherine. ‘I said at the time it was ridiculous.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I did it out riding,’ replied Claudia Denbies, ‘But I must get it right before my London recital. Besides, I’ve promised Captain Ranmore to shoot at the butts with him tomorrow.’
‘And now,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘these children must go, Lady Catherine, or they’ll get no sleep tonight.’
‘Sim is quite ready,’ said Lady Catherine, graciously. ‘Will you see to them, Eunice?’
‘Of course,’ said Eunice Pigdon. She took them out to the car which was at the front door. ‘I do hope you weren’t annoyed at being asked to come back,’ she added, as the three of them walked on to the gravel. ‘Lady Catherine is very peculiar over the number thirteen.’
‘But, surely,’ said Roger, voicing the thought which had been in his mind for the last hour, ‘it wouldn’t have mattered who got up first after we left, as we hadn’t sat down thirteen? Besides, we didn’t leave thirteen at table. I don’t see any sense in it. The first one of the house-party who got up after we left would have been the third of fourteen people, not the first of thirteen. Where’s Lady Catherine’s logic? You would have been thirteen with Mr Lingfield, not without him. The whole business makes no sense.’
‘I know,’ Eunice Pigdon agreed. ‘Oh, well, it’s a good thing you were kind enough to come back, or I’m sure we’d have been sitting there still. Lady Catherine is never gainsaid. It doesn’t do. Poor Mary Leith and I have trouble enough as it is. Oh, you won’t want this car. Sim, take it back.’
‘You could all have got up together,’ suggested Dorothy. Eunice Pigdon agreed, but with more politeness than heartiness. She made way for Mrs Bradley and walked slowly back into the house. The chauffeur brought Mrs Bradley’s car.
The journey by car seemed short. Nevertheless, it was well after midnight before they drew up at the gates of Dorothy’s home. Mrs Bradley would not come in, and favoured them with a leer as she said good night. She drove away immediately, and Roger, taking the key from Dorothy as soon as they reached the front door, opened up for her and was invited in.
It was the first time he had ever seen Bob’s home. It seemed spacious after his lodgings. Dorothy took him into the dining-room.
‘Thank goodness it’s fairly warm in here,’ she said. The drive had proved cold, and would have been colder but for the comfort of Roger’s breast and arm. The fire, although low, was not out. ‘Oh, there’s some hot milk,’ she added. ‘Would you like it?’
‘No, really, thanks.’
‘Oh, well, there’s some whisky in the sideboard. Help yourself. I won’t be very long.’
She took off her coat in the hall and went upstairs. Bob was reading in bed. He put down his book when she came in, and regarded her sternly.
‘Where on earth have you been?’ he demanded. ‘Jerry’s been here, and he kicked up no end of a stink when he heard you were out and I had to tell him I didn’t know where.’
‘How’s the ankle?’ asked Dorothy tactfully, seating herself on the bed.
‘None the better for having you sit on it,’ retorted her brother, who seemed to be greatly moved. ‘Look here, where the devil have you been? Do you know what time it is, and what time you left the
house this morning?’
‘Oh, don’t be a heavy father,’ retorted Dorothy. ‘If you want to know, I’ve been having a thrilling time, a glorious walk, a marvellous dinner, and quite a lot of adventures.’
‘Who with?’
Dorothy checked the names on her fingers. With her long, thick hair, grey eyes, broad brow and confident chin she looked altogether so young that her brother’s heart was softened. He loved his young sister, and was secretly proud of her beauty. Her lissome body was in contrast to his own strong, sturdy frame, thick shoulders, and long, strong arms, and people who did not know the family were usually very much surprised to learn that they were related. Bob had protected and fought for Dorothy from the time when they both very young. He had experienced secret, deep, substantial pleasure when she came to his school on sports days, although he had regarded her then, and he regarded her still, as a child. He spoilt and bullied her, kept her out of trouble with their parents, acted as her chaperon, banker, swimming coach and watch-dog, and, generally speaking, obtained much satisfaction out of managing her and being managed by her, teasing her, taking care of her, and showing her off to his friends.
‘Heavy father be damned!’ he said, before she could begin her list of names. ‘Although you probably ought to be tanned. I’ll subscribe to that, if that’s being a heavy father.’
‘There were Lady Catherine, Captain Ranmore, John Hackhurst (the poet, you know), Mr Bookham, Mr Clandon,’ began Dorothy hastily, ‘and—and—Miss Clandon, Mrs Dunley (the archaeologist), Mrs Denbies (the violinist), George, Bugle——’
‘What have you been doing?’ asked Bob. He scowled at her dangerously. ‘Don’t you dare to try pulling my leg!’
‘I’ve been walking, I tell you, and having a birthday dinner with George and Lady Catherine and——’
‘Cut it out! Did you meet Hoskyn?’
‘Yes, of course I did. He was quite easy to recognize from your description, darling, and——’
‘Did you explain about my confounded ankle?’
‘Yes. How is it, by the way? You didn’t tell me.’
‘Rotten. What did Hoskyn do when he heard? Went off in a huff, I suppose. I knew he would. He can’t bear to have things upset when he’s got them planned. Did he say where he was going?’
‘He came with me; or, rather, I suppose I went with him. We got lost, and then we came to this house and they made us have dinner, because it was George’s birthday, and then the chauffeur drove us to the station, and we began coming home. But they made us go back because they couldn’t get up from table. Then Claudia Denbies played to us all, and we came home in Mrs Bradley’s car. Bob, it’s all been most peculiar and exciting. You might take an interest, you pig!’
‘Where’s Hoskyn?’
‘In the dining-room, downstairs. I told him to help himself to whisky.’
‘What!’
‘Oh, do you mind? I thought there was plenty in the decanter. I’d better go down and stop him. I told him I’d only be a minute. Can he sleep in here if I fix him up a camp bed?’
‘No, he can’t! And I didn’t mean the whisky! You knew that perfectly well. I meant about your bringing him home. And, anyway, if he’s going to stay the night, what’s the matter with the spare room?’
‘I’m not sure if the sheets are aired, and I think mother sent the eiderdown to be cleaned. He won’t want sheets and things on a camp bed, will he, if you let him have your sleeping bag and one of your blankets?’
‘I want all my blankets, damn it!’
‘Oh, Bob, don’t be selfish! How many have you got?’
‘Five, and I want ’em all. You brought him home, so you jolly well go and forage for him. Although what the devil it’s all about I can’t imagine.’
‘Oh, Bob! We must give him a bed!’
‘Dump him in the parents’ bedroom, then. What’s the matter with that?’
‘I don’t know whether Ellen has changed the sheets yet.’
‘Good Lord, he won’t look at sheets! Go and get him, and bung him in here to talk to me while you have a look to see that everything’s ship-shape. And then you get into bed, You look as though you’d had enough for one day.’
‘Yes, I think I have,’ said Dorothy, suddenly realizing that she was very tired. ‘And I don’t think I liked it after all. Good night, then. We shan’t be long.’
‘You mind you’re not! I’ll give you twenty minutes.’
Dorothy went to the door. Bob called her back.
‘Er—what do you think of Hoskyn, by the way? And what does he think of you? I’ll bet he’s thinking long, long thoughts of both of us now we’ve gone and spoiled his holiday.’
Dorothy did not answer. She returned to the bedside and kissed the end of her brother’s firm and pugnacious nose. Bob caught her and pulled her down, wincing as she landed on the bed, but holding her tight.
‘Answer the questions,’ he said, ‘you little fiend.’
‘I can’t. And he’ll be wondering where I am.’
Bob rumpled her hair and kissed her.
Chapter Four
‘My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,
So flew’d, so sanded, and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew.’
SHAKESPEARE, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
BREAKFAST NEXT MORNING was taken by the three of them together, for Bob had swung himself downstairs. He sat by the fire, with his injured foot on a cushion placed on top of a small stool, whilst the others sat at the table.
‘What are you going to do now?’ he asked, when, the meal over, both men had lighted their pipes and were occupying armchairs, and Dorothy, seated in the window, was watching the maid clear the table.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Roger. ‘Have you a dog that wants taking out for a run?’
‘No. Only a sister,’ said Bob, with a lordly grin. ‘But what about your holiday? You can’t spend it here with us.’
‘Can’t I? I’d rather hoped I could. After all, it’s your fault we aren’t walking together, you old mudhead.’
‘Well, damn it,’ said Bob. ‘I can’t help it!’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Roger, suddenly addressing Dorothy. ‘Let’s hire a car and take this surly invalid to Whiteledge.’
‘Whiteledge? I’ve never heard of it.’
‘You’ve been there, though. We needn’t stay to dinner this time, of course, but I do want to go there again.’
‘Oh, it’s the name of that house!’
‘It is. I found the County History in your bookcase, and I’ve already had a look at it. The house is quite famous, it seems. Sort of three star Baedeker and all that. I’d rather like Bob to see it.’
‘I could manage all right in a car,’ said Bob cheerfully. ‘I call it a brain-wave, old man. Dorothy can ring up the garage. Will yon drive, or shall she get them to send a man? The parents have taken our car.’
‘What make of car will it be?’
‘A Morris, most likely.’
‘Can do. And I’d much rather be on our own.’
‘Good. So would I. All set? Buzz along, young D. and get contact. Tell them we want it for the day.’
‘Dash it! I can ’phone a garage!’ protested Roger.
Dorothy, who realized (without altogether being aware of the fact) that Bob and Roger were, for the moment, antagonistic, and that she was the bone of contention, went at once to the telephone. She did not, in the ordinary course of events, readily accept orders from her brother, but on this particular occasion she took a perverse, particular pleasure in obeying him, for Roger met this obedience with a scowl.
The response from the garage was favourable. A car was forthcoming within twenty minutes. The three climbed into it in a holiday spirit which was particularly noticeable in Bob, who had not expected any kind of a holiday, and who, aided by Roger and Roger’s ashplant, ‘made the grade,’ as he put it, without disaster, and settled comfortably on the back scat.
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br /> The main road ran through fairly open country, but there was a prettier drive by way of secondary roads and a water-splash. Guided by Dorothy, who sat beside him, Roger drove carefully, as became one who did not know the road and who had (as Bob insisted) an invalid on the back seat, past fields and beside a golf course, and then on a right-of-way through a large and handsome park.
The road turned sharply then towards the east, and gave a view of the race-course. About two miles further on, it crossed the water-splash and then began to mount, although not steeply.
At the top of the rise the secondary road dropped southward, to merge with the main road somewhere nearer the coast, but the eastward course was continued by a lane just wide enough to take the car. This lane was part of an old Roman road, and some distance along it they saw the old mill and met the boy George.
The mill, with its enormous, slatted sails, stood up behind a small, dilapidated farmhouse. Roger had to pull up on rough grass by a crazy fence to let a farm-cart go by, and it was whilst they were waiting here that they saw George swinging on a gate. The gate gave on to a field on the slope of a hill. It was a ploughed field, dark with its level furrows and crowned at the top by a wood. The lane led onwards through the gate on which George was swinging, climbed the hill, and was lost among the trees.
The farm-cart turned into the farmyard, Roger let in his clutch, and the car crawled forward. George slid down from the gate and politely held it open. Roger stopped the car in the gateway, leaned out and said:
‘Hullo!’
‘Oh, good morning,’ said George, who, in shorts and a sweater, looked even more handsome than in polo-collar and riding breeches or in his evening clothes. ‘I say, I don’t think you’ll get much farther along this track. It ends in the wood up there, and then you’re stuck.’
‘Yes, I thought that myself,’ said Roger, ‘but there doesn’t seem room to turn here.’
‘Back into the farmyard. I’ll open the gate,’ said the boy. ‘The farmer’s gone to market, but his wife won’t mind a bit, so long as you give her a shilling. She collects quite a lot of money in the summer. She buys her boy’s boots out of motorists. She told me so just now. She saw you coming, so she’s ready for you.’
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