Sarah's Cottage (Sarah Morris Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  “It’s good of you,” replied Sir Rupert. “I can’t stay long, but a few days with you and your wife will be very pleasant indeed. I have to be in Edinburgh on Friday to meet an old shipmate at my club.”

  “Yes, so you said. Well, we’d better be off.”

  We got into the car and made our way slowly down the drive, which was more like a dry watercourse than a road.

  All this time I had said nothing: I was speechless with bewilderment. Sir Rupert was mad, of course, but Charles seemed to be mad, too! Charles knew, as well as I did, that the spare room was completely unfurnished; there wasn’t even a carpet on the floor! I was so muddled that I didn’t know whether “the distinguished Admiral” was to be our guest—or not. First he had refused the invitation—to my relief—and then he had accepted it and brought his suitcase which, apparently, had been packed beforehand. I wondered vaguely if I could borrow a bed and bedding from Craignethan.

  The silence persisted until we reached a cluster of boulders beside the track; then a voice from the back of the car said, “This is the best place for me to disembark.”

  Charles stopped for a moment. The car door was opened and shut quietly . . . and our passenger was gone.

  “Charles!” I exclaimed. “Charles, for goodness’ sake——”

  “Wait, Sarah! This road is taking all my attention. I’ve never seen such a frightful road in all my life——”

  “But he’s left his suitcase in the car!”

  “I know.”

  “What does it all mean?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Heavens, look at this pot-hole! It’s big enough to bury a donkey!”

  “But I want to know——”

  “Later,” said Charles. “I’ll tell you everything when we get home. If I break a spring here we’ll be properly in the soup.”

  I sat back and was silent. There was complete silence except for an occasional muttered curse from the driver when his precious car slithered sideways into a hole or bumped over an enormous stone. At last we reached the top of a steep hill and crawled down it into Ryddelton.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Our evening had been tiring but it was impossible to go to bed until I had heard Charles’s story, so when we got home I made a large jug of drinking chocolate; I revived the fire in the sitting-room and then sat down to wait.

  Charles had put the car away and had gone upstairs; it was some time before he came down.

  “Ah, chocolate!” he said cheerfully. “That’s nice. Sorry I was so long but I couldn’t make up my mind where to put it. Finally I decided to put it in the attic on the top of the cistern.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked in bewilderment.

  “The Admiral’s suitcase.”

  “Charles!” I exclaimed. “You said you would tell me everything when we got home . . . and now, instead of telling me, you’re talking nonsense. Are you being tantalising on purpose?”

  “No, of course not! I’m sorry, Sarah! You’ve been very patient. I’m just a bit worried, that’s all. You see, it isn’t an ordinary suitcase. It’s full of coins.”

  “Coins?”

  “Yes, it weighs a ton,” declared Charles with pardonable exaggeration. “He’s a numismatist. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, I see! At least, I’m beginning to have a glimmering. Why did he give it to you?”

  “Because some people broke into the Brig last night. They weren’t ordinary burglars, they were looking for the coins. They hunted high and low but the suitcase was stowed away safely in a very ingenious hidey-hole under the floorboards in the galley so they didn’t find it. He thinks they’ll come back tonight.”

  “Charles, it’s incredible! Perhaps he imagined the whole thing. There was something queer about him, wasn’t there?”

  “He didn’t imagine it. He showed me where the thieves had broken in. They had cut a pane of glass and opened one of the portholes in his bedroom and had ransacked the place. It was in a most awful mess—that was why he wouldn’t let you see it. He tried to make me promise not to tell you about it in case you were frightened. His idea is that ladies should be protected from anything unpleasant. It’s an old-fashioned idea but very engaging. I explained that you and I told each other everything—which surprised him considerably.”

  “Well, go on and tell me,” I said. “Why didn’t he hear the thieves? They must have made a frightful noise. Where was Mr Noah when it happened?”

  “Oh, you thought of Noah, too?” said Charles, smiling. “Mr Noah was out when it happened; he had gone to dinner at Dunnian House. The two Admirals got yarning about ‘battles long ago’ and forgot the time. It was after two o’clock when Mr Noah walked home over the hill in the moonlight. He heard an owl hooting—he thinks it was a signal of alarm. Anyhow, when he got back to his ark, his visitors had fled in a hurry and everything was topsy-turvy.”

  “The stateroom was as neat as a new pin.”

  “The stateroom was worst of all. They had broken open a locked drawer in his desk; the books had been taken out of the bookcase and thrown on the floor . . . they had even torn out the window-seats! He tidied it up this morning with his own hands. I must say he’s a very domesticated little man, neat-handed and tidy in his habits.”

  “Tell me about the coins. I suppose they’re very valuable?”

  “According to Sir Rupert some of his coins are unique. He has been collecting coins all his life, picking them up in out of the way places—mostly in South America. He got a few in Greece and a silver one with a square hole in it when he was in China. I’m not versed in numismatology so I have no idea how valuable they are.”

  “Didn’t you listen to his lecture?”

  “No, it was rather dull. I just wanted to see the little man; he was a famous character in his day ‘as small as a mouse and as bold as a lion’! He got the V.C., you know.”

  “The collection ought to be in the bank.”

  “It was in a bank in Edinburgh,” explained Charles. “Then, about a fortnight ago, he decided to bring the collection home, so he made his hidey-hole and fetched it. He enjoys his coins; he likes to take them out and look at them—and handle them. He wanted to show them to me but I wouldn’t let him unpack them. If he had once started we should have been there all night!”

  “The thieves must have known that he had taken them out of the bank, mustn’t they? Does he know who they are?”

  “I asked him that,” said Charles, nodding. “He hasn’t an idea who they can be—he’s completely baffled. He had told nobody that he was bringing his collection home; he was very careful to let nobody into his secret. He thought his secret was safe . . . until last night. Now, of course, he realises that the cat is out of the bag. Somehow or other the thieves must have discovered that the collection was in the Brig and made their plans to steal it. He thinks the thieves were interrupted in their search but that they’re still in the vicinity watching for another chance.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said thoughtfully. “That was why he pretended he was coming home with us.”

  “Yes, that was the idea. He wanted them to think the place was empty.”

  “He’s there alone!”

  “I know,” agreed Charles, frowning. “I don’t like it at all—but what could I have done? You’re my first responsibility, Sarah. I did my best to persuade him to come home with us—you saw that, didn’t you?—but he was absolutely determined to be on the spot ‘to give them a warm welcome’!”

  “What would you have done with him if he had accepted your invitation?”

  “Tucked him up on the sofa in the sitting-room,” replied Charles without hesitation. “He would have been quite comfortable—and perfectly safe—but he wouldn’t come and he made me promise not to tell the police. He said he would ‘deal with the—hum—pirates’ in his own way. I helped him to arrange a sort of booby-trap, a pile of pails under the broken porthole in his bedroom, and he has got that nasty-looking R.N. revolver, which he fully intends to
use.”

  “What if he shoots them?”

  “Yes, that’s rather a problem,” Charles agreed. “He would be in serious trouble if he killed anyone. I pointed that out and advised him to shoot at their legs—if he shoots at all—but I doubt if he will remember in the heat of the moment. If our ruse was successful and they imagine the place is empty they’re in for a big surprise,” added Charles, with grim relish.

  I realised suddenly that Charles would have liked nothing better than to have stayed the night with Sir Rupert. In fact, but for his responsibilities as a husband, Charles would have been au plus fort de la mêlée . . . and this was the Man of Peace, the man who abhorred violence, who had said that Ryddelton couldn’t be too dull for him! I found it difficult to understand. Then I remembered that, long ago, grandmama had said there would be no wars if women ruled the world.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Charles.

  “I was remembering something that Grandmama said, she knows a lot more about men than I do.”

  *

  We locked up the cottage more carefully than usual and went to bed but in spite of our precautions my sleep was so light that the slightest sound disturbed me. An owl hooting in the distance startled me broad awake. Later I wakened again and found Charles getting out of bed.

  “I thought I heard something,” he explained. “I’ll just go and see.”

  “Nobody knows the coins are here.”

  “Of course not! All the same I think I’ll have a look round.”

  He was away for some time and returned with the suitcase in his hand. “It wasn’t anything,” he said. “I looked everywhere and made sure that all the windows were securely fastened. I’ll put this under the bed; it will be safer than in the attic.”

  I didn’t sleep any better with the green-fibre suitcase under the bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about it . . . and the more I thought about it the more uneasy I became. Some of the coins were “unique” which probably meant that they were worth thousands of pounds! The pea under the mattress of the princess in the fairy tale couldn’t have been more disturbing than the small green suitcase under our bed . . .

  Then suddenly the Admiral’s collection turned into golden guineas, which were piled up in a heap on our bedroom floor, and beside them crouched Captain Kidd in pirate’s garb with golden ear-rings in his ears. He was gloating over his fabulous treasure, picking up handfuls of the glittering coins and letting them trickle between his fingers . . . a parrot exclaimed, “Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!” and I awoke to find the alarm clock ringing and Charles, fully dressed, standing and looking at me.

  “Where has he gone?” I exclaimed.

  “You were dreaming, darling,” replied Charles. “It couldn’t have been a very nice dream; you were moaning in your sleep.”

  “It was a horrid dream,” I said with a shudder.

  “Forget about it,” suggested Charles. He added, “I’m taking the suitcase to the British Linen Bank; it’s too big a responsibility.”

  “What? Now? But the bank won’t be open yet!”

  “I rang up Mr Cruikshank. He was very decent about it. If I’m there at half past eight he’ll meet me at the door and put the suitcase in his safe.”

  “Wait, Charles! I’ll come with you.”

  “No, I don’t want you to come. I’m going now.” As he stopped to kiss me he added, “Don’t worry if I’m not back in time for breakfast.” Then he turned and went quickly; I heard him running down the stairs.

  I wasn’t dressed so I couldn’t follow him, but I leapt out of bed, rushed to the window and threw it open. “Charles!” I shouted. “Charles, don’t go to Mr Noah’s! Don’t go without me!”

  It was useless, of course! He would go to the bank first and then straight on to the Brig. I might have known! What a fool I had been not to think of it! If I had had any sense at all I would have realised that it was exactly what he would do.

  I dressed and went downstairs and made some coffee; I didn’t want anything to eat. I was frightened. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I could have done something about it, but there was nothing I could do. I went upstairs and sat on the bed for a few minutes. What was Charles doing now? How long would it take him to get there?

  What would he find when he got there? I got up and walked about; I was still walking about from room to room like a maniac when Minnie arrived.

  It was a relief to see Minnie; it was extraordinarily comforting. Priceless coins, pirates, mantraps and wicked black revolvers seemed absurd when I looked at Minnie. There she stood in the kitchen, taking down her blue apron which hung on a peg behind the door, tying it firmly round her waist and seriously discussing whether we should have mince or Lancashire hot-pot for our midday meal.

  “And there’s some tripe,” added Minnie, putting a sloppy-looking parcel on the kitchen table. “I saw it yesterday afternoon when I was in the shop. It looked nice and fresh so I got some for ourselves and a pound and a half for you. I know Mr Reede likes it.”

  “Yes, we both like it,” I said. I was feeling better already.

  “It’ll make a nice change.”

  “Yes, it will.”

  “I’ll give it a good boiling today and finish it off tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, that’s the best way.”

  “This is the day for turning out the sitting-room, Miss Sarah.”

  “I’ll help you, Minnie.”

  “Well, if you’ve nothing better to do . . .” said Minnie, smiling.

  Minnie liked me to help her, not because she couldn’t do the job perfectly well herself but because she enjoyed chatting while she worked . . . and there was a lot to tell me this morning. She chatted about the interesting things that were happening in Ryddelton but chiefly about “Geordie Brown” the garage proprietor, who was supposed to be a confirmed bachelor, but recently had begun to make advances to Maggie.

  “To Maggie!” I exclaimed.

  “Yes, Miss Sarah,” said Minnie, giggling. “It was as good as a play. He came last night with a wee posy of flowers and asked her to go to the pictures.”

  “Did she go?”

  “Not her! She said she was too busy. Och, she’d never look at him! We’ve known Geordie all our lives.” Minnie rose from her knees and added seriously, “But mind you, Miss Sarah, Geordie’s a warm man.”

  “Yes, I expect he is,” I agreed. I was aware that the warmth of Mr Brown was concerned not with the temperature of his body but with the condition of his bank account (and, as Brown’s garage was the best garage in Ryddelton, no doubt his bank account was pleasantly warm) but all the same I didn’t feel very happy about it. What would happen to Minnie if Mr Brown should be successful in his wooing? Minnie was much too sociable and fond of chat to live alone and I couldn’t envisage her living happily with any of her married relations. Obviously this idea hadn’t occurred to Minnie, she was humming cheerfully as she polished the brass coal-box.

  I was still thinking about Minnie and Maggie and Mr Brown when I heard the car. Dropping my duster I rushed out to the garage.

  “What happened?” I asked breathlessly.

  “He made me stay to breakfast. He cooked it himself—kidneys and bacon—it was a very good meal, but he can’t make coffee. He boils it, Sarah. I told him——”

  “What happened in the night?”

  “Nothing very much. You weren’t worrying, were you?”

  “I’ve been nearly crazy—imagining all sorts of horrors!”

  “There were no horrors,” said Charles. “No horrors—except the road which was even more excruciating, seen in the light of day.”

  “What happened in the night?” I repeated. “Please tell me the whole story. What did he do after we left him in the road?”

  “It’s really a sort of little quarry,” explained Charles. “He hid there for a while and then went back to his Brig and crept in very quietly by the back door. He didn’t put on a light but lay down fully dressed on that wide window-se
at in the stateroom; he meant to listen for the arrival of ‘the pirates’, but he had had a pretty hectic day so he fell asleep. Shortly after midnight he was awakened by a clatter—somebody or something had fallen into his booby-trap—so he took his gun and went to look. The pails had been upset but there was no sign of anybody. However, just to make certain, he let off a couple of rounds through the porthole.”

  “Goodness! Did he hit anyone?”

  “No, I don’t think so. At any rate there were no bodies lying about when I arrived on the scene,” replied Charles, smiling cheerfully.

  “What happened after that?”

  “After that he returned to his couch and, wrapping himself in a blanket, slept soundly until eight o’clock this morning.”

  “How could he sleep!” I exclaimed in amazement.

  “He’s a courageous little man,” agreed Charles. “All the same he was glad to see me. He thinks our strategy was successful: the thieves saw him go out with us and, believing the place to be empty, went back to have another look. He thinks he’s scared them off for good—he’s very cock-a-hoop about it.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  “I’m not sure—really. I intend to have a word with Sergeant Duncan. There’s no need to mention coins, of course. I shall just say the place has been broken into and we’re a bit worried about the old man. Sergeant Duncan is very sensible.”

  “It has been broken into twice,” I said.

  “Perhaps—or perhaps not. Last night’s visitor may have been a prowling cat.” Charles added thoughtfully, “I don’t see how a man could have extricated himself from the booby-trap and crawled out of the porthole before Sir Rupert burst in at the door with the gun in his hand.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After our visit to the Brig I often thought about Sir Rupert and wondered how he was getting on. I suggested to Charles that we ought to go and see him but Charles was unwilling to take the car up Dunlaggan Hill . . . and there was no other way of finding out what had happened to him. Ryddelton is a small town (when one was shopping one met all one’s neighbours) but although I kept a sharp look-out I never saw Sir Rupert . . . and very few people seemed to know him. He had lived in the district for years, but, as he was not on the telephone and the road to his dwelling-place was little better than a cart-track, he was as “isolated” as if he really lived upon an island.