By this time Charles had finished his porridge and was standing at the sideboard helping himself to kidneys and bacon. He turned and said quietly, “Freddie, you are not going to Edinburgh with Shane Vidal.”
“Yes, I am!” she cried breathlessly. “I’m going . . . Shane is fetching me . . . you can’t prevent me!”
“I shall prevent you.”
“How?”
“By force, if necessary.”
“You can’t! People don’t do . . . things like that . . . nowadays!”
“Perhaps not, but I’m an old-fashioned kind of man.”
“You wouldn’t dare! I shall go! Why shouldn’t I?”
“There are several reasons why you shouldn’t go. If you calm down I’ll tell you what they are.”
“I’m perfectly calm,” declared Freddie furiously.
“Good,” said Charles. “Please listen and don’t interrupt. First of all you are living in Aunt Sarah’s house so you must do as she tells you. If you don’t like it I shall take you home tomorrow.”
“Take me home?”
“Yes, to Brailsford. You can do as you like there—unless your father objects. Do you understand, Freddie?”
“Yes, but——”
“Good,” said Charles. “The second reason is you’re a very silly little girl and not fit to——”
“I’m not silly!” interrupted Freddie. “I’m not silly and I’m not a ‘little girl.’ I’m fifteen.”
“You may be fifteen but you don’t know how to behave. Yesterday afternoon you behaved in a very silly way; I was ashamed of you.”
“Ashamed?”
“Yes, thoroughly disgusted with your behaviour.”
“I don’t . . . understand . . .” quavered Freddie.
“It was your birthday party, wasn’t it? You were the hostess. You had invited your friends to come . . . but, instead of looking after your guests and helping to entertain them, you went off and left them. You behaved abominably. You didn’t even come back to say good-bye. Was that the way to behave?”
“Shane was tired; he had come——” began Freddie in trembling tones.
“You were both extremely rude,” interrupted Charles. “Shane broke up the party; he did it deliberately. You forgot your duties as a hostess and neglected your guests. Obviously Shane has a very bad influence over you and the less you see of him the better. He is not to come to this house and you are not to go out with him. Is that clear?”
“But, Uncle Charles——”
“That’s enough!” said Charles sternly. He sat down and went on with his breakfast.
It was more than enough. She fled from the room, sobbing. I heard her running upstairs.
“Oh, Charles!” I exclaimed, rising from the table.
“Sit down, darling! Leave her alone.”
“She’s only a child!”
“Freddie is a dear child, but she has never had any proper discipline. We couldn’t let her go, could we?”
“No, of course not! I was thankful when you took a firm line.”
“Was I too hard on her, Sarah?”
“No,” I said. “No, you had to be firm; you had to teach her a lesson. But, Charles, we must remember her background and make allowances for her. When we were young we were taught to look after people, weren’t we?”
“Of course we were!” agreed Charles. “You learnt the social graces from your parents by precept and example—so did we. Poor Freddie has had a very different upbringing. But she’s quite sensible. I’ve made her think—she’s thinking about it now—and she will realise that every word I said is true. I shall be surprised if we have any more trouble with Freddie.”
*
We went on with our breakfast. I wasn’t very hungry, I was thinking of the child, sobbing on her bed, but Charles was right: it was better to leave her alone to think about it.
Presently we heard a car coming up the drive.
“Perhaps it’s Shane,” said Charles, rising. “I hope it’s Shane! I’m in the right mood for Shane. Do you want to see the fun?”
I had no wish to see—or hear—“the fun,” so I stayed where I was, drinking coffee and nibbling toast.
In less than ten minutes the car drove away and Charles returned to the dining-room.
“That’s done,” he said, smiling cheerfully. “It was a pleasure to tell Shane Vidal exactly what I thought of him. I feel a lot better now and able to eat some more breakfast.”
We lingered over the meal, hoping that Freddie would come back. At last, when we had given up hope of her return, and Charles had decided to go upstairs and fetch her, the door opened and there she was!
Her eyes were reddened but she stood erect, with a straight back, very quiet and composed. “I’m sorry,” she said bravely. “I was horrid. I see that now. You let me ask anyone I liked to my birthday picnic and Aunt Sarah had all the bother of—of everything. It was a lovely picnic and—and I spoilt it.”
“You didn’t think,” said Charles.
“No, I didn’t think.”
“It was Shane’s fault,” I suggested.
“No,” said Freddie, shaking her head sadly. “No, it wasn’t. Shane didn’t know I was the hostess. It was my fault.”
“You have a nobler nature than Adam,” murmured Charles, hiding an involuntary smile.
“Adam?” asked Freddie in surprise. “Adam who?”
*
The remainder of Freddie’s stay at Craignethan was peaceful and enjoyable, we saw no more of Shane. At first there was a slight chill in the relations between Freddie and Beric but a day in Edinburgh restored their friendship to its previous warmth. We took them to the Tattoo at Edinburgh Castle and to various other Festival entertainments; we had the lawn mowed and rolled and nets put up for tennis. Sometimes the two played singles, sometimes we invited other young people and had tennis-parties and sometimes Beric and Freddie went to tennis-parties at Dunnian or at Blacklock House. Tennis became the rage.
Grandmama enjoyed watching the young people playing. We got a summer-house for her and on fine days she sat there, wrapped in shawls, and chatted to the players who were sitting out.
Freddie adored grandmama and was always ready to help her by running to fetch an extra shawl or finding her spectacles or bringing her a book. Quite often in the evening she went up to the little sitting-room for a chat and grandmama taught her to play backgammon. It was good for both of them; especially good for Freddie, who had never learnt to take care of anyone and had never had any home life.
Towards the end of the holidays Lottie rang up and spoke to me; we had a very friendly conversation. Lottie and Clive had thoroughly enjoyed their visit to Wales: it had been a delightfully gay house-party; Enterton was a lovely place; Sir Eustace and Lady Gallimore were charming.
“So kind of you to have Frederica,” said Lottie. “I hope she hasn’t been a bother. Do you think you could possibly take her back to St Elizabeth’s on Thursday? I’m terribly busy just now.”
“Yes, Lottie, we can do that quite easily,” I said . . . and I added, “It has been a great pleasure having the child.”
Needless to say the house seemed very quiet when we had taken Freddie back to school.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Ryddelton Herald was a small paper with a very limited circulation; it was published once a week, and its most interesting news consisted of births, marriages and deaths, Women’s Rural Institute meetings and sports, with an occasional article about the activities of the Girl Guides or the local Archæological Society. Grandmama loved the Herald—she wouldn’t have missed an issue of it for anything—and one morning when I went in to see her she was sitting up in bed reading it with even more interest than usual.
“Look, dear!” she exclaimed. “Here’s something exciting! It’s about that funny old admiral who built the little ship on Dunlaggan Hill. They call it a boat-house, but it isn’t a boat-house, of course. You went to tea with him, didn’t you? I remember your telling me abo
ut it.”
“What has happened to him?” I asked apprehensively.
“There—on the front page,” she replied, handing me the paper.
ROBBERY AT DISTINGUISHED ADMIRAL’S BOAT-HOUSE
On Sunday evening Sergeant Duncan, accompanied by P.C. Lean, had occasion to go up the steep road over Dunlaggan Hill and discovered a large car parked in a quarry by the roadside. The discovery of a car in such an isolated spot aroused their suspicions and, hiding themselves amongst some rocks, they awaited the return of the owner. In less than an hour two men came down the hill with a small green suitcase and, after looking about somewhat furtively, they put the suitcase in the boot and, getting into the car, prepared to drive away, whereupon the police officers emerged from their hiding-place and Sergeant Duncan accosted the men, asking what they were doing and where they had been. The younger man replied that they were making for Timperton and had lost their way and, letting in the clutch, drove off, knocking down P.C. Lean, who had his foot on the step. A chase ensued, the police car keeping behind and blowing the horn as a warning to stop, but the runaways increased their pace and (the road being steep and narrow and extremely rough) they missed the turning, mounted a bank and were stuck fast in the mud—whereupon the younger man leapt out and made off over the hills. Sergeant Duncan arrested the older man, who seemed to be suffering from shock, and transferred his prisoner to the police car. The suitcase, which was remarkably heavy, was also transferred. The police car then returned to Ryddelton Police Station. On opening the suitcase it was found to contain a collection of gold, silver and bronze coins, the property of Admiral Sir Rupert Nash, V.C., K.C.B., the owner of a boat-house in the vicinity. A search was made for the younger of the two thieves but it was unsuccessful. Sir Rupert had been asleep when the robbery took place and was unaware that anything untoward had occurred until the following morning when Sergeant Duncan and P.C. Lean returned the stolen property and took his statement. Sir Rupert thanked the two officers and congratulated them warmly on their initiative and resource.
Later, it was learned at the Police Station that, after an interview with the prisoner, Sir Rupert refused to make a charge and the man was released.
*
I read the account carefully: there were several things about it which I found perplexing.
“Did you know he collected coins?” asked grandmama.
“Yes, Charles and I both knew, but it was better to say nothing about it; he shouldn’t have kept a valuable collection in such an isolated place. May I show the paper to Charles?”
“Yes, of course! I’ve finished with it.”
Charles was puzzled too. “It’s most extraordinary,” he declared. “I should have thought Sir Rupert was the last man on earth to forgive ‘the pirate’ and let him go free. I should like to know more about it.”
“I should like to know how they got into the Brig without Sir Rupert hearing them. And how they knew where the suitcase was hidden?”
“Yes,” agreed Charles. “The whole affair is mysterious. I think I’ll call at the Police Station and have a chat with Duncan. I’ve got to renew my gun licence; that will be a good excuse.”
I felt doubtful as to whether Sergeant Duncan would give Charles the information he wanted. However, in about an hour, Charles returned from the town and came into the study where I was writing letters.
“Well, what about it?” I asked with interest.
“Duncan was so angry that he forgot to be discreet. My sympathy unlocked his tongue—but all the same you had better not let the information go any further. The account in the Ryddelton Herald is true, up to a point: the burglary took place on Sunday evening and, early on Monday morning, Duncan and Lean went up to the Brig together. The Admiral was having breakfast when they arrived and was astounded when they showed him the suitcase and told him what had happened. He had slept peacefully all night and hadn’t heard a sound! Duncan said, ‘He used a lot of very strong language and declared that the pirates must be strung up to the yard-arm and flogged to within an inch of their lives.’ You can imagine the scene, can’t you?” added Charles with a little smile.
“But how did they break in without making any noise?” To my mind this seemed the strangest part of the affair.
“They didn’t ‘break in.’ There was no indication of how the thieves got into the Brig; nothing had been disturbed. It looked like ‘an inside job’ but it couldn’t have been; there was nobody in the place except the Admiral, himself. Duncan is thoroughly bamboozled.”
“It’s like one of those detective stories in which somebody gets murdered and nobody could possibly have done it!”
“Yes, that’s what Duncan said. He reads Agatha Christie and Ngaio Marsh with avidity.”
“He couldn’t do better!”
“They’re certainly very ingenious ladies, but they haven’t helped Duncan to find a solution to ‘The Robbery at the Brig’.”
“Couldn’t Sir Rupert suggest anything?”
“He was too angry to be helpful. He was still breathing fire when they took him to the Police Station to see if he could identify the prisoner. Then, after the interview, he changed his tune completely and refused to prosecute so they couldn’t do anything except let the man go.”
“How astonishing!”
“Yes, amazing! He told Duncan that he had never seen the man before and hoped he would never see him again; then he walked out of the Police Station and went home.”
“Do they know the man’s name?”
“Yes, he gave his name as Charles Vincent; his initials were on his cigarette-case. Duncan told me that he looked like a foreigner but spoke perfectly good English. Duncan is furious: he feels he has been made to look a fool. He said the man was a bad hat—if ever there was one!—and ‘deserved a good long stretch’.”
“Charles!” I exclaimed in horrified tones. “Charles, I know who he is!”
“You know who he is? How can you possibly——”
“Yes,” I said breathlessly. “Yes, of course! He’s a bad hat. Goodness, how awful! Oh, poor Sir Rupert! How dreadful for him! Of course he had to let the man go. He couldn’t have done anything else.”
Charles seated himself on the edge of the writing-table and said, “Sarah, will you please stop talking in riddles?”
“Yes, I’ll tell you . . . but you must promise faithfully never to breathe a word of it to a living creature.”
“Is the secret all that dangerous?”
“It’s dynamite,” I said. “And you needn’t smile; it really is dynamite.”
“Very well, I promise.”
“The Admiral’s sister married a Spaniard, Cèsar Vidal. He treated her so abominably that she was obliged to divorce him, after which he disappeared into the blue.”
“But that doesn’t mean——”
“I think it does, Charles. The pieces fit together too well for it to be a coincidence. Sir Rupert told me that Mary still had a soft spot for the man, in spite of the way he had treated her, so of course poor Sir Rupert couldn’t possibly charge the man and have him put in prison.”
“Do you mean Sir Rupert told you all that, himself?”
“All that—and more.”
“When?”
“Sir Rupert invited me to tea—and I went.”
“You went by yourself?” asked Charles incredulously.
“Yes. You were writing your Rainbow and didn’t care where I went or what happened to me.”
“You took the Humber up that ghastly road?”
“Yes,” I said cheerfully. “It was a beautiful day, the heather was at its best and I enjoyed myself immensely. If you ever write another Rainbow I shall go again . . . quite often.”
“Oh, you will, will you?” said Charles, chuckling. “Well, please tell me all about it: how many times did you slither into a ditch?”
When I had told Charles the whole story we discussed the matter seriously. My theory was that while Shane was staying at the Brig he had discovered the �
��hidey-hole” and, later, he had come back with his father, got in through the hatch in the upper deck and stolen the coins. More likely than not, Shane was “the younger man” who had escaped over the hills.
“But that’s guess-work,” objected Charles. “Just because you dislike Shane—and I agree that he’s a nasty piece of work—you decide he’s the worst kind of traitor.”
“Well, think of some other theory that fits,” I retorted. “Who but Shane could have found the secret cache under the floorboards? Who but Shane could have got into the Brig without being heard? We can’t do anything about it, because we have no proof, but if it wasn’t Shane who was it?”
“Yes,” said Charles thoughtfully. “Nobody else had the same opportunities. Perhaps I ought to go and see Sir Rupert.”
“You can’t say anything!” I exclaimed in alarm.
“No, but I can listen. I’ve noticed that our friend, Mr Noah, likes to do most of the talking.”
“Oh don’t!” I cried. “Don’t go, Charles! If he knows about Shane he’ll be broken-hearted and, if he doesn’t know, you can’t tell him. Besides, it isn’t our business.”
“It is our business, Sarah. At least it’s my business. I’m one of Freddie’s trustees; had you forgotten that? Clive told me I needn’t bother about her financial affairs—Mr Crossman and Mr Hope are looking after all that—but I took on the job and I feel I ought to do something. Here’s something I can do.”
“But, Charles, I don’t understand . . .”
“We choked off Shane Vidal when Freddie was here, but he may try to get in touch with her again.”
“Why should he?”
“Because she’s a rich catch for a fortune-hunter,” replied Charles grimly. He hesitated and then continued, “My impression is that Shane was making a dead set at Freddie; perhaps he was really attracted by the child or perhaps he’s aware of her circumstances. She’s growing up now, and there’s nobody to keep an eye on her. During the holidays she’s often at Brailsford, alone with the servants, for days on end. It was bad enough when she was a small child; it’s much more dangerous now. Mrs White is a decent soul—and very fond of Freddie—but what could Mrs White do if Shane arrived in his car and invited Freddie to go out with him for the day?”
Sarah's Cottage (Sarah Morris Book 2) Page 28