Читать книгу The Girls of the Hamlet Club - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 6

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The afternoon, spent all alone, might have been dull, but Cicely was still so new to the woods and lanes that she found them fascinating. Moreover, she had an adventure, and made some new friends.

She passed the Cross and climbed the steep track through the wood, by which her father had driven her to Hampden. When the track reached the hill-top it joined a broad white road with a wide outlook over the Risborough valley and the wooded hills beyond. The air was strong and sweet, for the road was eight hundred feet above sea-level, and the open road and the vale beyond caught all the sunlight and seemed dazzlingly bright after the shadows of the wood. On each side were hedges laden with huge blackberries, and Cicely found her progress slow.

She was reaching up for what she had firmly resolved should be her last berry, when she heard voices. Through a gap in the hedge she saw an empty cottage, with a much-overgrown garden in front. In the garden was the usual well, with wooden bar above, but no rope or bucket. Kneeling perilously near the edge, and peering into the depths, were two small children. Their position seemed so very unsafe, and their distress was so evident, that Cicely struggled through the gap and hurried toward them. Something had obviously fallen down the well—a doll, perhaps—and it seemed probable that one of the children would follow in its efforts to reach the treasure.

It was the girl’s voice she had heard, and she gave another wail as Cicely approached.

‘Mirry’s book! Ve newest book she’s got! Oh, can’t you reach it, Bobs?’

‘I’m nearly sure I can’t.’ The small boy’s tone and words were very precise. ‘I’m nearly sure it’s just too far away. Babs, what shall we do? It will be most—most awkward to have to tell Mirry you threw her book down the well.’

‘Didn’t frow it, ven. I never! It dist slipped of itself.’

‘But you shouldn’t have brought it, in the first place,’ said Bobs reprovingly. ‘I told you to take it back, and you wouldn’t.’

Babs very naturally lost her temper at this, and kicked her brother. Then she burst into a wail. ‘Try to reach it, Bobs! You’s bigger’n me.’

‘Let me try,’ Cicely suggested, catching the small boy by the coat as he made another frantic effort to reach the book.

The children sprang up eagerly.

‘We’ll be so much obliged if you can get it for us,’ Bobs said anxiously. ‘It’s really very serious, for it isn’t our book at all.’

‘Oh, do—do reach it for us!’ begged Babs, hopping about in her eagerness. ‘It dist slipped down out of my arms, ve silly ole fing, an’ vere it’s gone an’ stuck dist where we can’t get at it.’

Cicely laughed, and looked down the well. She laughed again as she saw the cause of the trouble—a new geometry book, whose red cover she recognised. ‘I know that horrid old book. You know, I think its best place is at the bottom of a well. I don’t use it myself yet, but I’ve heard the big girls say it’s a hateful book, and stupid too. Don’t you think we should just leave it there?’

‘But Miriam will want it to-night. She’ll be in a dreadful way if we tell her it’s at the bottom of the well,’ the boy explained in his precise way.

‘Do, pwease, fetch it up for us! Oh, can’t you reach it? Pwease, do twy!’ begged Babs, in such distress that she could not be still a moment; and Cicely had not the heart to tease her more. She lay down at full length, and just managed to reach the book, which had been caught by a tuft of gorse growing in the side of the well.

‘Here, you funny little things! It’s not hurt, not even scratched. Now do be still, if you can, and tell me what you’re doing with somebody else’s geometry book. It’s not much good to you.—Can’t you stop her, Bobs? Is she wound up to go on for ever?’

Babs was dancing in frantic delight, hugging the book to her chest and singing for joy. ‘Sank you! Sank you, oh, so much! Dear, good, kind girl, we do love you, oh, so much!’ It was an improvised anthem to a tune of her own.

‘Sank you! Sank you, oh, so much!’

Bobs was radiant also, but much quieter. ‘We’re very much obliged to you. It was really very awkward for us,’ he said earnestly. ‘Miriam could hardly have helped being cross, could she? It’s quite a new book, you see.’

Cicely laughed. ‘Is Miriam your sister?’

Bobs nodded.

Babs, still dancing wildly, continued her chant. ‘Yesh—yesh—yesh! Our onliest big shishter; that’s it! Oh, she would have been cross—so cross! Ve newest book she had! Dear, good, kind girl, we do love you—oh, so much, so much!’

‘Can’t you stop her, Bobs?’ cried Cicely, putting her hands over her ears. ‘I’m deaf already, and she’ll have me dizzy in a moment.’

Bobs caught his sister by the pinafore. ‘Stop it!’ he said briefly; and Babs collapsed on the grass, still hugging the book, and laughed at sight of Cicely covering her ears.

‘Stand up!’ commanded Babs’s brother; ‘and keep still;’ and introduced himself and her as Robert and Barbara Honor.

‘I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,’ Cicely said seriously, as he seemed to expect it.

Bobs beamed. ‘We’re pleased too, and thank you very much. It was most—most awkward about the book.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Greenailey; that’s it!’ said Babs promptly.

‘Babs!’ There was shocked remonstrance in the small boy’s tone. ‘Green Hailey! Over there!’ with a jerk up the road.

‘And what were you doing with the book?’

‘She likes to make-believe she’s Miriam,’ Bobs explained indulgently. ‘She puts a string round one of Mirry’s books, instead of a strap, and pretends she’s going to school. But she shouldn’t have taken a new book, and I told her so.’

Light broke upon Cicely suddenly. The children were fair-haired, and bore a distinct likeness to the pretty girl who went to school by train.

‘Does your sister go down to Risborough station every morning? And does she wear a green dress and cap? Does she sing as she goes along? Oh, I’m so glad!’ as Bobs nodded, round-eyed, and Babs broke into a stream of excited questions.

They were the same height, and Cicely would have taken them for twins if the boy’s manner had not been so very much older than the girl’s. But Bobs informed her that he was eight years old, and Babs was only seven, and obviously felt his extra year gave him an immense advantage in age. So his mature air and precise manner of speech were evidently natural to him, or else the result of reaction from Babs’s constant chatter of baby-talk.

Cicely talked with them for a time, and learned that they were in the habit of playing in the deserted cottage, and that Babs felt much more like ‘Mirry’ if she had something of hers to carry—hence the geometry book. Cicely left them at last, promising to see them again on her way home, and walked on along the road and into the woods by a path on the left, thinking over what they had told her.

Her pretty schoolgirl’s name was Miriam Honor. At first she did not care for it, but gradually came to the conclusion that she rather liked it. Where was Green Hailey? She had passed some cottages after leaving the children, but nothing which could be called a village. She resolved to find it on her way home, and wandered for a while in the beech-wood, tramping with delight through ankle-deep red leaves, and constantly losing her way. A thin cloud of blue smoke led her astray one time, and she climbed the slope to see whence it came, and found a queer little encampment, a hut built of hurdles and sacking, a wood-fire, an ancient steamer-chair, tools scattered about, and two shabby bicycles propped against the trees.

‘Gipsies, perhaps! But they couldn’t live in that tent, surely! I wonder where they are,’ she thought; but there was no one about, so she set to work to find her way out of the wood again.

It was more difficult than she had expected, and she searched anxiously for an outlet which would lead her to the road. For some time she could only find her way to fields or thickets, and to attempt to cross either might be disastrous, she knew. There was nobody to ask, and she began to grow nervous lest the early darkness should fall before she had found her way out. A night in a beech-wood would be no joke, and under the trees darkness would fall much sooner than out in the open.

Then she realised that she was getting frightened, and resolutely set herself to use her wits. She had passed a cart-track some time ago. It must go somewhere. Carts did not plough through woods for fun. If she could find it again, she would follow it—if she could. But she had noticed that these tracks had a way of getting lost in the thickly spread leaves. Still, it was a chance, and she could think of no other.

Where was the track? Surely she had seen it just before plunging up the slope to investigate the gipsy fire. Then it must be in the hollow; and she waded through the rustling leaves, sinking nearly to her knees, but going steadily downhill.

She could not see the sun, but the sky showed red through the densely packed stems. Was it sunset, or could she still count on an hour of daylight? How long had she been wandering in the wood? She had forgotten her watch, and had no guide to the time. At the moment she dreaded nothing so much as the coming of evening. In a wood like this it would be very dark.

With a cry of relief, she found the track and set off at a run, but keeping a sharp lookout for projecting roots. Among the leaves, running would have been as difficult as in soft sand or shallow water; but on the path, smooth and easy as a felt-covered passage, she could make good speed, and was relieved to find the track grow more distinct as she proceeded.

With a shriek, a pheasant flew up out of the hedge, followed in a moment by his mate. Cicely, who had jumped in quite unnecessary alarm, called them all the names she could think of, then forgot them in her relief at sight of the entrance to the wood and a quaint old cottage just outside.

Her mind at rest, for the road was still in sunshine, she remembered her quest of Green Hailey, the village in which Miriam Honor lived. She went to the cottage door, and politely asked her way. ‘Can you tell me the way to Green Hailey, please?’

The old woman who had answered her knock looked at her in stolid surprise. ‘This is Green Hailey,’ she said briefly.

‘Oh! But where is the village?’

‘This is the village;’ and the dame closed the door, with no time to spare for such an unreasonable person who did not know a village when she saw one.

Cicely, feeling rather crushed, walked out into the road to look at the ‘village.’ There were half-a-dozen cottages, scattered among the trees on the fringe of the wood, with gardens and orchards about them; but no church, school, or post-office, or even an inn.

‘Well!’ she murmured, as she walked on, ‘Whiteleaf’s small, but Green Hailey’s smaller. It hasn’t a single shop. Call that a village! “Hamlet” would be too big a word. “This is the village!” Well, I’m glad she told me. I’d never have recognised it. And my “maiden fair” lives here! Then it must be in a cottage. I wonder which.’

She scanned them all, but there was nothing to help her, and she had to go home unsatisfied. She did not meet the children again, and could not go to look for them, as the sun was setting now and it would soon be dusk. She was used to the lighted streets of town, and the darkness of these country roads would be something new and impossible till she grew accustomed to it. Mrs Ramage had warned her to be home before dark, and after the twilight of the wood Cicely realised the need for caution. The thought of Mrs Ramage recalled that of the unwelcome boarder, and she frowned as she passed the Cross and hurried on to the village.

‘I wonder if the horrid man has arrived. She said he’d come for tea. Oh, I wish he wasn’t coming! It takes away all the cosy feeling. It’s a blessing he’s only come for the week-end; but there’s all to-morrow, besides Sunday, and I know he’ll be in the way. I shall go out for long walks, that’s all. She said he never went out much. I expect he’s an ancient old fossil, no good for anything. Perhaps he’ll sleep all day. It would be the best thing he could do. Well, I shall walk to Hampden in the morning, and to Kimble in the afternoon.’

She was distinctly nervous as she entered the cottage, and peeped apprehensively in to see if the bugbear had arrived. ‘Oh!’ She drew a breath of relief. ‘That horrid man hasn’t come yet? Oh, I’m so glad! Let’s have tea before he comes, in peace and quiet—do!’ for Mrs Ramage sat by the fire knitting, and there was no gentleman to be seen.

Beside her, in a big chair, lay a handsome gray cat, purring drowsily, his tail tucked over his nose. Cicely ran forward eagerly. ‘What a lovely cat! You didn’t tell me you had one. Where was he? What’s his name? Won’t you speak to me, you beauty? Tom? Puss? Kitty?’

Mrs Ramage smiled in her quiet way. ‘His name’s Mose. He’s come, you see, Miss Cicely. I told you he’d be here to tea.’

‘What do you mean? I don’t understand;’ and Cicely looked up, her arms round the sleepy Mose. ‘Where was he this morning? And last night?’

‘At home, at Rose Cottage, down the lane. He’s come to stop till Tuesday;’ and Mrs Ramage laughed quietly.

‘Why, you don’t mean to say——? He isn’t the boarder? Oh, do say that’s what you mean!’ and Cicely stared and laughed.

‘That’s it. His mistress is away to visit her son in Aylesbury. Mose comes to board with me when she goes away. She can’t leave him alone.’

‘Oh!’ Cicely fell into a chair and laughed. ‘Oh, what a relief! What a fright you gave me! I thought it was some horrid, stodgy old man. Oh, you mean thing, to keep so quiet about it, when you saw how scared I was! You might have told me this morning.’

Mrs Ramage gave another quiet laugh, and went to make the tea. And Cicely sat down to hug Mose and tell him again how glad she was he was not a stodgy old man.

‘Did you really mean Mose when you said you took boarders?’ she asked at tea. ‘Or do you sometimes have people too?’

Mrs Ramage smiled. ‘There are others, like Mose, who come when their folks go away. There’s Mrs Puddiphat, round the corner. Her little white dog comes to stop for a week now and then; and the cat from Mrs Blake’s, near the inn; and some more that come at times. I don’t take any one else, Miss Cicely, so you don’t need to be alarmed.’

Cicely drew another deep sigh of relief. ‘It’s been worrying me all day, except when I thought I was lost in the wood. I do think you might have told me.’

There was a knock at the door, and Mrs Ramage went to answer it. She drew the sitting-room door close behind her; but the high, clear voice reached Cicely easily.

‘Oh, Mrs Ramage, is that girl from London left all alone at the inn? I saw her father go off this morning, and she looked so deserted. I was wondering if I couldn’t’——

‘She’s here, Miss Miriam. She’s stopping with me;’ and Mrs Ramage quietly cut her short.

‘Oh! Then’——

Cicely threw open the door. ‘How kind of you to care!’ she said frankly. ‘I really couldn’t help hearing, you know. Daddy had to go away for a few days, but he’ll be back on Tuesday. Thank you so much for asking.’

Miriam, swinging her strap of books, laughed. ‘I hope you won’t think me rude. It wasn’t just curiosity. I thought if you were all alone over there you’d feel so lonely, and perhaps I could help somehow. But of course you’re all right here. I couldn’t help noticing you at the station.’

Cicely remembered what she had seen. She would have liked to ask the meaning of the incident, but felt it impossible on so slight an acquaintance. Then she laughed. ‘I feel as though I knew you already. Won’t you come in and talk? We’re just having tea. Couldn’t you wait? I made friends with Robert and Barbara this afternoon. I think they belong to you.’

Miriam laughed also. ‘What! our Bobs and Babs? Where did you meet them?’

‘Outside an empty cottage, on the road to your village. What a tiny village it is—the smallest I’ve ever seen!’

‘Oh, Green Hailey’s only a hamlet. No, I mustn’t come in; thank you very much, all the same. But it’s dark already, and mother doesn’t like me to be late. I don’t mind it myself, and there’s no help for it at this time of year; but she gets nervous if I’m much past my time. The road is rather lonely just above the Cross, where it goes through the wood.’

‘I wouldn’t like to go quite alone in the dark,’ Cicely confessed.

‘Oh, I don’t mind. I never think about it. But mother worries, so I’ll have to run. Good-bye just now, but I hope we’ll meet again soon. I’m jolly glad you’re here, and not at the inn;’ and, with a nod, Miriam was off, swinging her books and singing:

‘Once I loved a maiden fair,

But she did deceive me.’

‘How nice of her!’ Cicely said warmly.