Читать книгу Five Have a Mystery to Solve - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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Next day the children prepared to go and see the cottage belonging to Mrs Layman. ‘You coming too, Mother?’ asked Julian. ‘We’d like your advice!’

‘Well no, dear,’ said his mother. ‘I’ve rather a lot to do—there’s a meeting on at the Village Hall, and I promised to go to it.’

‘You’re full of good works, Mother,’ said Julian, giving her a hug. ‘All right, we’ll go by ourselves. I daresay we shall know at once whether we’d like to stay in the cottage—or not. Also, we must know what this Wilfrid is like! It’s a quarter to ten, and George is already here, with Timmy. I’ll call the others and we’ll get our bikes.’

Soon the four were on their bicycles, with Timmy, as usual, running alongside, his long tongue out, his eyes bright and happy. This was Timmy’s idea of perfect happiness—to be with the four children all day long!

They went along a road that ran on the top of a hill. They swung round a corner—and there, spread far below them, was a great sea-vista that included a wonderful harbour, filled with big and little ships. The sea was as blue as the Mediterranean, quite breathtaking. Anne jumped off her bicycle at once.

‘I must just feast my eyes on all this before I go a yard further!’ she said. ‘What a panorama! What miles of sea and sky!’

She put her bicycle against a gate and then climbed over and stood by herself, gazing down at the view. Dick joined her.

Then suddenly a voice shouted loudly ‘fore! fore!’ A small white thing came whizzing through the air and landed just by Anne’s foot. She jumped in surprise.

‘It’s a golf-ball,’ said Dick. ‘No, don’t pick it up. Whoever’s playing with it, has to come and hit it from exactly where it fell. Good thing you weren’t hit, Anne. I didn’t realize that this gate led on to a golf-course!’

‘We ought to have a walk over it,’ said Anne. ‘Just look at those gorse bushes over there, absolutely flaming with yellow blossom—and all the tiny flowers springing up everywhere—speedwell and coltsfoot and daisies and celandines—beautiful. And oh—what a view!’

‘Yes—and if Mrs Layman’s cottage has a view anything like this, I’d certainly like to stay there!’ said Dick. ‘Think of getting out of bed in the morning and seeing this enormous view out of the window—the harbour—the sea beyond—the hills all round—the great spread of sky ...’

‘You ought to be a poet, Dick!’ said Anne, in surprise. The golfers came up at that moment, and the children stood aside and watched one of them address the ball, and then strike it easily and strongly. The ball soared through the air, and landed far away on a smooth green fairway.

‘Good shot!’ said the man’s partner, and the two sauntered off together.

‘Funny game, really,’ said Anne. ‘Just hitting a ball all round the course.’

‘Wish I had some clubs!’ said Dick. ‘I’m sure I could hit some smashing shots!’

‘Well, if that cottage is anywhere near the golf-course, perhaps you could pay to have a lesson,’ said Anne. ‘I bet you could hit a ball as far as that man!’

The others were now yelling for them to come back, so they went to fetch their bicycles. Soon they were all riding along the road again. ‘We have to look for a small white gate, with “Hill Cottage” painted on it,’ said George. ‘On the hillside facing the sea.’

‘There it is!’ cried Anne. ‘We’ll pile our bicycles together against the hedge, and go in at the gate.’

They left their bicycles in a heap and went through the gate. Not far to their left stood a funny old cottage, its back to them, its front looking down the steep hill that ran towards the great harbour and the sea beyond.

‘It’s like a cottage out of an old fairy-tale,’ said Anne. ‘Funny little chimneys—rather crooked walls—a thatched roof, all uneven—and what tiny windows!’

They walked down a little winding path that led to the cottage. They soon came to a well, and leaned over it to see the water deep down. ‘So that’s the water we’d have to drink!’ said Anne, wrinkling up her nose. ‘And we’d have to let down the bucket by winding this handle—and down it would go on the rope! Do you suppose the water is pure?’

‘Well, seeing that people must have drunk it for years on end—the ones living in that cottage, anyway—I should imagine it’s all right!’ said Julian. ‘Come on—let’s find the front door of the cottage—if it has one!’

It had one wooden door, hung rather crooked, with an old brass knocker. It faced down the hill, and was flanked on each side by small windows. Two other small windows were above. Julian looked at them. The bedrooms would be very small, he thought—would there really be room for them all?

He knocked at the door. Nobody came to open it. He knocked again, and then looked for a bell, but there wasn’t one.

‘See if the door is unlocked,’ said Anne. So Julian turned the handle—and at once the door gave under his hand! It opened straight into a room that looked like a kitchen-living-room.

Julian gave a shout. ‘Anyone at home?’

There was no answer. ‘Well—as this is obviously the cottage we were meant to see, we’d better go in,’ said Julian and in they all went.

It was old, very old. The carved wooden furniture was old too. Ancient oil lamps stood on two tables in the room, and in a recess there was an oilstove with a saucepan on top. A narrow, crooked stairway made of wood curved up to the floor above. Julian went up, and found himself in a long, darkish room, its roof thatched with reed and held up by black beams.

‘This place must be hundreds of years old!’ he called down to the others. ‘I don’t think it’s big enough for us four and the others too—the cook and that boy called Wilfrid.’

Just as he finished calling down the stairs, the front door was flung open and someone came in.

‘What are you doing here?’ he shouted. ‘This is my cottage!’

Julian went quickly down the stairs, and there, facing them all, stood a boy of about ten, a scowl on his brown face.

‘Er—are you Wilfrid, by any chance?’ asked Dick, politely.

‘Yes, I am. And who are you? And where’s my aunt? She’ll soon chuck you out!’ said the boy.

‘Is your aunt Mrs Layman?’ asked Julian. ‘If so, she asked us to come and see her cottage, and decide if we’d like to keep you company. She said she had to go away and look after a sick friend.’

‘Well, I don’t want you!’ said the boy. ‘So clear off. I’m all right here alone. My aunt’s a nuisance, always fussing round.’

‘I thought there was a cook too,’ said Julian. ‘Where is she?’

‘She only comes in the morning, and I sent her off,’ said Wilfrid. ‘She left me some food. I want to be alone. I don’t want you. So clear off.’

‘Don’t be a fathead, Wilfrid,’ said Julian. ‘You can’t live all alone here. You’re just a kid.’

‘I shan’t be living all alone. I’ve plenty of friends,’ said Wilfrid, defiantly.

‘You can’t have plenty of friends here in this lonely place, with only the hills and sky around you,’ said Dick.

‘Well, I have!’ said Wilfrid. ‘And here’s one—so look out!’ And, to the horror of the two girls, he put his hand into his pocket, and brought out a snake!

Anne screamed, and tried to hide behind Julian. Wilfrid saw her fright and came towards her, holding the snake by its middle, so that it swayed to and fro, its bright little eyes gleaming.

‘Don’t be scared, Anne,’ said Julian. ‘It’s only a harmless grass-snake. Put the creature back into your pocket, Wilfrid, and don’t play the fool. If that snake is the only friend you have, you’ll be pretty lonely here by yourself!’

‘I’ve plenty of friends, I tell you!’ shouted Wilfrid, stuffing the snake back into his pocket. ‘I’ll hit you if you don’t believe me.’

‘Oh no, you won’t,’ said Dick. ‘Just show us your other friends. If they’re kids like you, it’s just too bad!’

‘Kids? I don’t make friends with kids!’ said Wilfrid, scornfully. ‘I’ll show you I’m speaking the truth. Come out here on the hillside, and see some of my other friends.’

They all trooped out of the little cottage, on to the hillside, amazed at this fierce, strange boy. When they were in the open, they saw that he had eyes as bright blue as the speedwell in the grass, and hair almost as yellow as the celandines.

‘Sit down and keep quiet,’ he ordered. ‘Over there, by that bush. And don’t move a finger. I’ll soon make you believe in my friends! How dare you come here, doubting my word!’

They all sat down obediently beside the gorsebush, puzzled and rather amused. The boy sat down too, and drew something out of his pocket. What was it? George tried to see, but it was half-hidden in his right hand.

He put it to his mouth, and began to whistle. It was a soft, weird whistle that grew loud and then died away again. There was no tune, no melody, just a kind of beautiful dirge that pulled at the heart. Sad, thought Anne, such a sad little tune—if you could call it a tune!

Something stirred a little way down the hill—and then, to everyone’s astonishment, an animal appeared—a hare! Its great ears stood upright, its big eyes stared straight at the boy with the curious little pipe. Then the hare lollopped right up to Wilfrid—and began to dance! Soon another came, but this one only watched. The first one then seemed to go mad, and leapt about wildly, utterly unafraid.

The tune changed a little—and a rabbit appeared! Then another and another. One came to Wilfrid’s feet and sniffed at them, its whiskers quivering. Then it lay down against the boy’s foot.

A bird flew down—a beautiful magpie! It stood nearby, watching the hare, fascinated. It took no notice of the children at all. They all held their breath, amazed and delighted.

And then Timmy gave a little growl, deep down in his throat. He didn’t really mean to, but he just couldn’t help it! At once the hares, the rabbits and the magpie fled, the magpie squawking in fright.

Wilfrid faced round at once, his eyes blazing. He lifted his hand to strike Timmy—but George caught his fist at once.

‘Let go!’ yelled Wilfrid. ‘That dog scared my friends! I’ll get a stick and whip him. He’s the worst dog in the world, he’s ...’

And then something strange happened. Timmy came gently over to Wilfrid, lay down, and put his head on the angry boy’s knee, looking up at him lovingly. The boy, his hand still raised to strike, lowered it, and fondled Timmy’s head, making a curious crooning noise.

‘Timmy! Come here!’ ordered George, amazed and angry. To think that her dog, her very own dog, should go to a boy who had been about to strike him! Timmy stood up, gave Wilfrid a lick, and went to George.

The boy watched him, and then spoke to them all. ‘You can come and stay in my cottage,’ he said, ‘if you’ll bring that dog too. There aren’t many dogs like him—he’s a wonderful dog. I’d like him for one of my friends.’

Then, without another word, Wilfrid sprang up and ran away down the hill, leaving four most astonished people—and a dog who whined dismally because the boy had gone. Well, well, Timmy—there must indeed by something about that boy, if you stand looking after him as if you had lost one of your very best friends!