Читать книгу The Secret of Cliff Castle - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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Tea was ready when they got indoors. The children washed their hands and brushed their hair. Peter was sharing Brock’s little room, and Pam had a tiny room to herself up in the attic. She loved it because it had queer, slanting ceilings, and funny, uneven boards in the floor. She looked out of the window as she brushed her hair, humming a little tune to herself because she was so happy.

The countryside lay smiling in the afternoon sunshine. Cottages clustered together here and there, and cattle grazed in the fields. In the distance, a curious, steep hill caught her eye. It rose up very suddenly, and at the top was a strange building. It looked like a small, square castle, for it had towers at each end.

“I wonder if anyone lives there,” thought Pam. “It looks sort of deserted, somehow. I’ll ask Brock about it.”

Downstairs, round the tea-table, Brock and his cousins chattered nineteen to the dozen about everything, telling each other all their news. Aunt Hetty smiled as she listened, and handed round her plates of home-made scones with jam, and new ginger buns, and currant pasties.

“Anyone would think you hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast-time,” she said, as one after another the plates were emptied.

“Well, we did have a good lunch on the train,” said Peter, “but it seems ages ago now. I do like these buns, Aunt Hetty. They’re the nicest I’ve ever tasted.”

“Shall we go out and explore round a bit, after tea?” said Pam. “I’m longing to. I saw the farm not far off, Brock—and what is that strange sort of castle on the top of that very steep hill towards the west?”

“Oh, that’s Cliff Castle,” said Brock. “It’s called that because it’s built on that steep hill, which falls away behind the castle in a kind of cliff.”

“Does anyone live there?” asked Peter.

“Not now,” said Brock. “Mother, who lived there, years ago?”

“Oh, I don’t really know,” said Mother. “It belonged to a queer old man who wanted to live quite alone. So he built himself that castle, and lived there with two old servants, as queer as himself. He spent a fortune on the castle. When he died, he left a will which said the castle was to be left exactly as it was, cared for by the two old servants till they died. Then it was to go to some great-nephew, who has never bothered to live there—or even to go and visit the castle, as far as I know.”

“Is it really a castle?” said Pam.

“No, not really,” said Aunt Hetty. “But it’s built to appear like one, as you see—and I believe the walls are almost as thick as a real old castle’s would be. People do say that there are secret passages in it, but I don’t believe that. What would a lonely old man want with secret passages! That’s just make-believe.”

The children stared out of the window at the lonely castle on the top of the steep hill. It suddenly seemed very mysterious and exciting to them. It stood there, with the sinking sun behind it, and looked rather black and forbidding.

“Is it quite empty then, Aunt Hetty?” asked Pam.

“Quite,” said her aunt. “It must be in a dreadful mess by now, too, I should think, for nobody has dusted it for years, or lighted a fire there to warm the place. The furniture must be mouldy and rotten. Not a nice place to visit at all!”

Peter and Pam looked at one another. It seemed to them that their aunt was quite wrong. It would be a wonderfully exciting place to visit! If only they could!

After tea, they spoke to Brock about it. “Brock! Will you take us to see Cliff Castle one day soon? To-morrow, perhaps. It does sound so exciting—and it looks so strange and lonely. We’d simply love to explore round about it.”

“We’ll go to-morrow!” said Brock. “But come and see our garden now—and the farm. We’ve plenty of time.”

THE THREE OF THEM WENT OVER BROCK’S BIG GARDEN.

So the three of them went over Brock’s big garden, and admired the vegetables, the outdoor tomatoes, the peaches on the wall, and everything. They saw Brock’s exciting play-house in the garden, too, set all by itself out of sight of the house.

“Daddy had this built for me to take my friends to, when we wanted to play by ourselves,” said Brock. “You know, Mother doesn’t like a lot of noise, and boys can’t help being rowdy, can they? So I just take my friends to my play-house when we want a good old game—and we don’t disturb Mother a bit! We can play out here on rainy days, too. It will be fun.”

Peter and Pam liked Brock’s play-house. It was a small, sturdy, little wooden house with a red door, and windows each side. Inside there was one big room, and around it were spread all Brock’s possessions—a small gramophone, a big meccano set, boxes and boxes of railway lines, engines, trucks, signals, and other things belonging to a railway—and on a bookshelf were scores of exciting-looking books.

“You are lucky, Brock!” said Peter, looking round. “This is a lovely place.”

“Yes—we’ll come here and talk when we want to be all by ourselves,” said Brock. “Nobody can see us or hear us. It’s our own private place.”

They went to see the farm, too—and then the sun sank so low that it was time to go back home to supper. The strange castle on the hill showed up clearly as they went down the farm-lane back to their house.

“Brock, do take us to Cliff Castle to-morrow,” said Peter. “It would really be marvellous fun to explore it. Haven’t you ever been there yourself?”

“I haven’t been very near it,” said Brock. “I somehow never liked the look of it very much, you know. I think it’s got rather a wicked look!”

“It has, rather,” said Peter. “Anyway, do let’s go to-morrow!”

“All right,” said Brock. “I shan’t mind going with you—though I’ve never wanted to go alone!”

It was fun going to bed that night in a strange bedroom. The two boys talked till late, and Brock’s mother had to go in twice to stop them. Pam could hear their voices as she lay in bed, and she wished she was with the two boys so that she might hear what they said.

She fell asleep, and did not wake until the house was all in a bustle with its early-morning cleaning. She heard the two boys talking below in loud voices, and she jumped out of bed at once.

“It’s holiday-time—and we’re at Brock’s—and we’re going exploring to-day!” she hummed to herself, as she dressed quickly. She ran downstairs to breakfast feeling very hungry.

“What are you going to do to-day?” asked Aunt Hetty, pouring out the tea.

“We’re going over to Cliff Castle,” said Brock. “Can we take sandwiches, Mother, and have a picnic?”

“All right,” said his mother. “You must all make your beds, and tidy your rooms, please, before you go. I’ll get you some lunch ready whilst you do that.”

It wasn’t long after breakfast before the three children were ready to set out. Brock’s mother had been very generous with the picnic lunch. She had cut them potted meat sandwiches, tomato sandwiches, and egg sandwiches, and had put some buttered scones, some ginger buns, and some boiled sweets into the packets too.

“There’s a tiny shop, not far from Cliff Castle, where you can buy yourselves something to drink,” she said. “Here is some money for that. Now—off you go!”

They set off happily. Brock knew the way, though it was rather a roundabout one, down narrow little lanes, through a small wood, and then across some fields. It was eleven o’clock by the time they got to the little shop where they wanted to buy drinks.

“I’m so thirsty already that I could drink about twelve bottles of lemonade straight off!” said Peter.

“WELL, DON’T LET’S DRINK ALL OF IT STRAIGHT AWAY,” SAID BROCK.

“Well, don’t let’s drink all of it straight away,” said Brock. “The woman here has a well—look, there it is, with the bucket beside it. Let’s ask her if we can have a drink of cold water—then we can save up the lemonade!”

The woman said that of course they could use her well-water. “Have a whole bucketful, if you like!” she said. But they couldn’t quite manage that. They sent down the bucket, and it came up filled with silvery water.

“It’s absolutely ice-cold!” said Pam, gasping a little at the coldness. “But it’s simply lovely.”

“Where are you off to?” asked the woman, handing out three small bottles of lemonade.

“To explore round about Cliff Castle,” said Peter.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” said the woman. “Really, I wouldn’t. It’s a queer place. And people do say that funny lights have been seen there lately. Well, that’s very strange, isn’t it, in a place that’s been empty for years?”

“Very queer,” said Brock, staring at the woman, and feeling rather excited. “What sort of lights?”

“I don’t know,” said the woman. “I only know I wouldn’t go near that place in the dark, or in the daytime either! There’s always been something queer about it—and there is still!”

The children said good-bye and went out of the tiny, dark shop. They stared up at the nearby hill, on the top of which stood Cliff Castle. It looked much bigger now that they were near it. It had funny little slit-like windows, just like very old castles had. It certainly was a queer place for anyone to build in days when castles were no longer of any use!

“Well, come on,” said Brock, at last. “Don’t let’s be put off by silly village-stories. Mother says stories always get made up about any deserted place.”

“They certainly make it more exciting,” said Peter, hitching his kit-bag full of lunch over his other shoulder. “Well—up the hill we go!”

And up the hill they went. There was no proper road up the steep hill, only a small, narrow path that wound between jutting-out rocks, for it was a very rocky part of the countryside. Stunted bushes grew on the hillside, mostly of gorse. It was exposed to the east winds, and nothing very much grew there.

“Well—here we are!” said Brock at last. “Cliff Castle! I wonder what we shall find there!”