Читать книгу Adventure of the Strange Ruby - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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At last the day came when the two children were to go off to Swanage.

‘Four whole weeks!’ said Pat in delight. ‘We’ll bathe and ride and sail—and, of course, we’ll go to Brinkin Hill. If only it’s the same place that the twins meant in their letter!’

Swanage was just the same as ever—a great wide bay of forget-me-not blue, with hardly a ripple or a wave, except just at the edge. Behind rose the glorious hills. The sun shone warmly, and the very first thing that Pat and Tessa did, of course, was to fling off their clothes, put on bathing things and prance into the water.

‘Ooooh—it’s cold after all,’ said Tessa in surprise. ‘And it looked so warm!’

‘This is the very first day of the very first week,’ said Pat, splashing Tessa, ‘and the first days will go beautifully slowly. Then they’ll glide away at top speed without being noticed. But oh, how gorgeous the very beginning is.’

‘Yes—with heaps of days in front of you,’ said Tessa, who was in the water properly now and swimming beside Pat. ‘I say—this patch of water is lovely and warm. I’m going to turn over and float in it.’

For the first four days Tessa and Pat hardly thought of the twins at all. There were so many lovely things to do. Then Tessa spoke about them.

‘We’ve forgotten Faith and David. What about cycling over to Brinkin to see if we can find the hill, and any house there that the twins might be living in. The post-office might know.’

‘Yes. We’ll go over today,’ said Pat. ‘Mother will give us sandwiches.’

So at half past ten they set off on their bicycles, each with a basket packed full of neat parcels of food.

‘You can buy yourselves drinks,’ their mother said. ‘And I have no doubt you will fill yourselves up with ice-creams, too. I’ll expect you back when I see you. Have a good day!’

The two cycled off. They took the Corfe Castle direction and marvelled, as always, when they came to the ancient little village, dominated by the centuries-old ruined castle, dreaming by itself high up on the hill.

‘There’s such a lovely old feeling here,’ said Tessa as they cycled round the hill on which the castle stood. The jackdaws wheeled above it, calling chack-chack-chack in their loud, cheerful voices. ‘Gosh, isn’t it hot, Pat? I could do with an ice-cream and a drink already, couldn’t you?’

‘Let’s get just a bit thirstier and hotter, then we’ll enjoy them all the more,’ said Pat. So on they went, panting in the hot sun, though they really had very little on.

A lane led off the main road to Brinkin. It wasn’t a town, after all, but a big village. It lay in a little hollow surrounded by trees, and a farm or two spread out on each side. Behind was a very steep hill, closely wooded.

‘I should think that must be Brinkin Hill,’ said Pat. ‘Let’s find a shop that sells ice-creams and ask.’

They soon found a shop. It was a typical little village shop, half post-office and half everything else. It seemed to sell potatoes as well as stamps, lemonade and ice-cream, as well as postal orders, sun-hats, socks, rope, kettles, saucepans, chocolate and goodness knows what besides.

‘This is the kind of shop I like,’ said Pat, looking round. ‘If I kept a shop I should keep one just like this.’

‘Yes—and keep it all muddly, too,’ said Tessa. ‘I can just see your shop, Pat—you’d never be able to find a thing!’

They sat on a little seat outside, drank their lemonade out of the bottles, and scraped the ice-cream out of its cartons.

‘Delicious!’ said Tessa. ‘I hope the man who invented ice-cream had medals hung all over him!’

They took the bottles back and spoke to the old lady behind the post-office counter.

‘Could you tell us if that is Brinkin Hill over there?’ asked Pat.

‘You’re right,’ said the old woman in her pleasant Dorset voice. ‘That be Brinkin Hill—but don’t you be going there. It’s too steep.’

‘Does anyone live up on the hill?’ asked Tessa.

‘Well, there’s an old house there, Brinkin Towers,’ said the woman. ‘Been shut up for years, it has—yes, and no one durst go near it, for ’tis said there were queer goings-on there once; and once when my old Ma went up there for a prank, when she were a girl, she heard weepings and wailings fit to break your heart. So she said.’

‘Does anyone live there now?’ said Pat.

‘Not a soul has taken that path up the hill far as I know,’ said the old woman. ‘I tell you, don’t you go near the place—it’s bad. There’s a high wall round it too—you can hardly see the old house, except for its towers showing above the trees.’

The children thanked her and went off, disappointed.

‘Sounds as if it’s most unlikely the twins would be there,’ said Pat. ‘What shall we do? Turn back?’

‘No,’ said Tessa, suddenly. ‘I want to go on. I want to see what Brinkin Towers is like. Come on—there’s no harm in trying.’