Читать книгу The Mystery of the Banshee Towers - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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Bets felt excited when at last the time came to go to the first Meeting of the holidays. Her mother had not allowed her to race off immediately after dinner, but had sent both her and Pip up to their playroom.

“I don’t know if you think that what you did this morning to tidy up the room was anything like enough,” she said. “Throwing things higgledy-piggledy into corners and cupboards isn’t my idea of clearing up. Please do the job properly before you go!”

“Oh blow!” said Pip, exasperated. “Now we shall be late. Come on, Bets, you do your share.”

It was soon done, and they raced off down the garden path, happy to be on their way to Fatty’s house. They joined up with Larry and Daisy, and were soon in Fatty’s workroom at the bottom of his garden, well away from everyone, and almost out of range of any shout from the house!

“Grown-ups want an awful lot of things done if you’re within shouting distance, you know,” Fatty said. “But if they have to go and fetch you, they’re sure to decide it’s too much bother—so they do the things themselves!”

The shed was certainly well tucked away, and very, very comfortable. An oil-stove gave quite enough warmth and on the floor was an old tiger-skin complete with its head. Bets had been scared at first of its open mouth, showing such fierce teeth, and of its glassy eyes—but now she didn’t mind it a bit, and often sat on the great head itself.

“This tiger is getting a bit moth-eaten,” she said. “We ought to powder him—that’s what Mother does to our fur-rugs. Oh, Fatty—you’ve still got the old crocodile skin stretched on the wall too. I do think this is a most exciting shed. It’s lovely to be back again, after so long at school.”

“Nice to have you here, little Bets,” said Fatty, in the “special” voice he sometimes kept for the little girl. “Be careful the old tiger doesn’t nip you!”

“Woof,” said Buster at once, and showed his teeth.

“He says he’d nip the tiger if he did a thing like that!” said Bets, and cuddled Buster round the neck.

“Got anything to eat, Fatty?” asked Larry. “I had quite a good dinner, but somehow I always feel hungry when we meet down here.”

“There are some chocolate biscuits in the cupboard,” said Fatty, who invariably seemed to be provided with a vast variety of good food, wherever he was. “By the way, please look firmly the other way if Buster tries to beg any food from you. He is on a diet—slimming, you know. He over-ate himself while he was away. Too many cats about!”

“But surely he hasn’t begun to eat cats!” said Daisy, shocked.

“No, ass! But with plenty of cat-dishes around always ready to be licked clean, he did far too well,” said Fatty. “Buster, stand up. Show your tubby figure—oh what a middle you’ve landed yourself with—disgraceful!”

Buster certainly had a tummy. His tail dropped when Fatty scolded him, and he went sadly into a corner and curled himself up, eyeing the chocolate biscuits sadly. Bets felt very sorry for him. “I’ll just let him lick my chocolatey fingers, Fatty,” she said. “That’s all, I promise. I just can’t bear to see him looking so left-out. Here you are, Buster—lick my fingers.”

Buster was pleased. He licked Bets’ fingers and then sat down as close to her as he possibly could. He loved kind-hearted little Bets. She put her arm round him again.

“Fatty—is this meeting about anything special?” she said. “I’d be just as pleased if there wasn’t any Mystery to solve at the moment, I mean—I do like mysteries, but I do like a bit of peace, too.”

“Well, really, Bets—don’t you want to belong to the Find-Outers?” said Daisy, quite amazed. “What’s the good of being a Find-Outer if you don’t want to find out anything?”

“Yes, I see all that,” said Bets. “But what I mean is—do we have to snoop round and look for problems and mysteries to solve—can’t we just not bother for once?”

“You mean—just play about and enjoy ourselves?” said Daisy. “Well—it does sound rather nice for a change. You know, Fatty, solving mysteries can be quite hard work.”

“Well, I’m rather inclined to agree with you,” said Fatty, lazily. “You know, I’ve just been staying with two cousins—both first-class footballers—first-class boxers—first-class cross-country runners—and first-class bores, to tell you the truth! My word, the excuses I had to think of to get out of kicking a football from morning to night—running for miles in shorts uphill and down—and putting on boxing-gloves and having sparring bouts. Thank goodness that didn’t last long—the sparring, I mean.”

“Why—were you knocked out?” asked Larry.

“Knocked out! Don’t be fatheaded,” said Fatty. “The tiring part about the boxing was that I kept on doing the knocking-out—I tell you, it got boring!”

“You’re boasting, Fatty,” said Larry. “Ha—you’ll never get rid of that habit! That’s one thing you do better than any of us—boast! You’re superlative at that!”

“Don’t be rude, Larry!” said Daisy, shocked. “Why, Fatty might knock you out, if you talk like that!”

“No, I shan’t,” said Fatty. “Larry’s quite right. I do boast just a bit. On the other hand, I do actually do what I boast about. I really did knock out my two cousins. I’ll show you the blow I used. You swing out like this with your left, and then—ooh, sorry, Buster! What on earth made you get in the way? Did I hurt you?”

“Funny—you didn’t even knock him out,” said Larry irritatingly. Bets cuddled poor Buster, who had received a blow on his fat tummy that had quite winded him. He stared at Fatty unhappily, really puzzled.

“Listen,” said Pip. “Let’s go exploring a bit these hols. My father made a list of interesting spots we could go to see. He said we shouldn’t just mess about doing nothing, he said ...”

“He said that—but what he really meant was that he didn’t want you under his feet all the time,” said Larry. “My father’s like that too—I mean, he’s an absolute sport, and I’m frightfully proud of him—and he is of me—but I do notice that after about ten days of the hols he always gets this idea of us going off for the day—not just one day, but every day. And mine made out a list too—here it is. I’ll read it out.”

He took a neatly written list from the pocket of his flannels and read from it. “Old Water-Caves at Chillerbing. Museum of Age-Old Fossils at Tybolds. Norman Tower at Yellow Moss ...”

“Gosh—those are down on my list too!” said Pip, scrabbling in his pocket for it. “Yes—all those are down—and two or three more. Roman Remains at Jackling Museum. Sea-pictures at Banshee Towers, at the top of Banshee Hill. Old Musical Instruments at ...”

“I don’t want to see any of them!” said Bets, suddenly looking very woebegone. “I wouldn’t so much mind the sea-pictures—I like sea-pictures—but I don’t like those ugly fossily things, or those ...”

“All right, Bets—you shan’t spend lovely spring days in Museums or Norman Towers or Caves,” said Fatty putting his arm round her. “But we might go and see Banshee Towers. You know why it’s called that, don’t you?”

Nobody knew. “Well,” said Fatty, “a banshee means ‘a woman of the fairies’—and it shrieks and wails when any misfortune or unhappiness comes to the family in whose house it lives.”

“How very unpleasant,” said Daisy, at once. “I’m very glad my family doesn’t own a banshee. I should be scared stiff. Does Banshee Towers own a banshee, then?”

“I suppose it did once, when the family lived in it,” said Fatty. “But now that it’s a museum—or a picture-gallery or something—I expect the banshee has retired!”

“I don’t want to go to see Banshee Towers if the banshee still lives there,” said Bets, decidedly. “So you’ll have to find out, Fatty.”

“I honestly shouldn’t worry,” said Fatty. “It would be a pity to let an old-time ‘woman of the fairies’ frighten you from seeing wonderful sea-pictures. And I believe they really are wonderful!”

“Well, we’ll make a few expeditions to show our parents that we really are not the lie-abeds they think we are,” said Larry. “It should be rather fun, actually. We could picnic in these places—and I could use one of them for my holiday essay. It would be something to write about—especially the banshee howling. I hope it wails like anything when we’re there!”

“I shan’t go if it does,” said Bets at once. “Hallo—who’s that at the door? Golly, that loud knock made me jump!”

“Who’s there?” demanded Fatty.

“It’s me—Ern,” said a well-known voice outside. “I’ve been sent to stay with my Uncle Theo—Mr. Goon, you know—because one of my sisters has measles and I haven’t had it—at least, Mum can’t remember me having it. Can I come in?”

“Of course! Come along in, Ern, we’re all here,” said Fatty, and opened the door. Ern stood there, shock-headed as ever and as plump as Fatty, grinning in delight to see his friends again. Buster at once made a great fuss of him.

“Coo, it’s nice to see you all again,” said Ern, sitting down on the floor and hugging the little Scottie. “I didn’t want to come and stay with my uncle—I don’t like him and he doesn’t like me—but I don’t mind putting up with him if you’ll let me be with you now and again. Any mysteries going?”

“Not so far, Ern,” said Fatty. “Help yourself to the chocolate biscuits, but don’t give Buster any. He’s slimming.”

“Luvaduck—is he really?” said Ern. “I must say he feels a bit solid-like. You look a bit balloony too, Fatty.”

“Ern—please remember your manners,” said Fatty, in a shocked voice. “You must not refer to people as ‘balloony’. You might easily get a smack on the nose.”

“Oooh, I’m sorry, Fatty, reeeely sorry,” said Ern.

“Maybe I’ll pick up a few good manners now I’m with you again. I seem to lose them, like, at ’ome. Er—I mean home.”

“It’s good to see you, Ern,” said Fatty. “We are planning to go on some interesting rambles—and you shall come with us, if you like—if your uncle will let you.”

“Coo—I’d like that!” said Ern. “Well, Uncle says I’ve got to Turn To and Look Nippy, and Not get Under His Feet, and Use my Loaf ...”

“Your loaf?” said Bets, in surprise. “Do you have a loaf of bread of your own, then?”

“You don’t know much, do you?” grinned Ern, so delighted to be with his old friend again that his eyes shone like stars. “Using your ‘Loaf’ means using your brains, see?”

“Ah yes,” said Fatty, gravely. “Well if we all intend to go sight-seeing and learning about Banshees and Old Musical Instruments, and Roman Remains, we must all use our—er—loaves. Are we allowed any butter with them, Ern?”

But dear old Ern didn’t see the joke, though the others roared in delight. Ern didn’t mind. It was sheer happiness to him to be with Fatty, Bets, and the rest. They could pull his leg, correct him, laugh at him—they were his friends and he was theirs. Let them do whatever they liked, as long as he could be with them!