4
“That’s... uncanny,” said Lucy, wishing that the hairs on the back of her head had not stood on end at the horrible wailing, squealing noise.
“Pig’s bladder,” said Arabella, calmly.
“Excuse me?” said Lucy.
“Someone has inflated a pig’s bladder and is letting the air out slowly through the tube which is pinched enough for that horrible noise to issue,” said Arabella. “I was governess to a small boy before you. He tried many times to play the ghost to frighten me. I did not rise, though I confess the first time I heard the music of the pig’s bladder I felt most disquieted.”
“I do love you, Arabella, and your stoicism,” said Lucy. “‘Most disquieted,’ indeed, not, ‘frightened.’ You are so sensible.”
“I admit to a moment’s fear,” said Arabella, austerely. “However, in a household with a small boy, or, indeed, any resourceful child, noises in the night can usually be trusted to be traceable back to human sources. The same child used a comb and paper to make uncanny wailing noises, punctuated with odd and horrible whimpers which proved to be his giggles. He asked me in the morning, with exaggerated concern, whether I had had a good night. I said, ‘Oh! Yes; the water pipes kept me awake for a while, making strange noises, then the ghost of a grey lady came out of my closet, with a ewer, and washed her hands in a bowl I don’t have, and passed on into the nursery, presumably to tuck up a former charge. She didn’t bother me, so I didn’t bother her.’ He got very quiet, and then he burst out, ‘If I’m very good, will you stop her so she doesn’t come to me?’ and I said, ‘Of course!’ and I had no more real trouble.”
“Arabella, what a bouncer!”
“I know; but sometimes, you have to establish dominance in a household,” said Arabella. “And speaking of which, shall we establish dominance by getting some sleep?”
“Good idea,” said Lucy. “Oh! What did Mr. Jermyn say about the gardeners’ cubby hole?”
“He’d forgotten about it,” said Arabella. “He’s going to have a look.”
With which comforting thought, the two women curled up and went back to sleep, ignoring any other wails.
“Did madam and Miss Bellington sleep well?” asked Mrs. Henderson, setting out a breakfast of devilled kidneys, bacon, black pudding, poached eggs, and fried mushrooms, with toast a-plenty in a rack.
“Yes, thank you,” said Lucy. “A few odd noises, but nothing to be exercised about.”
“I think it was some tenant’s child,” said Arabella, buttering toast and adding poached eggs. “No adult would play so puerile a trick, after all.”
“No, indeed,” said Lucy. “Is that all you are having, Arabella? Can I help you to anything more? Some mushrooms, at least, surely?”
“Oh, very well, you tempt me; Mrs. Henderson, you are to be congratulated on how well you dry your mushrooms, that they plump up so well.”
“Oh, well, there is a knack to it,” said Mrs. Henderson, pleased. “The secret is in doing it as slow as you can without them going mouldy.”
“A clever compromise,” said Lucy. “Your own black pudding?”
“No, I do buy that in, Bert Jenkins, the butcher, having a way with it,” said Mrs. Henderson. “He don’t overdo the breadcrumbs like some do.”
Lucy waited for Mrs. Henderson to leave to speak to Arabella in a low voice.
“I want to take advantage of the sunshine today to see where the gnomen shadow is at noon; I found the door out, which has a handle to get back in, fortunately, as I shut myself out there.”
“That was foolish, my dear, to venture out without anyone there.”
“I know,” said Lucy. “But let us go for a walk, this morning; it will give us the excuse to be in outdoor clothes, and when we go back upstairs, we can go out and look at the gnomen’s shadow, and it should not be far off. If the false piece of eight is to act as a key, there must be a keyhole, and whilst it may well show up best when the shadows fall in a particular way, by feeling and looking carefully, we may find it anyway, which will be useful if it is grey again tomorrow.”
“A very good thought,” said Arabella. “And what is more, we shall take a tinder box and kindling, so we may light a fire to attract attention if anyone locks us out.”
“Oh, very wise,” said Lucy. “Were you going to eat any bacon?”
“No, and you will become plump.”
“I do too much to put on weight,” said Lucy, snagging the last rasher of bacon, and buttering another piece of toast. She spent some time seeing the books with Mrs. Henderson, who was a good manager, and honest. Lucy agreed to a joint of pork and various raised pies with vegetables of the season for dinner, before she was able to escape and dress up warmly to walk out with Arabella.
“Where shall we walk?” asked Arabella as they set out down the drive, the hard frost crunching underfoot. Fieldfares on the front lawn scattered, and a robin scolded from the branches of an overhanging sweet chestnut tree.
“I thought we might go down to the village,” said Lucy. “Make ourselves known to everyone, or rather, remind them.”
“Yes, a good idea,” said Arabella. “You will be lady of the manor and they need to know you.”
“And my companion,” said Lucy. “Arabella, dearest, you didn’t think I’d send you back to sew bonnets in penury, if I win this, did you?”
“I didn’t dare hope there would be room for me,” said Arabella.
“There will always be room for you,” said Lucy. “You took me in when it would have been awkward for Uncle Lucius to do so, and when Papa managed to die with so many debts.”
“And your uncle did send you an allowance which you so generously shared, which made life a great deal easier.”
“We do better together,” said Lucy. “Look, aren’t the common weeds made things of beauty with a tracery of frost on them?”
“They are, indeed; I will try to sketch them in my commonplace book when we get back. I wonder if one might make a winter decoration for a bonnet with Queen Anne’s lace in white, and skeletons of leaves. But you are changing the subject.”
“Not really; but I was diverted by the frost icing on the plants,” said Lucy. “I thought the subject was settled, and you will not need to think about bonnets and such things.”
“Yes, but you will want to marry,” said Arabella. “I believe Mr. Jermyn is not indifferent to you.”
Lucy blushed.
“I am not indifferent to him,” she said. “He rescued me from Luke, many times.”
“And he has turned up to help you,” said Arabella. “Wearing a ridiculous false ring-beard and wig to fool Mrs. Henderson.”
Lucy giggled.
“He does have a sense of melodrama,” she said. “I wonder whose carriage that is.”
Arabella frowned.
“I do not know all your neighbours,” she said. “Though I conjecture that the enquiry was purely rhetorical.”
“Totally,” said Lucy.
The coachman turned to say something through the communication hatch, and the coach door opened.
“Excuse me!” called a voice, “I believe I’m lost.”
Lucy hastened forward to the coach’s open door, and stood on the step to better see the piece of paper the man inside was showing her. And then, to Arabella’s horror, she was quite yanked inside, the door pulled to, and the coach went off at speed! Arabella lost her footing on the icy ground and fell, fortunately into a bank of weeds with only a few nettles, and was up again in a trice. But it was too late; the carriage and Lucy were quite gone.
Arabella made her way back to the house as fast as she could with the thick hoar frost, no longer appreciating the beauty of the frost-touched plants, in her haste to reach Henry Jermyn.
He was tidying up the beds again, near the driveway, when Arabella almost threw herself on him, half sobbing.
“Miss Bellington? What’s toward?” asked Henry.
“Lucy! Some men, dragged her into a carriage!” cried Arabella.
“This will be some plot of Luke’s,” said Henry. “I’ll go put up the horse and gig, if you are ready to drive out in pursuit?”
“More than ready,” said Arabella. “But there is a five-way junction the way they took.”
“Then we shall investigate each in turn,” said Henry, grimly.
oOoOo
“What is this? If you think I am an heiress, you are mistaken – or only if I stay in my uncle’s house another nine nights,” said Lucy.
“Ha, my fine dimber mort, there’s someone who doesn’t want you staying there, see?” said the man who had pulled her in. “OW!” Lucy had kicked him in the shins.
“I don’t know what a ‘dimbermort’ is, but you may not call me it,” said Lucy.
“It means a beautiful wench, an’ if you makes trouble, I’ll tie you up,” growled the man. “I ain’t a gonna hurt you so long as you behave; just goin’ to keep you outa that house over St. Thomas’s day, see?”
“I see,” said Lucy. “I did not understand your words; I am sorry. I will be tractable. I am sure you could make things much worse.”
“Well, miss, yes, we could,” said her captor.
Lucy sat down, and tried to compose herself. There was no point fighting, but perhaps if she gave the impression of being meek, she might have a chance to escape.
They drove for an hour or so; and in the difficult conditions, Lucy did not suppose this could be more than about six miles. The carriage stopped at a rather run-down cottage.
“Here you are, miss,” said her captor. “Your new home for a couple of days. Someone will be along to rescue you day after tomorrow.”
“Luke Fenwick, I suppose,” said Lucy. “I trust there is drinkable water and food?”
“There’s a pump in the kitchen and’ bread an’ cheese,” said the man. He touched his cap to her, and got back in the carriage, which drove off.
“Most singular,” said Lucy, with distaste. “How like Luke.”
The cottage was a two-roomed affair with a chimney through the middle of it, and a room of sorts in the roof. It was thatched, though much of the thatching looked poor and loose. There was an air of being abandoned.
She went into the cottage, where a fire was laid in the kitchen grate; no closed stove in here. Lucy lit the fire, as she was cold. She went into the other room which had a bed against the chimney. There were no extra clothes in the press, but Lucy brought through two woollen blankets. She might look a quiz, but that was better than freezing. At least she had on two pairs of stockings with good boots, and she found a length of twine in the kitchen. Folding one blanket over it, she managed to pull up her skirts, and tie it around as an extra petticoat. The other wool blanket needed to be pierced , and plaited twine passed through each hole to make a rough cloak and hood, in case the weather got worse. Lucy cut bread and cheese to eat, and wrapped the rest to put in her reticule, to keep her going. Then she raked out the fire, and set off.
Luke was a fool if he thought she was going to stay put tamely; but then, Luke was a fool, in assuming girls and women were feeble and useless. He had no idea how fit Lucy was, and that she would make no bones over a six-mile walk in normal circumstances. This would be harder.
Lucy had a working knowledge of most of the neighbourhood over which she had ridden, and, knowing the general direction taken, she was fairly sure she knew her way home.
She set out, as it began to snow fitfully.
“I hope Luke comes to a bad end,” muttered Lucy, to herself, forced to keep to the highway to have any chance of making progress, without a horse.
It would probably take her three hours to get back to Fenwick Hall, she thought, and watched her step carefully, not wanting to turn her ankle on one of the frozen ruts on the road.
No comments:
Post a Comment