Part 12

Finding the road clear she rang the gate bell with vigour, handed the message to Mrs. Trewby, with the sentence, "no answer, say, please," and departed--not down the road past Fuchsia Cottage, but back up towards Folly Ho, and over the hill behind on to the Bell Ridge above the church, and so home, down the steep to the Bell House--in time for lunch. The only person she met was Mr. John Badger of Champles, a large and heavy man with the smallest possible twinkling eyes. There was no harm in Mr. Badger--no harm at all, he was a kind man, but he had one weakness and that was gossip. The largeness of his body was the very opposite extreme to the size of his mind--which could not well have been smaller. He was driving sheep from one fenced bit of his fields to another--there was not much for them to eat on the Bell Ridge Downs and they had to be kept to measured allowances or they would have wandered away to look for something better.

"All alone, missie?" said Mr. Badger in friendly spirit.

"I like walking alone," answered Pamela.

"Well, well, no harm can't come to you these parts. No tramps don't come up along these ways. You don't see no strangers about--can't call Mrs. Chipman to Woodrising a stranger, same as she lived down along Crown Hill some fifteen years."

"Oh," murmured Pamela, which was hardly a remark at all, but she felt as though her mind had best remain a blank to all these questions. As for discussing them, she did not wish to think about them, even.

"What a lovely view there is from here, Mr. Badger!" she rushed into generalities, "don't you wonder if sheep see anything? Can they enjoy a view, or do they see nothing at all?"

Mr. Badger opined that all the sheep cared about was a "belly-full", which was no doubt very true.

Pamela left him gazing after her, and wondering why she had come up there all alone. Mr. Badger saw mysteries and scandals in every movement of his neighbours, which made life very interesting for him.

Pamela could see "plumb down" into Bell Bay as she went lower and lower on a slope that rivalled the Beak, but was better holding-ground because of ferns and stubby gorse. It seemed as though you could take a flying jump on to the roof of the Bell House, among the twisted chimneys. She could see the _Messenger_ at her moorings, looking like the loveliest toy--white deck, white hull, and gold line glittering in the sunshine. She saw the dinghy put off from her and come ashore--infinitely tiny, with wee figures rowing, dressed in white, Addie and Crow. She heartily wished that brooch had never been found; or if it was to be found, that it might have been her fate to find it. It was bad luck Adrian coming into the muddle. However, the Countess had only to write to Sir Marmaduke and he could claim the jewel from Auntie A. and settle the whole affair within three days. It was no use bothering about it any longer.

In this mood Pamela arrived at home, looking lovely and happy, only to be at once reminded of the business again by Miss Chance's report.

She and Hughie came across the lawn with the others, and the first thing Pam heard was Adrian's eager information to his mother, who was sitting on the terrace outside the drawing-room windows.

"Mother, the Floweret says Auntie A. swears it isn't hers. She'll have to give it up."

"But is it Lady Shard's?" asked Mrs. Romilly.

"Miss Ashington appeared uncertain as to that--indeed she was a little confused----"

"She always is," Adrian interrupted.

"Hush, Addie; let Miss Chance tell me what was said."

"It really was not easy to gather her opinion, dear Mrs. Romilly, because it seemed that Miss Ashington had been administering a decoction of herbs--I think on Adrian's advice--to the spaniel. She was anxious and perturbed as she thought the poor dog was suffering."

"Oh, laurel water! My only aunt, what a priceless situation!" murmured Adrian, and collapsed on the grass.

"I _hope_ he won't die," said Crow, anxiously.

"What did Addie advise?" inquired her mother.

Christobel was careful.

"Mummy, she told us she was going to make tea out of sage or--I don't know--some filth she'd heard or read about it. I expect she's given Charles a dose; I don't wonder he's in pain. But, Miss Chance, did she say anything about Lady Shard and the brooch? That is the thing that matters."

"I understood her to say that she would inquire, but her conversation was disconnected."

"You bet it was," said Adrian from his seat on the edge of the terrace.

"We must leave it for the present. There's the lunch bell--hurry, everybody," advised Mrs. Romilly, getting up and passing an arm through Christobel's.

"Mother, I wish we'd never sent it to Crown Hill," said Crow, as they went in at the big window. "Will you promise to ask about its fate? Don't let's lose it. After all, Addie found it, and failing an owner he ought to have it."

Mrs. Romilly promised to ask after a decent interval, and the matter dropped for the moment.

Nothing more happened about it except that, missing Hughie, Pamela sought him in "the cave" later on, where he was absorbed in making a doll's ulster out of a bit of checked fluffy material that had been given to Hennery Doe to make strips of, wherewith to fasten down the arms of plum trees on the north wall. Hughie, seeing infinite possibilities in the bit of stuff, had calmly annexed it, and it was now taking shape, the "arm-sleeves" proving a tough problem, owing to the thickness of the stuff and the smallness of the doll.

"Well," said the workman, when Pam looked over the barrier.

"There's a new bother, Midget."

"I know. I saw your face. Is it about that girl?"

Pamela explained about the brooch; telling the story of it.

"It's rather tiresome," allowed Hughie, turning the coat inside out.

"I wonder what she'll do?" Pam's tone was worried.

"She might go and ask for it."

"She couldn't ask Miss Ashington, she doesn't know her," said Pamela quickly.

"She's the kind of person who might do things you didn't think about. I don't care for that sort of girl." Hughie spoke as one with life-long experience. "You'd better look out, Pam."

"How can I look out?" retorted Pamela almost irritably. She was never cross with Hughie.

"Well," said the Midget, recognizing that she had much excuse, "we may as well both look out, for I'm pretty sure she's rather a tiresome person."

That was all the comfort Pamela received, but poor as it was, in a way it did comfort her; there was something so imperturbable about Hughie, it made her feel less inclined to exaggerate.

Evening fell, rather dark, because the moon rose late. Miss Adelaide Ashington sat outside in the broad tessellated piazza, that ran along the south-west front of Crown Hill house. It was a handsome house; white, in the Italian style; the gardens were beautiful when in good order. Auntie A. had her breakfast outside as a rule, often her tea--but not dinner, because lights being necessary--for eating at any rate, when your dinner-hour is late--she was afraid moths and other creatures would fly into the lamps. So she sat out after dinner, in the growing shadows, sipped coffee, and comforted Charles, who was recovering from internal disorder.

A tall slim figure came towards her from the gardens, walking with easy assurance among the shadowy flowerbeds. Charles heaved himself up on his cushion, and barked weightily in a strangled manner. Miss Ashington, looking about for the cause, said:

"Well--well--well--it's only our dear Pamela--what a fuss--what a fuss."

Charles choked in his endeavours to express disapproval, and "our dear Pamela" came up to the piazza and greeted his mistress.

She said it was a lovely evening, but her feet were wet with the dew; she leaned against a pillar, and, turning up one slim foot, looked at the sole of her shoe. Miss Ashington looked at it also, in a vague kind of manner--she could not see, but she was disturbed to know it was wet.

"Surely it is late for you to be out, dear child," said Auntie A., "_hush_, Charles, be quiet, you know very well who it is--now let me call Dickens and she will find you dry shoes--what about Mollie's--I really cannot allow----"

"But I must go back at once," said the girl, "please do not call anyone," as Miss Ashington hunted on her table for the brass hand-bell that was supposed to be at her elbow, but was always underneath other things, "please do not. I came from my mother to say, may she have the safety-pin brooch with the diamond crown that Adrian found on the cliff--that she sent to you--because the owner is found."

"Ah, the brooch with A initials--yes--yes--yes--now _where_," murmured Auntie A. "I think I had better ring for Dickens----" she hunted for the bell and the table fell over.

Charles coughed himself into convulsions.

"Dear, dear--if you can find the bell--please ring it, dear child."

"Dear child" was on her knee hunting, with the bell safely covered by her skirt. She was searching among the overturned articles with the desperate hope of finding what she came for, instinct suggesting that it might easily be actually on the table.

It was. That is to say, it had been put into Miss Ashington's wicker work-basket, which, having fallen over also, upside down, had emptied its contents on the tiled floor. The brass bell clattered, the reels of cotton spun about driving Charles into delirium, but the searcher cared for none of these things, for she had seen the sudden glint of the diamonds in a ray of light that the drawing-room lamps threw out across the pavement.

"Here it is," she said, with a ring of joy in her voice, "let me make this right."

She set the table up, bundled the obvious contents of the work-basket back into place, seized the papers, books, wool, finally the bell--and put them on the table--in doing so she rang the bell, and on the instant was upon her feet, straightening her shady hat.

"Thank you, thank you, Miss Ashington--and I must now go--my shoes are so wet. You will forgive me that I go at once."

A maid appeared, coming out of the window in answer to the bell summons.

As Miss Ashington looked round to speak to her, Pamela melted into the shadows like a wraith.

"Is that you, Farr?" Auntie A. was rather flustered. "We had an accident. No, I didn't ring--not intentionally--the table fell over. Take care you don't slip on a reel, they are so treacherous and the pavement is very---- Oh, _poor_ little Charles, he was so upset and quite resented a visitor at this time of night!"

"You must have been surprised yourself, ma'am," said Farr, making conversation as she chased reels, thimbles, and mysterious little bundles that were perfectly useless.

"Miss Pamela came for the diamond brooch--I think I told you that Mrs. Romilly sent it to me believing it to be mine because of the initial. Mr. Adrian discovered it--on the cliff--at least I fancy that was what--thank you, Farr---- You see my poor Charles was so ill this morning, that--however, I'd quite forgotten where I put it, but it fell out of the work-basket when---- Of course a summer night is not like any other time of year, but I could not help feeling that Miss Pamela should have had an escort."

"I saw Miss Romilly from the window, ma'am," said Farr, picking up the coffee tray from its special stool, "tall young lady she's growing; very stylish too; 'er 'air is beautiful."

"So it is--so it is--lovely hair. I'm very fond of that child. I hope she has not caught cold. I fancied she was a little hoarse to-night, quite likely if she runs about like this in such a heavy dew. I think I'll come in now, Farr, if you will kindly carry Charles' basket."

*CHAPTER XIV*

*"If anybody dies, it'll be her," said Hughie*

It must have been about a week after that when Hughie, passing by Pamela's door with a view to making himself tidy for lunch, heard a sound of stifled sobbing. He stood still, quite shocked. Here was an unprecedented state of things, and one outside his experience, because Pam was a cheerful interested person, always busy, never morbid. It was horrible.

Hughie had been in "the cave" since breakfast and was on his way to his room rather "delicately" like King Agag, because he knew his mother would wish him to be out of doors, and he had shirked the boat and the bay to finish some particular job of his own devising. Meanwhile something had been happening, obviously. But what?

He opened the door which was not locked, and put his head into the room. Pamela was lying on her bed face downwards, crying bitterly.

Hughie shut the door, then he walked close up to the bed, and very very gently pulled the heavy plait of hair that fell across her shoulders and on to the counterpane. Immediately there was a change in the tone of the sobs. A choke--then silence--then a faint cough, then a sigh--Pamela changed her position a little, and felt for a lost handkerchief. Hughie, noting the missing article on the pillow, put it into her hand. A minute after that she raised herself into a sitting posture, and looked at him; her pretty eyes were heavy and swelled, and her lips trembled.

"Pam," said Hughie, cut to the heart yet reserved, "I expect it's that woman?"

Pamela nodded and blew her nose.

"Well, what's she been doing now?" To show that he was come to stop, Hughie dropped noiselessly to the floor and sat cross-legged, clasping an ankle in either hand.

Pamela cleared her throat and said in a tone that tried hard to be indifferent and casual.

"Mother thinks--I've stolen that brooch--and told a lie--because----" stifled silence ensued.

"Well," said Hughie, "that's very ridiculous."

"Not when you hear--what it's about----" again there was a pause, then starting on a lower note altogether Pamela said:

"Mother wanted to hear about the brooch, Addie made her. So, after a week, you see, she wrote to Miss Ashington and asked what had happened and if it was hers--I mean if the brooch was. This morning Auntie A. sent down a note--all scrawly and covered with blots and half the words left out as usual," this description was emphasized bitterly, "and she said--she said that I fetched the brooch on the same evening you and Miss Chance took it--you remember, Midget, a week ago to-day."

"I know," agreed Hughie, "the morning Charles ate the laurel water."

"Yes, well she says, _I_ came in the evening about nine, or half-past nine, and said Mother sent me for the brooch, and she gave it to me--she says a good deal more; something about her work-basket being upset; but anyway _I_ took the brooch away, and there's an end to it."

"Why, it was the girl--my goodness, she's a funny person!" said Hughie.

"She's a beast. She's a perfect beast without any decency or sense of honour," declared Pamela in a stormy burst of indignation. "I told her to write to Sir Marmaduke and ask him to claim it from Auntie A. It was perfectly simple. Then she goes and plays this low trick again."

"You'd better tell about her," suggested Hughie with interest.

"I said I wouldn't. She said it would get her into awful trouble."

"Well, she gets you into trouble."

"I know, but, Midget, she's all alone--her mother seems to be dead; her father was killed in the War. Fancy being shut up with Chipman and no one decent to speak to! You see, I don't _blame_ her for trying to get her brooch back--she might do that----"

"It was rather clever," Hughie chuckled suddenly, "a sort of short cut, Pam."

"I daresay, but people oughtn't to use short cuts that hurt other people so awfully."

"She's selfish," said Hughie gravely, "_fearfully_ selfish, she doesn't care when the others get hurt."

There was a long pause; then Pamela announced that she wasn't coming down to dinner; she told him that Mrs. Romilly had gone off to Crown Hill to see Miss Ashington.

"What did Mum say to you?" asked Hughie.

"Nothing. Not a word--she gave me the letter to read."

"What did you say?"

"I was feeling so sick and awful, I don't know what I said--except that I didn't go at all. It sounded so helpless in the face of that letter."

"I think I'll go to dinner," announced Hughie suddenly, and he picked himself up, dusting himself in an incomplete manner.

"You can have my brush and comb, Midget, if you like," suggested Pamela, lying down again in a languid manner. "Oh dear, I wish I was dead. People say when there are two of a person one always dies. I hope it'll be me."

This was very gloomy. Hughie gazed at her from under his brows as he brushed his hair. Then he looked at his hands, appeared satisfied that their condition would pass the eagle-eyed inspection of the Floweret, and walked to the door. From there he said:

"If anybody dies it'll be her," and went, closing the door quietly behind him. Pamela felt comforted.

Dinner was proceeding in the dining-room, in a horribly uncomfortable manner, because the three persons present all knew of this amazing state of things, and not one knew what to say. Hughie slid into his chair and was helped to mince without comment. Miss Chance was doing her best to keep up a pretence that nothing was the matter, and welcomed her youngest pupil as an ally, but Hughie was glum.

"Now," said the Floweret hopefully, "_do_ let us settle about a picnic. I am sure Hughie will side with me. Adrian, what about an alliance between boats and pedestrians--to Ramsworthy Cove, for instance--or farther; the sands at Netheroot looked so inviting when we passed the other day, I always contend there are no such sands anywhere. Come now, what do you say?"

Adrian was talking to Crow in a low voice. He glanced up.

"Beg your pardon, Miss Chance, I didn't hear what you said;" then, dropping his voice,

"It's not a bit of good shutting one's eyes to facts, Crow. I confess I don't understand this latest business--it sounds insane--but Pamela's hiding something up her sleeve; besides, I'll swear she never got little Ensor up the Beak by----"

"Oh, don't go on about that, Addie. I'm sick of the very name of that cliff. If the Ensors say she did, and Reuben declares she carried him--he told me so again when I went yesterday--it's idiotic to keep on nagging about it. Let's drop the Beak once for all, and as for this latest business, as you call it, I won't believe it. I refuse to believe it on the authority of Auntie A.; she's so--well--perhaps I'd better not say what I think."

It was seldom that Crow was heard to speak thus savagely. She was quite unlike herself, just as Pamela appeared to be! But she was angry, chiefly with circumstances, and in any case nothing should induce her to believe such a thing about dear old Pam. It was outrageous. Pam, who was the soul of generosity and straightforwardness, to go to Miss Ashington and tell a lie to get hold of a valuable brooch! The thing was a glaring insult to her character and to the whole Romilly family. That was Crow's opinion.

Hughie looked up at his eldest sister with approval. Christobel was so gentle that an attack from her was an event.

"What do you think, Hughie?" she asked.

"It's silly," was the brief answer, "and can I have some gooseberry pie, Crow?"

"What does it matter what Hughie thinks?" said Adrian, feeling a little injured.

Hughie ate gooseberries and spoke not, but he wondered what they would say if they knew what he knew!

However, matters got worse instead of better. Mrs. Romilly came back sooner than they expected; she had not had lunch at Crown Hill, she had declined it saying she must go home. However, she would not eat, but went off to the drawing-room with Crow and Adrian. Hughie took the opportunity to collect food for Pamela. Tartlets, cake, and a tempting little veal pie from the sideboard. Laden with this he retired upstairs and entered Pamela's room again with difficulty, putting the plate on the floor while he opened the door.

"There was mince, and gooseberry pie as well, Pam," he said, setting the plate down on the bed, "but I couldn't bring it, because it was loose, these things are hard--it's rather a comfort there was some hard stuff about--but, any way, Jeepy would give me some."

"Jeepy" was Mrs. Jeep--cook, house-keeper, and adorer-in-chief amongst Hughie's train of admirers.

"That child's intelleck is beyond telling," was a favourite assertion of Mrs. Jeep's, and one with a good deal of truth in it.

The servants had, of course, picked up the rumour of strange behaviour on the part of Miss Pamela, and Keziah, keeping Patty out of it, of course, with sharp injunctions about "little pitchers" and "long ears", had whispered to Mrs. Jeep that there certainly was something in it.

"Times and times," asserted Keziah, "I've seen her lately. Well, out of my window one night; she was going along the terrace, here near eleven and after. I must say it's not pretty behaviour. And I'm not the only one neither. When I went up to Badger's for eggs, he said to me: 'One of your young ladies seems to take her walks abroad.' 'Well, Mr. Badger,' I said, 'and why not? I suppose the country is made for walks. I'm walking myself,' I said, 'and so are you.' I said----" she stopped, breathless.

"Glad you was brief with him," said Mrs. Jeep in a slow comfortable voice, "I don't hold with such folks being so free with gentry's names. They ought to know better, but there's a many don't know their places these times. The mistress is put out though; upset she is, and I don't like to see it, for you never see no bad feeling nor goings on in this house--nice children they are, and have been from babies--the lot of them. Mr. Malcolm just such another as Master Hughie, very inventive in his ways, always some notion in his head."

There was sympathy and curiosity too in the kitchen, though Patty Inglis the between-maid was allowed to ask no questions, and sharply reprimanded by Mrs. Jeep and Keziah for the least appearance of interest.

Meanwhile Mrs. Romilly sat in her chair in the drawing-room resting her cheek on her hand. Christobel on a stool close by patted the other hand reassuringly. Adrian looked out of the window, for of all things he could least bear to see his mother unhappy.

"I see no way out of it," said Mrs. Romilly after relating Auntie A.'s story, "of course she was vague and wandering, and repeated herself as usual--that's nothing--the thing that matters is perfectly clear--Pamela went there about half-past nine--she had gone to her room we all know--she stayed only a few minutes and seemed in a hurry. She would have been in a hurry naturally. Miss Ashington said she seemed nervous and unlike herself, and her voice was husky, or low--well, not quite the same. That also we can account for easily enough, because Pam is by no means a practised deceiver----"

"I don't think it is _proved_ that she is a deceiver at all, Mother, let alone practised!"

So said Christobel in a low voice, unshaken by evidence.

"Dear old Crow," murmured Mrs. Romilly in rather a choked voice, "I like you to feel so; but, well _Farr_ saw her too, and remarked how tall she was growing and how lovely her hair is--so it is, lovely." Mrs. Romilly gave a little cough, and hastily changed her position; then suddenly a tear fell with a tiny splash on the back of Christobel's stroking hand.

"Oh, Mummy!" she exclaimed.

"How silly of me, darling. I didn't mean to--but I don't understand, and I can't bear to be--well--outside with you children--we've always got on so well, and had no secrets. This----"

There was a tense silence.

Adrian, having spoken no word up till now, had been growing more and more angry with the world in general.