Part 15

The only thing confided to the general public about this surprising development was that Adrian considered the allowance of tide all too short for reaching Salterne, which was true, and had decided therefore to make a day at Peterock. For the latter place everything was convenient, the out-going tide would begin to ebb soon after nine o'clock, and turn between three and four in the afternoon; could anything be better?

"I wonder you didn't settle on that in the first place," said Mrs. Romilly, a most reasonable remark. She did not know that Adrian cherished a secret hope to anchor out all night again in Salterne river, whereas Peterock was not the kind of harbour for such pleasures. It was not a harbour at all, in fact, but a lovely watering-place with a pier; within the pier was a makeshift mooring-ground, choked up with various craft. No born sailor would go to Peterock for enjoyment. However, these matters were not within Mrs. Romilly's knowledge, and Peterock would do quite well for hair-cutting.

On finding the start was not immediate Mrs. Romilly made out a list of commissions, and Christobel was too busy hearing about these things to have any more time for the mystery. When she and Pamela went off there was a serene atmosphere.

"Doesn't the dinghy look clean," exclaimed Pamela in warm admiration. "Addie, you've scrubbed the whole thing. She's lovely!"

Adrian, who was rowing, looked at his sister quickly. The sincerity of her face was unquestionable.

Thus the mystery grew, but Adrian was not ruffled as he had been in the morning. Then, Crow had him at a disadvantage; he could not prove anything; he was forced to feel even foolish in the face of the evidence Christobel brought about the peaceful slumber of the supposed culprits. Now it was different. He was justified by his startling discoveries, and good temper was the result.

Christobel looked round as they boarded the yawl, but saw no signs of disorder. All was neat as usual. She and Pamela packed the food into the pantry shelf and set about helping to get the sails up.

Poor Pam was very happy. She felt freer than she had done for a long time. Nothing could happen out here. The sea was glorious, and Crow was always the same to her; nothing could come between them, she thought.

The breeze was off shore--what is called a "soldier's wind", which means that it serves without tacking. The tide was strong, the sea, with such a breeze, of course was smooth; it was all as perfect as possible.

"The Floweret could have come to-day without being sick," said Pamela, gazing over the shimmering waste with half-shut eyes; "what a pity Midget is left behind."

"He looked rather tired," said Crow from her place at the tiller.

"Did he; I wonder why. He slept sound enough; he never woke till Keziah called him, and then he went to sleep again," said Pam.

Christobel smiled. This was exactly what she had felt sure of, and there was no effort at all in her sister's way of speaking.

The start was excellent, the sailing was perfect; "dull care" seemed to have been left behind in Bell Bay--but one never knows!

Lunch being planned for rather an early hour, the two girls went down to get things in order about twelve o'clock. Adrian took the tiller, and, steering with his eyes half shut, whistled softly to himself. Christobel began setting the swing table in the saloon--the plan was to lay-to upon the wind and have a proper lunch, as there was time; Peterock cliffs were already in sight, and they would be moving towards their destination all the while on the drift of the tide.

Pamela went through to light the stove--hot water would be wanted for washing up, which was never left indefinitely. She had just put the kettle on when she heard Christobel say something, and called out.

"What's that, Crow?"

"How _funny_!"

"What's funny?" Pamela set a saucepan close to the kettle--with a view to egg-boiling--and then swooped through the low door full of curiosity. "What's funny?" she asked again.

Crow was sitting on the bunk seat which was generally called hers, holding something in her hand--a handkerchief. Not one of Adrian's "tablecloths", nor one of the girls' strong linen hem-stitched articles with the name letter in the corner. It was small and fine and lace-edged. Crow began turning it round slowly through her fingers, looking for some mark.

A spasm passed through Pam's mind. She was beginning to be accustomed to that sudden sick shock, that meant "danger ahead", but it was none the less unpleasant.

Christobel came to a corner, and stayed.

"Goodness!" she murmured. "I _say_, Pam, look here!"

Pamela had no need to "look here", she guessed.

"How _extraordinary_!" went on Crow with emphasis; "the same letters that were on the safety-pin brooch--and a tiny little coronet. It's awfully pretty, but--who on earth!"

She looked up at Pamela; their eyes met, and Christobel was acutely conscious that Pam knew something. She flushed scarlet; then the colour fled and left her very pale; her clear eyes shifted from Crow's gaze, and in their depths was an uneasy, deprecating shadow.

"Do you know anything about this?" asked Christobel.

"About the handkerchief, no. Oh no, I don't. How _could_ it come here?"

It was perfectly true that she had no idea how the handkerchief came there, but it was not the sort of truth that was natural to Pamela Romilly, and as she said the horrid words she felt sick with herself. In a lightning moment she resolved to go to the Countess and tell her that she intended to state the whole position to Christobel--she would do it; she would warn the girl and have it all above-board.

Silence fell like a stone between the sisters. Christobel realized that Pamela _had_ some secret; Pamela saw that she did.

Slowly the elder girl folded up the handkerchief and put it in her skirt pocket.

"What shall you do--about it?" asked Pamela nervously.

"I shall give it to Mother, I suppose. When one considers that the letters and the coronet are the same--well----"

Her tone was cold--she was hurt because Pam would not speak.

A sudden strange inspiration came to Pamela in that desperate moment. Desperate, because Crow had backed her up and fought her battle right through--she could not bear this last misunderstanding.

"Crow," she said, leaning forward; her voice shook a little, and her eyes looked suspiciously limpid--"Crow--do you mind my saying something--about it?"

"Why should I?"

"Don't say anything to Mother, yet. Take it to Miss Anne."

"_Miss Anne_--Little Pilgrim?" Christobel checked her work, and gazed back startled. "Why?"

"I can't tell you why--but do. I am sure it would be the best thing to do."

The elder girl considered this, not with much sympathy it seemed; then she said:

"Oh well, perhaps. I don't know. Anyway, we may as well put lunch; Addie is awfully hungry."

So it passed, with a very heavy cloud left behind to darken the clear holiday sky!

Lunch was eaten and greatly enjoyed by Adrian. The two girls using a self-control such as only girls know how to call up when necessary, Addie saw no difference in either--but they saw it--in each other.

Then came the arrival at Peterock, the smart picking up of moorings, the convenient man doing nothing in a large clinker-built boat close by, with a pipe between his teeth, willing for a consideration to "oblige" and give advice.

Then the three went ashore with the afternoon before them, and to make it all more complete they decided to have tea at a gay and joyous tea-shop on the biggest esplanade, and start for home about five-thirty or six; even so with such a wind and the splendid flow-tide they would have ample time. Adrian had his hair cut, while the girls--more or less constrained--looked into shop windows. When they met again Christobel said she did not like the idea of waiting so long in the town, "suppose the wind dropped"--it was lighter. Adrian was disappointed, but he realized that they were not allowing themselves much time for possible accidents.

"Let's get off at four--about--and have tea on board," said Crow. As a matter of fact the "snap" in the day had gone out for her since that odd conversation with Pamela.

"_Tell_ you what we'll do," cried Adrian suddenly, as a new move occurred. He loved new moves. "We'll get off about four; we'll sail down to the cove this side Bell Ridge--you know Champles Creek. We'll drop anchor there and have tea on shore. We shall be home then practically, as we've only got Bell Ridge between us and the bay, and can walk over if the worst comes to the worst."

"Why should there be any 'worst'?" asked Crow, not quite convinced.

"No reason, but one ought to have a bolt hole--always. All wild animals do, and their instincts are--hullo, there's old Timothy Batt--Peterock day, I suppose."

Timothy Batt's "van" was drawn up at the curb, bulging with parcels of all shapes. He sat under the canvas hood, while people in shops came out and handed him more things. He was very well known.

As the Romilly trio came up he leaned out and made a gesture of summons to Pamela, who stepped forward to meet it.

Timothy explained that her bicycle was ready, "if so be" as she would be content to risk a probable collapse of the tyre at an early date.

"Them at the works," explained Mr. Batt, "can't make no job of it. A new tyre is what 'e wants--they don't take no 'sponsibilities."

"They've been such an age over it already," said Pamela, annoyed, "weeks--I must ask about the tyre--I wish I'd known, Timothy."

"Well, missie, 'twasn't for want o' me tellin' of you. 'Tis a matter of two weeks or more--us coming up along Folly Ho Road--pretty near dark it were, and that I marked because I says to the missus 'twas a lone place for you that hour. I called out, and stopped be roadside right enough to told you what they says down works. 'Thank 'e', says you--nobbut that, and on you goes. Bein' as I was home goin' and I didn't stop. There 'twas----"

"Oh," said Pamela uncertainly. "Oh, I see----" She moved on a step, then she turned back to the cart and told Timothy she would write to the works, "or Mother would".

Timothy Batt informed the missus that evening that "Miss Pamela looked 'pined'," and "she'd a lost way with her--happen she's growed too tall to be hearty," said the carrier.

Pamela certainly felt both "pined" and "lost" as she walked on with the others. She had no doubt whatever that this was another case of her "double", and glancing sideways at Adrian, as he walked along balancing neatly on the curb, saw the look on his face that she had begun to know now. Crow remained perfectly stolid, changing the subject at once to something far removed from bicycles and Timothy Batt.

In old days, both would have said to her at once, "What were you doing on the Folly Ho Road at that time?" Now, nobody spoke, and to poor Pamela it was a sort of brand proclaiming her outlawed from the family confidence.

On the top of the handkerchief affair it was rather shattering, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. However, she called up her resolution to hearten herself, swallowed the pain, and tried to take it all philosophically. After all, it would be explained presently, and in the meantime she was doing what she thought right by the girl who had asked for her silence.

Sails do not always turn out "according to plan", but this one did--as far as getting to the creek below Champles Farm was concerned. It was the loveliest place, though hardly worthy to be called a creek when it came to an anchorage. On such a day, with an off-shore wind, the place was perfection. And once more the spirits of the three recovered the usual level. Adrian dropped the anchor, and the white yawl lay on the smooth sea exactly like "a painted ship upon a painted ocean", while her crew went ashore.

A stream came down through a glorious cleft in the rugged height. There were trees and ferns, the former a bit stunted from sea-wind; but Bell Ridge was a barrier on one side, and on the other, the coast-line trending outward made a shield.

Two thermos flasks and a weighty basket went ashore with the crew in the dinghy. It was some while after five then; but, as Adrian said the tide would be in their favour till half-past nine, the feeling of ease was delightful. No hurry. No bother about wind or tide. Home was just round the point by sea, and perhaps a mile by land, as the crow flies. More, of course, if climbing is allowed for.

Soon after six Adrian said he should bathe. Crow unearthed a magazine, and Pamela said she would climb to the top and look at the view.

Everybody agreed that it "was all right", and became absorbed in their different occupations. Time passed so swiftly that it had presently reached the hour of half-past seven. Then Adrian, who had become busy on the yawl in some unexpected direction, came ashore and said it was time to be lifting anchor.

Christobel shut the magazine, wishing next month was due to-morrow, and gazed at him with vague eyes.

"Wake up, old lady; we ought to be getting back. Where's that idiot Pam?"

"Oh, isn't she on the shore?" said Christobel, stretching. "How heavenly it looks!"

"Yes, I know, but it's about eight o'clock--or soon will be. We'd better get things on board; I can come and take her off."

"Whistle--call," suggested Crow, getting up from her fern seat.

Adrian did his best, which was something to be proud of, in the noise line. Christobel had to tell him to stop; she said the lighthouse at Ramsworthy would send the boat up, thinking it was a ship in distress. They both stood on the edge of the rippled sea, looking up at the cliff and the wooded gully that cut it from top to the rocky base.

"_There_!" exclaimed Crow.

"Pam--e--la, _hullo--o_!" Adrian's strong voice woke echoes that called and called again.

Clear of the bushes, on the summit stood the person they wanted, looking down at them apparently, but never a word said she, nor did she make sign or gesture. She just stared.

Christobel waved her handkerchief, waved her hat, joined in Adrian's shout:

"Go--_ing_!"

Anyone could have heard much farther off than the cliff top. True, it was high, but the scene was so still, the waves but a ripple, and the wind a breath.

"She's mad," announced Adrian; "she's raving, Crow. I told you she was. If she isn't coming, why can't she answer? I must say this positively passes--well, never mind--get in--we'll go. If she comes down I'll fetch her off, but I shall certainly tell her what I think. Otherwise she can walk home."

"I don't understand," said Crow.

"Of course you don't. People are not expected to understand lunatics." Adrian said that and a few more things more pointed than flattering on the way out to the yawl.

Meanwhile Pamela sat down on the edge of the cliff and watched them with apparent interest.

By that time the light was beginning to turn into shadow.

"I suppose it couldn't be anyone else!" ventured Christobel, twisting round in the stern seat to look up at the motionless watcher.

"Anyone else! My good girl, ask your own senses! Look at her hair! Look at everything! Besides, where is Pamela? Didn't we see her go up to that very place?"

"Addie, don't you think I'd better go back, and up to her and see if anything is wrong?"

"How could there be anything wrong? She looks perfectly healthy--there, she's going away. Well, of all the blazing bits of cheek----"

It was true. Pamela got up, stood clear against a bit of bare ground so that they saw her figure distinctly; then she turned and walked away, disappearing on the instant from view.

Adrian gave a snort--it was nothing less--and boarded the yawl in silence.

The voyage home from the creek and the finish up took perhaps half an hour. Adrian left nothing to chance that night: he locked the companion door, he fastened the fore-hatch.

"You'll have to put up with stinks, Crow," he said bitterly, being most horribly cross; "with the whole of Bell Bay one seething mass of lunatics one has to take precautions."

Crow said nothing. She saw it must be so, also she was very much puzzled; there was the handkerchief of course, in addition, from her point of view; Addie knew nothing about that. However, amazements were not yet a thing of the past. When they two got in supper was just beginning--everybody was collected round a cosy, well-filled table, everybody, and--Pamela, who was cutting bread. She looked hot and rather tired.

"We're just about equal," she said. "I was so sorry to be late."

"_Late_!" came from the two elders in voices of amazed indignation.

"You were just off. I never saw anything so lovely as _Messenger_, just leaning over, and spinning along, with the dinghy streaming behind. It was no good then, of course, so I just went back through the gorse ridge and came down the usual way."

"Do you mean to say we were sailing when you first saw us, Pam?" said Christobel, in a shocked voice.

"Sailing, yes--streaking along awfully fast. Have some bread, Addie?"

"But, my dear girl, we were on the shore when we first saw you," persisted Christobel. "We called and shouted till we were afraid of attracting public attention and being had up for nuisances."

"Did you see Pam then, dear?" asked Mrs. Romilly.

"_See_ her, of course, Mummy, but she wouldn't answer. We called--we waved--we were on shore waiting by the dinghy, wondering why on earth she was so late. Then we saw her come to the cliff edge and look down at us. Addie made an awful noise, but she never answered. She just seemed to be staring straight at us. At last we couldn't wait any longer and we put off to the yawl. She watched us reach the yawl and then she turned away and went off. That's what _we_ saw."

"How _very_ odd," said Mrs. Romilly uncertainly. "Tell them just what happened to you, darling."

"I went up the cliff to the top," Pamela answered, speaking rather quickly, "then I thought I'd just go to Champles and fetch a few eggs, as it was easy to carry them by the boat. And coming away from Champles I went round above the church, because it was so lovely--and there was a most awful bother going on--Crow, you know where Mr. Badger has all those sheep penned, and the field where the mare and the foal are in with those calves. Well, _all_ the sheep were out--hundreds--the whole place was covered, the mare had got into the cornfield where the young corn is just coming up green--and the calves had gone. I started to get the mare out, it took ages; then I saw the calves had gone into the field that's nearly hay. It was particularly trying for Mr. Badger, because I knew he would be at Salterne market to-day and not back. Everyone else was gone home, of course. I got the mare back, and the calves, and some of the sheep. It took ages and ages; when I got to the cliff edge there was _Messenger_ sailing away. Certainly I didn't blame Addie for a second. I only went to look on the off-chance of her being still in the creek--it was very late."

Adrian made no remark from first to last. He hardly appeared to listen, but ate his supper in absorbed silence. Frankly, he did not believe a word of the story, but he did not know what to think. How his sister could dare to assert that they never saw her, and that the yawl was on her way home, was past understanding.

Mrs. Romilly had come to the conclusion--from Adrian's manner and Pam's nervousness--that there had been some tiff on board, and the separation was due to disagreement. She changed the subject, and peace prevailed on the surface.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*Mr. Badger calls at Bell House; and Christobel at Fuchsia Cottage*

Hughie most tactfully refrained from saying one word to add to Pamela's weariness that night. It was plain she was very tired--plain to her mother, who, for that reason perhaps, was a little inclined to be biased against the elder pair.

It was not kind to leave the child alone at Champles Creek, when by their own story they had seen her and called to her.

"After all, one of you might have gone up to see what was the matter, darling," she said to Crow later.

"But, Mother, _she_ says we'd started."

"I think she is saying it to shield you both; Pam is very generous," suggested Mrs. Romilly.

"I suppose you mean that either way _we_ are wrong," answered Crow, a little wounded.

"Well, do you think it was quite kind to leave her all alone? After a long tiring day? But never mind--a night's rest will put it right, and certainly Pam bears no malice."

That was how the affair looked to Mrs. Romilly. Christobel said no more. She was a wise, kind girl--moreover, she was becoming aware of some strange mesh of misunderstanding that had entangled them all. Pamela had had to bear the brunt of that horrible brooch affair--now _she_ was accused of this!

The handkerchief was in her possession still, of course, and, as she examined it that night, Pamela's odd suggestion came back to her with new force. At any rate Miss Anne would bring another mind and imagination to bear on these entanglements.

Hughie, then, waited till next day, when he conveyed a secret invitation to Pamela to meet him in "the cave" at a certain hour for important conversation. Pamela went, and, curled up happily behind the barricade with her long legs doubled up under her, she heard the story of the Countess' raid on the yawl and the way she had been circumvented.

"Now what did she want to do?" said Pamela thoughtfully, her head against the big trunk.

"_I_ rather guess----" said Hughie.

"What?"

"She wants to escape from Bell Bay. If I was her," he went on, clasping his ankles as he sat cross-legged--"if I was her, I should escape, but in a more sensible way, of course."

"I see, escape to Salterne. I wonder if she has any money," considered Pamela.

"Sure to--lots."

"I wonder," went on Pam, "if Addie found out things on board; he never said a word to me."

"Of course he did. The dinghy was all filthy mess, and there must have been a whole _field_ on the yawl! _I_ couldn't stop to clean up. There was that girl, and besides, I was so wet."

"Midget, you haven't caught cold, have you?" asked Pamela anxiously.

"No. I say, Pam--because Addie found out the mess was why you didn't go to Salterne, don't you see? It made things late--then you went to Peterock. I guessed that was it."

Pamela saw also, in an instant. Then she told Hughie about the handkerchief; he nodded gravely.

"Well, if Crow takes it to Miss Lasarge, perhaps _she'll_ go and tell Sir Marmaduke. I wish they'd take that girl away--she spoils all our fun." Hughie sighed, then he remarked, "I told her it's no use her raiding the yawl any more--I said Addie would lock her up. I said I'd tell him to, but he'll do it jolly well without me telling."

Pamela remained deep in thought as she reviewed this situation.

"I wonder what that girl will do next," she said at last, and sighed.

"Well, _I_ wish she'd put her head in a bag," remarked the Midget with quite unexpected coarseness; "she doesn't seem to be any use."

Now if anybody is thinking that the trouble at Champles Farm began and ended with poor Pamela's anxious efforts, "he is deceived by his own vanity", as Mrs. Jeep would have said. The day was not ended before that worthy woman sent in a message by Keziah to know whether she could speak to mistress for a few moments. Mrs. Romilly departed to the housekeeper's room, and presently left that comfortable sanctum more confused in mind than ever.