 Chapter 7 Being Detectives If you are Jack Delamere, the boy detective who can find out all secrets by himself, pretending to be a French count, a young lady from the provinces, or a Lincolnshire labourer with a cold in his head, and in those disguises pass unrecognised by his nearest relations, and by those coiners and smugglers, to whom in his ordinary clothes he is only too familiar. If you can so alter your voice that your old school-fellows believe you to be, when dressed for the part, an Italian organ grinder, or a performing bear, I'm sorry, this sentence is too much for me, I'd give it up. What I was going to say, was that persons accustomed to the detective trade, or on the other hand, persons who are used to keeping out of the way of detectives, no doubt find it easy to play a part, and to look innocent when they are guilty, and ignorant when, of course, all is known to them. But when you are not accustomed to playing a part in a really serious adventure, not just a pretending one, you will find your work cut out for you. This was what Charles and Caroline felt. It was all very well for Charlotte to have arranged that they should help the police to look for Rupert, and the other two said cordially that it was very clever of her to have thought of it, and they all started together for the side door where the policeman was still talking to Mrs. Wilmington. But their feet seemed somehow not to want to go that way. They went more and more slowly, and when they were halfway to the house, Caroline said, I don't think I will. I don't know how. I should do something silly and give the show away. I shall say I'm too tired. You are too bad, said Charlotte, exasperated. I go and lay all the plans, and then you funk. I don't, said Caroline, and so anxious was she not to have to play the part of pretending to look for Rupert when all the time she knew where he was, that she added humbly, Don't be snarky. I'm only saying I'm not clever enough. I'm not so clever as you, that's all. I am sorry to say that Charlotte only answered, Rats! and added, I suppose Charles is going to cry off next. She did not think he was. She just said it, and Charles most unexpectedly answered, I think I'd rather not, if you don't mind. Charlotte stamped her foot. Oh, all right! she said, but for goodness sake, come on, they'll think there's something up. And they walked on. Look here, said Caroline, suddenly. I will pretend to help. It was only that I was so awfully afraid they'd find him. Only if I disappear you'll understand it's just because I felt sillier than I could bear. You help too, Charles. I'm sure you can, and you don't pretend too much. I shouldn't talk much except asking questions if I were you. Right, how? said Charlotte. And Charles said, oh, well, only if I give it away without meaning to, don't blame me. And by this time they were quite near the house, by whose side door of many-coloured glass the group of talking grown-ups awaited them. Mrs. Wilmington was there with her handkerchief over her head, and William and the gardener's boy and the gardener, and a tall, stout young man with fat red hands, who was the police. I can't and won't, Mrs. Wilmington was saying. The master's orders is, are, that is not to be disturbed in the mornings on any pretense, not if the house was on fire. I couldn't face him with this vulgar tale of runaway boys. I give you leave to search for him, she said in proud refined accents. I'm quite competent to take that upon me, quite. The police turned from her to the children, who said, good morning. All but Charlotte who had said it before. Good morning to you, said the police. And so you young ladies and gents, is going to join the search-party. Yes, please, said Caroline. What will you do with him if you catch him? Caroline asked abruptly. Send him to jail, in course, said the police, winking at William. And you're all going to help the law in the execution of its duty. And very useful, I dare say, or be, he added, affably, knowing the place and what not. Now, see here, he went on, condescending to them in a way which, it was remarked, later was like his cheek. Let's have a game of play. Make believe you know. Let's pretend this runaway lad is a friend of yours. A cold shiver ran down three youthful backs. For a moment it seemed that all was discovered. But the police went on still, playfully. A friend of yours, and you and him, has settled to play a little game of hide-and-seek. And he's he. Now, where? He ended more affably, almost, than they could bear. Where would you look first? I don't know, said Charles miserably. Oh, just anywhere, said Charlotte. But Caroline said slowly, I should look in the wood over there. And pointed straight to the spot where Rupert lay buried in fern and leaves. Right you are, said the police, delighted to have got a suggestion. Then here goes. Charlotte dared not look at her sister, lest her face should show her detestation of this traitorous act. Charles put his hands in his pockets to express indifference and decided not to whistle for fear of overdoing his part. He told himself that he never would have believed it of Carol. Never. And now Caroline was speaking again, looking confidingly up into the large, patronising face of the police. That's where I should look, she was saying, if we were playing hide-and-seek. But as it is, you see, we've been there all the morning, and he couldn't have come into the wood without our hearing him, you know. Have you tried the other wood beyond the garden, and the thatched summerhouse, and the lodge that isn't used over by the other gates, you know? The old lodge, the police echoed, a very likely spot I shouldn't wonder. You lead the way, young gentleman, he said to Charles. Good old Carol! Oh, good old Carol! Charlotte was saying to herself as the party started. I'll dispose my search-party proper later on, said the police importantly, and turned to say, ain't you coming, miss? To Caroline, who was stooping down, doing something to her foot. I can't, she said, I've got a stone in my shoe, and it hurts, she added, standing up firmly on it. Caroline went indoors, and the search-party threaded the woods and converged at last on the empty lodge. Its lattice-pained windows were dusty, its door hung on a broken hinge, and little black balls of hard moss were dotted between the flagstones of its yard. Its thatch was loose in places ruffled like the plumage of an old stuffed bird, and its garden had been so long untilled that it had ceased to be the weed-grown earth patch that a neglected garden first becomes, and had grown green all over, covered itself with grass, and fern, and bramble, and baby oak trees, and become just a fenced-in patch of the wood beyond. Halt! said the police, just the place! A whole warrant we've run the young gentleman to earth this time! Perhaps they hadn't. There was nothing in the lodge but an old hamper with a hole in it, a litter of straw, an old damp paper, some cold ashes in the grate, and in the upper rooms, two last year's birds' nests, and a chair with three legs and half a back. The police stooped his helmeted head to the low door lintel, and came out into the sunshine a disappointed man. Thought we'd got him! he said, and that was what he said at the Thatched Summerhouse, and in the Larchwood, and at various other parts of the park and grounds where Rupert was not. Isn't it nearly dinner-time? Charles asked, as the search-party pushed through a very brambly break, and came out once more at the back of the deserted lodge. Are you kind, governess? she put back dinner an hour for you to assist in the search, said the police reassuringly. Best try the other side, Mr. Polde, said William. You've drawed this blank. I will now whistle to the gentleman as owned the runaway, said the police, suddenly and terribly, and whistled. Where is he? Charles asked, with a sudden vision of the Mirdstone gentleman seeing everything with half an eye, capturing Rupert and carrying him off in half a minute. Charles was wondering what they'd do to you for helping runaway boys. Along the road, the police answered, with Mr. Binskin from the Peelefells, keeping watch. I'd best report to him. Will he come with us? Charles could not help asking. I'm of opinion he's best where he is, said the police. I'm just a going to tell him to keep on up and down outside. The Ostler from the Peele is over the other side, case he gets out that way, unless he's had to get back to his work already. Let's go and have another look at those birds' nests while we're waiting, said Charlesot, with great presence of mind. And so it was through the little diamond panes of the lodge that they saw again the Mirdstone gentleman, in evening dress and an overcoat with his tie in a crumpled state under one ear, and his face, as Charlesot said, exactly like the face of a baffled executioner. He stood talking to the police for a few moments with the old familiar scowl that they knew so well. They felt like that about it though they'd only met the scowler, as you know, on one occasion. Then he went back through the gate, and the children, when they were quite sure that he was gone, rejoined the police, rather tired, and feeling as though this silly game of looking for what they knew, or at any rate hoped they weren't going to find, had been going on forever, and seemed as though it would never stop. I thought it best, the police explained to William, to keep the gent on the outside of the place. He seems peppery natured, and if he was to spy his boy among your glass houses, which is where I propose to conduct my searching next, I wouldn't answer for it but what he'd leap upon him among the glass like a fox at a duck, and damage untold as like as not. Need I tell you that Rupert was not discovered among the glass. Less brisk than at its starting the search party returned to the side door where the coloured glass was, to be met on its doorstep by Caroline, rather out of breath and very hot. She carried her sunbonnet by its strings. Aunt Emilyne believed in sunbonnets, and made dozens of them as presents for all her friends. Well, said Caroline. We haven't found him, Miss, if that's what you mean, said the police, taking his helmet off and wiping his face. I suppose you ain't seen anything. Caroline looked nervously at the others. He heard something, she said, in the wood over there. I went back, she went on in a sort of wooden way, and now she was not looking at the others at all, because I left something there, and I heard a rustling sound, and I saw footmarks in the boggy part of the wood, and I thought it looked like boys' boots. Charlotte said afterwards that she really thought she should have burst into little pieces, and Charles said the same. To hear their own elder and Till-Nah loved and esteemed sister quietly betraying the refugee, and to be quite unable to say what they thought of her without having to explain the lack of candour in their own conduct, it was a terrible moment. You don't say so, said the police, and turned to William. It's a thirsty job, he added carelessly, and William said he'd ask indoors. A tray with glasses and a jug of something cool resulted, and the police and William both seemed the better for it. The gardener had retired, it was too far the wrong side of dinner time for him, he said. The police drew a long breath and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Now then, he said, you lead the way, miss. Caroline led, the others followed. They could hardly bear to go, yet they could still less bear to be left behind. Across the hot, sunny grass they went and into the wood. Even that, though shady, was hot, and there seemed to be more flies than could possibly be needed for any useful purpose. Caroline, still carefully avoiding the eyes of the others, led the way straight to the ferny lair where they had left Rupert, the others following in helpless fury. Hello, said the police, this looks something like. For there the lair was, plainly to be seen, a lair and nothing else, but a lair that was deserted. I think we're on to him now, said the police. Which way did you say them footsteps was, missy? Farther on, said Caroline, I tied my handkerchief to a tree to mark the place. You never, said the police admiringly. Why, you deserve to be in the force, miss. It's not every cunt to believe and would have thought of that. And I believe he spoke the truth. Following Caroline and the police, pushing miserably through the bushes that sprang back as the others passed through and tried to hit them in the face, Charlotte and Charles exchanged glances full of meaning. The whole party made a good deal of noise, there was the rustling of leaves, both the green and the dead kind, the snapping of twigs underfoot, the grating of bow against bow as the searchers pushed through the hay. Hazzles and sweet chestnuts and young oaks. You do fine for keepers, said William coming last. No poachers wouldn't never hear you are coming. That your handkerchief, miss. The police at the same moment asked smartly and pointed to a white thing that drooped from a dogwood branch. You identify the handkerchief? Yes, said Caroline in a stifled voice. And there, she pointed down, there were footprints, very plain and deeply marked footprints, not very large yet not small like a girl's. They were the footprints beyond any doubt of a boy. Now wave got him, said the police for about the 15th time that morning and proceeded to follow the steps, as was remarked later, like any old sleuthhound. William said, remarkable deep for the time of year, but nobody took any notice of him. The boot boy took a pleasure in planting his own steps beside the tracks they were following till the police admonished him. Them tracks is evidence, he said. You needn't tread so nigh them. The tracks led them down a steep place, a sort of gorge, and ended at the tall oak fence. He must have escaped this way, said the police. I'll take my Sunday, Sammy, never, said William. There's another footprint here, said Caroline anxiously. So there be, said the police. You have been a help, miss. I shall name you in my report. It was now seen that a further line of footprints led along the fence to a place where a pail was loose. This is where he got through, you may depend, said the police. I'll easy ranch another pail loose if you want to follow on, said William. And as he did so, Charlotte saw him wink, distinctly wink at Caroline. How hateful everybody was! Oh poor Rupert! Everyone got through. Charles and Charlotte, rather doubtfully looking up and down the road first, to see if the Mirdstone Master was in sight. Which way! The police now asked himself and the others anxiously. That was quickly settled. A whitish object lying in the middle of the road ten yards away beckoned them to the right. The police stooped stiffly, picked it up, and examined its corners. Rupert wicks, he read solemnly. I shall now sound my whistle and acquaint the gentleman as owns the boy with our discovery of the anchor chair belonging to the runaway. But Caroline laid a hand on his arm and arrested the whistle on its way to his lips. Isn't that something else white farther along? she said. Don't tell me he got two anchors, said William. No boy was ever bred as I had two anchors at the one time. I don't see nothing, said the police, but he walked in the direction of Caroline's gaze. It's wonderful what eyes you've forgotten, Miss, said William. None of the rest, honest, didn't spy it. Charlotte and Charles walked apart from Caroline in a marked manner. There certainly was something white in the road, a piece of paper with a stone on it, and also, as the police saw when he picked it up, writing, penciled, with that kind of black, blunt penciledness which happens when you have a pencil whose pointers seem better days and you encourage its efforts with your tongue. To any kind bypasser, the police read out, please put the inside in the post for me. The paper on which this was written was a leaf torn from a notebook and folded across. Inside was another leaf with a stamp in the corner as though it had been a postcard. On one side was an address, Mr and Mrs Wicks, the nest, similar India, and on the other, these lines which the police read out. Dear parents, I am running away to sea through being so ill treated by MacPherson. I will right from the first port. I shall get a ship at Hastings, I expect. Your affecate son, Rupert. Well, said the police, if that don't beat all, lucky we saw this. Yes, ain't it? said William, unless the Hastings rolled n'all. You ought to catch up easy if you start right away now. I shall now blow my whistle, said the police, as usual, and acquaint the boys' guardian with our discovery. If we can't be any more use, said Caroline Hastily, perhaps you wouldn't mind our going back to our dinners. They'll be getting dreadfully cold for the time of year, she added a little wildly. Best go back through the gap, said William. It ought to be mended, though. Here you, he said to the gardener's boy, go round by the lodge and tell Peters to get it seen to. There is no need to detain you, said the police, and thanking you for your assistance, which shall be mentioned in my report. Good morning to you! He blew his whistle, and they hastened back through the gap. Once through it, the others refused to meet Caroline's eye, but she did not seem to notice it. I know listening's wrong, she said, but when you're playing detectives, the rules are different, and I should like. Slip along by the pale mess, said William, all's fair in love and war, as the saying is. She slipped, and the others could not help following her. William went too. The boots of the Mirdstone Tutor were now heard on the road. Then came the voice of the police, explaining how clever he had been in finding the footsteps, the handkerchief, and the letter. And you best read the letter, the police added. A brief letter reading silence was broken by the Mirdstone man, very angry indeed. Monstrous, he said, and left in the public road for any stranger to see. Monstrous, there's not a word of truth in it. You can tell that to the magistrate, said the police. Beg pardon, sir. I mean, I think I've cleared up this little difficulty for you. I suppose I can get a trap in the village, the Mirdstone man asked. At the green dragon, sir. Right, said Mr. McPherson smartly. Good morning. And he turned and walked quickly away, leaving the police planted there, as they say in France. Well, I'm dished, said the police, aloud after a moment's silence, to what he's supposed to be solitude. Not so much as tapence to drink his blooming bad healthing. The stingy blighter, he can look for his own boys after this. And I hope the young one gets off, so I do. Same here, whispered William behind the grey oak pailing. The police walked heavily away. Best go into dinner, said William, and the four walked in silence across the park. When they got to the side door, William spoke. You're a fair master, piece, Miss Caroline. He said, that I will stay. Thank you, said Caroline. Charles and Charlotte both felt they owned it afterwards, almost choked by all the things they wanted to say to Caroline and couldn't because of William. They drew long breaths and almost snorted with mixed emotions. I say, said Caroline eagerly as William turned away, but Charles interrupted. We don't mean to speak to you, he said. And just then Mrs. Wilmington appeared at the door, and no one could say anything further, anything that mattered, that is. She escorted the girls to their room. In her superior, lady-like way, she was curious about the missing boy. Charlotte told the story briefly, while Caroline buried her hot face in a big basin of cold water and blew like a grampus. Then there was dinner, and Mrs. Wilmington stayed all through that to hear more details. When dinner was over, Caroline disappeared. I expect she's gone away to cry. Charlotte whispered to her brother. I say, I wish we hadn't, but we did agree we oughtn't to speak to a traitor till it was sorry. You said so yourself in the wood. It's all very beastly, said Charles. I wish it hadn't happened, upsetting everything. I say, Charlotte said. Let's forgive her now. I expect she thought she was doing right. Being like a Spartan boy or something, Caro is silly like that sometimes. Let's go and find her and forgive her, and talk it all over comfortably, the three of us. I don't mind, said Charles. Let's find her, if you like. But they couldn't find her. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Wonderful Garden by E. Nesbitt This Librivoxt recording is in the public domain. Chapter 8 The Heroine It was William who, when they had searched House and Garden and Park for nearly an hour, greeted the two as they trailed for Lawnley into the stableyard on the last wild chance of finding her there. By this time both were thoroughly sorry and remorseful and very anxious indeed to know what had become of their sister. I suppose you haven't seen Caroline anywhere about? They said to William, who was sitting in the harness room door, with a rose in his buttonhole, smoking a black clay pipe. She was out in the garden a bit back. He said, Give me this here buttonhole. She's a sister to be proud on she is. Why? asked Charles blankly. What's she done this morning? William answered. I suppose she thought it was right. I don't know about right, said William, scratching his ear. Anyhow, she went down along towards where you was messing about in the wood this morning. Just after dinner she went with a book under her arm and her pinny full of roses. I'm coming along that way myself when I finish my pipe. Charlotte and Charles went down slowly to the wood and they were both very uncomfortable. However right Caroline might have been. I can't understand how she can. The very place where he was, all safe only this morning, said Charlotte, and walked slower than ever. They went so slowly that William had almost caught them up before they had reached the wood. Just before they turned in among the dappled shadows of the wood, Charles said, Did you hear that? Yes, said Charlotte. It's only Carol talking to herself. And they went on. They did not hear any more talking, and when they reached the lair, Caroline was sitting there silent with a splash of red rose colour beside her among the fern. Cryed Charlotte, almost weeping and flumping down beside her sister. I'm sorry we were horrid. We see now you must have thought you were being spartan boyish or something. And it's too perfectly horrid. And do let's make it up, do. I did think you'd more sense, said Caroline, but she kissed Charlotte too. Or that you'd know that I had more sense, I mean. And directly I began to tell you you said that. She sniffed. It was plain that she had been crying. Charles sat down. I'm sorry too, he said handsomely. Now let's talk about something else. Our only hope is to forget poor Rupert. I'll try to forget him, Charlotte said, but he was such a nice boy. I suppose you had to do it, Carol, but oh, I do wish he was back again. Here Charlotte began to cry. Oh, don't, said Caroline, putting her arm round her. Do you mean to say you don't understand yet? I've no idea you could be so silly. I don't think she's silly at all, said Charles loyally. I wish he was here too. He is here, said Caroline in an exasperated whisper, just behind you. We thought you might be someone else, so he hid. Come back, Rupert, it's only them. And from the tangled thicket, Rupert put forth a head very rough as to the hair which bristled with twigs and pine needles. Then you didn't run away to see. Not much, Rupert answered, leaning on his elbows and showing only the head and shoulders part of him. But the letter said, that was her. Rupert explained, pointing at Caroline with his head. That looks odd when you read it, but if you try, you will find that it is quite easy to do. That was her. It was all her. I'll never say anything about girls being muffs again. She absolutely ran the show. She's a brick. Oh, shut up, said Caroline with hot ears. But what did she do? Took them off the scent. Tell them all about it, said Rupert. No, you, said Caroline, rolling over and burrowing her nose among the roses. Well, it was like this. After you'd gone off, I was in a blue funk and I don't mind owning it. And when she came back, I thought it was the police and about all being lost except honor and precious little of that. Then she explained it all to me and I got my boots off. Explained what? Charles had to ask. Her plan, you duffer, her glorious Sherlock Holmes plan. You might have told us, Charlotte couldn't help saying. How could I, all among William and the police? Well, go on. She'd got her pocketbook and I wrote that letter. She thought of that too. And I gave her my hanky and she carried my boots off in her hand. And when she got to the swampy place, she put them on and made the footmarks. I stamped them in as deep as I could, Caroline broken, and I found the fence and got out and put the letter and simply tore back round by the lodge. Didn't you notice how hot I was? I saw the Murdstone man, but I'd got my son bonnet. He was cutting the heads off nettles with his stick like someone in the French Revolution. And she led them off the scent completely. They'd have been certain to find me here with the furnace trampled about. She thought of that too, Rupert said. But where were you then? Up that tree. He pointed to a leafy beach. I saw you all go by, your police with his nose on the ground like any old hand. Not one of you looked up. She's a regular A1 first class brick, if you ask me. And now, if you can hide me a bit here, till I've written to my people and got an answer. Yes, she is a brick. And I shall always stand up for it that bricks are bricks, even if they're only girls. You do make such a fuss, said Caroline, delighted with his praise and trying not to be, and feeling it the duty of a modest heroine to turn the subject. And now I thought we'd be the royal order of the secret rose. The rose is the emblem of secrecy. Two buds and the full bloner you have to wear. It's the badge. She chose flowers and buds from the crimson heap and presented them to me. And presented them to the others. The needed pins she produced from the front of her pinafore. I've got one, too, said Rupert grinning from his cupboard. A badge, I mean. And hush, whispered Charlotte. There's someone coming. It's William. Oh, that's all right, Caroline said amazingly. William knows. He's one of us. He's wearing the royal rose, too. And he isn't going to tell. Charles could hardly believe it of a grown-up. No, he ain't gonna tell. It was William who answered, pushing through the leaves and sitting down squarely on a stump. I don't give away a good sport like what Miss Caroline is, not me. But when did you find out? Charlotte asked. I had my suspicions from the first. Miss Caroline going off so artful. And then when she'd come back, of course I knew. Why, of course, Charles wanted to know. Well, nobody except the police would cotton to it as a young lady like Miss Caroline would set out to give away a runaway dog, as had trusted her, let alone the young gentleman. Charlotte and Charles never wished to feel less pleased with themselves than they did then. And the bookmarks, William went on, much too deep in plain they was for anybody else was out to get off with somebody out of them, let alone as I see a bit of young master's jacket up in the tree as we come over the park. And the anchor chair dropped so handy. Not but what I own I thought it was all up when we come to that letter. I did think that was a bit too thick. As if people on the boat had stopped to write letters and lay them convenient, like in the middles of roads. I thought you'd killed the cat with kindness that time. But no, he swallowed it all old pole did. Like mother's milk it went down. And so did the school master. And off he goes, and off he goes, and off you goes to your dinners. And I come along to the young chap in the tree and fetches him a bite of something, and whistles him down all serene. And Miss Caroline, she comes along and makes me a member of her ancient order of rosy buffaloes or whatever it is. And here we are as jolly as you please, and safe as you please. Only my advice is, tell the master. We can't, said Caroline earnestly. It wouldn't be fair. He might think it was his duty or something. Ah, said Charles, relieved. We are not the only ones. We thought that of you. It's just the same. There's only one difference, said Caroline. And this was the only time she hit back that day, so we may forgive her for it. One difference, and that is that I'm right, and you were wrong. Oh, said Charles, blankly. Best tell the master. William's tone was persuasive. You said you were ours to the death. You asked me if I was, and I wasn't going to contradict a lady, William corrected. And as far as keeping my tongue betwixt my teeth and lending a hand in the vittaline depart, and a rug and a truss in the straw loft that I've got the key of, and where the master is self wouldn't presume to show a nose, as far as that goes, I'm your man. More especially since I've seen your governor's teachers, pastors and masters in that nasty white rage with his face all twisted. I wouldn't hand over a blind kitten to his tender mercies. But my advice is, don't, Caroline implored, because really, we can't, you know. Well, I must be getting along, said William, rising stiffly. I ain't talked so much since the election, and I wasn't going to say what you thought I was going to say. What I was going to say was get out of this. It's all trampled and someone's sure to notice, if it's only that, Jim. You go deeper into the wood, and come night-time, I'll fetch him away and bed him down all right. So long! He tramped away, crunching sticks and stalks as he went. How glorious, Charlotte said slowly, to have a real live heroine for your sister. Yes, but Charles asked anxiously, are you sure William will keep the secret? I'd answer for him with my life, said Rupert. You don't know how jolly he was when he brought me the bread and cheese and water in a medicine bottle. It tasted a little of camphor. Awfully decent chap he is. He can't help keeping the secret. Caroline spoke with impressive earnestness. He wears the royal rose and the twin buds, the badge of secrecy. If you wear that, you simply can't betray a secret. It says so in the language of page 37. She picked up the book from under the roses, fluttered its leaves, found page 37 and read, The red or dumbest grows, full blown and worn with two of its own buds. Is the emblem and pledge of inviolable, I mean secrecy, and he who wears the royal queen of flowers, accompanied by two unopened promises of her future magnificence, by this eloquent symbol binds himself to preserve uncontaminated the secret trust reposed in him by the more delicate and fragile portion, fragile and delicate as the lovely flower which is the subject of our remarks of the human race. I see, said Charlotte, relieved. Then he can't tell even if he wants to. If the book knows, Charles added. Well, it's all right, you know, said Rupert, because I'm a judge of human nature, and I know that William is the soul of honour, and wouldn't want to tell even if he could. So that's all right, Charlotte breathed deeply. I say, Rupert, aren't you afraid? What of? The police. Rupert laughed. I think William was right, he said, wriggling out a little farther from the fern, so that the red rose in his buttonhole burst suddenly upon public view. If the police would swallow that letter, they'd swallow anything. And if the eyes of the whole Vox populi were upon me, he ended with a grand, if vague, remembrance of old mug's careful teaching. Caroline would find a firemaid here, or way out. Rats, said Caroline briefly. I say, said Charles, gazing awestruck. What a jolly lot of Latin, you know! End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of The Wonderful Garden by E. Nesbitt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 9 The Morning After Whispered Charlotte, sitting up very wide awake and pinching her sister gently but firmly. Why? Caroline asked, very warm and sleepy. We aren't cold yet, and it's quite dark. Cold? Charlotte echoed in contempt, and the curtains aren't drawn, so of course it's dark. Wake up, silly, don't you remember? All right, Caroline murmured, and went to sleep again. You can't have forgotten yesterday, and how we were detectives and you were Sherlock Holmes' wrong way out, and about Rupert, Rupert, Rupert! And that, Caroline did wake up, and sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. Isn't it glorious? Charlotte asked, jumping up and down on the bed. Our splendid secret and the rose and everything, I do think we're lucky, don't you? I suppose so, Caroline answered, yawning. But what are we going to do with him? Conceal him, of course, Charlotte answered briskly, and answer for him with our lives, until the answer comes to the Indian letter. The letter didn't go, you know, Caroline reminded her, and put one foot out of bed. What's the matter with you? Charlotte asked. You don't seem a bit keen. I don't feel keen, Caroline answered. I wish it hadn't happened. I feel as if I didn't want to do anything but to be quiet and have nothing happen, like it used to. My inside mind feels quite stiff and sore. That's using it so much yesterday, being so clever, you know. Of course your mind feels stiff. It isn't used to it, said Charlotte, brightly, bounced off the bed and ran to draw the curtains. Oh! she said, and stood quite still with the curtain in her hand. What! Caroline asked anxiously, for the tone was tragic. It's raining, said Charlotte. That's all. Hard. How awful, said Caroline. Somehow no one had expected it to rain. The sun had shone now for days and days, and it had seemed as though it must always go on shining. Rue put won't be able to hide in the wood, will he? said Charlotte after a dismal silence. Oh! Charlotte! said Caroline in deeper approach, holding up her little silver watch. It's only a quarter to five. I'm going to sleep again. You know how thin and rotten you feel in the afternoon if you get up too early. Come on. Perhaps it won't be raining when it's proper getting up time. But it was, as hard as ever, and it was a dismal little breakfast party. The dining-room, usually so sunny and delightful at this hour, was somber and brown and dull. The books all looked like lesson books, and even the portrait of the lady with the rough had but little interest for the children. It seemed as though someone had turned off all sunshine and all magic at the very meter. Anxiety about Rue put mingled with the usual wet day feelings, and everyone was at first too miserable even to tell the others how miserable it was. Almost in silence Caroline poured out the milk, Charles served the bacon, and Charlotte handed the toast, and quite in silence they ate and drank. But breakfast soon began its healing work, and before it came to the marmalade, Charlotte was able to say, This is the time to do something desperate. I'll have some tea, please, Carol. Aunt Emilyine says it's a dreadful drug, and people take it instead of beer. I don't like it, she hastened to add. It's only to show how desperate we are. Yes, but your drinking tea won't help Rue put, he'll be soaked in the woods, said Caroline heavily. Still he'll be safe, Charles pointed out. No one will go looking for him in the sopping wet. I'll have tea, too. Let's call it a carouse in the smuggler's cave. But the others thought this was going a little too far. I don't feel as if we ought to play till we know about Rue put, and whether he's had any breakfast, and I know the Wilming cat won't let us go out in the rain, Charlotte said. One of us must go out and see William, that's all, said Caroline. I'll go if you like, and chance the Wilcat. No, we can't all go. People notice you so much more if there's a lot of you. Thus William, at work in the harness-room, was visited by a small figure in a damp macintosh and a red tamashanta frosted with raindrops. Where is he? it whispered, and as he had his breakfast. Now you be off, miss, said William, very loud and plain. I ain't up to talking so early. My jaws is hung crooked with talking so much yesterday. Be off with you. As he spoke, he pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and wrote on the table, come at twelve, and smeared it out with his cuff just as the gardener came to the door and said, Don look like clearing up. Caroline understood. We shall be wanting some flowers, she said, to send in a letter, and it's too wet to go and get them. I thought perhaps William would. Flowers ain't William's business, nor yet is pleasure, said the gardener, or he wouldn't have her dead in his butthole like what he's got. He pointed to William's coat, hanging on a saddle-perch, and still bearing in its buttonhole the withered rows of citrusy. Perhaps you would, then, Caroline suggested. I want four red roses, no, five, and ten buds. And is there any Stephanotus? I think it means absent friends. No, there ain't, said the gardener. Well, then, traveller's joy, that means safety. Plenty of that nasty weed, said the gardener, but not unkindly. Right you are a miss. I'll bring them to the dining-room window to save my books on Cook's flagstones. So that's all right, said Caroline returning to the others. We're to go at twelve. Only now we must write to Aunt Emilyne and send her the traveller's joy, because I said we wanted to send it in a letter. Yes, you must too, Charles. We shall be doing an unselfish act, because I'm sure no one wants to write to Aunt Emilyne, and she says unselfishness makes the sun shine on the cloudiest days. All right, we'll try it on, said Charles, but not hopefully. And soon there was a deep stillness broken only by the slow scratching of pens. Presently the gardener brought the roses and clematies to the window. That's what you want? he asked, handing in the wet red and green bouquet. Quite, said Caroline, and you know it's just as well you hadn't any Stephanotus, because I see it doesn't mean what I thought it meant. It means will you accompany me to the east, and Aunt Emilyne would have been so upset wondering what we meant. She wouldn't obey the only one, said the gardener, and clumped away on those boots which were not considered suitable for Cook's flagstones. When the letters were done it was only eleven o'clock, and it was decided that, as Rupert must have had his breakfast, it wouldn't be unfeeling to play Desert Islands just past the time till it should be twelve. The dining-room table made an excellent island, and the armchair was a ship which held the three of them, and could, with reasonable care, be wrecked quite safely on the deep waters of the hearthrug. The card-table from the window turned wrong way up, made a charming raft, and the girl's pinafores fastened to the poker and tongs did for sales. You steered with the fire-shovel and brought bags of biscuit, which looked like cushions, from the good vessel, the golden vanity, which disguised as the sofa, laid derelict across the carpet bay. It was a grand game, and when someone began to say twelve o'clock, the shipwrecked sailors were quite astonished. The person who began to say twelve was, of course, the tall clock, with the silver face inlaid with golden roses. We ought to go at once, said Caroline, putting the masts back in the fender, but if we leave everything like this, the will-cut, we'll clear up, said Sherlock, with a noble effort, to make up for being beastly yesterday. You go, Caro, we'll come out as soon as we've done, and stand in the door till you tell us it's all right. That jolly decent of her, Charles told Caroline, and I say the same. Jolly decent of you, said Caroline, and went. It was still raining. Caroline stood at the back door with a rose and two buds in her hand, and watched the rain splashing in the puddles, and onto the sack-covered shoulders of the gardener and the gardener's boy and the stable boy as they went off to their dinners. As soon as she could be quite sure that they had really gone, and wouldn't be likely to come back for anything they'd forgotten, she ran across to the harness-room. Here's your new secret rose, she said, and now can I see Rupert? The others will be out directly. Go and tell them to stay where they be, said William Crossley. There won't be much secret rosing left if you're all hanging about here. And Mrs. Watson names equivalent to a bit of secret nosing herself if you come to that. Hurry up now, or far they come along. The others were not pleased, but they had to own that most likely William knew best. Thus it was Caroline alone who followed William through the stable and up the ladder into the straw loft, which at first seemed to have nothing in it but straw, very dark in the corners and very yellow under the skylight. Where is he? Caroline asked, and the straw rustled and opened, revealing Rupert rather tousalled and strawy about the head and the bright eyes and black ears of a small fox terrier. I hid when I heard you on the ladder. He said, you can't be too careful. He spoke in a low horse voice. Now I'll keep about down in the stable, said William, and if I whittle you lay low. He retreated down the ladder and they heard him say over to one of the horses. I wish this was over, said Rupert rather fretfully. It is beastly having it rain, said Caroline sympathetically, but it'll be fine tomorrow, I expect, and I've brought you a secrecy rose. He took it and said, thank you, but not enthusiastically. And, she went on, wait till I get it out, it's rather a tight fit for my pocket. I've brought you Robinson Crusoe and a pencil and paper to really write to your father and mother, and I'll post it as soon as the rain stops. Well, you are a brick, he said. I shall be all right with something to read, but you've simply no idea how slow time goes when you're in concealment. I can't think how those royalist chaps stood it as they did, and the man in the iron mask and Sir Walter Raleigh and Mary Queen of. I am sorry, said Caroline again. How long will it take to get an answer from India? Oh, weeks, said Rupert, wearyly. I was just thinking I couldn't stick it, and perhaps I'd better really run away to see. Only not Hastings, of course, but it doesn't seem so bad now I've got the book, and Pinchers rather jolly. And you, too, of course, he added with sudden politeness. Tell me all about last night. Caroline settled comfortably into a nest of straw. What happened after we left you? Oh, William came and brought me in and gave me a rug and the dog and small bread and cheese, and bread and bacon this morning. I say you are horse. Oh, it's nothing. I say don't think me a pig, but I should like something to eat. I feel as if I've been eating bread and cheese and cold bacon for long years, and it's all fat. The bacon is, I mean. Caroline said how stupid it was of her, and she'd bring him something when the men went home to their teas. And then suddenly there seemed to be nothing more to say. There was a silence, broken by Rupert's putting his head under the blanket to cough in a suppressed manner. I hope you haven't taken a chill, said Caroline with motherly anxiety. Aunt Emily and says you never take them if you keep your windows open at night, but of course you can't hear because there aren't any. Now, said Rupert, I say do you play chess or drafts or hammer or anything? I could bring them, she said, but I only know the moves at chess, and when you bring down the queen and the bishop and the other person is called the fool's mate, only they always see it before you get it finished. I'll teach you, said Rupert, yawning. I say everything is pretty beastly, isn't it? It's jolly in India. I wish I was there. So do I, said Caroline. At least I don't mean that, but I wish you were not so busy. There ought to be a society for the prevention of schools, Rupert went on, and everything would be all right. I'll tell you what, said Caroline. I think this is a dumpy day. I felt quite flat this morning as if nothing mattered, but it got better. I'll look in my book when I get back and see if there's any flower that means cheer up, and if there is I'll bring it to you, and perhaps it will work a cheering charm on you. Caroline herself, sitting among the straw, wrinkling her forehead in the effort to think of some way of cheering the prisoner, was almost a cheering charm herself. Rupert perhaps felt something of this, for he said, I'm all right, only I feel so jolly rotten. You write the letter, said Caroline. I don't feel half as flat as I did. I'll think of all sorts of things to amuse the captive, and I'll bring you. William whistled below. The two children stiffened to the stillness of stone, and held their breaths. Voices, Mrs. Wilmington's voice. Have you seen Miss Caroline, William? She was saying. I am afraid she has run out in the reen. She's up in the loft, Mum, said William. I let her go up just to have a peep. Here, Miss, you come along down. You've seen all there is to see. Caroline rustled through the straw and down the ladder. Mrs. Wilmington, cloaked and with a brown plaid shawl over her head, stood in the stable door. I'm quite dry, really, I am, said Caroline, as William climbed the ladder to padlock the trapped door. You best come in at once, said Mrs. Wilmington, and at that moment a faint sound was heard from the loft. Rupert had coughed again. What's that? Mrs. Wilmington asked, pausing on one galosh to listen. My dog's up there, said William. He catches rats now and again. It was a strange noise for a dog, said the housekeeper with a thoughtful air. Weren't it, now? said William admiringly. Can't think how they'd does it. You wouldn't believe the noises dogs make when they're after rats. It's the way it takes them, you see. I see, said Mrs. Wilmington, and turned away, picking her galoshed steps delicately, and followed by Caroline, who now ventured to breathe again, and splashed in all the puddles. Your uncle, said the housekeeper, taking off her shawl and shaking it at the back door, was inquiring for you. He does not wish you to go out in the reen. No, said Caroline. And I always understood, said the housekeeper, that young ladies were better away from low company. If you mean William, began Caroline hotly, but Mrs. Wilmington interrupted her with, I mean dogs in straw lofts. Now you know. Caroline decided to get Mrs. Wilmington a soothing bouquet as soon as the rain cleared off. Your uncle's in the dining room, said the housekeeper. Wape your shoes on the mat, please. From the dining room came the sound of talking. Caroline heard, You see, uncle, you just sit on the wreck, and we'll come and rescue you with the raft. She paused in the doorway. Could it be true that the uncle was playing? No, it could not. Thank you, said the uncle. I feel safer on the wreck. I'm glad you've been having a game. He said, blinking kindly at her. I hope you don't mind the room being a little untidy, uncle, said Caroline. For indeed the others had decided that the clearing up bargain was off, and had gone on with the game. Not at all, if you don't break things, he said a little nervously. We're most awfully careful, Charles explained. You see, we keep the raft on the carpet for fear of scratching it. I think it polishes it being dragged about on this Turkish sea, Charlotte told them. And so you're not dull, even on this rainy day. I feared you might find it worrisome. Oh, no, said everyone. It's the loveliest house in the world. And Charlotte asked him kindly how his magic was getting on. Poorly, he said. Poorly and yours. There was a silence full of the thoughts of the magic of fernseed and of the great Rupert secret. We've invented a secret society, Caroline said, difficultly and in haste. The secret society of the rose. You wear one full blown rose and two buds, you see. I see. And what is the secret? Asked the innocent and kindly uncle. Everyone became scarlet to accept the uncle who looked more like oyster shells than ever, and said, I beg your pardon. We'd tell you in a minute if we could, but you see, it is a secret society. I see. I am very sorry I was so indiscreet. But tell me this, he added hastily, you haven't broken anything, have you? Not a thing. I thought you wouldn't. The uncle assured them. Mrs. Wilmington was of opinion that you would break almost everything in the house. But that was before she saw you, of course. If you do break anything, you'll tell me, won't you? Of course! They answered in various tones of surprise. Quite so, I might have known. I wish I could do something to amuse you, if you had any friends in the neighbourhood, you might have the carriage and drive out to see them. But, of course, you have no acquaintances here. That clergyman is a friend of ours, Charles remarked. And Caroline said, if only they might go and see him. By all means, said the uncle, bring him back to tea with you. I am sincerely glad to find that you are making yourselves at home. With that, he went away. Do you think that was snarkasm about making ourselves at home? Charles asked. Not it, Charlotte assured him. I'm sure the uncle's open as the day. All the same we'd better clear up, said Charlotte, and on the word Harriet came in to lay the cloth. Mrs Wilmington followed, and it was she who cleared up, with pinched lips, and marked abstaining from reproaches. The children dined alone, and the cook remarked on the sudden growth of their appetites. How was she to know that generous double helpings of beef, Yorkshire pudding, potatoes, summer cabbage, rhubarb pie and custard were hidden behind the books on the dining room shelf, for the later refreshment of a runaway boy at present lurking in the straw loft. We must put the things in tumblers, Caroline said, because plates would be missed, but the tumblers live in the sideboard, and there are dozens. So a row of tumblers, containing such greasy things as never before, had profaned their limpid depths, stood in a row like beakers on the bench of a secret laboratory. It's all very well, said Charlotte, replacing the last book and ringing the bell. But how shall we get them to him? William will manage it at tea time, Caroline was sure. But we've got to bring the clergyman home to tea. Oh, bother! was the remark that sprang to the lips of Caroline. I never thought of that. And the awkwardness kept worrying and worrying at the back of Caroline's mind, all through the pleasure of going out in the carriage to make a call by themselves, and the delight of the call, which was diversified by peppermints, a fine collection of butterflies, and being allowed to try and play the harmonium. It was while Charles and Charlotte were busy with this in the large bare room which had been the last rector's drawing-room, and was now used for all sorts of parish parties, that Mr. Penfold took Caroline into the conservatory to show her a pet newt. A friend of mine with an orange waistcoat, Mr. Penfold said. He was a very nice newt, but even his orange-coloured stomach could not drive away the worries from the back of Caroline's mind. How were the tumblers of food to be got to Rupert? All together she felt worried. The whole adventure was beginning to feel too big and too serious. And when Mr. Penfold, suddenly asking her if she could keep a secret, showed her a green parrot sitting on a nest behind a big geranium, she longed to say that she would keep his and to tell him her own. What she did say when she had admired the parrot was, You're a clergyman, and so I suppose you know all about right and wrong. I do my best to know, he said. Well, well, aren't there some secrets you ought to keep, even if you know that some people would say you oughtn't to, if they were to know you were keeping them, only of course they don't. I think it was rather clever of Mr. Penfold to understand this, but he did. There are some things we all have to judge for ourselves, he said. Could you give me an instance of the sort of thing you mean? Not the real thing you were thinking about, of course, but something like it. Of course not the real thing, she said, and paused. The temptation to be very clever came to her. She would tell him the real thing, and he would never think it could be the real one. Well, suppose, she said slowly and stopped, suppose. You heard about that boy who ran away, and they were looking for him yesterday. He wasn't found, was he? The clergyman asked, carefully picking dead leaves from a salmon-coloured fuchsia. No, said Caroline. Well, suppose the boy had come to you. What would you have done? You wouldn't have given him up, would you? I don't know any of the facts of the case, he answered slowly. But suppose it was a runaway slave. Certainly not. Well, then, said Caroline. But, you see, it wouldn't stop with not giving him up. He would have to be fed, and clothed, and have somewhere to sleep. And it would be impossible, quite impossible, to keep him concealed. They would be sure to find him. Yes, said Caroline. But what could you do? Well, leaving the boy out of the question, he was just given as an instance, wasn't he? Suppose you were in any other sort of difficulty. The thing for you to do would be to tell your uncle. You'd take it from me. You can trust him, absolutely. He'll decide what's right. Unless you'd like to tell me, I'd help all I could. If ever I have a secret I can tell you, I will, Caroline promised. We're a secret society just at present. That's why we're all wearing red roses. I wish I could have joined it, said the unusual clergyman. Perhaps you'll let me join later. If I ever can, I will, said Caroline cordially. And then the others came to look at the newt, and they all went home in the carriage to tea. The uncle and the unusual clergyman talked about things which the children did not understand, or perhaps they might have understood if they had listened, but their thoughts were in tumblers full of beef and pudding behind the books on the shelves, and though they caught a few words—golden bow, myths, folklore—they did not pay much attention till they heard the words—secret rites and symbolic—and then the uncle suddenly said, Well, come along to my room, won't you? I'll show you that passage I was speaking of. And he and the clergyman went off. Of course, the three seas hastened to the stableyard. The men had gone to their tea, and the servants were having theirs, so it was quite safe. The tumblers of food, now thinly iced with congealed fat and looking very uninviting, were carried in the side-pockets of Charles and under the pinafores of the girls. William received the visitors with marked disapproval. You're late, he said. I've got to go down to the village to see about a new axle for the light cart. What's all that rubbish? Ain't what I give him good enough for his lordship? He looked sourly at the tumblers the children had stood upon the corn bin. Of course it is, said Caroline, feeling that a fatal error had been committed. We only thought he'd like a change. Don't be cross, William. You know you're our beanie factor. Well, beanie or not beanie, you don't see him tonight. Off with you. I'll see you's all right. Yes, you can leave the grub. You come about eight in the morning, if you can, and then we'll see. It was a disappointed party that returned to the dining-room. Did think it would be different, said Charlotte. It's all so dull, and it'll go on being like this for weeks. It's the dreadful anxiousness I don't like, said Caroline. The clergyman said secrets were awkward pets to keep, and they are. Why is everything always different from what it was when you thought it was always going to be the same? Charlotte asked, with the air of an inquiring philosopher. You see, said Caroline, we are rather young for rescues. Yes, but, Charles urged, we couldn't do anything except rescue. We can't do anything else now, however young we are. They talked about it for an hour, and said the same things over and over. And then Mr. Penfold came in to say goodbye. I'm translating that book. I'm getting on with it, he said. It's most interesting. I've got some of the manuscript in my pocket. Oh, do let us look! They all said once. Well, just one page then, only one, or I shall be late for the choir practice. He laid down a type-written page, and they all sprawled over the table to read it. To obtain your suit, it said. Herbs favourable to the granting of petitions. There was a blank for the names of the herbs, which Mr. Penfold hadn't yet had time, he told them, to translate. Suiters to kings and those in high places shall note well these herbs, the translation went on, and offer the flowers and leaves in bunches or garlands when they go to tender their suit. More efficacious it is, however, if the herbs be bruised and their juices expressed, and a decoction given to drink in a little warm sack or strong waters or any liquor convenient. But for this ye need interest with the household of the king, or him who has the granting of the desire. These herbs have the virtue to incline the heart favourably towards suiters, if gathered in the first quarter of Luna, by the hand of the petitioner in his proper person. That was the end of the page. The children had to own that they couldn't understand it. Oh! said the unusual one, it only means if you're going to ask a favour of any one. One of the herbs was balsam, I believe. Now I must fly. Keep the page till tomorrow, if you like. They did like, and when he was gone Charlotte spoke. Look here, we shall have to tell the uncle. Let's decock him some balsam, and then tell him. But the others wouldn't hear of it. They had to hear of it, however, next day, when at twelve o'clock William allowed them to visit Rupert in his loft. Rupert's eyes were very bright, and his hands were very hot, and he coughed almost all the time. A very little cough, but most persevering. William, Caroline came down the ladder to say, We must tell uncle. I'm sure Rupert's ill. He ought to have a doctor. You're right miss, William replied. What did I tell you from the first? Caroline expected stern opposition from Rupert, and even feared that he might say that rather than have his secret given to an uncle he would indeed run away to sea. But he only turned his head restlessly on the straw, and said, Oh, I don't care. Do what you like. The day was, most fortunately, fine. So after dinner they all went into the garden to get the balsam, but they couldn't find any balsam. I'll get the language off, said Caroline, and we'll take the herbs that seem most likely to make a person do what you want. In finding suitable herbs, first in the book, and then in the garden, the time went quickly. There was a good deal of talk, of course. I really don't think we need worry, said Caroline again and again. I think with the herbs it's sure to be all right, and the uncle will let us keep him. She spoke as if Rupert were a stray kitten or an onaless puppy. You see the fern seed came right, and the sorry bouquet we gave to the Wilmington came right, and you'll see this will. We'll give him some in his tea as well as the bouquet, and that'll make quite certain. It's all nonsense, said Charlotte. Besides, he'll spit it out. I know I should. You can lead an uncle to the teapot, but you can't make him drink. We'll have calciolaria, Caroline finally decided, because it means I offer you pecuniary aid, or I offer you my fortune, and of course Rupert'll cost something to keep. And double trinaster, if we can find it, because it means I share your sentiments. Straw means agreement, so we'll have that too. It needn't show in the bouquet. And escholcia, because that signifies do not refuse me. They got the calciolarius and the escholcius, but the gardener said the asters weren't out yet. It's only two flowers, said Charlotte. Suppose we wear something in our buttonholes to mean we trust in you. Nothing meaning just that, however, could be found in the book. The nearest was heliotrope, I turned to thee, and rode a dendron, danger. A bouquet of rode a dendron and heliotrope was, however, found to be incompatible with the human buttonhole, so these flowers were added to the uncle's bouquet. And now, said Charlotte, let's go in and express the juices. We can't chew them this time, because it would be disgusting. Scissors and tea, I think, Charles said, and this bright suggestion was acted on. The unusual clergyman was perhaps partly to blame for what followed. Calciolaria, rode a dendron and escholcia, a word I spell with the greatest pain and difficulty, were cut up very fine indeed with Caroline's nail scissors, and secreted in Charles's handkerchief, a clean one, fetched down for the purpose. When the tea tray was brought in, and the maid had gone to ring the bell which summons uncles, the lid of the teapot was hurriedly raised, and a good handful of chopped leaves and petals thrust in. The magic bouquet was placed on the uncle's plate. He came in, pale and shadowy as ever, and yet, looking, the children thought somewhat different, and took up the bouquet. It was rather an odd one. The escholciers were drooping miserably among the strong rode dendrons, so was the heliotrope, and the calciolarias seemed tripled and unhappy, and the straw, of which in his enthusiasm Charles had brought a large double handful, showed much more than Caroline had meant it to. What's all this, eh? the uncle asked. It's a sim, what's its name bouquet? Simple, asked the uncle. It's anything but that. Sympathetic. No, said Charlotte. Sim, what Mr. Penfold was saying to you yesterday about magic? Symbolic, I see. And what does it symbolise? He asked kindly but without smiling. We'll tell you when you've had your tea. They all agreed in saying. The uncle sniffed the bouquet, and that was perhaps why he did not sniff the tea. They wondered how he could possibly not smell it, for as Caroline poured it out, it seemed to fill the room with its strange mixed scent. However, he just stirred it, and talked about the weather, not at all amusingly, and presently he lifted the cup to his lips. Six anxious eyes followed his every movement, and his movements from the moment the tea entered his mouth were brisk and unusual. He screwed up his nose in a way that at any less important moment would have been funny, went quickly to the window, leaned out, and did exactly what Charlotte had said he would do. Excuse me, he said, coming back to the table and taking up the cup. I beg your pardon for that natural, if impolite, action. I think this tea must be poisoned. Don't drink any of it, and please ring the bell. I must inquire into this. Nobody moved. We aren't going to drink any, said Charles. Oh, don't inquire! said Charlotte anxiously. Was it very horrid? asked Caroline. I am so sorry. Will you kindly ring? the uncle asked coldly. It was a terrible moment, but Caroline met it bravely. No, she said. Don't ask the servants, please, uncle. It's not their fault. We put the stuff in the teapot. You put poison in the teapot. For me? the uncle suddenly sat down. No, no, dear uncle. cried Caroline. Not poison. Only calcilaria and echulcia and straw and rhododendron. It isn't poison. It's just a little magic spell to make you say yes to what we want. Have I given you reason to suppose that I could not grant your requirements without spells? He asked severely. Oh, no! But we wanted to make sure. Charlotte held out the translation, and the uncle read it. But this doesn't say calcilaria and all the rest of it, he objected. No, it doesn't say. That's just it. So we had to get the nearest things we could, straw for agreement, because we want you to agree to what we want, and calcilaria, because it means I offer you pecuniary aid, and rhodendron to show it's dangerous not to, and s'what's its name for do not refuse me? Do not refuse you what? said the uncle in an exasperated voice. The three of them looked at each other, and two of them said, You tell, Caroline clasped her hands very tight, and drew a long breath, and said, very fast indeed. There was a boy ran away from school called Rupert. His master was cruel to him, and he came here, and we hit him, and put the police off the scent. And he's such a nice boy, and his father's in India, like ours, and he's in the straw loft now, with such a dreadful cold, and I know the doctor ought to be sent for, and if you give him back to that merge-stain man, I know he'll die, and I can't bear it, and I'm very sorry. It was silly putting the stuff in your tea, but we weren't taking any chances, and if you're angry about the tea, do punish us, but stick to Rupert, and oh, uncle, I don't know what to say, but what would you have done if you'd been us? There, there, said the uncle gently, and not seeming as surprised as they expected. Don't cry. Don't you begin. He added with more sternness to Charles, who was becoming subject to sniffs. There, go and wash your faces. We'll have some fresh tea made in another pot, and talk it over. It's hopeful, I tell you, said Caroline, washing her face. He's not said no. Oh, I believe the spell's working. Stop snivelling, Charlotte. There's nothing to cry about yet. You began, said Charlotte truthfully. I didn't, said Caroline, and if I did, you put it all on to me, and I didn't know what I was saying or doing. Come on down. We mustn't let him think it over by himself too long. Over tea, for which nobody felt very hungry, the uncle asked many questions, and heard the full story of the escape and the royal order of the secret rose. And don't blame William, will you? Charlotte begged, because he's done nothing but say tell you ever since it began. I shall not blame William, said the uncle. I wanted to tell you, said Caroline, at least next day I did, but it wasn't my secret, and Rupert agreed for us to tell now. Tea was over, and there was a silence. Uncle Charles was looking from one to another of the children. And you really believed, he said slowly, that putting that abominable stuff in my tea would make me agree to keep your runaway boy. There was the fern seed, you know, said Charlotte, and it said in the book that the decoction of balsam would make you grant our desire, and calciliarious as good as balsam any day. And you really thought it would. Won't it? asked Caroline, and her eyes filled with tears. Oh, uncle, if you only knew how I hated giving you that horrid stuff instead of your nice tea, it hurt me far more than it did you. The uncle laughed faintly, but he did laugh. Grant our desire, cried Charlotte. You couldn't laugh if you weren't going to, so you see the herbs did do the magic. Some things seems to have done it, said the uncle. You had better give me a red rose and two buds, and enrol me as a member of your royal order of the secret rose. He found himself suddenly involved in a violent threefold embrace. I will give you a word of advice, he said, settling his necktie when it was over. Never try to administer filters or potions inwardly. Outward application is quite as efficacious. Indeed, I am not sure but what your bouquet was in itself enough to work the spell. Something has certainly worked it. For I may now tell you that Mrs. Wilmington had her suspicions, and by a stratagem surprised the secret this afternoon. She told me and wished to send for the police. But I heard William's story and decided not to send for the police till after tea. But now Mrs. Wilmington has seen the boy. You may as well make her a royal rose too. She will not betray you. The children looked at each other amazed. Mrs. Wilmington, it was unbelievable. The doctor is coming at once, said the uncle. I hope it isn't measles. Then if we hadn't spelled you, should you have given him up to the police? Caroline asked. You're telling me, or the spell, or something has stopped that. Now run away and play in the park. If the illness is not infectious, you shall see your little friend later. Uncle, said Charlotte in heartfelt tones. It's a long lane that never rejoices. We have been so sick about it, and now it's all right, and you are a dear. The dearest, dear, corrected Caroline. I call him a brick, said Charles, with the air of a man of the world. There's only one thing more, said the uncle. Go and get me that red rose, and then I shall know that you'll let me into the next really important secret you have. They ran to get it, and the uncle took it and the petition bouquet away with him to his study. When the doctor had paid his visit, they were allowed to see Rupert for a few minutes before bedtime, not in the straw loft as they had expected, but in the blue room, which is hung with tapestry and has blue silk curtains to windows and foreposter. They brought me in at tea time, Rupert told them. That, Mrs. Wilmington of yours, is first class. I don't know what you meant by saying she was a rotter, and your uncle isn't here, brick. Charles was glad he had thought of that word himself. Rupert's using it showed it was the correct thing to say. I'm jolly glad you told him, Rupert went on. Of course we couldn't have gone on the other way, and he sent a telegram a mile long to my people in India to ask whether I may stay on here till school begins again. How splendid! said Charlotte, or struck. How awfully splendid! I didn't think uncles could be like that. Uncle's are all right, said Rupert, if you treat them properly. Then he began to cough, and Mrs. Wilmington came in with lemonade and honey and told the others that they were tiring him, and it was bedtime anyhow. Few treat them properly, said Charlotte dreamily as she brushed her hair. Uncle's are all right. Do you think he would have been all right if we hadn't treated him just as we did? No, said Caroline. Just unhook me, will you, Charlotte? I don't. I think it was the spell. So do I, said Charlotte. Stand still or I can't unhook you. What the eye doesn't see the hook doesn't come out of. I expect the tea was like what Miss Peckett's sister's mistress had when their house was burglared. Nervous shock. I expect that is the same as electric shocks making people walk that couldn't before. I expect the nervous shock made that part of Uncle that Grant's favours wake up and walk, don't you? You make haste into bed, said Caroline. What's the good of talking all round it? We did what it said in the book, and it happened like it said in the book it would happen. I believe you could manage everything with spells if you only knew the proper ones. When I grow up I shall be a professoress of magic spells, and have my business office in a beautiful palace. And kings and queens will come in their golden chariots to ask me what spells they ought to do to make their subjects happy and not poor, and for everybody to have a chicken in the pot, and talk about talking, said Charlotte. Come along to bed, do. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of The Wonderful Garden by E. Nesbit This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 11 The Rosie Curians The door of the drawing-room at the manor-house was kept locked, and Mrs. Wilmington dusted the room herself and carried its key in her pocket. After the uncle had said that about Mrs. Wilmington having expected the children to break everything in the house, the three seas began to wonder whether the drawing-room had always been kept in this locked-up state, or whether it was only done on their account. Out of compliment to us, as Charles put it. Almost think it must be that, Caroline said. Because, of course, drawing-rooms are for people to sit in, and the Wilmington must expect someone to sit in it, or she wouldn't dust it so carefully. I looked in the other day when she was dusting, said Charlotte. I couldn't see much just a bit of the carpet, pink and grey and pretty, and the corner of a black cupboard thing with trees and birds and gold Chinaman on it, and a table with a soup chain with red rabbit's heads for handles, and a round-looking glass that you could see some more of the room in, all tiny and all drawn wrong somehow. You know the sort. Convict mirrors Harriet says they are. I asked her. When? said Charles. Oh, I don't know. Just after. And Harriet goes in to sweep it. She says it's full of lovelies. Why don't you ask her if it was shut up out of compliment to us? Charles asked. Because I wasn't going to put ideas into Harriet's head, of course. And Caroline agreed that such a question would have been simply giving themselves away. Each of the three C's had turned the handle of the drawing-room door many times to see whether by chance Mrs. Wilmington had just this once not remembered to lock it, but she always had. And their interest in the room had steadily grown. And now here was another wet day, just the day for examining golden Chinaman and looking at yourself in Convict's mirrors, and the room was locked up so that no one could enjoy these advantages. Rupert was still in bed. The doctor had decided against measles, but the feverish cold which had given rise to the measles idea was still too bad for Rupert to be anywhere but where he was, and the others were only allowed to see him for a few minutes at a time. Mrs. Wilmington had, so Harriet explained, taken to the new young gentleman in a way you'd hardly believe, and was spending the afternoon reading Masterman ready to him after a baffled attempt to read him Eric, or little by little, which she fetched from her own room on purpose, and which Rupert stopped his ears with his fingers rather than listened to. It is the time, said Charlotte. There is a time in the affairs of men that they call the Nick, and this is it. Let's try to get in. The Wilmington is safely out of the way. Let's. Yes, let's, said Charles. No, don't let's, said Caroline. The uncle might not want us to. Perhaps compliments to us aren't the real reason. Perhaps there's some wonderful secret kept in there, known only to the head of the house and his faithful Wilmington. The uncle's been so jolly decent. Let's ask the Wilmington for the key. The others laughed, and Charles said, You know well enough that's no earthly. Caroline did not think there could be a secret, because the uncle was now a member of the royal order of the secret rose, whose unchangeable motto was halves in all secrets. So, if there'd been anything like that, he'd have told us without preservation. Charles added, Yes, I agree with Caroline, said Charlotte. I don't see. Oh, I say I've got an idea. Let's have another hunt for that second book the lady in the pictures got under her elbow. We really ought to find it. It's a sacred duty we owe the uncle for being so decent about Rupert. The drawing-room door's knob is just the same as this one's, Charles pointed out, and the morning-rooms and the libraries door knobs are the same too. Let's see if this key won't fit the drawing-room. He rattled the key of the dining-room door as he spoke. I wish you wouldn't, said Caroline. It's jolly rough on me. Everybody always blames the eldest. I wish you'd been the eldest, Charles. I would have if I could, you bet, said Charles. Come on. No, look here, said Caroline, desperately. Please, don't. And I'll go and ask uncle if we meant there. But we're forbidden to disturb him. I'd rather disturb him than go poking into places he doesn't want us to go poking into. Don't you see? If he doesn't mind us going in, he'll say yes. And if he does mind, he'll say no. And then we shall be glad we didn't without asking him. But what could be in there that he doesn't want us to see? Charles wanted to know. Oh, anything! Clouds of life, butterflies that are let out after lunch, and go back to their cages when the tea-bell rings. I think Caroline's right about asking the uncle, Charlotte said. Butterflies are simply peffel, Charles pointed out. They'd be laying their eggs all over everything and turning into cocoons all the time. I know because of silkworms. Well, a snake, then, said Charlotte briskly. An enormous king's serpent with a crown on its head, and yards and yards long that comes out of a cupboard from two to four every day, and twines pieces of itself round the legs of the furniture, or your legs if you go in. It wouldn't mind what legs they were it twined round, I expect. I like snakes, said Charles briefly. Let Carol go to the uncle if she wants to. They all went. It was deemed respectful to wash a little. They like you to be clean when you ask for things, said Caroline. It's always wash whatever you do, Charlotte complained. While there's life, there's soap. But she washed, too. There was an agitated pause on the sheepskin mat outside the uncle's study door. Shall we knock? Charles asked. You don't knock at sitting-room doors, said Caroline, turned the handle, and opened the door three inches and three eighths. Who's that? said the voice of the uncle. How often am I to give orders that I am not to be disturbed on any pretense? There isn't any pretense, Charles was beginning when Caroline broke in with. It's a depredation of the secret rose. So I perceive. But I am too busy to play now. Said the uncle, and you could tell by the very way he spoke that he had his thumb in a book and was afraid of losing his place. It isn't play. We want to ask your permission for something. Well, if I receive this deputation, will it undertake not to do it again for a week on any pretense? Then come in. They came in to a room that seemed quite full of books. There were books on the tables, books on the floor, books on the mantelpiece, and on the window-edge, books open and books shut, books old and new, books handsome and ugly. The uncle seemed even to have used books to cover the walls with, as ordinary people use wallpaper. He was sitting at a wide green leather-covered writing table, and sure enough he had his thumb in a tall brown folio. They all said, Good morning, politely, and Caroline coughed and said, If you please, uncle, we want to explore the whole house to look for the other book. The book, I mean, that is lost out of the picture. Dame Eleanor's book, I mean. You said we might, but the drawing-room doors locked. Dear me, said the uncle impatiently, can't you unlock it? No, Charles told him. The will, I mean, Mrs. Wilmington, keeps the key in her under-pocket. Oh, she does, does she. You won't break anything. But, of course, you won't, said the uncle rather in a hurry. Well, as members of the Society of the Secret Rose, I'll let you through my secret door. He put a folded paper in his book to mark the place got up and crossed the room to a low, narrow door by the fireplace that looked as though it led to a cupboard. He went through the door and the children followed him. They found themselves in a little carpeted corridor. At the left was a door, closed and barred, to the right a flight of stairs, and in front another door. This, the uncle opened. Here is the drawing-room, he said, and there it was. They could see a corner of its carpet, and it was the same pink and grey rose pattern as the other corner that Charlotte had seen. Now, come up here, said the uncle, and led the way. At the top of the stairs was another door. The uncle opened it and, behold, the well-known corridor with the stuffed birds and fishes from which their bedroom doors opened. I will give you the key of this door to keep, said the uncle, and then you can visit the drawing-room when you please. If you do not disturb anything and refrain from making your visits in muddy boots, Mrs. Wilmington need never know. It will be a secret between us, my little contribution to the Society of the Rose. Like a conspiracy, isn't it? he asked anxiously. Just exactly like, everyone agreed, and asked whether it was really a secret staircase. It is now at any rate, said the uncle. It used to be merely the humble back stairs, but I had it shut up because I disliked noise. We'll always come down in our bath slippers, Caroline promised him. Oh, uncle, you are a darling. The uncle submitted to a complicated threefold embrace and went back to his brown folio. Now, then, said the three and entered the drawing-room. You went up three steps to it. That was why you could not reach up from the outside to look through the windows, of which there were three. They were curtained with gray and pink brocade that rhymed with the carpet. There were tall gold-framed mirrors set over marble console tables with golden legs, and round mirrors whose frames had round knobs on them, and oval mirrors with candlesticks branching out from underneath them. There was a golden harp with hardly any of its strings broken in one corner, and a piano with inlaid woods of varied colors on which Caroline would have dearly loved to play the Bluebells of Scotland, and Hyden's surprise. But, as this would have meant Mrs. Wilmington's surprise too, it was not to be thought of. There were carved Indian cabinets with elephants and lions on them, and Chinese cabinets with mandarins and little-footed gold ladies, and pagodas in ivory under glass cases, and wax flowers also glass cased. There were statues tall and white and cold, and boxes of carved ivory and carved ebony, and one of porcupine quills, and one of mother of pearl and silver, a work box that was. There were cushions and chair seats of faded needlework, old and beautiful and straight-backed chairs and round-backed chairs, two crystal chandeliers that looked like fountains wrong way up, china of all sorts, including a china man who wagged his head when you came near him. In fact, the room was the kind of room you sometimes find in houses where the same family has lived for many, many, many years, and each generation has taken care of the beautiful things left by its ancestors, and has added one or two more beautiful things to be taken care of by the generation that is to come after. You could have amused yourself there for an hour just by looking, and the three seas remembered joyously that they had not been forbidden to touch. It is wonderful how careful children can be if they do not allow their minds to wander from their determination to be careful. The three seas looked at everything and touched a good many things, and did not break or hurt anything at all. They examined the cabinets, opening their doors, and pulling out every drawer in the hope of discovering some secret place where the book might be. But they only found coins and medals and chessmen and draughts and spellicons, bright foreign seashells, a seahorse and a snakeskin, some mother of pearl counters and ivory draughts, and an ivory-crippage board inlaid with brass that shone like gold. It's no good, said Charles at last, pulling out one of the lacquered drawers. Let's play spellicons. It's a nice quiet game that grown-ups like you to play, and we owe the uncle something. Let's have just one more look, Charlotte pleaded. Oh, I say we haven't looked at the books yet. There were books, not many, on some of the tables, large books with pictures, and one of photograph books so heavy that Caroline could not lift it up. I say, look here, she called out. This book's only got about three pages of uncles and aunts. The rest is solid, like a box made to imitate a book. Suppose the book were inside the box part. When did it open? The others were crowding close to look. There's a sort of catch there, said Charles, putting his finger on a little brass button. Oh, crikey! He started back, so did the others, for a low, whirring sound had come from the book, and Charlotte had hardly time to say, It's a nihilist bomb! Come away! Before the book broke into the silvery chiming cadence of home, sweet home. It's a musical box, Charlotte explained needlessly, and then the same thought struck each mind. Mrs. Wilmington! For the musical box was a fine one, and its clear silvery notes rang out through the room. Mrs. Wilmington must hear wherever she was, she would hear and come. Fly! said Caroline, and they fled. They got out, locked the door, rushed softly yet swiftly up the stairs, and waited behind the upper door till they heard Mrs. Wilmington's alpaca sweep down the front stairs. Then out and down after her quickly and quietly, so that when, having found the musical box playing with sweet, tinkling self-possession to an empty drawing-room whose doors were locked, and having satisfied herself that no intruder lurked behind brocaded curtain or Indian screen, she came to the dining-room, she found the three seas quietly seated there, each with a book, a picture of good little children on a rainy day. She could not see that Charles' book was a bradshaw, and Caroline's Zotti's Italian grammar wrong way up. Oh, you are here, she said. Did you hear that musical box? Yes! said the children meekly. Mrs. Wilmington stood a moment in the door. She did not understand machinery, and to her it seemed quite possible that her musical box might begin to play all on its own account without any help from outside. On the other hand it had never chosen to do it before these children came. You ought not to wear bedroom slippers in the sitting-rooms, she said, and went away without more words. I nearly burst, said Charles, then especially when she noticed our feet. But she'll find out, Charlotte said. She found out about Rupert. Let's go back now, because she won't think we're there now she knows we're here. There was another book all heavy too. We'll start that and wake her up again. I say, isn't it a lark? Charles whispered as they crept up the stairs. End of Chapter 11