The Little White Horse (22 page)

‘And what did you do?’ demanded Maria.

‘I went up to my tower and I took off the silk dress I had on and put on a walking dress. And I wrote a little note to old Elspeth, my governess, saying that I was going away for ever but that I would be quite safe and she wasn’t to worry, and I slipped it under her bedroom door. And then, when it was quite dark and the house was quiet, I took a big workbag that I had and I crept out of the house and into the rose-garden, and I gathered up out of the wreckage of their smashed pots all the geranium plants that I could manage to find in the darkness and filled my bag with them, and then I walked through the park and out through the tunnel and the big door and up the road that leads out of the valley. I walked all night, and when the dawn came I found myself out in a world that I did not know at all; and it seemed like a foreign country to me, and I felt very strange and forlorn in it. But I did not weaken or turn back. I followed the road
to the market-town and knocked at the door of the first nice-looking house I came to, and asked if they would take me as a maidservant. And they did. And the son of the house, a young lawyer, fell in love with me on sight, and I married him as soon as it could possibly be arranged, because he was kind and I liked him, and in my pride and anger I wanted to put it beyond Sir Benjamin’s power to get me back again.’

‘Did he try to get you back again?’ asked Maria.

‘Yes, he did. He and Old Parson and Elspeth did not rest until they had discovered where I was, and Sir Benjamin sent Old Parson to tell me that he would forgive me and take me back again. But he did not come himself . . . I expect he was still too hurt and proud and angry . . . And he did not send any apology for throwing my geraniums out of the window. And so I was angrier than ever, and sent back a message by Old Parson asking to have all my clothes sent to me, and saying that I was going to marry my lawyer as soon as I could and live in the town, and never set foot in the valley ever again.’

‘But you did,’ said Maria.

‘Yes, I had to. I loved it too much to keep away and, country-bred girl that I was, I hated the town. When Elspeth was installed as porteress I used to visit her at the gatehouse, and when she died, and my husband died too, I collected all my belongings, including all my pink geraniums, and went secretly to live there, as I told you . . . Like the first Moon Princess.’

‘Why!’ gasped Maria. ‘Did she live there?’

‘I think so,’ said Loveday. ‘When Robin and I went to live at the gatehouse, no one had used the little cave-room that is now Robin’s. It was full of earth and stones and rubbish that had fallen in through the hole that is now the window. Robin and I cleared away the rubbish and found the little door into the hillside with the horse-shoe knocker on it, and we found also, right underneath the rubbish, the silver mirror with the galloping horse over it that now hangs in my room. Who could it have belonged
to if not to her? I believe she lived there all her life after she left the manor, with her little white horse put out to pasture on the slopes of Paradise Hill.’

‘I expect she did,’ said Maria. ‘Loveday, the legend says she took her string of pearls away with her when she left the manor-house. Did you find them too?’

‘No,’ said Loveday. ‘I’ve looked often, but I’ve never found them. The great ruby ring that the Moon Princess gave Sir Wrolf is safe, and Sir Benjamin wears it sometimes; but the pearls seem quite lost. It’s a pity, because you would have looked lovely in them on your wedding day.’

‘To think, Loveday,’ said Maria, ‘that you have lived at the gatehouse all these years and never even tried to make it up with Sir Benjamin!’

‘Why should I?’ said Loveday in a cold hard voice. ‘He has never tried to make it up with me.’

‘But he did! He sent Old Parson to you at the lawyer’s house.’

‘That wasn’t a proper make-up,’ said Loveday. ‘For he never said he was sorry for losing his temper, and he never apologized for throwing my pink geraniums out of the window. And all the other pink geraniums, the ones he didn’t throw out of the window, he must have burned, because I’ve never heard of a pink geranium being seen either in the manor-house or the garden.’

Maria said nothing, but she suddenly remembered that mysterious room over the tunnel that led from the stable-yard to the kitchen garden, and the pink geraniums she had seen in its window. She resolved there and then to look into the matter of those pink geraniums at the first opportunity. But just now the business in hand was this matter of giving Paradise Hill back to God, and they had reached the broken gate leading to the village.

‘I’ve not time now, Mother Minette, to tell you how dreadfully silly I think you and Sir Benjamin have been,’ she said severely, ‘but I’ll tell you later. I suppose we’d better leave the animals at the lych-gate while we go inside
the church?’

‘No, we’ll take them inside,’ said Loveday. ‘Old Parson does not mind animals inside the church. He says that dogs and cats and horses are much the best-behaved of God’s children, much better behaved, as a general rule, than men and women, and he never can see why they should be kept out of God’s house.’

‘Nor can I see either,’ said Maria.

They rode along the village street, which still seemed asleep at this early hour, though the stream that flowed down from Paradise Hill was tinkling merrily beneath the little bridges before each garden gate, and through the lychgate and up through the churchyard. At the porch Loveday and Maria dismounted and walked into the church hand in hand, with Wrolf and Periwinkle, Zachariah and Serena, following behind two by two, Wiggins bringing up the rear waving his tail like a banner in the air.

The church was full of sunshine, children, and music. Old Parson was standing at the chancel steps with his fiddle tucked under his chin, playing one of the loveliest tunes that Maria had ever heard, and sitting all round him on the steps were all the children of Silverydew, in their bright clothes like flowers, singing as the birds sing in the dawn, with all their power and joy.

Old Parson did not stop playing as Loveday Minette, Maria, Wrolf, Periwinkle, Zachariah, Serena, and Wiggins joined the group of singing children, but he called out to them: ‘Take your places and pick up the words and the tune of this new song as quickly as you can.’

Loveday and Maria sat down on the steps with Wiggins and Serena on their laps, and Wrolf and Periwinkle standing patiently and reverently beside them, and set themselves to the learning of this new song . . . But Zachariah leaped over the top of the door that led
into the Merryweather pew, and sat himself down inside upon the cushions as though he were all the Pharaohs who had ever lived combined into one magnificent purring personage.

The words of the new song that Old Parson had written for this historic occasion were easy to pick up, and Loveday and Maria were soon singing them as lustily as any child present.

‘That will do, I think,’ said Old Parson, when everyone was singing to his satisfaction. ‘Maria, will you please go
to the Merryweather Chantry, and see whether Robin has finished the task that I set him there.’

Maria put down Serena, who was in her lap, and hurried to the chantry. Robin was seated cross-legged on the floor, his back against Sir Wrolf’s tomb. Sir Wrolf’s great cross-handled sword was laid across his knees and he was scrubbing it vigorously with emery paper. When he saw Maria he looked up and grinned. ‘I can’t make the steel come really clean and bright,’ he said, ‘it’s too old. But it’s better than it was. We’re to take it with us, Old Parson says.’

Maria dimpled with pleasure. That was a good idea of Old Parson’s! Sir Wrolf himself couldn’t come with them to restore the property that he had stolen, but at least they could take his sword!

Robin got up and dusted himself, put the emery paper neatly away with his scrubbing-brush and pail in the corner of the chantry, and he and Maria together carried the sword to Old Parson. When they got back to the chancel steps again Old Parson had put away his violin and hitched up his cassocks, and Loveday Minette was lifting the statue of the Lady and the Child down from its niche, and the children were taking the Bell from its place by the pulpit.

‘Are we taking them?’ asked Maria.

‘Of course,’ said Old Parson, ‘they are monastery property, and we are going to restore them to where they belong.’

Some of the children were a bit tearful. ‘We shall miss the Lady dreadfully,’ they lamented.

‘Nonsense,’ said Old Parson. ‘You can take your gifts to her on Paradise Hill just as well as here. From this day on we shall be going there often to praise God. Now come along, all of you. We are going there in procession this very moment. I will go first and the rest of you, animals and children, will follow me two by two, singing that song of praise that I have just taught you, at the tops of your voices. You can take it in turns to carry the Lady
and the Bell.’

‘We shall look like the animals going into the ark,’ said Maria.

‘We could not look like anything better,’ said Old Parson. ‘Come along, now. Robin, give me the sword.’

Robin gave him the great cross-handled sword and, holding it aloft like a processional cross, Old Parson went striding down the aisle with it and out into the sunshine, singing at the top of his voice. And close behind him, side by side, went Wrolf and Periwinkle, and behind them went Maria and Robin, with Wiggins and Zachariah making a pair behind them, and then came Loveday Minette leading little Peterkin Pepper, followed by Prudence Honeybun and all the other children, carrying the Lady and the Bell, lustily singing the song Old Parson had taught them.

By the time they reached the steep lane the sun was high in the sky and it was the most glorious spring morning ever seen. As they climbed upwards, still singing, though rather breathlessly now, the children picked the ferns and periwinkles and primroses and made them into great bunches. And all about them the birds were singing too, carolling so loudly that the noise they made nearly drowned the children’s singing. When they came out from the lane on to Paradise Hill the sun seemed to blaze more gloriously than ever, and, climbing the hill, they all felt very happy, making their way in and out between the sheep and the frisking lambs, over the bright green grass and purple violets, past the blossoming thorn-tree, up and up to where the beech-trees reared their silver and green against the blue sky. When they were nearly at the summit Old Parson made them stop and get their breath back, and then, singing once again, they made their way beneath the branches of the beech-trees and through the doorway in the broken wall and into the paved court beyond.

As soon as they got inside Maria understood why it was that Old Parson had not offered to walk back
with her through the park last night . . . He had had something more important to do . . . As soon as she had left him he must have climbed up here in the gathering twilight, and by the light of the moon and stars he must have laboured half the night. For the paving-stones had been cleared of all the rubbish, the weeds and brambles, and had been washed and scrubbed so that they reflected the sun’s light like slabs of pearl. And the well and the channel through the paving-stones had been cleared of dead leaves, so that the spring bubbled up clear and strong and then ran away quickly and easily, as bright as silver, through the low archway beneath the rowan-tree. The tree looked glorious in the morning sunlight, its berries bright as lighted candles, and beneath its branches Old Parson had piled up the stones that he had cleared from the court into a little altar. The whole place looked fresh and clean and lovely, and utterly made new, and when Old Parson had thrust Sir Wrolf’s sword into the branches of the rowan-tree, so that it stood behind the stone altar like a cross, with the children’s flowers piled before it, and the statue of the Lady and her Child had been set in the empty niche above the low stone archway, and the Bell had been hung from a branch of the old holly, the whole place was ready for the prayers and praises which Old Parson proceeded to offer there.

First, standing before the altar with Loveday, the children and the animals grouped about him, with as many of the sheep and lambs as had been able to squeeze their way into the already overcrowded little court, he said a very long prayer, though as it was such a lovely morning nobody minded. He prayed for forgiveness for Sir Wrolf, who had stolen this place from God — and at this point the living Wrolf gave a deep penitent growl. And then he prayed for forgiveness for all the Merryweathers who during succeeding generations had neglected to give it back — and here Loveday Minette and Maria and Robin bowed their heads and said they were sorry. And then he prayed for further forgiveness for the Merryweathers
because they kept for themselves the money they had got from selling the wool off the backs of the sheep who were pastured on this holy hill — and at this point all the sheep baaed distressfully. And then he prayed that for ever and ever this place should now be a holy place, and that no wickedness should be done here any more. And then they all said Amen, and the sheep baaed low and mysteriously, and Robin went to the holly-tree and set the Bell swinging, and its deep voice sounded out loud and clear to tell the people in the valley below that once more Paradise Hill belonged to God. And then Robin took his shepherd’s pipe from where it still lay beside the entrance to Paradise Door, and to its accompaniment they sang ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’ and ‘The Old Hundredth’, and the Bell Song and the Spring Song, and all the praising things they could think of. And then at last, reluctantly, because it was so lovely up here on the hill, they turned themselves about and went in procession back to the village, singing all the way.