The Secret of Greylands (20 page)

The aversion to Gillman of which she had been conscious from the first seemed now to have extended to Sybil, and with an irrepressible shudder she moved quickly to the house.

Sybil soon caught her up.

“Do you know what I am going to do, Cynthia, if Cousin Hannah really is shamming? I am going to find her out!”

“How are you going to do that?” Cynthia's steps did not slacken and Sybil caught her arm.

“Do not be so tiresome! You will have to help me. You will have to come with me. I mean to get on the fowl-house roof, and if she is really not in her room I will tell you my plan. I do not believe I dare climb up myself, and you will have to help me.”

Cynthia was by no means enamoured of the scheme.

“I thought you said the sight of anyone clambering on that roof was enough to kill Cousin Hannah?” she said uncompromisingly.

Sybil pinched her arm.

“How tiresomely literal you are! If Cousin Hannah is not there at all, as you say, it will not hurt her because she will not know anything about it. If she is, we will be as quiet as mice in getting up, and I am only just going to take the tiniest little peep. You will help me, won't you, Cynthia? Don't be cross, dear! I know I was horrid when you first told me; I couldn't believe it, it seemed so improbable. Now, if I must confess, I am most fearfully curious. It would be so funny if Cousin Hannah had been taking us in all this time!”

She raised herself on tiptoe and touched Cynthia's cheek with her hand as she spoke.

As Cynthia met her pleading smile she felt a touch of the old glamour; the spell that Sybil had exercised over her was broken, but it was not yet wholly forgotten. She even smiled a little as Sybil drew her towards the ladder.

“Well, as I feel sure that she is not there—”

“You will help me?” Sybil gave a graceful little pirouette of joy. “You are a dear, Cynthia! Now be very careful—no noise!” as she put one foot on the first rung.

Cynthia steadied the ladder carefully. Sybil went up lightly and swung herself on the roof with catlike agility. With an elaborate show of caution she peered forward at the window; then, turning she went through a joyful little pantomime.

“Come up, Cynthia!” she exclaimed. “Yes! Yes! You must! Be quick!”

After a moment's hesitation, with a curious feeling that she was taking part in some play, Cynthia climbed up.

“Oh, Cynthia, you
are
silly!” Sybil exclaimed as they stood clinging together. “To think that I was foolish enough to believe you! Cousin Hannah is there safe enough! I think I see how you came to make the mistake, though. The bedclothes are all hunched up in the middle, and she is lying half concealed by the curtain with her back towards us; her big frilled nightcap looks just like another pillow.”

Cynthia gazed at her blankly.

“I tell you she was not there a few minutes ago!” she said positively.

Sybil pouted.

“How obstinate you are, Cynthia! Look for yourself instead of arguing,” she said, giving her a playful little push.

Cynthia obeyed mechanically. As she leaned forward on the penthouse roof the other girl clutched her hand in a tight feverish grip.

“There she is, I tell you; you see, you are mistaken!”

Leaning forward, Cynthia looked in. Her first impression was that the room was exactly as she had seen it a few minutes ago, save that now, on the farther side of the great untidy heap of bedclothes, there lay a figure, though little of it could be seen— merely a vague outline, the back of the nightcap, one hand resting on the bedclothes. Cynthia's eyes wandered round the room. Suddenly they were caught by a chair standing by the bedside; something about it made her look again—and she knew instantly that it had been moved since she saw it before.

Sybil jerked her arm impatiently.

“Well, you see she was there all the time! You see you were mistaken!”

“Yes, I see her now,” Cynthia said slowly after a little pause.

She turned her head unexpectedly, and surprised a strange exultant expression in the other girl's face. With a sudden certainty that in some way she was being tricked she bent forward again.

“Certainly she is there!” Sybil's tone was a little forced, a trifle impatient. “You are so fanciful, Cynthia! Why, you almost infected me,” with a light laugh, “though I knew better in my heart, and I was certain poor Cousin Hannah could neither move hand nor foot.”

Cynthia was still looking intently at that quiet form on the bed. The idea occurred to her that it might be a lay figure put in to represent Cousin Hannah, but that theory had to be dismissed, for, looking intently, it was possible to see a slight motion as of breathing. As the last phrase left Sybil's lips however the other girl started violently and drew forward recklessly.

Sybil pulled her back.

“How careless you are, Cynthia! You nearly upset us both!”

Cynthia shivered from head to foot; she caught her breath sharply; then, with a strange, frightened movement, she stepped back and hurried to the ladder. Catching sight of her face as she passed, Sybil saw that all the bright, healthy colour had faded, that even her lips looked a dull grey. She followed quickly.

“What is the matter, Cynthia, are you ill?”

Cynthia did not answer as she caught the branch and let herself down. When both girls stood on level ground once more Sybil glanced at her anxiously.

“What is it, Cynthia? Do you feel faint?” putting one arm round her caressingly.

Cynthia drew herself away swiftly.

“Don't please, Sybil! I feel hot—suffocating!” thrusting the heavy mass of hair back from her brow. “Surely there must be thunder about! It is terribly close.”

Sybil regarded her pityingly.

“Poor old girl! The climb must have been too much for you! It was thoughtless of me to insist upon your doing it a second time, but I was so keen on your seeing that you had made a mistake.”

“Yes, yes!” Cynthia said hurriedly. “It—it was the climbing, I—I'm not used to it. I do not think I shall come in yet, Sybil,” as the girl turned towards the house. “I will walk round the garden a while. I feel as if I must have fresh air.”

“You are sure you are able?” Sybil questioned anxiously. “I must go in because I have set my mind on making some scones for Cousin Henry's tea, and he may be in any moment. Don't you think you had better come in with me and rest?”

“No, no, I couldn't!” Cynthia responded incoherently, again putting aside Sybil's arm. “Please let me do as I like, Sybil!”

“Oh, certainly if you put it that way!” Sybil's tone was half offended. “But do not expect me to look after you if you are faint, for I shall be busy in the kitchen for the next half-hour.”

“I shall not faint,” Cynthia said decidedly as she moved off across the grass.

Sybil danced away in her usual light-hearted fashion; before she turned the corner of the house, however, she paused and cast one quick, searching glance at the tall, slim girl walking slowly down the lawn. At the same moment a corner of the blind in the room opposite the tool-house was lifted cautiously, a pair of eyes gleaming with malignant hatred looked out, a malediction was breathed into the silent air.

All unconscious, however, Cynthia pursued her way to the gate, and as she entered the belt of firs Mrs Knowles came in sight down the path that led from the kitchen. She quickened her steps as she saw Cynthia.

“It was rare and lucky we managed to get Polly back, miss,” she began in her usual spasmodic fashion. “I can't say as she looks a bit worse for her outing!” with a laugh. “She was a-calling out ‘Poor Polly! Poor Polly!' and a-asking for my lady as cheerful as you please when I come away.”

“Yes, I'm glad we caught her,” Cynthia responded absently.

Her lack of attention in no wise disconcerted Mrs Knowles; she set the basket she was carrying on the ground, and, bringing out a voluminous pocket- handkerchief, began to mop her face energetically.

“It is hot work catching parrots, isn't it, miss?” she remarked apologetically. “Especially when you are not so young as you was. I was saying just now to Miss Sybil as she ran into the kitchen, so anxious about her cakes, ‘Ay, it is easy to see you have not been chasing parrots all over the place!' I said. She will have to put her best foot foremost too, as the saying is, about the making of those cakes,” parenthetically, “as if they are not ready when the master calls for his tea he will not wait a minute for them. I never see a more impatient gentleman!”

“Perhaps he will not come in just yet,” Cynthia remarked, somewhat overwhelmed by the torrent of words and intent only on making her escape.

“Oh, he come in some time ago!” was the unexpected answer. “I see him coming into the house before me when I was carrying Polly back to the kitchen, and while I was hanging her up and making her as comfortable as I could he was talking to Miss Sybil in the hall. Pretty cross he was too, though I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I knowed by his tone. He is a gentleman with a temper, he is, as I make no doubt my lady has found out to her cost. Begging pardon, though, miss, for alluding to it before you!”

Cynthia hardly heard the last sentence, so absorbed was she by the information thus unexpectedly imparted.

“Miss Sybil told me when she came back that she could not get into Lady Hannah's room, because Mr Gillman had gone out with the key in his pocket.”

“Mr Gillman was in the hall a-talking to her when I hung Polly's cage up,” Mrs Knowles affirmed doggedly. “I couldn't be mistook in his voice, miss, I have heard too much of it. Besides, I see him myself, with my own eyes, a-walking in before me. Miss Sybil must have forgot. She is a rare feather-headed one, she is!” she finished, her tone appearing to indicate that she considered the last-named quality as highly praiseworthy.

Cynthia's face looked puzzled and absorbed, and she did not reply for a minute or two. Mrs Knowles watched her expectantly. At length the girl's decision was taken; at all hazards she must consult Farquhar—must ask his advice.

“Could you take a note for me or get one sent, Mrs Knowles?”

Mrs Knowles looked round consideringly.

“I might send Tommy, miss, after I have given him his tea, if it isn't too far. It is no good me saying I will go myself, for I find the walk up here moils me to death, but if Tommy would do he could go and welcome.”

“It is to Mrs Smithson's on the moor over there.” Cynthia pointed vaguely in the direction. “Do you know the house? She has not been there long.”

Mrs Knowles nodded.

“I know, miss. That will be all right!” she said reassuringly.

Cynthia tore a leaf from the little chatelaine hanging by her side and scribbled a few words in French upon it.

“Give that to the gentleman at Mrs Smithson's, please!” she said, handing it to the woman. “And that”—dropping a shilling into her hand—“is for Tommy.”

“Which wasn't necessary, though thank you kindly for it. I'll see he takes the note, miss!”

I
T WAS
an almost oppressively hot morning, yet here in the pine-wood, beneath the shadow of the great branches, it was cool and pleasant; the sun filtered down through the leaves and chequered the paths covered deeply with withered pine-needles. To Donald Farquhar, as he waited, leaning against a tall straight fir-trunk, whence he could catch a glimpse of Greylands' gate, the morning seemed endlessly long.

For three-quarters of an hour he had waited there, hoping every moment to see a slender figure emerge from the dark belt of trees, but so far without success. He took out his watch and looked at it dolefully; he would stay a quarter of an hour longer, he decided, and if Cynthia had not come by then he would give it up for this morning, at any rate.

As he put the watch back, however, the gate opened and Cynthia came quickly across the pine- wood. Farquhar threw aside his cigar and went forward to meet her.

“I am so sorry to be late!” she began breathlessly, as she laid her hand in his. “What must you think of me? After asking you to come punctually at eleven o'clock too! I thought I should never get away—Sybil was so tiresome wanting to show me all sorts of things. I did not want her to guess why”—with a slight flush—“I mean I wished to consult you about—without anyone knowing at Greylands,” she added, her face becoming serious.

Farquhar held her ungloved hand in his a moment longer than was really necessary.

“Anything I can do for you, my dear cousin?”

Cynthia's eyes drooped.

“You are very good; it is about Cousin Hannah.”

Instantly Farquhar's expression became more alert.

“About Aunt Hannah? Has she expressed any wish to see me?”

“No, I have hardly seen her lately.” Cynthia hesitated. She fancied that Sir Donald might help to solve the new perplexity of hers, but now, face to face with him, the various notions that had crowded into her brain in the past few hours seemed too fantastic, too unreal, to be imparted even to him, so she temporized.

“Would you think Cousin Hannah a person to do any very extraordinary things? To make up her mind to deceive people; in fact, to—to make them do what she wants?”

Farquhar looked slightly puzzled.

“She is distinctly fond of her own way. In the old days she generally said what she wanted and got it. Except with me on one occasion; but I dare say things are different now. Poor old Aunt Hannah!”

Cynthia looked troubled; her eyes watched the young man's questioning face wistfully.

“I can't understand it at all. But—but,” with obvious hesitation, “I cannot help thinking—I have very good reasons for thinking—that Cousin Hannah is by no means so ill or so helpless as we have been told. That, however, does not explain everything.”

Farquhar's face was very grave; his sombre eyes were fixed on the girl's face.