“Y—yes,” said Kate, a very faint doubt beginning to creep into her mind.
“Weel, weemen—if ye’ll excuse me, Miss Kate—are awfu’ anes tae blether. Sae I juist let her gang on, an’ kin’ o’ gied her the notion I thocht Barrie wis the man masel’. But I had a suspeecion a’ the time that I’d need tae luik some ither place for ma leeks. An’ last nicht I took a daunder doun tae Paterson’s the shoe-maker’s, for I’d heard tell o’ some unco guid leeks he had in his gairden, an’ thinks I, that’s kin’ o’ queer, his leeks no’ bein’ byordinar’ guid as a general rule—”
All through this speech Kate had been silent, but as Geordie appeared to be a long way from reaching the point of his story, she could bear the suspense no longer. “Go on, go on!” she cried, her voice hoarse with dread, which Geordie, taking it for interest, was gratified to hear.
“Sae,” he continued deliberately, “I went doon, as I was sayin’, an’ took a guid luik at the leeks. Thae leeks, thinks I, were never grown by Jems Paterson. There was naebody about, an’ I gied a wee bit pu’ ye ken, an’ they cam’ up in ma haund as canny as ye like.”
“Oh!” gasped Kate, remembering with what difficulty she and Robin had unearthed their leeks. “Well?”
“Syne I cam’ back hame an’ plantit them whaur they cam’ frae, Miss Kate. But this morrnin’, when I gaed oot tae see them afore gangin’ up tae the hoose—’By’! says I. ‘Geordie, ma man, ye’re seein’ double, an’ it no’ Ne’erday neither!’ Miss Kate,” he spoke even more slowly and impressively, “if ye’ll believe me, there was twa lots o’ leeks, bonny, bonny leeks, in the grun’. Noo, wull ye come awa’ roon’ an’ see them?”
Kate, who was past speech, tottered rather than walked round to the garden, to see, as Geordie had said, two lots of handsome leeks growing in beauty side by side. May had promised her a big surprise, and she had certainly got it.
“Wh—what will you do, Geordie?” she said at last, after Geordie, swinging the lantern to and fro in a gloating manner, stood upright again.
“Dae, is it? I’ll show them baith! If I dinna lift Firrst an’ Second as weel, ma name’s no’ George Pow! But, mind ye, Miss Kate, I’m trusting tae ye no’ tae mention this. The wife an’ May are fair mystified, an’ I’m juist for lettin’ them bide that way. Nae need for them tae ken that I’m dumbfoondered as weel.”
“They won’t hear a word about it from me,” Kate assured him with such fervour that Geordie was more than ever sure that she was a ‘rale nice young leddy, aye takin’ an interest.’ She started to walk back to the house in the twilight, her mind whirling.
Under the beeches of the drive it was already dark, and she only knew that two persons were coming towards her by the two small glowing points that were lighted cigarettes.
“Hullo, who’s this?” Andrew’s voice.
“Oh, Andrew!” cried Kate, peering at his companion. “Who is that with you?”
“Only your fellow conspirator,” said Andrew, laughing. “But where have you been? Down viewing the leeks you rescued?”
“Rescued?” echoed Kate with an hysterical laugh. “Rescued? Stole, you mean!”
“If this is remorse,” said Robin Anstruther, “it’s come on very suddenly, and too late to be any good.”
“What’s wrong, Kate?” This was Andrew again, kind and steadying.
“Everything,” babbled Kate. “Geordie’s got his leeks—”
“Don’t I know it?” Robin interrupted with feeling. “Considering that I sweated blood to get ’em last night, it’s no news to me.”
“Yes, but he got them himself! The ones we took out of Barrie’s garden were his—”
“There’s a confusion of personal pronouns here that I can’t disentangle,” said Robin. “I know they were his.”
“No, no, not his! Barrie’s!” cried Kate, becoming more and more confused in her agitation.
“Wait just a minute,” said Andrew. “Kate, my dear, are you trying to break it to us that Geordie rescued his own leeks, and you went and lifted Barrie’s?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all the time, only you kept on interrupting. We’ve stolen Barrie’s leeks, and now the poor man won’t have any to show to-morrow!”
There was a second’s silence, broken by the loud laughter of Andrew and Robin. Kate did not join in.
“Can’t we do something about it even now?” she asked, and the laughter ceased abruptly.
“Listen to me, Kate,” said Robin, taking her by the arm and shaking her gently. “If you’re suggesting that we should go all through last night’s performance again, starting at the other end this time, Let me break it to you that there is nothing doing. You understand? Nothing.”
“Absolutely dam’ all,” agreed Andrew. “No, Kate, you can’t do it a second time. You’d be caught, for one thing—”
“But Barrie—”
“Barrie must suffer. He’ll be able to tell everyone that if it hadn’t been for foul play, he’d have got first prize. Now come on, we’ll have to show up in the drawing-room, or Lucy will wonder what has become of us. There was some chat about bridge.”
They walked back in silence until they were at the door, when Andrew remarked with an irrepressible chuckle: “After this, nothing is going to keep me away from Haystoun Show!”
3
“Cousin Kate! Are you going to the Show?”
“Yes, Cousin Henry, I am,” said Kate. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” said Henry mysteriously. “It rather depends, you see. Who else is going?”
“Dear me, are you so particular? I’m going, Anne’s going unless she changes her mind in the meantime, and your mother, and my mother. We shall be four lorn females if you don’t take pity and escort us.”
“Oh, it’s not that I mind being seen about with you,” Henry told her generously. “Only—look here, Kate, do you like dogs?”
“Most dogs, yes. I have met one or two whom I cordially disliked,” said Kate, “Why?”
“Come with me,” said Henry, “and I’ll show you something.”
He conducted her out of the house in a stealthy manner, and after a hunted glance to right and left, darted round to the courtyard, and went in again by the back door, Kate, bewildered but obliging, following him as closely as she could, for it was difficult to keep up with him at one moment, while the next, owing to one of his unexpected stops, she was liable to bump into him from behind.
“What are we doing? Playing Follow My Leader?” she asked a little breathlessly as Henry, giving a quick peep into the kitchen, hurried past the door and up the turret stair. For answer he put a dirty finger to his lips and rolled his eyes alarmingly.
“If you do that again I shall be sick,” said Kate, and he withdrew the finger to indulge in a burst of silent laughter. Almost immediately he resumed his expression of frowning intensity. “Never know when there are spies about,” he said.
Half-way up the spiral stair a door led to the passage off which the maids’ bedrooms opened; but the end room, Kate remembered, had once been the nursery, and was no longer used. Perhaps Henry had adopted it as his own special lair but she still could not understand the secrecy and caution with which he stole towards the door. Drawing a large key from his pocket (‘More locked doors,’ thought Kate), he fitted it into the lock, and at once a strange scratching and snuffling began inside.
“You go in,” said Henry. “I want to have a last look round. We may have been followed.” His manner was so like that of one of Mr. William le Queux’s better heroes that Kate allowed herself to be pushed into the room through the very small crack which he opened.
Almost before she was inside she realized why Henry had asked her if she liked dogs, for a very odd and woolly specimen was leaping frenziedly upon her with growls of delight.
“Down, Virginia!” said Henry, who had sidled in behind Kate and locked the door. Not content with this precaution, he was also shooting the bolts, and only when they were th
us barred in did he turn to Kate.
“This is my dog,” he said in an off-hand manner which could not conceal the pride of ownership. “How d’you like her?”
“She won’t keep still long enough for me to see her properly,” said Kate, looking at the small creature dancing on its hind legs round Henry like an animated dark grey woollen ball. “But I like her high spirits. “Why is she called Virginia?
“Oh, because of the American Civil War,” said Henry. “I’m for the South. If she hadn’t been a—a—” he broke off, apparently embarrassed.
“A bitch?” supplied Kate, and received a look of relief.
“Yes, a bitch. If she hadn’t been one I’d have called her Lee or Jackson or Forrest or Jeb Stuart, but there didn’t seem to be any female names, so I decided on States, and Virginia’s the most important and the one I like best.”
“I see,” said Kate, sitting down on the floor and allowing Virginia to leap exuberantly on to her knee.
“When she has puppies, I’ll call the bitches after the other Southern States, and the dogs after Confederate generals.” Henry joined her on the floor and dragged Virginia into his arms.
“Is that likely to happen soon?” asked Kate, for the little dog seemed barely to have ceased being a puppy herself.
“Well, no,” said Henry reluctantly. “She’s not easy to match. She’s a—a Very Rare Dog,” he added, with a stern glance, as if defying criticism of this statement.
Kate looked respectfully at the Very Rare Dog. Whatever its pedigree, Henry obviously adored it, and Virginia, now licking her owner’s face with a moist pink tongue of astonishing length, as obviously adored Henry.
“Where did you get her, and why must the poor little creature be kept shut up here?” she said.
“Oh, er—I picked her up,” Henry said vaguely. Kate discovered later that this was, quite literally, the case. The puppy had come and seized him by a shoe-lace when he was walking back to his House from afternoon school, and he had instantly taken her for his own. By what means he had succeeded in keeping her for the rest of the term, Kate never heard in detail, but it had involved much worry, and the boot-boy bad played a prominent part in the intrigue.
“You’d have thought,” Henry went on bitterly. “That it would’ve been easy enough once I’d got her here, but it’s not. Mother doesn’t like dogs. They make a mess in the house, she says.”
“Isn’t Virginia house-trained, then?”
“Of course she is!” Henry was indignant at this slur on his beloved’s manners. “It’s not that kind of mess. It’s pawmarks and bones and things.”
“Oh,” said Kate, and after a pause: “Does anyone know about her except me?”
“Florence does. She’s pretty decent about giving me things for Virginia to eat. But it’s company Virginia misses,” said Henry, his face drawn with care. “She hates to be left alone, it’s so dull. She never squeaks or whines, but she looks so unhappy, Kate.”
“Why don’t you tell your father? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the little dog.”
Henry shook his head and mumbled something about “not fair to Mother to tell him when she doesn’t know,” for which Kate gave him full marks.
“Well, I suppose you want to take Virginia to the Show. Is that it?”
“Yes,” said Henry, and added gloomily that he saw very little chance of doing so.
“Will you swear to me that she’ll behave?”
“You don’t understand Virginia,” said Henry with a glance of quiet disdain. “She’s used to going about. She behaves beautifully.”
“Very well,” said Kate. “Then I think we can do it quite easily. The others don’t want to go till after lunch. You and I can take sandwiches with us and walk down to the Show at about twelve. Virginia will be able to see all the life of the town, such as it is, and we’ll lose ourselves in the crowd if we see any of the others coming near us.”
Henry solemnly rose, shook hands with her and made Virginia do the same. Then he fell upon his dog, and the two indulged in a growling match on the floor that made the window rattle.
‘I wonder if I should have done this,’ thought Kate as she watched them. ‘Lucy would probably think I ought to have gone straight to her and told her that Henry has a dog in the house.’ But Henry’s—and Virginia’s—wistful eyes had been too much for her; and she couldn’t help feeling that it was hard on Henry not to be allowed to enjoy his dog openly. Something would have to be done about it.
They had no difficulty in leaving earlier than the rest of the party. As Anne said indifferently, if they liked to make themselves uncomfortable and miss a perfectly good lunch for the sake of seeing endless sheep-dog trials and giant cabbages, it was their funeral. Kate bore away with her the conscience-stricken remembrance of Lucy’s gratitude for amusing Henry, but in the excitement of getting Virginia safely down the drive unnoticed, soon forgot it.
Virginia, with a ludicrously large feathery tail curled over her back, caracoled and pranced round them until she looked like seven small dogs, and Henry was in a state of delirious happiness far beyond mere words.
Haystoun Show had always been held in a low-lying meadow beside Alewater, just outside the old East Port of the town, on the first Saturday of September. It was almost the only day in the year which brought back to the ancient royal burgh some degree of its former bustle and importance. The whole county, high and low, men, women and children, flocked to the Show, and the sheep-dog trials which were a feature of it, could boast of entries from as far afield as Carlisle and Newcastle-on-Tyne.
As Kate and Henry, attended by the greatly exhilarated Virginia, walked down the High Street, the big blue buses, each full to the door, went roaring past them, bringing the country people, whose great annual outing this was, from their lonely villages and farms at hair-raising speed.
“Not much of a crush, is there?” said Henry, finding his tongue at last, the delighted sparkle in his eyes belying the careful boredom of his tone.
“Just wait. There will be more than enough of a crush in a minute,” prophesied Kate who remembered the Show of old.
They turned into the Nungate, a narrow old street which wound towards the East Port from a long-vanished nunnery. “This is more like a crowd. If they’d only hurry a bit it might be the people leaving Atlanta,” said Henry with satisfaction and called Virginia sternly to heel. The street was a steady stream of humanity, which had overflowed the pavements on either side and now walked stubbornly on the cobbles of the roadway, moving aside a mere grudging foot or so to allow the cars which hooted impatiently at their backs, to pass. Old women padded along, bent on seeing what the ‘Rurals’ had produced in the shape of needlework and knitting; their even older husbands, bowed and gnarled by years of field-work, hobbled beside them in thick, respectable tweed suits and stiff collars. Shepherds walked with their easy swinging step, lone crook-handled sticks in their hands, tremendous boots with turned-up toes, the inch-thick soles decorated with artistic arrangements of ‘tackets’ on their feet. There was a fine free holiday feeling in the air, encouraged by the smell of whisky wafted about them by those whose merry-making had begun early.
Presently the houses dwindled to a straggle of small cottages, roofed with mellow red pantiles, separated from the road by strips of garden where hollyhocks stood almost as high as the walls, and dahlias and asters made a gay showing. Now they could catch a glimpse, between the bobbing heads in front, of the wide green field, where two large marquees were pitched, they could hear the noisy braying of a brass band above the hum of voices. On the left of the road an open gateway, the ground churned into a sea of mud, was labelled hopefully: ‘Car Park, 2s. 6d.,’ and through the mud to the field beyond it cars bumbled and bumped, directed by a red-faced young policeman whose white cotton gloves appeared to embarrass him greatly. Kate, turning to ask Henry if he thought it would be safer for Virginia to put her on the lead, found that he was no longer beside her. She saw him in a moment, at the farther side of
the road, pressing something into the free hand of a ragged man whose other hand was engaged in holding a mouth-organ to his lips. If he was playing, he could not hope to make himself heard in the medley of sound about him, but even while he nodded acknowledgment to Henry he continued to blow and suck with ardour.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” said Henry breathlessly, darting back, with the puzzled but obedient Virginia at his heels. “I had to give him something, you know. It must be pretty rotten to see all the rest of us going to have a good time and not be able to have one yourself.”
“I know,” said Kate, who never could pass a beggar herself without giving him what she had, or apologizing if she had no money, which was frequently the case. “What did you give him, Henry? I’ll go halves.”
“Well, I’m glad you said that,” he answered in a relieved voice. “Because, as a matter of fact, I gave him our sandwiches and a shilling. He looked hungry,” he added.
“Wouldn’t the shilling have been enough?” Kate asked mildly.
“Well, you see, I thought he could keep the shilling for the next meal. Never mind, Kate, I’ll stand you lunch. Father tipped me this morning. Ten bob.”
It was on the tip of Kate’s tongue to offer to pay for lunch herself, but she managed to stop in time. Henry would probably feel insulted. She said instead: “Thank you, Henry, that will be very nice. Lunch in the tent will be fun, and I’m sure Virginia will enjoy it. But if you’re going to give me lunch, you must let me pay at the gate. That’s only fair.”
“Very well,” Henry agreed, a little reluctantly, but his reluctance disappeared when Kate handed him a florin, saying in a casual manner: “It looks so much better if the man pays, I think.”
They were at the gate, they had been given two strips torn from a roll of tickets, and. then they were walking on the trodden grass among a crowd which even Henry should have found sufficiently large and congested.
“What’ll we see first?” he bellowed in her ear. Kate hastily consulted the catalogue which she had just bought from a small schoolboy with a shining pink face and water-sleeked hair.
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