by Andre Norton
That girl—Nan—he still could not figure out just how she had discovered the hiding place in the parlor. It had been plain she was awfully afraid of the man who was supposed to be her uncle. She had said she could not lie to him, that he would know it. But how had she found that cupboard? Had she been told about it and been left to open it? Chris rang the doorbell to the apartment with less than half a mind on what he was doing, being far more wrapped in his dream adventure.
Clara opened the door. “Get off those boots,” she commanded before he was even inside. “Your slippers are right over there. And there's cocoa ready in the kitchen.”
Chris did not in the least want cocoa in the kitchen; he wanted his own room with the door shut and a chance to look at the inn. But he had learned not to argue with Clara.
Nan was already in the kitchen, a mug of cocoa in her hand, choosing from a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.
“These are store ones,” she said as Chris sat down.
He grunted, not aware that she had given him a searching glance.
“Do you know,” Nan continued, “what tastes wonderful? An apple tart with cinnamon and sugar—”
Chris's hand had gone out automatically to pick up a cooky. Now he turned swiftly to face her. “You—you were there!”
“Yes.”
“But it was a dream. My dream!” he snapped resentfully.
“Mine, too!” She sounded triumphant enough to make him long to slap her.
Then curiosity and the need to know got the better of his flare of temper. “What do you remember?” he demanded.
She looked around. Clara was getting ready to go as soon as Aunt Elizabeth returned. They were alone. But how long might they be left so? Worrying about that, Nan began to retell her night's experiences as fast as she could.
5
Double Dare
Why?” Chris said flatly when she had finished.
“What?” Nan had begun when he interrupted, “Why did we both dream that? Did it really happen—once?”
Though the kitchen was warm and the cocoa she had just swallowed hot, Nan shivered. “How could it be?”
“Models,” Chris returned as if he were thinking aloud, “are usually copies of real buildings, or ships, or whatever. The Red Hart could be a copy of a real inn.”
Nan stared at him over the rim of her mug. “Even if it is a copy,” she ventured, “what would make us dream that way? Do you believe it all really did happen—a long time ago?” Again she shivered.
“Maybe. I read up about priests at the library today. King Henry the Eighth declared the Church of England separate from the rule of the Pope, who lived in Rome. He considered all Roman Catholic priests to be traitors because they continued to hold Mass in their own way. Your uncle—he was what they called a Pursuivant, one of the King's Men. They went around hunting Papist priests and the people who helped them. It was a bad time.”
“He was not my uncle!” Nan flared. “He—he was just someone in a bad dream. So there!”
She set down her mug and would have gotten up from the table, but Chris's hand shot out to close fingers about her wrist hard. “How did you find that place in the wall?” he demanded.
“I—it was a dream—”
“Maybe it was a dream, but how did you find it? Did your uncle tell you where it was?”
Nan settled back, for it was plain Chris was not going to let go until he had an answer. “I don't know—it was queer. I could—well, sort of run my hands over the wood and feel that it was there. But I couldn't tell Uncle Jasper that.” Her fear in the dream flared up. “Because he would have said that was Devil's knowledge. So—so I had to make up stories about how I found the places—at least, I think I did. But"— now she jerked free of Chris's hold—"I don't want to talk about it—even think about it. It was too real. It scares me!”
“Come on!” Chris moved faster than she had ever seen him. Before she could dodge, he had caught hold of her arm, was urging her toward the kitchen door. Behind his glasses his eyes were fully open, and the shut-in look of his face was gone. She could not fight to free herself, for Clara was coming with her no-nonsense, it's-nearly-time-for-me-to-leave look. And Nan, even in the short time she had lived here, knew better than to argue with that.
Chris propelled her down the hall to his bedroom, pushed her in ahead of him, and shut the door. Curious, Nan stood where she was while he pulled open the bottom drawer of the small desk. Sheets of paper were flung to the floor as he stood up, holding the inn.
Nan retreated hurriedly. “No!” she said loudly. “I won't!” As clearly as if he had said it aloud, she knew what Chris wanted. He wanted her to hold that—that thing! And she would not. She must forget all about it. Frantically Nan groped behind her for the doorknob, got hold of it, and somehow scrambled out into the hall. But she did not feel safe until she was in her own room with the door fast shut behind her. She dropped on the edge of the bed, breathing as if she had been running, determined that if Chris followed her she would scream or something. And she was sure that he did not want anyone else to know about the Red Hart; though how she could be so certain of that, she had no idea at all.
Chris shook his head. Girls! You would think he had tried to make her take hold of a snake! Nan was really scared of the inn. But why? He had never held so perfect a model before. Just because of a dream—He raised the miniature building to eye level. The tiny sign swung a little on the wires he had used to fasten it in the proper place. For just a second he could imagine that he was back in the cobbled yard which lay beyond that high arch, that he was hurrying toward the oven—
No, as detailed as that memory was, he thought, it had been only a dream. Reluctantly he put the model in the drawer and repiled the papers over it. Then he heard Aunt Elizabeth come in, speak to Clara.
It took him only a few seconds to shake out his book bag, have things piled out on the desk as if he had been working. Would Nan tell?
As Chris crouched in his desk chair, twisting his fingers into his hair, staring down at a page he did not see at all, he worried. That was queer what Nan said she had done in the dream—run her fingers over the wall and so learned where the hiding place was. But then weird things were always happening in dreams. He just hoped she would keep her mouth shut.
He continued to wait tensely through dinner and the short time they were helping clean up afterward for Nan to blurt it all out. She did not; she just chattered on about some girls named Marve and Pat and how she would ride to school with them tomorrow, talking so fast that it was as if she were afraid he was going to say something, never looking in his direction at all.
Nan waited in the lobby the next morning. Chris had gone on, not even giving her a glance as he slouched out the door into the snow which was now fast turning into a gray slush. She was glad he had not tried to get her alone again, said anything more about the inn. It was only a dream after all. And when she allowed herself to remember some parts and could still be afraid, she tried hard not to.
A horn honked outside, and Haines beckoned to her. She hurried to the street and jumped a ridge of grimy snow to squeeze in beside Marve on the front seat of the car, saying a shy “hello and thank you” to Marve's father behind the wheel.
“Did you get your outline done?” Marve greeted her. “The Crab sure piles it on. Then half the time, when you get it done, she doesn't want it.”
“This is library day.” Pat had pushed forward in the back seat, so her face was just inches away from Nan's. “I forgot my book. Fact is, I can't find it.” She laughed as if this was certainly no calamity. “Anyway, it gets us out of the room— and tomorrow's a day off because of teachers’ meeting.”
Marve ignored Pat's comments. Instead her hand closed over Nan's with a squeeze. “You have anything planned for tomorrow, Nan?”
Nothing, except what Aunt Elizabeth might think up. Chris would be at school. Suddenly the thought of staying in the apartment with Clara all day, or going shopping with Aunt Elizabet
h— No, Nan would not be doing that, because tomorrow Aunt Elizabeth had her day as a volunteer Pink Lady at the hospital.
“No,” she returned.
“We have—” Marve's excited voice made Nan glance at her, only to see that the other girl was eyeing her sidewise with a measuring look. ‘Tell you what, you can come with us.”
“But—” That protest came from Karen. She only got out the one word. Pat was gone from just behind Nan; maybe she had shut her up. Nan wondered if Karen did not want her to know Marve's plans. She felt uncomfortable again—the outsider. But Marve gave her hand another squeeze as if to reassure her.
It was not, however, until noon, when they were eating lunch, that Marve explained.
“M’ mother says we can go to Lumley's tomorrow,” she announced. “She said she'd give me the money for the tearoom there, and we can have lunch.”
Pat and Karen were watching Nan with absorbed interest. Pat gave her narrow smile and then a nod.
“They're having the month-end sale,” Marve announced. “Did you see their ad this morning? All those neck chains reduced one fourth.” She laughed.
Karen smiled. “Yes. And the T-shirts—”
Nan had a queer feeling that all they were saying was a cover for something else. She glanced from one face to another. Something out of the past arose in her mind. No, she was not going to think about it—that queer feeling she had had in her dream that if she just looked, looked in some odd way with her mind instead of her eyes, she would find out a secret. That had been a dream, and it had nothing to do with the here and now!
“You can come along if you want,” Marve was saying. “M’ mother'll phone your aunt about it, if you want her to. Lumley's is great for shopping, especially on sale days.”
Pat laughed again, and Karen echoed her. They did mean something Nan could not understand; she was sure of it. But she was willing to have a day away from Clara's grumbling and the apartment which never, never, would be home.
“I'll ask,” she agreed.
Aunt Elizabeth had no objection to the proposed shopping expedition. And Nan was ready by ten the next morning when Marve, Pat, and Karen called for her. Lumley's was not too far away, about five blocks, and since Aunt Elizabeth had already left for the hospital, she was not there to insist upon their taking a taxi.
Nan had passed Lumley's twice, but both times she had been with Aunt Elizabeth. All she had seen were the display windows and the big front doors. Now she felt a little strange about going in with the girls, but Marve led the way as if such visits were ordinary.
The store aisles were very crowded, and Nan was bumped by ladies who paid little or no attention to anything which was not heaped on tables and counters with big red sale signs over them. She had to hurry fast to keep the girls in sight, and it was only because Marve was wearing a bright scarlet car coat that she did not lose them.
They headed straight for the jewelry department where there were jumbles of chains and pins lying on the counter, other necklaces dangling from tall standing rods. She watched Marve stir around in the mass on the table, pick up a pendant made like a big apple, the same color as her coat, and dangle it from its glittering chain. Pat pushed a finger back and forth, intent on the pins, while Karen stood beside Marve watching the swing of the apple as if enchanted by its brightly shining enamel.
“What do you think?” Marve asked, holding it against her coat and then away again. “With my blue shirt—”
“Super!” breathed Karen. “Just super!”
“How much?” Marve looked up at the clerk who had materialized so suddenly on the other side of the counter that she might have risen directly from the floor.
“Let me see.” The pendant was scooped deftly out of Marve's hand, and the clerk turned over the small dangling ticket fastened to the chain. “Four dollars—this is a sale piece.”
“About three dollars too much.” Marve laughed and shrugged. “Thank you.” She turned away from the jewelry counter.
Nan caught sight of a pin—a cat's head set with twinkly stones. She looked at the price on the card it was fastened to—three ninety-five. More than half of her two-weeks allowance. Too bad—she liked it.
Aware that Pat was brushing past her, she dropped the pin and hurried on. Lumley's, she decided, after they had visited the scarves, the T-shirts, and several other interesting places, was far too expensive. At each stop Marve had hunted out some one object and asked the price—even though Nan was sure she could see it for herself—while Pat stayed off a little, fingering through the things, and Karen hovered by Marve's shoulder with extravagant praise for Marve's taste.
As they turned away from the shirts, Nan began to think that this exercise in nonshopping was a boring way of spending the morning. She was glad when Marve said the tearoom was open for lunch now and they could go up and eat.
Marve asked the hostess for a table in the far corner of the room by a window, and when they had ordered sandwiches and Cokes and the waitress had left, she looked at Pat. “Well?” she asked softly.
Pat grinned her narrow grin and nodded. Nan looked from one to the other puzzled. Marve laughed.
“Show her,” she ordered Pat.
Pat glanced around. There was no one near their table. She slid her hand from the wide pocket of her jacket. But she held it well below the surface of the table, so that Nan could see but no one else could notice.
On her cupped palm lay the apple pendant. Nan had only a glimpse, and then Pat's hand was gone into hiding once again.
“But—” Nan could not believe in what she had seen.
Marve laughed again softly, her eyes very bright. “No— it's not the same one. But they had three or four—didn't you see? Pat slipped that one off when I asked about the price of the other.”
Nan felt sick inside. “That's—that's stealing,” she said in a low voice.
Marve kept smiling. “It's a game,” she said. “It's a double dare. One of us picks something and asks about it; then the one who has the dare for the day has to get one like it. I've got the money.” She patted her wallet. “If anybody ever catches us, we can pay. But nobody ever has yet.”
Pat watched Nan with that sly smile. “She's scared stiff,” she announced. “But I don't think she's going to blab any. Look in your left pocket, Nan dear.” Her voice was sharp and triumphant.
Nan, startled, felt in her pocket. Her fingers closed about the sharp edges of a card. She pulled it out, to see the cat's-head pin.
“No—I didn't—” She was so frightened she wanted to run away from this room, from Pat, from all of them.
“Who would believe you?” Pat asked. “You were looking at it; the clerk probably noticed you. And I'll bet you don't have enough to pay for it, do you? All right. If they catch you with that on you, what good will it do you to say you didn't take it?”
Nan shoved the card back in her pocket. She was cold. This was repeating the nightmare of her dream, the horrible feeling Uncle Jasper had brought upon her. Because everything Pat said was the truth. No matter how much she denied it, who would believe her? She did not understand how Pat had put the pin into her pocket; that it was there was frightening enough.
Marve nodded. “Pat played a trick on you,” she said as if it meant nothing at all. “Now you have the right to play one on her—give her a double dare. Don't sit there looking as if the world has come to an end. Kids do it all the time—it's just a game.”
“Look out,” Karen hissed. “Here comes the waitress.”
Nan stared miserably down at the table. The pin seemed to weigh down her pocket. She must get rid of it. But how? She could not possibly go back to the jewelry counter and just hand it over. As Pat said—who would believe her?
“Give her a double dare now.” Marve was insistent when the waitress had left their sandwiches and had gone again.
“No.” Nan had been hungry, but now all desire to even taste the sandwich was gone. First she had been afraid; now she was getting angry. Un
cle Jasper had believed he could frighten and bully her into being his spy. And now these three were trying to make her be a part of their “game.” She would think of something; she must!
Pat looked at Marve across the table. “I told you,” she said scornfully, “she hasn't the guts to try. Look at her. Another minute and she'll be bawling her head off!”
Nan deliberately reached for her sandwich, made herself take a bite, and chew. Somehow it tasted of apples and cinnamon, though she knew very well it was chicken salad. She had outwitted Uncle Jasper—even though that was only a dream. Now she must outwit Pat and the others.
“I won't tell on you—” she began.
“You're so right!” Pat snapped. “Just try it—”
“But,” Nan continued as if she had never been interrupted, “I won't give Pat any dare either.”
She laid down the sandwich. She could not eat the food Marve had promised to pay for—it would choke her. And she had an idea of what she was going to do. Before any of the other three could move, she got up.
“Good-bye,” she said and walked away, refusing to look back.
When she came to the outer lobby of the tearoom, she went to the girl who had charge of the checkroom.
“Please,” Nan summoned up her courage, “where do you leave things you have found?”
“You can turn them in right here.”
Nan brought the card with the pin out and laid it on the ledge. “I found this.”
“Oh.” The girl picked it up. “Must have slipped out of a bag. That happens once in a while. Thank you. We can keep it until someone calls. If you leave your name—”
Nan shook her head. “I don't care—it's just that it doesn't belong to me.”
Someone pushed up to leave a filled shopping bag, and Nan slipped by, heading for the nearest elevator. She felt the same relief she had felt in the dream when the boy who was Chris had taken away whatever lay behind the paneling in the Red Hart Inn. In a way she had taken a double dare after all, one that those three had not planned. The pin was returned, and she had not told on them. Maybe she should, but to that she could not push herself. Only she wanted no more of their “games.”
