The Tale of Holly How

by ALBERT, SUSAN WITTIG

  Margaret stared after him, dazed. “Did you . . . did you hear what I just heard, Annie?”

  “I think so,” Annie said, her eyes large and glowing. “Oh, Maggie, this is wonderful! Too wonderful for words!”

  And burn or no, she flung her arms around her sister with a glad cry.

  At Tidmarsh Manor, Lady Longford was taking tea in the library, with the windows closed and the red brocade draperies pulled against the afternoon heat. She sat stiffly in the gloom, feeling very unwell and even crosser than usual. Dudley, her ancient spaniel, lay on the floor beside a potted palm, no doubt feeling as out of sorts as she did. The dog, who was named for her late husband, always seemed to wear an accusing look, exactly as Lord Longford had done in his later years. Miss Martine, silent and dour-visaged, presided over the tea table. Dr. Gainwell had not come down yet. Neither had Caroline, and Lady Longford wondered where she was.

  Emily opened the door and announced, in her girlish voice, “Mr. Heelis to see you, your ladyship.”

  “Ah, Mr. Heelis,” Lady Longford said, replacing her teacup in its saucer. The firm of Heelis and Heelis had been the Longfords’ solicitors for three decades, and whilst she still preferred the formality of the old Mr. Heelis, the young Mr. Heelis (his nephew) was an acceptable substitute. “You have come to convey the trustees’ approval of Dr. Gainwell’s new position, I suppose,” she added.

  “Lemon or sugar?” inquired Miss Martine in a whisper, her hand poised over a filled cup.

  “I don’t believe I’ll have tea, thank you,” Mr. Heelis replied. “Hello, Dudley,” he said, bending over to pet the old spaniel. He sat down next to Lady Longford. “I hope that your ladyship is well.”

  “Not very,” she said, with a peevish cough, “as you can no doubt see.” She picked up her cup, felt her hand tremble, and put it down again. “But you did not come to inquire about my health, I daresay.”

  Mr. Heelis cast an inquiring glance around the room. “The vicar particularly wanted me to ask after Miss Caroline. Will she be down shortly?”

  “I assume so,” Lady Longford replied, with a slight smile. She was not surprised that Mr. Heelis should ask to see her granddaughter, for he and the vicar were responsible for the girl’s coming to Tidmarsh Manor—and, to tell the truth, Lady Longford now found herself grateful for their persistence. Miss Martine was busily searching for a suitable school for Caroline, but the longer Lady Longford observed the girl, the more she began to think that perhaps she should keep her at the Manor, at least for a year or two. Caroline was a great deal like her father, after all, and something had begun to stir in her heart toward—

  “The girl is not here.” Miss Martine cleared her throat. “I am sorry to report that she is not to be found.”

  “Not to be—” Lady Longford stopped, not sure that she had heard correctly.

  “Not to be found?” Mr. Heelis echoed, looking from one of them to the other. “I don’t understand.”

  “As I said,” Miss Martine returned, in her meek, docile voice, “Caroline is not to be found. She was told to go to her room after lunch, and she obviously disobeyed.” She pursed her lips and looked penitently at Lady Longford. “Please forgive me for not telling your ladyship immediately. But you were . . . indisposed, and every effort is being made to find her. The house has already been thoroughly searched, and Beever and Dr. Gainwell have gone to look for her in the woods beyond the garden.”

  Lady Longford pulled in her breath. “I should have been told,” she said sharply. “It was wrong of you to keep this from me.”

  “I could only do what I felt was right,” Miss Martine said sadly. “I know how deeply you are troubled by Caroline’s willful disobedience, and—”

  “Disobedience?” Mr. Heelis asked sharply. “That is not a word I would use to describe the girl, Miss Martine. I was with her for several days when she first arrived at Liverpool, you know. I would call her inquisitive, yes. And intelligent and resourceful. But hardly disobedient.”

  “I trust that your ladyship will not trouble yourself,” Miss Martine went on calmly, as if Mr. Heelis had not spoken. “The girl has no doubt just wandered off, and will shortly be found.”

  Not worry! Lady Longford thought with alarm of the bleak, windy fell, and the wild wood that rose up behind Tidmarsh Manor and spilt over the top of Claife Heights and all the way down to Lake Windermere. She herself had been lost in that wood once, when she had first come to live at Tidmarsh Manor. She had counted herself lucky when she found her way back.

  “But the fells are dangerous!” Mr. Heelis protested. “And it’s easy to lose one’s way in the woods. What’s more, it’s been raining this afternoon. Is Caroline in the habit of going outside the garden?”

  “She is in the habit,” Miss Martine said thinly, “of disobeying. I beg you, Mr. Heelis, please do not concern yourself.”

  Lady Longford, now feeling much worse than before, shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I’m sure that the girl will be found and brought in before you leave,” she said, trying to make the best of things. “Now, tell me what you and the other trustees thought of Dr. Gainwell.”

  As an experienced solicitor, Will Heelis was quite capable of tact and diplomacy, and under usual circumstances, would no doubt have given his reply the most careful consideration. At the moment, however, he was preoccupied, as if he were thinking of the girl. He scarcely seemed to be paying attention when he said, in an offhand tone, “Oh, that business. The trustees have settled the matter. They have offered the position to Miss Nash, and she has accepted.”

  “To . . . Miss Nash?” Lady Longford asked incredulously.

  “You must be joking!” Miss Martine cried, jumping to her feet and knocking over the pitcher of milk. Dudley hoisted himself up and hurried over to lick the puddle on the carpet.

  Mr. Heelis looked up, startled. “Forgive me,” he said. “I was thinking of Caroline, or I should not have answered so carelessly.” He took a deep breath. “The trustees were of course impressed by Dr. Gainwell’s outstanding educational preparation and experience. He is quite a . . . quite a remarkable man. After extensive debate, however, we concluded that Miss Nash is much more suited to this rural school. She has learnt to work within the school’s limited resources, she knows the children’s abilities, and—”

  “But I am the one who proposed him!” Lady Longford cried, clenching her fists in angry frustration. How dare those stupid, stubborn trustees go against her wishes! She gathered together all her strength and spoke in a low, steely voice. “After all Lord Longford and I have done for this village, it is inconceivable that the trustees should—”

  “I quite understand your ladyship’s feelings,” Mr. Heelis interrupted firmly, getting to his feet. “However, the decision has been made, and in the end, I rather think Dr. Gainwell will be glad. He surely has other, more challenging opportunities than our little village school. When I see him, I shall offer the trustees’ best wishes and their heartfelt gratitude for his—”

  “Oh, rubbish,” Lady Longford said wearily. She waved her hand. “I don’t want to hear any more of this, Heelis. You can tell the trustees that I am angry and disappointed. They needn’t look to me for any more support.” On his way back to the potted palm, Dudley glanced accusingly at her, as if to remind her that she had not been as supportive as she might.

  “I will convey your feelings,” Mr. Heelis said gravely. “I know the trustees will be distressed to hear that they have disappointed you.”

  “But, Lady Longford!” Miss Martine protested, half in tears. “Surely you aren’t going to give in so easily. Surely you—”

  “I don’t want to hear anything from you, either, Maribel,” Lady Longford snapped. “I am tired of being pushed around. I’m going to bed. Send Emily to help me. And go down to the kitchen and tell Mrs. Beever that I want a cup of ginger tea and another slice of that ginger cake. And if she has any candied ginger, she can send that up, too. Right now!”

  As Miss Martine ru
shed from the room, Mr. Heelis stood. “I am sorry to have been the bearer of bad news,” he said. “The trustees would not have disappointed you except for a very good reason.” As he looked down at her, Lady Longford saw the concern written on his honest face. “If you will forgive me,” he went on quietly, “I can see that your ladyship is not well. When I left the village, Dr. Butters was there. Shall I send him up to see you?”

  “No,” Lady Longford said, and then, as Emily came into the room to help her out of her chair, she changed her mind. “Oh, very well, Heelis. Send him up.” To herself, she muttered, “Wherever on earth can the child have gone?”

  Mr. Heelis went to the door. “I shall be returning,” he said, “as quickly as I can, with a team of searchers.”

  “Yes, searchers, Heelis, by all means,” Lady Longford said. “Emily, mind my shoulder, you wretched girl!”

  23

  Miss Potter Presents a Clue

  Miles Woodcock was at the typewriter in his study, finishing a report on the action the trustees had taken that afternoon and thinking with some puzzlement about the interview with Dr. Gainwell. He had not wanted to make a point of it with the other trustees, since it was clear that there was no contest between Miss Nash and Lady Longford’s candidate, but he had felt that the interview left some major questions unanswered. Dr. Gainwell had, for instance, been surprisingly vague about his studies at Oxford and unclear about the circumstances of his missionary work. What’s more, he hadn’t seemed prepared to deal with questions about the school curriculum or his philosophy of education, although he did have certain views on discipline. In fact, one would almost have thought—

  But it did not matter. The man was not their choice, and they had interviewed him only as a courtesy. In the report, it was sufficient to say that the trustees had considered two candidates and selected Miss Nash, whose work was well known to all. He rolled the paper out of the typewriter, signed the report, and blotted his signature. There. That was done, and Miss Nash could get on with her planning for the year.

  He heard a light tap at the door, and his sister put her head through. “Miles, my dear, forgive me for interrupting you, but Miss Potter is here. She says she has something she needs to show you, and urgently.”

  Miles stood. “Not an interruption,” he said. “I’m all finished.” He smiled. “Hello, Miss Potter. Come in, do. Dimity, why don’t you bring us a cup of—”

  “No tea for me, thank you, Miss Woodcock,” Miss Potter said. Dimity, with a tactful nod, left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Miles had originally shared the view that many of the male villagers held of Miss Potter: that a city woman had no business taking on a working farm, especially one that needed so much attention and improvement. But he had changed his mind last October, when she had helped to recover the Constable painting stolen from Anvil Cottage, and through the months after that, as he witnessed the steady, no-nonsense determination with which she dealt with challenges at Hill Top, and with people like Bernard Biddle, the building contractor who was notorious for causing trouble on his jobs. Beatrix Potter, Miles had decided, was a rare and unusual woman, and he was glad that she had come to Sawrey.

  As he went to greet her, Miles noticed that Miss Potter’s round cheeks were even pinker than usual, and under her straw hat, her brown hair was in disarray. Her clothing showed signs of being recently wet, and she was carrying something that looked like a pair of long-handled metal tongs.

  “Thank you for allowing me to barge in,” she said, in her light, high voice. “I won’t take up much of your time. But I do think it’s important, you see. It’s about the death of Mr. Hornby.”

  “Of course,” Miles said gravely. He gestured to a chair. “Sit down, please, Miss Potter. What’s that you have in your hand?”

  Instead of sitting, she put the tongs down on the desk.

  “Miss Barwick and I went to Holly How to look for the sheep I’ve bought from Mr. Hornby. After a brief encounter with Isaac Chance—”

  “Ah. You’ve met the man, then. What do you think?”

  Miss Potter pressed her lips together. “I think,” she said decidedly, “that I should not be at all surprised to find my sheep at Oldfield Farm. Of course, I have no proof, only a suspicion. But I intend to have a look.”

  “I hope you won’t go unaccompanied,” Miles said, in a warning tone. “I suspect that Chance put a match to the Holly How barn last winter. And he might have been responsible for what looked like an accidental poisoning of Hornby’s milk cows. But there was never enough evidence to charge him.” He looked squarely at Miss Potter. “Do say you won’t go to Oldfield alone.”

  Instead of replying, Miss Potter pointed to the items on the table. “Miss Barwick and I climbed up the hill to the spot from which Mr. Hornby fell. The Crooks’ terrier was with us, and he nosed out the tongs lying amongst the brambles about thirty paces away. It looked as if someone had slung them there. I must confess that I’m at a loss about these tongs. They look rather like fireplace tongs, but—”

  “But they’re not,” Miles said distastefully. “Look at those sharp points. They’re badger tongs.”

  “Badger tongs?”

  “Designed to catch and hold badgers.”

  “Oh,” Miss Potter said, adding, in a matter-of-fact tone, “By badger diggers, I suppose.”

  Miles raised both eyebrows. “You know about that?”

  “I know that the badger sett at the rock quarry on Hill Top property was recently destroyed,” she said grimly. “Now that you’ve told me what these tongs are used for, I wonder if their owner might have been planning to dig the sett at Holly How. Mr. Jennings says that Lord Longford wouldn’t allow the sett to be meddled with, and Mr. Hornby continued to follow his wishes.” She frowned. “I wonder—do you think perhaps Mr. Hornby might have confronted a badger digger on Holly How, and there was some kind of altercation? Perhaps Mr. Hornby grabbed the tongs and flung them away, and then fell, or was pushed, over the edge.”

  Miles stared at her, thinking of the welt across old Ben Hornby’s shoulders—a welt that might have been raised by a pair of badger tongs. “By Jove, Miss Potter,” he said at last, “you might be right.”

  “I imagine I am,” Miss Potter said. She looked down at the tongs. “Is there any way of knowing whose these are?”

  “There might be a tool mark,” Miles said, picking them up and reaching for the magnifying glass that lay on his desk. “Many countrymen mark all their tools. If somebody makes off with a hammer or a rake, it’s easy to prove who owns it.”

  Miss Potter sniffed. “I shouldn’t think a badger digger would want to advertise his ownership.”

  “It’s against the law to bait badgers,” Miles replied, “but it’s not against the law to capture them. Where badgers are concerned, I’m afraid that Lord Longford was an exception, rather than the rule. Generally speaking, farmers don’t like the animals, because they think they destroy crops and gardens. So they’re trapped and dug and generally harassed. And there it is!” he exclaimed triumphantly, having found what he was looking for. He put the tongs on the desk and handed Miss Potter the magnifying lens. “Look at the joint where the handles are bolted together.”

  Miss Potter bent over, studying the tongs. “It looks like the letters J and O.”

  “Indeed,” Miles said, setting his jaw. “And I think I know who—”

  The door opened once more and Miles glanced up. A tall figure was framed in the doorway, his bowler hat under his arm. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Will Heelis said. “Miss Woodcock told me to come on in.”

  “Hullo, Heelis,” Miles said. “Have a look at Miss Potter’s clue. She discovered this pair of badger tongs on Holly How, lying in the briars not twenty paces—”

  “Thirty,” said Miss Potter. “How do you do, Mr. Heelis?”

  “Very well, thank you, Miss Potter.” Heelis smiled. “It’s good to see you again. How are you getting on with Mr. Biddle?”

&n
bsp; “Not at all well,” Miss Potter said, with a hint of a smile. “If things don’t improve soon, I fear I shall have to take drastic action.”

  “Not thirty paces away from the cliff-top where Hornby fell,” Miles went on, in a louder voice. He held out the magnifying glass to Heelis. “The tool-mark is there,” he said, pointing. “The letters J and O.”

  Heelis took the magnifying glass and bent over the tongs. “My word,” he muttered, after a moment. “So it is.” He straightened, frowning. “Found on the cliff-top, you say? So you’re thinking that—”

  “—That the owner of these tongs knows how Ben Hornby died,” Miles said. “What do you say?”

  “It sounds likely,” Heelis said slowly. “Quite likely, I must say. And it doesn’t take much to guess at the identity of their owner. Miss Potter, you are to be complimented on your find. You may have solved our mystery.” He cleared his throat, looking first to Miss Potter and then to Miles. “I have other news, however. And not good news, I’m afraid.”

  Miles frowned. “You’re not about to tell me that Miss Nash rejected the trustees’ offer, I hope.”

  “No, no, nothing like that. She’s quite pleased. And I delivered our rejection to Lady Longford.”

  “So the trustees have decided in favor of Miss Nash, then?” Miss Potter put in eagerly.

  “Yes, we did,” Miles replied. To Heelis, he said, “How did her ladyship take the announcement?”

  “She’s angry, of course. And rather seriously ill, I think.” Heelis frowned. “But that’s not the point. The point is that the girl is gone. Caroline, I mean. Lady Longford’s granddaughter.”

  “Gone?” echoed Miss Potter, her blue eyes opening wide. “Gone . . . where?”

  “Nobody seems to know.” Heelis threw up his hands. “I’m told that they’ve searched the Manor, and that Beever is out now, searching the woods. But Lady Longford is too ill to take much notice, and Miss Martine doesn’t seem greatly concerned. And to tell God’s honest truth,” he added, in a burst of feeling, “I don’t trust that woman to have Caroline’s best interests at heart.”