‘Quite enough to set the place on its feet again.’ Grant finds that, however heated he must suppose Jay’s imagination to be, he has no disposition to distrust the boy’s measurements. ‘But why have you kept quiet about all this? Why are you chancing it that you and your friends will be able to beat this enemy alone? I’d say it would have been better to tell Miss Candleshoe and Mr Armigel. Or do you think them too cra–’ Grant checks himself. ‘Do you think them too old to be reliable?’
There is a moment’s silence. Jay is having one of his rare hesitations. He tugs at Lightning’s ear, and the hound’s tail, stirring in acknowledgement, sends up a little eddy of dust from the floor. ‘Shall I tell you? I’m trusting you very far.’
‘Sure. But you can go on trusting me, Jay.’
‘Well, you see it’s like this. When I was quite small, I used to imagine things.’
‘I see.’ Grant looks warily at the boy. ‘And you grew out of it?’
‘Of course. But at that time both Miss Candleshoe and Mr Armigel, who were more – more observant then, thought that I imagined things too much. They are very kind. But of course it is a long time – a very long time – since they were young like you and me.’
‘It certainly is.’ Grant feels unreasonably flattered.
‘And then – when, as I say, I was much younger still, and really quite small – they were worried about this. They used to say that being alone here was bad, and that I ought to be sent away. I discovered, by listening when I shouldn’t’ – Jay flushes faintly – ‘that Miss Candleshoe was inquiring about boarding-schools.’
‘That was pretty handsome of her, wasn’t it?’
Jay’s flush deepens. ‘You mean because I am only an orphan whose mother was – was an employee here? Yes, of course. But my mother died in an accident, you know, almost before I can remember her; and Miss Candleshoe has considered me a responsibility.’ Jay articulates this last word very precisely. ‘She is, I say, very kind. And because she has very little money now, I believe she would have sold something valuable here – we have still, you know, a few such things – to send me to this school. So at once I had to become different.’
‘Different, Jay?’
‘Not imagining things. I had to become a – a practical boy, who knew what could still be done with animals, and in the garden, and so that we can all continue to live here although there is less and less money. Have you asked Mr Armigel about me?’
Grant finds this direct challenge embarrassing. ‘Mr Armigel has spoken of you.’
‘Then he has certainly told you that I am not a boy who imagines things. Has he not?’
Grant grins. ‘Sure.’
‘It is a thing that pleases him, and Miss Candleshoe too. They feel that they have handled me well. But if I now told them the truth about this plot against the treasure in the Christmas box–’
‘They would pack you off to that school after all?’
‘There would be a danger of it, I think. Of course, they are both very old now, and you can’t tell any longer how they will take things. That is why I have been anxious too about your mother. They might sell her Candleshoe, quite suddenly, in order to follow out some foolish plan of their own.’
‘I believe they might.’ Grant considers the boy soberly. ‘See here, Jay – you are American born, just as I am. But I take it that your future is going to be here in England. And you know the English reckon it an advantage for a kid to have been at the kind of school Miss Candleshoe was probably thinking of?’
‘I’m not interested in that.’ This time Jay’s reply is like a flash.
‘Do you know what would happen if my mother did buy Candleshoe?’
‘Builders and decorators and insolent servants from London.’
‘Maybe so.’ Grant reflects that a streak of something very lordly is evident at times in Jay’s speech. ‘But she’d consider herself as taking over the livestock too.’
‘The livestock?’ Jay glances at Lightning – and then back at Grant as comprehension comes to him. ‘You mean me?’
‘Just that. And if you weren’t a polite kind of boy your reply would be “Damn her impudence” – wouldn’t it? But she would think the world of you as her very own discovery, and probably want to send you to an even grander–’
‘I prefer, please, to be nobody’s discovery but my own.’ Jay looks at Grant with a directness that shows him to attach a clear significance to this statement. Then he seems to feel that some softening civility should be added. ‘Your mother is a tremendously wealthy person?’
‘Wealthier, I’d say, than Lord Scattergood and half the other marquesses of England rolled up together.’
‘That must be very nice.’
Grant laughs aloud. ‘You mean, don’t you, “My God, how awful”? They do seem, Jay, to have made an utter Englishman of you.’
Jay frowns. ‘All that – about England and America, I mean – is something that I must think about at another time.’
‘Quite right, son. Just at this moment, you do seem to have quite enough on your plate already. But listen. There really are crooks hanging about Candleshoe. They’ve wrecked my car. And I’ve seen one of them myself, sending signals to others. If we bring in the police and clear them up, nobody can possibly say you’ve been imagining things.’
‘There would be a – an inquiry into the Christmas box. It might be opened. The treasure might be taken by – by the Government, by the Queen. Doesn’t that happen to treasure trove?’
‘I don’t know what the law would say about it, Jay. But suppose there really is a treasure. Mightn’t it be of more use to the Government, or to the Queen, than just lying behind all that marble? And it wouldn’t be of much significance to any one so very old as Miss Candleshoe, would it? And there don’t seem to be any other Candleshoes within sight. The family looks like being extinct, and the old Admiral’s hoard still untouched.’
‘I have thought about all that.’ Jay is cautious again. ‘But I see it differently, somehow. I think I believe in the legend, in a way. That there will be a crisis, I mean, and that Candleshoe will be saved by the secret of the Christmas box being revealed at that moment.’
‘Isn’t that what’s called imagining things?’
Jay opened his eyes wide. ‘I didn’t say I had stopped imagining things. I’d as soon stop living. Wouldn’t you?’
13
Grant Feather, who is going to be a great writer and transform what he likes to call ‘the creative situation’ on the North American continent, feels rather shattered by this coup on the part of the son of Candleshoe’s deceased housekeeper. He takes another look round the Long Gallery and is constrained to admit that a boy who, having the run of such a place, yet refused to give his fancy some rein in it would be sadly wasting his opportunities. Not Jaques alone haunts the cobweb and tattered canvas of that derelict stage; Rosalind and Celia too lurk in the wings – and Touchstone, and the lioness, and the green and gilded snake. They have been there a full two years, likely enough – ever since Robin Hood and Friar Tuck made way for them. And here, behind the boldly incised marble of Gerard Christmas, lies half the treasure of the Spanish Main. Had Admiral Candleshoe one leg or two? Impossible to tell, since even that other and more informative monument submerges him up to the neck in his petrified ocean. But it is a good guess that in Jay’s mind he is still not wholly distinct from Long John Silver, and that this mouldering gallery has often been the deserted deck of the Hispaniola, with Israel Hands lying in a pool of blood in the scuppers. It has been too the Admiral Benbow tavern near midnight with Jim Hawkins bending over the dead mariner, and hearing suddenly upon the frozen road –
Grant gives a jump that brings Lightning to his feet, his spine once more bristling. From somewhere beyond the confines of the dimly lit gallery comes a faint but crisp tap-tap. For a moment the sound seems to penetrate from beyond the enigmatical marble curtains before which Grant and Jay stand – and for a moment too it suggests overpoweringly a sti
ck in the hands of a blind man. Then there is a murmur of voices and the illusion dissipates itself. Miss Candleshoe has entered the gallery. Old ladies, as well as blind pirates, get about with the aid of a stick.
Miss Candleshoe taps her way forward with a very reasonable caution, holding up a lantern in her free hand. Behind her come Mrs Feather and Mr Armigel, amiably conversing. It is apparent that the chatelaine of Candleshoe is courteously affording her guest a view of the principal antiquities of the house. Grant sees that the process of secular and undisturbed decay everywhere revealed has gone to his mother’s head. Candleshoe in its more than centennial trance is her own absolute discovery; destiny has led her to this spot as designedly as it ever led Aeneas to the Lavinian shore; so urgently is her cheque-book occupied in burning a hole in her handbag that Grant can almost see the incandescence in what is still the half-darkness of the gallery.
Miss Candleshoe comes to a halt, raises the lantern above her head, and nods approvingly. ‘So Jay has already thought to show your grandson round. That was most sensible. He has always been a sensible lad. And I see that he is drawing attention to the Christmas box, upon which Mr Armigel has lately been informing you.’
‘Now, isn’t that just thrilling?’ Mrs Feather advances in a condition of happy awe that makes her son grind his teeth. ‘To think, Grant, that this gallery has one of the finest priest’s holes in the country!’
‘Is that what the Christmas box is?’ Grant, as he turns to Mr Armigel, glimpses a flicker of resigned disgust on Jay’s face.
‘Most certainly, my dear sir – most certainly it is. There have, of course, been other stories. But, although entertaining, they must be dismissed as fanciful. A priest’s hole it most assuredly is.’
Grant is conscious that at Candleshoe at the moment there are matters of more urgent consideration than the probable purpose of Gerard Christmas’ obscure fabrication. Nevertheless Mr Armigel’s proposition raises a problem of historical scholarship which a university student ought not to let pass. ‘Do you mean’, he asks, ‘that at one time the Candleshoes were Catholics?’
‘Catholics?’ Mr Armigel is momentarily perplexed. ‘Ah – Roman Catholics. But most assuredly not. The family, I am glad to say, has never since the Reformation felt any attraction to the errors of Rome.’
‘In that case would they want a priest’s hole?’
But at this Miss Candleshoe herself chimes in with some spirit. ‘And pray, sir, why should they not want a priest’s hole? It would appear to me to be a most reasonable form of accommodation in any gentleman’s mansion. Indeed, I can recall our late Vicar remarking to my brother Sir James that, in the vicarage, such an apartment would be invaluable to him.’
‘Precisely so.’ Mr Armigel takes off his glasses and placidly polishes them. ‘I am disposed to believe, moreover, that Robert Candleshoe, in adding this amenity to his new residence, was actuated by a humanitarian feeling all too rare at that time. In a high-spirited household, we must recall, the life of a domestic chaplain was at times subject to extraordinary casualties. Particularly on days when there was no hunting.’
Grant is bewildered. ‘You mean they hunted the chaplain?’
‘Exactly. It was harmless, of course, but harassing. Now William Shakespeare – you know William Shakespeare?’
‘Sure.’
‘I am very glad to hear it. He appears to me the very greatest writer of the late age. Well, in his tragedy of Hamlet, Shakespeare has a reference, I believe, to this simple old English sport. The young hero, about to elude his wicked uncle’s guards, cries out “Hide fox and all after”. The allusion is undoubtedly to the robust old sport of Hunt the Chaplain. But Robert Candleshoe, not wishing future chaplains here to be subjected to this good humoured but exhausting exigency, caused Christmas to build by way of an earth, you might say – the concealed chamber which is the subject of our present discussion.’
Grant, as he listens to this, catches another glimpse of Jay. The boy is immobile, and in an attitude of strained listening. And Grant sees that it is time he himself weighed in. In point of imagining things it is these two ancient persons who really make all the going; and it is Jay who is in contact with hard, if enigmatical, fact. Grant decides that the situation decidedly requires opening up. ‘But there are stories’, he asks Mr Armigel, ‘that the Christmas box was used for concealing valuable property?’
‘Certainly. But I much doubt whether there could ever have been any foundation for rumours of that kind.’
‘Still, the place could have been used for that – and could still be used for it now?’
‘My dear sir, the secret of ingress to our priest’s hole has been lost, time out of mind.’
‘But it could be found again?’
Mr Armigel is a shade perplexed by this insistence. ‘I judge it probable that there was a mechanism of some little complexity, which by this time will assuredly have ceased to operate. To penetrate to the chamber now, a gang of stonemasons would be required. And family sentiment has been, on the whole, adverse to the idea of investigation.’
‘But repairs could doubtless be effected.’ Miss Candleshoe makes this point with some emphasis. ‘No doubt the mechanism of which Mr Armigel speaks could be located and put in very good order. And I have no doubt that a thoroughly convenient priest’s hole would result.’
‘Certainly.’ Mr Armigel backs up his patroness. ‘And the situation being dry and airy, it could scarcely fail of being salubrious. But unfortunately we are not in a position to investigate further this evening.’
‘That’s just too bad.’ Grant shakes his head. ‘For a really burglar-proof strong-room is just what Candleshoe needs right now.’
It is Mrs Feather who sees that Grant offers this odd remark with some serious purpose. ‘Candleshoe needs a strong-room! Now, just what would that mean?’
‘I’ll explain.’ Grant turns to Miss Candleshoe. ‘I don’t want to alarm you, marm, more than need be. But the fact is that a gang of crooks–’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Miss Candleshoe is wholly at sea.
‘The fact is that a band of robbers is prowling about outside this house now. I believe they are determined to break in. And as they must expect to get away with objects of very considerable value, I say it’s a pity you can’t tuck away whatever these may be in the Christmas box.’
‘Robbers? Objects of very considerable value?’ For the moment, both these conceptions appear to perplex Miss Candleshoe equally.
‘I’m perfectly serious.’ Grant turns to Mr Armigel. ‘Jay knows about this too. And Jay, I can see, is a very sensible boy, with a strong practical turn of mind.’
‘Very true.’ Mr Armigel nods with vigour. ‘Jay, I think I may venture to declare, has turned out a lad with both his feet planted firmly on earth. But surely, my dear sir–’
‘Well, Jay has taken some useful measures about this threat, but it remains a very urgent one.’
‘The men-servants must be armed.’ Miss Candleshoe, rising to the occasion, speaks with feudal resolution. ‘And a mounted groom must be dispatched for the soldiery. It is at moments like these that I particularly regret the death of my dear brother Sir James. In addition to being a first-class shot he had a notable skill with mantraps. Mr Armigel, be so kind as to ring the bell.’
But this time the chaplain appears to be in no mood for empty ritual. He addresses Grant. ‘When I come to think of it, I have been aware of suspicious characters about the place for some little time. Only the day before yesterday a totally strange person penetrated to the great hall on the pretext of wishing to read what he called, I think, the gas meter. It was most perplexing. Of course I called in Jay, who at once persuaded the fellow to leave. But how these marauders could – um – come to suppose that we cherish at Candleshoe any objects of large pecuniary value is wholly baffling to me. We still own, it is true, a little family plate. But the res angusta domi must be only too evident among us.’
‘Then there is nothing of really
great value?’ Grant is briskly challenging.
Mr Armigel removes his spectacles for the purpose of giving a brisk rub to his nose; and when he answers, it is with a question of his own. ‘Might these villains be thinking of the Christmas box? Might they have heard the legends of treasure, and so forth?’
‘I suppose they might. Jay here – who has thought this out in a very cool, clear-headed way–’
Mr Armigel manages to return the spectacles to his nose without interrupting a vigorous nod. ‘I have no doubt that Jay takes a sound practical view of the matter.’
‘Jay is inclined to suppose that it is the Christmas box they are after. But, if there is anything else, I think we ought to have – well, complete frankness, Mr Armigel. If there is something else that needs hiding away, let us get on with the job while we can.’
‘A most prudent suggestion. But, if I may say so, all the Candleshoe skeletons are securely in their cupboards already.’ Mr Armigel allows himself a pardonable chuckle at this mild witticism, and in this Miss Candleshoe herself somewhat unexpectedly joins. ‘Do I understand you to suppose that these villains are actually on the point of endeavouring to break in?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ve seen two of them in the gardens myself. And, what’s more, they’ve wrecked our automobile.’
‘Wrecked our automobile?’ Mrs Feather looks incredulously at her son.
‘Yes, momma. The automobile won’t stir again without a new magneto. These people are just taking no chances, and they have Candleshoe very nicely isolated for the night.’
‘I just can’t believe it.’ Most unwontedly, Mrs Feather for a moment allows mere bewilderment to overwhelm her. ‘A sweet, peaceful spot like this! Why, out in the garden, in that romantic moonlight, I was feeling–’
‘Out in the garden?’ Jay, who has been silent since his elders entered the gallery, snaps out this question. Everybody is startled. He takes a stride forward. ‘You have been outside since I saw you last?’
Christmas at Candleshoe Page 13
