by Carola Dunn
Calloway seemed mollified. “I shall be pleased to join in hymns appropriate to the Church calendar.”
“Mr. Calloway.” At the unexpected sound of old Mrs. Norville’s gentle voice, everyone turned to stare at her. “I hope you will be so kind as to take a Christmas service for us in the Chapel tomorrow morning?”
“Gladly, ma’am.” He didn’t go so far as to smile, but the look he bent upon her was definitely softened. “I am happy to see that so much proper feeling remains.”
Daisy saw the captain surreptitiously wipe his forehead. What on earth could make it so important to him to keep on the clergyman’s right side?
The gong in the East Wing rang out, interrupting her thoughts. Captain Norville gallantly offered his arm to Lady Dalrymple, and she, after a moment’s hesitation, deigned to accept it. The rest followed them through to lunch.
“At last!” said Derek. “I thought we’d never get away.”
“I don’t mind,” said Belinda. “It was fun making decorations, and I like having lunch with the grown-ups. Anyway, Mummy wouldn’t have let us go out while the wind was so strong even though it stopped raining.”
“The gale’s blown away the clouds. It’s a good thing it didn’t last long. Come on, let’s get Nana.”
Belinda hung back. “I still think we ought to tell someone where we’re going. So Daddy can find us if …”
“Oh, all right. We prob’ly ought to ask Mr. Norville if it’s all right to go there anyway, but don’t breathe a word about what we found.” His hand touched his pocket. “I’ve got my torch.”
She envied his pockets. Why were boys allowed to have great big pockets you could fit everything in, while girls could only fit a hankie in theirs?
They found Godfrey Norville. “You ask,” Derek whispered. “People always think boys are planning mischief.”
“Please, sir,” said Belinda, hoping what they were planning didn’t count as mischief, “may we go to that tower on the hill?”
“The Prospect Tower? Yes, certainly. I don’t believe it’s locked. There’s nothing in there you can damage. The sixth earl had the rotten old stairs removed, so you can’t come to any harm.”
With a rapturous Nana bouncing around them, they set off up the grassy hill. As they approached the tall stone tower, they saw that it was a triangle with concave sides, though from a distance it looked as square and solid as anything.
“No wonder it’s called a Folly,” Derek said scornfully, “but I bet you could see a long, long way from the top. I bet the smugglers used to signal to each other from the top. Then when it was safe, they used the secret passage to hide their loot.”
“Contraband,” Belinda corrected him. “Pirates have loot.”
“Never mind, it’s all treasure. I hope the mechanism hasn’t gone all rusty. It’ll be jolly mouldy if we can’t get in.”
The door pushed open easily enough. Inside, Belinda looked up and saw a triangle of sky, for the tower had no roof.
“Everything’s bound to be rusty with the rain coming in,” she said, half disappointed, half relieved.
“Not if it’s all inside the walls. Let’s look at the map.”
Derek took from his pocket a piece of paper yellowed with age and not much improved by its latest resting place. He knelt on the damp, rough floorboards and unfolded it with the greatest care, fending off the puppy’s inquisitive nose. Bel knelt beside him. Together they pored over the spindly, faded writing and diagrams.
“It’s right opposite the door,” said Belinda.
“Two feet up. People wouldn’t notice because it’s below eye-level.” Derek jumped up. “Come on.”
Belinda folded the map and brought it with her. She didn’t want to enter any secret passage without instructions on how to get out again. Derek had already found the loose stone. He pried it out, and there was the promised lever.
It moved with surprising ease. In the darkest corner of the tower, a square of floor swung downward.
“Gosh!” Derek exclaimed, running over to the black hole.
“Derek, what if it’s not a secret after all?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was just thinking. If the floor was really really old, wouldn’t it be rotten, like Mr. Norville said the stairs were? I think the sixth earl must’ve put in a new floor, and he couldn’t do that without everyone finding out about the room underneath.”
“Oh. Well, maybe, but maybe they didn’t find the secret tunnel on the map. That’ll be where the treasure’s hidden.” He sat on the edge of the hole with his feet dangling and turned on his torch. “I’m going down anyway. Look, there’s steps.”
Abandoning whatever she had been sniffing in the far corner, Nana beat him to it. She trotted down the steps and disappeared into the blackness below. Derek hurried after her, and Belinda didn’t want to be left behind.
“Is there anything there?” she called, feeling her way cautiously as Derek wasn’t shining the torch towards the stairs.
“Treasure chests!”
Belinda was low enough now to see the torch beam playing over a stack of wooden boxes. They didn’t look anything like the treasure chests in the pictures in Treasure Island or The Arabian Nights. “Are they locked? Can you open them?”
Derek was raising a lid, shining the light inside. “Nothing.” He dropped that lid, raised another.
“They say ‘Darjeeling’ on the outside,” said Belinda, coming close enough to read the large, painted letters. “‘Darjeeling, Calcutta, London.’ I bet they had tea in them. They used to smuggle tea as well as brandy, didn’t they? ‘Brandy for the parson, ’baccy for the clerk … laces for my lady …’”
“Laces? They smuggled shoelaces?”
“No, silly, French lace for dresses and things. The song doesn’t say tea, though.”
“Never mind, they’re all empty anyway. Let’s find the tunnel.”
“It said we have to close the trap door. I don’t think …”
“Don’t be such a girl, Bel! Come and help.”
It took all their united strength to lift the trap door into place. Derek had to lay down the torch, so that was no help, nor was Nana, who kept getting in the way. At last it clicked into place above them. The sound gave Belinda a sort of horrid hollow feeling inside.
Derek retrieved his torch. He flashed it around the stone-walled room.
“I can’t see anything,” he said, bitterly disappointed. “Let’s look at the map again.” As he turned towards Belinda, the beam swung across the area which had been hidden by the trapdoor.
“No, look!” she cried, pointing. “A latch! It’d be jolly hard to see with just candles.”
It was a large but perfectly ordinary latch, of greypainted metal without a speck of rust. They raised it and pulled with all their might on the handle. With much creaking and groaning, a wooden door faced with very thin stone slabs swung open. An earthy smell wafted out.
“Let’s go!” shouted Derek, and plunged into the narrow tunnel revealed by his torch. Nana frisked after him.
“Wait!” Belinda wanted to say, “What if there’s a skeleton?” but that would only make him call her a girl in that horrid way. “Remember, I haven’t got a torch. And shouldn’t we put something to block the door, so it doesn’t close?”
“Good idea. We’ll use one of those chests.”
Bel breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least she knew they could get out again.
The tunnel was perfectly beastly. She couldn’t see much because Derek went ahead, but at least he was the one who got cobwebs in his face, not that he minded. First there was a slope going down, then a long flight of stone steps. On the plan it looked as if there was a room at the end.
“Derek, if we find the treasure, we can’t keep it, can we?”
“Blast!” He stopped dead, turned and shone the torch into her eyes. She covered them with one hand and flapped at him with the other. He lowered the beam to her feet, which wasn’t much help. “I suppos
e we can’t. But who do you think it belongs to? Mr. Norville?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think any of the stuff is his; he’s just frightfully keen on it. I think everything belongs to Lord Westmoor. I wish we could give it to Mrs. Norville.”
“The old lady?”
“Yes, she’s nice. Couldn’t we give it to her secretly?”
“We have to find it first. Come on.”
Nana added a “hurry up” bark. They went on, and suddenly the passage ended and they stepped into a sort of half cave, half room. It was quite small, square, with three walls of rock and packed earth shored up with wood and one of neat stonework.
“No skeleton,” said Belinda, relieved.
“No treasure chest,” said Derek gloomily. “What a wash-out.”
“Maybe there’s another map,” she consoled him. “We haven’t tried the other desk yet, the one in the South Room. But look, Nana’s got something!”
“Nana, drop it!”
Nana didn’t want to give up her find, but Belinda made her sit and Derek prised it from her jaws. She barked as he examined it, with Belinda allowed to hold the torch.
“What is it, Derek?”
“It looks like a dagger in a sheath. Gosh, it’s almost as good as treasure.” Holding one end, he pulled on the other. A blade slid out. It wasn’t rusty, but it had rusty-brown stains on it. “Blood!” said Derek, with ghoulish glee. “I bet someone was murdered with it.”
“It doesn’t look much like a dagger, though, just a knife.”
“D’you think Lord Westmoor would want it, Bel? Maybe he’d let me keep it.”
“He might; but if it’s historical, Mr. Norville will want it. He’d prob’ly get to keep it.”
“But I found it!”
“Nana found it—and she’s got something else. Quick, get it away from her!”
How ragged and dirty the dirty rag had been before the puppy got hold of it and Derek wrested it from her would remain a mystery. He swore it was a bloodstained handkerchief. Bel was not so sure, but no doubt that would also remain a mystery.
“At least no one else will want it,” she said.
“I’m going to keep it forever,” Derek vowed. “Let’s see if we missed anything else.”
In examining every inch of the cave-room, they discovered a door in the woodwork. “See if it opens,” said Belinda. “I don’t want to go back through that horrid tunnel if I don’t have to.”
“It might be difficult,” Derek admitted, his voice suddenly shaky. “I think my battery’s dying.”
He laid the torch on the floor. By its now wavery light, they shoved frantically on the door.
At last it opened an inch or two, just enough to let in a streak of greenish light. There it stuck.
“It’s going to get dark outside soon, too.” Belinda felt her eyes fill with tears. She didn’t want to be buried alive, not now, when she had a puppy and a brand-new mummy. And poor Daddy would be most awfully sad!
7
Blinking away her tears, Belinda put her eye to the crack. Outside was a green gloom, a curtain of ivy. She heard birds singing and water running and muffled voices.
“Someone’s there. Let’s shout for help.”
“No! That’d be a pretty wet end to a real adventure. Come on, push harder.”
“They might go away,” said Belinda, but she pushed with all her strength.
The door creaked open a few more inches. Nana pricked up her ears, slipped through the gap, and dashed off.
“Nana! Oh no, I’ll never find her,” Belinda cried.
“I bet we can get out that way. Take your coat off.”
It was a squeeze, but they made it. Behind the ivy was a tree trunk, and they had to squeeze past that, too. They came out into the valley garden, face to face with Daisy, Alec, and the captain.
Captain Norville took his pipe from his mouth and roared with laughter.
“Where did you two spring from?” Alec enquired around his pipe, grinning.
“You’re filthy!” said Daisy. “What have you been up to?”
The story poured out.
The captain laughed again. “An enterprising pair. I knew about the room under the Prospect Tower. God and I …” He cast a quick uneasy glance over his shoulder. “Godfrey and I, I should say, used to play at smugglers down there, and prisoners in dungeons, and all manner of games.”
“We asked Mr. Norville if it was all right to go to the tower,” Derek said.
“Good for you! But I didn’t know about the tunnel and the room at this end. Without a map we didn’t think to close the trap, so we never noticed the latch. Of course we didn’t have electric torches, just stubs of candles usually, or an oil lantern. I wonder if Godfrey discovered it later?”
“He wouldn’t have left this there, would he?” Derek brandished the knife. “Uncle Alec, don’t you think this is a bloodstain?”
“It could be,” Alec agreed, inspecting the blade. “It’s hard to tell, though. My guess is the knife’s been there a long, long time.”
“I wonder if it’s connected with the story the boatman told me,” Daisy said. “I expect you know the tale, Captain. About a hundred years ago there was a smuggler chief called Red Jack who was related to the Norvilles. The family hid him when he was badly injured by the dragoons.”
“I bet that’s it,” said Derek excitedly. “I bet they hid him in the secret room, the really secret one, and this is the knife he fought the dragoons with.”
“Could be,” said the captain. “The haft is teak, nicely carved. Dolphins and sea serpents—typical. It looks like the sort of sheath-knife seamen still carry today, to be used for rope and ’baccy and salt pork and anything else that needs cutting or whittling. I’ve heard the story, Mrs. Fletcher, but Godfrey would know more about it, I expect.”
“I’ll ask him.” Derek slid the blade back into the sheath. “Come on, Bel.”
“Hold on, young man!” Alec commanded. “First you’ll go and shut all the secret doors you’ve left open.”
“Right-oh, Uncle Alec. But I don’t think we can shut the one at this end. It was frightfully hard to open.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” offered the captain.
“Gosh, thanks, sir. Bel and I can manage the other end, I think.”
“And then,” put in Daisy, “before you even dream of speaking to Mr. Norville, you’ll both go and wash your hands and faces and change your clothes. And brush your hair.”
Bel slipped her grubby hand into Daisy’s. “Are you angry, Mummy?”
“Not a bit of it, darling. Like the captain, I think it’s frightfully enterprising of the two of you. But you still need to wash your face and comb the twigs and cobwebs out of your hair. Oh, and brush Nana before you go in. Off you go.”
It was nearly tea-time when Belinda and Derek came downstairs, clean and tidy, Derek carrying the precious knife. They met Mr. Norville, Miss Norville, and Jemima in the hall on their way to tea. (“Mincepies and Christmas cake,” the maid who took their dirty clothes had promised.)
“Please, sir, look what we found,” said Derek.
They told the story again. Jemima scowled the whole time. Bel was sure she was dying of envy.
“What an adventure,” said Miss Norville. “Miles will be simply wild. He used to drag me around endlessly hunting for that passage and the treasure, and we never even found the room under the Prospect Tower. You never told us about it, Daddy.”
“There was nothing worth seeing in it.” Mr. Norville didn’t seem very interested. He pulled the blade from the sheath and said, “Yes, yes, a common seaman’s knife. It could be eighteenth century, but far from rare. The carving might be worth a second look, but I haven’t time for such things at present. Leave it here on the table. I’ll see to it when everything’s settled.”
“No one wants that dirty old thing,” Jemima sneered.
As the children followed the Norvilles to the library, Derek glanced back sadly at his slighted
treasure lying abandoned on the hall table. He sighed.
“Never mind,” Belinda whispered. “I bet there’s another map, in the South Room, and we’ll find the real treasure.”
The Chapel was decorated with holly, ivy, and evergreens. Candles burned in silver and brass candlesticks on the altar and in the gleaming brass candelabra hanging from the barrel-vaulted ceiling. The woodwork gleamed, too: the pews, the small organ console, and the beautifully carved rood-screen. Whatever their faults, Lord Westmoor’s servants took good care of his possessions.
Many of them were already in the Chapel, seated at the rear, when the ancient but still working clock chimed the hour and his lordship’s guests and poor relations came in.
As Daisy entered down the steps from the Old Dining Room, she recognized Mrs. Pardon and two or three maids she had met. The others, having had no business with the guests, gazed curiously at the strangers and whispered to each other. The whispering ceased abruptly as the Reverend Calloway appeared. Daisy, seated in the front row between Bel and Derek, saw the clergyman glance around at the decorations and frown. He really was too finicky for words!
As it was not a formal service, just carol singing, he sat down in the pew behind Daisy. Dora Norville went to the organ, and her husband stood up at the front and announced, “The Wassail Song.”
“Oh good,” Belinda murmured as the organ piped out an introduction. “We sing this at school.”
“Here we come a-wassailing,
Among the leaves so green.”
Daisy heard a snort behind her. She had no doubt from whom it emanated. The Rev’s voice was notably not raised in song.
“We have got a little purse,
Of stretching leather skin.
We want a little of your money
To line it well within!
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail too …”
“The Wassail Song” was followed by “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and that by “The First Nowell.” Mr. Calloway bore a strong baritone line in each. Then Miles stood up and moved to the front.
