The House on the Cliff

by D. E. Stevenson

  “I’ll tell you one of the things; it was the first thing that made me . . . well, it made me realise that he wasn’t as marvellous as I’d thought . . .” She told him about the lunch at The Grand Hotel and the purchase of the blue blazer.

  “Good lord!” Ronnie exclaimed in horrified tones.

  “It was a small thing, but——”

  “It wasn’t a small thing! It would have been pretty low-down if he’d bought a blazer for himself—I mean one that he wasn’t entitled to wear—but it was absolutely ghastly to teach deceit to his child. No wonder you were fed up with the fellow!”

  Curiously enough this aspect of the case had not occurred to Elfrida. She saw it now and realised that Ronnie was right. “Well, there it is,” she said. “I’m glad I’ve told you about it; you know now what a silly donkey I am.”

  Ronnie was silent. His face had become quite pale and there was a tenseness in his jaw as if he were clenching his teeth. Perhaps eventually he would have found something to say but Elfrida did not wait. She jumped up and called to Patrick, who was giving the finishing touches to his castle, and the conversation was over. Nor was the subject re-opened; there were plenty of other more pleasant subjects to discuss.

  Ronnie was anxious to make friends with Patrick but Patrick was shy and at dinner he scarcely uttered a word. It was a relief when the silent little ghost went off to bed and his companions were left to talk in peace.

  “I’m glad you awakened my interest in Sir Francis Drake,” said Elfrida. “There are several books about him in the library, and Lucius Babbington lent me a very old book with charts and drawings. It was difficult to read but it was well worth the trouble. What a wonderful man Drake was!”

  “Yes,” agreed Ronnie.

  “To everyone round about here Drake is the greatest hero of all time. People in the village will tell you stories about Drake and there are songs and rhymes about him which have been handed down from father to son.”

  “That’s interesting. You might make a collection of them.”

  “I believe I could,” said Elfrida thoughtfully. “Perhaps Lucius would help me; it’s the sort of thing that would appeal to him.”

  *

  32

  On Sunday morning at breakfast Elfrida asked her visitor if he would like to go to church.

  “Yes, I’d like to,” he said.

  “Can I come too?” asked Patrick. “I haven’t been to church since I lived with the nuns.”

  Elfrida looked doubtful.

  “How old were you when you lived with the nuns?” asked Ronnie.

  “I’m not sure,” replied Patrick. “I don’t remember much about it . . . but I remember going to church. Mrs. Landor was too busy to go to church; it made a lot of extra work for her—me being there.”

  “I wonder——” began Elfrida.

  “Of course he can come,” interrupted Ronnie. “He’s staying with you so he can go to church with you. I don’t suppose his father made any inquiries as to your denomination.”

  “What’s denom . . . that word you said?” asked Patrick.

  “There are several different kinds of churches,” explained Ronnie. “Some people like one kind and other people like another kind. It depends which kind your father likes.”

  “Glen doesn’t like any church unless it’s a wedding.”

  “That settles the matter satisfactorily,” said Ronnie.

  Patrick looked a little puzzled but his elders did not explain further.

  They were all ready to go to church in good time.

  Patrick had put on his grey flannel shorts and blue blazer. “They’re my best clothes,” he said proudly. “It’s the right thing to put on your best clothes to go to church; Mrs. Chowne said so.”

  “Yes, you look very nice,” said Ronnie. “But we’ll have to take that badge off your blazer.”

  “No,” said Patrick. “I like it.”

  “It’s the badge for Beechings School,” explained Ronnie. “You wouldn’t like people to think you were one of the boys who go to Beechings, would you?”

  “Glen said it would be fun to pretend I was.”

  “Pretending things isn’t fun,” declared Ronnie.

  “Actors pretend things.”

  “Yes, when they’re on the stage. They don’t pretend things in real life.”

  “Glen does,” said Glen’s son with conviction.

  Ronnie was silenced.

  While the argument was taking place Elfrida had fetched a small pair of embroidery scissors.

  “Oh, you mustn’t cut it off!” exclaimed Patrick, retreating a few steps as he spoke.

  “I’ll do it very carefully, Patrick.”

  “No, you mustn’t! I don’t want you to cut it off! You’ll spoil my blazer!” He retreated another step and clasped both hands firmly over his pocket.

  All three stood and gazed at each other in silence.

  It was very funny. Elfrida realised that; but she was much too surprised and worried to be amused. She was surprised because she had never come to grips with Patrick before and worried because she did not know how to deal with the situation. She realised that this was an important moment, not only because Patrick must be made to understand that “pretending” was not fun but also because he must learn to do as he was told. If she began giving in to Patrick she might have to go on giving in to him. It was wrong to spoil a child.

  At last Elfrida said, “But Patrick, you belong to Mountain Cross. You don’t belong to Beechings.”

  “Oh, I see!” said Patrick nodding. “Yes, I belong to Mountain Cross . . . but you’ll be very careful, won’t you?” He took off his blazer and handed it to her, adding, “It’s a pity there isn’t a badge to show that I belong to Mountain Cross.”

  “Que vous êtes sage, chère Elfrida Jane!” said Ronnie, smiling.

  The operation was skilfully performed and all three set off down the avenue in perfect harmony.

  *

  It was a delightful service; the singing was hearty and Mr. Perrimont’s sermon was short and well thought out. It was the sort of service Ronnie liked; in his opinion it compared very favourably with the fashionable church to which his mother belonged where the singing was performed by a trained choir and the congregation listened. Ronnie’s companions were not enjoying the service so much. Elfrida had an uncomfortable feeling that everyone was staring at her and Patrick was puzzled.

  Patrick kept on fidgeting and looking round. Presently he whispered to Ronnie, “They’ve forgotten the scent.”

  “They don’t have scent in this kind of church,” whispered Ronnie.

  Patrick nodded and settled down, and for the remainder of the service he was good and quiet.

  The moment the service was over, and before anyone else had moved, Elfrida seized Patrick’s hand and hastened out of the building. Ronnie was surprised and slightly alarmed; he found his hat, which he had put under the seat, and followed. He expected to find Elfrida Jane and the child waiting for him in the churchyard but there was no sign of them. Ronnie lingered for a few moments, looking for them; he was about to go home when he found the path between the tombstones blocked by a small woman with a bright green hat.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I saw you with Miss Ware and a little boy.”

  “Yes. Do you know if they’ve gone home?” asked Ronnie anxiously.

  “I don’t know where they are,” she replied. “I was hoping to have a few words with Miss Ware . . . is that the little boy she rescued from drowning?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s Glen Siddons’s son, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “He isn’t a bit like his father, is he?”

  “I don’t know Glen Siddons.”

  “Perhaps you could give me some information about the accident.”

  “I wasn’t there,” said Ronnie. He tried to sidle past, but the woman in the green hat stood firmly in the middle of the path and without using physical violence it was impossible for him
to evade her.

  She said, “You’re staying with Miss Ware, aren’t you? So, of course, you must have heard all about the accident. I’ve called at Mountain Cross several times but Miss Ware was out and the woman didn’t seem to know anything. She’s rather a foolish woman.”

  “I think she’s very sensible.”

  “I wouldn’t bother about it if it weren’t for the connection with Glen Siddons; he’s very much in the public eye at the moment, so if you could just tell me what part he played in the rescue——”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “But you must know! Of course I can get the story from the villagers but they all tell me something different,” said “Green Hat” plaintively.

  “They would,” said Ronnie, nodding. “That makes a story so much more interesting, doesn’t it? Would you mind letting me past? I’m in a hurry——”

  “Just a minute! You see, it’s the true story I want.”

  “You think you’ll get the ‘true story’ from me?”

  “Yes, of course,” said “Green Hat” smiling at him.

  “And I suppose if I tell you ‘the true story’ you’ll send it to the editor of your paper?”

  “It’s the duty of a newspaper to publish news.”

  “And it’s the duty of people like you to snoop about looking for tit-bits.”

  She laughed as if he had made a good joke. “Oh, you mustn’t say that! Don’t you believe in the Freedom of the Press?”

  “It depends what you mean by the Freedom of the Press,” replied Ronnie thoughtfully. “If you mean the Press should have licence to publish the private affairs of a citizen without his—or her—consent then I don’t believe in the Freedom of the Press.”

  “But our readers like hearing about people’s private affairs!” exclaimed the woman in astonishment. “It’s our duty to give them what they want. Besides, it isn’t as if this were a scandal. The public ought to be informed of good brave deeds . . . there are so many bad deeds in the world to-day.”

  “Yes, and one of the worst is lying in wait for people coming out of church and annoying them.” Ronnie raised his hat politely, dodged “Green Hat” by leaping over a tombstone and made for the gate.

  Several other people were hanging about, and looked as if they wanted to speak to him, but Ronnie had a useful turn of speed (he had played rugger for his college) and he ran for his life. He had been worried about Elfrida Jane’s hasty departure, but now he knew the reason so he need not worry any more. He was chuckling to himself as he turned in at the entrance of Mountain Cross avenue.

  *

  Sunday afternoon was spent in the copse. Ronnie and Elfrida and Patrick put in some of the plants and bulbs which had been bestowed upon Elfrida by her neighbours and then they had a picnic-tea.

  By this time Patrick had lost all his shyness; he and Ronnie had become friends and were chatting and laughing and having fun together as if they had known each other for years.

  Patrick finished his tea quickly and went off by himself; he had a secret. Lots of people had given plants to the little wood but, alas, Patrick had nothing to give! Then he had found an acorn. He had found it under an oak tree in Pansy’s paddock and had realised at once that this was the answer to his problem. What could be a better present for the little wood? Acorns grow into oak trees. He had found a nice open space for the oak tree to grow and had planted the acorn carefully.

  The acorn had now been planted for five days so it must have begun to grow by this time. Patrick found the place, which he had marked with a stick, and dug it up. He was disappointed to find that it had not begun to grow, it was just exactly as he had planted it . . . rather like a tiny yellowish-brown egg. Birds sit on eggs to hatch them out so perhaps it would encourage the acorn to hatch out if he held it in his warm hand. He squatted down and nursed the acorn for quite a long time.

  Meanwhile his elders were chatting over the remains of the picnic-tea.

  “I was caught this morning coming out of church,” said Ronnie.

  “Oh, goodness, I ought to have warned you! As a matter of fact I thought all that nonsense was dying down until I saw the woman in the green hat—and then it was too late. The only thing to do was to take Patrick and run.”

  “She said she hadn’t seen you.”

  “I hide when I see her coming and leave Emma to cope with her.”

  “She doesn’t seem to have got much out of Emma,” said Ronnie thoughtfully. “It’s rather strange, really, because Emma is such a talker. I should have thought Emma would have been only too willing to tell her all she wanted to know. Emma revealed the whole story to me without any persuasion.”

  “The green-hat woman would have got the whole story from Emma if she had gone about it in the right way,” explained Elfrida. “Fortunately she doesn’t know Emma so she began by asking questions (Emma doesn’t like questions). Then, when Emma showed reluctance, the woman was misguided enough to offer her five pounds for ‘the true story.’ That absolutely put the lid on it,” added Elfrida smiling.

  “It was an insult, I suppose?”

  “Worse than an insult! Emma said it was ‘thirty pieces of silver’.”

  “That’s interesting, but all the same I don’t see the connection.”

  “Neither did I,” admitted Elfrida. “I think there must be some sort of connection in Emma’s mind, but it was no good asking her about it because she couldn’t explain.”

  “I gather you’ve had rather an uncomfortable time,” said Ronnie after a short silence.

  “It has been awful. I don’t know what I should have done if I hadn’t had Emma to ward people off. She doesn’t seem to mind saying I’m not at home when she knows perfectly well that I’m hiding in the cellar. You see, Ronnie, it isn’t only that I hate all the fuss for myself; I want to clamp down on the whole affair because of Patrick. I hope you didn’t tell that green-hat woman anything.”

  “I told her my views about the Freedom of the Press; then I jumped over a tombstone and escaped.”

  They looked at each other and smiled.

  *

  Monday morning was fine and sunny but there was a stiff breeze. This was unfortunate for it had been decided that they should take the Wisp and go down to the small fishing village about three miles east of Mountain Cross and hire a boat. Elfrida remembered that in one of his letters Ronnie had said it would be interesting to have a look at the big white cross from the sea.

  They went out on to the cliff and looked at the waves.

  “Let’s go,” said Patrick eagerly.

  “Not to-day,” said Ronnie, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t mind going myself, but it’s too blustery for women and children.”

  Elfrida agreed with him. There was a fishing-boat anchored off the promontory and it was heaving up and down in a very uncomfortable manner. “The garden will be sheltered,” she suggested.

  “Supposing we have a go at the lily pool?” said Ronnie. “You want it cleared out, don’t you?”

  Patrick had been looking rather dejected, but he perked up at the idea of cleaning out the lily pool.

  They changed into their oldest clothes and spent the morning raking out the weeds and emptying the stagnant water. It was an arduous job and Elfrida felt somewhat guilty about using her guest like this but her guest assured her that there was nothing he enjoyed more than grubbing about and getting dirty.

  By lunch-time the job was finished; the pool was clean and empty—it could not be filled with water until the lilies were planted.

  “You could have goldfish, Elfrida Jane,” suggested Ronnie as they stood and surveyed their handiwork.

  “Do you think frogs would be happy here?”

  “Frogs would be fun!” Ronnie exclaimed. “Why shouldn’t they be happy? Where could we get frogs?”

  As they walked back to the house Elfrida told him about Mr. Jeremy Fisher and his relations . . . and was pleased to discover that Ronnie’s education had not been neglected. Patrick’s education h
ad been sadly neglected; he had never heard of Mr. Fisher.

  “This must be remedied at once,” said Ronnie gravely. “We’ll go over to Cherleigh this afternoon and see if we can get some of those little books for you. Fortunately none of us is very fat so we’ll be able to fit into the Wisp quite easily.”

  The Wisp was a battered little two-seater which Ronnie had bought second-hand but Patrick was tucked in between his two companions and all three were very comfortable. They bought as many of the little books as they could find in the bookshops at Cherleigh and then had tea together in a small tea-shop.

  *

  33

  The days of Ronnie’s visit had passed much too quickly. This was his last evening at Mountain Cross, so when Elfrida had said good night to Patrick she and Ronnie went out and walked along the top of the cliff to the cross on the hillock. They had been here several times; Ronnie was extremely interested in it and had promised that when he went back to London he would look up a friend who had studied archæology and see if he could find out when it had been erected.

  It was a beautiful evening, the wind had fallen and the sun was declining in a cloudless sky.

  “How beautifully peaceful it is!” said Ronnie with a sigh. “This time to-morrow I shall be back in London.”

  “Must you go early to-morrow?” asked Elfrida. “I feel as if you’d only just arrived.”

  “I must go after breakfast, I’m afraid.”

  “I wish you could stay until the afternoon. Lucius is coming to-morrow morning with the lilies and he said he would plant them for me. I’d like you to meet Lucius.”

  Ronnie did not want to meet “Lucius”; he had heard too much about the fellow during the last three days. Not that Elfrida Jane had prattled about him; she had just mentioned him several times in the course of conversation. It was Emma Chowne who had prattled about “Mr. Lucius.”

  “I’ve got a good deal to do,” said Ronnie. “For one thing I must get hold of Uncle Bob and explain those alterations you want made in the letter to Glen Siddons. The letter must be registered and sent by airmail . . . and the sooner the better.”

  They turned and strolled back and sat down in the summer-house. Elfrida had not been here since the evening when she and Glen had played part of the little scene at Belmont. So much had happened since then that it seemed a very long time ago. Not only had there been a number of disturbing “outside incidents” but much of a disturbing nature had happened in Elfrida’s heart and mind.