Complete Novels of E Nesbit

by Edith Nesbit

  As it happened he was being, if not unhappy, at least uncomfortable. Mr. Parados, the tutor, who was as nasty a man as you will find in any seaside academy for young gentlemen, still remained at Arden House, and taught the boys–Edred and his cousin Richard. Mr. Parados was in high favour with the King, because he had listened to what wasn’t meant for him, reported it where it would do most mischief–a thing always very pleasing to King James the First–and Lady Arden dared not dismiss him. Besides, she was ill with trouble and anxiety, which Edred could not at all soothe by saying again and again, “Father won’t be found guilty of treason–he won’t be executed. He’ll just be sent to Arden, and live there quietly with you. I saw it all in a book.”

  But Lady Arden only cried and cried.

  Mr. Parados was very severe, and rapped Edred’s knuckles almost continuously during lesson-time, and out of it; said Cousin Richard, “He is for ever bent on spying and browbeating of us.”

  “He’s always messing about–nasty sneak,” said Edred. “I should like to be even with him before I go. And I will too.”

  “Before you go? Go whither?” Cousin Richard asked.

  “Elfrida and I are going away,” Edred began, and then felt how useless it was to go on, since even when the 1908 Edred–who he was–had gone, the 1605 Elfrida and Edred would of course still be there–that is if . . . He checked the old questions, which he had now no time to consider, and said, in a firm tone which was new to him, and which Elfrida would have been astonished and delighted to hear–

  “Yes, I’ve got two things to do: to be even with old Parrot-nose–to be revenged on him, I mean–and to get Elfrida out of the Tower. And I’ll do that first, because she’ll like to help with the other.”

  The boys were on the leads, their backs to a chimney and their faces towards the trap-door, which was the only way of getting on to the roof. It was very cold, and. the north wind was blowing, but they had come there because it was one of the few places where Mr. Parrot-nose could not possibly come creeping up behind them to listen to what they were saying.

  “Get her out of the Tower?” Dick laughed and then was sad. “I would we could!” he said.

  “We can,” said Edred earnestly. “I’ve been thinking about it all the time, ever since we came out of the Tower, and I know the way. I shall want you to help me, Dick. You and one grown-up.” He spoke in the same grim, self-reliant tone that was so new to him.

  “One grown-up?” Dick asked.

  “Yes. I think Nurse would do it. And I’m going to find out if we can trust her.”

  “Trust her?” said Dick. “Why, she’d die for any of us Ardens. Ay, and die on the rack before she would betray the lightest word of any of us.”

  “Then that’s all right,” said Edred.

  “What is thy plot?” Dick asked; and he did not laugh, though he might well have wanted to. You see, Edred looked so very small and weak and the Tower was so very big and strong.

  “I’m going to get Elfrida out,” said Edred, “and I’m going to do it like Lady Nithsdale got her husband out. It will be quite easy. It all depends on knowing when the guard is changed, and I do know that.”

  “But how did my Lady Nithsdale get my Lord Nithsdale out–and from what?” Dick asked.

  “Why, out of the Tower, you know,” Edred was beginning, when he remembered that Dick did not know and couldn’t know, because Lord Nithsdale hadn’t yet been taken out of the Tower, hadn’t even been put in–perhaps, for anything Edred knew, wasn’t even born yet. So he said–

  “Never mind. I’ll tell you all about Lady Nithsdale,” and proceeded to tell Dick, vaguely yet inspiringly, the story of that wise and brave lady. I haven’t time to tell you the story, but any grown-up who knows history will be only too pleased to tell it.

  Dick listened with most flattering interest, though it was getting dusk and colder than ever. The lights were lighted in the house and the trap-door had become a yellow square. A shadow in this yellow square warned Dick, and he pinched Edred’s arm.

  “Come,” he said, “and let us apply ourselves to our books. Virtuous youths always act in their preceptors’ absence as they would if their preceptors were present. I feel as though mine were present. Therefore, I take it, I am a virtuous youth.”

  On which the shadow disappeared very suddenly, and the two boys, laughing in a choking inside sort way, went down to learn their lessons by the light of two guttering tallow candles in solid silver candlesticks.

  The next day Edred got the old nurse to take him to the Court, and because the Queen was very fond of Lady Arden he actually managed to see her Majesty and, what is more, to get permission to visit his father and sister in the Tower. The permission was written by the Queen’s own hand and bade the Lieutenant of the Tower to admit Master Edred Arden and Master Richard Arden and an attendant. Then the nurse became very busy with sewing, and two days went by and Mr. Parados rapped the boys’ fingers and scolded them and scowled at them and wondered why they bore it all so patiently. Then came The Day, and it was bitterly cold, and as the afternoon got older snow began to fall.

  “So much the better,” said the old nurse, “so much the better.”

  It was at dusk that the guard was changed at the Tower Gate, and a quarter of an hour before dusk Lord Arden’s carriage stopped at the Tower Gate and an old nurse in ruff and cap and red cloak got out of it and lifted out two little gentlemen, one in black with a cloak trimmed with squirrel fur, which was Edred, and another, which was Richard, in grey velvet and marten’s fur. And the lieutenant was called, and he read the Queen’s order and nodded kindly to Edred, and they all went in. And as they went across the yard to the White Tower, where Lord Arden’s lodging was, the snow fell thick on their cloaks and furs and froze to the stuff, for it was bitter cold.

  And again, “So much the better,” the nurse said, “so much the better.”

  Elfrida was with Lord Arden, sitting on his knee, when the visitors came in. She jumped up and greeted Edred with a glad cry and a very close hug.

  “Go with Nurse,” he whispered through the hug. “Do exactly what she tells you.”

  “But I’ve made a piece of poetry,” Elfrida whispered, “and now you’re here.”

  “Do what you’re told,” whispered Edred in a tone she had never heard from him before and so fiercely that she said no more about poetry. “We must get you out of this,” Edred went on. “Don’t be a duffer–think of Lady Nithsdale.”

  Then Elfrida understood. Her arms fell from round Edred’s neck and she ran back to Lord Arden and put her arms round his neck and kissed him over and over again.

  “There, there, my maid, there, there!” he said, patting her shoulder softly, for she was crying.

  “Come with me to thy chamber,” said the nurse. “I would take thy measure for a new gown and petticoat.”

  But Elfrida clung closer. “She does not want to leave her dad,” said Lord Arden–”dost thou, my maid?”

  “No, no,” said Elfrida quite wildly, “I don’t want to leave my daddy!”

  “Come,” said Lord Arden, “’tis but for a measuring time. Thou’lt come back, sock lamb as thou art. Go now to return the more quickly.”

  “Goodbye, dear, dear, dear daddy!” said Elfrida, suddenly standing up. “Oh, my dear daddy, goodbye!”

  “Why, what a piece of work about a new frock!” said the nurse crossly. “I’ve no patience with the child,” and she caught Elfrida’s hand and dragged her into the next room.

  “Now,” she whispered, already on her knees undoing Elfrida’s gown, “not a moment to lose. Hold thy handkerchief to thy face and seem to weep as we go out. Why, thou’rt weeping already! So much the better!”

  From under her wide hoop and petticoat the nurse drew out the clothes that were hidden there, a little suit of black exactly like Edred’s–cap, cloak, stockings, shoes–all like Edred’s to a hair.

  And Elfrida before she had finished crying stood up the exact image of her brother–except
her face–and that would be hidden by the handkerchief. Then very quickly the nurse went to the door of the apartment and spoke to the guard there.

  “Good luck, good gentleman,” she said, “my little master is ill–he is too frail to bear these sad meetings and sadder partings. Convoy us, I pray you, to the outer gate, that I may find our coach and take him home, and afterwards I will return for my other charge, his noble cousin.”

  “Is it so?” said the guard kindly. “Poor child! Well, such is life, mistress, and we all have tears to weep.”

  But he could not leave his post at Lord Arden’s door to conduct them to the gates. But he told them the way, and they crossed the courtyard alone, and as they went the snow fell on their cloaks and froze there.

  So that the guard at the gate, who had seen an old nurse and two little boys go in through the snow, now saw an old nurse and one little boy go out, all snow-covered, and the little boy appeared to be crying bitterly, and no wonder, the nurse explained, seeing his dear father and sister thus.

  “I will convey him to our coach, good masters,” she said to the guard. “and return for my other charge, young Master Richard Arden.”

  And on that she got Elfrida in her boy’s clothes out at the gate and into the waiting carriage. The coachman, by previous arrangement with the old nurse, was asleep on the box, and the footman, also by previous arrangement, was refreshing himself at a tavern near by.

  “Under the seat,” said the old nurse, and thrusting Elfrida in, shut the coach door and left her. And there was Elfrida, dressed like a boy, huddled up among the straw at the bottom of the coach.

  So far, so good. But the most dangerous part of the adventure still remained. The nurse got in again easily enough; she was let in by the guard who had seen her come out. And as she went slowly across the snowy courtyard she heard ring under the gateway the stamping feet of the men who had come to relieve guard, and to be themselves the new guard. So far again, so good. The danger lay with the guard at the door of Lord Arden’s rooms, and in the chance that some of the old guard might be lingering about the gateway when she came out, not with one little boy as they would expect, but with two. But this had to be risked. The nurse waited as long as she dared so as to lessen the chance of meeting any of the old guard as she went out with her charges. She waited quietly in a corner while Lord Arden talked with the boys. And when at last she said, “The time is done, my Lord,” she already knew that the guard at the room door had been changed.

  “‘I WILL CONVEY HIM TO OUR COACH, GOOD MASTERS,’ SHE SAID TO THE GUARD.”

  “So now for it,” said Edred, as he and Richard followed the nurse down the narrow steps and across the snowy courtyard.

  The new guard saw the woman and two boys, and the captain of the guard read the Queen’s paper, which the old nurse had taken care to get back from the lieutenant. And as plainly Master Edred Arden and Master Richard Arden, with their attendant, had passed in, so now they were permitted to pass out, and two minutes later a great coach was lumbering along the snowy streets, and inside it four people were embracing in rapture at the success of their stratagem.

  “But it was Edred thought of it,” said Richard, as in honour bound, “and he arranged everything and carried it out.”

  “How splendid of him!” said Elfrida warmly; and I think it was rather splendid of her not to spoil his pride and pleasure in this, the first adventure he had ever planned and executed entirely on his own account. She could very easily have spoiled it, you know, by pointing out to him that the whole thing was quite unnecessary, and that they could have got away much more easily by going into a corner in the Tower and saying poetry to the Mouldiwarp.

  So they came to Arden House.

  The coachman was apparently asleep again, and the footman went round and did something to the harness after he had got the front door opened, and it was quite easy for the nurse to send the footman who opened the door to order a meal to be served at once for Mr. Arden and Mr. Richard. So that no one saw that instead of the two little boys who had left Arden House in the afternoon three came back to it in the evening.

  Then the nurse took them into the parlour and shut the door.

  “Now,” she said, “Master Richard will go take off his fine suit, and Miss Arden will go into the little room and change her raiment. And for you, Master Edred, you wait here with me.”

  When the others had obediently gone, the nurse stood looking at Edred with eyes that grew larger and different, and he stood looking at her with eyes that grew rounder and rounder.

  “Why,” he said at last, “you’re the witch–the witch we took the tea and things to.”

  “And if I am?” said she. “Do you think you’re the only person who can come back into other times? You’re not all the world yet, Master Arden of Arden. But you’ve got the makings of a fine boy and a fine man, and I think you’ve learned something in these old ancient times.”

  He had, there is no doubt of it. Whether it was being thought important enough to be imprisoned in the Tower, or whether it was the long talks he had with Sir Walter Raleigh, that fine genius and great gentleman, or whether it was Mr. Parados’s knuckle-rappings and scowlings. I do not know. But it is certain that this adventure was the beginning of the change in Edred which ended in his being “brave and kind and wise” as the old rhyme had told him to be.

  “And now,” said the nurse, as Elfrida appeared in her girl’s clothes, “there is not a moment to lose. Already at the Tower they have found out our trick. You must go back to your own times.”

  “She’s the witch,” Edred briefly answered the open amazement in Elfrida’s eyes.

  “There is no time to lose,” the nurse repeated.

  “I must be even with old Parados first,” said Edred; and so he was, and it took exactly twenty minutes, and I will tell you all about it afterwards.

  When he was even with old Parados, the old nurse sent Richard to bed; and then Elfrida made haste to say, “I did make some poetry to call the Mouldiwarp, but it’s all about the Tower, and we’re not there now. It’s no use saying–

  ‘Oh, Mouldiwarp, you have the power

  To get us out of this beastly Tower,’

  when we’re not in the Tower, and I can’t think of anything else, and. . . .”

  But the nurse interrupted her.

  “Never mind about poetry,” she said; “poetry’s all very well for children, but I know a trick worth two of that.”

  “‘YOU’VE NO MANNERS,’ IT SAID TO THE NURSE.”

  She led them into the dining-room, where the sideboard stood covered with silver, set down the candle, lifted down the great salver with the arms Arden engraved upon it, and put it on the table.

  She breathed on the salver and traced triangles and a circle on the drilled surface; and as the mistiness of her breath faded and the silver shone out again undimmed there, suddenly, in the middle of the salver, was the live white Mouldiwarp of Arden, looking extremely cross!

  “You’ve no manners,” it said to the nurse, “bringing me here in that offhand, rude way, without ‘With you leave,’ or ‘By your leave’! Elfrida could easily have made some poetry. You know well enough,” it added angrily, “that it’s positively painful to me to be summoned by your triangles and things. Poetry’s so easy and simple.”

  “Poetry’s too slow for this night’s work,” said the nurse shortly. “Come, take the children away, I have done with it.”

  “You make everything so difficult,” said the; Mouldiwarp, more crossly than ever. “That’s the worst of people who think they know a lot and really only know a little, and pretend they know everything. If I’d come the easy poetry way, I could have taken them back as easily. But now–Well, it can’t be helped. I’ll take them back, of course, but it’ll be a way they won’t like. They’ll have to go on to the top of the roof and jump off.”

  “I don’t believe that is necessary,” said the witch nurse.

  “All right,” said the Mouldiwarp, “get them
away yourself then,” and it actually began to disappear.

  “No, no!” said Elfrida, “we’ll do anything you say.”

  “There’s a foot of snow on the roof,” said the witch nurse.

  “So much the better,” said the Mouldiwarp, “so much the better. You ought to know that.”

  “You think yourself very clever,” said the nurse.

  “Not half so clever as I am,” said the Mouldiwarp, rather unreasonably Elfrida thought. “There!” it added sharply as a great hammering at the front door shattered the quiet of the night. “There, to the roof for your lives! And I’m not at all sure that it’s not too late.”

  The knocking was growing louder and louder.

  CHAPTER X. WHITE WINGS AND A BROWNIE

  PERHAPS I had better begin this chapter by telling you exactly how Edred “got even with old Parrot-nose,” as he put it. You will remember that Master Parados was the Ardens’ tutor in the time of King James I., and that it was through his eavesdropping and tale-bearing that Edred and Elfrida were imprisoned in the Tower of London. There was very little time in which to get even with any one, and, of course, getting even with people is not really at all a proper thing to do. Yet Edred did it.

  Edred had got Elfrida out of the Tower just as Lady Nithsdale got her lord out, and now he and she and Cousin Richard were at Arden House, in Soho, and the old nurse, who was also, astonishingly, the old witch, had said that there was no time to be lost.

  “But I must be even with old Parrot-nose,” said Edred. He was feeling awfully brave and splendid inside, because of the way he had planned and carried out the Nithsdale rescue of Elfrida; and also he felt that he could not bear to go back to his own times without somehow marking his feelings about Mr. Parados.