“You mustn’t take them to Beckfoot,” said Dorothea.
“Couldn’t you put them in a hole in the wall?” said Dick. “And we’ll come down and collect them.”
“If they’re addressed to Beckfoot it’s to Beckfoot I should take them,” said the postman.
“It’s just till Mrs Blackett comes back,” said Dorothea.
Dick had gone down to the wall. “There’s a good place for letters here,” he said.
“It matters most awfully,” pleaded Dorothea.
“So she says, that young limb,” said the postman. “Well I’ll do it, but it’ll go hard with me if it all comes out. Nobbut what the letter’s for you. Nowt wrong but the address.”
“We can’t give another address,” said Dorothea. “It’s got to be secret till Mrs Blackett comes back.”
“I’ll do it,” said the postman. “But I don’t like it. And that’s what I says to Miss Nancy. ‘And lucky it was,’ I says, ‘you didn’t hit me with that stone.’ ‘It wasn’t lucky at all,’ says she. ‘I could hit you every time if I tried, but I didn’t.’ She’s a limb, is Miss Nancy, but if it’s to save trouble for Mrs Blackett I’ll take the risk and say nowt about it.”
“Thank you very much,” said Dorothea.
“The hole between these two stones will be the letter-box,” said Dick. “And this smaller stone will do to shut it up with when there’s a letter inside.”
The postman nodded, mounted his bicycle, and rode away.
“That letter might have spoilt everything,” said Dick.
“It’s not going to be half as easy as Nancy thought,” said Dorothea opening the letter. “We never thought of the postman.”
“And now there’s Timothy,” said Dick. “He may be charging in any minute to take us up to the mine. And he’s sure to ask for me straight off because of the work we’ve got to do in Captain Flint’s study.”
“One of them’ll be coming along soon,” said Dorothea.
“If she was coming, why didn’t Nancy keep the letter?”
“She had to let the postman see for himself that we were really here,” said Dorothea. “Let’s get a bit back from the road, so that we can dodge out of sight if there’s anyone else.”
They sat down to wait under the larches close to the place where the path climbed into the coppice. Two steps up that path and no one would be able to see them from the road.
Dorothea read her letter aloud, a pleasant cheerful letter from their mother, hoping that they would both have a happy time at Beckfoot, hoping that the new boat was ready, and that they would presently be teaching her and their father how to sail, urging them not to take risks at first, and saying that she was really glad that while that sensible Susan was not there to look after things they would be sleeping in a house and not miles from anywhere in tents on an island or up in the hills.
“Well, we are in a house,” said Dick.
“There’s a postscript,” said Dorothea. “Whatever you do, I’m sure you’ll try to do nothing to make Mrs Blackett wish she had not let you come while she was away. It’s all right. Mother would have done just the same. We’ve just got to be Picts to save Mrs Blackett from the Great Aunt. Anyway, we couldn’t say No when even Cook thought it would be better if we did.”
“I wish there was some way of reminding them about Timothy,” said Dick. “Shall I scout along towards the house?”
“No good,” said Dorothea. “One of them’s sure to be here in a minute, because of bringing the milk.”
“I’m going to look for a goldcrest,” said Dick. “Larches are always likely trees for them.”
Five minutes later he came hurrying back.
“Quick. Quick,” he whispered. “There’s someone in the wood. Coming this way.”
There was hardly time for them to get into the cover of the coppice. “Don’t move,” whispered Dick. “You can’t help making a noise on the stones … Look. I can see his legs.” Dick was crouching low, looking out below the leafy branches.
“It’s Squashy Hat himself,” said Dorothea. ‘It’s Timothy. Hi!”
The tall thin man hurrying through the larches stopped short as they ran out.
“Hullo!” he said.
“You mustn’t go to Beckfoot,” said Dorothea. “Or have you been?”
“You mustn’t say anything about us,” said Dick.
Dorothea was not sure whether Timothy was blushing or whether it was that he was hot. His lean face was much redder than usual.
“What’s going on at Beckfoot?” he said. “I was just turning the boat to row into the boathouse when I saw Nancy and Peggy with an ancient dame. And the clothes! I hardly knew them. The old lady didn’t see me. No more did Peggy. But Nancy did and looked scared out of her life. She waved me away down the river. So I went out round the point and landed there close under the road. I really did not know what to do. But I’ve got to get up to the mine. So I came along the road, and bless me, as I was turning the corner by Beckfoot there they were again. Nancy, Peggy and the old lady, all three together.”
“What did she say to you?” asked Dorothea. “You didn’t ask about us?”
Timothy turned a little redder. “I … Well, you know how it is. I never can stand meeting strange people. I just nipped over into the wood and dodged past them through the trees. Only thing I could do …”
“Thank goodness,” said Dorothea.
“They may turn round and come this way,” said Dick.
“I’d better get on,” said Timothy. “If she comes along here …”
“We’ll keep out of sight. Come and look at our house and we’ll explain.”
“What house?”
“We aren’t at Beckfoot any more,” said Dorothea.
“What?”
“We don’t exist. That’s why it’s so important that when you go there you mustn’t ask about us. That was Nancy’s and Peggy’s Great Aunt you saw. She’s turned up to look after them and Nancy thought we’d better clear out.”
“But bless my soul,” said Timothy. “You’re staying there.”
“Not now,” said Dorothea. “You see the Great Aunt found out that Nancy and Peggy were by themselves at Beckfoot and she’s furious with Mrs Blackett. Nancy says she always is about something or other, and it would be much worse if she found out that Mrs Blackett had let them have visitors while she was away. So we’ve just moved into our own house. You’d better come and see it, and then we can talk without so much danger of people hearing. If she’s out walking, she might turn back and come this way any minute.”
“It’s up here,” said Dick, and led the way up the path.
“So that’s Miss Turner is it?” said Timothy. “Jim’s told me about her. And that’s why I hardly knew them when I saw them looking at the flower beds. Dressed up like that. Not much of the gold prospector about Nancy when she’s … Yes, I know. Of course it isn’t her fault. But look here, if that old lady’s staying at Beckfoot, how can I ever go in there to work in Jim’s den?”
“It’s all right for you,” said Dorothea. “You can just walk in and be introduced.”
“Not after she’s seen me shinning a wall to get away from her,” said Timothy. “No, thank you.”
“All that matters is that you mustn’t let out anything about us.”
“Well, let’s have a look at your house,” said Timothy.
They walked up the rough path, where Timothy had to stoop and push his way through the branches. He seemed only half to hear what was said to him. He kept on muttering to himself.
“This is the house,” said Dorothea as they came out into the clearing before the old hut. She looked anxiously at Timothy, half expecting that he would disapprove.
“I’ve slept in much worse places,” he said. He went in with them and looked round. “You want a bit of moss in those holes,” he said, looking at the roof.
“I thought of that,” said Dick.
“But you’ve a good fireplace and hammocks and not too far
to go for your water … No, you might be much worse off. It’s not that. But hang it all, I promised Jim I’d keep an eye on you. And we’ve work to do in Jim’s den before he comes back.”
“Dick can’t go there now,” said Dorothea.
“We’re badgers,” said Dick.
“Picts,” said Dorothea. “Chased out, you know, but keeping alive underground. At least not exactly underground, but in secret.”
Timothy shook his head. “How long do you think you can keep a secret like that? You can’t. The old lady’ll hear of it, and things’ll be worse than if she’d found you the moment she arrived.”
“She’d have had a fit if she’d seen the spare room as it was,” said Dorothea. “There was this over the top of the bed.” She pointed to Nancy’s skull grinning on the wall above its crossed bones.
“How many people know already?” asked Timothy.
“Nancy and Peggy,” said Dick.
“And old Cook,” said Dorothea. “And the postman … Nancy had to tell him this morning …”
“The whole countryside will know if the postman knows,” said Timothy.
“It’s only for ten days,” said Dorothea.
“She’ll find out in two,” said Timothy. “And then there’ll be the dickens to pay. I wish Jim were here to deal with this.”
“Nancy’ll manage,” said Dorothea. “Of course the other way would have been to do some of the things Nancy said she’d like to do … You know … Putting gravel between the sheets and the mattress, putting a drop of paraffin in her morning tea, cutting the butter with an oniony knife, and so on, till she boiled over and went home. Only that way, she would have worked out her rage on Mrs Blackett. This way, Nancy’s going to keep the Great Aunt happy, so that she won’t have any excuse for being down on anyone. All we’ve got to do is to keep out of sight. Nancy and Peggy and Cook are going to deal with the Great Aunt and do every single thing she likes. It’s the velvet glove instead of the iron hand.”
“The trouble with Nancy’s velvet glove is that it’s usually got a knuckleduster inside it. And you never know who’s going to get hit. When Miss Turner finds out about this, it won’t be only Nancy who gets into trouble. It’ll be you and me and Cook at Beckfoot and the postman and everybody else who happens to get dragged in and Mrs Blackett most of all.”
“What about those assays for Captain Flint?” asked Dick.
“Can’t do them at Beckfoot, that’s one thing. I’ll have to do them in the houseboat. I’m not ready for them yet.” He saw the disappointment in Dick’s face. “You’ll have your own boat, won’t you? You’ll be able to come.”
“We’re going to keep her up the river,” said Dick.
“Good. Well, are you coming to the mine with me today?”
“Not without the others,” said Dorothea. “They’ll be coming here to look for us the moment they can get away.”
“No good waiting for them,” said Timothy. “I must get on. And if you see Nancy, tell her you know somebody who’d like to wring her neck.”
“Who?” said Dick.
“Me,” said Timothy.
“It’s a very lucky thing he is shy,” said Dorothea when the sound of his footsteps had died away. “If he’d said ‘How do you do?’ to them and been introduced, he’d have been sure to ask where we were and everything would have gone wrong the very first day. I bet Nancy and Peggy were glad when they saw him bolt.”
If the Great Aunt was walking with her nieces it was hardly safe for the Picts to be near the road. Nor was it safe to go the other way and explore the upper part of the wood, because at any minute, Nancy or Peggy or both of them might escape from her and come to the hut, with perhaps only a minute or two to spare before racing down again. Dick settled down to sawing wood so as to have a lot ready cut for the fire. Dorothea went carefully through the provisions, making a list of them in an exercise book in which she had meant to write a story. She crossed out “Scarab Ahoy! A tale of Adventure”, and wrote instead “STORES”. Then she put down everything they had, the tinned foods, soups, steak and kidney pie, corned beef, stews, peaches and sardines; the fresh food, half a beef roll, one third of an apple pie, six bananas, twelve oranges, ten eggs, half a loaf of bread, then other things, such as marmalade, potted meat, cornflakes and chocolate. They were certainly not going to starve. Old Cook, who had provided for many expeditions of the pirates, had seen to that. Then, remembering the careful Susan, Dorothea began to plan her housekeeping, and set out, on another page, to make lists of food for separate meals, breakfasts, dinners and suppers. Finally, she took a writing block and a stamped envelope from her suitcase, and wrote a letter to her mother. She told of the journey and seeing the new boat and crossing the lake to Beckfoot. She went on:
“Nancy’s and Peggy’s Great Aunt has come here unexpectedly. This is a great misfortune but it can’t be helped. We are living in a house of our own. It is in the wood close to Beckfoot and Dick and I have it all to ourselves. Please ask Father about Picts. He said something about people thinking that fairies and things were invented because of the Picts who were living secretly in caves and only coming out at night long after other people had conquered the land. I know it was something like that. Please ask him. I am doing the housekeeping so I shan’t have much time for writing. Dick is cutting wood and making a list of birds. He says a woodpecker and a goldcrest are the two best so far. He says there are two kinds of owls, but we haven’t seen them yet, only heard them. No time for more because I have to think of dinner.
Much love from both of us,
Dot
P.S. Please don’t forget to ask Father about the Picts. We’d both like to be sure.”
She folded her letter, put it in the envelope, addressed it and put it in her pocket. She would have to ask the others about getting it posted or lie in wait for the postman in the morning.
Dick came in with an armful of small logs.
“What’s the time?” she asked.
“Twenty-nine minutes past one.”
“Dinner,” said Dorothea.
For dinner, they finished the beef roll and ate the last of the apple pie, washing it down with lemonade from the pirates’ grog-puncheon which Nancy and Peggy had set up on stones, so that it was high enough off the ground for anyone to fill a mug at the tap.
“I believe something’s gone wrong,” said Dick. “If it hadn’t, Nancy or Peggy would have been here by now.”
“It’s all right,” said Dorothea. “If the Great Aunt had found out, she’d have sent up here right away to haul us down. I’m sure it’s all right. The postman was an awful danger and so was Timothy but they’re not any longer, and there can’t be anybody else …”
“Listen!” said Dick.
The next moment Peggy, in a white frock that startled them both, was in the doorway. She was almost too much out of breath to speak.
“Quick! Quick!” she panted. “Here’s the milk. Sorry I couldn’t bring it before. You ought to have rinsed the other bottle. Never mind. Come on. We’ve got to stop the doctor. She’s sent for him. She always does. We ought to have warned him but we forgot. Come on. He knew you were coming and if we don’t catch him he’ll go and blurt out something the moment he opens his mouth.”
CHAPTER VIII
DEALING WITH THE DOCTOR
“THE doctor?” said Dorothea. “Is she ill?”
“Not a bit,” said Peggy. “She’s full of beans. Only she always likes to have a doctor hanging about like she has at Harrogate. She telephoned to him and he’ll be here any time now. Never mind about putting things away. Giminy, it’s been the most awful morning. Much more difficult than Nancy thought it would be. Look here. Where’s that apple pie?”
“We’ve eaten it,” said Dick.
“Cook said you would have done. That’s all right. She’s going to make another quick and cut it up and slosh it over with custard.”
“But it was very good as it was,” said Dorothea.
“It’s not that,�
� said Peggy. “After breakfast Cook asked Nancy to order meals, and the G.A. said that she would do that herself, and Cook was pretty mad, but bore it and went back to the kitchen and then, just now, the G.A. remembered there was a lot of pie left and rang the bell and told Cook she’d like it brought in for supper … But that’s only one of the awful moments. … Hurry up. Never mind about putting things away … First of all we never had a chance of getting away to bring you the milk. Good thing we didn’t. We’d gone out in the garden with her after her kick up with Cook, and there was Timothy just rowing into the boathouse. The G.A. was looking the other way but Nancy saw him and he saw Nancy shooing him off …”
They were hurrying down the path with Peggy in front throwing bits of news over her shoulder.
“We’d forgotten about Timothy …” she explained.
“We remembered about him last night and didn’t know what to do,” said Dorothea.
“He rowed away, and we were saved for the moment. And then when we were all in the hall ready to go with her for a walk the postman came with a letter for you. When the G.A. said you weren’t known and gave the letter back, he jolly nearly let out he’d seen you yesterday. Nancy managed that somehow.”
“We got the letter,” said Dorothea.
“And now we’ve got our own letter-box in the wall by the road,” said Dick.
“Good,” said Peggy. “But that’s not all. We started for a walk, one each side of her, awful, and we hadn’t gone a hundred yards before we met Timothy coming along the road. Our hearts nearly knocked our teeth out from inside. But Timothy was just like he was last year before he knew us. He took one look and bolted over the wall into the wood and we were saved again. The G.A. said he was a dangerous tramp, so whatever happens he mustn’t come to Beckfoot now.”
“He isn’t coming,” said Dick. “We’ve seen him.”
“Well that’s all right,” said Peggy. “We went on walking and spotted where he’d left his boat. Just below the road beyond the point. You can’t miss it. Nancy says he’s got to have the pigeons in case of anything urgent. But there wasn’t time for everything. We’ve put the pigeons in their cage and hidden it behind the wall at the bottom of the wood. There’s a bag of pigeon food, and Nancy’s written him a letter explaining. You’ll find it all right. And you’re to take the cage and the food for the pigeons and put them in his boat …”
The Picts and the Martyrs Page 7
