“We’d have to hire a car to get back to Glasgow before we could use our return air-fares, and that would be very expensive.”
“I don’t believe there’s a car for hire in the village, but we could hitch-hike, I suppose, as others do.”
“Is it safe nowadays to ask for a roadside lift?”
“Who would want to harm two spinsters of our age and class?”
“More to the point, Godiva, who would bother to give a lift to spinsters of our age?”
“Oh, well, it hasn’t happened yet, Winfrith, and I really think we ought to be getting the tea. The major is sure to be wanting his by now. Men always want their tea, and a great deal to eat as well, and that, thanks to Sir Humphrey’s lavish provisioning, we certainly can supply.”
“One of us ought to be outside. We’re supposed to be keeping watch. I wonder if and when opportunity of a sighting will arise? This is much our best chance, you know.”
Reluctantly they stood up. The settee in the living quarters of the caravan was comfortable and the sisters had occupied it since the disgruntled departure of the major and his wife to man the tent after lunch. Godiva began to prepare for tea-time. Winfrith sallied forth, only to come back to the door of the caravan immediately.
“Quick! Quick!” she cried. “It’s here! Our chance has come!”
Godiva flung down the cloth she had been about to spread and dashed out to join her sister. On the surface of the loch, out in the middle, was a long swell which broadened out as they watched.
“The camera! The ciné-camera!” cried Godiva. “Get up to it as quickly as you can, while I make a lightning sketch.”
“I’ll make the sketch.”
“All right, let’s both. I hate that filming business, anyway. We’re sure to make a mess of it, and that’s so wasteful and will only cause derision.”
They produced their sketching-blocks, but the broad wake, except for sending ripples up to the shore of the loch, remained nothing but the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.
(3)
The arrangement was that all watching would cease officially at nine in the evening. Enthusiasts could carry on after that, if they pleased, for it remained light until after ten, but at nine the evening meal was taken and then, if there had been any sightings, a runner was to be sent from each caravan to report to Sir Humphrey before everybody settled down for the night.
On this particular evening Sir Humphrey received two reports. One came from Sally, the other from Godiva and Winfrith. Nigel and Marjorie said afterwards that they did not consider what they had seen to be worth a special report, and that they knew Sally would speak for them. Sir Humphrey, impressed and excited, promised a special briefing for everybody in the morning.
The night passed uneventfully. Sally, who was inflexibly determined to ignore Lady Calshott’s remonstrances and to adhere to her plan of sleeping alone in the dormobile, woke soon after dawn, dressed, and walked back to the village for a bathe. As she walked she was thinking of Phyllis and, once again, of Lady Calshott’s suggestion.
“Three nights of sharing my van with Phyllis, and there would have been a row,” she said to herself. “I suppose the Calshott parents want the caravan to themselves.”
She enjoyed her bathe. When she returned to the caravan for breakfast with the others, Sir Humphrey, alert, rubicund, dressed, and shaved, said blithely,
“Now that we’ve almost had a sighting, I think we should extend the period of watching. No more early morning swimming, Sally. We should all be up and moving by half-past four from now on, mist or no mist.”
“Half-past four in the morning?” exclaimed Lady Calshott. “Don’t be silly, Humphrey. Nobody is going to get up at half-past four in the morning!”
“Immediately after breakfast Sally must take a message round,” said Sir Humphrey implacably. “We’re not going to miss a sighting because people are hogging it in bed instead of being out on the job. If everybody goes to bed directly after dinner, there is plenty of time for sleep. Half-past nine until four a.m. comes to six and a half hours. Nobody wants more sleep than that in the summer.”
“Oh, Daddy!” said Phyllis. “Of course they do!”
“I have not the smallest intention of getting up before it is light and eating my breakfast at dawn,” said Lady Calshott, “and neither has Phyllis. She needs her rest. We all do, so don’t talk nonsense, dear.”
“When I was one of the Loch Ness people,” said Sir Humphrey, “we were always roused at half-past four. It was the understood thing and nobody complained, so far as I can remember. But, of course, we were dedicated people up there.”
“I should think you would need to be,” said Lady Calshott. “Well, you and Sally can go on watch at four-thirty if you like, but, as I said, Phyllis and I will rise at a reasonable hour, and I quite expect that the monster, if there is one, will have equally sensible habits.”
“You yourself didn’t see what some of us saw in the loch,” said Sally, “did you, Sir Humphrey?”
“Unfortunately I was in the village at the time,” Sir Humphrey replied.
“I wish I’d seen it,” said Phyllis. “Some people have all the luck. And I think you might have told me you were going swimming this morning, Sally. I would have come with you.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” thought Sally. Aloud she said, “Oh, well, I’m sorry if you would have liked to bathe, but it was so early that I didn’t like to disturb you.”
“It wasn’t as early as four-thirty, I imagine,” said Angela, who was already equipped for walking. “Anyway, if I were staying longer, I should certainly not be foolish enough to rise at such an ungodly hour and go out in these treacherous mists.”
“They are not more treacherous than the hills you scramble about on,” said Sir Humphrey. “I don’t think you ought to climb alone. Suppose something happened to you? You never give us the slightest inkling of where you are going each day. If you ever met with an accident we might have great difficulty in finding you.”
“Oh, nothing untoward will ever happen to me,” said Angela in a tone of contempt, as of one addressing an inferior being.
“Oh, come, there’s always hope,” said Sally flippantly. Angela looked daggers at her. Later, Sally wished she had not spoken, and not for the first time in her life.
CHAPTER 8
The Sighting
“A very ancient and fish-like smell.”
William Shakespeare.
“And that reminds me to ask a favour of you, Angela,” said Sir Humphrey. “I’m sure you won’t mind just for an hour or so. I need Sally this morning for the errands I mentioned and as it is our rule not to leave one person alone on watch—more important than ever, now that I’ve had these reports of a near-sighting…”
“If you mean you want me to keep watch with Phyllis at the tent until lunch-time, I suppose I shall have to agree,” said Angela, interrupting him. “I have only two more clear days here, but I don’t suppose that will weigh with anybody.”
“Well, thank you, Angela. I think we shall be able to free you long before lunch,” said Sir Humphrey.
“Oh, I shall lunch here. I conduct my excursions on foot and have no wish to carry a thermos flask and a parcel of food with me.”
This speech meant nothing to anybody, since none of the company had even so much as wondered where and how she usually got her lunch on these daylong expeditions of hers.
“Just as you like, of course,” said Sir Humphrey genially. “I don’t suppose Sally will object to a little free time when she has done her visiting rounds. You won’t be able to get across the loch to the hunting-lodge, Sally,” he went on, turning to her, “because I expect the boat will already be over there by the time you get to Nigel Parris’s caravan, unless perhaps you could go there first and catch two of the young men before they cross the loch. If you start at once…”
“Surely there’s no hurry?” said Angela Barton. “It’s very misty ou
t there. I hope you don’t expect me to go off to the tent already!”
“I want everybody to be in position as early as possible. If the creature was in motion yesterday afternoon, it may mean that our presence has disturbed it. If that is so, it may surface at any time, perhaps to take a look at us.” He spoke in light and easy tones, but Sally thought there was a fanatical gleam in his eye.
“Oh, well, Phyllis, I suppose we had better move off, then,” said Angela crossly. “Personally, I consider so early a start to be quite unnecessary.”
“And so do I,” said Lady Calshott. “Be sure to wrap up well, Phyllis dear. These morning mists are very treacherous. As for the Parrises and Jeremy Tamworth, if I know anything of them, that caravan party will not stir until ten at the earliest, and I really do not think Sally should attempt to drive along the side of the loch until the mist thins out.”
Sir Humphrey went to the door of the caravan.
“It is lifting already,” he said. “Off you go, Sally. Pitch it strong that I want everybody on watch and on the alert. Something tells me that we’re going to get a sighting today.”
Sally returned to her van, which she had left about five hundred yards further up the loch and, although the mist was lifting as the sun began to break through, her hair was damp and her eyes were slightly smarting by the time she climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
She reversed before she could turn, then she crossed the bridge and was soon traversing the south shore. At the major’s caravan there were no signs of life. She by-passed it and drove up to the van which was nearer to the head of the loch. Here the only person astir was Marjorie, who appeared at the door of the caravan when she heard Sally drive up.
“Oh, hullo,” she said. “You’re up and about early.”
“Under orders,” said Sally. “Sir Humphrey wants everybody up and about and at their posts. He’s got a feeling we shall get a sighting today.”
“What, in this mist?”
“It will clear soon. Will you tell your boat people to get across the loch as soon as ever they can and man their camera and really keep on the alert?”
“I’ll tell them, but it won’t be any good expecting them to cross until they’ve had their elevenses, let alone their breakfast. Besides, what good would it do? They wouldn’t see a thing, even if they were willing to take the boat over as early as this, which they won’t be, the lazy erks.”
“Well,” said Sally, “I’ve left the message. I can’t do any more.”
“Like a cup of coffee? I’m going to have one before I rout out that hoggish lot and give them their breakfast. You be thankful, Sally, that you haven’t got three great hulking hungry brutes to look after.”
“I’ve got Phyllis.”
“But not to feed. Anyway, has Angela gone home yet?”
“Not yet. That’s why I’m let off the hook this morning to do visiting rounds and get everybody keyed up for a sighting. But I’ll be back on the beat tomorrow, I expect. I don’t think Angela is taking kindly to another spell of duty at the tent.”
“I think she’s jolly sensible to turn us down at the end of a fortnight. If I’d had any sense I’d have done the same thing myself. I’m beginning to loathe this so-called holiday. All Nigel and I do is quarrel, Jeremy sulks, and Hubert Pring is impossible. Oh, well, come inside, if you want that coffee.”
“I’d love it,” said Sally truthfully, pushing the mist-damp hair out of her eyes, “but I don’t think I’d better stop. I’ve got to wake up the major’s lot and get his tent-people off to man their beat.”
Marjorie chuckled.
“He’s met his match in Godiva Benson,” she said. “I wish I could say the same about that damned Barton woman. She’s been trying to spread all sorts of rumours about Jeremy Tamworth and me. It’s poisoning Nigel’s mind and he’s suspicious and possessive enough already. I wish I could throw a spanner into her works in return. You know why she’s got herself organised at the vicarage, don’t you?”
“I heard she’s to be—or, rather, is—the housekeeper,” said Sally. “We mentioned it yesterday. I expect he needs somebody to run that side of things while he goes about his work in the parish.”
“He needs a wife, and that’s what bloody Angela is setting out to be. The trouble is that, left to himself, he’d probably choose Winfrith Benson. Winfrith would make him an excellent wife, and it would mean the twins could give up their cottage and go and live at the vicarage.”
“What, both of them?”
“Of course. There’s plenty of room in that rambling, ramshackle old house, and it would not be possible for Winfrith and Godiva to separate. Besides, they say there is one of the attics with a perfect north light for their work. ‘And now comes this wretched Angela Barton to step in and spoil things for us,’ says poor old Winfrith.”
“I expect everything will turn out all right,” said Sally. “Well, I really must be going. Don’t forget to give the boys Sir Humphrey’s message. If they won’t take notice, well, that won’t be your fault.” She climbed into her van and drove off to report to Sir Humphrey after she had visited the major and his party.
The only person awake at the major’s caravan seemed to be Winfrith, and even she appeared only after Sally had kept up a repeated tapping on the door. Winfrith was a washed-out copy of her stronger-minded sister and was, in fact, by several hours the younger twin. Her hair was a pale yellow compared with her sister’s darker locks, and her eyes were watery, prominent, and slightly anxious, as though she were prepared to please but was uncertain of success. As she opened the door and saw Sally she blinked nervously, but immediately seemed to recover her calm.
“Oh, hullo. Good morning,” she said. “Has anything happened? I thought you were the monster!” She giggled. “Isn’t it rather early for paying calls?”
“Sorry to wake you,” said Sally briefly, “but Sir Humphrey wants everybody up and about and on duty as early as possible.”
“I wish Sir Humphrey would try to get the major to go on duty, then. It won’t be any use for me to give him orders. All he and Mrs. Tamworth are here for is to take a lazy holiday, it seems to me. He goes wandering off and she sits in the shade and snoozes, and that’s about all. I do think it’s too bad of them. Ever since they had that argument with Godiva about the tent, they’ve been perfectly beastly to us. At least, he has. She really doesn’t count. Godiva says that Mrs. Tamworth is one of the wives who really make her believe in Women’s Lib.” Winfrith giggled again. Her sister joined her at the door of the caravan. Winfrith stepped out into the mist to give way to the stronger character.
“Oh, hullo,” said Godiva. “And what brings you out so bright and early?”
“Not exactly bright,” said Winfrith.
“Have you come to tell us that Angela’s gone?” pursued Godiva, ignoring her sister, an attitude to which, Sally thought, Winfrith was accustomed and did not resent.
“Hardly a matter of sufficient importance to cause me to disturb you at this hour of the morning, surely?” said Sally, interested to know that Angela’s departure seemed to figure so largely in the thoughts of the sisters and Marjorie Parris.
“Oh, well, I don’t know so much,” said Godiva. “Angela snoops, you know. I’ve caught her at it. And she’s a mischief-maker. I mean, everybody knows what goes on between Jeremy Tamworth and Marjorie Parris, and about poor old Nigel being so possessive and jealous, but it takes Angela Barton to make something beastly out of it.”
“Yes,” said Sally shortly, “Marjorie was telling me. Oh, well, I’ll be off. You’ll give the major Sir Humphrey’s message, won’t you?”
She found the leader of the expedition restless and perturbed. Sir Humphrey was pacing up and down outside his caravan watching the loch, it was true, but that his mind was on other things was soon made clear. He greeted Sally with his usual pleasant courtesy, listened to her report and then said,
“Nothing seems to go right this morning and it is all the fault
of that woman.”
Sally was in no doubt of the identity of the woman to whom he referred. She said,
“Oh, well, she won’t be with us much longer.”
“She isn’t with us now, so far as that goes.”
“You mean she’s gone home already?”
“I have no idea. She said that she had not wanted to speak out in front of you, but, as soon as you had gone, she rounded on my wife and suggested that Mildred should accompany Phyllis to the tent, as she herself had no intention of going there.”
“Oh, dear!”
“Yes, indeed. My dear wife remonstrated with her, but the only result was that Angela then quite lost her head and began to make the most fantastic accusations about other members of the party.”
“Including me?”
“She wondered why you insisted upon sleeping alone in your van.”
“I see. Charming of her. By the way, the Bensons told me that she snoops. Very unpleasant of her, if it’s true.”
“It’s true, all right,” said Sir Humphrey, “but what she came out with is not for your ears, Sally. In fact, as soon as she began, my wife sent Phyllis out of earshot.”
“What a shame!” said Sally flippantly. “But I’m more used to the slings and arrows of outrageous malice than Phyllis is, I imagine, and as I seem to be one of those whom Angela (however obliquely) slandered, I think you should tell me what was said. I’m a big girl now, you know.”
“Yes, your novel proves that,” said Sir Humphrey, smiling. “We’ve decided, by the way, to publish it. You will be getting a letter later on.”
“Oh, yes,” said Phyllis, when Sally had released Lady Calshott from tent duty and had taken her place on watch, “of course I listened. Daddy can’t always dictate to me. After all, I’m twenty-six, and one learns about most of it in English literature, not to speak of the Latin authors, anyway.”
“Learns about what?” asked Sally, despising herself for what she recognised as morbid curiosity, but hoping, all the same, to get from Phyllis what Sir Humphrey had declined to discuss with her.
Winking at the Brim (Mrs. Bradley) Page 7
