The Secret Passage

by Nina Bawden

  Uncle Abe was looking at her with an odd expression on his face. He said suddenly, “You can give them a home. That’s the most important thing. I know that—after all, you’ve given me one. Oh—I know I’m supposed to be a lodger, but when did I last pay my rent? Tell me that?” He threw out his chest and thumped it with his big fist.

  “Oh—don’t ask silly questions,” Aunt Mabel said. She got up from her chair and started to lay the table for supper, putting down the knives and forks with a lot of unnecessary noise.

  Uncle Abe said, “It’s not a silly question. I owe you a lot of money—money that you need now, for the children.”

  Aunt Mabel took no notice. Her cheeks were rather red and her eyes very bright.

  Uncle Abe cleared his throat and said loudly, “As a matter of fact, I may be able to pay you back sooner than you expect. I’ve got an interview tomorrow, with a man who runs a big Art Gallery in London. He wrote and said he’d like to see some of my stuff.”

  Aunt Mabel smiled. She didn’t often smile, but when she did it was usually at Uncle Abe who reminded her of her young husband who had been drowned at sea. Mr Haggard had been younger than Uncle Abe when he died, but he had been a big, brawny man too, with flaming red hair.

  She said, “In that case, you’d better remember to put on a clean shirt when you get up in the morning. And wash your neck thoroughly and clean your nails. They look as if they could do with it.”

  She spoke to Uncle Abe in the same sharp, almost angry way that she spoke to the children but Uncle Abe didn’t mind because he was used to it.

  *

  John had the bunch of keys fastened to his belt. They were all wearing the dirty old clothes they had worn the day before but they couldn’t get into the passage until Aunt Mabel was out of the house.

  They thought she would never go. Usually she went shopping as soon as breakfast was cleared away but today she had taken it into her head to turn out one of the kitchen cupboards and put clean paper on all the shelves. John and Mary hung around, trying to hurry her up by helping her, but she seemed maddeningly slow, taking down each piece of china from the top shelf and wiping it carefully before she put it back again.

  Mary said, “Aunt Mabel, you really ought to get out in the open air. It’s good for you.”

  From her perch at the top of the step ladder, Aunt Mabel looked down at Mary’s pink face.

  “Well,” she said. “Since when have you been interested in my health, may I ask?”

  John said innocently, “We’ve been thinking you looked a bit peaky, Aunt Mabel.”

  Aunt Mabel gave a funny little snort. I’ll go out when I’m good and ready. Not before. I’ve got a lot to do because it’s Lifeboat Day tomorrow and I shall be busy selling flags.”

  “To pay for the new Lifeboat? The one that’s down on the front, near the pier?”

  Aunt Mabel nodded. “It isn’t fitted out yet, though. We shall need to collect a lot of money.”

  “Will you be out selling flags all day tomorrow?” John asked eagerly. He grinned at Mary, whose eyes shone. They could only get into the passage when Aunt Mabel wasn’t there and even if she went shopping she might easily get back before they did and find out what they were doing. If she was going to be out all day, tomorrow would be a wonderful opportunity.

  “Most of the time, I expect,” Aunt Mabel said. She gave them a small smile. “As a matter of fact, I thought you might like to help …”

  “Oh,” said John and Mary together. Their response was hardly enthusiastic and Aunt Mabel looked at their crestfallen faces in surprise. Although she believed they were spoiled, she had almost without realising it, come to think of Mary and John as very helpful children who were usually willing to do things for people. She said, rather crossly, “Well—we’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’m sure I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

  Mary said quickly, “It’s not that we don’t want to, Aunt Mabel. We didn’t mean …”

  “Never mind what you meant,” Aunt Mabel said. “I’m too busy to talk about it now. Run along and play—and take Ben with you. What’s Ben doing?”

  “Sitting with Miss Pin,” John said, with a little sigh.

  *

  Ben had been with Miss Pin for the last hour. She was talking about Aunt Mabel. The oil stove threw a yellow, feathery pattern on the high, dim ceiling; Ben sat close to its lovely warmth, on the leather footstool, and listened. From time to time, he fed the tortoise, Sir Lancelot, with a piece of fresh lettuce.

  Miss Pin was saying, “You should have seen your Aunt Mabel when she was young. She was the prettiest girl in Henstable. Tall and bonny, with long, graceful legs, like a deer. I used to sit here, in this room—it was just after my arthritis had laid hold of me properly—and listen to her, singing in the big garden next door. She sang all day, such sweet, pretty songs, to amuse her little sister. That was your Dear Mamma, Ben. I never saw any two sisters so loving. When your Aunt Mabel was married, your Mamma was her bridesmaid, in a pretty dress of white lace. They asked me to the wedding—such a pretty card, with gold bells all over it. Of course I couldn’t go. Even if it hadn’t been for my arthritis, it wouldn’t have been Safe. I daren’t leave Papa’s treasure, you see. I’d promised him I would guard it always. But your Aunt Mabel came in to see me afterwards and brought me a piece of wedding cake. I’ve still got it somewhere—in that old chest in the corner, I think. She was wearing such a pretty dress …”

  “Get onto the sad bit,” Ben said. He was much more interested in hearing how Mr Haggard’s ship had gone down in a great storm in the Pacific Ocean, than he was in the dress Aunt Mabel was wearing when she got married.

  Miss Pin frowned. “Don’t be impatient, boy. All in good time. Just fill my kettle first, will you, dear?” She waited while Ben put a kettle on the oilstove and gave her a new one for her lap. Then she put her hat straight on her head, tucked her bright shawl firmly about her, and went on. “For about a year, Ben dear, your Aunt and her nice young husband were happy as the day is long. My Dear Mamma used to say you can only have so much happiness in this life. Your Aunt Mabel had it all—in one short year.”

  She sighed deeply, but Ben knew she was enjoying herself. Like Ben, Miss Pin thought sad things were more interesting than happy ones. She huddled up in her chair, looking like an aging parrot, and went on in a low, trembling voice. “It came to an end so suddenly. That terrible storm at sea—I can see it, Ben. The great, purple waves breaking over the ship, the fierce winds buffeting it, the poor sailors … The storm only lasted about an hour, but long before it was over, all was lost. They sent out S.O.S. messages, but there was no ship near enough to help them. The ship broke up completely, and went down with the brave Captain standing on the bridge, saluting. The crew took to the boats, but no lifeboat could last in that sea. No one was saved except the ship’s cat who came floating ashore at some island or other, riding on an old plank and miaowing like a banshee. Just think, Ben! Your poor Aunt had only been married a year.” Miss Pin raised a-corner of her shawl to her eyes as if to wipe away a tear. “Until fourteen years ago, she was the merriest creature you ever saw. Then, suddenly, everything changed. In one month—one short month, Ben, her poor husband died and she lost her little girl. Of course your Mamma was still with her, to comfort her, but she wasn’t there long. She married just after—out of the schoolroom …”

  “Lost what?’ Ben interrupted her in an astonished voice. This was part of the story he hadn’t heard before.” I didn’t know Aunt Mabel had a girl.”

  “Indeed she did. The prettiest little thing. Very delicate, of course—like a little doll. Your Aunt and your Mamma were living in the big house next door—their parents were dead long since, you know—and your Aunt put the dear baby out in her pram while she got ready to go shopping. When she came out, the child was gone.”

  Ben’s eyes were large and round as saucers. He whispered, “Did the Enemy take it? The baby, I mean?”

  M
iss Pin looked at him. There was a queer, sharp look in her boot-button eyes. She said slowly, “I suppose he did, Ben dear. But I shouldn’t have told you. Mrs Haggard will be cross with me.”

  “Her bark is worse than her bite,” Ben said kindly. “But you needn’t worry. I won’t tell her I know.”

  He was going to ask Miss Pin if Aunt Mabel hadn’t looked for her lost baby and why the police hadn’t found it, but just at that moment the door opened a crack and John’s face peered through it.

  He said, in a carrying whisper, “Ben, she’s gone out. Hurry …”

  Ben stood up. “I’ve got to go now, Miss Pin. Thank you for having me,” he said politely.

  “It’s been a pleasure, Mr Mallory,” she said in her queenly way. “I shall be delighted to see you again. Have you still got the little horse?”

  Ben dived into his pocket and brought out some rubber bands, a mint toffee that he had half sucked and put back in its paper, a nail or two and the green horse.

  “What do you call him?” Miss Pin asked.

  “I call him Pin,” Ben said, rather shyly. He was afraid she might not like this.

  But she didn’t seem to mind. Her black eyes snapped and she said, “Guard him well. He is part of my Papa’s Treasure. He will bring you luck.”

  This time, the passage did not seem nearly so dark, nor so long. In case the torch gave out, they had bought a new battery with half a crown John had found in the pocket of his best suit. And Mary had a wet flannel, rolled in a polythene bag and stuffed under her jersey. “We can’t go into someone else’s house with our hands all dirty,” she explained.

  So before they tried to open the door at the head of the stairs, they stood in the cellar of the next door house and solemnly tried to clean up their faces and hands by the light of the torch. The result was rather streaky and the flannel looked very black indeed. Mary put it back in the polythene bag and left it by the cellar steps. Then she ran up to stand behind John while he tried to open the door.

  It wasn’t as quick and easy a business as they had expected. There were a great many keys in the big bunch, but none of them seemed to fit. John didn’t say anything, but his face began to lose its cheerful expression and became determined and sad as he went on, trying one key after another.

  “We could saw the door down,” Ben suggested. “There’s an old saw in our cellar.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Mary said crossly. “You can’t damage someone else’s house. You’d be a kind of burglar.”

  “Well, we are burglars, aren’t we?” Ben said, looking at her with such an innocent-pretending smile on his face that she could have pushed him down the stairs.

  She set her lips and said, “Not really. I mean, we’re not going to steal anything. And it isn’t as if anyone lived here. We can’t be doing any harm.”

  John said in a despairing voice, “There’s no point in talking about it because it doesn’t look as if we’re going to get in.”

  Suddenly, he threw the bunch of keys away from him and they landed with a crash in the middle of the cellar floor. He stumped past Mary and Ben to pick them up and then stood, staring in front of him with misery written all over his face.

  Mary went down to him. “Have you tried them all?” she asked. It made her feel sad inside to see John looking so unhappy. She knew that although she wanted to get inside the house, she didn’t want it as badly as John did. She put her hand on his arm and he looked at her with a shaky little smile and said, “It’s horrid, isn’t it? But I suppose it was nice thinking we might be able to see inside. It was better than nothing.”

  Ben said, from the top of the stairs, “But the door’s not locked at all!”

  They looked up and saw a crack of light at the top of the steps. The crack widened and they saw Ben’s figure outlined against the crack from the opening door.

  “But it was locked. I’m sure it was locked,” John cried.

  “Well, it isn’t now,” Ben shouted back impatiently. “Come on. It’s your old house, John. Don’t you want to go first?”

  John made a funny, choking sound in his throat and was up the stairs in two long leaps. He rushed through the door but once he was over the threshold he suddenly stopped, so that Ben bumped into him.

  “Ouch,” he said.

  John turned on him. “Ssh. Don’t make such a noise.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Ben grumbled. “I banged myself on the nobbles of your spine. You’re so thin” He was rubbing his poor nose and his eyes were watering.

  “Sorry,” John said. “But I just … I just feel we shouldn’t rush and shout and bang about. The … the house mightn’t like it. It’s been shut up so long that it isn’t used to a lot of noise …”

  He had such a solemn look on his face that Mary and Ben did as he said, walking behind him on tiptoe and speaking in whispers. And, as a matter of fact, once they had come out of the ice-cold, bare old kitchen into which the cellar door had opened, they walked quietly and spoke in hushed whispers quite naturally.

  It was such a very splendid house. It was cold as a tomb and dark because most of the curtains were drawn but once their eyes got used to the dimness they could see that the rooms were full of beautiful things. There were deep, soft carpets on the floor; in the wide hall there was even a carpet hanging on the wall, fine and soft as silk and patterned with glowing red and gold colours. There were gold cabinets full of delicate china birds and shepherdesses and shelves that reached up to the ceilings full of old, beautiful books, and statues standing in the hall and on slender, marble columns in the big drawing room, and pictures—pictures on all the walls. Some of them were small and full of light, dancing colours and some were large and dark, in heavy carved gold frames. There was a picture of a boy in a dark velvet suit holding a dove on his wrist that Mary felt she could look at for ever and ever, and one of a man in a great, scarlet cloak, sitting on a proud, white horse. John stood in front of this picture for a long time. “The man’s eyes are so sad,” he said. “It makes me feel funny—sort of sad and happy at the same time.”

  They went into all the rooms downstairs and then climbed to the first floor up a wide, curving staircase. The bedrooms were all very big and full of pictures like the rooms downstairs and had high, old-fashioned beds with curtains hanging round them. Ben tugged at one of the curtains and a little shower of dust fell. “No one’s slept here for ages,” he said.

  “Of course they haven’t,” Mary said. “Mr Reynolds—the old man the house belongs to—hasn’t been here for years.”

  “Two years,” John said. “That’s what Aunt Mabel told me. Can you imagine anyone having a lovely house like this and all these pictures and just leaving it?” He stared round wonderingly at the room they were in, which was very pretty with blue, velvet curtains at the windows and a black and gold cabinet with glass doors that had a collection of small ornaments inside. Ben went up to the cabinet and pressed his nose against the glass. “They’re like Miss Pin’s,” he said. “Look Mary—there’s a little horse like mine, it’s exactly the same colour.”

  “It looks the same,” Mary agreed. “But it can’t be, quite. These must be very valuable things. That’s why they’re all locked up.”

  “My horse is valuable too,” Ben muttered mutinously. “And I think he’s prettier,” He took out Pin and fondled him lovingly.

  “He is pretty,” Mary said consolingly. “But he can’t be so precious. Otherwise Miss Pin wouldn’t have given him to you.”

  Ben said nothing but scowled at her fiercely and stumped up the next flight of stairs, glowering and dragging his feet.

  There was a bathroom on the next floor with a big marble washstand and an enormous bath that had four gold lion’s paws for feet. There were more bedoroms, but they were not so big and grand as the ones on the first floor, and the furniture was plainer. At the corner of the landing there was a door; John opened it and they saw a narrow flight of stairs, curving up round and round, as if it led up a tower. There was n
o carpet on the stairs and though the wall had been painted, it must have been a very long time ago because the paint was peeling off and there were holes in the plaster; in one place a big piece had fallen down and the laths were showing through. They climbed up, round and round, until the backs of their legs felt tired. Then, quite suddenly, the stairway took a final twist and they found themselves standing in a pool of brilliant sunlight that made them blink.

  “It’s the attic,” John cried in a high, excited voice.

  They were at the very top of the house, in a big, long room with sloping ceilings and a wide window through which the dusty shafts of sunlight streamed. It was a bare, neglected place; there was worn, green lino on the floor and several panes of glass were missing from the windows. The corners of the ceiling were grey with cobwebs. There was a dusty chest standing under the window and against one wall there was an old brass bedstead. It had a thin mattress that was half hidden by a red silk shawl with bright coloured birds embroidered on it. The shawl had been arranged carefully over the mattress as if to cover it up as much as possible.

  Mary stared and stared at the bedstead. Her breath came very fast and she was suddenly so excited that she could hardly speak.

  She said in a choking voice, “That must be the bed Aunt Mabel was talking about. The one she and mother used to play on. Do you remember? She told us about it in the train—she said it might still be here.”

  “I wonder,” John said. “I wonder …” He went up to the bed and touched the silk shawl. It made him feel queer to think of his mother and Aunt Mabel being young and playing games on this old bed. His face was very grave. He said, “Perhaps no one has been up here since Aunt Mabel went away. That would be years and years …”

  “Fourteen years,” Ben said suddenly.

  “How do you know?” Mary asked.

  Ben shrugged his shoulder. “I just do.”

  Mary and John looked at each other. They saw Ben was annoyed about something so it was no good trying to make him explain how he knew.