‘Cut all that,’ said Thornton. ‘You came in by the staircase window, I suppose?’
‘Yes, sir, up the ivy.’
‘Well, I’ll let you out – this way.’
They went out by the French window. Lucilla turned to go upstairs, but someone was coming down. A light at the top of the stairs. She backed out into the open doorway of the kitchen, and Mr Tombs passed within a yard of her and into the drawing-room. She heard Mr Thornton’s footstep on the gravel and Mr Tombs’s voice.
‘Hallo, Thornton. What’s up?’
‘Only a burglar,’ said Thornton. ‘I’ve just seen him out.’
‘Let him off, eh?’
‘Oh well,’ said Thornton, ‘you can’t be too hard on a poor beggar like that. What’s he to do? The very Church itself says you may steal rather than starve.’
‘Yes,’ said Tombs, ‘what is a chap to do? Let’s have a cigar and you tell me all about it. Quite an adventure for quiet Cedar Court.’
‘All right,’ said the Mr Thornton who was called Bill. ‘I only hope we haven’t roused the house. I’ll get my cigar case.’
As he passed Lucilla’s door he breathed, ‘All right – he’s gone.’
So he never knew that Lucilla had been prepared to defend him with the poker.
CHAPTER XXXI
The last chapter divides itself naturally, like an old-fashioned sermon, into four headings and a conclusion. And before entering on the first section I must premise that the seventh of October was a day of days – a day when Spanish castles came thundering down to dust; when new Aladdin palaces reared their stately domes and minarets, as it were, between tea and dinner; a day when truths were told and secrets revealed; when new adventures entered on old enterprises; and when, in fact, the world of Cedar Court was caught up, shaken in a bag, and tumbled out again. Or, if you prefer the image, Fate, weary of the consistent good luck of Jane and Lucilla, gave a sharp jerk to the kaleidoscope, and behold! the entire pattern was transformed.
First came the affair of the Thorntons. They had been out to a concert the night before – had said they might be late or might stay away all night, They had stayed away all night. Nor did they return next morning. Mr Tombs, on the other hand, contrary to his usual custom, did stay at home. He escorted Lucilla on her flower-gatherings, and listened kindly to her wonders as to what had become of the Thorntons.
‘I hope they won’t stay away two nights,’ said Lucilla; ‘we wanted to have another little dance.’
Mr Tombs owned that dancing was delightful and asked for the first waltz. He stayed with Lucilla while she arranged flowers in the shop. It was Gladys’s ‘day off’.
Miss Antrobus devoted herself wholly to Jane, who found it interesting to explore the mind of a young woman so different from herself and Lucilla. ‘I wonder,’ Miss Antrobus said, after a long talk about the aims of art, and about life being real, life being earnest, ‘I wonder whether you’d let the other cottage to me – the one Mr Dix doesn’t have?’
‘Oh,’ said Jane, quite hurt by this sudden defection of a new found friend and always satisfactory P.G., ‘aren’t you happy with us?’
‘I’m sure I should be, very happy,’ said Miss Antrobus, ‘but one never knows what may turn up; and even if I stayed here I should like to have the cottage, and to pay rent for it, of course. Would thirty shillings a week –’
‘I should think so,’ said Jane forlornly; ‘but your going will rather break up the happy home, won’t it?’
‘How nice of you to say that! But it won’t really. And I want to go in for gardening, and living the simple life.’
Meeting just before luncheon, Jane and Lucilla compared notes. ‘I feel as if I were being chaperoned – by Mr Tombs,’ said Lucilla.
‘You’re right,’ said Jane, with sudden conviction; ‘that’s what Miss Antrobus has been doing to me.’
They were all together in the drawing-room – and the Thorntons still hadn’t come – when the blow fell. Forbes, looking thoroughly scandalised, announced:
‘The police-inspector, please, ma’am – to see the lady of the house.’
And before she could back out of the room the inspector had squeezed himself past her into it.
‘Sorry to inconvenience you, miss,’ he said, breathing heavily, ‘but from information received, I understand there’s three parties under the name of Thornton living here.’
‘Yes,’ said Jane.
‘Well, miss, the fact is they’re wanted. I should wish to break it gently, but the fact is there’ve been a lot of burglaries, and – I’m very sorry it should happen to friends of yours – but I’m sure you’re innocent as the lamb unborn, miss.’
‘Of course we are,’ said Lucilla impatiently, ‘and so are the Thorntons. There was a burglar here a few days ago, but he didn’t take anything, and Mr Thornton let him go.’
‘That is so, Inspector.’ Mr Tombs confirmed the statement, while Jane looked reproachful and Miss Antrobus sympathetic.
‘That may be, sir,’ said the policeman. ‘Birds of a feather would naturally assist each other – even when swell cracksmen, as these Thorntons certainly are. Very sorry for unpleasantness, miss, but I’ve got the warrants both for arrest and search.’
‘They aren’t here,’ said Jane.
‘But their apartments are,’ said the large policeman. ‘Perhaps the gentleman would show us the way? One room kept locked? I daresay we shall find a way to deal with that. Excuse me, ladies.’
Well, there was no doubt about it. The charming Thorntons – so kind, so considerate, so well-read, so accomplished – had been just burglars. (Well, not just burglars – they had been other things as well, as Jane and Lucilla insisted on remembering.) They had used the cases of ’cello and violin and double bass to carry their booty into the house, and the locked room to conceal it in. The police had quite a rich harvest in the things the Thorntons had had to leave behind. They had not been able to take away all their plunder, but they had taken themselves away. Quite successfully – to the secret joy of Lucilla and Jane.
‘But it’s horrible!’ said Lucilla to Mr Tombs, pacing distracted in the garden. ‘I shall never believe in anyone again. And what will become of them? And what will become of them? They’re sure to be caught some time, even if they get away safely this time.’
‘Well,’ said Mr Tombs, pulling his moustache, ‘the fact is … Can you keep a secret?’
‘Yes, if I want to,’ said Lucilla making a sound distinction.
‘Well, I don’t think they will be caught. They’ve got enough money to get away – by different routes – and they’re frightfully clever at disguises. They’ll meet again in Rhodesia. And I’ve given them a letter to a chap I know. He’ll put them into something. They’ll be all right.’
Lucilla turned and caught him by the arms just above the elbow.
‘You’re an angel,’ she said, shaking him gently. ‘I didn’t know men could be so sensible. Why, any girl could see they weren’t the sort of people to be burglars unless they couldn’t possibly help it. Why, we might any of us have been driven to it – only we have been so lucky!’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Tombs, ‘that’s what I said to myself. “There, but for the grace of God, goes little Arthur.” ’ He took off the blue spectacles and looked at her.
‘Why, you’re that chauffeur!’ said Lucilla, and she sat down suddenly on a stump.
‘I am,’ said he; ‘and I am also Arthur Panton, your defaulting trustee and guilty guardian. That’s a secret you really must keep. I made quite a lot of money in a very short time in South Africa, and I’m going back to make some more. But I had to come and see that you were all right. I had you both so horribly on my conscience. But now I see that you are all right I must be off – to make some more money, so as to pay all the people I owe money to and be something like an honest chap again.’
‘I won’t tell anyone – not even Jane,’ said Lucilla earnestly.
‘Mind you don’t,’ said he.
‘And now I’m off. My bag is packed, and my bark is on the shore, and the taxi is on its way to fetch me away from Cedar Court and from you. Haven’t you a kind word to say to me before I go?’
Lucilla tried vainly for a kind word.
‘I think you look awfully nice without your spectacles,’ was the best she could do.
‘I shall look much nicer when I come back to whitewash myself – pay all my creditors, you know. You’ll be glad to see me then?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Lucilla.
‘Then good-bye. Guardians don’t count,’ said Mr Tombs, and the next moment Lucilla was watching his tweed back disappearing in the shrubbery and realising that she had again been kissed; and this time not on her hand.
That was thirdly.
Fourthly occurred after a breathless tea, where the Thorntons had been talked over – very gently – and Mr Tombs’s sudden departure had been attributed by Miss Antrobus to an objection, natural in a shy man, to being mixed up with such a shady business as a house where burglars were harboured. Presently Miss Antrobus withdrew to inspect the cottage. Lucilla and Jane had hardly exchanged three words before John Rochester burst in upon them with fourthly. And fourthly really was a facer. He came in with a letter in his hand, and he did not say, ‘Good afternoon,’ or ‘How do you do,’ or any of the things that one does say when there is nothing the matter. He was very pale – not at all a becoming pallor, Lucilla thought – and he said straight away – like that:
‘Look here – that uncle of mine –’
‘Not dead?’ said Jane.
‘No, I wish he – no, of course I don’t mean that. But he oughtn’t to be at large. At least, he oughtn’t to be trusted with houses – he doesn’t know when they’re well off.’
‘He’s going to turn us out,’ said Jane. ‘Oh, I knew it was all too good to last. I told Lucy so – didn’t I, Lucy?’
‘Only out of Cedar Court,’ said Rochester. ‘Just the house. You can still have the garden and the garden room and the stables and cottages. He’s lent the house now to a Theosophist Brotherhood. It’s exactly like him. And he’s somewhere in Thibet himself, so I can’t reason with him.’
‘Oh well,’ said Jane slowly, ‘we’ve had a lovely time. We shall have to go back to Hope Cottage, that’s all. I suppose it will be a lark going back to the dear little house.’
She cast one glance round the room and fled – to collapse in tears on the stairs.
Lucilla remained. ‘I think it’s a great deal too bad,’ she said. ‘Why let us have it at all?’
‘Ah, why?’ said Rochester. ‘But all’s not lost yet. I believe really you’ll do better without the paying guests – they’re such an awful risk, aren’t they? I say – do, do be an angel and send Jane to the library for something. I must see her alone. Do, do, do!’
But when she found Jane in tears on the stairs it seemed better to Lucilla that Mr Rochester himself should persuade her to the library if he wanted her there. Lucilla herself trailed miserably after Miss Antrobus. Sympathy from someone she must have – about Cedar Court. Nobody wanted Lucilla in libraries; the two who might have wanted her had both gone over the seas, and – Heigh-ho, but it was a cold world!
But Miss Antrobus was full of plans as well as of sympathy. The three girls could all live in the cottage; it would be great fun, and not nearly so trying to the nerves as the responsibility of a big house. They sat on the edge of the sink in the bare kitchen of the large cottage and laid the foundation of sober Spanish cottages.
And Rochester had taken Jane’s wet hands and pulled them from her face, and put his arm round her, and taken her into the library and shut the door. Jane instantly buried her face against a leather sofa-cushion.
‘Don’t cry, Jane,’ he said; ‘don’t cry – don’t. You haven’t really lost anything that matters. You’ve got Lucilla, and you’ve got Gladys, and you’ve got Dix – the super-gardener – and Miss Antrobus, who really isn’t half a bad sort; and you’ve got me, Jane, if you’ll have me.’
‘Oh, don’t!’ said Jane, with her face in the sofa-cushion. ‘Oh, I wish you wouldn’t!’
‘Don’t you like me to hold your poor little cold hands? But let me hold them just a minute, Jane. You know when you tried that charm, on St John’s Eve, and lighted the candles, and wore the wreath of yellow flowers, and said the spell, and said, “Let me now my true love see”?’
‘Yes,’ said Jane, suddenly sitting up and looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. ‘I suppose Lucilla’s been chattering. Silly goose!’
‘What did you see?’
‘Never mind,’ said Jane.
‘No, but do – do tell me – darling Jane.’
‘I saw you,’ said Jane, at bay – ‘and that’s why I can’t let you hold my hands or – or – hold my hands. I can’t have anything to do with you. It’s not right. It’s uncanny. It says in the Bible, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” It was witchcraft – and I saw your face – I don’t know how you guessed it, but I did see you. A sort of vision of you. Your face seemed to be suspended about a yard from the ground. The rest of you wasn’t there. And I’ve thought about it, and thought about it, and of course it was magic – and most awfully wrong. And if I were to – to let you call me Jane and all that, it would be going on with the wrongness.’
‘There wasn’t any magic at all about it,’ he said slowly. ‘You saw me because I was there, stooping down peering through the bushes to see what the lights were at that hour, in that lonely wood. It was just flesh-and-blood me, not a vision at all. It wasn’t magic, but accident – the most blessed accident that ever –’
‘Really – truly? It wasn’t a vision – you were there – your real self?’
‘My real self,’ said Rochester.
‘Oh dear!’ said Jane, on a deep breath of relief. ‘How perfectly splendid! I do wish I’d known before, though.’
She faced him with her own inimitable look of elfish mischief and innocent candour.
‘Do you mean – Oh, Jane – I may call you Jane?’
‘Yes, if you want to.’
‘And I may hold your hands.’
‘You’ve been holding them all the time,’ said Jane.
‘And you –’
‘Don’t ask any more questions,’ she said, jumping up. ‘Let me go and wash my face and do my hair.’
‘Jane – you do love me – you’ll marry me?’
‘Not for ever so long,’ said Jane. ‘I’ve got to make my way in the world first.’
She got her hands away and reached the door. But he caught her there.
‘Jane, darling – just one – only one.’
‘Not with this dirty face,’ said Jane firmly. ‘Oh – I say, which is the secret door?’
‘The secret door? Oh – we’ve got that open now …’
‘And this door too,’ said Jane, opening it, and fled.
At the stair foot she collided with Lucilla, who looked from her to Rochester, and said, ‘Oh …’
‘Yes,’ said Rochester.
THE BEGINNING
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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published in 1922 by Hutchinson & Co.
First published with a new introduction in Great Britain by Penguin Books 2018
Introduction copyright © Penelope Lively, 2018
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The moral right of the copyright holders has been asserted
Cover illustration © Martha Rich
ISBN: 978-0-241-98349-2
E. Nesbit, The Lark
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