“There’s the beech tree!” he said. “What’s the matter, Tim?”
For Timothy had stopped dead and so had Absolom and they were trembling. “Look!” whispered Timothy. “Under the tree!”
The great tree stood full in the beams of the moon, so strong and glorious and yet so pale and unearthly in the strange light that Robert trembled too and for just a moment he thought he saw something under the tree,
LION TOR
2O7
a man, strong and pale like the tree, but only a man to the waist. He blinked and saw only the moonbeams under the tree. But Timothy saw more. He saw the bent head and the noble bearded face, and the hand raised that they might listen to the echoes of the music. He heard the echoes fading away and when they vanished so had the man. Yet the three of them stood trembling for a full five minutes, looking at the place where he had been.
“Who was he?” whispered Robert at last.
“He was Pan,” said Timothy.
“Who?” asked Robert.
“Pan. The man from the garden of the fountain,” and he began to cry.
“What are you crying about?” asked Robert.
“He’s gone!” sobbed Timothy.
“Crybaby!” mocked Robert. “And the man from the garden of the fountain is only a statue. It was just moonbeams we saw.”
Timothy did not remind him of the music they had followed, because he was swallowing his tears and could not speak. He turned blindly away and Robert took his hand, not unkindly. “Come on,” he said. “We know where we are now. We’re nearly home.”
They went slowly down the path, so tired that they could scarcely drag one foot after the other, and because they were tired they felt very dejected, and because they were dejected they ceased to be wary. If it had not been for Absolom’s warning growl they would have
208 LINNETS AND VALERIANS
fallen into the trap, but when he growled they looked up and stopped still in a sort of despair, for down below them in the lane that ran under the manor-house wall were Emma Cobley, Tom Biddle and the cat Frederick, coming to meet them.
“And we haven’t got our swords!” whispered Timothy.
“Let’s get away into the wood,” said Robert.
They turned to the right and there in the moonlight was a big fat woman, Eliza Lawson, getting sticks, and the bulldog was with her. They looked to the left and there was William Lawson with his face bandaged up, as though he had been very badly stung indeed. He saw them and shouted and brandished his knobbly stick, and then pandemonium broke out. Eliza with the bulldog came running from one side of the wood and William Lawson from the other, and from down below came Frederick, Emma and Tom Biddle, and it was surprising how quickly these two old people moved, even Tom Biddle on his sticks.
“The beech tree!” gasped Timothy.
It was not far behind them and they ran back to it. They climbed over the great tree roots and scrambled up to the first low-growing branch, Robert handing Absolom up to Timothy. Then they climbed higher until they were well beyond a tall man’s reach. And then they stopped, clinging to the trunk of the tree like limpets to a rock. They had been only just in time.
LION TOR 209
When they leapt in among the tree roots the bulldog’s teeth had been only six inches from Robert’s heels.
Looking down they knew they were safe. Their enemies were all around the tree but they could not get beyond the outer circle of the tree roots. The bulldog and Frederick kept leaping up and down furiously, but it was as though they leapt against some invisible wall which every time threw them back, growling and yowling with fury and frustration. The four humans went around and around and tried from every side but they could not get through either.
“You young varmints!” shouted William Lawson, shaking his stick at them. “Once let me get me hands on yee, and I’ll give yee such a hiding as yee won’t forget in a hurry! Setting them bees on me!”
Robert was feeling so brave that he shouted back, “And what were you doing, William Lawson, making that booby trap in the wood?”
“That weren’t no booby trap,” shouted William Law- son, “that’s Devil’s Ditch, what’s been there as long as the wood itself.”
“Not hidden with leaves and with sharp stones and slimy things down at the bottom,” Robert shouted back.
They had to shout to be heard above the noise the animals were making, yet when Emma Cobley now spoke her quiet voice pierced through the din like a sharp knitting needle through paper and the dogs and
210 LINNETS AND VALERIANS
Frederick were suddenly silent. She had been standing with bent head, moving the point of the stick she carried thoughtfully here and there in the beech mast, but now she looked around. “Shame on you, Will, to scare little children,” she said, and then she looked up at them. “Come down, pretty dears. We mean you no harm. Tis time you were in bed. Come down and Emma Cobley will show you the way home.”
“We are very comfortable where we are, thank you,” said Robert with dignity.
“We can’t stay here all night, Emma,” muttered Eliza Lawson. “What’s around this tree?”
“Power,” said Emma briefly.
“Ain’t you got power, Emma?” asked Tom Biddle. “Wait,” said Emma, and she went on moving her stick in the beech mast. She was making triangles and circles with the point of her stick, weaving them in and out of each other in an invisible pattern.
“She’s making a magic,” whispered Robert, but his whisper was caught short by a yawn. Timothy was yawning too and rubbing his eyes. “Let’s get down,” he murmured. “Let’s go to bed.” And suddenly Absolom, half asleep already, slipped, and would have fallen out of the tree if Robert had not grabbed him.
“Hold on!” Robert whispered urgently to Timothy. “Don’t go to sleep. Hold on.”
They held on but their heads were rocking on their shoulders and whether the power of the tree would
LION TOR
211
have proved stronger than Emma Cobley’s magic, or whether Emma would have won, there is no knowing, for suddenly there was a shrill cry of “Tuwhit tuwhooJ” and a shout from the wood below.
The boys’ heads jerked up, and down on the path they saw Uncle Ambrose with Hector on his shoulder, and Ezra with his shepherd’s crook.
“Ah-h-h-h!” roared Ezra like an angry lion when he saw the boys and their plight, and he stumped up the hill at a great pace, brandishing his crook. Hector took off from Uncle Ambrose’s shoulder with a great whirring of wings and came flapping down like an avenging angel upon the heads of the enemy. Uncle Ambrose neither shouted nor flapped but his stride lengthened and his face was very grim. “Ah-h-h-h!” roared Ezra again, laying about the legs of the enemy with his crook while they ducked and cringed to avoid Hector’s great flapping wings and terrible beak.
Uncle Ambrose’s strides had now brought him upon the scene of action and he plucked Ezra off William Lawson with as much ease as though he was lifting a coat off a peg on the wall. “That will do, Ezra. There is no need for violence. Hector, that will do. Return to my shoulder. Good evening, Miss Cobley. Good evening, Mrs. Lawson. I fear you are suffering from toothache, Mr. Lawson. I offer my condolences. Good evening, Mr. Biddle. A nice evening for a stroll.”
Then he walked straight through the invisible wall
212 LINNETS AND VALERIANS
that had kept out the others and standing among the tree roots looked up at his nephews and Absolom. “Come down at once,” he said sternly.
“I’ve been telling the pretty dears to come down,” said Emma Cobley sweetly.
She was the only one of the enemy who remained quite unabashed. The other three and the bulldog were slinking away but she stood where she was, her hands folded on top of her stick, her head a little to one side like a listening bird, her little face inside the black bonnet alight with respectful amusement.
&
nbsp; “Good evening, Miss Cobley,” said Uncle Ambrose again, and once more he lifted his hat politely. But he did not return it to his head. He stood with it poised while his deep fierce gaze met Emma Cobley’s bright stiletto glance. For a full minute they fought with their eyes only and then Emma dropped a charming old- fashioned curtsy. Uncle Ambrose bowed and replaced his hat and she turned away with immense dignity. Her back view as she walked slowly down the path toward the lane was that of Queen Victoria.
11
Strawberry Jam
Twenty minutes later Uncle Ambrose, Ezra, Hector, Robert, Timothy, Nan and Absolom were together in the library. Nan had come running down in her dressing gown as soon as she heard them arrive. The room was bright and warm, for Ezra had put a match to the fire because Timothy was shivering. Sitting on Uncle Ambrose’s lap in the big armchair he was still shivering.
“I wasn’t afraid,” he explained. “But I’m hungry.” Robert looked at Uncle Ambrose with desperate and pleading hope but his relative was not to be beguiled. “Gruel only,” he said sternly to Ezra. “You may put' sugar in it. Sugar, I understand, is good for shock.” He
2x3
214 LINNETS AND VALERIANS
turned to Robert as Ezra left the room. “Now then, Robert. I must know exactly what you have been doing this afternoon and why you are a good three hours late for preparation.”
Robert began at first to tell the story rather haltingly, for he was almost as tired as Timothy, but after a few minutes he suddenly realized what a wonderful storyteller he was. Sitting there on a low stool, with his hands held out to the comfort of the wood fire, he thought he was like one of the French troubadours who went from court to court telling their marvelous tales. His tiredness vanished, his voice deepened to a fine vibrating musical note, and he lavished such a wealth of descriptive detail on the booby trap in the wood that he had got no further than their heroic leap across it when Ezra returned with the steaming bowls of gruel. Ezra’s pointed ears were standing out almost horizontally from the sides of his head and noticing this phenomenon Uncle Ambrose said, “You may sit down, Ezra, and hear this story out to its conclusion.”
“Thank you kindly, sir,” said Ezra, and sat down on the extreme edge of the most uncomfortable chair he could find, his hands placed one on each knee and his blue eyes fixed on Robert’s face.
The gruel was for the moment too hot to eat and Robert’s clear voice once more took up the narrative. He, like all children, could use exquisite tact when telling a true story to grown-ups. He knew one must not ask too much of their credulity. Things are seen and
STRAWBERRY JAM 215
heard by the keen senses of the young which are not experienced by the failing powers of their elders, but as powers fail, pride increases and the elders do not like to admit this. Therefore, when told by the young of some occurrence outside the range of their own now most limited experience they read them a lecture on the iniquity of telling lies. This can lead to unpleasantness all around, and so the tactful Robert did not tell Uncle Ambrose of the way in which Frederick, the bulldog and William Lawson had expanded to an enormous size when they bounced out of the cave, nor how they had concertinaed back to small stature when the bees were after them. Nor did he speak of the ghost they had seen climbing up to the valley beneath the Lion’s head. Still less did he mention the music Timothy had heard or the man he himself had seen under the tree. He was also silent about the invisible wall around the tree and the sleepiness that had come upon them when Emma Cobley had drawn patterns with her stick. But everything else he related at length, even describing the wall painting in the cave which was like Lady Alicia’s tapestry, and when he had finished he ate his gruel.
“Ah-h-h-h!” growled Ezra, low and angrily.
“Humph,” said Uncle Ambrose and he looked very grim. Then he turned to Ezra. “This inhabited cave with the painted walls of which the boy speaks,” he said. “Who lives there?”
“Daft Davie,” said Ezra, and he told Uncle Ambrose the story of Daft Davie just as he had told it to Nan.
216 LINNETS AND VALERIANS
Robert and Timothy looked at each other, aware now that their ghost was not a ghost after all, and Nan looked down at her lap, uncomfortable because she had told no one of her own meeting with Daft Davie. Now she thought she ought to and looking up she bravely did so, looking only at Uncle Ambrose because she dared not meet the accusing eyes of Robert and Timothy. They always told things to each other if they could.
“I couldn’t tell about it before,” she said pleadingly to Uncle Ambrose. “I couldn’t even tell Robert.”
“Why not?” asked Uncle Ambrose.
“Because I don’t think Daft Davie wants to be visited. He seemed frightened even of me. He’s dumb, you see.” She paused. “I liked him very much.”
Uncle Ambrose raised inquiring eyebrows at Ezra. “I reckon there ain’t no harm in Daft Davie,” Ezra said. “He’s goodhearted, and keeps his place tidy and clean, I’m told. No harm couldn’t come to our children in that cave. But the other. My stars!”
“You hear?” said Uncle Ambrose to the children. “You must not again visit that cave on the summit of the tor. William Lawson is not a pleasant character and has the reputation of being a poacher. There are rabbits and pheasants in the wood, which is the property of the Manor. As for the booby trap I do not for a moment think it was intended for you, but it must have been intended for somebody and was a nasty piece of work. What those four were doing down by the beech tree
STRAWBERRY JAM 217
at such a late hour I do not know, but I suspect they had come out to set traps or something of that sort. I sympathize with you in your flight up the tree but I do not suppose they would have done you any harm.”
Hector said “Hick!” very suddenly and loudly, ejecting among other oddments some hairpins which he could only have culled from the head of Eliza Lawson.
“Go to the Parthenon, Hector,” said Uncle Ambrose with annoyance. Then he leaned forward, his fingertips together, looked at the children very gravely over the top of his spectacles and delivered judgment. “Nevertheless,” he said, “I am responsible to your father for your safety and I feel it my duty to put the wood, as well as the summit of the tor, out of bounds. You must give me your promise that you will not go to either place again.”
There was an appalled silence. Not go to the wood anymore? Not to the top of Lion Tor? That meant no more adventures. And it meant no conclusion to the one big mysterious adventure in which they all felt themselves engaged. They looked at each other in horror and then they looked at Ezra, to find him looking at Uncle Ambrose.
“Our children would be safe with me, sir,” he said. “There won’t no harm come to ’em neither in the wood nor on the tor if I be with ’em.”
Nan knew already that Uncle Ambrose and Ezra had not only a great affection for each other but also great respect for each other’s judgment. They looked at each
2l8 LINNETS AND VALERIANS
other now steadily and gravely for a few moments and then Uncle Ambrose said, “Very well, Ezra. You hear, children? You may go where you choose in Ezra’s company.”
There was a great sigh of relief. Adventures were likely to be slowed down by Ezra’s wooden leg but they would at least be possible. Then Uncle Ambrose’s eyebrows suddenly beetled alarmingly. “But woe betide you,” he said, “if you are ever again late for preparation. Now go to bed.”
The next day was a warm blue day with the smell of hay and flowers coming on a light wind, for in the churchyard and the fields around the village the grass was ready for cutting and the hedges were festooned with roses and honeysuckle. Uncle Ambrose entered the kitchen as they were having breakfast and surveyed the heavy-eyed children languidly spooning porridge from their bowls. Only Betsy was bright-eyed and alert, but even she did not appear quite so attractive as usual because as the only one not suffering from a hangover she was looking ver
y smug. “ ’Morning, Uncle Ambrose,” she said. “Lessons?” Smiling at him with her head on one side she took off her bib and folded it up, as though yearning to run to the library instantly.
But Uncle Ambrose, surveying her over the top of his spectacles, did not allow the twitch at the corners of his mouth to develop further. “If there’s one thing I dislike more than a child it’s a roguish child,” he said
STRAWBERRY JAM 219
sternly. “Your milk is not finished I see. Replace your bib. There will be no lessons this morning.”
There was a silence of utter stupefaction.
“No lessons?” gasped Robert.
“No lessons,” repeated Uncle Ambrose. “But not a holiday. By no means. What have you done to deserve a holiday? I wish you to assist Ezra in the picking and hulling of the strawberries, which are now ripe.” He looked at Ezra. “You have, Ezra, I understand, dedicated this day to the making of strawberry jam for these undeserving children. I do not wish you to labor alone.” Actually Ezra had dedicated this day to the bliss of lonely gardening, but his understanding always kept pace with that of Uncle Ambrose whenever it could. A moment’s consideration showed him that a day spent in the safety and fresh air of the garden would be better for the children in their present state than either lessons or adventure. “Very good, sir,” he said cheerfully. “The strawberries it shall be.”
“No cooking will be required today,” said Uncle Ambrose airily. “Merely cold meat and salad and so on. I hope to spend the day writing in my library but shall be available for consultation if required.”
He left the kitchen with a light and happy tread, for it wasn’t often these days that he could devote many consecutive hours to writing, but Ezra sighed. The gentry always seemed to think that cold meat and potato salad and orange jelly fell already chilled from heaven. They failed to grasp the fact that meat has to be hot