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they were nothing to these, which looked as though they had been here for a hundred years, growing more intricate and marvelous all the time.
She got up and smoothed her frock and the bees stopped revolving in the sunbeam and led the way to the stairs. She followed them, going slowly step by step up through the thick curtains of shadows that dropped from some high unseen roof. But there must have been light coming from somewhere for there seemed always a gleam of gold on the bees’ wings. She reached the top of the stairs and the bees led her along a dark landing, then up two steps and along a corridor with rows of doors, and up more steps and along another corridor, and then they stopped before a door that was not quite dark because through a large empty keyhole another sunbeam had thrust as much of itself as it was able to do. In this small beam the bees once more revolved, bathing themselves in the gold, and Betsy lifted the latch of the door and walked in. They followed her and she closed the door behind the four of them.
“What are you doing here?”
The voice was sharply imperious but Betsy was so pleased to hear a human voice again that she did not mind, and it was wonderful to come out into the sunlight of an uncurtained room. Though it was a very strange room. The first thing Betsy noticed was a needlework picture hanging on the wall close to her. It showed men on horseback, with falcons on their wrists, riding through a forest glade toward a town built high
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up on a mountain that rose above the tops of the tallest trees. The town had steep roofs and towers and pinnacles like a cathedral, but was so far away in the sky that it might have been fashioned out of clouds and rainbows. The furniture in the room was old and dark and the dark wavy floor reflected the light like water. The curtains were dim gold and the small shoes of the lady were gold too, and set side by side on a purple velvet footstool.
She was strange as her room, very small and upright in her big carved chair. Her black silk dress was shiny, long and full, and when she moved it rustled and reflected the light just as the floor did. In some places there were slits in the silk as though it were very old and she herself looked old, with a lot of white hair piled up untidily on top of her small head and a nose so thin as to be almost transparent. Her face was bleached as though she was never in the sunshine and her tiny hands looked like claws holding the carved birds on her chair, and so weighed down by their load of rings that Betsy was quite sure she would not be able to lift them however hard she tried. And then suddenly one hand flew up with a flash of diamonds and the fingers gripped Betsy’s shoulder like pincers, the wrinkled eyelids lifted and blue fire shone out from eyes that were as young as Betsy’s. And at that moment the three bees flew out of the open window. For a moment Betsy felt abandoned and then she thought that the bees wouldn’t have left her if it hadn’t been all right.
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"I asked you, child, what are you doing here? Have you no tongue in your head?”
“I am looking for my doll Gertrude,” said Betsy.
“And why should you expect to find your doll Gertrude in my private boudoir?”
“Abednego might have brought her here. Abednego has stolen her.”
“In what circumstances?” asked the lady.
“We came to fetch the beds,” said Betsy. “And I went into the kitchen with Gertrude, and Abednego was sitting on the cupboard and he took her out of my arms and ran away with her and I ran after.”
“I see,” said the lady. “And who are the we who came to fetch the beds?”
“Nan my sister, Robert and Timothy my brothers, Absolom our dog, Ezra, Rob-Roy the pony and the cart. Uncle Ambrose stayed at home but if you are Lady Alicia he presents his compliments.”
“I beg that you will thank him,” said Lady Alicia, “and present mine. I do not know your uncle personally, for I dislike being visited, but I correspond with him on occasions. You may sit down, child, on that chair and describe your Uncle Ambrose to me.”
Betsy hoisted herself onto a chair in front of Lady Alicia and sat with her legs dangling. The sun shone on her rough red curls, and her cotton frock was the color of the new green beech leaves. In the old room she looked very fresh and new and a great deal more beautiful than in actual fact she was. “My Uncle Ambrose,”
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she said, “is the very nicest kind of man. He loves me."
A ripple of something that might have been amusement, or perhaps memory, passed over Lady Alicia’s face and she asked, “He has informed you of the fact?"
Betsy shook her flaming head. “But I know,” she said.
“One does,” agreed Lady Alicia. “But if you return his affection you should inform him of the fact. Not necessarily in words.”
“I’ve told him,” said Betsy, “like this.” And she slipped off her chair, went to Lady Alicia and leaned close to her, fluttering her long eyelashes against the old lady’s cheek. “That’s a butterfly kiss,” she said. “I do it to Uncle Ambrose, Nan and Father. And you. Nobody else. Where’s my doll Gertrude?”
Lady Alicia’s voice was no longer imperious but soft and slightly shaky as she said, “We must summon Abed- nego. But I have lost my silver bell.”
“It’s on top of the bookcase,” said Betsy.
Lady Alicia gave an exclamation of annoyance. “He puts it beyond my reach,” she said querulously. “He does it on purpose.”
“I’ll get it,” said Betsy and climbing up on one of the chairs she brought it down.
“Ring it outside the door,” said Lady Alicia. “Ring it for a long time.”
Betsy did so. It was a small silver bell but it rang out in a marvelous manner, clear and sweet and loud as though it were ten times its size, and echoes woke up in the house and answered it, ringing and ringing away
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and away like birdsong in the wood. “That should fetch him,” said Betsy and came back to Lady Alicia. “Have you any little girls?” she asked, climbing back on her chair.
“No,” said Lady Alicia.
“Little boys?” asked Betsy.
“A long time ago I had one little boy, called Francis,” said Lady Alicia, and her blue eyes were hooded again and once more her hands looked as though she would never be able to lift them from the carved birds.
“Did you lose him?” inquired Betsy with interest.
“Yes,” said Lady Alicia.
“Where did you lose him?”
“On Lion Tor,” said Lady Alicia in a voice dry as dust. “Thirty years ago. He was eight years old.”
“Timothy is eight,” said Betsy.
She was sorry Lady Alicia had this habit of losing things because she could see it made her unhappy, but she did not know how to say so. It was a relief when padding footsteps were heard in the passage and Abed- nego knocked at the door.
“Come in,” said Lady Alicia, unhooding her eyes, and he entered, put his feet together and bowed.
“What have you done with this little girl’s doll?” He straightened, chattering with vexation, but his eyes were piteous. “Abednego, you know quite well that you cannot keep this doll. Go and fetch it.”
He went out, muttering monkey curses under his breath, and from behind he looked about a hundred
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years old. Lady Alicia apologized to Betsy. “You must forgive him, child. This is not so much a case of stealing as of thwarted paternity.”
“What’s that?” asked Betsy.
“When my late husband brought him from Africa to be my page he was a very young monkey and so, you see, parted from his own people he has never had the pleasure of bringing up a family.”
“Did you lose your husband too?” asked Betsy.
“No, he lost himself. He was an explorer. He used to travel all over the world digging up vanis
hed cities. And then he also vanished.”
“Perhaps he’ll turn up,” said Betsy hopefully.
“Not, I think, after twenty-seven years,” said Lady Alicia. She sounded sad but Betsy thought she had got over her husband losing himself in foreign parts a good deal better than she had got over herself mislaying her little boy on Lion Tor.
Abednego returned with Gertrude in the crook of his left arm and advanced toward Betsy with dragging footsteps. He stood in front of her, his eyes hot and angry as well as miserable, but he did not say any more rude things. He took Gertrude out of his cradling left arm with his right hand and held her rosy face briefly against his cheek, and then gave her back to Betsy. She looked up at him and saw that there were two wet tear- tracks smudged down his furry face from his eyes to the corners of his large ugly mouth. He was not weeping now, not in front of her, but he had wept.
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Now Betsy was not an unselfish or even an outstandingly loving child, but she suddenly remembered her father saying good-bye to her before he went away. He had picked her up, holding her with her cheek against his face, and then had put her on Grandmama’s lap and gone out of the room without saying a single word. And then there was the old lady, so heavy and dusty because she had lost her little boy. And now there was Abed- nego. Three times now this strange adult thing had touched her. She was well aware that her feeling for Gertrude was not this thing but something far less admirable, and looking up into Abednego’s face she fought a battle inside herself with the thing that it was, a sort of grabbing thing, and then she held Gertrude out to him. “You have her/' she said.
Abednego stared at her, stupefied.
“My dear, are you giving your doll to Abednego as a permanent gift?” asked Lady Alicia.
“Yes,” said Betsy. “I want him to have Gertrude for his.”
“Abednego, you may take the doll,’’said Lady Alicia. “She is now your doll.”
Abednego snatched Gertrude out of Betsy’s hand and clutched her to the breast of his shabby green velvet coat. His eyes blazing like lamps, and chattering madly, he leapt around the room, to the top of the bookcase and then to the back of Lady Alicia’s chair, from there to the mantelpiece and then to the windowsill. Then he came back to Betsy and stretching out his right hand
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he touched her cheek and her hair, and then gently laid the hand on her chest. His eyes were soft and mild and the excited chattering had changed to crooning. Betsy smiled at him, aware that he loved her now and would always love her.
“Child, you have made a friend,” said Lady Alicia, “and a more valuable one than you realize. Abednego, fetch the tea. We will partake of it the three of us together and then we will play at jackstraws.”
5
The Cave in the Roch
Packing the beds, mattresses and quilts into the little cart and tying them firmly into place with pieces of string, so they would not fall out on the homeward journey, took quite a long time, and they were all so absorbed by it that it was not until the job was finished that Nan said suddenly, “Where’s Betsy?”
There was a moment of consternation and then Nan said, “She’ll be in the wood picking bluebells,” and began to run across the yard. But Ezra ran after her and caught her wrist. “You don’t go into that there wood alone, maid,” he said firmly. “I be coming with you.”
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"Come back, both of you,” called Robert. He had jumped up onto the parapet of the well and was looking very Napoleonic and important, and he spoke so loudly that they obeyed him. “Campaigns must be planned,” he informed them, “and troops deployed in coordinated action. But first of all, where was this child last seen?”
To their shame no one knew but Nan ran back into the kitchen and looked under the table and behind the roller towel that was hanging beside the sink. She never even saw the door in the dark corner that had so mysteriously closed itself behind Betsy, and perhaps would have taken no notice of it if she had, so sure was she that Betsy was in the wood. She ran back to the others and heard Robert asking, “What does this child like doing best?”
“Don’t be so silly, Robert!” she said angrily, for there was no doubt Robert was showing off. “You know perfectly well what she likes doing best. Picking flowers. She’s in the wood.”
“There are flowers in what used to be the garden,” said Robert. “Now then. Ezra, Nan and Absolom will go to the wood, Timothy and I to the garden with Moses Glory Glory Alleluja to show us where to look, and we’ll unharness Rob-Roy and put him in the stable till we come back.”
People who are quite sure what one ought to do are always obeyed, even if what they think one ought to do isn’t what one ought to do, and everyone immediately did what Robert said without further discussion. Robert
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himself, jumping off the well to unharness Rob-Roy, decided he would be a great general. There was probably less money in it than in burglary or the stage but it would please Father.
Nan, Ezra and Absolom set off for the wood, making for the part of it that was directly opposite them across the yard, for that was the way they thought Betsy would have gone. “You see she loves picking flowers,” said Nan again, “and look at those bluebells. They’re like the sky fallen down.”
She was close to tears and Ezra said soothingly, “Now don’t yee take on, maid. Remember our bees be about.”
There was no visible path through the wood but they made their way upward, wading in and out of pools of bluebells. There were other flowers too, white ones with veined petals like the wings of moths that Ezra said were anemones, sorrel smelling sweetly of hay, and late wood violets. Nan would have felt herself in heaven had it not been that Betsy was lost. The way grew steeper and she asked anxiously, “Aren’t we climbing toward Lion Tor?”
“Aye,” said Ezra. “But don’t yee fret. The little maid could never have climbed that far. Absolom, where be off to?”
There was a whirring of wings and a great clattering cry, for Absolom had started a cock pheasant. There was a gleam of purple and crimson and green and then the great bird flew off with Absolom in pursuit, and Ezra stumping after shouting at Absolom to come back, for
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pheasants are valuable birds and must not be pursued by dogs. Nan stayed where she was, knee-deep in bluebells, for she knew that Ezra on his wooden leg had as much chance of catching up with Absolom as he had of catching the pheasant. They would both soon be back.
Yet they were out of sight and she felt lonely. Far up above her head, in the galleries of the trees, among the interlacing sunbeams, the birds were singing, but they seemed far removed from her and only a few of the sunbeams pierced down to where she was. Yet a few did and turning to one of them for company she saw four bees revolving in it, turning slowly around and around as though bathing their wings in the gold, and now that she saw them she could hear their low humming. They came from the sunbeam, flew around her head and then moved slowly away to the left. She followed them because she found she had to.
They led her uphill among rocks and brambles but they found the way through for her so that she did not fall or hurt herself. They led her to where a wall of rock had forced itself through the hillside. She realized she had come a long way up the hill, that the trees were thinning and that up above her she could hear the baaing of sheep out on the hillside. A narrow path led steeply upward along the face of the wall of rock and Nan climbed it, following the bees. She had no doubt that Betsy had been this way because here and there she found flowers lying on the path, anemones and sorrel
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and a few violets, and she picked them up because she did not want them to die. Yet it was not like Betsy to drop the flowers she had picked and Nan was surprised she had managed to c
limb so far by herself.
The path grew steeper and Nan found she had climbed above the tops of the trees. She turned around with her back to the rock and she almost forgot her anxiety for Betsy in wonder and awe. For here was another country. The rustling green that had made the ceiling of the country below was the floor of this one, and it rippled to her feet like the sea. She climbed up farther and saw high white clouds sailing over her head and she knew that if she were to go up above them the marvel would be repeated. Over her head there was world upon world, and below her feet too, going down and down forever. It was her first experience of the heights and the abyss and she felt a little dizzy and very small and alone on the rock-face.
She climbed on farther and then stopped, finding her way barred by a boulder of rock thrust out across the path like the paw of some great beast. The bees had vanished and she began to feel frightened. She wanted to go back, down to the safe floor of the wood where Ezra and Absolom were, for these other dizzy worlds were not where she belonged. And surely Betsy could not have come this way. She could not have climbed over the boulder. Yet somebody had climbed over it because halfway up lay a white anemone like a dying moth, and because the somebody might possibly have
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been a scared Betsy, who had gone on because she was too frightened to go back, Nan went on too. She reached the dropped anemone, rescued it, scrambled to the top of the boulder and began to climb down the other side, and now it was suddenly easy because below her she was aware of refuge. It seemed no time at all before her feet sank into soft grass and she knew she was safe.