The Picts and the Martyrs Or, Not Welcome at All

  “There isn’t any shoring,” said Dick, remembering the tunnel under Ling Scar and the wooden walls that had collapsed behind them so that they could not get back.

  “Rock,” said old Bob. “There’s no soft stuff here.”

  Dorothea, torch in hand, came last, throwing her light on the rough walls of rock, the roof, and the uneven floor. There was not much to see, she thought, but if old Bob and Timothy and Captain Flint had put such a lot of work into it, that prospecting of last summer must really have been a success. Somehow, she had never believed that it would end in the working of a real mine. Even the samples on the table in the houseboat had not meant much to her, though they had to Dick. But now, walking gingerly along, not in an old abandoned passage but in a new-cut tunnel, and listening to the talk that was going on between the old man and Timothy, she knew that last summer’s triumph was real and not pretence.

  “Peggy,” she said, “the Swallows’ll be most awfully pleased.”

  “Roger will anyway,” said Peggy. “We’ll all be sick of hearing how he found it.”

  Presently they could go no further. The tunnel was blocked by a heap of stone debris. The old man held the lantern up to let them see it. “That’s all there is to see,” he said. “Good firing that. It’s brought a gey lot down for me to clear. You mun gang out now and up the fell, if you want to see our new shafts.”

  “But how is it done?” asked Dick, and a yard or two further back in the tunnel the old man took Dick’s finger and rubbed it along a narrow groove in the rock. “That’s how,” he said. “Yon’s what’s left of a boring. You bore a hole to take your cartridge. You bung him in, with a long fuse to him. You set a match to the fuse and leg it for the open. Eh, I need longer fuses these days than I did when I was a lad.”

  They went back through the tunnel, through the half light of the outer chamber, and so into the blazing sunshine.

  “Well, we’ve seen our mine,” said Nancy. “Not much to see, but Uncle Jim’s as pleased as anything, so it must be all right.”

  “Most awfully interesting,” said Dick, and meant it. “Thank you very much.”

  Timothy laughed. “Better come up and see the shafts,” he said.

  They climbed up out of the Gulch and up the fell, to see that where once upon a time there had been white spots, painted by Timothy, there were now holes going down into the hill. Dick, listening to Timothy and old Bob talking of gosson and pyrites, found what he wanted without even looking for it. He had been listening, with his eyes hardly seeing a clump of heather at his feet, when something moved among the tiny purple flowers.

  “Got it,” he cried.

  “What is it?” said Timothy, startled, and he and the old man turned to see.

  “Fox Moth caterpillar,” said Dick joyfully.

  “One of they Woolly Bears,” said the old man.

  “It’s not really a Woolly Bear,” said Dick seriously. “The woolly bear’s a Tiger Moth.” He took his box out of his knapsack, cut some heather with his knife and put it in, carefully lifted the caterpillar from the heather, dropped it in the box, and wiped his hands on the ground.

  “It’s the hairs,” said Dick. “If you touch one and then touch the back of your other hand or your cheek, it starts itching like anything.”

  “Good old Professor,” said Nancy.

  “How many do you want?” asked Peggy. “Here are two more close together.”

  “Three’s enough,” said Dick. “It’s no good getting more. They eat a lot of heather. I say, I’m awfully glad we found them. I promised one to another chap at school, and he’s getting me a Poplar Hawk in exchange. There are some where he lives.”

  Collecting caterpillars, looking at the mine, listening to Timothy and Slater Bob, seeing far away buzzards floating round the distant crags, fairly cleared the Great Aunt out of all their minds. Picts forgot that their existence was a secret. Martyrs forgot their hardships. Once more, they were prospectors, pirates, explorers, naturalists and what not, looking out over the hills and afraid of nothing in the world that stretched below them in the sunshine.

  There was still much of the day before them, and when Timothy had stowed away his samples in two little canvas bags and put them in his knapsack, they said “Goodbye” to the old miner and went off across High Topps to visit last year’s camp. They found Titty’s well, with water still bubbling up into it, tidied the stones round its edge, one or two of which had fallen in, and then went down through the wood to Mrs Tyson’s.

  Here, of course, there was great talk about the fire on the fell, and of how the pigeon had carried a message in time to bring Colonel Jolys and his firefighters. Mrs Tyson would not hear of their going on without a cup of tea. “Aye,” she said. “You did us a good turn that day, you and your pigeons, and me going on at you for setting the Topps afire. I was right ashamed after, and I said so to your mother. And how is Mrs Blackett? Poorly she’s been by what I hear.”

  “She’s all right now,” said Nancy. “And she’s coming home the day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ve a pot of honey for her,” said Mrs Tyson. “Happen you’ll take it.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Peggy.

  “And where are all the others?” asked Mrs Tyson. “We’ll be glad to see you all again.”

  “They’ll be here next week,” said Nancy.

  “Let’s hope the weather’ll hold for them. This summer’s not like yon. Eh, that was a summer for fires. It was a lucky thing for us, you getting Colonel Jolys here so quick. When I heard his horns blowing I couldn’t believe it, and me thinking they were far side o’ t’lake, and no one to know owt was doing till all was burnt.’’

  At last they set out on the long trek home. Unwilling to separate, but thinking that it would hardly be wise for Martyrs, Picts and a Suspicious Character to risk being seen together on the road, they left it and came back, as they had gone, along the top of the wood that hid the Picts’ hut. They went beyond the hut, because Nancy and Peggy had to get round to the river to bring Amazon back into the boathouse. Then they came slowly down the wood together.

  “Go ahead, you two,” said Timothy to Nancy and Peggy. “I’ll give you a minute or two to get clear across the road.”

  “It’s been a lovely day,” said Dorothea.

  “Only one more night,” said Nancy, “and then we’ll have one good day after another. Come on, Peg. We’ve got to get into pretties for supper. It’s the last time, and, remember, when she says she would like a little music, you’ve got to look eager. Tonight, we’ve got to be better than perfect.”

  “Good luck to you,” said Timothy with a smile.

  And at that moment they heard someone talking on the road below them.

  “Careful scouting,” said Nancy, and began going quickly down, dodging from tree to tree.

  “Better sit tight,” said Timothy, but Peggy was already creeping down after Nancy.

  “They’re much better at it than we are,” said Dorothea.

  “Nancy’s slipped,” said Dick, as a sudden noise of breaking twigs came from below.

  And then they heard Cook calling out, “Miss Turner! Miss Turner! Is that you?” Dick and Dorothea looked at each other and then at Timothy. All three had heard the note of panic in Cook’s voice.

  CHAPTER XXV

  TOTALLY DISAPPEARED

  “SOMETHING’S happened,” said Dorothea.

  Timothy was already hurrying down. Dick and Dorothea hurried after him. They were in time to see Nancy and Peggy scramble over the wall into the road, where Cook was standing wringing her hands. A young man in gardening clothes was standing beside her scratching his head with one hand and twiddling an old yachting cap with the other.

  “Eh, thank goodness you’ve come back,” they heard Cook say. “Isn’t your aunt with you?”

  “Of course she isn’t. We’ve been to High Topps.”

  “She’s gone,” said Cook.

  “But where? When? How?”

  “Nay, if
I knew that I wouldn’t be in such a scrow. Two o’clock she was away and it’s seven now, and Billy here was the last to see her in this world. …”

  “Hey, Timothy!” called Nancy. “Oh good, you’re here.”

  “Mr Stedding’ll know what best to do,” said Cook.

  “But what’s all this?” said Timothy.

  “It’s me to blame,” said Billy Lewthwaite, putting on his yachting cap and touching it as he spoke and then desperately scratching his head again. “Forgetting about looking in tank what with Miss Turner waiting to be off.”

  “But off where?” said Nancy. “What happened?”

  “She had her lunch,” said Cook. “And then she sent me for Billy to drive the car for her. She was in a tearing scrow to be off. Stiff as a poker she was and waiting with her blue parasol and all, while I run to Mrs Lewthwaite’s. And by the time I come back Billy’d fetched the car out and away with her. Little I thought I’d never see her again when she passed me by the gate, sitting up there looking neither right nor left.”

  “But where was she going? Billy must know where he took her.”

  “She told me to take t’lake road and go along for Swainson’s,” said Billy. “And I was in a fair muzz with her being at me because I’d only me chauffeur’s cap and hadn’t thought for to take me blue coat what with being in a hurry like. We’d not gone above a mile likely when the engine went funny, and then it stopped, and with her asking questions and all, I was a bit before I found what was gone with it. All t’plugs out and back. Tank was empty. That was all. And she sent me running back to fetch some petrol, and there wasn’t a drop in t’garage.”

  “And Billy went off on your bike,” said Cook, “and fetched a can from head o’ t’lake.”

  “Bother the petrol,” said Nancy. “Where did you take her?”

  “I come back,” said Billy, “and there was t’owd car where I’d left it at t’side o’ t’road, and nobody in it. She was gone. I’d left her sitting in it looking like as if she’d be glad to take a spanner to me. And when I come back she was clean gone.”

  Dorothea was watching Billy with interest. Funny to be making such a fuss just because an old lady had grown tired of waiting in the car and had gone for a walk. But nothing that had to do with the Great Aunt was really funny. Billy Lewthwaite looked … How did he look? Dorothea asked herself. She knew he must be the policeman’s brother, but he looked almost as if he were a nephew of the Great Aunt. Worried. And anybody could see that Cook was really frightened.

  “What did you do?” asked Timothy quietly.

  Dorothea saw Nancy give him a queer look. She did not know that Nancy had suddenly been reminded of the time of the fire, when the shy Timothy had stopped being shy altogether and had taken charge and led the rescue party that had dashed across the smouldering heather.

  “I didn’t do nowt,” said Billy. “I emped the petrol in, and I sat there waiting for her. I thought, maybe, she’d gone for a bit of a walk like.”

  “And then?”

  “She didn’t come and she didn’t come, and I thought, maybe she’s wanting me to come after her. So I went along in the car, watching out to see her in t’road. Matter of two mile I went. And then it come over me that happen she’d walked t’other way, and gone back to Beckfoot to her tea, and likely been sitting there when I left the bike and went running on wi’ t’petrol. I thought, by gum, shell give me a proper blacking, but best get it over soon as late, so I turned t’owd car round and brought it back. It’s in t’yard now.” And Billy turned to take them to the yard as if the sight of old Rattletrap would help them to understand.

  Nobody seemed to remember now that it was unsafe for the Picts or for Timothy to go through the Beckfoot gateway. They all went through and into the yard, and stared at the old car as if they, too, were thinking like Billy.

  “Where was she sitting?” asked Dick.

  “Back seat, off side,” said Billy.

  Dick opened the door and looked carefully about. But there were no clues to be seen.

  “What was that place she mentioned?” asked Timothy.

  “Swainson’s.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a farmhouse,” said Nancy. “Friends. Old Mr Swainson used to be the best huntsman years ago and Mrs Swainson makes patchwork quilts. The G.A. knows them very well. That’s where the Swallows stayed one year. At least they didn’t stay there, but they camped up above.”

  “Did you go and ask there?” said Timothy to Billy.

  “Nay. I’d turned back before that.”

  “It’s worth trying,” said Timothy. “Hop in, and we’ll go there now and ask. You’d better come too, Nancy. If she’s there, I’ll just fade away and walk back.”

  “She’s been away a long time now,” said Cook. “Nay there’s worse than that gone wrong. You’ll not find her at Swainson’s. Loss of memory, that’s what it is. Wandering. Up on t’fells likely enough. And dark coming on.”

  “Shut up, Cook,” said Nancy, with a glance at Peggy and Dorothea.

  “I’ve a feeling in my bones,” said Cook.

  “She’ll be back here in half an hour,” said Timothy, as Billy, whirling the rusty crank, stirred old Rattletrap to life. Timothy was already sitting where the Great Aunt had sat. Nancy, looking grave, climbed in beside him. Billy Lewthwaite slipped into his place in front, straightened his cap, and drove out of the yard.

  *

  “I say,” said Dick, “do you think we ought to be here?”

  “Pretty awful if she were to come in and find you,” said Peggy. “I’ll come up to the hut with you and we’ll wait there.”

  “You don’t stir out of Beckfoot, Miss Peggy,” said Cook. “Not till we know what’s gone with her. Eh, for this to happen, with the mistress away and all.”

  “We’d better go,” said Dorothea.

  “You bide where you are,” said Cook. “You come into my kitchen.”

  “Yes, do,” said Peggy. “We’ll see from the window when they bring her back. We can easily get you out. And there’s the larder to hide in. And the pantry.”

  “There’s nowt for you to fear now,” said Cook. “They’ll be bringing her back feet foremost.”

  “Steady on, Cooky darling,” said Peggy. “She’s probably sitting with old Mrs Swainson telling her there’s something wrong about something.”

  Cook laughed in spite of herself. “Telling her she’s setting the wrong way about making patchwork quilts, likely. Mrs Swainson’ll give her a flea in her ear.” The thought seemed to cheer her.

  “We really ought to go back to our house,” said Dorothea. “I’ve got supper to get ready.”

  “You bide where you are,” said Cook again. “I’ll have supper for you. You can eat it in my kitchen. Not but what you’ve a right to eat it anywhere. Didn’t Mrs Blackett invite you? Eh, you should never have gone out to that old ruin, nor shouldn’t if Miss Nancy hadn’t fair rushed me off my feet, and me in a scrow with Miss Turner coming where she wasn’t invited nor yet wanted.”

  “I’d better go up to the hut anyway,” said Dick. “Just to look.”

  “Why?” asked Peggy.

  “Just to make sure she isn’t there,” said Dick. “Supposing she’s found out about us? Supposing she’s sitting in the hut, waiting to catch us when we come back?”

  “Rot,” said Peggy. “Why did she take Rattletrap the other way?”

  “She didn’t stay in the car,” said Dick. “I think I’d better go and see.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her,” said Cook suddenly. “And if she’s there, as good find her now as later.”

  Dorothea, looking at Cook, knew that if she was jumping at straws like this, she must be really worried lest something much more serious had happened.

  “We’ll all go,” she said.

  Peggy who, now that Nancy was away, was doing her best to fill her place, put her foot down firmly. “Jibbooms and bobstays,” she said, in quite the Nancy manner, “if she’s there i
t’s all the more reason why you shouldn’t walk straight into her jaws. I’ll go. You stay here. I’ll scout round pretty carefully and if she’s there I’ll come back and we’ll wait for Nancy. Nancy’ll know what we’d better do.”

  “But if she sees you?” said Dick.

  “I’ve come to look for her,” said Peggy. “It’ll be all right her seeing me. Better if she doesn’t, of course. But it would be ten million times worse if she saw you.”

  “Eh, but I hope you find her,” said Cook. “But come back quick. I don’t want another lost. And if she comes back with Miss Nancy, she’ll be asking for you. Not that it’s likely. It’s in my bones there’s more than that amiss. Just as I was thinking we were through the worst, with her going tomorrow. She was bad enough before, but what with her burglary and police and all … eh, I’d have done better to walk out the day she come, and so I would if it hadn’t been for thinking of Mrs Blackett. Now you come in, you two, and sit you down out of sight from the door … though she isn’t one to be coming in by any door but the front.”

  “Back in ten minutes,” said Peggy and hurried away.

  Dorothea and Dick followed Cook up the steps out of the yard and into the kitchen. They hung about watching her bustling round, muttering to herself, slamming knives and forks on the kitchen table, fetching cold meat from the larder, popping potatoes in a saucepan, and stopping every now and then to listen, as if at any moment she thought she might hear Miss Turner’s footsteps somewhere in the house.

  “She might have seen a bird while she was waiting,” said Dick, “and got out of the car to have a better view, and sat down to watch it and fallen asleep.”

  “She can’t have gone far from the road,” said Dorothea. “But she’s not the sort of person to be interested in birds.”

  They heard footsteps in the yard, but it was only Peggy coming back.

  “Nobody there,” she said. “I’ve been right into the hut.”

  “Hadn’t we better go then?” said Dorothea.