The Children of the Castle

“Will you sit here?” she was saying, when Bertrand pushed past her.

“I’ll sit by the fire,” he said, and he calmly settled himself on what he could not but have seen was her seat or Ruby’s; “and I’m awfully hungry,” he went on.

“At home I have dinner, at least if I want it, I do. It’s only fit for girls to have tea in this babyish way.”

He helped himself to a large slice of cake as he spoke; and not content with this, he also put a big piece of butter on his plate. Miss Hortensia glanced at him, and was evidently just going to speak, but checked herself. It was Bertrand’s first evening, and she was a very hospitable person. But when Bertrand proceeded to butter his cake thickly, Ruby, never accustomed to control her tongue, burst out.

“That’s cake, Bertrand,” she said. “People don’t butter cake.”

“Don’t they just?” said the boy, speaking with his mouth full. “I do, I know, and at home mother never minds.”

“Does she let you do whatever you like?” asked Ruby.

“Yes,” said Bertrand; “and whether she did or not I’d do it all the same.”

Then he broke into a merry laugh. It was one of the few attractive things about him, beside his good looks, that laugh of his. It made him seem for the time a hearty, good-tempered child, and gave one the feeling that he did not really mean the things he said and did. And now that his hunger was appeased, and he was warm and comfortable, he became much more amiable. Ruby looked at him with admiration.

“I wish I lived with your mother,” she said, “how nice it must be to do always just what one likes!”

“Do you think so,” said Mavis. “I think it would be quite miserable.”

“Quite right, Mavis,” said Miss Hortensia. “When I was a child I remember reading a story of a little girl who for a great treat one birthday was allowed to do just what she wanted all day, and – oh dear! – how unhappy she was before evening came.”

Bertrand stared at her with his big eyes. Some eyes are very misleading; his looked now and then as if he had nothing but kind and beautiful thoughts behind them.

“What a fool she must have been,” he said roughly. And poor Miss Hortensia’s heart sank.

The evening was not a long one, for Bertrand was tired with his journey, and for once willing to do as he was told, by going to bed early. A room near his cousins’ had been preparing for him, and though not quite ready, a good fire made it look very cosy. They all went upstairs with him to show him the way. As they passed the great baize door which divided their wing from the rest of the house. Bertrand pushed it open.

“What’s, through there?” he asked, in his usual unceremonious way.

“Oh, all the rest of the castle,” said Ruby importantly.

Bertrand peered through. It was like looking into a great church with all the lights out, for this door opened right upon the gallery running round the large hall.

“What a ramshackle old cavern!” said Bertrand. A blast of cold air rushed in through the doorway as he spoke and made them all shiver.

“Nonsense, Bertrand,” said Miss Hortensia, more sharply than she had yet spoken to him. “It is a splendid old house.”

“You should see the staircases up to the turrets,” said Ruby. “They are as high as – as I don’t know what. If you are naughty we can put you to sleep in the west turret-room, and they say it’s haunted.”

“I shouldn’t mind that,” laughed Bertrand.

“Nor should I,” said Ruby boastfully. “Mavis here is a dreadful coward. And – oh, Bertrand – I’ll tell you something to-morrow. I have such an idea. Don’t you love playing tricks on people – people who set themselves up, you know, and preach at you?” Her last words were almost whispered, and Miss Hortensia, who had gone on in front – they had closed the swing door by this time – did not hear them. But Mavis caught what Ruby said, and she waited uneasily for Bertrand’s answer.

“Prigs, you mean,” he said. “I hate prigs. Yes, indeed, I’ll join you in any game of that kind. You should have seen how we served a little wretch at school who tried to stop us teaching a puppy to swim – such a joke – the puppy could scarcely walk, much less swim. So we took Master Prig and made him swim instead. It was winter, and he caught a jolly cold, and had to leave school.”

“Did he get better?” said Mavis, in a strange voice.

“Don’t know, I’m sure. I should think not. His mother was too poor to pay for a doctor, they said. He’d no business to be at a school with gentlemen,” said Bertrand brutally.

Mavis gasped. Then suddenly, without saying good-night to any one, she rushed down the passage to the room she shared with her sister; and there Ruby found her a few minutes later on her knees and all in the dark.

“What’s the matter with you? Cousin Hortensia told me to say good-night to you for her. It wasn’t very civil to fly off like that the first night Bertrand was here. I’m sure cousin Hortensia thought so too,” said Ruby carelessly. “My goodness, are you crying?” as the light she carried fell on Mavis’s tear-stained face.

“Cousin Hortensia didn’t hear,” said Mavis. “Oh, Ruby, I can’t bear it.”

“What?”

“That wicked boy. Oh, Ruby, you can’t say you like him?”

“I think he’s lots of fun in him,” said Ruby wonderingly. “He’s only a boy; you are so queer, Mavis.” But catching sight again of her sister’s expression she suddenly changed. “Poor little Mavie,” she cried, throwing her arms round her, “you’re such a goose. You’re far too tender-hearted.”

Mavis clung to her, sobbing.

“Oh, Ruby, my Ruby,” she said, “don’t speak like that. I couldn’t bear you to get hard and cruel.”

But Ruby was, for her, wonderfully gentle and kind, and at last the two little sisters kissed each other, promising that nothing should ever come between them.

A good night’s rest and a huge breakfast put Master Bertrand into a very fairly amiable humour the next morning. He flatly refused, however, to do any lessons, though it was intended that he should; and Miss Hortensia, judging it best to make a virtue of necessity, told him he should have his time to himself for three days, after which he must join the twins in the school-room.

“For these three days,” she said, “I will give Ruby and Mavis a half-holiday, so that they may go about with you and show you everything. But if you do not come regularly and punctually to lessons after that, I will not give your cousins any extra holidays while you are here.”

She spoke firmly, and Bertrand looked at her with surprise. He was surprised indeed into unusual meekness, for he said nothing but “All right.”

They gave him some directions as to where he would be most likely to amuse himself and with safety. Indeed, unless one were determined to hurt oneself, there were no really dangerous places about the castle; in spite of the cliffs and the sea, Ruby and Mavis had played there all their lives without ever getting into mischief.

“He is not a stupid boy,” said Miss Hortensia, after giving her instructions to Bertrand, “and I have no doubt he can take care of himself if he likes.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t like to hurt himself,” said Ruby with a little contempt; “he’s the sort of boy that would hate pain or being ill.”

“It is to be hoped nothing of that kind will happen while he is here,” said Miss Hortensia. “But I can only do my best. I did not seek the charge, and it would be quite impossible to shut him up in the house.”

“He’d very likely try to get out of the window if you did, cousin Hortensia,” said Mavis with her gentle little laugh. She was feeling happy, for Ruby had continued kind and gentle this morning. “And if I were a boy I’m not sure but that I would too, if I were shut up.”

“Well, let us get to our work,” said Miss Hortensia with a resigned little sigh.

Lessons were over; Ruby and Mavis had had their usual morning run along the terrace, had brushed their hair and washed their hands, and were standing up while Miss Hortensia said grace before beginning dinner, when Bertrand appeared.

He came banging in, his cap on his head, his boots wet and dirty, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes bright with running and excitement. He looked very pretty notwithstanding the untidy state he was in, but it was impossible to welcome him cordially; he was so rude and careless, leaving the door wide open, and bringing in a strong fishy smell, the reason of which was explained when he flung down a great mass of coarse slimy seaweed he had been carrying.

“You nasty, dirty boy,” said Ruby, turning up her nose and sniffing.

“Really, Bertrand, my dear,” began Miss Hortensia, “what have you brought that wet seaweed here for? It cannot stay in this room.”

“I’ll take it away,” said Mavis, jumping up.

“What harm does it do?” said Bertrand, sitting down sideways on his chair. “I want it. I say you’re not to go pitching it away, Mavis. Well when am I to have something to eat?”

“Go and wash your hands and hang up your coat and come and sit straight at the table and then I will give you your dinner,” said Miss Hortensia drily.

“Why can’t you give it me now?” said Bertrand, with the ugly scowl on his face.

“Because I will not,” she replied decidedly.

The roast meat looked very tempting, so did the tart on the sideboard. Bertrand lounged up out of his seat, and in a few minutes lounged back again. Eating generally put him into a better temper. When he had got through one plateful and was ready for another, he condescended to turn to his companions with a more sociable air.

“I met a fellow down there – on the shore,” he said, jerking his head towards where he supposed the sea to be; “only a common chap, but he seems to know the place. He was inclined to be cheeky at first, but of course I soon put him down. I told him to be there this afternoon again; we might find him useful, now he knows his place.”

Ruby’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m very glad you did put him down,” she said. “All the same – ” then she hesitated.

“Do you know who he is?” asked Bertrand.

“He’s the best and nicest and cleverest boy in all the world,” said little Mavis.

Bertrand scowled at her and muttered something, of which “a dirty fisher-boy,” was all that was audible. Miss Hortensia’s presence did overawe him a little.

“I am afraid there can be no question of any of you going out this afternoon,” she said, glancing out of the window as she spoke; “it is clouding over – all over. You must make up your minds to amuse yourselves indoors. You can show Bertrand over the house – that will take some time.”

“May we go up into the turret-rooms and everywhere?” said Ruby.

“Yes, if you don’t stay too long. It is not very cold, and you are sure to keep moving about. There – now comes the rain.”

Come indeed it did, a regular battle of wind and water; one of the sudden storms one must often expect on the coast. But after the first outburst the sky grew somewhat lighter, and the wind went down a little, the rain settling into a steady, heavy pour that threatened to last several hours. For reasons of her own, Ruby set herself to coax Bertrand into a good humour, and she so far succeeded that he condescended to go all over the castle with them, even now and then expressing what was meant to be admiration and approval.

“It isn’t ramshackle, any way,” said Ruby. “It’s one of the strongest built places far or near.”

“If I were a man and a soldier, as I mean to be,” said Bertrand boastfully, “I’d like to cannonade it. You’d see how it’d come toppling over.”

“You wouldn’t like to see it, I should think,” said Mavis. “It’s been the home of your grandfathers just as much as of ours. Don’t you know your mother is our father’s sister?”

Bertrand stared at her.

“What does it matter about old rubbishing grandfathers and stuff like that?” he said. “That was what that fisher-fellow began saying about the castle, as if it was any business of his.”

“Yes indeed,” said Ruby, “he’s far too fond of giving his opinion.” She nodded her head mysteriously. “We’ll have a talk about him afterwards, Bertrand.”

“Ruby,” began Mavis in distress; but Ruby pushed her aside.

“Mind your own business,” she said, more rudely than Mavis had ever heard her speak.

“It’s all Bertrand,” said Mavis to herself, feeling ready to cry. “I’m sure they are going to plan some very naughty unkind thing.”

They were on their way up the turret-stair now; the west turret. They had already explored the other side. Suddenly a strange feeling came over Mavis; she had not been in this part of the castle since the adventure in the grotto.

“She said she comes to the west turret still,” thought the child; “just as she did when cousin Hortensia was a little girl. I wonder if she only comes in the night? I wonder if possibly I shall see her ever up here? If I did, I think I would ask her to stop Bertrand making Ruby naughty. I am sure dear Princess Forget-me-not could make anybody do anything she liked.”

And she could not help having a curious feeling of expecting something, when Ruby, who was in front, threw open the turret-room door.

“This is the haunted room, Bertrand,” she said, and there was a mocking tone in her voice. “At least so Mavis and cousin Hortensia believe. Cousin Hortensia can tell you a wonderful story of a night she spent here if you care to hear it.”

Bertrand laughed contemptuously.

“I’d like to see a ghost uncommonly,” he said.

“It would take a good lot of them to frighten me.”

“That’s what I say,” said Ruby. “But the room looks dingy enough, doesn’t it? I don’t think I ever saw it look so dingy before.”

“It looks as if it was full of smoke,” said Bertrand, sniffing about; “but yet I don’t smell smoke.”

There was something strange. Mavis saw it too, and much more clearly than did the others. To her the room seemed filled with a soft blue haze; far from appearing “dingy,” as Ruby said, she thought the vague cloudiness beautiful; and as she looked, it became plain to her that the haze all came from one corner, where it almost seemed to take form, to thicken and yet to lighten; for there was a glow and radiance over there by the window that looked towards the setting sun that did not come from any outside gleam or brightness. No indeed. For the rain was pouring down, steadily and hopelessly, with dull pitiless monotony from a leaden sky. Scarcely could you picture to yourself a drearier scene than the unbroken grey above, and unbroken grey beneath, which was all there was to be seen from the castle that afternoon. Yet in Mavis’s eyes there was a light, a reflection of something beautiful and sunshiny, as she stood there gazing across the room, with an unspoken hope in her heart.

The others did not see the look in her face, or they saw it wrong, Ruby especially, strange to say.

“What are you gaping at, Mavis?” she said.

“You do look so silly.”

Bertrand stared at her in his turn.

“She looks as if she was asleep, or dreaming,” he said curiously.

Mavis rubbed her eyes.

“No, no,” she said brightly, “I’m not.”

And then she tried to be very kind and merry and pleasant to the others. She felt as if “somebody” was watching, and would be pleased. And Bertrand was a little bit gentler and softer than he had yet been, almost giving Mavis a feeling that in some faint far-off way the sweet influence was over him too.

But Ruby was very contradictory. She ran about making fun of the old furniture and mocking at Miss Hortensia’s story till she got Bertrand to join with her, and both began boasting and talking very foolishly – worse than foolishly indeed. More than once Mavis caught words and hints which filled her with distress and anxiety. She knew, however, that when Ruby was in this kind of humour it was less than useless to say anything, now above all that she had got Bertrand to back her up.

Suddenly the boy gave an impatient exclamation.

“I hate this cock-loft,” he said. “It’s so stuffy and choky, and that smoke or mist has got into my eyes and makes them smart. Come along, Ruby, do.”

“It’s not stuffy. I think it’s dreadfully cold,” she replied. “But I’m sure I don’t want to stay here. The mist’s quite gone – not that I ever saw any really; it was only with the room being shut up, I suppose. I’m quite ready to go; let’s run down and get a good warm at the school-room fire, and I’ll tell you something – a grand secret, Bertrand.”

Chapter Seven.

In the Turret-Room

“The wind with the clouds is battling,

Till the pine-trees shriek with fear.”

Pan.

They ran off, leaving Mavis alone in the turret-room. Poor Mavis! all her happy and hopeful feelings were gone.

“It is no use,” she said to herself; “I can’t stop Ruby. Bertrand will just make her as naughty as himself. Oh, how I do wish he had never come! All our happiness is spoilt.”

And feeling very sorry for herself, and for every one concerned except Bertrand, towards whom, I fear, her feelings were more of anger than grief, Mavis sat down on one of the capacious old chairs that stood beside her and began to cry quietly. Suddenly a strange sensation came over her – through her, rather. She drew her handkerchief from her eyes and looked up – she had to look up – and – yes, there it was again, there they were again. The wonderful unforgettable blue eyes, so searching, so irresistible, so tender. Sweet and perfectly loving as they were, it was yet impossible to meet them without a half-trembling thrill. And the first thought that flashed through the little girl was, “How could I bear her to look at me if I had been naughty?”

“Naughty” she had not been, but – she felt her cheeks flush – look down she could not, as she said to herself that she was afraid she had been —

The word was taken out of her thoughts and expressed just as she came to it.

“Silly,” said the clear soft voice. “Silly little Mavis. What is it all about? Is everything going wrong at the first trial?”

Then as Mavis gazed, the silvery-blue mist grew firmer and less vague, and gradually the lovely form and features became distinct.

“Oh dear princess,” said the child, “I am so glad you have come. Yes, I daresay I am silly, but I am so unhappy;” and she poured out all her troubles. “I shall not be unhappy any more,” she ended up, “now I know you are true. I had almost begun to fancy you were all a dream.”

Forget-me-not smiled, but for a moment or two she did not speak. Then she said —

“What is it you are afraid of Ruby doing – Ruby and Bertrand?”

“Playing some unkind trick on Winfried,” replied Mavis eagerly; “or even worse – for Ruby knows that would hurt him most – on his old grandfather. It would be so horrid, so wicked,” and Mavis’s voice grew tearful again, “when they have been so kind to us. Oh dear princess, will you stop them?” Forget-me-not looked at her gravely.

“My child,” she said, “do they not know it would be wrong to do such a thing?”

“Yes,” Mavis replied, “of course they do.”

“Then how could I stop them? I mean to say, what would be the good of stopping them, if they know already it is wrong?” said the princess.

Mavis looked puzzled.

“But if – if – they were to hurt or frighten old Adam or Winfried?” she said.

Forget-me-not smiled again.

“Ah yes,” she said, “that I can promise you shall not be. But beyond that, if it is in their hearts wilfully to do what they know to be wrong, I fear, little Mavis, I fear they must do it, and perhaps learn thereby. When people know– ”

Mavis’s eyes told that she understood; she looked very grave, but still somewhat relieved.

“I am glad you won’t let it hurt Winfried or his grandfather,” she said. “But oh, I can’t bear Ruby to be made naughty by that horrid boy,” and she seemed on the point of bursting into tears. “Dear princess,” she went on, “couldn’t you speak to her – the way you do to me? You make me feel that I would – I would do anything you told me.”

“Dear child, Ruby cannot hear me yet; she cannot see me. If she could, she would feel as you. Be patient, Mavis, love her as you have always done; that will not be difficult. But that is not all. You must try to love Bertrand too.”

Mavis’s face grew very long.

“I don’t think I can,” she said at last.

“But you must, sooner or later, and it may as well be sooner. I will tell you one thing – a secret, which perhaps will make it easier for you. I mean to make him love me before I have done with him, though he may begin by hating me.”

The little girl looked very grave.

“And Ruby?” she said. “I should care most for Ruby to love you.”

Strange to say, Forget-me-not’s eyes looked sadder than when she had been talking of Bertrand.

“It may be more difficult,” she murmured, so low that Mavis hardly caught the words.

“Oh no, dear princess,” she said eagerly, “Ruby isn’t anything like as naughty as Bertrand. You mustn’t fancy that. She’s just – just – she doesn’t think – ”

“I know,” said Forget-me-not; but that was all, and her eyes still looked sad.

Then she glanced round. The old room seemed like a background to her lovely figure, it was like gazing at a picture in a dark setting.

“I must go,” she said, “and when I go you will be all in the dark. The clouds are so heavy and the day is getting on. Can you find your way all down the stair alone, Mavis? The others have not thought about leaving you up here alone.”

“I don’t think I mind,” said Mavis; but her voice was a little tremulous, for the corner where the door was, across the room from where Forget-me-not stood, loomed dark and gloomy.

The princess smiled.

“Yes you do, dear. Don’t tell stories. I was only trying your courage a tiny bit. Come here, darling.”

Mavis crept nearer her, nearer than she had yet been.

“I am afraid of soiling your lovely dress,” she said.

“My pinafore’s rather dirty; we’ve been playing all over the dusty rooms, you see.”

Then Forget-me-not laughed. Her talking was charming, her smile was bewitching, her grave sad looks were like solemn music – what words have we left to describe her laugh? I can think of none. I can only tell you that it made little Mavis feel as if all the birds in the trees, all the flowers in the fields, all the brooks and waterfalls, all the happy joyous things in the world had suddenly come together with a shout – no, shout is too loud and rough, – with a warble and flutter of irrepressible glee.

“Oh,” said Mavis, “how beautiful it is to hear you, princess, and how – ”

She did not finish her sentence. In another moment she felt herself lifted up – up in the air ever so far, it seemed, and then cosily deposited most comfortably on Forget-me-not’s shoulder. It was years and years since Mavis had thought herself small enough to ride even on her father’s shoulder – great, strong tall father – and the princess who looked so slight and fairy-like, how could she be so strong? Yet the arms that had lifted her were strong, strong and firm as father’s, nay stronger. And the hand that held her up in her place was so secure in its gentle grasp that the little girl felt she could not fall, and that is a very pleasant feeling, I can assure you.

“Shut your eyes, Mavis,” said Forget-me-not, “I am quick in my movements. You are quite firm – there now, I have thrown my scarf over you. I am going to take you rather a round-about way, I warn you.”

A soft whirr and rush – where were they? Out of the window somehow they had got, for Mavis felt the chilly air and heard the swish of the rain, though strange to say the chill seemed only a pleasant freshness, and the raindrops did not touch her. Then up, up – dear, dear, where were they off to? Had Forget-me-not suddenly turned into the old woman who goes up to brush away the cobwebs in the sky? Mavis laughed as the fancy struck her; she did not care, not she, the higher the better, the faster they flew the merrier she felt. Till at last there came a halt. Forget-me-not stopped short with a long breath.

“Heigh-ho!” she exclaimed, “I’ve given you a toss up, haven’t I? Look out, Mavis; we’ve come ever so far, – peep out and you’ll see the stars getting ready to bid you good-evening. It’s quite clear, of course, up here above the clouds.”

Mavis opened her eyes and peeped out from the folds of Forget-me-not’s scarf, which, light as it was, had yet a marvellous warmth about it.