The Girls of Chequertrees

As they were rising from the supper-table she asked them whether any of them knew Miss Crabingway well, and learnt to her surprise that none of them had more than the slightest acquaintance with her. Neither Isobel not Caroline could remember ever seeing Miss Crabingway, and Beryl said vaguely that she had seen her once—a long time ago. Beryl said she believed that her mother had been a friend of Miss Crabingway's, many years back. Isobel said her mater had met Miss Crabingway abroad—had happened to stay in the same hotel—about six years ago. An uncle of Caroline's, so she informed them, had once done some business transactions with Miss Crabingway, and had corresponded with her since, at intervals.

"Well, I can't make it out at all," thought Pamela to herself. "Why Miss Crabingway should have invited us—four girls—practically strangers to her—to come and stay at her house while she is away.... I can't see any reason for it.... Anyway, I suppose we shall know when she returns."

The supper having considerably revived Isobel, she said she would like to see over the house before she went to bed; and Caroline, having no objection ready against this suggestion (except that she was half asleep in her chair), found herself joining in this tour of inspection and stolidly taking stock of the house that was to be her home for the next six months.

In a whispered aside to Pamela Isobel pronounced the dining-room wall-paper 'hideous' and the drawing-room decorations 'perfectly awful'—both remarks being overhead by Ellen, who glared at the back of Isobel's head in silent indignation at this reflection on her mistress's taste. It was certainly not good manners on Isobel's part, but she was not over-sensitive about other people's feelings, and was rarely aware of the fact when her words or tone of voice had hurt or given offence.

On the first floor landing Pamela pointed out the locked door. The girls knew that they were forbidden to try to open it, or look through the keyhole, their instructions being the same as Pamela's.

"And to think that one little action—just kneeling down and putting your eye to the keyhole—would make you lose fifty pounds!" exclaimed Isobel. "It's not worth losing all that money just for curiosity, is it?"

"Rather not," said Pamela. "I vote that we all keep away from that door as if the paint on it were poisonous to touch."

"I'm sorry my room's next to it," Isobel went on, "but it doesn't really matter—though I like to keep as far away from temptation as I can … not that I want to look inside, but—you know the feeling—just because I know I mustn't–"

"I know the feeling," agreed Pamela. "But don't you think it would be wisest not to talk about it any more, or we shall all be dreaming about it to-night."

Ellen, who was leading the way up to the top floor where her own room and Martha's room were situated, pricked up her ears at this.

"Dreams go by contrary," she said to herself mechanically, and, apparently, without meaning. Besides being a mine of information on melancholy events, Ellen was a great believer in dreams, possessing as many as ten 'dream books,' which she consulted frequently on the meaning of her dreams. Ellen believed also in fortune-telling by tea-leaves, and lucky stars, and the like. And many a time she had made even Martha—who knew her little ways and generally laughed tolerantly at her—turn 'goose-flesh' at the terrible fate she would read out for Martha and herself from the tea-leaves left in their cups.

"Do you believe it's possible to dream what is inside that room—I mean dream truly—if you set your mind on it just before going to sleep?" Isobel asked of Pamela, as she glanced round the bath-room.

Caroline, who was examining everything in the bath-room closely and minutely, as was her habit, raised her head as if to speak, but Pamela, who had her back turned to her and did not see her mouth open, replied:

"I don't know. I'm afraid I'm not an expert on dreams—I hardly ever dream myself."

"Wouldn't it be fun," suggested Isobel, as they all made their way downstairs again, "if each of us tried hard to dream what was inside the room—and then tell each other what dreams we had had, in the morning—and when Miss Crabingway comes back we will see if any of us are right."

"Oh, I don't know," said Pamela. "Somehow I don't think we'd better even try to dream what is inside the room. Perhaps it isn't quite fair to—to—I don't know how to put it— Anyway, I think it would be better if we left the subject entirely alone, don't you?"

Again Caroline opened her mouth and was about to say something, when Isobel burst in with,

"Oh, but Miss Crabingway didn't say we were not to dream about it, did she? … That would be impossible to forbid.... But still, perhaps it's best not to meddle with the subject. It's not worth losing fifty pounds over, anyway."

Beryl, although she had accompanied the others over the house, had not spoken a word since they left the dining-room, but she had listened to all that was going on with much interest. Here was another girl, Isobel, who seemed quite at home among strangers in a strange house, thought Beryl; but she did not envy Isobel; she was vaguely afraid of her. Caroline appeared more at her ease than Beryl had expected her to be; though Caroline seemed to others slow and awkward, she was not aware of this herself, and so was not made uneasy on that score. Caroline did not know her own failings, while Beryl was keenly alive to herown—and suffered accordingly.

As the four girls bid each other good-night a few minutes later, Caroline found the opportunity she had been waiting for, and mentioned something that had been fidgeting her since her arrival.

"Oh—er—do you know if my room has been well aired?" she asked slowly, reminding Pamela irresistibly of an owl as she gazed solemnly through her spectacles. "I'm rather subject to chills—and mother told me to be sure and see that my bedroom had been well aired."

Fortunately Martha was able to assure her on this point, and Caroline went upstairs apparently content. But before she went to sleep she thoroughly fingered the sheets and pillow-cases to satisfy herself that Martha was a strictly truthful person.

When, at length, every one had retired and all was quiet, a little breeze arose in the garden and scurried round the house, whispering excitedly among the ivy leaves. But though the breeze ruffled and agitated the cloak of ivy, it had no power to stir the old house beneath, which stood, grim and unmoved, brooding in silence over the strangers within its walls.

CHAPTER V

MAKING PLANS

In the morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Pamela held an informal 'council meeting' in the drawing-room.

"I thought we'd better just talk over some sort of plan for organizing things, so that we shall all be as comfortable as possible," she said, leaning her elbow on the small round table before her and resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "You see, it isn't as if there was a real hostess here—you know what I mean—it isn't as if we could drop into the ordinary life of the household. Here we are—four strangers yesterday, four acquaintances to-day—and we've got to live and work and play together for the next six months. Now what are the best arrangements to make, so that we'll all have a good time? It's left entirely in our hands. Anybody got any suggestions?" She looked smilingly round at the other three girls.

Isobel was the only one who answered.

"Of course we didn't know what we should be expected to do when we came here," she said. "It was all such an awful hurry and scramble—there was no time to think of anything."

"I know," agreed Pamela. "But now we are here, we'd better have some sort of plan, don't you think—so as to leave each other as free as possible—I do hate tying people down to time and—and things—but we'll have to have some sort of arrangements about meals, for instance, or else we'll keep Martha and Ellen busy all day long. Luckily, we've got hardly any housekeeping difficulties. I had a talk with Martha and Ellen this morning, before breakfast, and they're going on with their work just as usual. Martha does all the cooking and washing, and Ellen does the general work. But I expect four girls in the house will make a good bit of difference! So I propose that we each make our own bed and tidy our own room every morning—and Ellen will clean the rooms out once a week. It won't take each of us long of a morning. What do you say?"

Beryl agreed at once; and Isobel, though she said she wasn't used to doing housework, promised to do her best; Caroline was understood to say she preferred making her own bed because other people never made a bed to her satisfaction.

Having settled this little point, Pamela went on:

"As regards shopping—Martha says she always sees about getting in provisions, but she would like us to say what we'd like for breakfasts, and dinners, and so on. She says Miss Emily Crabingway left a sum of money with her for purchasing enough food for the next three months; after that time has elapsed, Mr Joseph Sigglesthorne is to send on a further sum—enough for the final three months. You see that's all arranged for us; but we've got to choose the meals, and I thought it would be a good plan if we took it in turns, each week—first one, then the other—to draw up a list of meals for the week. Write it all out, and take it in to Martha. What do you think? Martha likes the idea."

"I'm quite willing, but I don't believe I could think of enough variety for a week straight off," said Beryl.

"Oh, yes, you could," said Pamela, "with the help of Mrs Beeton's Cookery Book—there are no end of hints in there. Martha has a copy of the book on a shelf in the kitchen; she'll lend it to us. She says it's very useful, but rather too extravagant for her liking, with its 'break eight eggs and beat them well,' and 'take ten eggs' and 'take six eggs' and so on. Martha says she always looks up a recipe in Mrs Beeton's, and then makes it her own way (which is always quite different)."

"As long as you don't choose boiled haddock every morning," said Isobel, "and don't give us lamb chops and mashed potatoes every dinner-time—with rice pudding to follow—I'm sure we'll none of us try to assassinate you on the quiet."

"I don't mind taking my turn at choosing the meals," said Caroline, thinking tenderly of suet roly-poly.

"And I'll do what I can," remarked Isobel, more in her element when choosing work for others to perform than in doing work herself. She had momentary visions of how she would astonish the others by the magnificence of her menus; none of the 'homely' dishes for Isobel; with the aid of Mrs Beeton, who knows what might not be accomplished in the way of exclusive and awe-inspiring dishes. "But you choose the first week's meals, do," she begged Pamela.

As this suggestion was proposed, seconded, and carried unanimously by the others, Pamela agreed, and so the matter was settled.

"Having now disposed of our housekeeping duties," Pamela laughed, "now what are we going to do with the rest of our time? Had any of you any idea of keeping up studies, or attending classes, or anything of that sort? You see we are left idle—to act entirely on our own initiative—without any suggestions or arrangements whatever on Miss Crabingway's part. And I know that, speaking for myself, I don't want to idle away the next six months."

"I shouldn't mind being idle," observed Isobel. "In fact mater said the six months' rest would do me no harm. I was just going back to college, you know, when we heard from Miss Crabingway—and of course all my plans were upset—but I didn't mind so much with the prospect of a lovely, lazy holiday at Barrowfield. But still, if you are all going to take up some sort of work, I suppose I must, as well.... I should be bored to death with my own company—if you are all going to work."

"I only suggest a few hours' work each day," reminded Pamela. "It makes the day seem so much more satisfactory when one has done something."

The question of what to study, and how to study, gave much food for discussion; but the subject was prevented from taking too serious a turn by Isobel's constant stream of facetious remarks on the kind of work she would take up. She seemed to think it a huge joke; though Caroline, who was apt to take things literally, was much perturbed at the numerous studies Isobel proposed, until she realized that Isobel was only making fun all the time.

"I should prefer to keep up my music," said Beryl, presently. "And study hard at theory, harmony, and counterpoint—and if it wouldn't annoy anyone—perhaps I could practise on the piano here. I—I should love that."

"Of course it wouldn't annoy anyone, would it?" Pamela appealed to the other two, who said that it certainly wouldn't annoy them.

"It isn't as if it were the five-finger exercise—thump—thump—thump," added Caroline cautiously.

"Well, we should hope you'd got beyond that," said Isobel to Beryl, who flushed nervously.

"Oh, yes," she hastened to assure them.

"There are worse things than the five-finger exercise," broke in Pamela. "I have a sister at home who knows one piece, and whenever she gets near the piano she sits down and plays it—thumps it, I should say—because she 'knows we love it,' she says. We always howl at her, on principle, and the nearest of us swoops down on her, and bears her, protesting, out of the room."

The others laughed with Pamela at this recollection of hers, and attention was distracted from Beryl, much to her relief.

"Well," said Pamela, "for myself—I am going to do a heap of reading—especially historical books; and I want most of all to continue my sketching. I'm very fond of dabbling in black and white sketching—and I want lots of practice. I've brought with me some books about it—to study."

"Oh, you energetic people," yawned Isobel. "It makes me tired to think of the work you're going to do."

"What are you going to do?" Pamela asked, turning to Caroline.

"Well," drawled Caroline, "I like doing needlework better than anything."

Isobel put her handkerchief to her mouth to hide a smile. Fortunately Caroline was not looking at her, but Beryl was. Caroline went on undisturbed.

"I'm not fond of reading or books, but I've been thinking—if there were any classes near by, on dressmaking—cutting out and all that, you know—that I could attend, I wouldn't mind that; but anyway I've got plenty of plain needlework to go on with. I brought a dozen handkerchiefs in my box to hem and embroider—and I've got a tray-cloth to hem-stitch."

"Mind you don't overtax your brain, my dear," muttered Isobel, giggling into her handkerchief.

"Eh?" asked Caroline, not catching her remark.

"Nothing," said Isobel. "I was only wondering what work I could do."

"I daresay you'll be able to find some dress-making classes, Caroline," said Pamela. "We'll go out and buy a local paper and see what's going on. But, Isobel, what are you going to do?" Pamela asked, looking across at Isobel.

"Ah me!" sighed Isobel. "Well, if I must decide, I'll decide on dancing. I'm frightfully keen on dancing, you know. I'll attend classes for that if you like—that is, if there are such things as dancing classes in this sleepy little place.... I might do a bit of photography too. I didn't bring my camera—but perhaps I can buy a new one—it's great fun taking snapshots."

"If there are no classes in Barrowfield there is almost sure to be a town within a few miles, where we can get what we want," Pamela said.

Matters now being settled as far as was possible at the present moment, Pamela said she was going out to look round the village, and Isobel immediately said she would go with her as she wanted to buy some buttons for her gloves. Beryl would have liked to go with Pamela, but felt sensitive about visiting the village for the first time in Isobel's company—for more than one reason; so she said she would go and unpack her box and get her music books out, and look round the village later on. Caroline also elected to stay and unpack and put her room in order. So Pamela and Isobel started off together.

They had been gone but five minutes when the post arrived with a registered letter addressed to Pamela.

"Ah," said Martha knowingly, as she laid the letter in the tray on the hall-stand.

CHAPTER VI

MILLICENT JACKSON GIVES SOME INFORMATION

"What a one-eyed sort of place this is," said Isobel inelegantly, as she came out of the village drapery establishment and joined Pamela, who was waiting on the green outside.

"I was just thinking how charming the little village looks," said Pamela, "clustering round this wide stretch of green with the pond and the ducks. And look at the lanes and hills and woods rising in the background! It is picturesque."

"Oh, it may be frightfully picturesque and all that," Isobel replied, "but picturesqueness won't provide one with black pearl buttons to sew on one's gloves. Would you believe it—not one of these impossible shops keeps such things. 'Black pearl buttons, miss. I'm sorry we haven't any in stock. Black bone—would black bone do—or a fancy button, miss?'" Isobel mimicked the voice of the 'creature' (as she called her) who served in the tiny draper's shop.

"Well, I suppose they're not often asked for black pearl," said Pamela, as they moved on. "And wouldn't black bone do?"

"Black bone!" said Isobel disdainfully.

"Well, you can't expect to find Oxford Street shops down here in Barrowfield," smiled Pamela. "And it's jolly lucky there aren't such shops, or Barrowfield would be a town to-morrow. Still, is there anywhere else you'd like to try?"

"No, I shan't bother any more to-day," Isobel sighed. "I did want them—but I'll wear my other gloves till I can get the buttons to match the two I've lost.... How people do stare at one here. Look at that old woman over there—And, oh, do look at the butcher standing on his step glaring at us! He looks as if his eyes might go off 'pop' at any moment, doesn't he?"

Although Isobel pretended to be annoyed, she really rather enjoyed the attention she and Pamela were attracting. Naturally the village was curious about these strange young ladies who had come to stay at Miss Crabingway's house. Thomas Bagg had given his version of the arrivals last night as he chatted with the landlord of the 'Blue Boar,' and had professed to know more about the matter than he actually did. In acting thus he was not alone, for most of the village pretended to know something of the reason why Miss Emily Crabingway had suddenly gone away, and why her house was occupied by four strange young ladies. In reality nobody knew much about it at all. It speaks well for Martha and Ellen that they were not persuaded to tell more than they did; maybe they didn't know more; maybe they did, but wouldn't say. The village gossips shook their heads at the closeness of these two trusted servants concerning their mistress's affairs.... And so Pamela and Isobel attracted more than the usual attention bestowed on strangers in Barrowfield—the bolder folk (like the butcher) staring unabashed from their front doors, while the more retiring peeped through their curtains.

Barrowfield itself was certainly very picturesque; no wonder it appealed to Pamela's artistic eye. Surrounded by tree-clad hills, the village lay jumbled about the wide green—in the centre of which was a pond with ducks on it; white-washed cottages, old houses, quaint little shops, and inns with thatched roofs, stood side by side in an irregular circle. Seen from one of the neighbouring hills you might have fancied that Barrowfield was having a game of Ring-o'-Roses around the green, while the little odd cottages dotted here and there on the hill-sides looked longingly on, like children who have not been invited to play but who might at any moment run down the slopes and join in. The square-towered church and the Manor House, both on a hill outside the magic ring, stood watching like dignified grown-up people.

Chequertrees was one of the biggest houses in the circle around the green, and a few dozen yards beyond its gate a steep tree-lined avenue led up to the big house of the neighbourhood—the Manor House, where lived the owners of most of the land and property in Barrowfield. The Manor House was about a quarter of a mile beyond the village, and stood half-way up the avenue, at the top of which was the square-towered church. Close beside the church, but so hidden among trees as to be invisible until you were near at hand, was the snug vicarage.

The railway station at which the girls had arrived on the previous evening was a mile and a half away on a road that led out from the opposite end of the green to where Chequertrees stood. Several lanes climbed up from the green and wound over the hills to towns and villages beyond—the nearest market town being four miles distant if you went by the lane, six miles if you followed the main road that ran past the station.

Of course Pamela and Isobel would not have known all this on their first short walk round Barrowfield had they not fallen into conversation with the girl who served in the newsagent's, and who was only too ready to impart information to them when they went in to buy a local newspaper. She was a large-boned girl with a lot of big teeth, that showed conspicuously when she talked; she eyed curiously, and not without envy, the well-cut clothes and 'stylish' hats that the two girls were wearing.

Pamela noticed that the girl wore a brooch made of gold-wire twisted into the name 'Millicent,' and as 'Jackson' was the name painted over the shop outside, she tacked it on, in her own mind, as Millicent's surname.

It being still early in the day Millicent Jackson's toilet was not properly finished—that is to say, she did not appear as she would later on about tea-time, with her hair frizzed up and wearing her brown serge skirt and afternoon blouse. Her morning attire was a very unsatisfactory affair. Millicent wore all her half-soiled blouses in the mornings, and her hair was straight and untidily pinned up; she had a black apron over her skirt, and her hands, which were not pretty at the best of times, looked big and red, and they were streaked with blacking as if she had recently been cleaning a stove. Poor Millicent, she found it impossible to do the housework and appear trim and tidy in the shop at the same time. She discovered herself suddenly wishing that the young ladies had postponed their visit till the afternoon, when she would have been dressed. But there were compensations even for being 'caught untidy'; for could she not see that young Agnes Jones across the way peering out of her shop door, overcome with curiosity, and would she not dash across to Millicent as soon as the young ladies had departed, to know all about the interview! So it was with mixed feelings that Millicent kept the young ladies talking as long as she could.

"Yes, it's a vurry ole church, and vurry interestin'," said Millicent for the third time. "But uv course you ain't been in these parts long enough, miss, for you to 'ave seen everything yet, 'ave you, miss?"

"No, we only arrived last night," said Pamela in a friendly way.

"You don't say!" exclaimed Millicent in great astonishment; although Thomas Bagg had been in the shop a few hours back and told her all about their arrival. "Oh, well, uv course, miss—!" she broke off and waited expectantly.

But Pamela's next remark was disappointing.

"I think it's an awfully interesting-looking village altogether," she said. "Whereabouts is the ruined mill you mentioned just now? Very far from the village? I wonder if we have time to go and see it this morning."

"It's a goodish way," said Millicent reluctantly. "Well, about two mile over that way," she pointed toward the back of the shop. "Along the lane that goes through the fields.... I expect you'd find it vurry muddy in the lane after all the rain we've been 'aving."

"Oh, I don't mind that," said Pamela, but Isobel wrinkled up her nose and looked down at her dainty shoes. "But have we time before lunch—um—no, it's half-past twelve now—what a shame! … Never mind! I must go along to-morrow if I can. I feel I don't want to use up all the country too quickly—it's so nice exploring." She smiled at Millicent, and gathered up the papers she had bought.