A Pair of Clogs - Amy Walton (fiction book recommendations TXT) 📗

outside most of the windows, and one of them had swung back and gave a dismal creak now and then on its rusty hinges. Trailing masses of convolvulus and ivy and Virginian creeper were hanging about everywhere, and the walls were covered so thickly that for some time Mary looked in vain for an entrance. But at last she saw a little low-arched door. How inviting it looked! No doubt it would be locked; but at least she would try it, and if she could get in it would be a splendid hiding-place. The others would never, never find her. She lifted the iron ring which hung from the lock, gave a little twist and a push, and was surprised to find that it yielded easily. Before her was an almost entirely dark room with a low vaulted ceiling; through the cracks in the closed shutters came faint streaks of light, and she could just see that at the end of it there was another door like the one she had entered.

Mary's heart beat fast with excitement. What was on the other side of that door? Hidden treasure, perhaps, or a dungeon where some captive had been pining for years! Here was an adventure, indeed! Everything else was now completely forgotten. She had no doubt that she was on the very edge of some great discovery; and though she did wish for a second that Jackie was there too, she decided directly afterwards that there was more honour and glory in being quite alone.

So she went boldly up to the door with a fast-beating heart and turned the handle. Wonderful! It opened at once, and straight in front of her there rose a short steep flight of stone steps, with another door, partly open, at the top. But here she stopped uncertainly, and for the first time fear was mingled with curiosity, for plainly to be heard through that half-open door came the sound of voices. It was unpleasant to remember Patrick's ghost just then. Was this where it lived? If so, she thought she would go back. Yet it would be a pity, now that she had got so far, and something urged her strongly to go and peep into the room above. Mary had many faults but she was no coward, and besides this, her proud spirit made her ashamed to run away, so after a little hesitation she crept softly up the stone steps. She hardly dared to breathe lest she should be heard, and as she went the voices became clearer and clearer: they certainly sounded just like a man and woman talking. When she reached the top she paused a minute to gather courage, and then peeped cautiously round the door.

It was a large room--one of those which Jackie had called forbidden rooms--for there was quite a big hole in one corner where the floor had given way. There was a wide open fireplace with a high carved stone mantel-piece, and on the hearth a fire of sticks crackled away under a black pipkin which stood on legs; from this there came a strange and savoury smell. A woman was crouching on the ground in front of it with her back to the door, and a tall dark man leant against the mantel-piece and fed the fire with some dry boughs which he broke into pieces. Here were no ghosts at any rate. There was something reassuring in the sight of the fire and the black pot and the smell of food; but what were they doing here, and who were they? It was perhaps some dark affair connected with "Chancery."

Mary felt frightened. She could not see the woman's face, but the man looked so evil and dark, and had such bright black eyes! She drew back her head and prepared to creep softly down the steps and make her way out. Now that she had seen these ghosts she would have plenty to tell Jackie and the others, and they would all think her very brave. She began to feel anxious to be with them again.

Just then the woman spoke.

"Bennie's late," she said. "Supper's most ready."

"He's havin' a look round," answered the man, "against to-night."

"What's the old chap's name?" continued the woman.

"Chelwood," said the man. "He's a JP."

"What's that?"

"A bloke wot sits in court and sends yer to prison," answered the man.

Mary listened with all her ears and her eyes starting with horror. Here was some dreadful plot--they were going to murder Squire Chelwood, perhaps! Should she run at once and give the alarm, or wait to hear more? While she hesitated the woman spoke again.

"I suppose it's best to begin there?"

"There's nowhere else, not to speak of," answered the man, "'cept the parson's."

The woman gave a low laugh. "I wonder how he liked the present you made him this time seven years back," she said.

She got up as she spoke to lift the lid of the pot and stir its contents; and Mary, afraid of being discovered, turned to go, trembling with excitement. Treading with great care, and feeling her way with one hand on the wall, she was almost half-way down when there fell on her ear a sound which brought her to a sudden stand-still. Towards her, coming through the empty room at the bottom of the stairs, there were footsteps plainly to be heard! Without doubt it was "Bennie" returning. The thought darted through Mary's mind, leaving her cold with terror. What could she do? To go backwards or forwards was equally dreadful-- she was caught in a kind of trap. Oh for Jackie, Fraulein, Rice, who were so near, and yet powerless to help her! All her courage gone, she sank down on the stone step, covered her face with her hands, and waited. The footsteps came nearer. In another minute the door at the foot of the stairs swung back, and a youth of eighteen or twenty came quickly up, almost stumbling over Mary in the dim light.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "it's a child!" He put his fingers in his mouth and gave a low strange whistle, and in a moment the gypsy and his wife came out of the room above.

"Here's a shine!" said Bennie.

He pointed to Mary, who still crouched motionless on the step with her hair falling over her shoulders. They all stood staring at her in surprise.

"Belongs to a party outside, I bet," said Bennie. "There's a lot of 'em t'other side of the house. Seed 'em as I wur comin' back."

"Did they see you?" asked the man.

"No fear," answered Bennie shortly. "Got over the wall."

They muttered hoarsely together over Mary's head, using a strange language which she could not understand; but she made out that they were annoyed, and that they could not agree what should be done. At last the woman stooped down to her.

"Where do you come from, my pretty?" she said in a wheedling tone.

Mary did not answer, but still kept her face hidden.

"Come alonger me, darling," continued the woman. She took Mary's arm, and half-dragged, half-led her into the room above. The child's hat had fallen off, and the light streamed down upon her bright yellow hair and her frightened brown eyes, as she raised them timidly to the dark faces round her. The woman started and gave a quick significant glance at her husband.

"You live at the parson's house in Wensdale, don't yer, dearie?" she said coaxingly.

"Yes," said Mary. She wondered how the woman knew.

"But you're not the parson's child," continued the woman. "Give me your hand." She bent, muttering over it: "No, no, not the parson's child-- you belong to dark people, for all so white and fair you are."

Was the woman a witch? Mary gazed at her with eyes wide with fear, and the man and boy stood by with a cunning grin on their faces.

"Seven years ago," the woman went on in a sing-song tone, "you was lost. Seven years ago you was found. Seven years you've lived with strangers, and now you've come to yer own people."

What did she mean? These dirty, dark, evil-looking tramps her own people! Mary took courage and drew herself haughtily upright.

"You're not my people," she said boldly. "I live at the vicarage, with Mr and Mrs Vallance. I must go back to the others--it's getting late."

"Not so fast, my little queen," said the woman, still holding her hand and gazing at the palm. "What's this 'ere little token I ketch sight on? Why, it's a little shoe! A little leather shoe with a row o' brass nails an' a brass toe. Now, by that 'ere token I know you belongs to us. Yonder's yer father, and yonder's yer brother; nobody and nothin' can't take you from us now."

Mary burst into tears. It was too dreadful to find that this woman knew all about her; was it possible that she belonged to her in any way?

"I can't stay with you," she sobbed, "I must go back. They wouldn't let you keep me if they knew."

"They couldn't help it," said the woman with a scornful laugh, "not all the parsons and squires as ever was couldn't."

Poor Mary! All her spirit had gone from her now, she stood helplessly crying in the middle of the room.

"Wouldn't yer like to come back to pore Seraminta, yer own mother, what brought yer up and took care on yer?" the woman said in coaxing tones, "an to father Perrin, and dear brother Bennie."

"No--no--no," sobbed Mary, "I must go home."

"Well, now," said the woman, with a side wink to the two men, "suppose we _was_ to go agen our nateral feelin's and let you go back, what would you promise to do in return?"

"Anything--I'll do anything," said Mary, checking her tears and looking up with a gleam of hope.

"Then, look you here," said Seraminta, changing her soft tone to a threatening one, and frowning darkly. "First you've got to promise not to tell a soul of yer havin' bin in this room an' how you got 'ere. Next, to keep a quiet tongue about what you heard us say; and last, to bring all the money you've got and put it under the flat stone where the four roads meet, to-morrow at six o'clock in the evening. An' if yer do all these things we'll let you bide at the parson's. But if you breathe a word about what you've seen an' heard, whether it's in the dark or the light, whether it's sleeping or waking, whether it's to man, woman, or child, that very minute you'll be claimed for ours, and ours you'll be for ever."

The room was getting dark by this time, and the fire burning low gave a sudden flicker now and then, and died down again; by this uncertain light the dark figures standing round, and the lowering frown on Seraminta's crafty face, looked doubly awful.

Mary was frightened almost out of her wits, for she believed every word the woman had said, and thought her quite capable of carrying out