Seven White Gates, page 1
Contents
Foreword
1. Lone Pine Summons
2. The Caravan
3. The Seven Gates
4. The Lone Piners Join Up
5. Pilgrims' Progress
6. H.Q.2
7. The Black Messenger
8. Moonlight Mystery
9. The Cable
10. The Handsome Stranger
11. The Rescue
12. Seven White Gates
Seven White Gates
Malcolm Saville
First revised edition published in 1969 by Wm. Collins Sons and Co. Ltd., London and Glasgow. This edition was first published in 1970 by May Fair Books Ltd., 14 St. James's Place, London S.W.1, and was printed in Great Britain by Love & Malcomson Ltd., Brighton Road, Redhill, Surrey.
MALCOLM SAVILLE
CONDITIONS OF SALE: This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Foreword
In the county of Shropshire, not very far from the borders of Wales, there stretches for five miles a gaunt, rugged range called Stiperstones. This little-known mountain is crowned by a mysterious ridge known as the Devil's Chair, which is said to be one of the oldest parts of England - older by far even than the ice age.
It is in this country - a fragment of England rich in folklore and legend - that this story is set. Except for the two villages through which Peter rode on the first day of the Easter holidays, you will not find any other of the places mentioned on a map. They do not exist. There is no village called Barton Beach, no valley called Black Dingle and no farm - so far as I know - with seven white gates. All the people you will read about are imaginary and have no reference to any living person.
But if you ever discover the Stiperstones for yourself you will find that the Devil's chair is there. I promise you that.
M.S
1. Lone Pine Summons
For as long as she had been a boarder at the Castle School Peter had felt peculiar on the last day of term.
It had always been the same, and now that she was fifteen and would be taking School Certificate in the summer, she felt just as excited and sick as she had at the end of that long first term when she was only ten and had cried into her pillow: "Tomorrow I shall really go home. Tomorrow I shall see Daddy. Tomorrow I shall go up the valley again to lovely Hatchholt."
Now, at breakfast-time on breaking-up morning before the Easter Holidays, she looked round the crowded tables and wondered how it was that all the other laughing, chattering girls were able to produce normal appetites on such an exciting day. She turned to the girl on her left.
"You can have my fish-cake, Margaret. I'm not hungry and I suppose you are - as usual!"
"I should just think I am! What's the matter, Peter?"
"Nothing. I only want my tea, that's all."
"Well, you look a bit green... But you'd better not report to Matron in case you've got something catching, and they keep us all from going home."
Peter sat back and crumbled her bread. Her throat felt a little tight, and she was conscious of the thumping of her heart as she wondered whether all these other girls with whom she had spent most of her life loved their homes as much as she did. And Peter was well aware that she had an unusual home. There were only three other girls at the Castle who, like herself, had no mother, and that made a difference, of course. But nobody else lived in a tiny, isolated cottage at the top of a lonely valley in the Shropshire hills, with a dear old Daddy who was in charge of one of the reservoirs which supplied the Midland cities with water. Only Joanna, at the end of the next table, had a pony, and although Peter had never seen it, she was sure that it was a most expensive, purebred animal, and not at all like her precious, sure-footed mountain pony, Sally.
Peter had never found anyone who knew as much about the country as she did; nobody who loved birds and wild things in the same way; nobody who had climbed the hills and picked bilberries higher than the streams began, and nobody who would steal out with her at night to watch the stars swing across the blue-black sky.
All this did not mean that Peter was not happy at school - she was. She had many friends, but no one special friend, and not until the Mortons had come to Witchend last summer had she ever preferred anyone else's company to her own. Now, of course, after their amazing adventure together, they would always be very special friends, and she was longing to meet them all again tomorrow. She was just wondering whether there would be a letter from David this morning when the headmistress rose from her place and reduced one hundred and sixty girls and a large staff to silence. She gave out a few notices, and then, after the grace, the girls filed out of hall to go to their own houses.
In Pollards, the morning letters were always put out on the mantelpiece in the hall, and as Peter was first in, she had to rummage through quite a big pile before she found two for her. The first was unmistakably from her father, and she was surprised he had found it necessary to send her a second letter this week, for she had had one the day before. She wondered what he had forgotten to tell her, but examined the other envelope first.
The address on this was not nearly as legible. The writer had written Peter first, and then crossed it out and substituted "Petronella Sterling, Pollards House, Castle School, Shrewsbury." On the back of the envelope was a crude drawing of a pine tree and a printed message written in copying ink which read: "WE'RE HOME BOTH OF US TWO." Peter laughed. Just like the twins to have the last word!
Half-way along the corridor to the house room was a window with a deep seat. Peter hurried there now with her two letters, swung her legs up and opened her father's envelope.
"My dear Petronella," she read hurriedly, "I have some surprising news for you which will, I fear, necessitate some change in our immediate plans. No sooner had Ward, the postman, collected my letter to you last Monday than the telephone rang. You will remember how much I dislike this instrument, and indeed, since its installation after the events of last summer, I have yet to receive anything but disquieting or unexpected news from it. This occasion was no exception..."
Peter's eyes flew down the page in the hope of finding the real news before she realized that she would have to go back to the beginning to get the full story. Mr. Sterling could never be hurried. She sighed and went back to the top of the page.
"... This occasion was no exception. I was told that I was to proceed to the offices of the Water Company in Birmingham on Thursday next, and that I must be available for consultation for some days in that most detestable city. You will realize, my dear Petronella, that I have no choice in this matter, and it will therefore be impossible for you to come to Hatchholt on that day. I cannot permit you to stay here alone in the empty house, and I have therefore telegraphed to - and received confirmation from - your uncle and aunt at their farm called Seven Gates at Barton Beach. I have asked them to accommodate you until we can both return to Hatchholt together. I do not know how long I shall be away, but I suggest that you send your trunk to Onnybrook ready for transport here, and that you should cycle to Barton Beach on Thursday, taking what you need in your haversack.
"Yesterday I paid one of my rare visits to Witchend to see your young friends. All are very well, and I found the twins in exceptionally good form. My sight is not what it was, but it would seem to me that they are even more alike than they were last summer, and that their strange aptitude for simultaneous conversation and for finishing each other's thoughts and sentences has strengthened rather than diminished. Mrs. Morton was so kind as to suggest that you go to them until I return, and although I know that you would welcome this, I prefer that you should go to Seven Gates.
"You will hardly remember your Uncle Micah and have never met your Aunt Caroline. I do not know her well, but you will recall that she has often invited you and it is discourteous to continue to refuse such hospitality. You may find your uncle a little strange and life somewhat different on a large farm, but I am sure that you will do all you can to help your aunt, who will give you a warm welcome.
"Your friend David seems to have grown also. He is a fine lad - always courteous and ready to listen to his elders..." Peter grinned ruefully at this observation. "He is coming over to Hatchholt tomorrow for your pony. Now that you have taught him to ride, I am sure Sally will be safe with him.
"You know, my dear Petronella, how much I dislike these upsets, but you will please me by making the best of this matter and doing all you can to help your uncle and aunt. I hope also that I shall receive a rather more satisfactory report of your progress at school this term.
"As soon as I know the date of my return I will write or telegraph you again.
"With love from your affectionate father,
"Jasper Sterling.
"P.S. - I have written to your headmistress by this post."
Through a mist of unshed tears Peter realized that the other girls were crowding past her down the corridor as they ran to get ready for "reading over" in the school hall. All very well for them to laugh! Their holidays were not spoiled. All her plans were ruined! Now she would not see her father next day, nor Sally, nor David, nor the twins, nor Tom, and she would not be there to open the Lone Pine Camp after its winter rest.
Now Dad was telling her to go off by herself to a place she had forgotten, to see an aunt she had never met and an old uncle with a beard like a prophet in the Old Testament, and of whom she felt half afraid.
Margaret's cheerful voice broke into her gloomy thoughts.
"What is up, Peter? You are feeble this morning, and you can't sit there glooming all the day. We're late for Hall already..." she paused a moment and then added quietly: "Bad news, Peter?... Sorry if I'm butting in..."
Peter jumped down, gulped and sniffed, and then slipped her arm through her friend's.
"Thanks, Margaret," she said. "I'm all right really. It's just that I can't go straight home tomorrow, but have got to go to some relations I don't know till Daddy comes back."
They just managed to get into Hall before the head took her place in the centre of the platform and started to read over the form order. During the applause and general excitement, Peter realized that she had not yet opened the other letter. She had pushed them both into the front of her tunic and she felt now for their reassuring crackle. They seemed to have slipped in her haste, and she was fumbling in a panicky way for them when Margaret nudged her violently and hissed... "It's you, you silly ass... Peter! She's calling you... Go up and get it!"
Peter started guiltily. Everyone was looking at her and one or two girls were clapping.
The head's voice seemed to come from a great distance as she repeated:
"Upper School Essay Prize... Petronella Sterling."
Not until she was back in her seat again did she realize that her prize was that most precious of all books - Bevis, by Richard Jeffries. She had not thought about the essay for weeks, and only now did she remember that one of the subjects had been "Winter on the Hills," and that she had written many pages without difficulty. For a little she forgot her troubles in justifiable pride as Margaret and others near her reached curiously for the book.
At last there were cheers for the staff, cheers for the head, and cheers for the "leavers", and the Easter term was over, but it was not until after lunch that she was able to find time to read her other letter.
The envelope contained two documents. The first was folded several times until it was a small square upon which was inscribed a pine cone, the same sign as appeared on the back of the envelope.
The message inside was terse. It was headed "LONE PINE CLUB" and then read "Take notice. First meeting of the Club at Lone Pine Camp at two o'clock on Friday. All Members must be present. Come separately. Tell nobody. Urgent. Confidential. Destroy this.
"Signed,
"David Morton (Captain)."
Peter sighed. This was just what she had hoped would happen, and now she would be the only absent member.
The other note was written on a page from David's note-book.
"Dear Peter," she read.
"We arranged the Lone Pine Meeting before your father told us you wouldn't be coming home for a bit. Bad luck. We're all fed up, and hope to see you soon. Your father seemed a bit depressed, and although Mother wanted you to come here, he said you had to go to some farm with an odd name the other side of the Stiperstones. Dickie says is this the mysterious farm you told us about last year? If it is, he will want to come and explore, and so shall we. Anyway, we can't run the Club without you, so buck up and write and tell us what it's like and how you're getting on. I'm going over to Hatchholt tomorrow for Sally. You don't mind me riding her, do you? By the way, I saw Tom last night and he wanted to know when you were coming. He'll be fed, too. Mother and Mary send their love.
"David.
"P.S. - We always said we'd explore the Stiperstones didn't we? Write soon and let us know the chances."
There was nothing to do but make the best of it. Seven Gates would be an adventure, anyway, and even if she was by herself it would not be for more than a few days before her father came back from Birmingham, and then she would join up with the others.
So feeling a little more cheerful, she wandered off to clean and oil her bicycle and alter her packing arrangements. She was not popular with the matron when she told her that she must transfer some things from her already packed trunk to her haversack.
But it was not until she was in her cubicle that night that Peter definitely made up her mind to get the Mortons and Tom to Seven Gates if it was in any way possible. She was just ready for bed when Margaret slipped in and pulled the curtain after her.
"Jolly good about the Essay prize, Peter," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed. Such praise was unlike Margaret, so Peter sensed that something else was coming.
"I suppose you've got to go to these relations of yours tomorrow, haven't you, Peter?" she asked suddenly. "I mean - you didn't seem very bucked about it all, and I sort of wondered whether... whether you'd care to come home with me... I know they would all be glad to have you, Peter, and you could stay with us until you can go home... that is, of course, if you'd really like it..."
Peter was quite overcome. She'd never been particularly friendly with Margaret, but this really was decent of her, and she told her so, but explained why she could not accept.
Margaret sighed. "All right, Peter, I just wondered. I would have liked you to come. It would have been fun, because my brother's in the Army now, and it's pretty gloomy at home... I don't have many adventures in the hols. Do you? I believe you once said you'd had the biggest adventure last summer of anyone in the school. Did you? I wish you'd tell me now. Nobody will be able to get to sleep for hours yet. What happened, Peter? Was it a romance?"
Peter laughed.
"No, it wasn't. Nothing like it. But if I tell you, you must swear never to repeat it, because we all had to promise at the time. Do you swear, Margaret?"
Margaret swore, and then sat entranced, sipping water from the tooth-glass while Peter told her the story of last summer's adventure.
"Where I live," she began, "it's so lonely that sometimes we don't often see anybody for days except the old postman. On our side of the Long Mynd Mountain there are several valleys, but on the Welsh side there are thick woods, and very few paths or roads. The next valley to ours is called Dark Hollow, and that's very lonely, and the next is the Witchend Valley with a lovely old farmhouse of the same name, and another farm called Ingles, after the man who works it. Last summer the nicest people I've ever met came to live at Witchend. Their name is Morton. Their father was in the R.A.F., and that left Mrs. Morton, their mother, who is a darling, David, my special friend, and the twins, Dickie and Mary. David is fifteen, like me, and the twins are nine. You can't imagine anything like these two. They're awfully alike, of course, but they are a super couple because they always stick up for each other, always do everything together and often seem to know exactly what the other is thinking without either of them saying a word.
"When I first saw them, they had all got lost on the hills above Dark Hollow, and Dickie had fallen in a bog. I remember Mary being furious with me because I said that her twin smelled when we'd fished him out! Anyway they came home with me and later we all explored the mountain, and for a little while we trailed a strange man with a knapsack. The twins were full of legends about the Stiperstones - where I'm going tomorrow - told them by a sailor they'd met on the train, and we wasted a lot of time before deciding to climb down the west side of the mountain, through a wood, to find a farm called Appledore.
"I knew that a Mrs. Thurston had taken the place, and we just went down for a rag and a drink of water. She was rather a horrid-looking woman - smart, with black hair and a bright red mouth, and always smoking, and she had a beastly manservant called Jacob. Anyway, she gave us a jolly good tea, and then took us home in her car just after we'd heard an owl hooting. Oh! I forgot to tell you the Mortons had a little black Scottie dog called Macbeth. He hated Mrs. Thurston as soon as he saw her and wouldn't go in the house.
"Then there was another boy called Tom who had come to help his uncle, Mr. Ingles, on the farm, and he joined up with us and we founded a secret society that I can't tell you about, and made a secret camp too.
"Then all sorts of odd things began to happen, and it seemed that the country was full of strangers. One day Mrs. Thurston walked over to call on Mrs. Morton, and Mary saw her kick the dog when she thought nobody else was looking. Then the twins had a terrific adventure. They found an R.A.F. pilot in the secret place, and he said he was Mrs. Thurston's nephew home on leave, and would they guide him over the hill to Appledore. When they got to the top of the Mynd they met Mrs. Thurston, who didn't recognize her nephew at all. Dickie and Mary went down with them to Appledore - I think that was because they were a bit frightened of coming home to a first-class bust up - and then I believe Jacob scared them and they ran away.
