Wings Over Witchend, page 7
"I think that woman is mad," Mary said faintly. "If she goes along the top of the Mynd in the snow then we shall know she is for certain. I'm not going much farther, Dickie... She's almost out of sight now and I don't really care where she goes. I wish I'd never seen her."
Dickie wouldn't give in, and ten minutes later they had left the trees behind and were on a little hill looking across the width of the mountain to the Portway. Far away to their right were the hangars of the gliding club, and as they saw Primrose walking straight across the snow-covered plateau, the red-winged glider they had seen earlier over the Lone Pine camp came sailing over their heads again. It seemed to tilt its wings as it passed above Primrose, and although they couldn't be sure they thought she waved to the pilot as it sailed away.
"All right, Mary," Dickie said. "Maybe she's like you said. Crazy. She said she lived in Stretton, and she's walking away from it, unless she's making straight for the Portway instead of cutting across. There's nothing over there, is there?"
"Only that horrible old ruined cottage almost on the edge of the mountain. That beastly, ghosty place we looked at once with David and Peter. I wouldn't go near it for anything... Shell be lost again if she isn't careful.
It will be dark in an hour... Come on, twin. We must run all the way back now."
It was easier going back down the hill, but they might well have taken the wrong fire-break if they had not had the sense to follow their own footprints in the snow. All went well until they were nearing the plantations of young trees on the lower slopes of the forest, when they heard a man shouting behind them.
"Hi there! Come here, you two."
It was the sort of voice which meant business, so they stopped and turned round while Mackie barked his defiance. The man stood in the middle of the track with a gun under his arm.
"Come here, I said. You're trespassing."
The twins, with Mackie half throttling himself on his lead, walked back. He was a thin, dark man with a swarthy skin and keen blue eyes and was wearing brown corduroy trousers, a thick woollen jersey with a high collar and a tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows. He looked very angry.
"How did you get in here?" he repeated.
The twins glanced at each other and knew that this was not the time for a long story in their usual manner.
"If you belong to the forest we'll tell you," Dickie began.
"And if you don't, we don't see why you should be so angry with us," Mary added.
"Tell me, and don't argue," the man snapped, and they didn't. They told him that they knew the country well and proved it, and added that they'd seen someone walking up through the forest and decided to follow her. They saw at once that he didn't believe them, so Dickie added quickly:
"We know the woman's name because she stayed at Witchend last night. We think she's exploring the Mynd, and when she was lower down the path there and we were coming along behind her, she dropped a burning cigarette end. We saw it. She wasn't very far ahead then. We stamped on it."
"So you know about the danger of lighting fires in the forest, do you? You wouldn't ever do that, would you?"
"Not in here we wouldn't, but we've got a secret camp in our own forest, thank you," Mary said indignantly. "You seem to think we don't know anything."
The man smiled unexpectedly.
"I believe you. Where did this mysterious lady friend of yours go when she got to the top?"
"We don't know. She was walking towards the Portway across the snow, and we think she's a bit peculiar. May we go now?"
"I guess she certainly was peculiar. Come on, then. I'll see you on your way, but you must remember that you've no right in the forest."
After that he was quite nice and told them that he was one of the foresters called a warrener whose job it was to keep the forest free of squirrels and rabbits and to look out for trespassers. He told them, too, that he had a dog who was at home with a poisoned paw, and he admired Mackie, who was behaving very well on his lead, and so won Mary's heart.
They said "Good-bye" to him at the edge of the forest where the young trees were growing, and ran home through the dusk as fast as they could. It was almost dark in the sunken track, and when they came out into the open they saw the welcoming lights of Witchend.
"Shall we arrive all out of breath?" Dickie panted. "Or shall we stop here and calm down? P'raps it would be better if Agnes saw how hard we've been trying to get back to her?"
Mary nodded as she let Mackie off the lead. She had stitch and was sure it would be better to get trouble with Agnes over as soon as possible, so she just ran on without speaking.
But even as they opened the front door they sensed that something was wrong. They called for Agnes, but once again when they wanted her she was missing.
They ran upstairs, and then they looked outside the scullery door, but there was no sign of her anywhere, although Mary noticed that her coat, which usually hung behind the front door, had gone. The table was laid and there were three brown eggs on a plate ready to be popped in the saucepan on the stove.
"I hate this, Dickie," Mary gulped. "Let's go down to Ingles and tell them... Come, Mackie."
They trotted down the lane, and just before they reached the farm they heard familiar voices, and there was Tom opening the gate of one of his uncle's fields for Peter, who was riding Sally.
"Oh! Petah!" Mary sobbed. "Agnes has vanished again just like last night. We've just got back and the house is empty. And we looked outside, too. We hate it."
Peter slipped off the pony's back and handed the reins to Tom.
"If you've only just got home, maybe she's at Ingles asking for you. You've been out much too long, anyway."
They looked at her aghast. Peter never spoke to them like this. Then Mary sniffed and said quietly, "We're sorry, Petah. We've had an adventure we'll tell you about, but do please see if Agnes is here."
"I'll look after Sally," Tom said as he opened the farmyard gate. "Tell Aunt Betty I won't be long, and let me know if Agnes has run away and left these two. There are times when I wouldn't blame her."
Mary put out her tongue at him, but it was too dark for him to see, and then ran across the yard. As soon as the kitchen door opened she heard Agnes' voice and rushed in and hugged her. Mr. and Mrs. Ingles were there, too, and when Peter followed everyone talked at once and Agnes did not have much chance to scold them.
"A cup o' tea for you all and no nonsense," Mrs. Ingles insisted as she went to the china cupboard, "and while I'm making it you can finish the story of your visitor, Agnes."
"Another visitor?" Peter laughed as she slipped her rucksack from her back. "Not at Witchend? I've come to stay, please, Agnes dear. Daddy has packed up and gone to Seven Gates... But what's this about another visitor?"
Agnes took off her coat and looked inquiringly at the farmer.
"I reckoned Mr. Ingles ought to know about this," she began. "Seems a bit queer to me, and as I thought these two rascals might still be here - and I've not had my say about you yet, Richard and Mary - I reckoned I'd pop along and------"
"That's fine, Agnes," Mr. Ingles roared. "You've popped! Now tell us what's queer."
"I'm reckoning to tell you, and I must ask you not to shout at me, Alf Ingles. 'Twas like this. Middle of afternoon it was. Half after three maybe when there comes a knock on the door. And there's a pleasant-looking and pleasant-speaking chap a' standing there in a big, sandy-coloured overcoat and raising his cap to me. I'll not tell you all he said, but it was about wanting to have a party up here over Christmas for winter sports. Said money didn't matter so long as they could have 'Witchend' right away------Was as much as I could do to get a word in edgeways, but he badgered me to give him Mr. Morton's address, and a lot of other nosey questions besides."
Mr. Ingles, who was lighting his pipe, dropped the match in surprise.
"Bless me!" he roared. "Did you hear that, Betty? Just listen to me, Agnes. That chap came here, too. Asking questions and the like. Wanted to know if Witchend was the only house besides this up this way... Never seen the chap before in my life... Seems to me this place is getting like a health resort... "
5. More Strangers
Although Mrs. Ingles told Peter again that she would be welcome to stay with them at the farm as long as she liked, she decided to go back to Witchend with Agnes and the twins. It was obvious that the latter had got something special to tell her, but it was not until they went up to bed that their chance came.
Peter was amazed at their story of Primrose and how they had followed her up the hidden track to the forest.
"We'll talk it all over with Tom in the morning," she promised, "and I bet he'll be proud of you. Maybe we'll hear from the others, too, and I know David will want to know all about it. Well done, twins. Good night."
She was so tired herself that she came up to bed as soon as she had helped Agnes with the supper things. When she woke next morning it was only just light enough for her to see that it was seven o'clock. She began to think about Primrose. There hadn't seemed to be anything unpleasant or unusual about her, except her particular interest in the district and in Witchend. It was odd, of course, that she had gone out yesterday morning before any of them were awake, and even odder that she should come back hours later and crawl past the house as if she didn't want to be seen. And though the twins might have got muddled over some things, they had both been sure that when they had last seen her she was walking fast in the dusk towards the Portway. And it was odd again that she had gone out of her way to warn them that it would be unsafe for them to stay at Witchend if the snow continued.
Peter didn't like mysteries. Last night Dickie had said that Primrose was jolly sinister and had something to hide, and it really seemed as if he was right. Then there was Agnes' story of the polite gentleman who had called at Ingles and Witchend and wanted to rent the latter immediately for winter sports. Then, as she lay snuggled under the bedclothes, she felt her cheeks burn with the shock of another thought. The driver of the lorry who had given them a lift the first night had also been interested in Witchend and asked curious questions about it. There wasn't and never had been anything special about it except its loneliness. Everybody for miles around knew the Mortons and liked them, and were glad when they had taken over Witchend as a holiday home. And everybody knew Agnes, and although she wasn't very genial and was sometimes laughed at in a friendly way, she was well liked, too. During the summer there were plenty of holiday-makers in the district, and most of them came back year after year, but now the place seemed to be alive with curious strangers, and there must be some reason for it.
Tom hadn't much time for mysteries either, and although he had proved himself to be a wonderful friend, she did hope that David would come soon. He always understood what was puzzling her, and although he didn't chatter as much as Tom, he got things done in his quiet way. As she slipped out of bed she thought how wonderful it would be to have him for Christmas and tell him all about the odd things which had happened from the moment they had stepped out into the snow on the platform at Onnybrook such a short time ago. She picked up her clothes, slipped on her dressing-gown and ran down to the living-room, where she knew that the fire would still be alight. For once she was down before Agnes, so she made some tea and took the pot and two cups up to the housekeeper's room, after telling Macbeth to stay where he was.
Rather to her surprise, Agnes asked her to come in, and Peter tried not to show her astonishment at the sight of the housekeeper in bed with a funny-looking little lace hat on her head.
"Bless me, child! What's wrong? I thought the house must be afire. I must have overslept. A cup o' tea? Reckon I've not had a treat like this for fifteen years since my dear William died."
Peter sat on the end of the bed and teased her a little about oversleeping, and told her that she would start the breakfast.
It was a horrid morning. The sky was dull and thick with sullen-looking clouds. The snow that had fallen in the night had drifted against the front door and covered all yesterday's footprints across the yard. Agnes told the twins that they were not to go out until she gave permission.
"And it's no use looking like that, Master Richard. I heard you cough up there in the bathroom, and it sounded like the roof was coming off. Here you stay in the warm until the sun comes out, whether you like it or not."
"If Mummy was here------" Mary began, and then thought better of it.
"But when are they due to come, Agnes?" Peter said quickly. "Is it today or tomorrow, and are they coming in the car?"
"I was reckoning to get a letter or a message to-day," Agnes admitted, "but old Charlie the postman don't like this snow, so I reckon he'll leave any post for us at Ingles. Or maybe Mrs. Morton will telephone Ingles, and if Tom doesn't come up here soon perhaps you'll go down, Peter, and see what's happening?"
Peter could see that she was anxious and didn't want the twins to know it, so she decided not to remind her that the Ingles' telephone might still be out of order. After a long silence the twins glanced at each other across the table and Mary said:
"We quite understand about us not going out for a long explore like yesterday, Agnes, but there's something very, very important we've just got to do to-day. We didn't think of it yesterday because we were rather excited, but when we tell you we know you'll say 'Yes.' "
Agnes looked at her grimly.
"I have my doubts of that, young lady, but out with it."
"It's Christmas decorations, Agnes dear. We've got to go to Stretton to-day to buy paper chains and all that sort of thing. Once we've got them, Agnes, we'll stay here all day doing the decorating, and when the sun comes out perhaps you'll let us go to our secret place and decorate that, too," and here she turned to Peter and gave her a most significant wink.
"But you do see, Agnes, that we've got to have proper decorations to welcome Mummy and Daddy," Dickie pleaded. "We can buy everything we'll want in Stretton, but we've got to go soon, else the shops will sell out and we shan't have time to make the paper chains... You do see what we mean, don't you, dear Agnes?"
Fortunately, Tom then arrived with the milk.
"Uncle meant to have told you last night, but they haven't been to mend the telephone yet. There's wires down all over the place, they say. He was thinking that maybe Mr. Morton would be wanting to get a message through to you. Even if he sends a telegram he reckons they won't be able to get it up to you and old Charlie hasn't arrived yet."
"It's good of you to come up, Tom," Agnes said. "All the same, we should be hearing from the family to-day, and I'd be glad of a message, though everything is ready for them here."
"What's the weather like, Tom?" Peter asked. "I was thinking that if we could get down to the post office at Onnybrook a telegram might be waiting for us there."
"Uncle says it didn't snow again till about five. He says we won't have any more for a bit and it's clearer now than it was afore breakfast. I could get you down to the village, though, if he'll let me have the blue tractor. We've got an old trolley we use for the milk churns and we could hitch that on behind and you could ride on that. He won't mind, and I could pick up anything you want in the village."
"That's it, Agnes!" Dickie shouted triumphantly. "Let's do that. We'll ride in the trolley and then we wouldn't even get snow in our boots... And you heard what Tom said. The sun is coming out soon."
Agnes opened the door and looked up at the sky. It certainly was brighter, and she did want to know if there was a telegram. Perhaps if Peter and Tom were with the twins and promised to keep an eye on them it would be all right? She tried to guess what their mother would have done and then was fairly sure that she would say "Yes."
"Very well, then," she said grudgingly. "But you're to look after them, Peter, and no nonsense."
The weather did improve, and Mr. Ingles agreed that the tractor was a good idea and would get them through any small drifts on the road. The trolley had a rail round it and was big enough to carry Peter, the twins and Macbeth. The Ingles' lane was in very bad condition, and it was no wonder that the postman had not arrived.
Tom rather enjoyed showing off in the tractor, particularly as Peter had made him look rather silly on Sally yesterday. They got down the lane without mishap, and their journey was enlivened by the singing of carols by the twins. When they reached the road between Onnybrook and Plowden, Tom drove very carefully round the sharp corner because passing traffic had churned up the snow and there were skid-marks where some heavy vehicle had slid across the road.
"You may have to get out and walk at the steepest part of the hill lower down," Tom yelled above the noise of the engine. 'Trolley hasn't got any brakes, and you twins had better stop fooling about."
Mary and Dickie raised an indignant protest and then Peter suddenly shouted to Tom to stop.
"What's that in the ditch, Tom? Just ahead on your left. Looks like a Christmas tree."
And so it was. Peter jumped off the trolley, picked it up and shook the snow from its young green branches. It was about three feet high and the soil was still fresh on its roots.
"Look, Tom," she said. "Parts of the roots have been cut through with an axe. I suppose it dropped off a lorry yesterday before it snowed again."
Tom looked at the marks in the road and nodded.
"Might have been a bit of a mix-up here. Something skidded across the road, anyway. Leave it here, Pete, and we'll pick it up on the way back if nobody has claimed it. Might do for us Christmas Day."
"We saw millions of trees like that in the forest yesterday," Dickie said as Peter clambered on to the trolley again. "Primrose was looking at them, too."
Peter was very quiet on the way down the hill. She was puzzled because Tom's suggestion that the tree had fallen from a skidding lorry didn't make sense. The skid-marks were fresh and the tree had been snowed on where it lay in the ditch and there had been no fall of snow since five in the morning.
Half-way down the hill they met old Charlie pushing up his bicycle. There were no letters for Witchend and only two for Ingles, so Tom put them in his pocket and saved the postman a journey. At the level-crossing the gates were against them, so the twins went on to the platform and watched a heavy goods train clanking south to Hereford.
