Mystery of Banshee Towers (5 page)

“You’ll find some little bottles of lemonade in that cupboard,” said Fatty. “And an opener too. I daren’t bring you a pot of tea. Mother would start asking questions!”

Ern sat happily munching his egg sandwiches, a glass of lemonade beside him, with Bingo sitting expectantly at his feet. Buster went sniffing at the bottom of a second cupboard, and Fatty laughed.

“He knows a packet of his biscuits is kept there, and he wants to give old Bingo some,” said Fatty, getting up. “Am I right, Buster, old thing?”

“Woof!” said Buster, dancing round excitedly, his tail wagging, Bingo joined him, having heard the word biscuits! Soon he and Buster were amiably sharing a packet, crunching up the biscuits in delight.

Buster was overjoyed to have Bingo to play with. He suddenly went completely mad and began to rush round and round the room at top speed, barking wildly. Bingo joined him, and the two boys hurriedly leapt out of the way.

“Shut up, Buster,” said Fatty. “Don’t do your racehorse gallop in here. Gosh, there goes the lemonade! BUSTER! Have you gone completely mad?”

“BINGO! Oh my goodness, he’s got hold of the rug now,” said Ern. “He’ll tear it to pieces - look at them having a tug-of-war. Fatty, you’ll have to take Buster away. They’ll wreck everything!”

A cautious knock came at the door and the two dogs left their play and rushed to it, barking madly.

“COME IN!” yelled Fatty. “MIND THE DOGS!”

It was little Bets, come to bring Ern a packet of food. Ern gave her a hug and opened the packet. Bets had made him some potted meat sandwiches, and brought him two currant buns as well. “And next time I come I’ll try and bring a pot of jam,” she said. “Oh, look at Bingo - he’s sitting up and begging! Did you teach him that, Ern?”

“No,” said Ern, in surprise. “Perhaps Buster did. Good, Bingo, good! You can stop begging now. Those sandwiches are for
me
.”

“I brought Bingo a ball,” said Bets, feeling in her coat pocket. “Here, Bingo - catch!”

The ball-game became very boisterous, as Buster also joined in, and soon chairs went flying, and rugs slithered about. In the middle of it Fatty’s mother looked in at the door.

“Whatever is going on?” she said. “I knocked, Fatty, but there was such a noise I suppose you didn’t hear. Why,
Ern
- you here already? You’re very early. How is your uncle, Mr Goon? “

Ern was rather taken-aback. “Er - well, he has a bit of a cough,” he said.

“Dear, dear, I hope he didn’t cough all night, poor man,” said Mrs Trotteville.

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear him coughing at all,” said Ern, truthfully.

“You and Bets are here very early today,” said Fatty’s mother. “Is there a Meeting - or are you going out together, or something?”

“Yes, Mother, yes, we’re all going off on an expedition,” said Fatty hastily. “We shall be starting pretty soon. Er - any chance of sandwiches for Ern and me?”

“I’ll tell Cook,” said Mrs Trotteville, and disappeared up the garden path, much to everyone’s relief. Fatty frowned at Buster.

“It was your silly barking, and Bingo’s, that made Mother come and see what was going on,” he said. “Sit! And you too, Bingo - SIT!”

Buster promptly sat, looking up at Fatty with pricked ears. Bingo took one look at him and did the same.

“And now - not another bark out of you, see?” said Fatty to Buster, and Ern pointed his finger at Bingo, and said exactly the same. Bets giggled.

“They look like two naughty little boys - and do look, Bingo is putting his tongue out at you, Ern!”

Sure enough, Bingo’s tongue was lolling out of his open mouth, as he sat panting on the rug. His bright eyes were fixed lovingly on Ern.

“Couple of fatheads,” said Ern. very proud of his dog. “Now just keep sitting till we say you can get up.”

“Look,” said Fatty. “I rather think we’d better set off on this first expedition of ours this morning, as I’ve said we were going. Bets, go and round up Pip and Larry and Daisy, will you? Tell them to be here in half an hour, with bicycles, sandwiches and drinks.”

“Right, Fatty,” said Bets, happily, and off she went. An expedition all together - to Banshee Towers! It really would be fun.

In just over half an hour everyone was ready. Pip came with Bets, Larry with Daisy, all on their bicycles. Now, how could they get Ern’s bicycle too - it was in the shed at Mr Goon’s!

“Uncle will be at the police station by now,” said Ern. “I could nip in and get it.”

“All right, but for goodness sake don’t get caught,” said Fatty. Ern shot off, and ran all the way to Mr Goon’s house. He went to the wood-shed, opened it and was thankful to see his bicycle still there. “Good thing Uncle didn’t think of it, or he’d have locked it up!” he thought, and rode off at top speed, keeping a wary eye out for Goon. Fortunately he was safely at the police station, very busy indeed.

Soon they were all cycling away down the country lanes, very happy to be going on a picnic to Banshee Hill. The spring sun shone down, the birds sang in the hedges, and the sky was as blue as in summer.

“I can feel some portry coming into my head,” said Ern to Bets who was riding beside him.

“Poetry!” said Bets. “Oh, Ern, you’re so clever at making up poetry. Do tell it to me! How does it go? “

Ern loved making up what he called his “portry”. He went on cycling, his head full of the things he saw around him - primroses in the ditches, cowslips in the fields, new green leaves on the hawthorn, cows grazing, pigeons cooing…

“Well, it hasn’t quite come yet,” he said. “But I know what I’m going to call it - ‘Coo’.”

“Oh, is it a song the
doves
are going to sing - all about the spring?” said Bets. “Say it to me, Ern.”

Ern sailed along on his bicycle, loudly chanting the “portry” that had suddenly come into his head.

“Coo, look at them primroses down in the ditch,

Smiling all over their faces.

Coo, listen to all the birds up in the hedge,

And larks in the big open spaces.

Coo, look at the cows and the cowslips too,

And… and…”

“And what?” said Bets. “Do go on, Ern. It’s wonderful.”

“Can’t seem to think of the end of it,” said Ern, frowning. “That’s the worst of me when I think of portry, Bets - it comes and goes - and now it’s gone. P’raps Fatty can think of the ending.”

“We’ll ask him when we have our lunch,” said Bets. “Look - isn’t that Bannshee Hill up there?”

“Coo - what a hill!” said Ern, sounding as if he were beginning his “Coo” song again. “I bet we’ll have to walk half way up it. I’ll push your bike for you, Bets.”

Yes, it was Banshee Hall - a very high one, running up steeply, with a winding road twisting to the summit. As they came near to it, the sun suddenly went in and a great black cloud blew up behind it.

“I suppose that’s Banshee Towers right at the very top,” said Bets. “Queer-looking place - it stands there as if it’s glowering down at us. I don’t like it very much - especially with that black cloud behind it.”

“You’re right,” said Ern, as they began to cycle slowly up the winding road that led to the top. “Very banshee-ish. I should say. Looks as if it wants to grumble and growl and wail! Buck up, young Bets - I believe it’s going to pour with rain. Here, let me wheel your bike for you - it’s too steep to ride just here!”

Fatty had just turned round to see if the girls were managing all right, and was pleased to see Ern wheeling Bets’ bicycle for her. Ern might be rough and ready sometimes, but he had very nice ways, thought Fatty. He called to Daisy.

“Want any help, Daisy? “

“No, I’m all right,” said Daisy, panting. “I just hope we’ll get to the top before it pours! I say - that looks a pretty grim place up on the hill, doesn’t it?”

“Yes - more like an old fortress than anything!” shouted back Fatty. “Look at the two dogs - we’ve left them far behind! Never mind - they’ll catch us up sometime.”

They arrived at the gloomy old place at last, and stacked their bicycles in a convenient shed. Then they made their way to the entrance.

“This way to the Wailing Banshee!” said Larry, grinning at Daisy and Bets. “Make ready to run for your lives!”

“Ass!” said Fatty, seeing Bets’ alarmed face. “I’ll make
you
run for your life if you say any more, Larry! Come on - we have to pay to go in so dub up!

“How much to go in, please?” asked Fatty.

“One shilling each,” said the dour-looking man behind the turnstiles.

“Whew - that’s rather a lot for us children to pay,” said Pip. “Don’t we go in for half-price?”

“You do not,” said the man, looking at them severely over the top of his spectacles.

“Do you charge for dogs?” asked Fatty.

“No. They are NOT allowed in here,” said the man. “Anyway, you haven’t any dogs with you.”

“We seem to have lost them,” said Fatty. “Er - do you charge for cats? I can see one sitting in your office.”

“And what about horses?” said Larry, joining in. “Any objection to horses or a sheep or two?”

“No horses and no sheep,” said the man. “And no silly asses, either, so be careful if
you
want to go in, see?”

“He’s smarter than he looks,” said Fatty to the others when they were safely inside. “Let’s buy a catalogue shall we? I say - what a place!”

“And what a VIEW!” said Daisy, going to one of the great windows that looked down over the countryside. “Glorious! You can see everything for miles around!”

“Fatty! Come and look at this picture!” called Bets. “It’s so real you can almost hear the swish of the waves!”

They all went across the stone floor, their feet clattering, to a wall where a great picture was displayed - a stormy sea, the waves rising high, the spray flying.

“I feel as if my face is getting wet with spray when I look at that,” said Bets, in awe. “Isn’t it magnificent! Do buy a catalogue, Fatty. I want to see what it says about this picture.”

Fatty went back to the man at the turnstiles, took a catalogue and put down a shilling, the man didn’t even look up. “Surly fellow!” thought Fatty and went back to the others, leafing through the catalogue to find a description of the picture that Bets liked.

“It’s called ‘Fury of the Storm’,” he said. “It says the artist is one of the most famous of sea-artists - and would you believe it, that picture was painted more than a hundred years ago! And yet it looks as fresh and clear as if it had been finished yesterday.”

Someone clattered over the stone-floor, set down a stool and put an easel in front of a picture on the opposite wall. He proceeded to set up a large canvas on the easel. The children went over, in curiosity.

“Hallo, kids,” said the man, a shock-haired fellow in a loose black painting overall. “Come to worship at the shrine of sea-art? Mind you don’t bump into the banshee. It wails one day a week, you know, so you
may
hear it.”

“I don’t want to,” said Bets, at once. “Anyway, there isn’t a banshee. It’s just imaginary.”

There was further clattering, and three more artists came in, carrying easels. They set themselves down in front of various pictures. Fatty stared in surprise.

“Are you
copying
the pictures?” he asked the man beside him, who was now sitting on a stool, mixing colours on a palette.

“Yes. We all belong to a School of Art,” said the man. “Those who are good enough are sent here to copy these pictures for practice - we can sell them all right afterwards, you know.”

Bets looked at the picture on the man’s easel. It didn’t seem very good to her. “You haven’t painted that wave the right colour,” she said, pointing.

“Well, alter it for me,” said the man, offering her an enormously long paint-brush.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” said Bets.

“See that fellow over there?” said the man, pointing with his brush. “Well, he’s the best of the lot. He doesn’t belong to our art-school, though. You go and see
his
work - better than the original artist’s, I sometimes think!”

They went over to look at the picture the other man was copying. He sat in front of a lovely seascape, that shone on the wall opposite the man. It was a picture of a blue sea swirling round the bottom of a high cliff, tumbling over the rocks. On his big canvas he was reproducing a marvellous copy. He scowled at the children.

“
Allez vous en!
” he growled.

“That’s French for ‘Go away’,” Bets whispered to the surprised Ern. “We’d better go.”

But Ern wouldn’t move. He stood staring at the picture on the wall, his face full of wonder and awe. To think anyone could paint the sea like that - why, it was
real
- you could almost hear the wind and the roar of the waves - you could feel the spray and…

“Wake up. Ern,” said Larry. “You’ll shout for a lifeboat if you look at that picture any more!”

“It’s smashing,” said Ern. “Ab-so-lutely smashing. Wish
I
could paint. Gosh, if I’d painted that picture there, I’d never do anything but sit and look at it all day long!”

The French artist who was copying the picture suddenly lost his temper as Ern breathed heavily down the back of his neck. He leapt up, drew his paint-brush across Ern’s face, and hissed at him with a long string of what sounded like complete gibberish to the startled Ern.

“Come on, we’ve upset the fellow,” said Fatty, seeing the alarm on Bets’ face. “Sorry, sir - but you shouldn’t lash out with your brush like that. Ern, come with me. ERN!”

But Ern was still staring at the picture on the wall, absent-mindedly rubbing at the paint that the artist had streaked across his face. Larry chuckled. Ern looked rather like a clown now! Fatty and Larry took him firmly by the arms and led him to the opposite side of the great hall, where other pictures were.

Ern and Bets could have stayed there all day, staring at the pictures. There seemed to be some magic about the seascapes that appealed to each of them in a way that the others did not feel. Soon they left Bets and Ern to themselves and wandered into the other rooms. Here there was old armour on the walls, and old weapons in cases. The four examined them with much interest, and Fatty longed to take down a great old pike from the wall, and caper about with it.