The Manor House School (10 page)

"We shall get a nice wetting if it does, for we haven't an umbrella amongst us!" returned Irene.

"Rain? Not it! Don't distress yourself; the glass was up to 'Fair' this morning. It's only a little scrap of mist blowing over. I don't mind giving you a butter-scotch in exchange for every drop of rain you get on your hat to-day," declared Ralph, whose prophecies were generally in exact accordance with his hopes, and who was apt to shut his eyes to unwelcome truths.

"Better not promise too much, old chap, or you may have to pay up," said Leonard. "I don't like the look of the sky myself. But what's the odds? It won't be the first time we've been wet through, by a long way, and I suppose we shan't melt."

"What about the lunch?" asked Rhoda. "I'm getting so famished, I can't wait much longer."

It was decided that the extreme top of the Tor was hardly a suitable place--the wind was strong, and no water was available; so they climbed some little distance down the cliff on the farther side, and at last hit upon a sheltered spot among the rocks, where a small surface spring, bubbling up from the ground, enabled them to fill the milk-can which was to serve as a kettle. The boys cut large bundles of dry heather, and, stacking it well together, soon had a good fire burning. They found it after all impossible to suspend the can, for the flames burnt directly through any stick that they tried to hang over the blaze; so they were obliged to set it securely on an arrangement of stones, and rake the fire round it. They had brought the tea in a muslin bag, which they dropped into the can, to save a teapot; and though pouring out was rather difficult, owing to the tin being so extremely hot, Meta managed to dispense the cups without burning her fingers.

"You haven't provided the fish course yet," said Rhoda to Ralph. "I thought we were to have fried trout as part of the feast."

"And I thought you were to give us mushrooms," retorted Ralph.

"Shouldn't care to wait while she cooked them," declared Leonard. "Ham sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs are quite good enough for me. Did you bring any salt? Another cup of tea, please, and don't be stingy with the sugar, Meta. I like three lumps."

"I wonder why things always taste so different out-of-doors," said Lindsay, looking reflectively at the three-cornered strawberry jam pastry she was eating.

"Why, I saw you swallow an ant on your tart just now," said Ralph, "so perhaps that has given it a flavour. Oh, you needn't distress yourself! Ants are quite wholesome, I assure you. There are a frightful lot of them crawling about here, though. I think we shall have to move on a stave."

"Ugh! Yes. They're stinging me already!" agreed Lindsay.

They were all a little tired after their long walk, so they were glad to sit and rest after lunch, asking riddles, cracking jokes, and listening to the boys' school tales of exciting cricket matches, private feuds, combats between class champions, and the punishments that had been meted out to certain sneaks and bullies--accounts which were as thrilling in their way as the doughty deeds of mail-clad knights of old, the warlike sentiments being just the same, though the setting of the century might differ. It was so interesting that nobody gave a thought to the time, or remembered the ominous clouds that had been stretching themselves out like long ribbons over the moor.

"Why, where's the view gone to?" cried Monica at last. "I thought we could see Linforth and the lake from here, and the tower of Haversleigh Church."

She might well exclaim in astonishment. Instead of the landscape which had met their eyes before, there was nothing to be seen but a great white wall of mist that seemed to close them in on every side, as if some giant hand had suddenly drawn down a blind between them and the distance.

"Whew!" exclaimed Ralph, starting to his feet, and indulging in a long-drawn-out whistle. "This is a nice fix! We're in the middle of a cloud. I never saw it coming up. It will be uncommonly awkward to get out of it. What a shame of old Pendle Tor to play us such a trick!"

"Will it soon blow over, do you think?" asked Irene.

"I don't know," replied Meta rather gravely. "Sometimes the clouds stay on these moors for days and days together. I wish we had noticed it sooner, and gone down to the road again before we were surrounded. I'm afraid it may be very difficult to find our way now."

"I don't think it's any use waiting," said Leonard, "it mayn't clear for hours. We'd better pack up our traps, and make the best push we can to try to strike the path."

"We must all stick close together," remarked Ralph. "It won't do to get divided, or we might never find each other again. We'd better keep well to the right; there's an old quarry on the left, and it wouldn't be exactly pleasant to walk into it. Luckily I've a pocket compass on my watch chain."

Very much sobered in spirits, the picnic party hastily packed up the baskets, and, choosing Ralph as guide, set off down the hillside, hoping to find some track that would lead eventually into the road below. It was a strange walk, groping their way through what Monica described as "white darkness". The heavy mist hung in the air like a blanket, so completely shutting them in that they could scarcely see each other at a distance of even a few feet, and it was only by keeping near enough to touch one another that they managed to avoid being separated. Though they had some general idea of their direction, they did not really know where they were walking, and stumbled blindly on through heather and bilberry bushes, over stones and rocks, only feeling that they were going downhill. It was very slow progress. Ralph stopped continually to consult his compass, and occasionally gave a loud "cooee", in case they might find some wandering shepherd or countryman who would be able to help them. There was no answer to his calls, however--only the occasional bleat of a sheep that sounded far off and muffled through the mist. They knew there was neither cottage nor farm within hail, and unless they could strike the road they might wander on hour after hour over the moors, only getting farther and farther out of their way. Tired out with the rough trudge, the girls at last declared they must sit still for a few minutes and rest.

"I'm awfully sorry to have landed you in such a hole," said Ralph, "but who would have thought those innocent-looking clouds would have come down on us like feather beds? You really never know what to expect on these hills."

"I wonder what we'd better do?" said Monica.

"Stay where we are," suggested Irene.

"It would be too cold to spend the night here," replied Meta.

"We haven't even our jackets with us," added Lindsay.

"Unless we're quite dead beat, we'd better push on," said Leonard. "I'm hoping we may come to the stream, because we could find our way along the banks to Whitcombe, at any rate. I've been listening for it all the time, but I haven't heard a sound."

"I wish we had a divining rod!" groaned Rhoda. "That would tell us in what direction the water lay. We've been going south-east all the time, haven't we?"

"Yes, I believe the stream lay due south from where we started," answered Ralph, "but I didn't dare to turn that way, because of the quarry. Perhaps we may strike it higher up. If you're rested, girls, we'll be going."

The damp, clinging clouds appeared to have settled down to stay. The wind that had been blowing earlier in the day, when they ascended Pendle Tor, had ceased, and there was not even the breath of a breeze to blow away the clammy mist that was already drenching their clothes with a chilly dew. It was now half-past five o'clock, and they had been wandering for more than an hour.

"I haven't an idea where we are, nor how far we've come," said Ralph. "I only know I've been steering east by the compass. Of course we've been going very slowly, but I think we shouldn't be far from the brook. If we could find that, it would be an enormous help."

"I believe I hear water now," said Rhoda, pausing a moment. "I'm sure I do: to our left. Listen!"

All stood still, with every sense on the alert, straining their ears intently for the faintest murmur. In the far distance it seemed to them that they could certainly catch the unmistakable rush of a stream flowing swiftly over a rough, stony bed. Guided by the sound, they stumbled on, till at length, after climbing over a number of rocks, they reached the welcome brook that was to be their path to home and safety.

"I'm uncommonly glad to see it!" said Ralph, stooping to take a drink. "I began to think we should never get back again. If we follow it down, it will lead us straight into Whitcombe. Of course, that's far enough out of our way, but we might get a trap there, and drive home."

It was a most terrible scramble down the bed of the stream, over jagged rocks, among briers and bushes, and through rushes and reeds. The mist still wrapped them round, and they did not dare to venture away from the water to find smoother walking. The three visitors, who were not accustomed to such exploits, were nearly exhausted, while even sturdy Meta and Rhoda showed signs of giving in.

"We're at the old bridge now," said Ralph, trying to encourage them. "We can climb up and get on to the road. It's only about three miles farther to Whitcombe village. We're bound to find a trap of some sort there, and then you'll be all right."

"I think the mist is lifting a little," said Leonard; "it isn't half as thick as it was. Look at the sun trying to get through!"

"I believe we're walking straight out of the edge of the clouds. That's what it is!" declared Ralph. "I begin to see the trees. Hurrah! It's clearing ever so. We'll scramble up the bank, and we shall get along much faster on the road than down here on these wretched stones. Cheer up, girls! You'll soon be in Whitcombe now."

An hour afterwards, very footsore and weary, the party limped into Whitcombe, a small hamlet consisting of a wayside inn and a handful of cottages. It was eight o'clock, and the sun, behind long bars of crimson and grey, had already begun to sink below the horizon. They were nine miles away from home, as the stream had led them in quite a different direction from Linforth, and, as Leonard expressed it, they had "altogether landed themselves in a jolly pickle". Just at present tea seemed the most pressing necessity, so a council of war was held to see what funds could be mustered for the purpose. These did not amount to very much. Lindsay and Rhoda were penniless, Monica also had left her purse at the Vicarage. Irene and Meta mustered a shilling between them. Ralph had a sixpence, while the contents of Leonard's pockets proved to be exactly those of the traditional schoolboy's, twopence-halfpenny and an old knife.

"I'm afraid it won't go very far," said Ralph. "We shall have to ask them to give us tick. Come along! We'll try the inn, and see what they will do for us."

"We must tell them who we are," added Meta, "and say Father will pay afterwards."

The sight of seven such
bona fide
travellers appeared to occasion much surprise, to both the good woman at the bar and the few villagers who, with pipes and glasses, were sitting discussing local politics and the chances of the harvest. Tea at the unwonted hour of eight seemed an unprecedented request, and the landlady was not content until she had satisfied her curiosity as to who her guests were, where they came from, and what they wanted at Whitcombe at that time in the evening.

"What we want is some tea," said Ralph, after a brief explanation of their adventure, "and anything in the shape of a conveyance that can take us back to Linforth to-night. We've only one and eightpence-halfpenny amongst us, but my father will pay the rest when we get home. If you like, I'll leave you my watch and chain."

"You've no need to do that!" laughed the landlady. "I'm sure I can trust you. Come into the little parlour, and have your teas there. The young ladies look ready to drop, and this is no fit place for them to sit down in. Those mists be nasty things up Pendle Tor. It's a mercy as you've got down at all. There was a gentleman from London caught there last autumn, and he wandered round and round in a circle for two days before it cleared and they found him. He was nigh dead, too, with the cold and the damp. My son Albert shall put the horse in the trap and drive you home. I dare say you'll manage to cram in somehow."

No tea was ever so acceptable as the large, steaming cups which they drank in the stuffy little parlour, and no carriage and pair could have been more welcome than the old market cart that came round to the door afterwards. It was rather a problem how to pack themselves and the driver into it, but Lindsay sat on Meta's knee, and Rhoda squeezed herself between her two brothers on the front seat. The horse walked up and down hill, and only rose to a measured trot on level ground, so it took a considerable time to accomplish the nine-mile journey, and it was nearly eleven o'clock before they reached the Vicarage. Very tired and cold and cramped, they rushed into the house, where Mrs. Greenwood, in an agony of suspense, had been imagining all the accidents which could possibly have happened to them, and was preparing herself for the worst. The Vicar and some of the neighbours, it appeared, were out searching for them with lanterns, so a messenger was quickly sent through the village to spread the good news of their safe arrival.

"You can't complain you've had no excitement here," said Ralph to the three guests. "We almost drowned you on Saturday, and to-day we nearly lost you on the moors. You're going to-morrow, or we might have had some more hairbreadth escapes. At any rate, I don't think you'll forget Pendle Tor in a hurry!"

Lindsay had certainly plenty of news to relate when she returned to the Manor. Her classmates were quite envious, and poor Cicely was a little wistful lest Rhoda should have usurped her place in her friend's affections. Of that, however, she need not have been afraid. Lindsay was faithful to her chosen chum, and had so many things to ask about, as well as adventures to tell, that the two were soon chattering as fast as usual. Cicely had made no further important discoveries during the few days, though she had kept a careful watch on Mrs. Wilson, and had once noticed her go up to the lantern room carrying a jug in her hand. Scott had not been in the house again, but he had been seen talking earnestly with "The Griffin" in the garden. He had gone hastily away when Cicely approached, so he evidently did not wish the conversation to be overheard. Whether it had anything to do with the mystery or not, it was of course impossible to say.