Mystery of Banshee Towers (6 page)

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t have our picnic in
here
, do you?” said Larry, looking out of one of the great windows. “That enormous black cloud is now pouring down sheets of rain. We can’t picnic out-of-doors. We needn’t make any mess at all, and we’ll take all our litter home with us.”

“I bet that bad-tempered fellow out at the turnstile won’t let us stay,” said Fatty.

“What’s it to do with
him
?” said Larry. “We’ve paid, haven’t we? Anyway, I’m jolly hungry. Gosh, was that thunder?”

It was! The children felt all the more determined to stay in Banshee Towers for shelter, and have their lunch there. Ern was longing to - not because of the lunch, but because of the pictures. He simply could not take his eyes off them!

The six sat down in a corner of one of the great rooms, behind a kind of large settee. Now if that turnstile man looked in, he wouldn’t see them and turn them out!

“Wonder where the dogs are?” said Fatty, suddenly. “They ought to have been here long ago.”

“Gone rabbiting halfway up the hill, I expect,” said Ern. “Or else that turnstile man wouldn’t let them in! They’ll be all right. They’ll either turn up - or go home!”

“Some of those artists are leaving,” said Larry. “I can hear them packing up and shouting goodbye. Hallo, who are these? Peep through the arms of the settee, Fatty - visitors, do you think? “

Yes - they certainly looked like sightseers. There were three women and a man, and they ambled aimlessly round, looking at the pictures and the old armour.

“Not worth a shilling, to come in and see all this junk - and I never did like sea-pictures,” said one woman. “All those picture waves that never break, but just rear up and keep still! Gives me the willies!”

To the children’s dismay, the visitors sat down on the settee behind which they were hiding, and began to rustle paper, unpacking their lunch. “All them silly tales too, about banshees wailing!” said the man. “We’ve wasted our shillings. It would be
worth
a shilling to hear a banshee wail - but there, I never did believe in things like that.”

It was at this moment that Fatty suddenly felt impelled to be a banshee. The idea came to him in a flash, and he couldn’t stop himself. He opened his mouth and let out a marvellous wail, eerie, long-drawn, high-pitched and really terrifying!

“Eeee-ooooo-ohhhhh-eeee-oh-oooOOOOOOO!”

The man and the three women leapt up from the settee as if they had rockets under them. One of the women screamed, and then they all four fled at top speed to the door and out into the great hall to the entrance where the turnstiles stood.

Not only the visitors jumped almost out of their skin. Larry, Daisy, Pip, Bets and Ern jumped too, and clutched in fright at one another, when the eerie wail echoed round them. Larry realized almost at once that it was Fatty, and he gave him a very hard punch.

“Fathead! What did you do that for? I almost died of fright! Look at poor Bets - she’s trembling!”

Fatty, overcome with laughter and shame at one and the same time, couldn’t say a word. Gradually the others joined him in laughter, and the six of them rolled about, trying not to laugh too loudly.

“Oh, their faces!” groaned Fatty. “Oh, what made me do it? I’m awfully sorry but it just sort of came over me. Oh, how they skedaddled! And
your
faces too! Oh, I
must
laugh again, and I’ve such a stitch in my side!”

“I bet any artists left skedaddled too!” said Pip, wiping his eyes. “You’re a horror, Fatty. The things you think of! Honestly, if it had been a real banshee wailing, it couldn’t have done it better. I do think…”

But what he thought the others never knew, because a most extraordinary noise gradually began to echo all around - high-pitched, wailing, unhappy! It went on and on, and Bets and Daisy clutched at the boys in real terror.

“Fatty - that’s not you this time, is it, Fatty?” said Daisy, in a shaking voice. “Oh, what is it? I don’t like it, I don’t, I don’t. Tell it to stop.”

But the wailing went on and on, mournful and miserable, and soon the children huddled together in fear, amazed and frightened.

At last it stopped, and they all heaved a sigh of relief. “Let’s get out of here,” said Larry. “It’s all right, Bets. It was probably just a silly echo wailing round the hill. Cheer up! Fatty, bring the lunch - we’ll have it somewhere else. DO come on!”

Fatty collected the lunch and they all crept out from behind the large old settee. They walked with rather shaky legs across the room to the great hall where the artists had sat, copying the pictures. Now only one was left - the Frenchman who had been copying the picture that Ern had liked so much.

He was rolling up a canvas very carefully, whistling below his breath. He jumped when he saw the children coming in, and looked annoyed.

“So you have no fear of the banshee?” he said. “You are brave, brave, brave! See, all the others have gone.
Ils avaient peur
- they were so, so afraid. But I - I am not afraid of the banshees - nor of - how do you call it - goosts?”

“Ghosts,” said Fatty. “Do you
really
mean to say you weren’t scared?”

“No - but today there was something - something - how do you say it - queer? First there was
one
banshee wailing - and then, there was a
second
. I suppose,
mes enfants
, you know nothing of the first banshee?”

Fatty felt himself going red, but he wasn’t going to admit anything to this laughing man. He didn’t like him very much.

“Are you going?” asked Fatty, seeing the man tying the canvas he had been rolling up.

“Just to the village to my car - and then back again to paint, paint, paint!” said the man, and dug Fatty in the chest with his roll of canvas. “And you - you stay here to wail, wail, wail? Ah, what a naughty boy!”

And taking no notice of Fatty’s angry face, he strolled across the hall and vaulted over the turnstiles as easily as an acrobat.

“I suppose he thinks he’s very clever.” growled Fatty, not at all enjoying being laughed at by the artist. “Listen, it’s still pouring with rain. We can’t picnic on the hills, we’ll have to have it here, banshee or no banshee. Don’t look so scared. Bets - a wailing can’t hurt us.”

“The turnstile fellow has gone,” said Larry, looking across to where the man had sat when he took their money. “Gone to his lunch, I suppose. Well, we should be pretty safe in this hall. Come on - let’s eat something. We’ll feel better then!”

So they went over to where a great wooden seat stood, beside an old oak table. Fatty unpacked the lunch, and soon they were all sitting down, eating it, surprised to find that they were so hungry after their fright.

“Ern, tell Fatty your poem,” said Bets, suddenly, seeing a piece of paper sticking out of Ern’s pocket, and feeling certain that Ern had managed to find time to write down his “pome”.

“Poem?” said Fatty, surprised. “Have you been going in for poetry again, Ern? “

“Er - well, Fatty, it’s only a silly sort of pome - I mean poem,” said Ern, blushing. “I’ve called it ‘Coo’.”

“Ah, it’s about doves or pigeons then, is it?” said Fatty. “Cooing.”

“Well, not exactly that sort of coo,” sad Ern, anxiously. “It’s reely the sort of ‘coo’ you say when you’re surprised, like. I’ve got it written down here. I must say I feel like writing a pome about the sea too, now, after seeing all those sea-pictures.”

“You’re a wonder, Ern,” said Fatty, and meant it. “Come along, where’s this poem?”

“I couldn’t finish it. Fatty,” said Ern, looking at it, “That’s the worst of me. It all comes in a rush, like, and then fades out and I can’t think of a good ending.”

“Well, read it Ern,” said Fatty. So Ern, blushing again, read out his “pome”, at top speed.

“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…”

Ern stopped and looked pleadingly at Fatty. “I can’t think of the end, Fatty. I just can’t.”

“Oh
yes
, Ern - there’s only one
possible
ending,” said Fatty, and carried on at once.

“Coo, look at the cows and the cowslips too,

And the lions so dandy and yellow.

And the cups full of butter for me and for you,

And hark where the bulrushes bellow!

Coo, look at the runner beans, how fast they go,

And…”

By this time the others were laughing so much that Fatty had to stop for breath and laugh too. Ern stared at him in admiration. “How do you do it, Fatty?” he asked, solemnly. “Takes me ages to think of even one line, and you just go rattling on and on - coo, I’d never have thought of that line, ‘Look at the runner beans, how fast they go!’ That’s right down funny, Fatty.”

“Dear old Ern, your lines are poetry, and mine are not,” said Fatty, clapping him on the back. “Yours are just a bit too ‘cooey’ that’s all. ‘Coo’ isn’t a good word for poetry, unless it’s said by a dove!”

“You’re a wonder, you are,” said Ern, remembering another of Fatty’s lines. “Lions so dandy and yellow - you meant the yellow dandelions there didn’t you - honest, Fatty, you’re a genius.”

“Let’s change the subject,” said Fatty, feeling rather a fraud. He could reel off verse without stopping, ridiculous, amusing and clever, and could never think why everyone thought it wonderful.

“Everybody finished?” asked Larry, screwing up his papers. “There’s a litter basket over there.”

“I say,” said Pip, suddenly. “What do you suppose has happened to Buster and Bingo? They ought to be here by now, surely?”

“Oh, I expect they turned tail and went home when they got too far behind,” said Fatty. “They probably lost our trail. We shan’t see them till we get home. I only hope they are behaving themselves.”

A sudden, very familiar noise made them all jump! “Woof! WOOF!”

“Golly -
that
sounds like them!” said Ern in amazement. “Where are they? I can’t see them anywhere!”

“Wuff - woof!”

“They’re both about somewhere!” said Fatty, puzzled. “But their barks sound a bit muffled. BUSTER! BINGO! Where on earth are you? “

A scrabbling noise came from the big fireplace and the children went over to it at once. An old iron cauldron stood squarely in the middle of the wide hearth, and the barking seemed to come from under there. Fatty lifted up the heavy old thing, and gave a loud exclamation.

“OHO! What have we here? Look - a neat, round trap-door! The dogs seem to be under it somewhere. Bets, go and see if there’s anyone about whose permission we can ask to pull up the trap-door.”

Bets ran to the turnstile and looked all about. There was no one to be seen. She hurried back,

“No, Fatty, I can’t see a soul. I expect the turnstile man is away having his dinner - and the artists haven’t come back yet, though they’ve left their easels here.”

“Right. Then we’ll have to yank up the trap-door
without
permission!” said Fatty. “Help me, Ern.”

There was now such a loud and excited barking coming from beneath the trap-door that it seemed almost as if there might be half a dozen dogs below, not just two!

“How
did
they get there?” said Larry, watching Fatty and Ern heaving up the trap-door. “They can’t possibly have got down through the trap-door - so they must have found a way into the hill - and gone up an underground tunnel to Banshee Towers.”

“Oooh - a Secret Passage!” said Bets, her eyes shining. “Can we go down it?”

“Here she comes!” said Fatty, panting hard as he and Ern heaved the trap-door out of its place. Immediately the two dogs hurled themselves out, and fell upon Ern and Fatty in rhapsodies of joy, barking, licking, pawing as if they had gone mad.

“Steady on, steady on,” said Fatty, pushing Buster down. “Buster, will you kindly tell me how you got here?”

“Woof!” said Buster, dancing about happily.

“And how did
you
get here, Bingo,” demanded Ern, whose dog seemed intent on licking every single inch of his face. “Stop it, Bingo. I shall have to borrow a towel from somewhere soon. Keep your tongue in your mouth for a bit. Oh, goodness, there he goes again!”

Larry was looking down the hole where the trap-door had been. He took out a small torch from his pocket and switched it on. He gave a sudden exclamation.

“Look - there are steps cut down from the hearth - almost like ladder steps, going down and down. Where on earth do they go to?”

“We might have time to explore a bit,” said Fatty, feeling thrilled to see the steps leading down into the darkness. “Bets - go and see if we’re still the only ones here.”

Bets ran off and then came back, her face rather frightened. “Fatty, the turnstile man is coming up the hill. He’s nearly here. Put the trap-door back, quickly!”

Ern and Fatty lifted the trap-door into place and then put the heavy cauldron over it. They were still kneeling down by the fireplace when the turnstile man came in, munching an apple. He gave an angry shout when he saw them.

“Quick - pretend we’ve dropped a shilling,” said Fatty, in a low, urgent voice. “Look for it, all of you - in the hearth and on the carpet too - quick!”

So, when the puzzled turnstile man ran up, they were all apparently hunting feverishly for a lost shilling!

“
Must
find it!” Fatty was saying. “Simply must. A shilling is a shilling. Where on earth did it go? Is that it over there, Bets?”

“Oh, so you’ve dropped some money, have you?” said the man. “Sure that’s all you’re up to? Let
me
have a look!” And down he dropped on hands and knees too. He gave a sudden shout, and picked something up.

“I’ve got it. Here it is!” And he held up a shilling in triumph.

“Thanks,” said Fatty, and held out his hand. But the man laughed in his face, and slipped the coin into his trouser pocket, “Finding’s keeping,” he said. “Now you go off, all of you. You’ve been here long enough. And how did those dogs get in? You ought to pay for them, you did.”

“Oh, aren’t they
your
dogs?” said Ern, in such a surprised voice that Bets had to put her hand over her mouth to stop a laugh escaping.