The Wolves of Willoughby Chase (7 page)

‘What can she be doing?’ Bonnie exclaimed. ‘And was not that Mr Grimshaw? Dr Morne said he should not get out of bed!’

‘Perhaps she is familiarizing herself with the contents of your father’s papers,’ Sylvia suggested. ‘Did you not say she was to look after the estate? And I am not
sure
that was Mr Grimshaw. We had hardly time to see.’

Arrived at the little postern door, they had scarcely knocked before it was flung open and Pattern had enveloped them in her arms.

‘Oh, you naughty, naughty, precious children! How could you? How
could
you? Here’s my poor heart been nearly broke in half with fright at thinking you was eaten by the wolves, and Miss Slighcarp saying no such thing, you’d come home soon, and me saying “Begging your pardon, miss, but you don’t know this park and these wolves as I do,” and begging,
begging
her to tell the men and sound the alarm, but no, my lady knows best what’s to be done and it’s my belief nothing ever
would
have been done till we found some boots and buttons of you in the snow and the rest all ate up by wolves if you hadn’t come home all by yourselves, you good, wicked, precious, naughty lambs –
oh
!’ and the faithful Pattern relieved herself by a burst of tears.

‘Not by ourselves, Pattern,’ said Bonnie, hugging her tightly. ‘Simon brought us home. We
were
chased
by
wolves – though it wasn’t exactly our fault – and he hid us in his cave till they were gone.’

‘Never will I hear a word said against that boy. Some say he’s a wicked, vagabond gipsy, but I say he’s the best-hearted, trustiest … Ask him in, Miss Bonnie, and I’ll give him the Christmas pudding that was too big to go in my lady’s valise.’

But the silent Simon, overwhelmed, perhaps, by Pattern’s flow of words, had melted away into the night without waiting to be thanked.

‘Will he be all right?’ breathed Sylvia, big-eyed with horror. ‘Won’t the wolves get him on the way home?’

‘I don’t believe they could ever catch him,’ Bonnie reassured her. ‘He can run so fast! Besides he has his bow, and then, too, he can climb trees and swing from branch to branch if they get near him.’

‘Never mind about him, nothing ever hurts Simon,’ bustled Pattern, half-pushing, half-pulling them up the little back stairs: ‘Come on with you now till I get a posset inside you.’

Cold in spite of their furs, the children were glad to be sat down before a glowing fire in the night nursery, while Pattern scolded and clucked, and brushed the tangles out of their hair, brought in with her own hands the big silver bathtub filled with steaming water, in which bunches of lemon mint had been steeped, giving a deliciously fragrant scent, and bathed them each in turn, afterwards wrapping them in voluminous warm white flannel gowns.

Next she fetched little pipkins of hot, savoury soup, sternly saw every mouthful swallowed, and
finally
hustled them both into Bonnie’s big, comfortable bed with the blue swans flying on its curtains.

‘For if there’s any nightmares about wolves, at least that way you’ll be able to comfort each other,’ she muttered. ‘And as for Miss Slighcarp, let
her
rest in uncertainty till the morning, for I’m not going to her again. Coming home soon, indeed! As if such a thing were likely!’

And off she tiptoed, leaving a rose-scented nightlight burning and the peaceful crackle of the fire to lull them to sleep.

5

THE NEXT MORNING
dawned grey and louring. Snow was falling fast out of the heavy sky, the flakes hurrying down like dirty feathers from a leaking mattress. Pattern let the children sleep late, and though when they woke she cosseted them by giving them breakfast in front of the nursery fire, it was not a happy meal. Sylvia felt stiff and tired from her unusual exertions the day before, while poor Bonnie was thinking every minute of her parents’ absence: wondering how they had fared on their journey so far, noticing the sad, unaccustomed quietness of the house, which was generally filled with bustle – servants running to and fro, stamp of horses, and her father shouting his orders because he was too impatient to ring the bell.

Sylvia kindly tried to distract her by asking questions about Simon, the boy in the woods.

‘Has he always lived in that cave, Bonnie? It seems so strange! Has he no father or mother?’

Bonnie shook her head. ‘None that he knows of. He came to my father four or five years ago, one autumn day, and asked if he might live in that cave in the park; he said that he had been working for a farmer but the man ill-treated him and he had walked half across
England
to get away from him. My father asked what he proposed to live on. He said, chestnuts and goose-eggs. He had a goose and a gander that he had reared from chicks. Papa took a fancy to him and told him that he might try it – there are hundreds of chestnut trees in the park – but he said Simon wasn’t to come whining to him if he got hungry, he’d have to turn to and work for his living as a garden-boy.’

‘And did he?’

‘Work as a garden-boy? No, he lived on chestnuts and reared a great many geese. Mrs Shubunkin buys eggs from him, and every spring Simon drives his geese up to London and sells them at the Easter Fair. He gets on famously. Father often says he wishes he had as few worries.’ Bonnie sighed.

‘I wonder if he will always continue to live in the cave,’ Sylvia was beginning, when Pattern came in to clear away the breakfast things.

‘Now then, Miss Bonnie and Miss Sylvia, nearly lesson-time, my dearies, so make haste and get dressed.’ They had been breakfasting in warm wadded satin dressing-gowns.

‘This is not my frock, Pattern,’ said Sylvia, looking admiringly at the clothes the maid had brought her. There was a soft, thick woollen dress in a beautiful deep shade of blue that exactly matched her eyes. ‘It is a great deal prettier than anything of mine.’

‘It’s one I ran up for you yesterday, Miss Sylvia,’ Pattern said kindly. ‘My lady Green, bless her good heart, thought you might be needing some warmer dresses for the country, but didn’t like to have anything made for you until she knew what colours
suited
you best. Before she left yesterday she bade me make up one out of this cloth, which she had ready with a number of others. There!’ she added, fastening Sylvia’s dress at the back and turning her round. ‘If that doesn’t bring out the colour of your eyes! And here’s some ribbons to match for your hair.’

Sylvia’s eyes none the less filled with tears at the thought that her aunt, so ill and grief-stricken at the idea of parting from her home, could still spare time for such thoughtfulness.

‘Come along,’ said Bonnie, who meanwhile had been hurriedly putting on a dark-red cashmere with a white lace collar, ‘we shall be late for our lessons.’

The two children ran to the schoolroom while Pattern carefully folded and put away Sylvia’s white dress.

Miss Slighcarp had not yet arrived, and the children beguiled the time by wandering round the room and looking at the many beautiful pictures that hung on its walls; then, as the governess still did not appear, Bonnie took Sylvia through a door leading out of the schoolroom into her toyroom.

This was a large and beautiful apartment, carpeted in blue, its walls white, its ceiling all a-sparkle with gilt stars. In it was every imaginable toy, and many that Sylvia never had imagined even in her most wistful dreams. Occupying the place of honour in the middle of the floor was a stately rocking-horse covered with real grey horsehair, and so cunningly carved that he seemed alive. His crystal eyes shone with intelligence.

‘That’s ’Dolphus,’ said Bonnie, giving him a careless
hug
as she passed. ‘Then those are all the dolls, in that row of little chairs. The largest is Miranda, the smallest, at this end (she’s my favourite) is Conchita.’

Sylvia’s hand curled lovingly round Annabelle, hidden in her pocket, but she resolved not to introduce her to this galaxy of beauties until the kind Pattern had accomplished her promise and made a new dress for her from a left-over piece of the blue material. Then, Sylvia thought, Annabelle would be quite presentable, and some of the smaller dolls did not look at all proud.

‘This is the dolls’ house,’ Bonnie said. ‘Grown-ups aren’t allowed inside, but you can come in, of course, Sylvia, whenever you like.’

The dolls’ house, large enough to get into, was a cottage with real thatch (and real canaries nesting in it). There was a balcony, stairs, two storeys, a cooking-stove that really worked, and a lot of genuine Queen Anne furniture, including a beautiful walnut chest full of Queen Anne clothes that fitted the children.

Sylvia was trying a blue velvet cloak against her, and Bonnie was saying, ‘Come and look at the other toys, you haven’t seen half yet …’ when they were interrupted by a cough from the schoolroom and hurriedly bundled the clothes back into the chest.

‘I’ll show you the rest this afternoon,’ whispered Bonnie, waving her hand towards a large cupboard in the wall with double glass doors. Sylvia had a tantalizing glimpse of numerous variously-shaped brightly-coloured toys on its shelves as they ran back into the schoolroom.

‘I’m so sorry we were not in the room to welcome
you
, Miss Slighcarp,’ Bonnie began in her impulsive way, and then she stopped abruptly. Sylvia noticed her turn extremely pale.

The governess, who had been examining some books on the shelves, swung round with equal abruptness. She seemed astonished to see them.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded angrily, after an instant’s pause.

‘Why,’ Sylvia faltered, ‘merely in the next room, Miss Slighcarp.’

But Bonnie, with choking utterance, demanded, ‘Why are you wearing my mother’s dress?’

Sylvia had observed that Miss Slighcarp had on a draped gown of old gold velvet with ruby buttons, far grander than the grey twill she had worn the day before.

‘Don’t speak to me in that way, miss!’ retorted Miss Slighcarp in a rage. ‘You have been spoiled all your life, but we shall soon see who is going to be mistress now. Go to your place and sit down. Do not speak until you are spoken to.’

Bonnie paid not the slightest attention. ‘Who said you could wear my mother’s best gown?’ she repeated. Sylvia, alarmed, had slipped into her place at the table, but Bonnie, reckless with indignation, stood in front of the governess, glaring at her.

‘Everything in this house was left entirely to my personal disposition,’ Miss Slighcarp said coldly.

‘But not her clothes! Not to wear! How
dare
you? Take it off at once! It’s no better than stealing!’

Two white dents had appeared on either side of Miss Slighcarp’s nostrils.

‘Another word and it’s the dark cupboard and bread-and-water for you, miss,’ she said fiercely.

‘I don’t care what you say!’ Bonnie stamped her foot. ‘Take off my mother’s dress!’

Miss Slighcarp boxed Bonnie’s ears, Bonnie seized Miss Slighcarp’s wrists. In the confusion a bottle of ink was knocked off the table, spilling a long blue trail down the gold velvet skirt. Miss Slighcarp uttered an exclamation of fury.

‘Insolent, ungovernable child! You shall suffer for this!’ With iron strength she thrust Bonnie into a closet containing crayons, globes, and exercise books, and turned the key on her. Then she swept from the room.

Sylvia remained seated, aghast, for half a second. Then she ran to the cupboard door – but alas! Miss Slighcarp had taken the key with her.

‘Bonnie! Bonnie! Are you all right? It’s I, Sylvia.’

She could hear bitter sobs.

‘Don’t cry, Bonnie, please don’t cry. I’ll run after her and beg her to let you out. I dare say she will, once she has reflected. She can’t have known it was your mother’s
favourite
gown.’

Bonnie seemed not to have heard her. ‘Mamma, Mamma!’ Sylvia could hear her sobbing. ‘Oh, why did you have to go away?’

How Sylvia longed to be able to batter down the cupboard door and get her arms round poor Bonnie! But the door was thick and massive, with a strong lock, quite beyond her power to move. Since she could not attract Bonnie’s attention, she ran after Miss Slighcarp.

After vainly knocking at the governess’s bedroom
door
she went in without waiting for a summons (a deed of exceptional bravery for the timid Sylvia). Nobody was there. The ink-stained velvet dress lay flung carelessly on the floor, crushed and torn, so great had Miss Slighcarp’s haste been to remove it.

Sylvia hurried out again and began to search through the huge house, wandering up this passage and down that, through galleries, into golden drawing-rooms, satin-hung boudoirs, billiard-rooms, ballrooms, croquet-rooms. At last she found the governess in the Great Hall, surrounded by servants.

Miss Slighcarp did not see Sylvia. She had changed into what was very plainly another of Lady Green’s gowns, a rose-coloured crêpe with aiguillettes of diamonds on the shoulders. It did not fit her very exactly.

She seemed to be giving the servants their wages. Sylvia wondered why many of the maids were crying, and why the men looked in general angry and rebellious, until she realized that Miss Slighcarp was paying them off and dismissing them. When the last one had been given his little packet of money, she announced: