At Tiverton Keep
Since Miss Ward's return to The Towers Violet had begun lessons again, and was occupied each morning with her governess in the schoolroom. Mildred, who was still enjoying holidays, was therefore left for several hours every day to her own devices. She found it no hardship, for it was easy enough to amuse herself. Sometimes she sat with a book in the garden, sometimes sauntered round the grounds, or explored the beautiful borders of the lake. She had brought her camera from home, and the taking and developing of photographs gave her plenty of occupation. She was making a little collection of views of Castleford, and meant to paste them in an album as a reminiscence of the lovely scenery. One glorious warm morning it occurred to her that she would like to take snapshots of Tiverton Keep, an old border turret which stood on a hill a mile and a half above The Towers. So far, while Violet and Miss Ward were busy, she had kept strictly to the private grounds of the Castle, but to-day she thought there would surely be no harm in venturing farther afield. She would have asked permission, but Sir Darcy was out, Lady Lorraine was in bed with a headache, and Miss Ward was giving Violet a music lesson; so Mildred decided that she might very well make the expedition on her own authority. Down the road through the wood she started, therefore, rounding the corner of the lake and turning up through the village. As she passed the Vicarage she met Diccon, the youngest boy, wheeling his motor bicycle out at the gate.
"Hello, Mildred!" he cried. "Where are you off to? You told me you never stirred out of the garden till the thermometer dropped. Whence this thusness?"
"I'm going to take some snapshots of Tiverton Keep. It's such a glorious morning for photographing. The light and shade will be just perfect."
"Wish I could have gone with you! I'm obliged to ride over to Whiterigg to send off a parcel by train to London. By the by, if you're going to Tiverton, keep a look-out for the lunatic!"
"What do you mean?"
"What I say. Someone of unsound mind has been haunting the place lately, and he might, perhaps, give you a fright."
"I haven't heard of anybody."
"He's been there, though. He's quite a young chap, so I'm told (that's the pity of it!), but he's been overworking at classics, and gone clean dotty. His relations have brought him here to recruit, and generally they keep a good eye over his movements, but sometimes he dodges them and scoots off by himself. Then he's apt to play some uncommonly queer pranks. He's taken a tremendous fancy to the Keep, goes poking about, filling his pockets with pebbles and things, and insists that the place is still in the mediaeval condition, and inhabited by people who lived in the days of the Plantagenets. He gets violently excited and dangerous if anyone ventures to contradict him. They have to pretend all sorts of nonsense to humour him. The family are staying at Lowood Farm."
"I heard that some people are there for the summer," replied Mildred, "and I certainly saw two girls in the lane with a young man of about twenty. He didn't look insane. What a most fearful affliction!"
"Yes, it's a warning against overworking oneself," said Diccon. "Shall you venture to the Keep?"
"I must go and take those photographs. I don't suppose I shall meet this unfortunate young fellow. If I do, I'll be careful to give him a wide berth. His family ought to have an attendant for him, if they can't look after him properly themselves."
Tiverton Keep was still a mile away—a beautiful walk up a rocky glen, and then over the open fell. It was much cooler on the moorland than in the village; quite a pleasant breeze was stirring, there was a refreshing bubbling sound of small brooklets trickling between clumps of heather and lady fern, while below lay the silver gleam of the lake. The old castle stood on a slight eminence, commanding an excellent view of the surrounding country, and in former days it must have been a useful factor in border warfare. Only a portion of the Keep was still standing, but the ancient guard-room remained intact, and a winding staircase led to the battlements. The day was an ideal one for using the camera. The light was perfect, and Mildred congratulated herself that she would be able to take a splendid series of snapshots.
"How delightful it is to have the place to oneself, without any tourists about!" she thought.
She did not spare her films, and after photographing the exterior and the ground floor, she toiled up the winding stairs till she reached the broad walk that ran round the top of the tower. Here she took several pictures, and finally climbed a few remaining steps which led to a little turret at the extreme summit of the Keep. From this crow's-nest she had a grand bird's-eye prospect of the whole landscape. How small everything looked! The windmill at the other side of the glen was like a child's toy, and the sheep grazing on the moor seemed white dots. She leaned her arms on the railing, and peered down into the castle courtyard below. Someone was walking about there, for she heard the sound of footsteps, and presently the intruder came in sight. Mildred's heart gave a sudden uncomfortable jump. She recognized in an instant the tall figure of the classical student who was staying at Lowood Farm. He moved slowly, with his eyes fixed on the ground, as if he were searching for something, and every now and then he dived among the piles of loose stones, apparently picking up small objects which he placed in his pockets.
"So Diccon was right!" thought Mildred. "How fearfully sad! He looks such a fine young fellow physically, one wouldn't imagine he'd lost his mental balance. Poor creature! Filling his pockets with rubbish! I hope he's not here all alone. Where are his sisters?"
She looked around anxiously to see if a feminine petticoat were fluttering in the vicinity, but there was no sign of anyone.
"He must have escaped again, and run from them, I suppose," she soliloquized. "I hope he won't notice me on the tower, for I certainly don't want to encounter him."
After a little consideration she decided to stay where she was, to give the intruder time to go away before she ventured from the battlements. He soon disappeared out of the courtyard, but whether to enter the guard-room, or to take his departure, Mildred had no means of ascertaining. She lingered for what seemed an immense while, and heard no sound of further footsteps.
"I've been here for ages; I'm sure it must be nearly half-past twelve," she thought. "I wish I had put on my watch. I can't wait for ever. I expect he's gone, so I'm going to risk it," and she sallied down from the turret.
She had walked half-way round the battlements, and was just gaining confidence, when she suddenly saw a head appearing up the winding staircase, and before she could beat a retreat a tall figure in tennis flannels stepped on to the parapet. He glanced at Mildred with a mixture of confusion and consternation in his face, hesitated, seemed for a moment inclined to retrace his steps, then walked forward with a determined air.
"Good morning! Admiring the view here?" he remarked politely.
Mildred was shivering with alarm, but she had the presence of mind to assent calmly.
"Whatever I do, I mustn't let him see that I notice anything unusual about him; I believe lunatics are very sensitive on that score. If I behave in an ordinary manner, perhaps he'll go away soon," she thought.
"I'm particularly fond of the battlements, they seem such a great height up," she added aloud, leaning over the wooden railing which guarded the parapet.
He glanced hurriedly down, as if measuring the distance to the courtyard beneath, then turned to her with a marked uneasiness in his gaze.
"It's really nicer below on the grass," he urged. "Won't you come down and try the difference?"
"No, thanks, I prefer remaining here," replied Mildred, hoping that her unwelcome companion would depart by himself to test the superior merits of the courtyard.
To leave her, however, did not seem to enter his calculations. He stared at her again, with a queer look, almost of apprehension, fidgeted a little, coughed, turned rather red, and finally remarked shyly:
"They're waiting for you in the hall."
"Who?" asked Mildred.
"Why, the seneschal and the Baron, and the retainers, and—er—the jester, and all the rest of them."
"There! He's begun on the mediaeval topic!" thought poor Mildred. "He's evidently as mad as a hatter. I mustn't irritate him. Diccon said he grew very violent if contradicted. I must try and humour him."
"The Baron may wait my pleasure," she replied, with an attempt at what she hoped was the hauteur of a grande dame of the Plantagenet period. "As for the rest, they are but vassals and serfs."
"True, lady, but they long for the sunshine of your presence. Will it not please you to show yourself to them on the dais?"
"The dinner is not yet ready," faltered Mildred, trying to conjure up any plausible excuse, though she could not frame it in mediaeval language.
"My lady mistakes. The scullions are even now removing the wild geese from the spits, the boar's head is placed on the trencher, the venison pasties are baked, and the ale is broached."
"He knows far too much about old customs," thought Mildred ruefully. "How shall I get out of it? I must put him on another track." Holding her hand to shade her eyes, she gazed at the distant horizon. "Methinks there is a rumour that the Scots are abroad. Tell me if you see aught that looks like a body of armed men on yonder fell."
Her companion scanned the hillside seriously and earnestly, as if he really expected to find flashing pikes and helmets, though nothing more dangerous than a flock of sheep was to be seen.
"It will perchance be the Black Douglas," he answered in solemn tones. "Lady, your position here is one of danger! You are a mark for every arrow. I pray you descend to the safety of the guard-room."
"They are not near enough yet to shoot," said Mildred quickly. "Indeed, I am not certain whether it is the foe, or merely a band of peaceful pilgrims. If you would mount into yonder watch-tower, you could call to me if you recognize the banner of the Black Douglas."
Mildred hoped by this suggestion to send her companion up into the little turret, and the moment his back was turned she intended to bolt down the winding staircase. Apparently he saw through her design, for he replied at once in the negative. He moved a step nearer to her, and a watchful look came into his eyes.
"How atrociously clever lunatics are!" thought Mildred. "It seems impossible to outwit him. Yet I simply daren't walk down the stairs with him. He might give me a sudden push. What can I possibly say to him next? I'll try flattery."
Looking him over coolly from head to foot, she announced:
"Methinks I like not my lord's attire. 'Tis unworthy of so handsome a knight. I would have you put on fresh bravery, and present yourself to me in your velvet doublet and the trunk-hose which even the Baron envies. They would do justice to your comely person."
Her companion glanced at his tennis flannels and blushed—yes, actually blushed. He gazed at her for a moment almost despairingly, then took a hasty walk up and down the parapet, twisting and untwisting his hands with a nervous action.
"I hope he's not getting excited and violent," thought Mildred.
He returned at last, as if for a final appeal. "If my lady will come and review my poor wardrobe, perchance she may find something to her taste, and I will don it at her command."
He held out his arm, awkwardly enough, and not at all with the grace of a mediaeval courtier, as if to lead her from the battlements. Mildred edged away from him, holding on to the railing. Would no one come to the rescue? She thought she heard a footstep, and glanced down anxiously into the courtyard below, hoping that one of his sisters had arrived in search of him. To her horror he immediately rushed at her and grasped her firmly by the arm.
"You shan't take your life if I can prevent it!" he exclaimed.
To find herself thus in his clutch was more than Mildred's self-command could stand. She shrieked with terror, trying to tear herself away, but the more she pulled the more tightly and determinedly he gripped her.
"There! There! That'll do, Chorlton. Let her go; she's all right," shouted a familiar voice; and loosed as suddenly as she had been seized, Mildred turned and saw the grinning face of Diccon appearing from the doorway of the staircase. He advanced along the parapet in explosions of laughter, which were certainly not shared by either Mildred or the stranger, both of whom stood regarding him with amazement.
"Oh, you simpletons! You credulous pair of infants! I never imagined you'd both swallow it whole. Oh, it's too ripping for anything! It's absolutely killing me! I've been listening to the whole interview. Oh, let me get my breath!"
In a flash Mildred comprehended.
"Diccon! You odious boy! Do you mean it's all a hoax?"
"Of course it is! Poor old Chorlton's as sane as you are! Oh, I say, Chorlton! Don't look so deliciously blank, or I shall have a fit!"
"This wretched boy told me you were mad," faltered Mildred apologetically to her companion.
"And he told me that you were mad, with a suicidal tendency," replied Mr. Chorlton.
"The whole thing worked out so neatly," chuckled naughty Diccon. "Please allow me to recount my own joke. I told Mildred that you were violent unless humoured on the subject of mediaevalism, and I told you that she might fling herself over the battlements if she were contradicted in supposing herself a lady of the Plantagenet period."
"You thoroughly deserve a thrashing, you young imp!" declared Mr. Chorlton.
"No, I don't. I've afforded you each a most exciting adventure. You didn't know Chorlton was a college friend of Eric's, Mildred? We only discovered last night that he's staying at Lowood Farm. I stuffed you about him for a lark, and then when I met him in the village just after you started, I couldn't resist the fun of playing a trick on you both. Chorlton was going to the Keep, too, so I told him a yarn about an unfortunate demented girl who occasionally escaped there and tried to commit suicide. He went up the battlements on purpose to cajole you down to safety. Oh, it was prime to hear you fencing with each other!" and Diccon rubbed his hands in his glee.
"I think you've treated Mr. Chorlton abominably," said Mildred.
"Then you'll consent to descend the staircase with me now?" said Mr. Chorlton, smiling.
"Yes, if you promise not to don trunk-hose and a velvet doublet."
"Trust me! I was racking my brains all the time for mediaeval terms. I must have appeared an awful lunatic!"
"But may I ask why you were picking up pebbles in the courtyard? That did look rather peculiar, I own."
"They weren't pebbles. They're land-snail shells. I'm collecting them. Mad on conchology, if you like!"
"I had to sprint to Whiterigg and back, so as to be able to follow you," chuckled Diccon. "I was so afraid I might be too late for the fun. It was luck to get here just in time."
Mildred had much to tell on her return to lunch at The Towers. Violet, to whom Diccon's practical jokes were well known, was immensely amused, though Sir Darcy and Lady Lorraine were not inclined to treat the episode so humorously.
"Mildred must not take solitary walks again," said her aunt. "I should never have given her permission to go out alone, and she must remember that in future."
"I won't forget," promised Mildred. "I was horribly scared at the time."
"Oh, it was funny!" laughed Violet. "That wretch Diccon deserves to be paid back in his own coin, though. I wonder if we couldn't manage to play a trick upon him? I'm going to cudgel my brains till I think of something."