CHAPTER XXIII.
Freda went through the secret door the second time with more bravery then she had felt on the first occasion. For although she was bound on an expedition the dangers of which it was impossible to deny, she had now at least some knowledge of the risks she ran; and she was fortified by the belief that, even if she should not see him, her father would be about, within call perhaps, if she should run any danger from his rough associates. So she crept down into the room in which she had before hidden herself, very softly, listening as she went.
She could hear no sound. Her father had disappeared, leaving the light lowered. She crossed the floor almost on tip-toe, and peeped down through the opening. It was quite dark down there now; she could not even see the table round which the men had sat. She raised her head again and looked round her. She must go into that cellar, but she dared not go without a light. Becoming used to the silence, and feeling more secure, she began to make a tour of the room, hunting and groping very carefully. For, she thought, there must certainly be lanterns about somewhere; they would be a necessary part of a smuggler’s stock-in-trade. And truly, when she did at last stumble upon the right quarters, she found a selection of lanterns which would have equipped the band twice over. They were stored in a corner-cupboard, and were of all shapes and sizes, some old, battered and useless, some new and untried. Freda made a careful choice, fitted her lantern with a candle which she found in a box on a shelf, and helped herself to a box of matches. Then she returned to the opening in the floor, threw down the rope-ladder, and began the descent.
To the lame girl, quite unaccustomed to adventures of this sort, this part of the journey was neither easy nor pleasant. Her trembling feet only found firm footing on each succeeding rung after much futile swinging to and fro, desperate clinging to the swaying ropes, and nervous fears that her protruding foot would be caught by a rough hand from below. But she reached the cellar-floor in safety, and proceeded to light her lantern. Then she took a survey of the room.
It was large, lofty, stone-walled, and very cold. There was an oil-stove in one corner, but it was not burning. There were no stores of tobacco or spirits kept here, only lumber of ship’s gear, broken oars, coils of rope, some ends of rusty chain and such like. Freda, after a hasty inspection, proceeded to the corner where the men had disappeared. Here there was a large opening in the floor, from which a damp, earthy smell rose as she stooped to examine it. Freda could have no doubt that this was the entrance to a subterranean passage.
She drew back in horror which made her cold and wet from head to foot. Could she dare to trust herself alone in the very bowels of the earth, away from all hope of help if one of the rough and brutal men she had seen that evening should meet her?
She hesitated.
Then she thought of poor John Thurley, who had been so good to her: perhaps he was even then lying stunned or dead on the scaur, struck down by one of her father’s servants in evil. Ashamed of her hesitation, fired with the determination to try to save him, she dropped on to her knees, covered her face with her hands, and prayed for strength and courage. Then she sprang up, boldly grasped her crutch in her right hand and her lantern in her left, and plunged into the passage with rapid steps.
There were a few worn stone steps to begin with, then a gentle slope, and then a long, straight run. The passage was narrow and walled with stones, old and green with damp. At frequent intervals air and daylight were let in through small iron gratings which seemed to be a very long way overhead. It was not difficult to breathe, and the passage being stoned-paved and drained, the way so far was smooth and easy. Freda did not know how long she had been down there nor how far she had gone, when she became aware that the ground was sloping up again. Then came a flight of steps upwards. At the top of these steps Freda found herself in a very small octagonal chamber, which contained part of a broken stone spiral staircase, going upwards. Behind this staircase there was another large hole in the ground.
Freda guessed that she must be on the ground-floor of one of the towers of the Abbey-church. In the wall in front of her was a stout wooden door, which was ajar. She pushed it softly, guessing from this circumstance that there must be some one about. Putting her head through the aperture, she saw that she was in the western tower of the north transept of the ruined church. She thought she heard a man’s voice softly whistling to himself, but it did not sound very near, so she ventured to push the door open a little further and to slip through.
A clear, white moon, not long risen, was beginning to shine on the old pile, and to cast long lines of bright light and black shade between the old arches. To Freda the beautiful sight gave a fresh horror. How dared these men ply their wicked trade in the very shelter of these holy walls? She crept out, feeling more secure while she stood on this sacred ground, and treading with noiseless footsteps down the grass-grown nave, peeped through the broken window through which Robert Heritage had come to speak to her. She could trace in the moonlight the foot-path through the meadow outside to the outer wall, and beyond that she could just see a horse’s ears, and a whip standing up in such a fashion as to convince her that it was in a cart. She waited without a sound while she heard the soft whistling nearer and nearer, and then, peeping through the loose stones, she saw stolid Josiah Kemm, walking slowly to and fro under the church walls, with his hands behind him. He saw her immediately, and started forward to find out who was watching him.
Freda was ready for him, however; the risks and excitement of the adventure had made her quick-witted. She drew herself from a crouching attitude to her full height, and said, in a clear voice:
“Is it you, Josiah Kemm?”
The man did not answer; he made a step back, taken by surprise. She continued:
“I think you must have heard of me. I am Captain Mulgrave’s daughter.”
He touched his hat rather surlily, and seemed restless, as if uncertain what she knew, or how he ought to treat her.
“Why are you not waiting in the court-yard?” she asked with an inspiration. “You take your cart in there generally, don’t you?”
She thought that if she could persuade him that she knew all about his business, she could perhaps learn from him by what way she could get down to the scaur. Her confident tone had the desired effect. After a few minutes’ hesitation, during which Freda pretended to be unconcerned, but felt sick with anxiety, he answered:
“Well, noa; generally is a big word. Ah do soometoimes go into t’ yard, but more often Ah weait here.” He paused, but as his hearer took care to show no deep interest, he presently went on: “Ye see, it depends whether Ah teake t’ stuff streight from t’ boat, or whether Ah have to teake what’s stored in t’ Abbey.”
“I see. If you take what is stored up, the cart waits under the gallery window in the courtyard.”
“Aye. An’ Crispin Bean brings oop t’ stuff, an’ thraws it aht.”
“While if you take it straight from the boat——?”
“Why, Ah weait here, and when they’ve hauled it oop t’ cliff and brought it along t’ first passage, they bring it oop to me, instead o’ teaking it along t’ other passage into t’ Abbey.”
“Aren’t you afraid of people passing late, who might see your cart and wonder why it was so often standing there?”
Kemm shook his head decidedly, with a dry laugh.
“Noa, missie. T’ fowk hereabout’s all on our soide.”
“Oh,” said Freda.
She was wondering now how she should make her escape and find the second passage; that which, by Kemm’s account, led down to the beach. He himself unwittingly came to her succour.
“Ah thowt Ah heerd summat!” he suddenly exclaimed.
He gave a low, long whistle, but there was no reply. So without heeding Freda, who had succeeded in making him believe that she was in the secrets of the gang, he got through the ruined window, and went to the tower in the north transept. Freda hopped after him as quickly as she could. He pushed open the door, and going to the hole under the broken staircase, called down it, and whistled. There was no answering sound.
“False alarm!” said he, as he stepped again out into the transept.
But Freda had disappeared. She had followed him into the tower, and having blown out her lantern, crouched on the lowest stair until she found herself alone again. Then, waiting until Kemm’s voice, still calling to her, sounded a long way off, she relighted her candle, ran to the hole, and seeing a ladder in it, went down without delay. The underground passage into which this led her was very different from that which led from the church to the Abbey-house. As a matter of fact, the latter was of very ancient origin, having been carefully built and paved, six hundred years ago, as a private way for the Abbot between his house and the church. The passage which led from the church to the cliff, however, was an entirely modern and base imitation, dug and cut roughly out of the red clay and hard rock of which the cliffs were composed, ill-drained, ill-ventilated, almost impassable here and there through the slipping of great masses of the soft red clay. From time to time Freda, hurrying and stumbling along as best she could, now ankle-deep in sticky mud, now hurting her feet against loose stones, saw a faint gleam of moonlight above her, let in, as in the other passage, through a narrow grating, which would pass on the surface of the ground for the entrance to a drain. At last the passage widened suddenly, and she found herself in a low-roofed cave, partly natural, partly artificial, with a narrow opening, not looking straight out to sea, but towards a jutting point of the cliff.
Here Freda paused for a moment, afraid that some one might start up from one of the dark corners. But the total silence reassured her. There was a lantern hanging on the rough wall, and there was a bench on which lay some clothes. On the floor a few planks had been laid down side by side, with a worn and damp straw mat, evidently used for removing from the boots of the gang the clay collected on the way through the passage.
But the most noteworthy objects in the cave were a strong iron bar which was fixed from rock to rock across the mouth, to which a rope ladder was fastened, which hung down the surface of the cliff, and a windlass fastened firmly in the ground, by which, as Freda guessed, bales of smuggled tobacco and kegs of contraband spirit, were hauled up from the scaur below. She crept to the entrance and peeped out.
The moon was not yet fully risen, but there was light enough for the girl to make out the admirable position of this den above the water. Not only was the opening invisible from the sea, except for a little space close in shore where even small boats scarcely ventured, but it was also hidden from any one on the rocky beach below or on the cliff above by jutting points of rock; while a perpendicular slab of rock, descending sheer to the scaur beneath it, made it quite inaccessible from below except by the means the smugglers used.
After waiting a few minutes, and peering down on to the rocks below without hearing the least sound except the splash of the incoming tide, Freda resolved to descend, and take her chance of being seen. She must find out if John Thurley was there, and if any harm had come to him.