Chapter Eight.
A Naughty Plan.
“The boatie rows, the boatie rows, the boatie rows fu’ weel.”
Ewen.
They were nearly at the cove, when they caught sight of a scarlet cap moving up and down among the rocks.
“There’s Winfried,” cried Mavis joyfully. She could not help having a feeling of safety when the fisher-lad was with them, in spite of her fears about the mischief the other two were planning. “Winfried, Winfried,” she called, “here we are.”
He glanced up with his bright though rather mysterious smile.
“I knew you’d be coming,” he said quietly.
“Of course you did,” said Bertrand in his rough, rude way, “considering I told you to meet us here. Have you got that boat of yours ready?”
“Yes,” said Winfried, and he pointed towards the cove. There, sure enough, was the little boat, bright and dainty, the sun shining on its pretty cushions and on the white glistening oars.
Bertrand was running forward, when there came a sudden exclamation from Ruby. She had put up her hand to her neck.
“Oh, my cross,” she cried, “my little silver cross. I forgot to fetch it from the turret-room. I left it there last night, and I meant to go and get it this morning. And I daren’t go on the sea without it—I’d be drowned, I know I should be.”
Mavis looked at her.
“Ruby,” she said, “I don’t, think you could have left it up there. You had no reason to take it off up there.”
“Oh, but I did, I did,” said Ruby. “I have a trick of taking it off; the cord gets entangled in my hair. I know it’s there.”
“I’ll fetch it you,” said Bertrand, with perfectly astounding good-nature. And he actually set off up the rocky path. Winfried started forward.
“I will go,” he said. “I can run much faster than he,” and he hastened after Bertrand.
But Bertrand had exerted himself unusually. He was already some way up before Winfried overtook him.
“No,” he said, when Winfried explained why he had come, “I want to go. But you may as well come too. I want to carry down my fishing-tackle—I’d forgotten it. You haven’t got any in the boat, I suppose?”
“No,” said Winfried, “it would keep us out too long. It’s too cold for the little ladies, and we should have to go too far out to sea.”
“I’ll bring it all the same,” said Bertrand doggedly; “so mind your own business.” But as Winfried walked on beside him without speaking, he added more civilly, “you may as well look at it and tell me if it’s the right kind. It’s what my father gave me.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not right,” said Winfried. “The fishing here is quite different to anything you’ve ever seen. And any way we cannot keep your cousins waiting while we look at it.”
They were at the arched entrance by now.
“Well, then,” said Bertrand, “you run up and look for the cross. No need for two of us to tire our legs. I’ll wait here.”
Winfried entered the castle, and after one or two wrong turnings found himself on the right stair. He knew pretty exactly where he had to go, for he had often looked up at the west turret from the outside. But just as he got to the door he was overtaken by Bertrand, who had naturally come straight up without any wrong turnings.
“What a time you’ve been,” said Bertrand, pushing in before him. “Now, let’s see—where did Ruby say she’d left her cross? Oh yes, hanging up there; she must have stood on a chair to reach it.” And sure enough, on a nail pretty high up on the wall hung the little ornament.
Winfried drew forward a chair; in another minute he had reached down the cross.
“Here it is,” he said, turning to Bertrand. But—he spoke to the air! Bertrand was gone. Winfried’s face flushed; but he controlled himself. He walked quietly to the door and turned the handle. It did not open. It was locked from the outside. He was a prisoner!
“I knew something of the kind would come,” he said to himself. “What will they do now? Poor little Mavis! I must trust her to the princess.”
But he could not help a feeling of bitter anger. It was no light punishment to the active energetic boy to have to spend all the bright afternoon hours shut up here like an old owl in a church tower. And he knew that till some one came to let him out, a prisoner he verily was. For he might have shouted his voice hoarse, no one down below could have heard him. And the chance of any one in the castle coming up was very small.
“What will gran think?” he said to himself.
“And, if these naughty children try to play him any trick. I know Ruby more than half believes all that nonsense about his being a wizard and about the mermaids, and Bertrand will egg her on.”
He went to the window and stood looking out, trying to keep down the dreadful restless caged feeling which began to come over him.
“How can I bear it?” he said. “If I had tools now, and could pick the lock; but some of these old locks are very strong, and I have nothing. If only I had wings;” and he gazed again out of the window.
When he turned round, though it was quite bright and sunny outside, it almost seemed as if the evening haze had somehow got into the room before its time. It was filled with a thin bluish mist. Winfried’s eyes brightened.
“My princess!” he exclaimed. “Are you there?” A little laugh answered him, and gradually the mist drew together and into shape, and Forget-me-not stood before him.
“My boy,” she exclaimed, “I am surprised at you. Why, you were looking quite depressed!”
Winfried reddened.
“It was the horrid feeling of being locked up,” he said. “I never felt it before, and—it seems such a shame, such a mean trick. I wouldn’t have minded a stand-up fight with any fellow, but—”
“Of course you wouldn’t; but you’ve got a good bit farther than that, I hope, Winfried,” she said with a smile. “And besides, Bertrand is much smaller than you. But it had to be, you know. I have explained enough to you—you and little Mavis;—it had to be.”
Winfried started.
“That’s another thing,” he said. “I am uneasy about her. What will they do? They don’t understand the boat, you know, princess, and she is alone with them.”
Forget-me-not smiled again.
“How faithless you are to-day, Winfried,” she said. “Mavis will be getting before you if you don’t take care, simple and ignorant as she is. Can’t you trust her to me?” And as the boy’s face brightened.
“Come,” she said, “I see you are recovering your usual ground, so I will tell you how I am going to do. But first, shut your eyes, Winfried; and here, wrap the end of my scarf round you. You might feel giddy still, though it’s not the first time. Ready?—that’s right—there now, give me your hand—we’re up on the window ledge. You were wishing for wings—isn’t this as good as wings?”
Bertrand rushed down—as much as he could rush, that is to say, over the steep and rough path—to the shore where the sisters were waiting.
“Have you got it?” asked Mavis eagerly.
“What?” asked Bertrand, out of breath.
“What? Why, Ruby’s cross, of course, that you went for. And where is Winfried?”
“All right,” said Bertrand, in a curious voice; “he’s coming directly. We’re to get into the boat and go on a little way, keeping near the shore. He’s coming down another way.”
(Yes, Bertrand, that he is!)
Mavis looked up anxiously.
“And the cross?” she said.
“Winfried’s got it,” he said. Which was true. Then he turned away, the fact being that he was so choking with laughter that he was afraid of betraying himself.
“Ruby,” he called, “come and help me to drag the boat a little nearer;” and as Ruby came close he whispered to her, “I’ve done it—splendidly—he’s shut up in his tower! Locked in, and the locks are good strong ones—now we can have a jolly good spree without that prig of a fellow. Only don’t let Mavis know till we’re safe out in the boat.”
Ruby jumped with pleasure.
“What fun!” she exclaimed. “How capital! You have been clever, Bertrand. But take care, or Mavis will suspect something. Quick, Mavis,” she went on, turning to her sister, “help us to pull in the boat. There, we can jump in now, Bertrand. You and Mavis steady it while I spring;” and in another moment she was in the boat, where her sister and Bertrand soon followed her.
All seemed well; the sky was clear and bright, the sun still shining. The faces of two of the party were sparkling with glee and triumph. But Mavis looked frightened and dissatisfied.
“I wish Winfried had come back with you, Bertrand,” she said. “Why didn’t he? Did cousin Hortensia keep him for anything?”
“Goodness, no,” said Bertrand. “What a fuss you make, child! He’s all right; you can look out for him, and tell me if you see him coming. I shall have enough to do with rowing you two.”
“Winfried doesn’t find the boat hard to row,” said Mavis; “it’s your own fault if it is hard. You might as well wait for him; he’d see us as he comes down the cliffs.”
“Oh no, that would be nonsense,” said Ruby hastily; “besides, he’s not coming that way. You heard Bertrand say so. I could row too, Bertrand,” she went on.
But the boy had already got his oars in motion, and though he was neither skilful nor experienced, strange to say the little boat glided on with the utmost ease and smoothness.
“There now,” said Bertrand, considerably surprised, to tell the truth, at his own success, “didn’t I tell you I could row?”
“No,” said Mavis bluntly, “you said just this moment you’d have enough to do to manage it.”
“Mavis, why are you so cross?” said Ruby. “It is such a pity to spoil everything.”
She spoke very smoothly and almost coaxingly, but Mavis looked her straight in the eyes, and Ruby grew uncomfortable and turned away. But just then a new misgiving struck Mavis.
“Bertrand,” she cried, “either you can’t manage the boat, or you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not keeping near the shore as you said you would. You’re going right out to sea;” and she jumped up as if she would have snatched the oars from him.
“Sit down, Mavis,” said Ruby. “I’m sure you know you should never jump about in a boat. It’s all right. Don’t you know there’s—there’s a current hereabouts?” Current or no, something there was, besides Bertrand’s rowing, that was rapidly carrying them away farther and farther from the shore. Mavis looked at Bertrand, not sure whether he could help himself or not. But—
“Winfried wouldn’t have told you to keep near the shore if you couldn’t,” she said; “he knows all about the currents.”
Bertrand turned with a rude laugh.
“Does he indeed?” he said. “It’s more than I do; but all the same this current, or whatever it is that is taking us out so fast, has come just at the right minute. I never meant to keep near in, there’s no fun in that. We’re going a jolly good way out, and when we’re tired of it we’ll come back and land close to the old wizard’s cottage. Ruby and I are going to play him a trick; we want to catch him with the mermaids Ruby heard singing the other day. If we set the villagers on him, they’ll soon make an end of him and his precious grandson.”
“Yes,” said Ruby spitefully; “and a good riddance they’d be. That Winfried setting himself up over us all.”
Mavis grew pale.
“Ruby; Bertrand,” she said, “you cannot mean to be so wicked. You know the villagers are already set against old Adam rather, even though he has been so good to them, and if you stir them up—they might kill him if they really thought he was a wizard.”
“We’re not going to do anything till we know for ourselves,” said Ruby. “We’re first going to the cottage really to find out if it’s true. You know yourself, Mavis, we did hear some one singing and speaking there the other day who wasn’t to be seen when we got there. And I believe it was a mermaid, or—or a syren, or some witchy sort of creature.” Mavis was silent. She had her own thoughts about the voice they had overheard, thoughts which she could not share with the others.
“Oh, dear Princess Forget-me-not,” she said to her self, “why don’t you make them see you, and understand how naughty they are?”
For the moment she had forgotten the princess’s promise that neither Winfried nor his grandfather should suffer any harm, and she felt terribly frightened and unhappy.
“Where is Winfried?” she said at last. “He will see us going out to sea when he comes down to the shore, and if he tells cousin Hortensia she can easily get some of the fishermen to come after us. They can row far quicker than you.”
Bertrand stopped rowing to laugh more rudely than before.
“Can they?” he said. “I doubt it. And as for Winfried telling—why, he doesn’t know; he’s locked in safe and sound in the west turret! He’ll be quite comfortable there for as long as I choose to leave him, and however he shouts no one can hear him. Not that there’s much fear of any of those lumbering boats overtaking us if they tried—why—”
He took up the oars again as he spoke, but before he began to row he half started and glanced round. No wonder; the boat was gliding out to sea without his help, quite as fast as when he was rowing.
“How—how it drifts!” he said in a rather queer tone of voice. “Is there a current hereabouts, Ruby?”
“I suppose so,” said Ruby. “Try and row the other way, that’ll soon show you.”
But it was all very well to speak of “trying.” No efforts of Bertrand’s had the very slightest effect on the boat. On it sped, faster and faster, as if laughing at him, dancing along the water as if it were alive and enjoying the joke. Bertrand grew angry, then, by degrees, frightened.
“It isn’t my fault,” he said. “I don’t pretend to know all about the currents and tides and nonsense. You shouldn’t have let me come out here, Ruby?”
Ruby was terrified, but angry too.
“It isn’t my fault,” she said. “You planned it all; you know you did. And if we’re all—”
“Be quiet, Ruby,” said Mavis, who alone of the three was perfectly calm and composed. “If it stops you and Bertrand carrying out your naughty plan, I am very glad if we are taken out to sea.”
“That’s too bad of you,” said Ruby, angry in spite of her terror. “I believe you’d rather we were drowned than that your precious Winfried and his grandfather should get what they deserve. And we are going to be drowned, or any way starved to death. We’re going faster and faster. Oh, I do believe there must be a whirlpool somewhere near here, and that we are going to be sucked into it.”
She began to sob and cry. Bertrand, to do him justice, put a good face upon it. He looked pale but determined.
“This is what comes of having to do with people like that,” he said vindictively. “I believe he’s bewitched the boat to spite us. I’ll have another try, however.”
But it was all no use. The boat, slight and fragile as it seemed, resisted his efforts as if it were a living thing opposing him. Crimson with heat and vexation, the boy muttered some words, which it was to be hoped the girls did not catch, and flung down the oars in a rage. One fell inside, the other was just slipping over the edge when Mavis caught it. Strange to say, no sooner was it in her hold than the motion stopped; the boat lay still and passive on the water, swaying gently as if waiting for orders.
“We’ve got out of the current,” exclaimed Ruby. “Try, Mavis, can you turn it?”
It hardly seemed to need trying. The boat turned almost, as it were, of itself, and in another moment they were quietly moving towards the shore. Nor did it seem to make any difference when Bertrand took the oars from Mavis and resumed his rowing.
“If I only waited another moment,” he said. “We got out of the current just as you caught the oar, Mavis.”
She shook her head doubtfully.
“I don’t know. I don’t think it was that,” she said. “But any way now it is all right again, and we are going back, you and Bertrand, Ruby, will not think of playing any trick, or setting the villagers on to old Adam.”
“Why not, pray?” said Bertrand. “And—”
“I don’t see what has made any difference,” said Ruby pertly. “Suppose the horrid things had bewitched the boat, is that any reason for not showing them up? You think it’s all your wonderful cleverness that got the boat round, do you, Mavis?”
“No, I don’t. I think a good many things I’m not going to tell you,” said the little girl. “But one thing I will tell you, I will not leave the boat or come on shore unless you promise me to give up your naughty cruel plan.”
She spoke so firmly that Ruby was startled. And indeed her own words seemed to surprise Mavis herself. It was as if some one were whispering to her what to say. But on Bertrand they made no impression.
“You won’t, won’t you?” he said. “Ah, well, we’ll see to that.”
They were close to the shore by this time. The marvellous boat had “got over the ground,” I was going to say—I mean the water—even more quickly than when going out to sea. And in another minute, thanks to something—no doubt Bertrand thought it was thanks to his wonderful skill—they glided quietly into the little landing-place where Winfried had brought them two days ago.
Up jumped Ruby.
“That’s capital,” she said. “We can easily make out way to the old wizard’s cottage from here. And before we peep in on him himself, Bertrand, we may as well look round his garden, as he calls it. It is the queerest place you ever saw, full of caves and grottoes.” Both Bertrand and she had jumped on shore.
“Come on, Mavis,” cried they. “What are you so slow about?”
For Mavis sat perfectly still in her place.
“I am not coming on shore,” she said quietly, “not unless you promise to give up whatever mischief it is that you are planning.”
“Nonsense,” said Bertrand. “You just shall come; tell her she must, Ruby, you’re the eldest.”
“Come, Mavis,” said Ruby. “You’d better come, for everybody’s sake, I can tell you,” she added meaningly. “If you’re there you can look after your precious old wizard. I won’t promise anything.”
“No,” Mavis repeated. “I will not come. We have no right to go forcing ourselves into his cottage. It is as much his as the castle is ours, and you know you have locked up Winfried on purpose so that he can’t get out. No, I will not go with you.”
“Then stay,” shouted Bertrand, “and take the consequences.”
And he dragged Ruby back from the boat.