“Oh, you mean the forbidden rooms,” said Jackie; “we don’t go into those now. There are three of them, where the floor’s given way, you know, with great holes in them. Maskells is such a jolly place,” he added pleadingly; “we don’t like any other half so well.”
“You say Fraülein is going?” said Mrs Vallance.
“Yes, and Rice, too; but they won’t be in the way, because Fraulein’s going to sketch, and Rice will have to be with the little ones.”
“I hope they will be in the way,” replied Mrs Vallance, “and prevent you heedless children climbing about in unsafe places and breaking your limbs.”
“Then Mary may go? And we start punctually at nine, so she mustn’t be late.”
Consent once given, Jackie took his departure, and his stout knickerbockered legs were soon out of sight.
Mary was delighted, for Maskells was the most charming place possible to spend a day in, and the prospect of going there made her forget for a time the one subject which had lately filled her mind—herself.
Maskells was a deserted house standing near the high-road between the White House and Dorminster; it had once been a place of some consequence, and still had pleasant meadows round it, sloping down to a river at the back; but the garden and orchard were tangled and neglected—much more interesting, the children thought, than if they had been properly cared for.
The house had two projecting wings, and quaint latticed windows; outside, it had the appearance of being in tolerable repair, but there was in truth scarcely a whole room in it, floors and ceilings had given way, and great rifts and gaps yawned in them. The rotten old staircases were all the more dangerous because they still looked firm enough to bear a light weight, and though Jackie had once crawled up to the top of one, out on to the roof, the attempt was never repeated. He had remained there for half an hour clinging on to the side of a tall chimney, unable to move, until a farmer had fetched a ladder and got him down. Since then staircases and upper rooms had been forbidden, and the children had to content themselves with playing on the ground floor and in the outhouses. There was a mystery hanging about the old place which added to its attractions, for they had heard that it had fallen into this decay and been uninhabited so long because it was “in Chancery.” A mysterious expression, which might mean anything, and was more than enough to clothe it with all the terrors which belong to the unknown.
When dusk came on, and the owls and bats flapped their wings in shadowy corners, it was desirable to cling closely together and feel afraid in company—a tremor was excusable in the boldest. Patrick, indeed, always declared he had once seen a ghost in Maskells. Pressed for details, he had been unable to give any clear account of it, and was a good deal laughed at, especially by Mary; but it was dimly felt by all that there might be truth in it—anything was possible for a place “in Chancery.”