It was quite a relief to hear Nancy’s matter-of-fact voice just then, as she chattered away about her dolls:
“Now, I shall brush Jemima’s hair,” Ambrose heard her say to Pennie, “and you can put Lady Jane Grey to bed.”
“I ought to be able to go,” said Ambrose to himself, “and after all I don’t suppose the Goblin Lady can be worse than Farmer Snow’s black cow.”
“But her head’s almost off,” put in Pennie’s voice. “You did it the last time we executed her.”
“If I went,” thought Ambrose, continuing his reflections, “they would never, never be able to call me a coward again.”
He slid off the table as he reached this point, and moved slowly towards the door. He stood still as he opened it and looked at his sisters, half hoping they would call him back, or ask where he was going, but they were bending absorbed over the body of the unfortunate Lady Jane Grey, so that two long flaxen pig-tails were turned towards him. They did not even notice that he had moved.
He went quickly through the long dimly-lighted passage, which led into the hall, and found that Mary was just lighting the lamp. This looked cheerful, and he lingered a little and asked her a few questions, not that he really wanted to know anything, but because light and human companionship seemed just now so very desirable. Mary went away soon, and then he strolled a few steps up the broad old staircase, and met Kittles the fluffy cat coming slowly down. Here was another excuse for putting off his journey, and he sat down on the stairs to pass a few agreeable moments with Kittles, who arched his back and butted his head against him, and purred his acknowledgments loudly. But presently, having business of his own, Kittles also passed on his way, and Ambrose was alone again, sitting solitary with his ruffled head leaning on one hand. Then the church clock struck eight. In half an hour it would be bed-time, and his plan not carried out. He must go at once, or not at all. He got up and went slowly on. Up the stairs, down a long winding passage, up some more stairs, and across a landing, on to which the nursery and the children’s bedrooms opened. He stopped again here, for there was a pleasant sound of Dickie and David’s voices, and the splashing of water; but presently he thought he heard Nurse coming out, and he ran quickly round the corner into a little passage which led to the foot of the garret stairs. This passage was dimly-lighted by a small low window, which was almost covered outside by the thickly growing ivy. Even in the daytime it was very dusky, and now it was quite dark, but Ambrose knew the way well, and he groped about with his hands until he came to the steep carpetless steps. And now his heart began to beat very quickly, for he felt that he was in the region of mystery, and that anything might happen at any moment. The wind had dropped, and there was no sound at all to be heard, though he strained his ears to the utmost for some signs of the presence of the Goblin Lady.
“Perhaps,” thought he, “she has finished playing and gone away again with the wind.” This was an encouraging idea, and though his knees trembled a good deal, he went on bravely until he came to the place where the stairs took a sudden sharp turn; but here he saw something which brought him to a standstill again, for underneath the garret door at the top there was a faint gleam of light. “That’s the glowworms,” thought Ambrose, “and she’s there still.” His spirits sank.
Could he go on? It must be now or never. With a tremendous effort he went quickly up the remaining steps, stood on tiptoe to unlatch the door, and pushed it open. It swung back with a creak upon its rusty hinges, and a cold wind rushed in Ambrose’s face, for the window was open. The room was faintly lighted, not with glowworms, but by the pale rays of a watery moon, which made some of the objects whitely distinct, and left others dark and shadowy. Standing motionless on the threshold, Ambrose turned his eyes instinctively to the corner where the harp was dimly visible. There was certainly no one playing it, but as he looked he heard a faint rustle in that direction. What was it? Again it came, this time louder, with a sound like the flapping of feathers. Could it be the Goblin Lady? But Pennie never said she had wings. Unable to go either backwards or forwards, Ambrose remained rooted to the spot with his eyes fixed on the mysterious corner. Rustle, rustle, flap, flap, went the dreadful something, and presently there followed a sort of low hiss. At the same moment a sudden gust of wind burst through the window and banged the door behind him with a resounding clap. Panic-stricken he turned and tried to open it, but his cold trembling fingers could not move the rusty fastening. He looked wildly round for a means of escape, and his eye fell on a bright ray of moonlight resting on the lattice window. He rushed towards it, scrambled up on to a box, from thence to the window-ledge, and thrust himself through the narrow opening. If the thing came after him now, he could go no further than the balustrade, unless he jumped down into the garden, “and that would kill me,” he thought, “Pennie has often said so.”
He stood on the rough tiles, holding on to the iron window frame with one hand; behind him the dark garret, where the thing still flapped and rustled, and before him the sloping roof, the tall chimneys, the garden beneath, partly lighted up by the moon. He could see the nursery window, too, in an angle of the house, brightly illumined by the cheerful fire within. Dickie and David were snugly in bed now, warm and safe, and Nurse was most likely searching everywhere for him. If they only knew!