The shrubbery in which they found themselves was very thorny and undergrowthy, and nearer to the lodge than they would have chosen. They could see its white walls quite plainly every now and then, and they feared that it, or the managing director of it, might be able to see them. But it makes all the difference whether you are looking for a thing or not, doesn’t it? And certainly the last thing the cap woman expected was that any one should dare to defy her.
So, undiscovered and unsuspected, the children crept through the undergrowth. The thorns and briars scratched at the blue muslins, no longer, anyhow, in their first freshness, and Charlotte’s white hat was snatched from her head by a stout chestnut stump. The bouquet, never the handsomest of its kind, was not improved by its travels. But misfortunes such as these occur to all tropical explorers, and they pressed on. They were all very warm and rather dirty when they emerged from the undergrowth into the smooth spacious park, and, beyond a belt of quiet trees, saw the pale grey towers of the castle rise against the sky. They looked back. The lodge was not to be seen.
‘So that’s all right,’ said Caroline. ‘Now we must walk fast and yet not look as if we were hurrying. I think it does that best if you take very long steps. I wish we knew where the front door was. It would be awful if we went to the back one by mistake, and got turned back by Lord Andore’s my-myrmidons.’
‘I expect his back door is grander than our front,’ said Charlotte; ‘so we shan’t really know till the myr-what’s-its-names have gone for us.’
‘If we’d had time to disguise ourselves like grown-ups—Char, for goodness’ sake tear that strip off your hat, it looks like a petticoat’s tape that’s coming down,’ said Caroline—‘they’d have thought we’d come to call, with cards, and then they’d have had to show us in, unless he wasn’t at home.’
‘He must be at home,’ said Charlotte, tearing a long streamer from the wretched hat, which now looked less like a hat than a fading flower that has been sat on; ‘it would be too much if he wasn’t.’
They passed through the trees and on to a very yellow gravelled drive, hot and gritty to the foot, and distressing to the eye. Following this, they came suddenly, round a corner, on the castle. It was much bigger than they expected, and there seemed to be no doubt which was the front entrance. Two tall grey towers held a big arched gateway between them, and the drive led straight in to this. There seemed to be no door-bell and no knocker, nor, as far as they could see, any door.
‘I feel like Jack the Giant Killer,’ said Charles; ‘only there isn’t a trumpet to blow.’
His voice, though he spoke almost in a whisper, sounded loud and hollow under the echoing arch of the gateway.