‘Rupert won’t be able to hide in the wood, will he?’ said Charlotte after a dismal silence.
‘Oh, Charlotte,’ said Caroline in deep reproach, holding up her little silver watch, ‘it’s only a quarter to five. I’m going to sleep again. You know how thin and rotten you feel in the afternoon if you get up too early. Come on. Perhaps it won’t be raining when it’s proper getting-up time.’
But it was, as hard as ever. And it was a dismal little breakfast-party. The dining-room, usually so sunny and delightful at this hour, was sombre and brown and dull. The books all looked like lesson-books, and even the portrait of the Lady with the ruff had but little interest for the children. It seemed as though some one had turned off all sunshine and all magic at the very meter.
Anxiety about Rupert mingled with the usual wet-day feelings, and every one was at first too miserable even to tell the others how miserable it was.
Almost in silence Caroline poured out the milk, Charles served the bacon, and Charlotte handed the toast. And quite in silence they ate and drank. But breakfast soon began its healing work, and before it came to the marmalade, Charlotte was able to say:
‘This is the time to do something desperate. I’ll have some tea, please, Caro. Aunt Emmeline says it’s a dreadful drug and people take it instead of beer. I don’t like it,’ she hastened to add. ‘It’s only to show how desperate we are.’
‘Yes, but your drinking tea won’t help Rupert. He’ll be soaked in the woods,’ said Caroline heavily.
‘Still, he’ll be safe,’ Charles pointed out. ‘No one will go looking for him in the sopping wet. I’ll have tea too. Let’s call it a carouse in the smugglers’ cave.’
But the others thought this was going a little too far.
‘I don’t feel as if we ought to play till we know about Rupert and whether he’s had any breakfast. And I know the Wilming-cat won’t let us go out in the rain,’ Charlotte said.