The Tale of Holly How (15 page)

“I don’t see the sheep anywhere,” Sarah said behind her. She was beginning to sound a little breathless. “I suppose that means we’ll have to climb to the top, doesn’t it? Perhaps they’ve gone down the other side.”

“I doubt it,”
Rascal remarked.
“I don’t think we’ll find them.”
It was a known fact that sheep were curious, and of all the breeds of sheep, Herdwicks were amongst the most curious. If they were anywhere on Holly How, they would have already come over to see who was walking across their fell and ask what they wanted.

“There’s somewhere else I want to look before we climb to the top,” Beatrix said, over her shoulder. A few moments later, they had reached the stone-fenced fold, and above, on the shoulder of the hill, she could see the place from which Ben Hornby must have fallen. She pointed.

“Over there,” she said. “There’s a beck at the bottom of that slope. It’s steep, but an easy climb for sheep. They might have gone down for water.”

“Lead on,” Sarah said cheerfully, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. “Although I’d like to suggest that when we get there, we might sit down for a moment or two. You’re a much better walker than I am, Bea, and to tell the truth, I am jolly tired.”

In a few moments, they reached the spot where Beatrix had stood the afternoon before and looked down to the foot of the steep slope. Ben Hornby’s body was gone, of course, and Beatrix could see little sign of its ever having been there. There were no sheep, either. The little stream skipped and leapt amongst the rocks, chattering cheerfully to itself and paying no attention to anyone. On the opposite side of the stream there were a few larches and shrub willows, and then the ground sloped upward again.

“That’s where we found him,” Beatrix said, pointing down. “I thought, of course, that it was an accident, until Constable Braithwaite explained about the tobacco pipe Mr. Hornby was holding in his hand. The constable was sure he didn’t smoke, you see,” she added. “So it began to seem as if the old man might not have been here alone.”

“And this is where he fell from, I suppose,” Sarah replied. She sat down on a large rock and looked around curiously. “I imagine the men must have searched this place rather thoroughly, especially if they thought someone else was up here with Mr. Hornby.” She paused, frowning down at the ground. “They didn’t find anything, I don’t suppose? No sign of a struggle or anything like that?”

“If they did, they didn’t mention it in my hearing,” Beatrix said. “Of course, I wasn’t up here with them.” She smiled ruefully and seated herself on a rock. “Once I was down there, it was easier to go farther down than to climb back up.”

“I believe it,” Sarah said, looking down the slope. “I don’t see how you ever got down there safely.” With a smile, she looked down at her skirt. “An argument for wearing trousers, if you ask me.”

For a moment, the two of them were silent, whilst Sarah contemplated the steep slope beneath them and Beatrix studied the area around them, trying to imagine what had happened that might have resulted in a man’s death. One man here alone, enjoying a pipe of tobacco, or two men together? A slip of a heel on a rock and an accidental fall? Or an argument that flared out of control and ended with an angry, impulsive shove? Or something else altogether?

But if there was a tale here, there was nothing to tell it. Thick clumps of low bramble bushes grew out of the tumbled rocks, and the stretches of scuffed earth between them were too hard and stony to bear human footprints—or even the hoofprints of the many sheep that had come this way, judging from the tiny tufts of white wool snagged on the sharp thorns. Although Beatrix searched carefully, she could find nothing that suggested what might have happened in this place.

And then Rascal—who had been scouting the area, tracing with his clever nose the many tantalizing tracks and trails that are completely invisible to Big Folk but so immediately evident to dogs—seemed to find something of interest, lying hidden amongst the thicket of briars about twenty feet distant.

He raised his head and began to bark.
“Over here!”
he yipped urgently.
“Miss Potter, Miss Barwick, come here!”

“What do you suppose that little dog has found?” Sarah asked curiously. “He’s certainly excited about it.”

“I’ll go and see,” Beatrix replied, gathering her skirt close around her. “You’d better stay here. Those brambles will tear your clothes.” Paying no attention to Sarah’s objection, she plunged into the bramble thicket. A moment later, she had returned, somewhat breathless, holding up a pair of long-handled, black metal tongs. “Here it is!” she exclaimed. “This is what Rascal found.”

“Yes, but what is it?” Sarah asked, puzzled.

“I have no idea,” Beatrix said, turning it over in her hands. “Fireplace tongs? But the points are sharpened, as if they’re meant to catch and hold on to something, not just lift it. And they’re heavy.”

Rascal had followed her out of the briar patch.
“It’s a pair of badger tongs, that’s what it is!”
he said excitedly, pressing his nose to the tongs.
“They’re used to catch badgers. Mr. Crook makes them at his forge.”

“Look at Rascal,” Sarah said wonderingly. “He acts as if he knows exactly what this is.”

“He probably does,” Beatrix said. “I’m always surprised by what animals seem to know—and they always seem to want to tell us, too. It’s such a pity we can’t understand what they’re saying.” She paused, looking curiously at the tongs. “These might belong to Ben Hornby, I suppose, but—”

“No, no, NO!”
Rascal cried, bouncing up and down.
“Old Ben hated badger-digging with a passion. Old Lord Longford insisted that the sett not be disturbed, and Ben didn’t like the idea of people coming around, bothering animals on land that he was responsible for.”

“—But perhaps not,” Beatrix went on, raising her voice over Rascal’s excited yelping. “At any rate, the constable and Captain Woodcock obviously missed this when they were making their search. Although, to give them credit, they would have had no special reason to search those brambles.”

There was a rumble of thunder not far away. She glanced up to see that the sky had grown even darker, and a finger of lightning danced across the fells to the west. “We’d better start back,” she said. “I left my umbrella in the pony cart.”

“But I thought we were going to the top of Holly How,” Sarah objected. “What about the sheep?”

“They’ve waited this long, they can wait a little longer,” Beatrix said practically, and pointed toward the darkening west. “If we don’t hurry, we’re going to get very wet.”

“We’ll get wet even if we do hurry,”
Rascal observed, lifting his nose to the wind.
“That rain is only a mile or two away.”

Rascal’s prediction turned out to be true, and with one additional complication. When the three of them reached Holly How Farm, Winston and the pony cart were nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, blast,” Sarah groaned. “The pony’s gone home without us.”

“But I know I tied him securely,” Beatrix said. She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t suppose Isaac Chance turned him loose, do you?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,”
Rascal growled.
“He’s a thoroughly bad fellow, you can take my word for it.”

“I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,” Sarah said with a sigh. A few raindrops began to spatter down. “How far is it to the village, do you think?”

“Only about three miles,” Beatrix said. “Come on.”

“
Only?
” Sarah said, with a laugh. “I just wish that pony had thought to leave the umbrella for us.”

As it happened, Winston had not gone far. When they turned off the farm track onto Stony Lane, they saw him waiting for them under a large beech tree and ran toward him with happy exclamations. The rain began in earnest just as Beatrix and Sarah climbed into the cart and Sarah put up the umbrella, which was large enough to cover the both of them.

“I’d give a lot to know whether that awful man let our pony go,” she said.

“It’s too bad Winston can’t tell us,” Beatrix said, picking up the reins and clucking to the pony.

“Well, he can tell me,”
Rascal replied. He ran alongside the pony, who was trotting briskly downhill, as anxious as the others to get home before the hard rain came.
“What happened, Winston? Did Isaac Chance turn you loose?”

The pony tossed his head.
“You don’t think I pulled myself free, do you?”
he asked huffily.
“I am a well-bred, hardworking pony, and I know my job. When I am told to go, I go. When I’m told to stop, I stop, sunshine, snow, or thunder. But when I’m whipped—”

“So it was Chance, then? He let you loose and whipped you until you ran away?”

“It was Chance,”
Winston said through his teeth.
“A thoroughly unpleasant fellow. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

And with that, he picked up his hoofs and stepped even more smartly down the lane.

20

Caroline Overhears a Conversation

Caroline was introduced to Dr. Gainwell at luncheon. When Miss Martine told her that the man had been a missionary in the South Pacific before coming to Sawrey to manage the school, she had been rather interested in meeting him. Her parents had known several missionaries and a few had come to the sheep station to visit—adventuresome men and women, sunburnt, with work-hardened hands and eyes that seemed to see great distances, and interesting stories to tell about places they had been and people they had met, all sorts of people, unchristian heathens and heathenish Christians.

But Dr. Gainwell was not like any of those missionaries. He was a handsome man with a great deal of long, reddish blond hair that he seemed to be constantly flinging out of his eyes, and his hands looked soft, as though he had done no work at all. And if he had any exciting tales about narrow escapes from savage jungle headhunters, or missionaries who had been boiled and eaten by cannibals, he didn’t share them at luncheon—although perhaps such stories were too gruesome to be told at table here in England.

In fact, Dr. Gainwell said very little about himself, which made Caroline wonder, since it had been her experience that people who traveled to exotic places usually wanted to rattle on and on until you were sick of hearing them. And although he was all smiles and pleasantries when her grandmother glanced his way, he was something else altogether—something much more watchful and observant—when Grandmama wasn’t looking. He spoke to Caroline once or twice, in a soft, slick voice that made her feel uncomfortable. So instead of answering his questions, she pressed her lips together and said nothing.

Miss Martine leaned forward and said, very coldly, “I’m afraid that it is of no use to concern yourself with the child, Dr. Gainwell. She has been sullen and disobedient ever since her arrival in this house. A truly incorrigible young person.”

Dr. Gainwell looked down his long nose at Caroline, then back to Miss Martine, and then to Caroline’s grandmother. “Oh, no, not incorrigible, Miss Martine,” he remonstrated, with a gentle shake of his head. His hair flopped in his eyes and he pushed it back. “No child is truly intractable. The appropriate discipline, firmly and regularly administered, will call forth the desired behavior.” The corners of his mouth curled up and he reached out to give Caroline’s hand what might have been meant as a reassuring pat. “I do not exaggerate when I say that in my experience with children, I have been quite successful in disciplining even the most unruly.”

Caroline pulled her hand back. She did not like the ominous sound of the words “appropriate discipline,” and wondered how it might be administered. With a ruler across the knuckles, the way Miss Martine did it?

Lady Longford put down her fork. “Spoken like a true teacher,” she said in a brittle voice. “I daresay you shall want to discuss your disciplinary methods with the school trustees, who will be very interested.” She patted her pale lips with a napkin and pushed her plate away. “I regret that I am not feeling entirely well today. You will excuse me.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear,” Miss Martine said with an immediate concern. She left her chair and went around the table. “Shall I help you to your room?” she asked solicitously. “Would you like me to send for Dr. Butters?”

“That will not be necessary,” Lady Longford replied stiffly, reaching for her carved wooden cane and pushing herself up out of her chair with what seemed like a great effort. “You must entertain our guest, Miss Martine, and see that he gets off in good time to meet the trustees. I daresay I shall feel better after a nap.”

After her ladyship had gone, Miss Martine turned to Caroline. “You may go to your room as soon as you have finished eating, young miss,” she said thinly. “You will not be required again until teatime.”

Then, having disposed of Caroline for the afternoon, she smiled at Dr. Gainwell and said, in a much sweeter tone, “Might I suggest the library, sir? We can have our coffee and dessert there. Lord Longford, now deceased, collected a great many books on the natural history of the Lake District, and you might be interested in seeing them.”

“Indeed I should, Miss Martine, if you would be kind enough to show them to me.” Dr. Gainwell took out his gold watch and looked at it. “However, her ladyship mentioned an interview with the school trustees. I must say, I was not expecting it. It is to be today?”

“The interview is at three, in Far Sawrey, at the hotel. Beever will drive you.” Miss Martine folded her napkin. “I understand that Captain Woodcock will be present, along with Vicar Sackett, Dr. Butters, and Mr. Heelis. Captain Woodcock, the doctor, and the vicar have already been made aware of Lady Longford’s interest in your candidacy. Those three can certainly be counted upon to support it. And Mr. Heelis is Lady Longford’s solicitor.”

“Ah, well, then,” Dr. Gainwell said. He glanced at Caroline and added, in a guarded tone, “One feels . . . well, a trifle uncomfortable, as you may appreciate. The position was not advertised. There is no other candidate?”

“A village teacher,” Miss Martine said dismissively, “but she has not your credentials, of that you may be sure.” She rose with a rustle of silk. “Might I suggest the library, sir?” She raised her voice commandingly, as if she were the mistress of the house. “Emily! Coffee and dessert for Dr. Gainwell and myself in the library!” She looked at Caroline. “To your room, miss,” she added.

And with that, the two of them took themselves off down the hallway. Caroline made a face at their departing backs and went upstairs, where she took Tuppenny out of his box. She played with the guinea pig on the floor for a little bit, feeling resentful, then thought of something. Miss Martine had told her to go to her room, and she had obeyed. However, she had not been ordered to
stay
there.

“You’d like some fresh grass, I imagine,” she said to Tuppenny. “Let’s go out into the garden and you can get some.” With her finger, she smoothed the soft orange fur on the top of his head. “If I let you go free in the garden, you’ll promise not to run away, won’t you?”

Tuppenny gave his nose a twitch. He was still deeply offended that Miss Potter had gone away and left him at Tidmarsh Manor, when he had been led to believe that he would have an adventure, with damsels, and that he would be able to distinguish himself against the stoats and dragons. He felt totally justified in having a fit of the sulks and refusing to be comforted, or in running away, or in doing anything a guinea pig might jolly well choose.

But Tuppenny rather liked the girl, who had a soft voice and kind manner, and who seemed to be treating him with an affectionate respect. He didn’t suppose it would hurt to be agreeable, at least for the time being. So he said, with pretended reluctance,
“I suppose I can promise not to run away. For the afternoon, at any rate. Which is not to say anything about tomorrow,”
he added pointedly
. “Tomorrow is another matter. Tomorrow there may be stoats, and damsels, and perhaps even a dragon, and then I shall have to—”

“Good,” said the girl, and put him into her apron pocket.

A little while later, Tuppenny found himself up to his ears in the middle of a delicious patch of fresh green grass where he nibbled happily, forgetting all about his quest and feeling that the afternoon was altogether marvelous, in a way that only a guinea pig at large in a garden could truly appreciate. The sky had clouded over and the breeze carried the hint of rain, but occasional fingers of bright sun caressed his silky fur, and the grass was cool and sweet. The girl sat with a book in her lap and her back against a low stone wall, watching him to make sure, no doubt, that he would not run away.

But running away was now the furthest thing from Tuppenny’s mind, which was instead concentrated on gobbling down as much of the delicious fresh grass in as short a time as possible. So for the next quarter hour, the guinea pig grazed and the girl read in the fitful sunshine, with birds spiraling into summer song in the sky above them, and breezes stirring the flowers that bloomed brightly in the garden all around them, and bees humming seductively amongst the blossoms, and the sound of subdued voices mingling with the general blissful hubbub.

The voices, Tuppenny realized after a little while, were drifting out of an open window not far away. A woman’s light, high-pitched voice, a man’s deeper voice. They were speaking quietly, just above a murmur, which made it necessary to strain one’s ears to hear them.

“—should imagine it will be easy enough,” said the woman, in a careless tone.

“I certainly hope so,” the man said. A tautness had come into his voice. “Although it’s not exactly my line, you know. And I hadn’t expected an interview. You told me it was a dead cert.”

Tuppenny saw the girl glance up alertly from her book and a frown appear between her eyes. She had heard the voices too.

“Well, I must say I expected you to take a somewhat different—” The woman stopped. “No matter. I daresay you will manage it. However, that is not the real problem, you know. The more serious difficulty is—”

The woman went on to explain what this was, but a pair of male meadow pipits alighted on the grass and began to disagree about a particularly attractive nesting site that each of them had promised to his mate. The woman’s voice was lost in their clatter.

When the pipits finally settled their argument and flew away, the man was heard to be saying, in a much darker tone, “—expected that you could handle things alone, without any need for—”

“That was before,” the woman interrupted sharply.

“Before what?”

“Before
she
came. I tell you, it’s all different now.”

Tuppenny saw that the girl’s eyes had narrowed. She cocked her head, closed her book, and leaned forward, listening intently.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said, almost carelessly. “She’ll be off to school in a few weeks and then you’ll have a free rein to do as you like with the old lady.”

“You don’t see, do you?” demanded the woman, sounding thoroughly out of patience. “You never could, even when you were a boy, unless it was an inch in front of your nose.”

The man was offended. “Well, I certainly don’t how the child can threaten the plan. She has no power, no—”

“She threatens it by her very existence,” the woman said.

There was a pause. The man sounded startled. “Surely you’re not suggesting that we—”

“Sssh!” hissed the woman. “You never know who may be listening.” There was a pause, and the sound of rustling silk, and then the window was shut, quite forcibly.

An instant later, the girl had scooped up the astonished Tuppenny and stuffed him into her apron pocket. And then she fled, as if a thousand stoats and weasels and ferrets—and perhaps a dragon or two—were nipping at her heels.