The Children of the Castle. Molesworth Mrs.
made the queer old room very cheery. There were three windows in each turret, and they were furnished in an odd, irregular way with all sorts of quaint old-fashioned furniture discarded from other parts of the castle. In former days these turret-rooms had sometimes been used as guest-chambers when the house was very full of visitors. For the large modern rooms and the hall I have spoken of had been added by the children’s grandfather – a very hospitable but extravagant man. And before he made these improvements there were often more guests than it was easy to find room for.
Ruby and Mavis were not long in taking off their out-door things and “tidying” themselves for their evening in Miss Hortensia’s pleasant little room. They made a pretty picture as they ran downstairs, their fair curls dancing on their shoulders, though if I were to describe to you how they were dressed, I am afraid you would think they must have been a very old-world looking little pair.
“Here we are, cousin Hortensia,” exclaimed Ruby as they came in, “and I do hope it’s nearly tea-time.”
“Not quite, my dear,” Miss Hortensia replied, glancing at a beautifully carved Swiss clock which stood on the mantelpiece; “the little trumpeter won’t tell us it’s six o’clock for half an hour yet – his dog has just barked twice.”
“Lazy things,” said Ruby, shrugging her shoulders, “I’d like to shake that old trumpeter sometimes.”
“And sometimes you’d like to pat him to sleep, wouldn’t you?” said Mavis. “When cousin Hortensia’s telling us stories, and he says it’s bed-time.”
Miss Hortensia looked at Mavis in some surprise, but she seemed very pleased too. It was not often Mavis spoke so brightly.
“Suppose you use up the half-hour in telling me stories,” said their cousin. “Mine will keep till after tea. What were all the adventures you met with?”
“Oh,” said Ruby, “it was too queer. Did you know, cousin, that there was a short way home from the sea-shore near old Adam’s cottage? Such a queer way;” and she went on to describe the path between the rocks.
Miss Hortensia looked very puzzled.
“Who showed it to you?” she said; for Ruby, in her helter-skelter way, had begun at the end of the story, without speaking of the boy Winfried, or explaining why they – or she – had been so curious about the old man whom the villagers called a wizard.
“It was the boy,” Mavis replied; “such a nice boy, cousin Hortensia, with funny bluey eyes – at least they’re sometimes blue.”
“Oh, Mavis, do not talk so sillily,” said Ruby; “his eyes aren’t a bit blue. She’s got blue on the brain, cousin, she really has. Seeing forget-me-nots in the sky too! I don’t think he was a particularly nice boy. He was rather cool. I’m sure we wouldn’t have done his grandfather any harm. Did you ever hear of him, cousin? Old Adam they call him;” and then she went on to give a rather more clear account of their walk, and all they had seen and heard.
Miss Hortensia listened attentively, and into her own eyes crept a dreamy, far-away, or rather long-ago look.
“It is odd,” she said; “I have a kind of fancy that I have heard of the old ‘solitary,’ for he must be almost a hermit, before. But somehow I don’t think it was here. I wonder how long he has lived here?”
“I don’t know,” said Ruby. “A good while, I should think. He was here when Joan was our nurse.”
“But that was only two years ago,” said Miss Hortensia, smiling. “If he had been here many years the people would not count him so much of a foreigner. And the boy you met – has he come to take care of the old man?”
“I suppose so. We didn’t ask him,” said Ruby carelessly. “He was really such a cool boy, ordering us not to go near the cottage indeed! I told him he might come up to get some soup or jelly for his grandfather,” she went on, with a toss of her head. “I said it, you know, just to put him in his place, and remind him whom he was speaking to.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to be rude,” said Mavis; “and, cousin, there really was something rather ‘fairy’ about him. Isn’t it very queer we never heard of that path before?”
“Yes,” Miss Hortensia replied. “Are you sure you didn’t both fall asleep on the shore and dream it all? Though, to be sure, it is rather too cold weather for you to have been overcome by drowsiness.”
“And we couldn’t both have dreamt the same thing if we had fallen asleep,” said Mavis, in her practical way. “It wasn’t like when you were a little girl and saw or dreamt – ”
“Don’t you begin telling the story if cousin Hortensia’s going to tell it herself,” interrupted Ruby. “I was just thinking I had forgotten it a good deal, and that it would seem fresh. But here’s tea at last – I am so glad.”
They were very merry and happy during the meal. Ruby was particularly pleased with herself, having a vague idea that she had behaved in a very grand and dignified way. Mavis’s eyes were very bright. The afternoon’s adventure had left on her a feeling of expecting something pleasant, that she could hardly put in words. And besides this, there was cousin Hortensia’s story to hear.
When the table was cleared, cousin Hortensia settled herself with her knitting in a low chair by the fire, and told the children to bring forward two little stools and seat themselves beside her. They had their knitting too, for this useful art had been taught them while they were so young that they could scarcely remember having learnt it. And the three pairs of needles made a soft click-click, which did not the least disturb their owners, so used were they to it. Rather did it seem a pleasant accompaniment to Miss Hortensia’s voice.
“You want me to tell you the story of my night in the west turret-room when I was a little girl,” she began. “You have heard it before, partly at least, but I will try to tell it more fully this time. I was a very little girl, younger than you two – I don’t think I was more than eight years old. I had come here with my father and mother and elder sisters to join a merry party assembled to celebrate the silver wedding of your great-grandparents. Your grandfather himself, their eldest child, was about three and twenty. He was not then married, so it was some time before your father was born. I don’t quite know why they had brought me. It seems to me I would have been better at home in my nursery, for there were no children as young as I to keep me company. Perhaps it was that they wished to have me to represent another generation, as it were, though, after all, that might have been done by my sisters. The elder of them, Jacintha, was then nineteen; it was she who afterwards married your grandfather, so that besides being cousins of the family, as we were already, I am your grandmother’s sister, and thus your great-aunt as well as cousin.”
The little girls nodded their heads.
“I was so much younger than Jacintha,” Miss Hortensia went on, “that your father never called me aunt. He and I have always been Robert and Hortensia to each other, and to me he has always been like a younger brother.”
“But about your adventure,” said Ruby, who was not of a sentimental turn.
“I am coming to it,” said their cousin. “Well, as I said, the party was a merry one. They had dancing and music in plenty every evening, and the house, which was in some ways smaller than it is now, was very full. There were a great many bedrooms, though few of them were large, and I and my sisters, being relations, were treated with rather less ceremony than some of the stranger guests, and put to sleep in the turret-room. I had a little bed in one corner, and my sisters slept together in the same old four-poster which is still there. I used to be put to bed much earlier than they came, for, as I said, there were dancing and other amusements most evenings till pretty late. I was not at all a nervous or frightened child, and even sometimes when I lay up there by myself wide awake – for the change and the excitement kept me from going to sleep as quickly as at home – I did not feel at all lonely. From my bed I could see out of the window, for the turret windows are so high up that it has never been necessary to have blinds on them, and I loved to lie there watching the starlit sky, or sometimes, when the moon was bright and full, gazing