Late, Late in the Evening

'Quite a bit. Deeper, too, from what I could see of it.'

'What about the treasure?'

'He would have found it by now.'

'Unless it's hidden upstairs.'

'Dare you to go up!'

'No dare taken, so fainities.'

'That's for playing "he". It's no good for getting out of a dare.'

'Well, you've got to un-dare me, then.'

'All right. What shall we do now?'

'Make raspberry wine, if Aunt Kirstie will find us two bottles and some sugar.'

'She won't. Don't you remember last year when mine fermented in the night and blew its cork up to the ceiling and all the wine spilt over on to the dressing-table cover? Aunt Lally was furious, not about the dressing-table, but because the noise frightened her so.'

'I expect she thought it was a shot.'

'Oh, no, she must be used to hearing shots. Somebody is always going after rabbits on Lye Hill.'

'The gypsies, I suppose.'

'Shouldn't think so. They don't use guns, they use snares.'

'I wish we could go up Lye Hill. I don't believe the gypsies steal children and sell them as slaves. That's just a story to frighten us.'

'They might kidnap us and hold us to ransom, I suppose.'

'No, they wouldn't. Our relations haven't enough money. They might kidnap Lionel, though. Would you go up Lye Hill and rescue him if they did?'

'No. We'd only get into trouble for going up there when we've been told not to.'

'Well, we're not supposed to play down at the sheepwash, but we do. I vote we go to the sheepwash tomorrow. Mr Ward might be there again, doing his madman act with that pickaxe.'

'Better still, we might meet Old Sukie again. She's my friend. She gave me a paper flower. I want to ask her if she'll tell my fortune.'

'She's a witch, not a fortune-teller. Besides, before they'll tell your fortune you have to cross their palm with silver.'

'What does that mean?'

'I think it means you have to give them two bob. I believe it's the only coin which has a cross on it.'

'I tell you what. I expect she'll have a tent at the fair. It might be cheaper there.'

'But we aren't going to the fair. It's on the day we go home.'

'How do you know?'

'Our Sarah told me when it's held. All the village kids save up all the year for it and do jobs, and all that, to get money to spend. There are swings and roundabouts and coconut shies and hoop-la and shooting galleries and goodness knows what. How I jolly well wish we could go.'

'We wouldn't have much to spend if we did go, so perhaps it's just as well we can't.'

Our Sarah and the gang were down at the sheepwash. There was no sign of Mr Ward and Old Sukie did not come down Lye Hill.

CHAPTER FOUR

TEA-PARTY AND AFTER

We heard no more about the visit Aunt Kirstie and Uncle Arthur had paid to Hill House. We had remarked on the fact that, although Lionel Kempson-Conyers had been twice to tea with us, there had been no reciprocal invitation, yet when it came it found us unprepared and shy. For one thing, it was given in a note from his grandmother, Mrs Kempson herself, and not merely by word of mouth from Lionel. Moreover, it seemed to call for a written answer. Another problem was that of clothes. Lionel was always informally clad when he came down the hill to play with us, but Aunt Lally decided that we must wear our Sunday best if we were going to tea at the manor house.

'But we can't have any fun if Margaret wears her velvet frock and I have to put on a suit,' complained Kenneth. 'I shall ask Lionel what he thinks we ought to wear.'

'If his granny sends a proper invite,' said Aunt Lally, 'it means tea in the drawing-room, and tea in the drawing-room means Sunday clothes.'

'It won't be in the drawing-room,' I said. 'It will be in the nursery or the schoolroom. I've read about it in library books. Rich people's children never have tea in the drawing-room.'

Kenneth and I, who had heard from the village children all about the importance and glory of the manor house, decided that Mrs Kempson wanted to look us over to find out whether, in her opinion, we were suitable companions for her grandson. However, the aunts in conclave decided that it was our grandfather's position as patriarch and part-owner of the village which was responsible for the honour accorded us, and that we must uphold the family dignity, so I wore my green velvet with the real lace collar and Kenneth his best suit and the bow tie he had for Christmas. We felt smart, uncomfortable and apprehensive. We had hoped Lionel would come for us, but we were left to make our own way. It seemed a long trek up the hill, yet, on the other hand, we seemed to get to the manor house long before we felt ready to face the ordeal before us.

I know now that it was a beautiful old house. At the time it merely intimidated me. A long gravel drive bordered by lime trees led up to it and our first problem was whether we ought to seek admittance by the imposing front door or go round to the back.

While we were hesitating, a young man drove up in what would nowadays be a vintage car, but which, at that time, I suppose, was one of the newest models. As he did so, the front door opened and a stately, bald-headed man-servant appeared.

'Oh, Barker, see that they put the car away, will you? I shan't be needing it again today,' said the young man. 'Hullo,' he said to us, 'are you the merchants who kicked off the cartshed roof and tried to drown yourselves in the sheepwash? Good! Come on in.' He led us past the stately butler and we found ourselves in what appeared to me to be a vast, baronial hall. It had a splendid staircase leading up from it and on the wall of the staircase were portraits. It was awe-inspiring and filled me with renewed apprehension.

The stately butler collected the young man's light overcoat and driving gloves and Kenneth's cap. I stood aside and furtively dusted the toes of my shoes against my stockings.

'All right, Barker, we'll show ourselves up,' said the young man. 'How is my mother?'

'You will find the mistress in her usual good health, sir.'

'The people from Paris arrived yet?'

'With Miss Amabel, yes, sir.'

'Good. Well, now, I'm Nigel Kempson. Who are you two?' he said to us. 'I know you're Lionel's friends, but not your names.'

'Margaret and Kenneth Clifton,' I said. We mounted the splendid staircase and at the end of a short landing the young man flung open double doors painted in white and gold and having what I thought at the time were real gold handles, and said,

'What ho, everybody! Hullo, Lionel! I've brought along your companions in crime.'

It was an enormous room which dwarfed the people in it. I was too confused and shy at the moment to tell how many there were, but I know now that there were not more than seven or eight. Old Mrs Kempson was there, seated near an enormous Tudor fireplace in which a very small log fire was burning, and grouped around the room were a number of people of both sexes and of different ages among whom were Lionel's parents (we were told) and his sister. There were other introductions. Nobody shook hands, as we were accustomed to do at home when we met new people, but they nodded kindly and some of them smiled.

The point which immediately struck me was that Aunt Lally had been right about clothes. Lionel was wearing a smart black jacket and beautifully-creased light-grey trousers which made Kenneth's Sunday outfit look low-class and shoddy. He had come forward from his seat on a big leather pouffe as soon as we entered the room. He looked elegant and at ease and seemed like a stranger.

'Hullo,' he said. 'Glad you could come. Grandmamma, this is Margaret and this is Kenneth.'

Mrs Kempson, whom we had sometimes seen in the village, smiled rather frostily at us after Lionel had made the other introductions (with a sang froid which I envied him) and said, graciously grande dame: