“Time it was down. Don’t you know nothing, Amy Clint. Why, it’s not to come down till Twelfth Night. Don’t you know it brings terrible bad luck to take it down afore.”
Amy had turned white. I looked from one to the other. Mrs. Couch had lost her fat comfortable look; she was like a prophet of evil. Her eyes, never very big, had almost disappeared into her pudding of a face.
“Put it back quick,” she said. “It may not have been noticed.”
“Who might have noticed it?” I asked.
But she was too shaken to tell me.
Later when she was rocking in her chair I asked her why decorations must not come down before Twelfth Night. She said it was knowledge that was passed down from generation to generation except among the ignorant like that Amy Clint. Witches looked on it as an insult.
“Why? What have they got to do with Christmas?”
“There’s things that can’t be explained,” said Mrs. Couch mysteriously. “My brother’s sister-in-law was a scoffer. She took down her decorations on New Year’s Day and look what happened to her.”
“What?”
“She was a corpse within the year. So if that don’t show, what does?”
I was not entirely convinced that Mrs. Couch’s brother’s sister-in-law’s untimely death was connected with the taking down of Christmas decorations but it seemed unwise to express doubts.
That memorable holiday came to an end with a climax which seemed dramatic at the time.
On the 20th January I was to return to school and my mother was busily sewing name tapes on my things and preparing my trunk. She and Mr. Jeffers would drive me to the station. Mr. Jeffers said it was like old times having a young lady to be driven to school—and Cluntons’ too. It was clear that he doubted the propriety of this particular young lady’s going to that exclusive establishment since she was only the housekeeper’s daughter, but like Mrs. Couch he was prepared to accept the fact that times had changed.
I was sorry my stay at Roland’s Croft was coming to an end. Already I seemed like a part of the household. There were two things I regretted and I had hoped that there would be a miracle to bring these about: That I might look inside the Treasure Room to assure myself that it was only precious ornaments which were there, and that I should have an opportunity of seeing Mr. Sylvester Milner.
One of my mother’s theories was that if you wanted something very badly and you believed you would get it, you would, providing you did everything in your power to achieve that end. “Faith and determination,” she used to say. “And one is as important as the other.”
It would be summer holidays before I saw Roland’s Croft again, for it was too far to come home for the few days at Easter. And I had not seen Mr. Sylvester Milner nor the inside of his Treasure Room.
About five days before I was due to leave for school, there was an intimation that Mr. Sylvester Milner would soon return. Ling Fu would precede him. It seemed the most incredible bad luck that Mr. Milner should be coming back two days after I had left for school. However I should at least see his mysterious servant.
I watched from a window and was rather disappointed to see a small man alight from the trap. He looked up at the house as though he knew he was being watched and I jumped back. He could not have seen me of course but I had that guilty feeling eavesdroppers get. I just caught a glimpse of his Oriental features. I was disappointed that he should be in European dress and did not have a pigtail.
He changed his costume in the house though; there he wore shiny alpaca trousers and a loose kind of tunic; his slippers had silver markings on them and turned up slightly at the toes. He looked more Oriental thus.
“Creep creep creep about the house,” complained Mrs. Couch. “You never know where he is. What’s wrong with a good English valet? Tell me that?”
He interested me although he rarely looked my way; and two days before I left for school I saw from my window that the curtains of the Treasure Room had been drawn right back so I knew he was in there.
The urge was irresistible. I could go up to the third floor. I would have to make up some excuse for being there if I were discovered. I wanted to see the view from the upper windows? Would that do? I was too impatient to waste time thinking of a better excuse.
Stealthily I mounted the staircase. The house had that quietness which was so noticeable beyond the first floor. Up I went to Mr. Sylvester Milner’s apartments. My mother had had them all specially cleaned so that they would be ready for his return and there was a smell of the polish she herself made and which she insisted was the best and should always be used—a mixture of beeswax and turpentine. And there was the Treasure Room—and the door was open.
My heart began to beat very fast. I paused on the threshold and peeped in. There was no one there. I took a step into the room. It was true there were beautiful figures everywhere. Some were large, some small. There were vases beautifully colored and several Buddhas in what I supposed to be jade. I gazed in fascination at their strange faces, some benign some sinister. I took a few paces into the room. I was actually inside Mr. Sylvester Milner’s Treasure Room!
There was a small room leading from this one in which was a sink and some cleaning materials. Just as I was peeping into it I heard footsteps. Someone was coming along the corridor! If I tried to get out I should inevitably be seen, so I stepped into the little room and waited.
To my horror I heard the door of the room shut and a gentle grating sound as though a key was being turned in a lock.
I came out into the Treasure Room and went immediately to the door. I was locked in.
I stared at the door in dismay as the implication of what this meant swept over me. I was sure it would result in dire consequences. This was the room full of precious objects. No one was allowed to go into it except Ling Fu. I, who was here under sufferance one might say, had dared break the rule, and for my sins was locked in.
I went to the window. There were bars across it. To protect the treasure I supposed. Perhaps I could attract someone’s attention, I desperately hoped it would be my mother’s. There was no one in the grounds. I went to the door and was about to rap on it when I hesitated. The only person I wanted to open that door was my mother. I felt it would be very embarrassing indeed to face Ling Fu and tell him that I had pried into the room when he was not there. I imagined that he had slipped away for a few seconds into one of the rooms on this floor and by a quirk of fate I had come along precisely at that time.
I looked round the room. It was true then that Mr. Sylvester Milner was a merchant and this was his merchandise. There was no great mystery such as I had imagined. I knew nothing of these things but ignorant as I was I could not help but be impressed by their beauty. They were very valuable I was sure, but I was a little disappointed because I had hoped this room contained some dark secret which would give me a clue to the character of Mr. Sylvester Milner. But it was just as they had said—it was his storeroom of treasures and because they were so valuable he did not want the room left open to the servants, and so entrusted them to the care of Ling Fu who perhaps because he was Chinese understood something of their value.
It was an anticlimax and my curiosity had merely placed me in a difficult position. How could I get out of this room without betraying my indiscretion? If my mother discovered me she would be horrified but she understood how I had always found it impossible to curb my curiosity. I should be hustled out and warned never to do such a thing again. But how could I attract her attention? I went to the window. Those bars made me feel like a prisoner; I tried the door again. Then I looked round the room for inspiration, and I almost forgot my dilemma in the contemplation of those beautiful things. There was the figure of a woman carved in ivory; she was so tall and graceful, so beautiful that I felt overawed. I went to examine her more intently. Her features were finely etched and the expression so lifelike that I felt she was watching me. I did not greatly care for the obese Buddhas with their baleful eyes. There was one huge one in what might have been bronze. He was not fat, he was seated on a lotus flower; his eyes were malevolent and wherever I looked I felt they followed me.