The brother and sister talked little and were often apart as one or the other found something of interest in the dips and hollows or scrambled up a goat-track among the bracken to reach a view-point which disclosed a stretch of the coast.
Sebastian found what he thought were some primitive hut-circles. Margaret gathered wild flowers. Both stopped to watch sea-birds and saw what they thought must be seals lying out among the flat rocks.
Beyond the little streams the path rose again, but soon descended to, and wandered across, a large and beautiful combe which ran down to the sea. This they explored, and found another small beach with a cave which penetrated far into the cliff.
They marked it for future exploration and then re-traced their steps, since there was no way round the next headland from the shore. When they regained their cliff path they soon found a deviation from it which led across to the farm, the buildings of which stood out prominently on the grassy plateau.
‘We don’t want the farm or that chap again,’ said Sebastian. ‘Let’s go this way.’ Another deviation, almost overgrown with bracken, led up to a hillock on which was perched another lighthouse, but this was an eighteenth century building long out of use. Sebastian, who tried it (tentatively at first then more determinedly), found the door in the surrounding wall had been made fast.
‘It probably isn’t very safe, anyway,’ he said, surveying the structure over the top of the wall which, by taking advantage of his height, he found himself able to do. He was peering over when a thickset, middle-aged man came up to watch him.
‘You don’t want to bother with that there,’ he said. ‘No admittance. That’s a very dangerous building. Try one on’t’other side the island. Just as good. Safe, too. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Best keep away from here.’
‘Thanks. We couldn’t climb over, anyway,’ said Sebastian. The man nodded and walked off in the direction of the farm. ‘That’s the bloke who was on the little boat when we came over,’ he added to his sister. They returned to their path, but Margaret looked back once or twice at the lighthouse.
‘There’s that other old one on the other side of the island,’ she said. ‘I spotted it when we came out of the pub. He mentioned it, didn’t he? They might even open it up to the bird-watchers. There must be thousands of sea-birds on those western cliffs, and from the lamp-room gallery there ought to be very good views of the rest of the island.’
‘Oh, well, we’ll certainly mark it for future reference if we find we can get inside the tower, but I expect that’s locked up, too,’ said Sebastian. ‘If they’ve had to build the two new ones, these ancient structures may never be opened to the public. By the way, I wonder what The Tutor has done with himself all day?’
‘Written to Boobie, I expect, or found himself some sheltered spot in which to read and snooze. Oh, no, he won’t, though, because surely Aunt Eliza is back by now?’
chapter five
The Missing Hostess
‘Plover, partridge, for your dinner,
And a capon for the sinner,
You shall find ready when you’re up,
And your horse shall have his sup:
Welcome, welcome, shall fly round,
And I shall smile, though under ground.’
John Fletcher
« ^ »
Sebastian reclaimed the keys which he had handed in when he and his sister had left the hotel, and they went to have tea in the lounge before he unlocked the chalet so that they could change for dinner. They were too leg-weary to have any desire to go out again, and, as the hour for tea was almost over when they ordered theirs, it was turned half-past five before Sebastian, with a sweater under his dressing-gown, went off to the bathhouse and Margaret, fully clothed but carrying sponge-bag, towel and toilet accessories, knocked at her father’s bedroom door.
Marius was reading, but, in response to his child’s plea that she needed his room, he agreed to remove himself after requesting her not to dawdle.
‘And what we’re to do about baths and what not, when all these bird-watchers arrive, I don’t care to think,’ he said. ‘If I’d realised that Lizzie meant to crowd out the hotel with people sleeping three to a room, I would never have come.’
‘Have you seen Aunt Eliza, Father?’
‘No, I have not. I went down to meet the boat, but she was not on it. Half-a-dozen people were landed, but your aunt was not among them.’
‘Did you say anything at the desk?—ask after her, I mean?’
‘No. Miss Crimp was busy, and it did not seem worth my while to hang about until she was at liberty.’
Margaret went down to him in the lounge when she had had her bath to inform him that his room was now at his own disposal, and added,
‘There’s nobody wanting anything at the desk now. Shall I speak to Miss Crimp about Aunt Eliza?’
‘No. You go and get ready for dinner. I will speak to Miss Crimp myself.’
He found the receptionist worried.
‘I can’t think what’s keeping her, Mr Lovelaine,’ she said. ‘I quite thought she would have been on yesterday’s boat and, when she was not, I was certain she would turn up today. There is no boat now until Saturday morning, and that is much too late for her to see to things. All these naturalists will be on the steamer, and the boat will be plying back and forth all the morning to bring them off. They will be arriving here half-a-dozen or more at a time, a perpetual influx, and all having to be assigned to their rooms and chalets, and their luggage to be seen to, and all the rest of it, apart from our having the upset of turning the lounge into a conference room for them. Thank goodness all the camp beds and extra chairs were brought over last Saturday, so that’s done with. They’ll have to do their own arranging and put up the extra beds themselves, I’m afraid. The staff can’t be expected to see to everything. Of course we’ve had to reduce our usual charges because they’ve been told to bring sleeping-bags and also because they insisted upon making a group booking at an inclusive charge, which does cut our profits and I can’t think why Eliza agreed to it.’
‘But why do you think my sister is delaying her return? Is there any reason that you know of?’
‘I really cannot think of any, Mr Lovelaine. There was no suggestion that she intended to stay over there longer than usual. And now, if you don’t mind, I have a whole heap of things to see to. There is only tomorrow to get everything done, so I’m sure you will excuse me.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. How long are these naturalist people staying?—I feel bound to point out that the number of bathrooms is limited !’
‘A week, ten days, a fortnight, and one party will stay even longer. We are expecting to get rid of the camp beds on Saturday week, but that is the most we can hope for.’
‘I see. Well, I shall look forward to this Saturday’s boatloads in one respect at least.’
‘More than I shall, Mr Lovelaine, I can assure you!’
‘To see my sister, I mean.’ Marius went off to the room his daughter had vacated and later joined his children at dinner. ‘Your aunt must now be expected on Saturday,’ he said. ‘ In view of the influx which is then anticipated, I have a very good mind to meet the boat when it comes in, greet Lizzie (but not warmly) and take the boat back to the mainland. Having invited us here, I think the least she could do was to be here to greet us. I feel put out, decidedly put out. Besides, these bird-watchers will swarm everywhere. There will be no peace for anybody. I am informed at the desk that some of them may be staying for an indefinite time. It is most annoying and provoking of Lizzie not to have told us about them, and most inconsiderate, too.’