The House of Arden, E. Nesbit [best historical fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

hole, just as Alice goes through the looking-glass in Mr. Tenniel’s picture. Betty handed him the candle, which his white hand reached down to take. Then Elfrida jumped on the chair and shut the panel, leaped down, and opened the room door just as the maid reached its other side with the supper-tray.

When the cousins were alone Bet threw her arms round Elfrida.

“Don’t be afraid, little cousin,” she whispered, “your Cousin Bet will see that no harm comes to you from this adventure.”

“Well, I do think!” said Elfrida getting out of the embrace most promptly, “when it was me let him in, and you’d have screamed the house down, if I hadn’t stopped you⁠—”

“Stop chattering, child,” said Bet, drawing a distracted hand over her pretty forehead, “and let me set my wits to work how I may serve my King.”

“I,” said Elfrida scornfully, “should give him something to eat and see that his bed’s aired; but I suppose that would be too vulgar and common for you.”

The two looked at each other across the untasted supper.

“Impertinent chit!” said Bet.

“Chit yourself,” said Elfrida.

Then she laughed.

“Come, Cousin Bet,” she said, “your uncle’s away and you’re grown up. I’ll tell you what to do. You just be wise and splendid, so that your portrait’ll be in the illustrated Christmas numbers in white satin and an anxious expression. ‘The saviour of her King’⁠—that’s what it’ll say.”

“Don’t wander in your speech, child,” said Cousin Bet, pressing her hand to her brow, “I’ve enough to distract me without that. And if you desire to ask my pardon, do so.”

“Oh, well, I beg your pardon⁠—there!” said Elfrida, with extreme irritation. “Now perhaps you’ll give your King something to eat.”

“Climb into that hole⁠—with a tray? And the servants, perhaps, coming in any minute? What would you say to them if they did?”

“All right, then, I’ll go,” said Elfrida, only too glad of the chance.

Bet touched the secret spring, and when Elfrida had climbed into the dark hole⁠—which she did quite easily⁠—handed her the supper-tray.

“Oh, bother,” said Elfrida, setting it down at her feet with great promptness. “It’s too heavy. He’ll have to come down and fetch it. Give me a candle and shut the panel, and tell me which way to go.”

“To the right and up the steps. Be sure you kneel and kiss his hand before you say a word.”

Elfrida reached down for the candle in its silver candlestick, the panel clicked into place, and she stood there among the cobwebby shadows of the secret passage, the light in her hand and the tray at her feet.

“It’s only a Mouldiwarp magic adventure,” she said, to hearten herself, turned to the right, and went up the stairs. They were steep and narrow. At the top she saw the long, light-line of a slightly opened door. To knock seemed unwise. Instead she spoke softly, her lips against the line of light.

“It’s me,” she said, and instantly the door opened, and the beautiful gentleman stood before her.

The secret room had a little furniture⁠—a couch, a table, chairs⁠—all old-fashioned, and their shapes showed beautiful, even in the dim light of the two candles.

“Your supper,” said Elfrida, “is at the bottom of the stairs. The tray was too heavy for me. Do you mind fetching it up?”

“If you’ll show me a light,” he said, and went.

“You’ll stay and eat with me?” said he, when she had lighted him back to the secret room, and he had set the tray on the table.

“I mustn’t,” said Elfrida. “Cousin Bet’s such a muff; she wouldn’t know where to say I was if the servants came in. Oh, I say! I’m so sorry I forgot. She told me to kneel and kiss your hand before I said anything about supper. I’ll do it now.”

“Nay,” said he, “I’ll kiss thy cheek, little lady, and drink a health to him who shall have thy lips when thou’rt seventeen and I am⁠—what was it⁠—five hundred?”

“Two hundred and thirty,” said Elfrida, returning his kiss cordially. “You are nice, you know. I wish you were real. I’d better go back to Bet now.”

“Real?” he said.

“Oh, I’m talking nonsense, I know,” said Elfrida. “I’ll go now.”

“The absent tray will betray you,” said he, taking food and wine from it and setting them on the table. “Now I will carry this down again. You have all the courage, but not quite the cunning of a conspirator.”

“How long are you going to stay here?” Elfrida asked. “I suppose you’re escaping from someone or something, like in history?”

“I shall not stay long,” he said. “If anyone should ask you if you have seen the King, what would you say?”

“I should say ‘no,’ ” said Elfrida boldly. “You see, I can’t possibly know that you’re the King. You just say so, that’s all. Perhaps really you aren’t.”

“Exquisite!” said he. “So you don’t believe me?”

“Oh, yes, I do!” said Elfrida; “but I needn’t, you know.”

“S’life!” he said. “But I wish I were. There’d be a coronet for somebody.”

“You wish you were⁠—”

“Safely away, my little lady. And as for coronets, the jewels are safe. See, I have set them in the cupboard in the corner.”

And he had.

Then he carried down the tray, and Elfrida, who was very hungry, tried to persuade Bet that she must eat, if only to keep up her strength for the deeds of daring that might want doing at any moment.

But Bet declared that she could not eat; the least morsel would choke her. And as for going to bed, she was assuring her cousin that she knew her duty to her King better than that, and that she would defend her Sovereign with her life, if need were, when her loyal ecstasies were suddenly interrupted.

For the quiet of the night was broken by a great knocking at the castle door and the heavy voice of a man crying⁠—

“Open, in the Queen’s name!”

“They’ve come for him! All is lost! We are betrayed! What shall we do?”

“Eat,” said Elfrida⁠—“eat for your life.”

She pushed Bet into a chair