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

idea of washing the plates that had been used for beefsteak pudding and gooseberry-pie, and then giving the kitchen a thorough scrub out⁠—which was the way Mrs. Honeysett had meant her to spend the afternoon.

Her best dress⁠—she had slipped the skirt over her print gown so as to look smart as she came up through the village⁠—was a vivid violet, another good distance colour. It also was watched till it dipped into the lane.

“And now,” cried Elfrida, “we’re all alone, and we can explore the great secret!”

“But suppose somebody comes,” said Edred, “and interrupts, and finds it out, and grabs the jewels, and all is lost. There’s tramps, you know, and gipsy-women with baskets.”

“Yes⁠—or drink of water, or to ask the time. I’ll tell you what⁠—we’ll lock up the doors, back and front.”

They did. But even this did not satisfy the suddenly cautious Edred.

“The parlour door, too,” he said.

So they locked the parlour door, and Elfrida put the key in a safe place, “for fear of accidents,” she said. I do not at all know what she meant, and when she came to think it over she did not know either. But it seemed all right at the time.

They had provided themselves with a box of matches and a candle⁠—and now the decisive moment had come, as they say about battles.

Elfrida fumbled for the secret spring.

“How does it open?” asked the boy.

“I’ll show you presently,” said the girl. She could not show him then, because, in point of fact, she did not know. She only knew there was a secret spring, and she was feeling for it with both hands among the carved wreaths of the panels, as she stood with one foot on each of the arms of a very high chair⁠—the only chair in the room high enough for her to be able to reach all round the panel. Suddenly something clicked and the secret door flew open⁠—she just had time to jump to the floor, or it would have knocked her down.

Then she climbed up again and got into the hole, and Edred handed her the candle.

“Where’s the matches?” she asked.

“In my pocket,” said he firmly. “I’m not going to have you starting off without me⁠—again.”

“Well, come on, then,” said Elfrida, ignoring the injustice of this speech.

“All right,” said Edred, climbing on the chair. “How does it open?”

He had half closed the door, and was feeling among the carved leaves, as he had seen her do.

“Oh, come on,” said Elfrida, “oh, look out!”

Well might she request her careless brother to look out. As he reached up to touch the carving, the chair tilted, he was jerked forward, caught at the carving to save himself, missed it, and fell forward with all his weight against the half-open door. It shut with a loud bang. Then a resounding crash echoed through the quiet house as Edred and the big chair fell to the floor in, so to speak, each other’s arms.

There was a stricken pause. Then Elfrida from the other side of the panel beat upon it with her fists and shouted⁠—

“Open the door! You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“Yes, I am⁠—very much,” said Edred, from the outside of the secret door, and also from the hearthrug. “I’ve twisted my leg in the knickerbocker part, and I’ve got a great bump on my head, and I think I’m going to be very poorly.”

“Well, open the panel first,” said Elfrida rather unfeelingly. But then she was alone in the dark on the other side of the panel.

“I don’t know how to,” said Edred, and Elfrida heard the sound of someone picking himself up from among disordered furniture.

“Feel among the leaves, like I did,” she said. “It’s quite easy. You’ll soon find it.”

Silence.

VII The Key of the Parlour

Elfrida was behind the secret panel, and the panel had shut with a spring. She had come there hoping to find the jewels that had been hidden two hundred years ago by Sir Edward Talbot, when he was pretending to be the Chevalier St. George. She had not had time even to look for the jewels before the panel closed, and now that she was alone in the dusty dark, with the door shut between her and the bright, light parlour where her brother was, the jewels hardly seemed to matter at all, and what did so dreadfully and very much matter was that closed panel. Edred had tried to open it, and he had fallen off the chair. Well, there had been plenty of time for him to get up again.

“Why don’t you open the door?” she called impatiently. And there was no answer. Behind that panel silence seemed a thousand times more silent than it ever had before. And it was so dark. And Edred had the matches in his pocket.

“Edred! Edred!” she called suddenly and very loud, “why don’t you open the door?”

And this time he answered.

“Because I can’t reach,” he said.

I feel that I ought to make that the end of the chapter, and leave you to wonder till the next how Elfrida got out, and how she liked the not getting out, which certainly looked as though it were going to last longer than anyone could possibly be expected to find pleasant.

But that would make the chapter too short⁠—and there are other reasons. So I will not disguise from you that when Elfrida put her hand to her pocket and felt something there⁠—something hard and heavy⁠—and remembered that she had put the key of the parlour there because it was such a nice safe place, where it couldn’t possibly be lost, she uttered what is known as a hollow groan.

“Aha! you see now,” said Edred outside. “You see I’m not so stupid after all.”

Elfrida was thinking.

“I say,” she called through the panel, “it’s no use my standing here. I shall try to feel my way up to the secret chamber. I wish I could remember whether there’s a window there or not. If I were you