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

I am left here after you go,” said Richard. “Let’s shovel all the snow off the roof into his room, and take our chance.”

Edred and Elfrida would have liked something more subtle, but there was no time to think of anything.

“I know where there are shovels,” said Richard, “if they’ve not got mixed up in the dream.”

“I say,” said Edred slowly, “I’d like to write that down about Kent, and see if it’s right afterwards.”

There was a quill sticking out of the pewter inkstand on the table where they were used to do their lessons. But no paper.

“Here, hurry up,” said Cousin Richard, and pulled a paper out of the front of his doublet. “I’ll write it, shall I?”

He wrote, and gave the thing screwed up to Edred, who put it in the front of his doublet.

Then the three went up on to the roof, groped among the snow till they found the edge of the skylight that was the tutor’s window⁠—for learning was lodged in the attic at Arden House. They broke the thick glass with the edges of their spades, and shovelled in the thick, white snow⁠—shovelled all the harder for the shouts and angry words that presently sounded below them. Then, when Mr. Parados came angrily up on to the roof, shivering and stumbling among the snow, they slipped behind the chimney-stack, and so got back to the trap-door before he did, and shut it and bolted it, and said “A-ha!” underneath it, and went away⁠—locking his room door as they passed, and leaving him to stand there on the roof and shout for help from the street below, or else to drop through his broken skylight into the heaped snow in his room. He was quite free, and could do whichever he chose.

They never knew which he did choose, and you will never know either.

And then Richard was sent to bed by the old witch-nurse, and went.

And the Mouldiwarp was summoned, and insisted that the only way back to their own times was by jumping off the roof. And, of course, Mr. Parados was on the roof, which made all the difference. And the soldiers of the guard were knocking at the front door with the butts of their pistols.

“But we can’t go on to the roof,” said Edred, and explained about Mr. Parados.

“Humph,” said the Mouldiwarp, “that’s terr’ble unfortunate, that is. Well, the top landing window will have to do, that’s all. Where’s the other child?”

“Gone to bed,” said the witch-nurse shortly.

“Te-he!” chuckled the Mouldiwarp. “Some people’s too clever by half. Think of you not having found that out, and you a witch too. Te-he!”

And all the time the soldiers were hammering away like mad at the front door.

Elfrida caught the Mouldiwarp and the nurse caught Edred’s hand, and the four raced up the stairs to the very top landing, where there was a little window at the very end. The air was keen and cold. The window opened difficultly, and when it was opened the air was much colder than before.

“Now, then, out with you⁠—ladies first,” cried the Mouldiwarp.

“You don’t really mean,” said Elfrida⁠—“you can’t mean that we’re to jump out into⁠—into nothing?”

“I mean you’re to jump out right enough,” said the Mouldiwarp. “What you’re to jump into’s any pair of shoes⁠—and it’s my lookout, anyway.”

“It’s ours a little too, isn’t it?” said Elfrida timidly, and her teeth were chattering; she always said afterwards that it was with cold.

“Then get along home your way,” said the Mouldiwarp, beginning to vanish.

“Oh, don’t! Don’t go!” Elfrida cried, and the pounding on the door downstairs got louder and louder.

“If I don’t then you must,” said the Mouldiwarp testily. But it stopped vanishing.

“Put me down,” it said. “Put me down and jump, for goodness’ sake!”

She put it down.

Suddenly the nurse caught Elfrida in her arms and kissed her many times.

“Farewell, my honey love,” she said. “All partings are not forever, else I could scarce let thee go. Now, climb up; set thy foot here on the beam, now thy knee on the sill. So⁠—jump!”

Elfrida crouched on the window-ledge, where the snow lay thick and crisp. It was very, very cold. Have you ever had to jump out of a top-floor window into the dark when it was snowing heavily? If so, you will remember how much courage it needed. Elfrida set her teeth, looking down into black nothing dotted with snowflakes. Then she looked back into a black passage, lighted only by the rush-light the nurse carried.

“Edred’ll be all right?” she asked. “You’re sure he’ll jump all right?”

“Of course I shall,” said Edred, in his new voice. “Here, let me go first, to show you I’m not a coward.”

Of course, Elfrida instantly jumped. And next moment Edred jumped too.

It was a horrible moment because, however much you trusted the Mouldiwarp, you could not in an instant forget what you had been taught all your life⁠—that if you jumped out of top-floor windows you would certainly be smashed to pieces on the stones below. To remember this and, remembering it, to jump clear, is a very brave deed. And brave deeds, sooner or later, have their reward.

The brave deed of Edred and Elfrida received its reward sooner. As Elfrida jumped she saw the snowflakes gather and thicken into a cloud beneath her. The cloud was not the sort that lets you through, either. It was solid and soft as piled eiderdown feathers; she knew this as it rose up and caught her, or as she fell on it⁠—she never knew which. Next moment Edred was beside her, and the white, downy softness was shaping itself round and under them into the form of a seat⁠—a back, arms, and place for the feet to rest.

“It’s⁠—what’s that in your hand?” Elfrida asked.

“Reins,” said Edred, with certainty. “White reins. It’s a carriage.”

It was⁠—a carriage made of white snowflakes⁠—the snowflakes that were warm and soft as feathers. There were white, soft carriage-rugs that curled round and tucked themselves in entirely of their own accord. The reins