Section 22 of 25 - Table of Contents
CHAPTER X
HOW ADELE BROKE HER DREAM, AND VANDY PLEYDELL TOOK EXERCISE.
"What, again?" said I, staring at the breakfast-cup which Jill was
offering me, that I might pass it to Daphne. "How many more cups is he
going to drink? He's had three to my knowledge."
"That vessel," said Berry, "was passed to you for information and
immediate action. So, as they say in the Army, close your perishin' head
and get down to it."
"What you want," said I, "is a bucket. Or a private urn."
"What's the matter with a trough?" said Jonah. "That'd be more in
keeping."
Berry turned to Adele.
"You see?" he said. "Two putrid minds with but a single snort. But there
you are. Don't dwell on it. Pass the marmalade instead." He turned to
his wife. "And what's the programme for to-day? The glass has gone up,
it's already raining, 'all's right with the world.' Anybody like to play
ping-pong?"
"Fool," said his wife. "As a matter of fact, I don't think it would be a
bad idea if we went over to Broken Ash for tea." Berry made a grimace,
and Jill and I groaned. Even Jonah looked down his nose at the
suggestion. "Yes," my sister continued, "I didn't think it'd be a
popular move, but I'd like Adele to see the pictures, and we haven't
shown a sign of life since we left Town."
At Broken Ash lived the other branch of the Pleydell family, consisting
of our Cousin Vandy and his two sisters. Between them and us there was
little love lost. Of their jealousy of Berry, but for whose birth White
Ladies would have passed into their hands, they made but an open secret;
and, when he married my sister, who was his second cousin, and the
Mansels--Cousins Jonah and Jill--had thrown in their lot with us,
relations had become more strained than before. The conventions were,
however, observed. Calendars were exchanged at Christmas, birthdays were
recognized with a cold epistolary nod, and occasional calls were paid
and invitations issued. Their possession of all but two of the family
portraits was undoubted, and with nine points of the law in their favour
they were well armed. It was an open question whether the tenth point,
which was ours, was sufficiently doughty to lay the other nine by the
heels. Years ago counsel had advised that the law was dead in our
favour, but it was certain that Vandy and his sisters would resist any
claim we made with great bitterness, and the settlement of a family
quarrel in the public ring of the High Court was more than we could
stomach.
Still, the pictures were worth seeing. There were a Holbein, a Van Dyck,
three Gainsboroughs, and two from the brush of Reynolds among them, and,
so soon as she had learned of their existence, Adele had evinced an
eagerness to be shown the collection.
There was a moment's silence. Then--
"I'd hate to think you were going for my sake," said Adele.
"We're not, dear," said Daphne. "Even if you weren't here, we should
have to go some day soon."
"Yes," said Berry. "We hate one another like poison, but we've never
declared war. Consequently, diplomatic relations are still maintained,
and in due season we meet and are charmingly offensive to one another.
When war broke out they were very sticky about billeting a few Yeomanry
chargers, and crawled and lied about their stabling till the authorities
got fed up and commandeered all they'd got. Therefore, whenever we meet,
I chivvy the conversation in the direction of horseflesh. In the same
way, having regard to the burglary which we suffered last month, Vandy
will spread himself on the subject of old silver. The moment they heard
of it, they sent us a triumphant telegram of condolence."
My sister laughed.
"If you say much more," she said, "Adele will be afraid to come with us.
I admit it's a duty call, pure and simple. All the same, there won't be
any bloodshed."
"I'm ready for anything," said Addle thoughtfully. "Shall I wear a red
or white rose?"
"Don't tell us you can control your cheeks," said I. "It's unheard of.
And why are you so pensive this morning? Is it because of Ireland? Or
have you trodden on your sponge?"
"I believe she's broken the soap-dish," said Berry, "and is afraid to
tell us."
"Don't tease her," said Jill. "Why shouldn't she be quiet if she likes?"
But Adele was bubbling with laughter.
"The truth is," she announced, "I'm trying to remember a dream I had
last night." She looked across the table to me. "You know what it is to
dream something rather vivid and interesting, and then not to be able to
remember what it was?"
I nodded.
"But you can't do anything," I said. "It's no good trying to remember
it. Either you'll think of it, or you won't."
"Exactly," said my brother-in-law. "There's no other alternative. It's
one of the laws of Nature. I well remember dreaming that I was a disused
columbarium which had been converted into a brewery and was used as a
greenhouse. I was full of vats and memorial tablets and creeping
geraniums. Just as they were going to pull me down to make room for a
cinema, Daphne woke me up to say there was a bat in the room. I replied
suitably, but, before turning over to resume my slumbers, I tried to
recapture my dream. My efforts were vain. It was gone for ever."
"Then how d'you know what it was about?" said Jill.
"I don't," said Berry. "What I have told you is pure surmise. And now
will you pass me the toast, or shall I come and get it?"
Choking with indignation, Jill stretched out a rosy hand in the
direction of the toastrack.... Suddenly the light of mischief leapt into
her grey eyes, and she called Nobby. In a flash the Sealyham--never so
vigilant as at meal-time--was by her side. Cheerfully she gave him the
last piece of toast. Then she turned to Berry with a seraphic smile.
"I'm afraid there's none left," he said.
* * * * *
Before we had finished lunch, the rain had ceased, and by the time we
were under weigh, _en route_ for Broken Ash, the afternoon sun was
turning a wet world into a sweet-smelling jewel. Diamonds dripped from
her foliage, emerald plumes glistened on every bank, silver lay spilt
upon her soft brown roads. No scent-bag was ever stuffed with such rare
spicery. Out of the dewy soil welled up the fresh clean breath of magic
spikenard, very precious.
Punctually at half-past four we swept up the avenue of poplars that led
to our cousins' house.
The visit had been arranged by Daphne upon the telephone, and Vandy and
his two sisters were ready and waiting....
The _reunion_ was not cordial. Ease and Familiarity were not among the
guests. But it was eminently correct. The most exacting Master of
Ceremonies, the most severe authority upon Etiquette, would have been
satisfied. We were extraordinarily polite. We made engaging
conversation, we begged one another's pardon, we enjoyed one another's
jokes. The dispensation and acceptance of hospitality did the respective
forces infinite credit.
After tea we were taken to see the pictures. Vandy, as showman,
naturally escorted Adele. The rest of us, decently grouped about his
sisters, followed like a party of sightseers in the wake of a verger.
To do our host justice, he knew his own fathers. For what it was worth,
the history of the Pleydell family lay at his fingers' ends. Men,
manners and exploits--he knew them all. Indeed, years ago he had
collected his knowledge and had it published in the form of a book. We
had a copy somewhere.
We were half-way along the gallery, and our cousin was in full blast,
when Adele, to whom he was introducing the portraits with triumphant
unction, started forward with a low cry.
"That's the very man," she exclaimed, pointing at the picture of a
middle-aged gentleman in a plum-coloured coat, which, I seemed to
remember, was unsigned but attributed--without much confidence--to the
brush of Gonzales Coques. "What an extraordinary thing! I've broken my
dream."
In the twinkling of an eye Vandy's importance was snatched from him, and
the prophet's mantle had fallen upon Adele. Where, but a moment before,
he had been strutting in all the pride of a proprietor, she held the
stage. More. Neither our discomfited host nor his sisters could divine
what was toward, and the fact that their guests crowded eagerly about
Adele, encouraging her to "let them have it," was more disconcerting
than ever.
"It was in a garden," said Adele, "a quiet sort, of place. I think I was
walking behind him. I don't know how I got there, but he didn't see me.
All the same, he kept looking round, as if he was afraid he was being
watched. Presently we came to a place where there was a stone pedestal
standing. It wasn't exactly a pillar--it wasn't high enough. And it was
too high for a seat. Well, he stared at this for a moment; then he
looked around again, very cautiously, and then--it sounds idiotic, but
he began to prod the turf with his stick. At first he did it just
casually, here and there: but, after a little, he started prodding at
regular intervals, methodically. The ground was quite soft, and his
stick seemed to go in like a skewer. Suddenly he seemed to hear
something or somebody, for he listened very carefully, and then walked
on tiptoe to the pedestal and leaned up against it as if he were
resting. The next moment somebody--some man in ordinary clothes came out
of...." She hesitated. "I don't know whether it was some bushes or a
wall he came out of. Some bushes, I guess. Any way, he appeared,
and--don't laugh--gave him a green tomato. Then I woke up."
"And this is the man you saw?" cried Daphne, pointing.
Adele nodded.
"Dress and everything. He was wearing the same plumed hat and that
identical coat, buttoned all down the front, with the pockets low down
on either side. And I'll never forget his face. That's a wonderful
picture. It's life-like."
"What an extraordinary thing!" said I. Then I turned to Vandy. "Has this
portrait ever been reproduced?"
He did not seem to hear me.
With dropped jaw and bulging eyes, the fellow was staring at Adele,
staring....
Suddenly, as with an effort, he pulled himself together.
"Was that all you saw?" he said hoarsely.
Adele pondered.
"I think so," she said slowly. "Except that there were some words carved
on the pedestal. PER ... IMP ... PERIMP, ... No. That wasn't it.
Something like that. Not English. I can't remember."
"Ah!"
Berry took up the running.
"You say the merchant was prodding the ground?" he said.
"That's right. It sounds silly, but----"
"Not at all," said Berry excitedly. "He was looking for something. It's
as clear as daylight." He turned to the picture. "That's William
Pleydell, isn't it, Vandy? Seventeenth-century bloke. The one Pepys
mentions."
My cousin nodded abstractedly. With unseeing eyes he was staring out of
a window. It was patent that Adele's recital had affected him
strangely....
Berry laid a hand on his arm.
"Where's the book you wrote?" he said gently. "That may throw some light
on it."
One of our hostesses turned, as though she would fetch the volume.
"It went to be rebound yesterday," cried Vandy in a strained,
penetrating voice.
His sister stopped and stood still in her tracks. A moment later she had
turned back and was murmuring a confirmation.
Jonah, who had been busy with a pencil and the back of an envelope,
limped towards us from one of the windows.
"The pedestal was a sundial," he said. Vandy looked at him sharply. He
turned to Adele. "PER ... IMP ... you said. Try PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR.
Latin. 'The hours pass and are charged against us.' You'll find the
phrase on five sundials out of six."
A buzz of excited applause greeted this admirable contribution.
Adele looked at the written words. "You are clever," she said. "Of
course, that's it. It must be."
Vandy's reception of Jonah's discovery convinced me that it had already
occurred to him. He applauded theatrically. The fellow was playing a
part, feverishly. Besides, I did not believe his rotten book was being
rebound. That was a lie. There was something there which he did not want
us to see. Not a doubt of it. Well, we had a copy at White Ladies. No!
Our copy was in Town. Hang it! What a sweep the man was!
With a horse-laugh he interrupted my reflections.
"Well, well, Miss Feste, I confess you gave me a shock. Still, if you
had to meet one of our forefathers, I could have wished it had been any
other than the notorious William. We enjoy his portrait, but we deplore
his memory. Ha! Ha! Now, we're really proud of the next one--his cousin,
James Godstow Pleydell. He it was who was responsible----"
"Forgive me," purred Daphne, "but I'm going to say we must fly. I'd no
idea it was so late. People are coming to dinner, and we must go back by
Brooch, because we've run out of ice."
Our host protested--not very heartily--and was overruled. Mutual regret
was suitably expressed. Without more ado we descended into the hall.
Here at the front door the decencies of leave-taking were observed. The
host and hostesses were thanked, the parting guests sped. A moment
later, we were sliding down the avenue to the lodge-gates. As we swung
on to the road--
"Where's the book?" said Daphne. "That man's a liar."
"At Cholmondeley Street," said I. "But you're right about Vandy. He's
trying to keep something back."
"He's so excited he doesn't know what to do," said Daphne. "That's
clear."
"Well, what the deuce is it?" said Berry. "I've read the blinkin' book,
but I'll swear there's nothing in it about buried treasure."
"Whatever it is," said I, "it's in that book. I'll get it to-morrow.
D'you really want any ice?"
Daphne shook her head.
"But I couldn't stay there with that man another minute."
Adele lifted up her sweet voice.
"I feel very guilty," she said. "I've upset you all, I've given
everything away to your cousin with both hands, and I've----"
"Nonsense, darling," said Daphne. "You did the natural thing. How could
you know----"
Jonah interrupted her with a laugh.
"One thing's certain," he said. "I'll bet old Vandy's cursing the day he
rushed into print."
* * * * *
Upon reflection it seemed idle for any one of us to journey to London
and back merely to fetch a volume, so the next morning one of the
servants was dispatched instead, armed with a note to the housekeeper at
Cholmondeley Street, telling her exactly where the book would be found.
The man returned as we were finishing dinner, and _The History of the
Pleydell Family_ was brought to Berry while we sat at dessert.
Nuts and wine went by the board.
As my brother-in-law cut the string, we left our places and crowded
about him....
Reference to the index bade us turn to page fifty-four.
As the leaves flicked, we waited breathlessly. Then--
"Here we are," said Berry. "'WILLIAM PLEYDELL. In 1652 Nicholas died, to
be succeeded by his only child, William, of whom little is known. This
is perhaps as well, for such information as is to hand, regarding his
life and habits, shows him to have been addicted to no ordinarily evil
ways. The lustre which his father and grandfather had added to the
family name William seems to have spared no effort to tarnish. When
profligacy was so fashionable, a man must have lived hard indeed to
attract attention. Nevertheless, Samuel Pepys, the Diarist, refers to
him more than once, each time commenting upon the vileness of his
company and his offensive behaviour. Upon one occasion, we are told, at
the play-house the whole audience was scandalized by a _loose drunken
frolic,_ in which _Mr. William Pleydell, a gentleman of Hampshire,_
played a disgraceful part. What was worse, he carried his dissolute
habits into the countryside, and at one time his way of living at the
family seat White Ladies was so openly outrageous that the incumbent of
Bilberry actually denounced the squire from the pulpit, referring to him
as 'a notorious evil-liver' and 'an abandoned wretch.' If not for his
good name, however, for the house and pleasure-gardens he seems to have
had some respect, for it was during his tenure that the stables were
rebuilt and the gardens decorated with statuary which has since
disappeared. '_A sundial_'"--the sensation which the word produced was
profound, and Jill cried out with excitement--"'_a sundial, bearing the
date 1663 and the cipher W.P., still stands in the garden of the old
dower-house, which passed out of the hands of the family early in the
nineteenth century._'"
Berry stopped reading, and laid the book down.
"The dower-house?" cried Daphne blankly.
Her husband nodded.
"But I never knew there was one. Besides----"
"Better known to-day as 'The Lawn, Bilberry.'"
"Quite right," said Jonah. "A hundred years ago that stood inside the
park."
"The Lawn?" cried Jill. "Why, that's where the fire was. Years and years
ago. I remember old Nanny taking me down to see it the next day. And
it's never been rebuilt."
"To my knowledge," said I, "it's had a board up, saying it's for sale,
for the last fifteen years. Shall we go in for it? They can't want much.
The house is gutted, the garden's a wilderness, and----"
A cry from Adele interrupted me. While we were talking, she had picked
up the volume.
"Listen to this," she said. "' William Pleydell died unmarried and
intestate in 1667, and was succeeded by his cousin Anthony. Except that
during the former's tenure a good deal of timber was cut, White Ladies
had been well cared for. The one blot upon his stewardship was the
disappearance of the greater part of the family plate, which Nicholas
Pleydell's will proves to have been unusually rare and valuable. _There
used to exist a legend, for which the author can trace no foundation,
that William had brought it from London during the Great Plague and
buried it, for want of a strong-room, at White Ladies._ A far more
probable explanation is that its graceless inheritor surreptitiously
disposed of the treasure for the same reason as he committed waste,
viz., to spend the proceeds upon riotous living.'"
Dumbly we stared at the reader....
The murder was out.
Berry whipped out his watch.
"Nine o'clock," he announced. "We can do nothing to-night. And that
sweep Vandy's got a long lead. We haven't a moment to lose. Who are the
agents for The Lawn?"
"It's on the board," said I, "and I've read it a thousand times, but I'm
hanged if I can remember whether it's Miller of Brooch, or a London
firm."
"Slip over there the first thing in the morning," said Jonah. "If it's
Miller, so much the better. You can go straight on to Brooch. If it's a
London man--well, there's always the telephone."
"I hope to heaven," said Daphne, "it's--it's still for sale."
"Vandy's got Scotch blood in him," said Berry. "He won't lay out fifteen
hundred or so without looking round."
"More like three thousand," said Jonah.
"It's a lot of money to risk," said Daphne slowly.
"Yes," said Adele anxiously. "I feel that. I know it's your affair, but,
if it hadn't been for my dream, this would never have happened. And
supposing there's nothing in it.... I mean, it would be dreadful to
think you'd thrown away all that money and gotten nothing in exchange.
And they always say that dreams are contrary."
"Let's face the facts," said my brother-in-law. "Taking everything into
consideration, doesn't it look like a vision, or second sight?"
We agreed vociferously. Only Adele looked ill at ease.
Berry continued.
"Very well, then. Less than a month ago all our silver was taken off us
by comic burglars. Doesn't it look as if we were being offered the
chance of replacing it by something better?"
Again we agreed.
"Lastly, the insurance company has paid up to the tune of four thousand
pounds, which amount is now standing to the credit of my deposit account
at Coutts'. I tell you, if we don't have a dart, we shall be mad."
"I agree," said I.
"So do I," cried Jill. "I'm all for it."
Only Daphne and Jonah hesitated.
I laid my hand upon the former's shoulder.
"Supposing," I said, "we take no action, but Vandy does. Supposing he
strikes oil and lands the stuff under our noses.... Wouldn't you
cheerfully blow the four thousand just to avoid that?"
My sister's eyes flashed, and Jonah's chin went up.
"Anything," said Daphne emphatically, "anything would be better than
that."
So was the decision made.
We adjourned to the drawing-room, and for the rest of the evening
discussed the matter furiously.
The suggestion that Vandy would not wait to buy, but had already got to
work at The Lawn, was summarily dismissed. Our cousin was too cautious
for that. He knew that the moment we had the book, we should be as wise
as he, and that, since we were at loggerheads, we should certainly not
sit quietly by and permit him to enrich himself to our teeth, when a
word to the owners of The Lawn would compel him to disgorge any treasure
he found. No, Vandy was no fool. He would walk circumspectly, and buy
first and dig afterwards.
It was Jonah who raised the question of "treasure trove." In some
uneasiness we sought for a book of law. Investigation, however,
satisfied us that, if the plate were ever unearthed, the Crown would not
interfere. Evidence that an ancestor had buried it was available, and
reference to the will of Nicholas would establish its identity. Whether
it belonged to us or to Vandy was another matter, but Reason suggested
that Law and Equity alike would favour the party in whose land it was
found.
We ordered breakfast early and the car at a quarter to nine, but, for
all that, it was past midnight before we went to bed.
The next morning, for once in a way, we were up to time. Two minutes
after the quarter we were all six in the car, and it was not yet nine
o'clock when Jonah pulled up in the shade of a mighty oak less than a
hundred paces from the tall iron gates which stood gaunt, rusty and
forbidding, to mar the beauty of the quiet by-road.
So far as we could see there was no one about, but we were anxious not
to attract attention, so Berry and I alighted and strolled casually
forward.
The object of our visit was, of course, to learn from the board in whose
hands the property had been placed for sale. But we had decided that, if
it were possible, we must effect an entrance, to see whether the turf
about the sundial had been disturbed. Moreover, if we could get Adele
inside, it would be highly interesting to see whether she recognized the
place.
Wired on to the mouldering gates, a weather-beaten board glared at us.
_FREEHOLD
with immediate possession
TO BE SOLD
This Very Desirable
OLD-WORLD MANSION
Standing in three acres of pleasure grounds
And only requiring certain structural repairs
To be made an ideal modern residence.
F. R. MILLER, Estate Agent, High St., Brooch._
Considering that the house had been gutted nearly twenty years ago, and
had stood as the fire had left it from then until now, the advertisement
was euphemistic.
By dint of peering between the corrupted bars, it was possible to see
for ourselves the desolation. A press of nettles crowded about the
scorched and blackened walls, square gaping mouths, that had been
windows, showed from the light within that there was no roof, while here
and there charred timbers thrust their unsightly way from out of a riot
of brambles, wild and disorderly. What we could see of the garden was a
very wilderness. Tall rank grass flourished on every side, carriage-way
and borders alike had been blotted into a springing waste, and the few
sprawling shrubs which we could recognize hardly emerged from beneath
the choking smother of luxuriant bindweed.
The gates were chained and padlocked. But they were not difficult to
scale, and in a moment Berry and I were over and standing knee-deep in
the long wet grass.
Stealthily we made our way to the back of the house....
The sundial was just visible. The grass of what had once been a trim
lawn rose up about the heavy pedestal, coarse and tumultuous. But it was
untouched. No foot of man or beast had trodden it--lately, at any rate.
Simultaneously we heaved sighs of relief.
Then--
"Adele'll never recognize this," said Berry. "It's hopeless. What she
saw was a lawn, not a prairie." I nodded. "Still," he went on, "there
used to be a door in the wall--on the east side." As he spoke, he turned
and looked sharply at the haggard building. "Thought I heard something,"
he added.
"Did you?"
I swung on my heel, and together we stared and listened. Eyes and ears
alike went unrewarded. The silence of desolation hung like a ragged
pall, gruesome and deathly....
Without a word we passed to the east of the ruin. After a little we came
to the door in the wall. Here was no lock, and with a little patience we
drew the bolts and pulled the door open. It gave on to a little lane,
which ran into the by-road at a point close to where the others were
waiting.
I left Berry and hastened back to the car.
Exclamations of surprise greeted my issuing from the lane, and I could
read the same unspoken query in four faces at once.
"We're first in the field so far," I said. There was a gasp of relief.
"Come along. We've found a way for you."
Adele and Jill were already out of the car. Daphne and Jonah made haste
to alight.
"Think we can leave her?" said Jonah, with a nod at the Rolls.
"Oh, yes. We shan't be a minute."
Hurriedly we padded back the way I had come. Berry was still at the
door, and in silence we followed him to where he and I had stood looking
and listening a few minutes before.
"O-o-oh!" cried Jill, in an excited whisper.
"What about it, Adele?" said Berry.
Adele looked about her, knitting her brows. Then--
"I'm afraid to say anything," she said. "It may be the place I sat. I
can't say it isn't. But it's so altered. I think, if the grass was
cut...."
"What did I say?" said my brother-in-law.
"But the pedestal was exactly that height. That I'll swear. And it stood
on a step."
"What did the words look like?" said I.
"They were carved in block letters on the side of the cornice."
As carefully as I could, I stepped to the sundial. As I came up to it,
my foot encountered a step....
The column was unusually massive, and the dial must have been two feet
square. Lichened and weather-beaten, an inscription upon the cornice was
yet quite easy to read.
PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR
And the words were carved in block lettering....
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