Penelope and the Others Part 10

"And no stockings," added Nancy relentlessly.

"Oh, Nancy!" said Pennie.

She felt almost as sorry as if Nancy were telling her positive facts.

"Wouldn't it be a good thing to get one of those thick grey pairs of stockings for her out of the shop at Easney," said Nancy after a short silence, "and a pair of boots to fit?"

"I've got no money," replied Pennie shortly.

"Well, no more have I now," said Nancy; "but we could save some. You'd much better give up that stupid mandarin thing. You don't even know whether Miss Unity would like it."

Now Pennie was at heart very much attracted by the idea of supplying Kettles with comfortable stockings and boots. It was a splendid idea, but it had one drawback--it was not her own. Her own plan had been cast aside and rejected, and she could not meekly fall in with this new one of Nancy's, however good it might be. Pennie was a kind-hearted little girl, and always ready to help others, but she liked to do it in her own way. She was fond of leading, advising, and controlling; but when it came to following counsel and taking advice herself she did not find it pleasant. Therefore, because the new mandarin was an idea of her own she was still determined to carry it through, though, in truth, she had almost lost sight of her first wish--to give Miss Unity pleasure.

So now she made no answer, and Nancy, looking eagerly at her, saw a little troubled frown instead of a face covered with smiles.

"You'll never get enough to buy it alone," she continued. "And just think how Kettles would like new boots and stockings!"

As she spoke they turned in at the Vicarage gate, and saw just in front of them a figure stepping jauntily up the drive.

"Oh!" cried Nancy. "Mother! Pennie! Look! Phere's Miss Barnicroft going to call."

Mrs Hawthorne roused herself at once from her book, for no one could look forward with indifference to a visit from Miss Barnicroft.

CHAPTER FIVE.

MISS BARNICROFT'S MONEY.

Not very far from the Roman camp Rumborough Common ended in a rough rutty road, or rather lane, and about half-way down this stood a small white cottage with a thatched roof. It was an ordinary labourer's cottage with the usual patch of garden, just like scores of others round about; but it possessed a strange and peculiar interest of its own, for it was not an ordinary labourer who lived there, it was Miss Barnicroft, with two dogs and a goat.

Now Miss Barnicroft was not in the least like other people, and the children considered her by far the most interesting object to be seen near Easney, so that they never pa.s.sed her lonely dwelling without trying to get a glimpse of her, or at least of her animals. They were careful, however, only to take side glances, and to look very grave if they did happen to see her, for they had been taught to regard her with respect, and on no account to smile at anything odd in her appearance or behaviour. "Poor Miss Barnicroft" she was generally called, though Andrew spoke less politely of her as the "daft lady."

In their walks with Miss Grey it was with a thrill of pleasure that they sometimes saw the well-known flighty figure approaching, for there was always something worth looking at in Miss Barnicroft. Her garments were never twice alike, so that she seemed a fresh person every time.

Sometimes she draped herself in flowing black robes, with a veil tied closely over her head and round her face. At others she wore a high-crowned hat decked with gay ribbons, a short skirt, and yellow satin boots. There was endless variety in her array, but however fantastic it might be, she preserved through it all a certain air of dignity and distinction which was most impressive.

Her face, too, was delicate in feature and refined in expression. Her short upper lip had a haughty curl, and her grey eyes flickered uncertainly beneath well-marked brows. Although she was not more than middle-aged her hair was snowy white, and sometimes escaping here and there in stray locks from her head-dress, added to the strangeness of her appearance. Miss Barnicroft was indeed quite unlike other people; her very food was different, for she lived on vegetables and drank goat's milk. It was even whispered that she did not sleep in a bed, but in a hammock slung up to the ceiling.

Nothing could be more interesting than all this, but the children did not see her very often, for she went out seldom and never came to church. Occasionally, however, she paid a visit to the Vicarage, when she would ask for the vicar and carry on a very long conversation with him on all manner of subjects, darting from one to the other with most confusing speed. Mr Hawthorne did not appreciate these visits very much, but the children were always pleasantly excited by them. When, therefore, Nancy caught sight of Miss Barnicroft proceeding up the drive she abruptly left the subject of Kettles' boots and stockings, and lost no time in pointing out the visitor to her mother.

"I expect Miss Barnicroft wants to see your father," said Mrs Hawthorne.

And so indeed it proved, for by the time they reached the door Miss Barnicroft had been shown into the study, and to their great disappointment the girls saw her no more.

Ambrose, however, was more fortunate, for it chanced that afternoon that he had been excused some of his lessons on account of a headache, and at that very moment was lying flat on the hearth-rug in his father's study with a book. He was afraid, on the visitor's entrance, that he would be sent away, but was soon relieved to find that no notice was taken of him, so that he was able to see and hear all that pa.s.sed. What a lucky chance! and what a lot he would have to tell the others!

At first the conversation was not interesting, for it was about some question of taxation which he did not understand; but suddenly dropping this, Miss Barnicroft began to tell a story of some white owls who lived in the keep of a castle in Scotland. Just as the point of this history was reached she dropped that too, and asked, casting a lofty and careless glance down at Ambrose:

"Is that one of your children?"

"That is my eldest boy," said the vicar. "Come and speak to Miss Barnicroft, Ambrose."

"Ah!" said Miss Barnicroft with a coldly disapproving look as Ambrose shyly advanced, "I don't like boys."

"How is that?" asked Mr Hawthorne.

"They grow to be men," she answered with a shudder, "and even while they are young there is no barbarity of which they are not capable. I could believe anything of a boy."

"Dear me!" said the vicar, smiling, "that is very severe; I hope all boys are not so bad as that!"

"It is greatly, I believe, owing to the unnatural manner in which they are fed," she continued, turning away from Ambrose. "Most wickedness comes from eating meat. Violence, and cruelty, and bloodthirstiness would vanish if men lived on fruit and vegetables."

"Do you think so?" said the vicar mildly; "but women are not as a rule cruel and bloodthirsty, and they eat meat too."

"Women are naturally better than men, and it does not do them so much harm; but they would be still better without it. It makes them selfish and gross," said Miss Barnicroft.

Mr Hawthorne never encouraged his visitor to argue long on this subject, which somehow crept into all her conversations, however far-away from it they might begin. So he merely bowed his head in silence.

Miss Barnicroft rose with an air of having settled the question, but suddenly sat down again and said with a short laugh:

"By the way, you have thieves in your parish."

"Really! I hope not," said the vicar.

Ambrose, who had retired to his former position on the rug, began to listen intently. This sounded interesting.

"A month ago," she continued, "I put away some gold pieces for which I had no use, and they have been stolen."

"Did you lock them up?" asked Mr Hawthorne.

"I did a safer thing than that," said Miss Barnicroft, laughing contemptuously; "I buried them."

"In your garden?"

"No. I put them into a honey-jar and buried it in what, I believe, is called the Roman Camp, not far from my house."

The words, spoken in Miss Barnicroft's clear cold tones, fell icily on Ambrose's ear, and seemed to turn him to stone. He and David were thieves! It was no antique vessel they had discovered, but a common honey-pot; no Roman coins, but Miss Barnicroft's money. If only he had done as David wished, and told his father long ago!

He clasped his hands closely over his scarlet face and listened for the vicar's answer.

"I don't think you chose a very safe place to hide your money," he said.

"Gypsies and pedlars and tramps are constantly pa.s.sing over Rumborough Common. Someone probably saw you bury it there."

"I am more inclined to think that it was stolen by someone in the parish," said Miss Barnicroft. "They were French napoleons," she added.

"Then you see they would be of no use to anyone living here, for they could not change them. They were more likely to be dug up by some of the gypsy people who so often camp about there, and are now far enough from Easney."

It was truly dreadful to Ambrose to hear his father talk in that calm soothing tone, and to imagine how he would feel if he knew that his own son Ambrose had taken Miss Barnicroft's money, and that the hateful little crock of gold was at that very moment lying quite near him in David's garden. His heart beat so fast that the sound of it seemed to fill the room. Would Miss Barnicroft never go away? He longed and yet dreaded to hear her say good-bye; for after that only one course was before him--confession.