Scarhaven Keep J. S. Fletcher (early reader chapter books TXT) 📖

Mrs. Wooler, like everybody else, would see through that. However, the promise had been given, and he would keep it⁠—literally. He would do nothing in the way of active detective work⁠—he would just wait and see what, if anything, turned up.

But upon one thing Copplestone had made up his mind determinedly before that second evening came⁠—he would make no pretence to Audrey Greyle and her mother. And availing himself of their permission to call again, he went round to the cottage, and before he had been in it five minutes told them bluntly that he was going to stay at Scarhaven awhile, on the chance of learning any further news of Bassett Oliver.

“Which,” he added, with a grim smile, “seems about as likely as that I should hear that I am to be Lord Chancellor when the Woolsack is next vacant!”

“You don’t know,” remarked Mrs. Greyle. “A reward for information is to be offered, isn’t it?”

“Do you think that will do much good?” asked Copplestone.

“It depends upon the amount,” replied Mrs. Greyle. “We know these people. They are close and reserved⁠—no people could keep secrets better. For all one knows, somebody in this village may know something, and may at present feel it wisest to keep the knowledge to himself. But if money⁠—what would seem a lot of money⁠—comes into question⁠—ah!”

“Especially if the information could be given in secret,” said Audrey. “Scarhaven folk love secrecy⁠—it’s the salt of life to them: it’s in their very blood. Chatfield is an excellent specimen. He’ll watch you as a cat watches a mouse when he finds you’re going to stay here.”

“I shall be quite open,” said Copplestone. “I’m not going to indulge in any secret investigations. But I mean to have a thorough look round the place. That Keep, now?⁠—may one look round that?”

“There’s a path which leads close by the Keep, from which you can get a good outside view of it,” replied Audrey. “But the Keep itself, and the rest of the ruins round about it are in private ground.”

“But you have a key, Audrey, and you can take Mr. Copplestone in there,” said Mrs. Greyle. “And you would show him more than he would find out for himself⁠—Audrey,” she continued, turning to Copplestone, “knows every inch of the place and every stone of the walls.”

Copplestone made no attempt to conceal his delight at this suggestion. He turned to the girl with almost boyish eagerness.

“Will you?” he exclaimed. “Do! When?”

“Tomorrow morning, if you like,” replied Audrey. “Meet me on the south quay, soon after ten.”

Copplestone was down on the quay by ten o’clock. He became aware as he descended the road from the inn that the fisherfolk, who were always lounging about the seafront, were being keenly interested in something that was going on there. Drawing nearer he found that an energetic billposter was attaching his bills to various walls and doors. Sir Cresswell and his solicitor had evidently lost no time, and had set a Norcaster printer to work immediately on their arrival the previous evening. And there the bill was, and it offered a thousand pounds reward to any person who should give information which would lead to the finding of Bassett Oliver, alive or dead.

Copplestone purposely refrained from mingling with the groups of men and lads who thronged about the bills, eagerly discussing the great affair of the moment. He sauntered along the quay, waiting for Audrey. She came at last with an enigmatic smile on her lips.

“Our particular excursion is off, Mr. Copplestone,” she said. “Extraordinary events seem to be happening. Mr. Chatfield called on us an hour ago, took my key away from me, and solemnly informed us that Scarhaven Keep is strictly closed until further notice!”

VIII Right of Way

The look of blank astonishment which spread over Copplestone’s face on hearing this announcement seemed to afford his companion great amusement, and she laughed merrily as she signed to him to turn back towards the woods.

“All the same,” she observed, “I know how to steal a countermarch on Master Chatfield. Come along!⁠—you shan’t be disappointed.”

“Does your cousin know of that?” asked Copplestone. “Are those his orders?”

Audrey’s lips curled a little, and she laughed again⁠—but this time the laughter was cynical.

“I don’t think it much matters whether my cousin knows or not,” she said. “He’s the nominal Squire of Scarhaven, but everybody knows that the real overlord is Peter Chatfield. Peter Chatfield does⁠—everything. And⁠—he hates me! He won’t have had such a pleasant moment for a long time as he had this morning when he took my key away from me and warned me off.”

“But why you?” asked Copplestone.

“Oh⁠—Peter is deep!” she said. “Peter, no doubt, knew that you came to see us last night⁠—Peter knows all that goes on in Scarhaven. And he put things together, and decided that I might act as your cicerone over the Keep and the ruins, and so⁠—there you are!”

“Why should he object to my visiting the Keep?” demanded Copplestone.

“That’s obvious! He considers you a spy,” replied Audrey. “And⁠—there may be reasons why he doesn’t desire your presence in those ancient regions. But⁠—we’ll go there, all the same, if you don’t mind breaking rules and defying Peter.”

“Not I!” said Copplestone. “Hang Peter!”

“There are people who firmly believe that Peter Chatfield should have been hanged long since,” she remarked quietly. “I’m one of them. Chatfield is a bad old man⁠—thoroughly bad! But I’ll circumvent him in this, anyhow. I know how to get into the Keep in spite of him and of his locks and bolts. There’s a big curtain wall, twenty feet high, all round the Keep, but I know where there’s a hole in it, behind some bushes, and we’ll get in there. Come along!”

She led him up the same path through the woods along which Bassett Oliver had gone, according to Ewbank’s account. It wound through groves of fir and pine until it came out on a plateau, in the midst of which, surrounded by a high irregular wall, towered at