The Wonderful Garden or The Three Cs

‘Yes, but,’ Charles asked anxiously, ‘are you sure William will keep the secret?’

‘I’d answer for him with my life,’ said Rupert. ‘You don’t know how jolly he was when he brought me the bread and cheese, and water in a medicine bottle. It tasted a little of camphor. Awfully decent chap he is!’

‘He can’t help keeping the secret,’ Caroline spoke with impressive earnestness; ‘he wears the Royal Rose and the twin buds, the badge of secrecy. If you wear that you simply can’t betray a secret. It says so in the Language Of, page 37.’

She picked up the book from under the roses, fluttered its leaves, found page 37 and read:

‘“The red or damask rose, full-blown and worn with two of its own buds, is the emblem and pledge of inviolet” – inviolable, I mean – “secrecy, and he who wears the Royal Queen of flowers accompanied by two unopened promises of her future magnificence, by this eloquent symbol binds himself to preserve uncontaminated the secret trust reposed in him by the more delicate and fragile portion – fragile and delicate as the lovely flower which is the subject of our remarks – of the human race.”’

‘I see,’ said Charlotte, relieved; ‘then he can’t tell, even if he wants to.’

‘If the book knows,’ Charles added.

‘Well, it’s all right, you know,’ said Rupert, ‘because I’m a judge of human nature, and I know that William is the soul of honour, and wouldn’t want to tell even if he could.’

‘So that’s all right.’ Charlotte breathed deeply. ‘I say, Rupert, aren’t you afraid?’

‘What of?’

‘The Police.’

Rupert laughed. ‘I think William was right,’ he said, wriggling out a little farther from the fern so that the red rose in his button-hole burst suddenly upon public view; ‘if the Police would swallow that letter they’d swallow anything. And if the eyes of the whole vox populi were upon me,’ he ended with a grand if vague remembrance of old Mug’s careful teaching, ‘Caroline would find a via media, or way out.’

‘Rats!’ said Caroline briefly.

‘I say!’ said Charles, gazing awe-struck, ‘what a jolly lot of Latin you know!’

CHAPTER IX

THE MORNING AFTER

‘Wake up!’ whispered Charlotte, sitting up very wide awake and pinching her sister gently but firmly.

‘Why?’ Caroline asked, very warm and sleepy. ‘We aren’t called yet, and it’s quite dark.’

‘Called!’ Charlotte echoed in contempt. ‘And the curtains aren’t drawn, so of course it’s dark. Wake up, silly; don’t you remember?’

‘All right!’ Caroline murmured, and went to sleep again.

‘You can’t have forgotten yesterday, and how we were detectives, and you were Sherlock Holmes wrong way out, and about Rupert, Rupert, Rupert?’

And at that Caroline did wake up, and sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes.

‘Isn’t it glorious?’ Charlotte asked, jumping up and down on the bed; ‘our splendid secret and the rose and everything? I do think we’re lucky, don’t you?’

‘I suppose so,’ Caroline answered, yawning; ‘but what are we going to do with him?’

‘Conceal him, of course,’ Charlotte answered briskly, ‘and answer for him with our lives. Until the answer comes to the Indian letter.’

‘The letter didn’t go, you know,’ Caroline reminded her, and put one foot out of bed.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Charlotte asked. ‘You don’t seem a bit keen.’

‘I don’t feel keen,’ Caroline answered. ‘I wish it hadn’t happened. I feel as if I didn’t want to do anything but to be quiet and have nothing happen, like it used to. My inside mind feels quite stiff and sore.’

‘That’s using it so much yesterday; being so clever, you know. Of course your mind feels stiff. It isn’t used to it,’ said Charlotte brightly, bounced off the bed and ran to draw the curtains. ‘Oh!’ she said, and stood quite still with the curtain in her hand.

‘What?’ Caroline asked anxiously, for the tone was tragic.

‘It’s raining,’ said Charlotte; ‘that’s all. Hard.’

‘How awful,’ said Caroline.

Somehow no one had expected it to rain. The sun had shone now for days and days, and it had seemed as though it must always go on shining.

‘Rupert won’t be able to hide in the wood, will he?’ said Charlotte after a dismal silence.

‘Oh, Charlotte,’ said Caroline in deep reproach, holding up her little silver watch, ‘it’s only a quarter to five. I’m going to sleep again. You know how thin and rotten you feel in the afternoon if you get up too early. Come on. Perhaps it won’t be raining when it’s proper getting-up time.’

But it was, as hard as ever. And it was a dismal little breakfast-party. The dining-room, usually so sunny and delightful at this hour, was sombre and brown and dull. The books all looked like lesson-books, and even the portrait of the Lady with the ruff had but little interest for the children. It seemed as though some one had turned off all sunshine and all magic at the very meter.

Anxiety about Rupert mingled with the usual wet-day feelings, and every one was at first too miserable even to tell the others how miserable it was.

Almost in silence Caroline poured out the milk, Charles served the bacon, and Charlotte handed the toast. And quite in silence they ate and drank. But breakfast soon began its healing work, and before it came to the marmalade, Charlotte was able to say:

‘This is the time to do something desperate. I’ll have some tea, please, Caro. Aunt Emmeline says it’s a dreadful drug and people take it instead of beer. I don’t like it,’ she hastened to add. ‘It’s only to show how desperate we are.’

‘Yes, but your drinking tea won’t help Rupert. He’ll be soaked in the woods,’ said Caroline heavily.

‘Still, he’ll be safe,’ Charles pointed out. ‘No one will go looking for him in the sopping wet. I’ll have tea too. Let’s call it a carouse in the smugglers’ cave.’

But the others thought this was going a little too far.

‘I don’t feel as if we ought to play till we know about Rupert and whether he’s had any breakfast. And I know the Wilming-cat won’t let us go out in the rain,’ Charlotte said.

‘One of us must go out and see William, that’s all,’ said Caroline. ‘I’ll go if you like, and chance the Wil-cat. No; we can’t all go. People notice you so much more if there’s a lot of you.’

Thus William at work in the harness-room was visited by a small figure in a damp mackintosh and a red tam-o’-shanter frosted with raindrops.

‘Where is he?’ it whispered, ‘and has he had his breakfast?’

‘Now you be off, Miss,’ said William, very loud and plain. ‘I ain’t up to talking so early. My jaws is hung crooked with talking so much yesterday. Be off with you.’ As he spoke he pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and wrote on the table:

‘Come at 12,’ and smeared it out with his cuff, just as the gardener came to the door and said:

‘Don’t look like clearing up.’

Caroline understood.