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CHAPTER IV
THE ROOM WITH THE LOCKED DOOR

Isobel Prior and Caroline Weston had arrived together, having travelled in the same railway carriage, each ignorant of the fact that the other was bound for Chequertrees, until the waiting cab at the station had made this known to them.

"I'm simply dead," were the first words Pamela heard as she came out of the drawing-room to greet the new-comer. The speaker was a well-dressed, fluffy-haired girl with an aristocratic voice and bearing, who was standing in the hall amid a pile of luggage.

"Why, that sounds a cheerful beginning! Who is it that's dead?" asked Pamela laughingly, as she came forward.

The girl stared rather haughtily at Pamela for a second, then smiled and shook hands.

"Oh, I suppose you are Miss Heath," she said. "I am Miss Prior. I've had a perfectly impossible journey here to-day, and I'm simply fagged out and perishingly cold."

"We must get you something hot to drink," said Pamela, "and you must have a good rest. Would you like to come straight into the dining-room and have a warm—there's a lovely fire there—or would you rather go up to your bedroom first?"

"Oh, please—a wash and tidy up first," said Isobel. "I must look such a fright–"

And then Pamela noticed that another girl was standing beside Martha, just inside the front door. A big plush curtain in the hall almost hid her from view.

"I'm awfully sorry—I didn't see anyone else had arrived," said Pamela. "Are you—are you Miss Caroline Weston?"

The girl gazed stolidly at Pamela—a heavily-made girl, plumpish, and wearing spectacles; she carried a very neat handbag in one hand and a very neatly rolled umbrella in the other hand.

"Y-e-s," she said, in a slow, drawling voice.

Pamela shook her warmly by the hand, and then offered to take the two girls upstairs and show them their rooms. As they passed the drawing-room door Pamela caught sight of Beryl, who was waiting shyly in the background, and she immediately introduced her to the others.

"Beryl and I have just been shown over the house," Pamela explained. "We only arrived to-day, of course—a few hours ago—I expect you're too tired to want to bother to see all round to-night, and if you are you must go over it in the morning. Then we shall all know our way about, shan't we? Come along, Beryl, let's take these poor weary travellers up to their rooms. And, Martha, can we have some hot supper—in about twenty minutes, please?"

Once again the house was astir with the bustle of welcoming the latest arrivals. Martha vanished into the kitchen to prepare something hot and tasty for supper, while Ellen hurried to and fro with warm water for washing, and carried boxes and parcels upstairs, and lit gases, and pulled down blinds, and generally made herself useful, while Pamela, followed by Beryl, showed Isobel and Caroline to their rooms, doing her best as hostess to make them feel comfortable and at home.

Over supper the four girls became better acquainted. Naturally they were all very curious to know why Miss Crabingway had invited the four of them to Chequertrees, and they studied each other with interest, trying to find an answer to the riddle. Following Pamela's friendly lead they talked of themselves, and their homes, and the journey to Barrowfield. That is, all of them talked a good deal with the exception of Beryl, who still seemed very shy and only spoke when she was addressed directly.

Pamela was in one of her 'beamy' moods that night. She beamed and laughed and talked and thoroughly enjoyed herself during supper, not a little excited by all the strange surroundings and the strange new acquaintances she was making; perhaps it was her genuine interest in everything and everybody that made her so jolly a companion—and so unself-conscious a one. Anyway, she liked girls—nearly all girls—and they liked her as a rule. Of course she had her dislikes, but on the whole she got on very well with girls of her own age. How was she going to like and get on with these girls, all about her own age, who were sitting at supper with her this evening, she asked herself.

She felt vaguely sorry for Beryl, as if she wanted to protect her, because Beryl seemed so painfully shy and ill at ease; her clothes were cheap-looking and unsuitable for the time of year.

Isobel seemed to Pamela to be slightly disdainful of everything and everybody; she had a habit of over-emphasizing unimportant words when she talked, and appeared at times to exaggerate too much. Her clothes were well chosen and evidently of very good material, and well tailored. Her features, framed by her pretty, fluffy hair, were clear-cut and refined; she would have been a pretty girl had it not been for her eyes, which were deep-set and a trifle too close together. She talked a good deal about her 'mater' and 'pater,' and her brother Gerald and his motor-car.

Caroline, beside Isobel, looked very plain, and almost dowdy, in spite of the fact that her clothes were good—the reason being that her clothes did not suit her at all. She had no idea how to make the best of herself; her one great idea was to be neat at all costs. Her drab-coloured hair was brushed back smoothly, in a most trying fashion; and never by any chance would she have a button or hook missing from any of her clothing, nor a hole in her stocking—and this was a credit to her, because she worked as slowly with her needle as she did with everything else, though it must be owned that she was very fond of sewing. Very slow, very methodical, very neat—such was Caroline. "I believe she even dusts and wraps up in tissue paper each needle and pin and reel of cotton after she has finished with it," was Isobel's opinion after she had known her a week; and although this may sound like one of Isobel's exaggerated remarks, yet it was nearer the truth than she herself dreamt when she said it.

What acquaintance had Miss Crabingway had with these three girls, Pamela wondered. And what had made her choose them—and herself. They made an oddly assorted quartette.

As they were rising from the supper-table she asked them whether any of them knew Miss Crabingway well, and learnt to her surprise that none of them had more than the slightest acquaintance with her. Neither Isobel not Caroline could remember ever seeing Miss Crabingway, and Beryl said vaguely that she had seen her once—a long time ago. Beryl said she believed that her mother had been a friend of Miss Crabingway's, many years back. Isobel said her mater had met Miss Crabingway abroad—had happened to stay in the same hotel—about six years ago. An uncle of Caroline's, so she informed them, had once done some business transactions with Miss Crabingway, and had corresponded with her since, at intervals.

"Well, I can't make it out at all," thought Pamela to herself. "Why Miss Crabingway should have invited us—four girls—practically strangers to her—to come and stay at her house while she is away.... I can't see any reason for it.... Anyway, I suppose we shall know when she returns."

The supper having considerably revived Isobel, she said she would like to see over the house before she went to bed; and Caroline, having no objection ready against this suggestion (except that she was half asleep in her chair), found herself joining in this tour of inspection and stolidly taking stock of the house that was to be her home for the next six months.

In a whispered aside to Pamela Isobel pronounced the dining-room wall-paper 'hideous' and the drawing-room decorations 'perfectly awful'—both remarks being overhead by Ellen, who glared at the back of Isobel's head in silent indignation at this reflection on her mistress's taste. It was certainly not good manners on Isobel's part, but she was not over-sensitive about other people's feelings, and was rarely aware of the fact when her words or tone of voice had hurt or given offence.

On the first floor landing Pamela pointed out the locked door. The girls knew that they were forbidden to try to open it, or look through the keyhole, their instructions being the same as Pamela's.

"And to think that one little action—just kneeling down and putting your eye to the keyhole—would make you lose fifty pounds!" exclaimed Isobel. "It's not worth losing all that money just for curiosity, is it?"

"Rather not," said Pamela. "I vote that we all keep away from that door as if the paint on it were poisonous to touch."

"I'm sorry my room's next to it," Isobel went on, "but it doesn't really matter—though I like to keep as far away from temptation as I can … not that I want to look inside, but—you know the feeling—just because I know I mustn't–"

"I know the feeling," agreed Pamela. "But don't you think it would be wisest not to talk about it any more, or we shall all be dreaming about it to-night."

Ellen, who was leading the way up to the top floor where her own room and Martha's room were situated, pricked up her ears at this.

"Dreams go by contrary," she said to herself mechanically, and, apparently, without meaning. Besides being a mine of information on melancholy events, Ellen was a great believer in dreams, possessing as many as ten 'dream books,' which she consulted frequently on the meaning of her dreams. Ellen believed also in fortune-telling by tea-leaves, and lucky stars, and the like. And many a time she had made even Martha—who knew her little ways and generally laughed tolerantly at her—turn 'goose-flesh' at the terrible fate she would read out for Martha and herself from the tea-leaves left in their cups.

"Do you believe it's possible to dream what is inside that room—I mean dream truly—if you set your mind on it just before going to sleep?" Isobel asked of Pamela, as she glanced round the bath-room.

Caroline, who was examining everything in the bath-room closely and minutely, as was her habit, raised her head as if to speak, but Pamela, who had her back turned to her and did not see her mouth open, replied:

"I don't know. I'm afraid I'm not an expert on dreams—I hardly ever dream myself."

"Wouldn't it be fun," suggested Isobel, as they all made their way downstairs again, "if each of us tried hard to dream what was inside the room—and then tell each other what dreams we had had, in the morning—and when Miss Crabingway comes back we will see if any of us are right."

"Oh, I don't know," said Pamela. "Somehow I don't think we'd better even try to dream what is inside the room. Perhaps it isn't quite fair to—to—I don't know how to put it— Anyway, I think it would be better if we left the subject entirely alone, don't you?"

Again Caroline opened her mouth and was about to say something, when Isobel burst in with,

"Oh, but Miss Crabingway didn't say we were not to dream about it, did she? … That would be impossible to forbid.... But still, perhaps it's best not to meddle with the subject. It's not worth losing fifty pounds over, anyway."

Beryl, although she had accompanied the others over the house, had not spoken a word since they left the dining-room, but she had listened to all that was going on with much interest. Here was another girl, Isobel, who seemed quite at home among strangers in a strange house, thought Beryl; but she did not envy Isobel; she was vaguely afraid of her. Caroline appeared more at her ease than Beryl had expected her to be; though Caroline seemed to others slow and awkward, she was not aware of this herself, and so was not made uneasy on that score. Caroline did not know her own failings, while Beryl was keenly alive to herown—and suffered accordingly.

As the four girls bid each other good-night a few minutes later, Caroline found the opportunity she had been waiting for, and mentioned something that had been fidgeting her since her arrival.

"Oh—er—do you know if my room has been well aired?" she asked slowly, reminding Pamela irresistibly of an owl as she gazed solemnly through her spectacles. "I'm rather subject to chills—and mother told me to be sure and see that my bedroom had been well aired."

Fortunately Martha was able to assure her on this point, and Caroline went upstairs apparently content. But before she went to sleep she thoroughly fingered the sheets and pillow-cases to satisfy herself that Martha was a strictly truthful person.

When, at length, every one had retired and all was quiet, a little breeze arose in the garden and scurried round the house, whispering excitedly among the ivy leaves. But though the breeze ruffled and agitated the cloak of ivy, it had no power to stir the old house beneath, which stood, grim and unmoved, brooding in silence over the strangers within its walls.

CHAPTER V
MAKING PLANS

In the morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Pamela held an informal 'council meeting' in the drawing-room.

"I thought we'd better just talk over some sort of plan for organizing things, so that we shall all be as comfortable as possible," she said, leaning her elbow on the small round table before her and resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "You see, it isn't as if there was a real hostess here—you know what I mean—it isn't as if we could drop into the ordinary life of the household. Here we are—four strangers yesterday, four acquaintances to-day—and we've got to live and work and play together for the next six months. Now what are the best arrangements to make, so that we'll all have a good time? It's left entirely in our hands. Anybody got any suggestions?" She looked smilingly round at the other three girls.

Isobel was the only one who answered.

"Of course we didn't know what we should be expected to do when we came here," she said. "It was all such an awful hurry and scramble—there was no time to think of anything."

"I know," agreed Pamela. "But now we are here, we'd better have some sort of plan, don't you think—so as to leave each other as free as possible—I do hate tying people down to time and—and things—but we'll have to have some sort of arrangements about meals, for instance, or else we'll keep Martha and Ellen busy all day long. Luckily, we've got hardly any housekeeping difficulties. I had a talk with Martha and Ellen this morning, before breakfast, and they're going on with their work just as usual. Martha does all the cooking and washing, and Ellen does the general work. But I expect four girls in the house will make a good bit of difference! So I propose that we each make our own bed and tidy our own room every morning—and Ellen will clean the rooms out once a week. It won't take each of us long of a morning. What do you say?"

Beryl agreed at once; and Isobel, though she said she wasn't used to doing housework, promised to do her best; Caroline was understood to say she preferred making her own bed because other people never made a bed to her satisfaction.

Having settled this little point, Pamela went on:

"As regards shopping—Martha says she always sees about getting in provisions, but she would like us to say what we'd like for breakfasts, and dinners, and so on. She says Miss Emily Crabingway left a sum of money with her for purchasing enough food for the next three months; after that time has elapsed, Mr Joseph Sigglesthorne is to send on a further sum—enough for the final three months. You see that's all arranged for us; but we've got to choose the meals, and I thought it would be a good plan if we took it in turns, each week—first one, then the other—to draw up a list of meals for the week. Write it all out, and take it in to Martha. What do you think? Martha likes the idea."

"I'm quite willing, but I don't believe I could think of enough variety for a week straight off," said Beryl.

"Oh, yes, you could," said Pamela, "with the help of Mrs Beeton's Cookery Book—there are no end of hints in there. Martha has a copy of the book on a shelf in the kitchen; she'll lend it to us. She says it's very useful, but rather too extravagant for her liking, with its 'break eight eggs and beat them well,' and 'take ten eggs' and 'take six eggs' and so on. Martha says she always looks up a recipe in Mrs Beeton's, and then makes it her own way (which is always quite different)."

"As long as you don't choose boiled haddock every morning," said Isobel, "and don't give us lamb chops and mashed potatoes every dinner-time—with rice pudding to follow—I'm sure we'll none of us try to assassinate you on the quiet."

"I don't mind taking my turn at choosing the meals," said Caroline, thinking tenderly of suet roly-poly.

"And I'll do what I can," remarked Isobel, more in her element when choosing work for others to perform than in doing work herself. She had momentary visions of how she would astonish the others by the magnificence of her menus; none of the 'homely' dishes for Isobel; with the aid of Mrs Beeton, who knows what might not be accomplished in the way of exclusive and awe-inspiring dishes. "But you choose the first week's meals, do," she begged Pamela.

As this suggestion was proposed, seconded, and carried unanimously by the others, Pamela agreed, and so the matter was settled.

"Having now disposed of our housekeeping duties," Pamela laughed, "now what are we going to do with the rest of our time? Had any of you any idea of keeping up studies, or attending classes, or anything of that sort? You see we are left idle—to act entirely on our own initiative—without any suggestions or arrangements whatever on Miss Crabingway's part. And I know that, speaking for myself, I don't want to idle away the next six months."

"I shouldn't mind being idle," observed Isobel. "In fact mater said the six months' rest would do me no harm. I was just going back to college, you know, when we heard from Miss Crabingway—and of course all my plans were upset—but I didn't mind so much with the prospect of a lovely, lazy holiday at Barrowfield. But still, if you are all going to take up some sort of work, I suppose I must, as well.... I should be bored to death with my own company—if you are all going to work."

"I only suggest a few hours' work each day," reminded Pamela. "It makes the day seem so much more satisfactory when one has done something."

The question of what to study, and how to study, gave much food for discussion; but the subject was prevented from taking too serious a turn by Isobel's constant stream of facetious remarks on the kind of work she would take up. She seemed to think it a huge joke; though Caroline, who was apt to take things literally, was much perturbed at the numerous studies Isobel proposed, until she realized that Isobel was only making fun all the time.

"I should prefer to keep up my music," said Beryl, presently. "And study hard at theory, harmony, and counterpoint—and if it wouldn't annoy anyone—perhaps I could practise on the piano here. I—I should love that."

"Of course it wouldn't annoy anyone, would it?" Pamela appealed to the other two, who said that it certainly wouldn't annoy them.

"It isn't as if it were the five-finger exercise—thump—thump—thump," added Caroline cautiously.

"Well, we should hope you'd got beyond that," said Isobel to Beryl, who flushed nervously.

"Oh, yes," she hastened to assure them.

"There are worse things than the five-finger exercise," broke in Pamela. "I have a sister at home who knows one piece, and whenever she gets near the piano she sits down and plays it—thumps it, I should say—because she 'knows we love it,' she says. We always howl at her, on principle, and the nearest of us swoops down on her, and bears her, protesting, out of the room."

The others laughed with Pamela at this recollection of hers, and attention was distracted from Beryl, much to her relief.

"Well," said Pamela, "for myself—I am going to do a heap of reading—especially historical books; and I want most of all to continue my sketching. I'm very fond of dabbling in black and white sketching—and I want lots of practice. I've brought with me some books about it—to study."

"Oh, you energetic people," yawned Isobel. "It makes me tired to think of the work you're going to do."

"What are you going to do?" Pamela asked, turning to Caroline.

"Well," drawled Caroline, "I like doing needlework better than anything."

Isobel put her handkerchief to her mouth to hide a smile. Fortunately Caroline was not looking at her, but Beryl was. Caroline went on undisturbed.

"I'm not fond of reading or books, but I've been thinking—if there were any classes near by, on dressmaking—cutting out and all that, you know—that I could attend, I wouldn't mind that; but anyway I've got plenty of plain needlework to go on with. I brought a dozen handkerchiefs in my box to hem and embroider—and I've got a tray-cloth to hem-stitch."

"Mind you don't overtax your brain, my dear," muttered Isobel, giggling into her handkerchief.

"Eh?" asked Caroline, not catching her remark.

"Nothing," said Isobel. "I was only wondering what work I could do."

"I daresay you'll be able to find some dress-making classes, Caroline," said Pamela. "We'll go out and buy a local paper and see what's going on. But, Isobel, what are you going to do?" Pamela asked, looking across at Isobel.

"Ah me!" sighed Isobel. "Well, if I must decide, I'll decide on dancing. I'm frightfully keen on dancing, you know. I'll attend classes for that if you like—that is, if there are such things as dancing classes in this sleepy little place.... I might do a bit of photography too. I didn't bring my camera—but perhaps I can buy a new one—it's great fun taking snapshots."

"If there are no classes in Barrowfield there is almost sure to be a town within a few miles, where we can get what we want," Pamela said.

Matters now being settled as far as was possible at the present moment, Pamela said she was going out to look round the village, and Isobel immediately said she would go with her as she wanted to buy some buttons for her gloves. Beryl would have liked to go with Pamela, but felt sensitive about visiting the village for the first time in Isobel's company—for more than one reason; so she said she would go and unpack her box and get her music books out, and look round the village later on. Caroline also elected to stay and unpack and put her room in order. So Pamela and Isobel started off together.

They had been gone but five minutes when the post arrived with a registered letter addressed to Pamela.

"Ah," said Martha knowingly, as she laid the letter in the tray on the hall-stand.