‘I expect it’s fallen out on to the path outside,’ said John. But search as they would, they could not find it.
‘I suppose no one could have taken it?’ said John. ‘Has anyone been to the back door?’
‘Only that Mrs Whatshername. Lives in the big house down Sheepshank Lane. Widdlespoon is it? You should have seen her hat! Enough to make a cat laugh.’
Dumpsie drew herself up in an offended way.
‘Said she couldn’t make anyone hear at the front. She wanted to know if there was one of those big black coalscuttles in the Sale. Like an old-fashioned cooking pot with a handle over the top. Well of course I don’t know. Very hoity-toity she was.’
‘We must find the ring,’ said John. ‘It’s valuable.’
Mrs Bodkin looked at him curiously. ‘What’s a lad like you doing with a valuable ring?’
‘It’s only valuable to us,’ said Rosemary hastily. ‘It came out of a cracker.’
‘A lady like that would never bother about a trumpery cracker ring,’ said Mrs Bodkin, rising to her feet. ‘But I must get on. Sausages and a bit of fried potato it’ll have to be for your supper. And do me a favour. Don’t tell your uncle. About my funny turn, I mean. He’ll start talking again about getting someone in to help. As if I can’t manage! Now be good children, and lay the table. I’m feeling worn out, with all that work and the worry of being took bad. I’ll slip down to the doctor first thing tomorrow.’
‘The beastly ring, it’s done it again!’ said John, as they laid knives and forks on the spotless, newly washed and ironed table-cloth. ‘That’s the third mess it’s got us into.’
‘And how on earth are we going to get it back from Mrs Witherspoon? I bet she’s “the wrong hands”. She may wish something simply frightful with it.’
15. Tucket Towers
‘WE must settle on some plan of action,’ said John, as he walked with Rosemary up the weedy drive of Tucket Towers early next morning. ‘We keep talking about it, and not deciding anything.’
‘Well, first we hand over the letter to Mrs Witherspoon. ... That ought to give us a chance to see if she is wearing the Golden Gew-Gaw,’ said Rosemary ... ‘And then what? That’s where we always get stuck. Last Christmas,’ she went on thoughtfully, ‘I went carol singing with Sally Simson in aid of Orphan Children’s Homes. Sometimes people asked us inside.’
‘We can’t go carol singing in April, you owl!’ said John.
‘Not carols, of course,’ said Rosemary. ‘But couldn’t we say we are collecting for Orphan Children’s Homes? And ... I know! Has she any odd jobs we could do?’
‘That’s not a bad idea!’ said John. ‘And if we did get any money we really would give it to the Orphan Children.’
‘But what do we do next when we get inside?’ said Rosemary.
‘That depends on the job she gives us. Let’s wait and see. We’re nearly there.’
‘I know,’ said Rosemary. ‘I’m beginning to get a funny feeling in my inside.’
‘Me too,’ said John.
‘Don’t let’s stop for a single second, or I shan’t be brave enough to go on again.’
‘We’d better be quick and get it over,’ said John. ‘One, two, three ... Go!’
At a brisk trot they crossed the weedy carriage sweep in front of the house, and ran up the steps to the front door. John tugged at the wrought-iron bell-pull. It was stiff and rusty, as though it was not used very often. Somewhere in the distance, they heard the clanging of the bell. After a long pause, during which they nearly turned tail and ran, a key grated in the lock, and the door swung open.
‘Yes? What do you want?’ said Mrs Witherspoon sharply.
‘We’ve brought a letter ...’
‘Mr Sprules asked us ...’
They both started to speak at the same time and then stopped. Rosemary giggled nervously.
‘Come along! Come along!’ said Mrs Witherspoon crossly.
‘Mr Sprules asked us if we would bring you this,’ said John. ‘It’s one of the missing pages of the book you bought the other day.’
‘Aha!’ said Mrs Witherspoon, in quite a different voice. ‘That is another matter. Give it to me!’
She almost snatched the envelope from John, tore it open impatiently and pulled out the yellowing page. Ignoring both children, she stood framed in the doorway as she studied the cramped print. Very upright she was, in a long black skirt and high-necked blouse. Her pale face, ringed and wrinkled like a cauliflower, was surrounded by straggling white hair. They had plenty of time to examine her fingers. She wore two plain gold rings, one was wide and the other narrow: but there was no sign of the glowing stone of the Golden Gew-Gaw.
Presently she looked up, and now she was smiling, but not at them. It was a sly, secret sort of smile.
‘This is what I’ve been waiting for!’ she said, more to herself than to John and Rosemary. ‘Thank you. That will be all, children!’
‘Oh please,’ said Rosemary. ‘We’re collecting for Orphan Children’s Homes, and we wondered if you had any odd jobs we could do?’
‘We don’t mind what it is!’ added John.
‘You mean you want to be paid for it?’ said Mrs Witherspoon. All trace of a smile disappeared. ‘I’m not made of money, you know!’
‘Oh, only what you feel like giving us,’ said John.
‘Well, yes,’ she said after a thoughtful pause. ‘Perhaps there is something you could do. You may come inside. Wipe your feet!’
John and Rosemary could scarcely control their grins of triumph as they followed the tall gaunt figure into the hall.
‘Follow me to the kitchen,’ she said over her shoulder.
The hall looked even more dusty and shabby than it had done when they peered at it from outside. Cobwebs hung thickly from the deer’s antlers that hung over every door, and the ragged carpet nearly tripped up Rosemary as she stared about her. There was no broomstick in the umbrella stand this time.
At the end of the hall they went through a swing door covered with moth-eaten green baize. It closed behind them with a ‘whoosh’. The kitchen was down a short passage on the other side. John and Rosemary just had time to notice a huge old-fashioned range, with a very small fire burning in it, and two cats sitting on the hearth-rug in front.
‘Come along! Don’t loiter!’ said Mrs Witherspoon sharply. ‘The scullery is through here.’
As she spoke she opened the door into a smaller room, leading from the kitchen. The first thing they saw when they went inside was a large earthenware sink, loaded with tottering piles of unwashed dishes, and dirty saucepans.
‘I have got a leetle bit behind with the washing-up,’ said Mrs Witherspoon. ‘There’s your job for you. When it is all done you shall have a whole penny each. You will find an apron hanging over there, behind the door into the garden. I have to go and pick some herbs.’ She glanced at the printed page Mr Sprules had sent her, and smiled the same secret smile again. ‘For there is an important experiment I have to make. But I shall be back shortly to see that you’ve done your work properly.’
She opened the door, locked it behind her, and went out into the garden. There was a window over the draining board, and they watched her peering about in the overgrown flower beds.
John stood with his hands on his hips, and glowered at the pile of dirty dishes. ‘Just a leetle bit behind with the washing-up!’ he mimicked. ‘She can’t have done any for weeks! I didn’t bargain for this. And one penny each. The Orphan Children won’t get very fat on that!’
‘Never mind,’ said Rosemary. ‘At least it has got us inside.’ She held her hand hopefully under a running tap. ‘No hot water either. Come on. Do stop glaring and help me move these saucepans from the sink. Put them on the floor, or anywhere out of the way. If only we’d got the ring we might have learned something from those two cats in the kitchen.’