Roger Ingleton, Minor Part 40

The great manor-house was theirs--library, dining-hall, corridors, haunted chamber, roof, cellars--all except the servant's hall and the room where Mrs Parker, the housekeeper, held austere sway. The park was theirs, the woods, the stream, the paddocks, and the live-stock.

Nay, when they came to reckon all up, half the county was theirs, and a mile or so of sea-beach into the bargain.

They were absolutely free to roam where they liked, do what they liked, eat what they liked, and sit up at night to any hour that pleased them.

Mrs Parker, good soul, though excellent in academic exhortations and prohibitions, was too infirm to put her laws into active practice; and when, a day or two after the place had been left in her charge, she succ.u.mbed to a touch of her enemy, the lumbago, and had to take to her bed, these two young persons, though extremely sorry for her misfortune, felt that the whole world lay like a glorious football at their feet.

"Good old Jilly!" exclaimed Tom in his balmiest mood one morning, when these two young prodigals a.s.sembled for breakfast in the big dining-room at the fas.h.i.+onable hour of eleven, with Raffles in full livery to attend upon them. "This is what I call a lark and a half. Raffles, pa.s.s Miss Jill the honey; and walk about, and make yourself useful. I tell you what, we'll go and have a snap at the pheasants, and try a few drop kicks over the Martyr's oak. What do you say?"

"I can't shoot awfully well," said Jill apologetically. "I'd sooner, if you don't mind, Tom, walk about on the roof, or help you let the water out of the big pond."

"Raffles, old chappie, more toast--a lot more toast for Miss Jill. I'll have a wing of something myself. The fact is, Jilly," said he, when Raffles had departed on his quest, "I wanted to get the beast out of the way while I told you I'd got an idea."

"Oh, _what_, Tom?" asked Jill, in tones of surprised pleasure. Tom glanced round cautiously, and then whispered, "You and I'll give a small kick-up here on our own hooks. What do you say?"

"A party! Oh Tom! how clever of you to think of that!"

"You see," said Tom, accepting the homage meekly, "the other day in the library, when we were turning out all the drawers, I found a whole lot of 'At Home' cards, and the list of fellows that were asked to Roger's birthday party."

"How lovely!" exclaimed Jill; "we'll just--"

But here the return of Raffles, and a significant scowl from Tom, warned her to defer her suggestion.

The meal over, the conspirators met in the library, and put their heads together over Tom's doc.u.ments.

"That's about the ticket, isn't it?" said he, displaying one of the invitation cards which he had experimentally filled up.

"_Dr Brandram_--

"_Mr and Miss Oliphant at home on Wednesday, December 2, at 7 o'clock. Music, dancing, fireworks, etcetera_.

"_R.S.V.P_."

"But we haven't got any fireworks," suggested Jill; "we'll have to get some. And what about the band?"

"I shall write to the Colonel of the Grenadiers and order it. Anyhow, you can play the Goblin polka if we get stuck up."

Jill wondered whether, after an hour or two, her one piece (even though dear Mr Armstrong liked it) might not pall on a large a.s.sembly, and she devoutly hoped the Grenadiers would accept.

"There's a hundred and fifty names down," said Tom. "May as well have the lot while we're about it."

"Isn't two days rather a short invitation?" asked Jill.

"Bless you, no. You see, we're not out of mourning. Besides, Mother Parker may be well again if we don't look sharp, or Armstrong may turn up."

"How I wish he would!"

"He'd spoil everything. Look here, Jill, look alive and write the cards. I'll call out."

The two spent a most industrious morning, so much so that the household marvelled at their goodness, and remarked to one another, "The children are no trouble at all."

Towards the end of the sitting Tom flung down his paper with a whistle of dismay.

"I say, Jill, they ought to be black-edged!"

Jill turned pale.

"What is to be done?" she gasped.

"We'll have to doctor them with pen and ink," said Tom.

So for another hour or so they occupied themselves painfully in putting their invitations into mourning. The result was not wholly satisfactory, for a card dipped edgeways into a shallow plate of ink is apt to take on its black unevenly. So that while some of the guests were invited with signs of the slightest sorrow, the company of others was requested with tokens of the deepest bereavement. However, on the whole the result was pa.s.sable, and that evening Tom slunk down to Yeld post office with a bundle under his arm. At the last moment a difficulty had arisen with regard to postage, as, between them, the two could not raise the thirteen s.h.i.+llings required to stamp the lot.

However, by a lucky accident Tom discovered a bundle of halfpenny wrappers, the property of the estate, which (after scrupulously writing an I.O.U. for the amount) he borrowed.

"Saved a clean six-and-six by that," he remarked, when the last was licked up; "that'll go into the fireworks."

Jill, whose admiration for her brother's genius knew no bounds, felt almost happy.

It was Monday evening when the Yeld post-master was exercised in his mind by hearing a loud rap down-stairs, which on inquiry he found to have proceeded from the discharge of 150 mysterious-looking halfpenny missives, written in a very round hand, into his box. Being an active and intelligent person, he felt it his duty to examine one, addressed, as it happened, to the Duke of Somewhere. After some consideration, and a study of his rules and regulations, he came to the conclusion that the enclosure was of the nature of a letter, and thereupon proceeded to mark each with a claim for a penny excess postage. Which done, he retired to his parlour, relieved in his mind.

Tom and Jill had more to do than to speculate on the adventures of their carefully-written cards.

"Now about grub!" said Tom that evening.

Once more Jill turned a little pale. She had been dreading this fateful question all along.

"What do you think?" said she diplomatically.

Tom, of course, had thought the problem out.

"We must keep it dark from the slaveys," said he, "at least till everybody comes, then they're bound to give us a leg up. I fancy we can sc.r.a.pe a thing or two up from what's in the house. And I've called in at one or two of the shops at Yeld and told them to send up some things addressed to 'Miss J. Oliphant--private.' There was rather a nice lot of herrings just in, so I got three dozen of them cheap. Then I told them at the confectioner's to send up all the strawberry ices they could in the time, and 150 buns. You see everybody is sure not to come, so there'll be plenty to go round."

"Didn't Mr Rusk ask what they were for?" inquired Jill.

"I said Mr Oliphant presented his kind regards, and would be glad to have the things sharp."

Next morning, greatly to the delight of the hospitable pair, the herrings came up in a basket, addressed privately to Miss Jill. Later in the day tradesmen's carts rattled up the back drive with similar missives, not a little to the bewilderment of the servants of the house, who shook their heads and wished Mrs Parker would make a speedy recovery.

Tom adroitly captured the booty, and half won over Raffles to aid and abet in the great undertaking.

"Good old Raffy," said he, as the two staggered across the hall with one of Miss Jill's private boxes between them; "would you like a threepenny bit?"

Raffles, whose ideas of a tip were elastic, admitted that he was open to receive even the smallest coin.

"All right, mum's the word. Jill and I have a thing on, and we don't want it spoiled by the slaveys."

Raffles said that, as far as he knew, the "slaveys" were thinking about anything else than the proceedings of the two young Oliphants.

"Besides," said he, "being 'olidays, there's only me and the cook, and a maid--and she's took up with nursing Mrs Parker."

"Poor old Parker! How is she? Pretty chippy? Sorry she's laid up.