That night the children found that a very important personage was to be a supper guest at their house. It was no other than Master Piers Belmont, Chamberlain to the Duke. Often enough had Giles and his sister gazed up at the great castle on the hill in the centre of the town. The Duke’s home! Great grey towers surrounded by lesser buildings, with all manner of different roofs, a chapel of its own, stables, smithies and servants’ houses, it was like a town in itself—a town within a town. It was the finest castle, folks said, in all that country—except perhaps it be the King’s; and he lived in a city a long way off. But, indeed, to the townsfolk the Duke seemed like a king himself. He had an army of his own and officers of the Household. And all the notices posted in the town, all the announcements cried aloud by the Town Crier, ended ‘By Order of the Duke’. It had even been hinted that the King was himself a little afraid of this great man who, while he was His Majesty’s subject and obeyed his commands, was also His Majesty’s cousin. But that was only gossip. Certain it was, however, that the Duke, being the most powerful of all the nobles in the land, had often greatly helped the young King’s father in his wars.
And now that a member of the ducal household was a guest in their home Giles and Anne were very excited. For hours they lay awake, at their old game of listening to the clatter of knives and forks and the bits of talk that floated up to the attic. Next day they pestered their mother to tell them all that had been said.
Well, it seemed their father had persuaded the great Chamberlain to come and talk over his business affairs with him. He was the Duke’s right-hand man in all matters of money and law. And he proved himself a learned gentleman and very wise.
‘I never heard anything like him,’ said their mother. ‘He’s been everywhere. He knows everyone.’
‘Was he able to help Father out of his money troubles?’ asked Giles.
‘Alas! No,’ said their mother, turning away sadly. ‘He could give us no advice that was helpful. Goodness! If a change of some sort doesn’t happen soon, I don’t know what is to become of us.’
The children now set out on a hunt for Agnes the Applewoman. One of the first persons they called on to question was Luke the Lame Boy. He lived in part of an old tumble-down stable which a horse-dealer let him use for his own. He often got odd jobs about the yard for the people who came to trade there, holding horses, carrying messages, and what not. This home of his was at least dry and comfortably lined with straw, even if it had been made for horses to live in. Indeed, Anne and Giles sometimes envied Luke his peculiar shelter, in the way young folk often do, thinking every place but their own home the finest in the world. Luke knew all the gossip of the town; and many a pleasant hour the children had spent sitting on his straw bed with him, chatting of this and that.
But today the lame boy could not help them in their quest.
‘I have not seen the Applewoman for many weeks,’ said he. ‘I wish I had. My leg is troubling me again.’
‘What, your—your twisted one?’ asked Anne with wide-staring, motherly eyes.
‘Oh, no,’ laughed Luke. ‘That one never was much good. It is this, my left one, that has failed me now. You see, using it so much, with only the crutch to take the place of the other one, sometimes gets it so tired I am unable to walk. Agnes has always been able to put it right for me. She hopes some day to cure both. How long have you been seeking her?’
‘Oh, not long,’ said Giles. ‘We only set out today.’
‘Well, I am almost certain she is not in the town,’ said Luke. ‘If she were I would have heard. Why don’t you look for her in the fields—in the country beyond the walls. She spends much time there hunting for plants and roots from which she makes her medicines. If you find her bring me word.’
Thanking Luke, the children set off again.
The day had begun with the fairest of weather and they thoroughly enjoyed the sunny fields and cool lanes and all the glory of summer in the country.
But they saw nothing of Agnes.
Finally, pretty weary, they sat down to rest and eat their sandwiches. Their talk turned upon Piers Belmont, the Duke’s Chamberlain.
‘I’m not sure I think so much of him, after all,’ said Giles. ‘If a man with his knowledge of business, looking after all the Duke’s money matters, cannot find a way to put Father’s worries to rest, well, he can’t be so great. That’s what I say.’
‘Oh, but you can’t tell, Giles,’ said his sister. ‘Father’s troubles may be particularly hard to set straight. Master Belmont must be a great man. You remember what Mother said about him?’
‘No,’ muttered Giles. ‘What was it?’
‘She said, “He’s most interesting. He knows everyone.” ’
Anne folded her hands and, with a sigh, gazed up at some small grey clouds crossing the sky.
‘I find nothing marvellous in that,’ said Giles.
‘Oh, good gracious!’ cried Anne impatiently. ‘Just think of it— to know everyone! Fancy travelling to a foreign country and going up to the King and saying, “Well, here I am!” ’
‘Humph!’ her brother muttered. ‘And I can imagine its being a great nuisance, too, to know everyone. For, mark you, that means also to be known by everyone; having everyone poke his nose in your business; never able to go anywhere without someone saying he saw you do this or he saw you do that.’
‘Oh, but just think,’ said Anne, ‘every time you went into a church, or down the street, having all heads turn and say, “There goes Anne.” ... I wonder how one goes about getting to know everyone. How many people do you know, Giles?’
‘Oh, six or seven,’ said Giles. ‘That is, not counting Mother and Father and Uncle Remigius. I suppose family doesn’t count. After all, you have to know your family—My goodness! Is that rain falling?’
‘That’s what it is,’ said Anne.
While the children had been talking, the heavens had become quickly overcast with heavy black clouds; and now great, big, single drops were splashing all about them with a promise of a regular downpour soon to come.
‘Quick!’ said Anne. ‘Let’s run for that house down the road there. We can take shelter in the stable or something. We’ll be drenched if we’re caught in the open in a rain like this.’
So off they ran. And the rain seemed to run behind them, growing and growing. Presently, when they reached the house, the shower had become so heavy that they did not hesitate or bother about whose place it was. They ran straight up to the door and leapt through it into the hall.
They were so breathless from running that it was a moment or two before they began to look around them. In the doorway through which they had come the door hung on one hinge, half leaning against the wall. The walls were bare and had their plaster broken in many places. The floor, too, had holes in it and was littered with dust and dirt. It was a deserted house.
‘Giles,’ whispered Anne, ‘do you know where we’ve come to?’
Her brother nodded his head.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘It’s the Haunted Inn.’
For another moment they were silent again while both, with some fear and hesitation, gazed backwards into the shadows at the end of the hall. The rain outside poured down into the yard and road with a steady hissing noise.
This house was one the children had often wished to visit, but had never quite had the courage to. It was a hostelry known in days gone by as the Golden Mitre. In those times it had been famous for its wines and cooking and for the good comfort travellers enjoyed there. But for years now it had lain empty and abandoned. No one knew why, but many said the place was haunted. Today Giles and Anne had blundered into it unknowingly, in their helter-skelter hurry to get shelter from the rain.
‘Let’s go, Giles,’ said Anne, clutching his hand and turning again to the door. But the curtain of falling water that barred the way out was almost as terrible as the house itself.
‘Well,’ laughed Giles, ‘we can’t very well leave now, anyhow. Here we are, both of us, after all our daring one another to come in.’
And then, suddenly, as is the way with summer storms, the rain stopped and the sun came out. The shadows at the end of the hall grew less black as the new light shone dimly down through dirty windows above. Anne, who had been staying right at the edge of the doorway, stepped out at once and called to her brother. But Giles shook his head.
‘No, wait a minute, Anne,’ said he. ‘Now we are in the Haunted Inn, let’s look around a little. After all, there’s nothing to be afraid of that I can see.’
‘I’m not afraid of what we can see,’ said Anne. ‘It’s what we can’t see that I’m afraid of. How about the ghosts, Giles?’
Her brother had now walked into one of the big rooms off the passage. It seemed to have been a dining-hall in its day. A long broken table stood in the middle of the room and there was an enormous fireplace in the centre of one wall.
‘Ghosts?’ said Giles as he strode across the floor. ‘What rubbish, Anne! I don’t believe anyone ever really saw a ghost. And even if there were some here, what harm would they want to do us? Ghosts indeed! Poof!—Oh, my gracious! What was that?’
A curious scratching sound had suddenly come from behind a cupboard door.
‘Giles, something tells me we should be going,’ said Anne.
‘No, now just a minute,’ said her brother. ‘We’ve been brave enough to get in here, even if we did come by accident. And we’ve been brave enough to stay here for a while. Now the question is: are we brave enough to open that cupboard door?’
‘Well, you can soon settle that,’ said Anne. ‘Go over and open it.’
‘Why shouldn’t you open it?’ asked Giles.
‘I don’t choose to,’ said his sister. ‘I would sooner go outside and enjoy the air.’
‘All right, then, I’ll open it,’ said Giles, putting on a very terrible and warlike face.
He went nearer to the cupboard, while Anne looked on with wide-open eyes at her brother’s daring. The noise had come from a closet door beside the fireplace. As Giles drew nearer, the scratching sound broke out again, but louder and stranger. He hesitated. Then he took hold of the handle. He wondered whether it would be wiser to open it just a crack and peep in, or to pull it open suddenly and wide. He made up his mind that the last would be the best. He gave a tremendous tug.
The handle came off in his hand and he sat down on the floor with a big bang.