The Spanish Chest by Edna A. Brown

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[Illustration: "WHAT IS IS THIS TINY DOTTED LINE ACROSS THE
GROUNDS?" WIN INQUIRED]

THE SPANISH CHEST

BY

EDNA A. BROWN

ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN GOSS AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS

DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF FLORENCE AND CLARA

who shared a winter spent in the Channel Islands and
have now gone on a longer journey.

This little book I wrote for thee
Thy friendly eyes will never see.
It was not meant for critics' reading,
Nor for the world that scans unheeding.
For there are lines washed in with tears,
As well as nonsense, mocking fears.
Alas! thine eyes will never see
This little book I wrote for thee.

THE SPANISH CHEST

FOREWORD

Once upon a time a clever Japanese artist drew a sketch of a man
who sat industriously painting, when, to his great amazement, all
the little figures on his canvas came to life and began to walk
out of the picture.

Something like that happened to this book. Books grow, you know,
because somebody thinks so hard about the different characters
that gradually they turn into lifelike people, who often insist on
doing things that weren't expected. When this especial book began
to grow, two persons who hadn't been invited, came and wanted to
be in the story.

The author politely remarked that they were grown-up and couldn't
expect to be in a book for young people.

They said that they were not so very grown-up, only twenty-three
and a half and that they still knew how to play.

Connie said that her home was in the Island of Jersey where the
story was going to be, and if she came in, she could make things
much more pleasant for the other characters.

Max said that the story would go to smash without him, because he
should be needed at an important moment.

So, because they looked most wistful and promised very earnestly
to behave as though they were nice children, and not be silly, the
author said they might have a share in the story.

Connie at once offered to lend her collie. So that is how the
beach dog happens to be in the book.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. AT ROSE VILLA
II. FRAN ENGAGES LODGINGS
III. ST. HELIER'S
IV. THE BEACH DOG
V. MONT ORGUEIL
VI. A RACE WITH THE TIDE
VII. MR. MAX
VIII. RICHARD LISLE'S LETTER
IX. CHRISTMAS IN JERSEY
X. THE BUN WORRY
XI. THE MANOR CAVE
XII. WIN VISITS THE LIBRARY
XIII. ABOUT THE SPANISH CHEST
XIV. IN THE VAULTS
XV. THE HAUNTED ROOM
XVI. THE MANOR GHOST
XVII. THE DOTTED LINE
XVIII. ROGER THE MAROONED
XIX. AT CORBIERE
XX. WIN WONDERS
XXI. THE TWO CHAINS
XXII. THE CHEST ITSELF

ILLUSTRATIONS

"What is this tiny dotted line across the grounds?" Win inquired

The Village of St. Aubin's

"For a long time people supposed they were called Martello towers
from the man who built them"

Above and behind towered the ruined castle of Orgueil

"Look there is a Jersey cow among the cabbages"

"He'll come for us! He means us to climb this rock and wait"

A most interesting little Church almost on the water's edge

The old Norman gateway leading to Vinchelez Manor

They came upon the loveliest of little beaches

Plemont is the spot where the cable comes in from England

Win's plan of the Manor cellars

What was undoubtedly the Spanish Chest

THE SPANISH CHEST

CHAPTER I

AT ROSE VILLA

The silence in the little drawing-room had lasted for some moments
before being broken by the man seated in the big wicker chair. His
dress indicated a clergyman of the Church of England, his face
betrayed lines of kindliness and forbearance, but its present
expression showed a perplexity not unmixed with disapproval.

"I suppose, Miss Pearce," he said at length, "there is no use in
trying further to dissuade you from your plan, and of course it
may work out for the best. But--you will excuse me, my dear, for I
have daughters of my own--you seem too young to undertake a
lodging-house. Now a position as governess in a nice family--"

Estelle Pearce interrupted him quickly.

"There is Edith, you know. Should I try teaching, it would mean
separation from her. And I _must_ keep Edith with me. We have only
each other now. No, Mr. Angus, I thank you from the bottom of my
heart for your interest in us, but I am sure it is best to try my
plan. You see I have the house on my hands. When we came to
Jersey, Father leased it for the winter and I can't afford to
forfeit thirty pounds. And there is Nurse as well as Annette.
Surely Nurse lends dignity to any family. But I am older than you
think," she ended with a smile and a pretty blush. "I am twenty-
four, Mr. Angus."

A kindly look came into the eyes bent on her slender, black-robed
figure. "You do not look it, my dear," her visitor said after a
pause. "Well, with two good servants, the plan may be successful.
Much depends on what class of lodgers comes your way. I am told
that Americans are rather desirable inmates, that they pay well
and are not exacting. If you could let your rooms to some refined
American ladies, things might adjust themselves very satisfactorily.
To be sure, few Americans visit the Channel Islands; they are
given to wandering farther afield. But I will speak of your plans to
the postmaster and one or two others. It might be advisable to
put a card in the circulating library at St. Helier's. Rest assured
that both Mrs. Angus and I will do all we can for your father's girls.
Lionel and I were good friends at Oxford though we saw so little of
each other afterwards. I did not think when he wrote me scarcely
six weeks ago that it was to be Hail and Farewell.

"I must go," he added quickly, seeing that Estelle's eyes were
brimming. "Where is Edith? I hoped to see her also."

"She has gone to the sands," replied Estelle. "It is dull for her,
moping here, so I sent her for an errand and told her to run down
and see whether the tide had turned. She begins school on Monday."

Mr. Angus took his leave, and still looking doubtful, went down
the steps of Rose Villa, a quaint little house, covered with
tinted plaster, as is the pretty custom of the Channel Islands,
and appearing even to a masculine ignorance of details much more
neat and attractive than its neighbors.

So Mr. Angus thought, as he turned from his puzzled survey of its
exterior, to walk slowly down the short street at the end of which
glittered the waters of the English Channel.

The tide was on the turn but the expanse of sandy beach lay yet
broad. Far toward St. Helier's the curve of the port showed the
high sea-wall, for this same innocent-looking tide that ebbs and
leaves behind miles of sandy stretches and rocks, can return with
force sufficient to dash over even the lofty breakwater and
surprise the placid Jerseymen at times, by scattering large stones
in the esplanade.

But here at St. Aubin's the curve of Noirmont Point sheltered the
little town from the full force of the waves. Dr. Angus looked
from the end of Noirmont Terrace straight down to the sands and
saw in the distance the sunset air filled with wheeling gulls, a
group of boys playing football on the wide level, and somewhat
nearer, a slender girl of fourteen, dressed in black, with long
fair hair floating over her shoulders.

She was walking slowly and the kind clergyman attributed her
leisurely pace to dejection, but as a matter of fact, Edith was
feeling quite happy and much interested in the tiny bright yellow
snail shells the beach was providing for entertainment. She had
been spared all that was possible of the depression and sorrow of
the past weeks. Daddy had been poorly for years and Edith could
not remember him as ever well and strong. His loss affected her
more because it grieved Estelle, the only mother she had known.

There had been a few sad confused days when nothing seemed real,
and strangers had been kind in a way that Estelle accepted with a
sort of resentful patience, plain even to Edith. But since then,
life had been rather cheerful, with a great deal of attention from
Nurse, and Estelle's time almost wholly given to her. It was
gratifying to share Sister's confidence and to help arrange the
rooms attractively for the possible delightful people who ought to
come to lodge with them.

That they might not be delightful, Sister would not admit for a
moment, so of course they would be. St. Aubin's itself was far
more desirable as a place of residence than the noisy Exeter
street where Edith had spent much of her life. Far back in the
past she could just remember a charming Surrey village with a
pretty vine-covered church where Daddy used to preach. She could
recall exactly how her fat legs dangled helplessly from the high
pew seat. Directly behind sat a stout farmer with four sons. The
boys made faces at Edith on the sly; their mother sometimes gave
her peppermints.

Edith's thoughts had wandered rather far afield, though still
alert for any gleam of the yellow shells, when she arrived
opposite Noirmont Terrace and reluctantly left the sands. A light
shone from the drawing-room and she knew that Annette would be
bringing in supper, and Sister would be found poring over a little
account book with a "don't speak just now" look in her eyes.

But Estelle proved to be waiting at the open door and as Edith
began to run on catching sight of her, she thought that Sister
somehow looked happier.

"Did you meet Mr. Angus?" Estelle inquired. "He went toward the
sands."

"I saw him in the distance," replied Edith. "Why, Star, you look
like--like a star," she ended laughing. "Was Mr. Angus agreeable?
Did he say you oughtn't to take people?"

"I think he doesn't wholly disapprove now," answered Estelle
gently. "And he is going to do what he can toward sending pleasant
lodgers. Wouldn't it be nice if some dear old ladies should come
and want to stay with us all winter?"

"Just ladies?" queried Edith. "Do they have to be old?"

"I shouldn't take gentlemen," said Estelle. "Nurse wouldn't
approve, and ladies would be pleasanter. Perhaps there might be a
young mother and some ducky little children. How would you like
that?"

"Much better," responded Edith. "I don't want any fussy old freaks
with false fronts and shawls. They'd expect to be read aloud to
and waited on within an inch of their lives. I'd like some babies
to take down to dig and paddle. Do say you'll have children,
Sister."

"Well, as a matter of fact, I think we'll have to take the people
who want to come," replied Estelle sensibly. "Let's just hope that
somebody very nice will think we'd be nice to stay with. Come in
now, Edith. Annette has shrimps for supper and after we are
finished, we will put a card in the window and see what happens
next."

But the little white card that most modestly announced "Lodgings"
remained in the drawing-room casement for a week, and every day as
Edith came from school, she looked anxiously to see whether it was
gone. Its absence would mean that some one had looked at the rooms
with approval.

One afternoon as she came up the Terrace, the sight of an unknown
face at an upper window sent a thrill down her back. The card was
yet in evidence but the presence of strangers indicated that some
one had felt attracted by Rose Villa. Yes, there was a cab at the
door.

As Edith entered quietly a voice struck her ear, struck it
unpleasantly, an English voice, high-pitched and rather
supercilious.

"I should require to see your kitchen, Miss Pearce, and your
servants. I am most particular. In fact, I must be free at any
time to inspect the scullery. There must be a definite arrangement
about Marmaduke's meals. He likes a light breakfast with plenty of
cream, and for dinner a chop or a bit of chicken. His dinner must
be served with my luncheon. Then for tea--"

"I am afraid my servants would be unwilling to cook especially for
a dog," interposed Estelle's voice, courteous but with a chilling
tone Edith had never suspected it possessed. "It is useless for
you to consider the lodgings."

"Oh, your rooms are very passable," said the voice. "Small, of
course, and underfurnished, but some pictures and antimacassars
would take off that bare look. And Marmaduke is adorable. Your
cook would soon be devotion itself. Why, at my last lodgings--"

"I really cannot undertake the care of a pet animal," said Estelle
firmly. "I hope to have other lodgers and his presence might be
objectionable to them. You will excuse me now, as I have an
engagement. I will ring for Nurse to show you out."

"Well, really, Miss Pearce," began the voice, but Nurse appeared
on the scene so promptly that one might have suspected her of
being all the time within hearing distance. Edith scuttled into
the drawing-room, just avoiding a very large, over-dressed person,
who came ponderously down the stairs, a moppy white dog festooned
over one arm. Her face was red and perspiring and she seemed to be
indignantly struggling with feelings too strong for words. Edith
could not suppress a stifled laugh as she was ushered from the
house in Nurse's grandest manner.

Emerging from her refuge, Edith saw Estelle on the landing, her
face pale except for a tiny red spot on either cheek, her eyes
unnaturally bright.

"My word, Star!" said Edith, giggling, "didn't you get rid of her
finely? What a fearful person!"

"She was impossible," said Estelle. "Oh, Nurse," she exclaimed
impetuously, seeing the old family servant still lingering in the
hall, "do you suppose only people like that will want lodgings?"

"No, indeed, my lamb," replied Nurse, casting a glance of
satisfaction after the cab disappearing from the terrace. "Don't
you fret, Miss Star, and don't you take the first people who come.
Just bide your time, and there'll be some quality who will be what
you ought to have."

"Mr. Angus thought Americans might be rather desirable," said
Estelle hesitatingly. To prepare Nurse for such a possibility
might be wise.

Nurse pursed her lips significantly. "Well, it's not for me to
disagree with the reverend gentleman," she remarked. "And I
haven't been in contact with Americans. No doubt they're well
enough in their country, but I hope, Miss Star, it'll be some of
our people that want to come. Now an elderly couple or some
middle-aged ladies would be quite suitable and proper, but
Americans--Well, I don't know."

Nurse shook her head dubiously as she left the room. Edith came to
put her arms about Estelle.

"What a fearful woman that was!" she repeated, drawing her sister
toward the window. "Poor Star, I'm sorry you had to talk to her.
Rooms underfurnished, indeed! And you tried so hard not to have
them crowded and messed with frightful crocheted wool things.
She'd want a tidy on every chair and extra ones for Sunday. And
you've made things so pretty, Star!"

"We think so, don't we!" replied Estelle, kissing her little
comforter. "Somebody may yet come who will agree with us. We won't
give up hope."

Estelle was silent for a moment. She did not want Edith to suspect
how very necessary it was that those rooms should prove attractive
to somebody.

"Is that the Southampton boat just rounding the point?" she added.
"She's extremely late."

"They must have had a rough passage," agreed Edith, looking at the
steamer ploughing into the smooth water of St. Aubin's bay. "Let's
put a wish on her, Star. Let's wish, _hard_, that she has on board
the nicest people that ever were and that they're coming straight
out here and say they'd like to spend the winter with us!"

CHAPTER II

FRAN ENGAGES LODGINGS

"I positively refuse," said Mrs. Thayne, "to go out again to-day.
And I wish you wouldn't go either, Wingate," she added to her older
son. "That steamer trip was frightful. What a night we did have!
As for you two," she went on to Frances and Roger, "I suppose you
won't be happy until you are off for an exploring expedition, but
I don't see how you can feel like it."

"Why, Mother, I wasn't seasick," said Roger, a handsome,
mischievous-looking boy about twelve. "I slept like a log till I
heard Win being--hmm--unhappy. That woke me but I turned over and
didn't know anything more till daylight."

"I shouldn't have been sick if you hadn't begun it, Mother,"
observed Frances, turning from the window overlooking the
esplanade. "I feel all right now. Mayn't Roger and I go down on
the beach or take a car ride?" she asked, eagerly.

"I don't imagine there are any electric cars on the island," said
Mrs. Thayne.

"But out here is a funny little steam tram marked St. Aubin's,"
interposed Frances. "It's going somewhere. Look at the dinky cars
with a kind of balcony and that speck of an engine."

"That's a pony engine for sure," drawled Win, joining his sister
at the window. Except that he was thin and fragile no one could
have known from Win's clever, merry dark face, how greatly he was
handicapped by a serious heart trouble. But the contrast between
his tall, loosely-knit figure and Fran's compact little person
brought a wistful expression into Mrs. Thayne's observant eyes.
Win was seventeen and had never been able to play as other boys
did. Probably all his life would be different, yet he was so
plucky and brave over his limitations.

"There's the _Lydia_ down in the harbor," exclaimed Frances. "My,
didn't she wiggle around last night!"

"Lydia, Lydia, why dost thou tremble?
Answer me true.
Traveler, traveler, I'll not dissemble,
'Tis but the screw.

Lydia, Lydia, why this commotion?
Answer me quick.
Traveler, traveler, 'tis but a notion.
You must be sick!"

drawled Win, following the direction of his sister's glance.

"Win, how bright of you!" she exclaimed. "I wish I could think of
things like that. But, Mother, mayn't we go out and take that
little train wherever it's going?"

"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Mrs. Thayne. "Take care of Fran,
Roger, and don't get separated. You might notice any attractive
places offering lodgings. We don't want to stay in this hotel all
winter and the sooner we are settled the better."

"Come along, Fran," exclaimed Roger. "That infant train is getting
a move on."

The two tore impetuously from the sitting-room. "Such energy!"
Mrs. Thayne remarked with a sigh. "Will you lie down here, Win?"

"No, I think I'll write a bit," replied her son. "I'm not so done
up as you are, Mother."

"Why Roger wasn't ill after the strange combination of food he ate
at Winchester last evening is a miracle," remarked Mrs. Thayne.
"Were you planning to write to Father?"

"I will," replied her son. "Mother, do go and rest. You look like
the latter end of a wasted life. But I hope the kids will light on
some lodgings. I've had enough of hotels. Nothing on earth is so
deadly dull and so deadly respectable as a first-class English
hotel."

"Why, of course it is respectable," said Mrs. Thayne, looking
rather puzzled.

"Thunder, yes! But it's so _fearfully_ proper! That head-waiter
down-stairs, with his side-whiskers and his velvet tread and his
confidential voice--why, when he came to take my order, I wanted
to pull his hair or do something to turn him into a human being."

Mrs. Thayne smiled. Much as she loved Win, she did not always
understand him. Shut out from active sports, Win had early taken
refuge in the world of books and his quick perceptions were often
those of a mature mind.

When his mother had gone into her room, Win settled himself by the
west window overlooking the bay where Castle Elizabeth rose on its
rock in the middle distance. Win looked at it approvingly,
promising himself later the fun of finding out its history and
present use. Just now, he would devote himself to getting the
family journal up to date for Father, on duty with the _Philadelphia_,
somewhere near Constantinople. It was to be on the same
side of the Atlantic that the Thaynes had come to England and
a slight attack of bronchitis on Win's part had resulted in this
additional trip. Jersey was reported to possess a mild climate as
well as good schools where Roger and Frances might have new and
probably interesting experiences. Win himself was not equal to
school routine, but there would doubtless be some tutor available
to give him an hour or two every day, a pleasant and easy task for
some young man, for Win was always eager to study when health
permitted.

Deep in his heart was the ever-present regret that he could not
enter Annapolis nor follow in the footsteps of his father, but if
an elder brother had any influence, Roger was going into the naval
service. At present, Roger showed no inclination to such a future,
and was but mildly interested in his father's career, but Captain
Thayne and Win shared an unspoken hope that a change would come
with the passing years.

For some time after finishing his letter, Win sat with eyes on
Castle Elizabeth, idly speculating about the coming winter. This
old-world island, with its differing customs and ancient
traditions seemed a place where most interesting things might
happen, a land of romance and fairy gold, offering possibilities
of strange adventure. Just because Win was debarred from most
boyish fun, his mind turned eagerly to deeds of daring. Visions of
pirates, smugglers, and buried hoards often danced through his
brain, and the least suggestion of any mystery was enough to
excite his keen interest. That hoary old castle on its island
proved a source of many romantic ideas to Win, who presently fell
into a day-dream.

The sun set in crimson splendor behind the castle towers and Win's
reverie changed to genuine slumber from which he was roused by the
reappearance of Mrs. Thayne.

"I'm sorry I waked you," she said. "I didn't notice that you were
asleep."

"Why, I didn't know I was," said Win lazily. "I must have been
dreaming and yet I thought I was awake. It was such an odd dream
about a young man or rather a boy, in queer clothes ornamented
with silver buttons and wearing his hair in curls over his
shoulders. I was following him somewhere through a passage, very
dark and narrow. Then suddenly we were in a room with a big
fireplace and books around the walls. It was a beautiful old room
but I never remember seeing a place like it. Some other people
came, all men, also in queer clothes and very quiet and serious.
On a table was food of some kind and this boy I had been following
began to eat but the others stood about, apparently consulting
over something. Then I woke. Wasn't it a crazy dream? Oh, the
reason we were in that passage was because something was lost. I
don't know what it was nor how I knew it was lost but we were
trying to find it."

"That was odd. You must have read something that suggested it,"
Mrs. Thayne began, just as Fran and Roger came into the room,
bursting with suppressed excitement. For a few moments they talked
in a duet.

"Mother, it's lovely over at St. Aubin's, ever so much nicer than
here," Fran began breathlessly, her brown eyes sparkling. "And
such a funny little train running along the esplanade!"

"You couldn't believe there was such a beach," put in Roger. "Why,
the tide goes out forever, clear to the horizon! Fellows were
playing football down there, two games. How much does this tide
rise, Win?"

"This book I've been reading says forty feet," replied his
brother.

"And the houses!" Fran went on breathlessly, "all colors, cream
and brown and blue and pink."

"Oh, draw it mild, Sis," interrupted Win. "I should admire a pink
house."

"It's out there," said Frances, "and what's more, it's very
pretty!"

"That's right," corroborated Roger. "Wouldn't a pink house look
something fierce at home? But here it's swell and kind of--of
appropriate," he ended lamely.

"And flowers, Mother," Frances took up the tale. "_Hedges_ of
fuchsia, real live tall hedges, not measly little potted plants.
Geraniums as tall as I am, and ever so many roses and violets. Oh,
and we've found some lodgings. You're to see them to-morrow."

"Frances!" exclaimed her horrified mother. "You haven't been in
strange houses, inspecting rooms?"

"Why, you told us to look for them, didn't you, Mother?" replied
her astonished and literal daughter. "Roger was with me. It was
perfectly all right."

"I simply meant you to notice from the outside any attractive
houses that advertised lodgings," explained Mrs. Thayne. "Well--"
she ended helplessly, "I suppose there's no harm done."

"Why, no," Frances agreed. "What could happen? Let me tell you
about them. We took the baby cars and got off at St. Aubin's
because that especial train didn't go any farther. It's lovely
there, Mother, and plenty of lodgings to let. We walked along and
saw one house that looked pleasant, so we went up and rang and a
maid showed us into a parlor. We knew right off we didn't want to
come there, because the place was so dark and stuffy and there
were fourteen hundred family photographs and knit woolen mats and
such things around. I was going to sit down but just as I got near
the chair,--it was rather dark, you see,--something said 'Hello!'
and there was a horrid great parrot sitting on the back of the
chair. I jumped about a foot."

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