In order to understand the events which were happening at the Dower
House we must go back for a period of some years in the history of the
family at the Castle. The late owner, Squire Trevellyan, having lost his
only child, had practically adopted his nephew L'Estrange Trevellyan as
his heir. He had indeed other nephews and nieces, but they were the
children of his sisters, and it seemed to him fitting that L'Estrange,
the only one who bore the family name of Trevellyan, should inherit his
Cornish estate. The young fellow was an immense favourite with his uncle
and aunt, they regarded him in the light of a son, the Castle was
considered his home, and they had even decided upon an alliance for him
with the daughter of a neighbouring baronet. But in this matter
L'Estrange had defied the wishes of the autocratic old squire, and,
making his own choice, had wedded a lady of less aristocratic birth. His
marriage caused a great coolness between himself and his uncle and aunt;
his bride was not asked to the Castle nor openly recognized, and he was
given to understand that he had seriously injured his chances of
succession to the estate. His cousins, who had long been jealous of his
prospects, were not slow to avail themselves of this opportunity, and
did all they could to make mischief and to widen the breach.
Matters went on thus for about ten years, during which time, though
Squire and Mrs. Trevellyan occasionally asked L'Estrange to the Castle,
they still refused to have anything to do with his wife, and did not see
either of his children. At the Squire's death there was great anxiety
among the relatives to know how he had disposed of his property. When
the will was read it was found that he had left the Castle and entire
estate to his wife, with power to bequeath it as she wished, and equal
money legacies to all his nephews and nieces; but at the end came a
codicil revoking the former part of the will, leaving only small
legacies to the other nephews and nieces, but a large sum to L'Estrange,
and bequeathing the Castle and property to him after Mrs. Trevellyan's
death. The relations, furiously angry to be thus cut out, disputed the
validity of the codicil. There were many points in its disfavour. The
lawyer who had drawn it up was dead, and of the two witnesses who had
signed their names to it one was missing and the other dead. There was
therefore not a solitary person left to vouch for it. The family decided
to go to law, and in the case which followed the handwriting experts
decided that the signature to the codicil was not genuine, giving it as
their opinion that it had been forged by L'Estrange Trevellyan.
The case against L'Estrange looked extremely black, for he had been
staying at the Castle at the time of his uncle's illness and death. In
view of the decision in the case a criminal charge of forgery was laid
against him, and a warrant issued for his arrest. Before it was out,
however, he had disappeared—no one knew whither.
To Mrs. Trevellyan the evidence seemed overwhelming, and in spite of her
great affection for her nephew, she believed him guilty. It had always
been her great wish that the Castle and estate should pass to one who
bore the name of Trevellyan, and at this dreadful crisis she offered to
adopt L'Estrange's little son, and to bring him up as heir to the
property. Her one condition was that she must have the child absolutely,
and that his father and mother should not attempt in any way to obtain
access to him. In his desperate circumstances L'Estrange had consented;
the boy was handed over to his great-aunt, and had been brought up at
the Castle without any remembrance of his own home and parents.
The affair had, of course, made a great stir in the neighbourhood, but
as L'Estrange had not remained in the country to face a prosecution, and
therefore no trial of the case had followed, opinions were divided as to
his guilt. In the course of five years the excitement had died down, and
though the story was well known at Pontperran it was regarded as the
Trevellyan family skeleton, and best buried in oblivion. Miss Birks had
tried to keep the matter from her pupils; they had a vague knowledge
that Ronnie's father was unsatisfactory, but they had been able to glean
no further details. In view, however, of the strange chain of events
which had just transpired, Miss Birks gave Deirdre and Dulcie, in
private, a hasty outline of the circumstances, telling them that Gerda
was in reality the daughter of Mr. L'Estrange Trevellyan, and that from
certain evidence which she had been able to collect she was confident of
disproving the charge which had been brought against her father.
Though the chums were thus briefly in possession of their school-mate's
secret, they felt there were many pieces in the puzzle which they could
not yet fit together. When they went to bed that night they begged Gerda
to give them a full and complete explanation. To their surprise she
immediately consented; indeed, instead of keeping her old habit of
reserve she seemed anxious to take them into her confidence and to pour
her whole story into their listening ears.
"If you're Ronnie's sister you can't be Gerda Thorwaldson," said Dulcie.
"I didn't know Ronnie had a sister. I thought he was an only child."
"There are just the two of us," replied Gerda. "I am nine years older
than he is, so I've always felt almost like a mother to him. Shall I
tell you everything? Quite from the beginning? Miss Harding will excuse
us for talking to-night. When our terrible trouble came upon us Ronnie
was only fifteen months old—such a darling! He could just walk and say
little words. I have his photo inside my work-box. You can imagine the
grief it was to part with him, our baby, who'd never been a day from us.
Mother was very brave—she realized that she had to decide between
Father and her boy, and of course she chose Father. We knew it was
entirely for Ronnie's good. Mrs. Trevellyan would bring him up in the
old family home as an English boy should be, and would make him her
heir; and we could only take him from one foreign place to another, and
give him nothing but poverty and a tarnished name. You know, of course,
that my father was accused of having forged a codicil to his uncle,
Squire Trevellyan's will. By a round of misfortune everything seemed to
combine in his disfavour. One witness to the codicil was dead, the other
was missing, and though advertisements were put in the papers offering a
reward for news of his whereabouts he could not be found. Mr. Forster,
the lawyer who had drawn up both the will and the codicil, was dead, so
there was no evidence on Father's side, and the case went heavily
against him.
"The codicil having been disproved, the public prosecutor stepped in and
issued a warrant to arrest my father on a charge of forgery. In the
circumstances, with no witnesses obtainable, it was not considered wise
for him to stand the doubtful chance of a trial, and acting on the
advice of his best friends, though very much against his own wishes, he
quietly left the country. For nearly five years he, Mother, and I have
lived together in various continental towns, constantly moving on, as we
feared the foreign police might recognize the description circulated at
the time of his escape and arrest him under an extradition warrant. For
safety we changed our name at almost every place. I cannot express the
wretched uncertainty and the misery of this hunted life, especially when
we knew the charge to be so utterly false. There would have been only
one worse evil—to see him wrongfully sentenced and sent to a convict
prison. The dread of that possible horror we endured from day to day.
Meantime Mother, though she would not confess it, fretted terribly at
Ronnie's loss. As year after year went by, and she pictured him growing
older, it became harder and harder for her to exist without hearing the
least word about him.
"'If I had even one poor little snapshot photo it would comfort me,' she
said once. 'It would show me my darling is well and happy and cared for
in his new home.'
"Then an idea came to me. Though I had never been at Pontperran in my
life I had often heard my father speak of the Dower House, and I knew it
was close to the Castle. I begged to be sent to school there, for I
thought I should find some opportunity of seeing Ronnie, and not only
taking a photo of him, but sending first-hand news about him to Mother.
I hoped also—but it seemed such a forlorn hope!—that if I were on the
spot I might pick up some information that might throw a light on the
case and help to clear my father's honour. There seemed little risk of
my being detected, for Mrs. Trevellyan had never seen me—Aunt Edith, I
ought to call her—and I meant to keep carefully out of her way.
"Mother jumped at my suggestion. I could see that the mere chance of
news of Ronnie put fresh life into her, and after some persuasion Father
agreed to let me go. I took the name of Gerda Thorwaldson, and the
letters to Miss Birks, arranging for me to be received as a pupil, were
written from Donnerfest, a little town in Germany. Mother brought me to
London, and put me safely into the train for Cornwall. Then she used the
opportunity of being in England to pay quiet visits to some of her own
relations whom she had not seen for many years.
"My father had a friend, a man who believed in his innocence, and did
his best to help him. This Mr. Carr took him a cruise on his yacht, and
came to Cornish waters, tacking about the coast from Avonporth to
Kergoff. By borrowing the yacht's dinghy, Father was able sometimes to
land near Portperran and meet me for a few minutes. Of course it was a
terribly risky thing to do, for he was liable to be arrested any moment
that he set his foot on English soil; but he longed so much to see me,
and, above all, to hear what I could tell of Ronnie. He was so anxious
to catch a glimpse of the little fellow for himself that he insisted
upon venturing farther on shore. He knew the secret of the barred room,
so, bringing with him an oil cooking-stove, a kettle, and a few other
things from the yacht, he took up his quarters there for a while.
"I was in an agony lest he should be discovered. I cannot tell you what
I suffered on this account. He did not stay the whole time at the cave;
indeed he lived mostly on the yacht, but kept spending occasional nights
in the secret room. I never knew whether he was there or not, and the
uncertainty made me wretched.
"During the last five years we had seemed continually to be standing on
the brink of a volcano, and I was always prepared to face the worst.
"I can scarcely express how deeply I realized the difference between
myself and all the other girls at school. I know you thought me reserved
and uncommunicative and stand-off and everything that is disagreeable,
but I simply dared not talk, for fear I might reveal something that
would betray my father. You with your happy homes, and nothing to
conceal, how can you understand what it is perpetually to guard a
dreadful secret? I could tell you nothing about my home, for we had no
home, we had only moved on from one lodging to another, and left no
address behind. I could see that you misjudged me, and were full of
suspicions, but I could not explain.
"You were annoyed with me for winning favour with Ronnie. You would not
have grudged me his affection if you had known how I had craved for him
all these years, and how hard, how very hard it was to be obliged to
treat him as if I were an entire stranger, instead of his own sister.
Then I was terribly afraid of meeting Mrs. Trevellyan, lest she should
recognize my likeness to my father and guess our secret. I avoided her
on every possible occasion, and on the whole I managed very successfully
to keep out of her way.
"But Mother was pining and yearning to see Ronnie. The little photos I
had sent, and my descriptions of him, added to the fact of her being in
England, so near to him, only made her long for him more bitterly than
before. It seemed so cruel that she—his own mother—must be so utterly
parted from him. I was determined that she should have at least the poor
satisfaction of seeing him, and I plotted and schemed to contrive a
meeting. I decided that on the night of the beacon fire I might manage
to carry Ronnie away for a few minutes, so as to give the opportunity we
wanted. I cajoled him with promises of fairies, and persuaded him quite
easily to go with me to find them. Father, who was as anxious and
excited as Mother, was waiting with a boat, but you know the rest, for
you followed us. Perhaps Mrs. Trevellyan suspected something—she must
have known shortly afterwards, for she recognized Father when he rescued
Ronnie on the cliff. I heard her call him by his name. Father used to be
her favourite nephew, indeed he was almost like a son to her, but she
had believed him guilty, and had told him never to show his face to her
again. Even before Squire Trevellyan's death there had already been an
estrangement between them because of his marriage. My mother was not
their choice, and on this account Mrs. Trevellyan objected to her, and
only once consented to meet her. Though Father sometimes went to the
Castle to visit his uncle and aunt, my mother and I were never invited
there, and Mrs. Trevellyan had not seen Ronnie until she adopted him.
"After the beacon fire I felt I had accomplished one part at least of my
mission at school. Mother had seen and kissed her boy, and she seemed a
little comforted and cheered in consequence. But the greater task which
I had set myself, that of clearing my father's name, was still
untouched. One possible clue there was which I thought I might follow
up. Do you remember how in February we went to Forster's Folly? I knew
that Mr. Forster had been the lawyer who drew up Squire Trevellyan's
will and the famous codicil. That was the reason why I was so anxious to
go into the house, and so excited when we found those letters lying
about upstairs. I would have stayed to look at them if I had dared. You
Deirdre, tore off a scrap of a letter with a crest on it, to take for
your collection. Now that crest was the boar's head of the Trevellyans,
which I knew very well, for it used to be on our own note-paper before
our trouble came. You had torn the piece from the rest of the letter,
but I could read—
"'Dear Forst ..
"'Kindly c.....'
And on turning the scrap over I found on the other side—
"'wish to ...
"'extra codi......'
"Could it be possible, I speculated, that this was a portion of an
original letter sent by Squire Trevellyan to Mr. Forster, asking him to
come to the house, as he wished to make an extra codicil to his will? If
that were really so, it would make a most important piece of evidence. I
begged you to give me the crest, but you would not part with it then,
and locked it up. I was most anxious to go to Forster's Folly again and
try to find the rest of the letter, but I never found an opportunity
until last week. It was too far to venture in our recreation time, and I
dare not be absent from school for hours without leave. I would have
told Mother and asked her to go, but there were two reasons against
this. We feared she might be known to the police, and that they would
watch her so as to obtain some clue to my father's whereabouts, so she
did not wish to venture into Cornwall while he was near the coast. When
she came to see Ronnie she went over first to France, and our friend
fetched her from there in the yacht, and took her back to St. Malo, so
that she need not be seen on the South-Western Railway.
"My second reason was that until I could be sure that the other part of
the letter really contained what I expected, it seemed cruel to raise
false hopes. If you had seen, as I have, the bitter, bitter tragedy of
my parents' lives, you would understand how I wanted to spare them a
disappointment. So I waited and waited, and at last my opportunity came.
Circumstances were kind, and when we had our whole day's holiday, I was
chosen as a hare. Oh, how rejoiced I was when you decided to go past the
windmill to Kergoff! I was determined to put in a visit somehow to the
old house, but it came so naturally when we needed more paper. To my
intense delight I found the other portion of the letter that I wanted,
and then you were kind and gave me the scrap with the crest. The two fit
exactly together. Look, I will show you! This is what they make when
joined—
"'The Castle,
"'Thursday.
"'Dear Forster,
"'Kindly come to-morrow morning about eleven, if you can make
that convenient, as I want to consult you on a matter of some
importance. Those Victoria Mine shares have gone up beyond my
wildest dreams, and I'm thinking of selling out now, and
clearing what I can. They'll make a difference to my estate, and
to meet this I wish to add an extra codicil to my will.
L'Estrange is here, so you will see him. I have not been well—a
touch of the old heart trouble, I am afraid. I must ask Jones to
arrange for me to consult a London specialist. If you cannot
come to-morrow morning, please arrange Saturday.
"'Sincerely yours,
"'Richard Trevellyan.'
This is very strong evidence that Squire Trevellyan intended making the
codicil to his will. I am longing to show it to Father and Mother, but
they are both away cruising in the yacht. I don't know where they are
now; they promised to send me word when it was safe for me to write to
them.
"When we began to hear those strange noises in the barred room, and
yesterday you discovered the secret of its entrance, I was dreadfully
alarmed. I thought my father must have come back again in spite of my
warnings that the cave was unsafe. I felt so nervous and uneasy that at
last I decided to go and see for myself, and beg him not to stay.
"When I reached the entrance, however, I did not dare to go in alone, in
case it should be somebody else instead of my father who was there. I
reproached myself for my cowardice, but I was only just screwing my
courage to the point when you two arrived with Miss Birks. I need not
tell you how relieved I was when we did not find my father. You saw my
frantic excitement when it turned out that the tramp whom we discovered
was no other than Abel Galsworthy, the missing witness to the will? With
his oath and this precious, precious letter the evidence ought to be
complete. Oh, the rapture of the day when Father's name is cleared and
his honour restored, and he can live anywhere he likes, openly and
without fear. Now I have told you my whole story. I'm sure you'll see
why I was so queer and secretive, and so different from other girls."
"We understand and sympathize now," said Deirdre, "but you puzzled us
very much at the time."
"We thought you were a German spy," chuckled Dulcie. "We were going to
get great credit by finding out your wicked plot against England, and
informing the Government!"
"Had you anything to do with that man in the aeroplane? Why, I'd almost
forgotten him!" exclaimed Deirdre.
"I never even knew there was an aeroplane here," protested Gerda.
"You haven't told us your real name yet," urged Dulcie.
"Mary Gerda Trevellyan. Father and Mother have always called me Mamie,
but I like Gerda best, and when I came to school I begged to be 'Gerda
Thorwaldson', so that part at least of my name was genuine."
"Weren't you afraid that Mrs. Trevellyan might discover you through
that?"
"She had always heard me alluded to as Mamie. We thought she had
probably quite forgotten the 'Gerda'."
"There's one thing I still can't understand," said Dulcie. "We found out
the entrance to the barred room, but why was it ever barred? It seems so
extraordinary—right in the middle of a school."
"I can explain that too," returned Gerda. "Father has often told me the
story. Years and years ago Squire and Mrs. Trevellyan had one only
child, a little girl named Lillie. Father was very fond of this cousin,
and they were almost like brother and sister together. Then, when she
was ten years old, she died. At that time they were living at the Dower
House, because alterations were being made at the Castle. Her death was
very sudden—she was only ill a few hours. One day she was laughing and
playing about, and on the next she was dead. Her poor father and mother
were simply heart-broken. They took her toys, and all her little
treasures, and put them in her bedroom, which they left just as if she
were going to occupy it still. Then they locked up the door and barred
it, and declared that during their lifetime nobody should ever enter. It
was to be sacred to Lillie, and no one else must use it. My father, of
course, knew about it, and he also knew of the secret passage—an old
smuggler's way—that led into it from the cave. The door of this passage
had been carefully nailed up before Lillie used the room, but he had
heard that it opened over the fireplace. In his desperate need of a safe
shelter he remembered this place, came up the passage, then forced the
door and found his way into the room. He said it was surely no crime,
for 'little Cousin Lillie' had been fond of him, and always ready to
screen him in his boyish days, so he thought, if she could know, she
would be glad for him to use what had once been hers."
"I haven't asked half all yet," persisted Dulcie. "Do you remember when
first you came to school, we all tried our luck at St. Perran's well,
and you were the only one who did the right things, and whose stick
floated away? How did you manage it?"
Gerda smiled.
"Father had often told me about the well, and the exact way to perform
St. Perran's ceremony. He used to try it with Lillie when he was a
little boy. He said half the secret was to unstop the channel above the
spring. My wish was that I might clear his name, so you see it came
true, though at the time it seemed as unlikely as flying in an aeroplane
to America."
"You put a message in a bottle and threw it into the sea for your
father," said Deirdre. "You didn't know Dulcie and I fished it out?"
"Oh! Did you?" said Gerda reproachfully. "Then that was the letter he
never received?"
Gerda's discovery in Abel Galsworthy of the missing witness for whom
such long search had been made was certainly a very fortunate
circumstance for that worthy. Instead of being handed over to the
police, and prosecuted for trespassing and pilfering, he found himself
provided with new clothes, comfortably lodged in the village, and given
a promise of work when his important part in the law proceedings should
be over. At present he was the hero of the hour, for on his word alone
hung Mr. Trevellyan's honour. As the other witness and the lawyer were
both dead, his oath to his signature would be sufficient to prove the
genuineness of the codicil. There were, of course, elaborate legal
proceedings to be taken. Mr. Trevellyan appealed for a reversal of the
judgment in the former trial, and the case would have to wait its turn
before it could come before the court. As the warrant for his arrest was
still technically in force, he was obliged to continue living on the
yacht until his innocence had been officially recognized—a state of
affairs that greatly roused Gerda's indignation, though Miss Birks
preached patience.
"I wanted Father and Mother to come to the prize-giving," she lamented.
"These legal difficulties cannot be rolled away in a few days," said
Miss Birks. "Let us be thankful that we can count upon success later
on."
Now that Gerda no longer needed to hide a tragic secret, her whole
behaviour at the Dower House had altered, and her schoolfellows hardly
recognized in the merry, genial, sociable companion, which she now
proved, the silent recluse who had given her confidence to nobody. In
this fresh attitude she was highly popular; the romance of her story
appealed to the girls, and they were anxious to make up to her for
having misjudged her. Also they greatly appreciated her newly-discovered
capacity for fun and humour.
"Gerda never made one solitary joke before, and now she keeps us
laughing all day," said Betty Scott.
"How could she laugh when she was carrying that terrible burden all the
time?" commented Jessie Macpherson. "Poor child! No wonder she's
different now the shadow's removed from her life."
"We'll have ripping fun with her next term," anticipated Annie Pridwell.
Meanwhile very little of the old term was left. The dreaded examination
week arrived, bringing Dr. Harvey James to test those who were to
undergo the piano ordeal, and Mr. Leonard Pearce to criticize the
artistic efforts. In the other subjects there were written papers, which
were corrected and judged by the donors of the prizes. In spite of much
apprehension on the part of the girls, Dr. Harvey James made a good
impression, and did not turn out to be the strict martinet they
expected; indeed he commented so kindly and so helpfully on their
playing that they began to look forward to their lessons with him during
the forthcoming autumn.
The art class spent a delightful though anxious afternoon, sketching a
group of picturesque Eastern pots artistically grouped by Mr. Leonard
Pearce, who was kind and charitable in his criticisms of their little
exhibition of paintings hung in the big classroom. To their delight he
finished his visit by himself making a study of the pots, while they
stood round and watched his clever brush dabbing on the colour with
swift and skilful strokes.
"Miss Birks is going to have his sketch framed," said Deirdre
appreciatively, when he had gone.
"I wish he could teach us every week," declared the art enthusiasts.
"Ah! you see, he lives in London, and only comes to Cornwall sometimes
for a holiday. But Miss Birks has promised to get an artist next summer
to give us sketching lessons."
One advantage of the smallness of the school was that it was not a
lengthy matter to correct the examination papers of only twenty pupils.
That work was soon over, and the girls had not long to remain in
suspense before the lists were ready. The annual prize-giving was always
the occasion of a social gathering. Some of the girls' parents came
down for it, and friends in the neighbourhood were invited. If the
weather were favourable, it was generally held in the garden, and this
time, the sky being cloudless, all arrangements had been made on the
lawn, where the gardener had erected a temporary platform. It seemed a
great day to Gerda, as she came downstairs in her white dress, and
watched the company that was already beginning to arrive. If only her
father and mother could have been numbered among the guests her bliss
would have been complete. Ronnie, however, was running in and out like a
sunbeam, and her aunt had spoken to her, and had been kindness itself.
"We must all let bygones be bygones now, my dear, and rejoice together
at this happy ending of our troubles," said Mrs. Trevellyan. "I hope you
will soon come to know the Castle as well as Ronnie does, and feel
equally at home there."
Most of the prizes fell exactly as had been expected. Jessie Macpherson
won the lion's share in the Sixth, Hilda Marriott scored the record for
Va, and Barbara Marshall and Romola Harvey divided the honours of Vb.
Deirdre got "highly commended" for both music and drawing, but Dulcie,
despite her valorous spurt at the finish, had no luck. She was only too
delighted, however, to find that the prize for which she had tried—that
for general improvement—had been awarded to Gerda.
"She deserves it if anyone does," she whispered to Deirdre. "I say,
dare we start three cheers for her?"
"We'll risk it," returned Deirdre, augmenting the applause by a vigorous
"Hip-hip-hip hooray!" which was at once taken up by the entire school.
Gerda, red as a rose, walked back from the platform, blushing now with
real bashfulness, instead of her old nervous apprehension. Ronnie was
waving his little hat and shouting the shrillest of cheers, and Mrs.
Trevellyan was clapping her best.
"Ave! Ave! winner of General Improvement!" exclaimed the members of Vb,
as they welcomed her back to their particular bench. "Miss Birks
couldn't have given it better!"
Gerda's eyes filled with tears.
"I'm glad if you do find me improved," she said. "It's ever so nice of
you to be kind to me now. I was horrid before—and I knew it—but I
couldn't help it."
"We understand exactly," sympathized the girls.
There is very little more of our story left to be told. Mr. Trevellyan
won his case, and successfully proved his innocence to the whole world.
Restored to good name and fortune, he has taken "Overdale", a pretty
house in the neighbourhood of Pontperran, which happened to be to let.
Gerda continues a pupil at the Dower House, though she is often able to
visit her own home. Ronnie, while he will see his aunt every day, is to
live with his parents, a fitting and also a very salutary arrangement,
for he is no longer a baby, and was growing too much for Mrs.
Trevellyan's and Miss Herbert's powers of management. The self-willed
little fellow respects his father's authority, and will run far less
risk of getting spoilt than when he was "King of the Castle".
"In a year or two the young rascal will be old enough for school," said
Mr. Trevellyan, "and in the meantime he must get to know his mother and
me."
Gerda is immensely delighted with her new home, and very proud to take
school friends there on half-holidays. Deirdre and Dulcie are frequent
visitors. Abel Galsworthy, a reformed character after his wanderings, is
gardener at Overdale, and likely to prove a most devoted servant; and as
for the torn letter, it is framed and glazed, and occupies the place of
honour on the wall over the chimney-piece in Gerda's bedroom.
Transcriber's Note:
Punctuation has been standardised. Hyphenation and spelling have been
retained as they appear in the original publication except as follows:
Page 121
through the field-glasses as he disappeard changed to
through the field-glasses as he disappeared
Page 184
and fetched limpets and perwinkles changed to
and fetched limpets and periwinkles
Page209
Irene's dyspepia, and Elyned's attacks of faintness changed to
Irene's dyspepsia, and Elyned's attacks of faintness
