way about.
Both Martha and Ellen professed themselves delighted to show them over the house, and so both of them accompanied the two girls on a tour of inspection. Martha, who liked to do things thoroughly while she was about it, insisted on them seeing every room and cupboard from top to bottom of the house, with the exception, of course, of the locked-up room at the end of the first floor landing.
On this landing there were five rooms: the locked-up room ran right across the front of the house, the locked door being opposite the stair-head; on either side of the landing were two rooms—all four to be used as bedrooms for the girls, each having a separate room to herself. The rooms allotted to Pamela and Isobel Prior were on the left, Isobel's adjoining the locked room; Beryl's room was opposite to Pamela's, and her next-door neighbour was to be Caroline Weston.
Another flight of stairs, starting near by Beryl's door, led up to Martha's and Ellen's rooms, the bath-room and airing cupboards, and another spare bedroom.
The ground floor included the dining-room (which we have already seen) and, on the opposite side of the hall, a large drawing-room with French windows that led into the garden. Next door to the dining-room, and at the back of the house, was a queer little room with books all round the walls, a huge writing-desk (much too large for the rest of the furniture), half a dozen odd chairs, an old spinning-wheel, and a glass cabinet full of curiosities. This was called the 'study,' Martha said, where Miss Crabingway read or attended to her correspondence; but, in spite of the books, it looked more like an interesting museum of odds and ends. A spacious kitchen and scullery with a big larder, and a cosy little sitting-room, leading out of the kitchen, and set apart for the use of Martha and Ellen, completed the ground floor.
There seemed to be a good many windows in each room, so it ought to be a light house in the daytime, Pamela thought; otherwise her first impression of sombre richness was strengthened after seeing over the rest of the house. The furniture and fittings were all good and heavy-looking; the walls were everywhere crowded with pictures—some originals, some copies of well-known pictures, and some photographic picture studies of people and places. There were carpets and dark furniture in every room. And what struck Pamela as being very strange was that each room in the house had at least one odd-sized piece of furniture in it—either much too large or much too small to be in keeping with the rest of the room; and this particular piece, in each case, seemed to occupy a very prominent position, so that one couldn't help noticing it. It reminded Pamela of the doll's house belonging to Olive at home, where the doll's kettle and saucepan were the same size as the chairs, and too big to stand on the doll's kitchen stove. She wondered how Miss Crabingway had come to possess these odd bits of furniture, and was just looking at the extraordinarily small piano-stool set before the huge grand piano in the drawing-room, when a sudden ring at the bell announced a fresh arrival, and Martha hurried out of the room to open the front door.
CHAPTER IV
THE ROOM WITH THE LOCKED DOOR
Isobel Prior and Caroline Weston had arrived together, having travelled in the same railway carriage, each ignorant of the fact that the other was bound for Chequertrees, until the waiting cab at the station had made this known to them.
"I'm simply dead," were the first words Pamela heard as she came out of the drawing-room to greet the new-comer. The speaker was a well-dressed, fluffy-haired girl with an aristocratic voice and bearing, who was standing in the hall amid a pile of luggage.
"Why, that sounds a cheerful beginning! Who is it that's dead?" asked Pamela laughingly, as she came forward.
The girl stared rather haughtily at Pamela for a second, then smiled and shook hands.
"Oh, I suppose you are Miss Heath," she said. "I am Miss Prior. I've had a perfectly impossible journey here to-day, and I'm simply fagged out and perishingly cold."
"We must get you something hot to drink," said Pamela, "and you must have a good rest. Would you like to come straight into the dining-room and have a warm—there's a lovely fire there—or would you rather go up to your bedroom first?"
"Oh, please—a wash and tidy up first," said Isobel. "I must look such a fright–"
And then Pamela noticed that another girl was standing beside Martha, just inside the front door. A big plush curtain in the hall almost hid her from view.
"I'm awfully sorry—I didn't see anyone else had arrived," said Pamela. "Are you—are you Miss Caroline Weston?"
The girl gazed stolidly at Pamela—a heavily-made girl, plumpish, and wearing spectacles; she carried a very neat handbag in one hand and a very neatly rolled umbrella in the other hand.
"Y-e-s," she said, in a slow, drawling voice.
Pamela shook her warmly by the hand, and then offered to take the two girls upstairs and show them their rooms. As they passed the drawing-room door Pamela caught sight of Beryl, who was waiting shyly in the background, and she immediately introduced her to the others.
"Beryl and I have just been shown over the house," Pamela explained. "We only arrived to-day, of course—a few hours ago—I expect you're too tired to want to bother to see all round to-night, and if you are you must go over it in the morning. Then we shall all know our way about, shan't we? Come along, Beryl, let's take these poor weary travellers up to their rooms. And, Martha, can we have some hot supper—in about twenty minutes, please?"
Once again the house was astir with the bustle of welcoming the latest arrivals. Martha vanished into the kitchen to prepare something hot and tasty for supper, while Ellen hurried to and fro with warm water for washing, and carried boxes and parcels upstairs, and lit gases, and pulled down blinds, and generally made herself useful, while Pamela, followed by Beryl, showed Isobel and Caroline to their rooms, doing her best as hostess to make them feel comfortable and at home.
Over supper the four girls became better acquainted. Naturally they were all very curious to know why Miss Crabingway had invited the four of them to Chequertrees, and they studied each other with interest, trying to find an answer to the riddle. Following Pamela's friendly lead they talked of themselves, and their homes, and the journey to Barrowfield. That is, all of them talked a good deal with the exception of Beryl, who still seemed very shy and only spoke when she was addressed directly.
Pamela was in one of her 'beamy' moods that night. She beamed and laughed and talked and thoroughly enjoyed herself during supper, not a little excited by all the strange surroundings and the strange new acquaintances she was making; perhaps it was her genuine interest in everything and everybody that made her so jolly a companion—and so unself-conscious a one. Anyway, she liked girls—nearly all girls—and they liked her as a rule. Of course she had her dislikes, but on the whole she got on very well with girls of her own age. How was she going to like and get on with these girls, all about her own age, who were sitting at supper with her this evening, she asked herself.
She felt vaguely sorry for Beryl, as if she wanted to protect her, because Beryl seemed so painfully shy and ill at ease; her clothes were cheap-looking and unsuitable for the time of year.
Isobel seemed to Pamela to be slightly disdainful of everything and everybody; she had a habit of over-emphasizing unimportant words when she talked, and appeared at times to exaggerate too much. Her clothes were well chosen and evidently of very good material, and well tailored. Her features, framed by her pretty, fluffy hair, were clear-cut and refined; she would have been a pretty girl had it not been for her eyes, which were deep-set and a trifle too close together. She talked a good deal about her 'mater' and 'pater,' and her brother Gerald and his motor-car.
Caroline, beside Isobel, looked very plain, and almost dowdy, in spite of the fact that her clothes were good—the
