The Secret of Grey Walls

Malcolm Saville

William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., London and Glasgow. First published in Armada in 1975 by Fontana Paperbacks, 14 St. James's Place, London SW1A 1PS.

This impression 1979. © Malcolm Saville

Printed in Great Britain by Love & Malcomson Ltd., Brighton Road, Redhill, Surrey.

FOR MY WIFE

CONDITIONS OF SALE:

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Foreword

Clungunford and Clunbury, Clunton and Clun,
Are the quietest places under the Sun.

If you can find a map large enough to show the towns and villages in the counties of Shropshire, Hereford and Radnor, and then study it carefully, you may find for yourself the four villages mentioned in the old rhyme. Clun, the last-named, is the scene of this story.

Look for it this way. First find Shrewsbury on your map and then follow the black railway line south in the direction of Ludlow and Hereford until you come to a strangely-named junction called Craven Arms. Look now for a road leaving this little town and running west - this is the road along which all the Lone Piners, except Peter, travelled on that cold December day on which their adventure started - and follow it until you find, as they did, that Clun might well be the quietest place under the sun.

Clun is the largest of the four places named after the little river which rises over the Welsh border and slips down the valley between the wooded hills by the Craven Arms road.

There seems no particular reason why Clun should exist to-day, but it does, and you can go there for yourself. You can stand on the narrow stone bridge where Penny and the others stood while Alan Denton dashed past them on his bicycle on his way to find Clun's policeman. You can climb the grassy hill up which the twins led the two new members of the Club and stand beside the now crumbling ruins of the castle which was built soon after the Norman Conquest. From here, high above the crowded roofs of Clun town, while the sweet wind sings in your ears, you can look west over wild and rolling country into Wales, which is only a few miles distant. All this land was once a forest.

Offa's Dyke wants some finding, but for many miles it still runs as straight as a rule through the heather.

All this country is rich in history and tradition. Climb Bury Hill and look for the remains of the camps and forts the ancient Britons made; you may be lucky enough, as many others have, to pick up a flint arrowhead. Explore the road that swings up and down hill to the market town of Bishop's Castle and then, another day, try to find an old inn that reminds you of the one to which Mr Cantor took Dickie and Mary.

There is no other place in England quite like hidden, mysterious Clun, but although the castle, the bridge and the river are real enough, you will never find the house called Keep View, nor the farm Bury Fields, and neither, I am sorry to tell you, is there really a mysterious house called Grey Walls. I made all these up and they are as imaginary as the characters you will meet in these pages.

But I hope you will like the children and people you can never actually meet as much as the real Clun and its wild hills if you are ever lucky enough to go there.

I must also explain that this special edition is a little shorter than the original story which was first published in 1947, but the adventure, which I hope you will find exciting, has not been altered.

M. S.

The Lone Pine Club

The Lone Pine Club was founded as a secret society of young friends, at a lonely house called Witchend in a hidden valley of the Long Mynd in Shropshire. The first headquarters of the Club was in a clearing, marked by a solitary pine tree, on the slopes of this valley. The original rules of the Club are very simple and are set out in full in Mystery at Witchend, which is the first story about the Lone Piners and was written over twenty years ago. Many readers have asked that the Lone Piners should not grow older from book to book, but as they have now had eighteen adventures - the list is on the last page of this book - it has become necessary to make some of them a little older, and to behave as if, like you, they are living in the 1970's.

There are now nine members of the Lone Pine Club but it is not usual for them all to be featured in each adventure. The following appear in this story and their ages are the same as when Grey Walls was first written:

PETRONELLA (PETER) STERLING. Age 16. No mother, brothers or sisters, but lives with her father, who is in charge of a reservoir at Hatchholt, near Witchend. Vice-captain of the Club, and its co-founder, with the captain-

DAVID MORTON. Age 16. Peter's devoted friend, David lives in London with his parents, but they all come to Witchend, their holiday home, as often as they can.

RICHARD (DICKIE) AND MARY MORTON. David's brother and sister are identical, 10 year old twins.

JONATHAN (JON) WARRENDER. A few months older than David. Lives with his widowed mother at the Gay Dolphin Hotel in Rye, Sussex, where he first met the Mortons and shared an exciting adventure with them, and his red-headed cousin-

PENELOPE (PENNY) WARRENDER. A year younger than Jon. Her parents live abroad and in the holidays she too lives at the Dolphin.

TOM INGLES. A Londoner who now lives with his uncle and aunt and works on their farm near Witchend. Age 16 and now becoming reconciled to country life. Quick witted, brave and liked by everyone who knows him - and very particularly by

JENNY HARMAN. Age 15. She lives with her father and step-mother in a village called Barton Beach a few miles from Witchend. She is an only girl, an enthusiastic member of the Club and a loyal friend.

The latest member, who is not featured in this story, is a Londoner called HARRIET SPARROW who is a special favourite of the twins. MACBETH, the Morton's black Scottie, may also be considered a "founder member"!

1. Peter's Dream

This story begins two nights after Christmas in Petronella Sterling's little bedroom high under the roof of Hatchholt, a sturdy little house which takes its name from a nearby reservoir in the windy heights of the Long Mynd in the county of Shropshire.

Peter, as her friends call her, was dreaming - a strangely vivid dream, which was almost more real than reality. She was searching for someone or something very important. She had a feeling of great urgency in this dream. There was something which had to be done and which she was sure nobody could do better than herself, but she struggled in vain to remember what it was.

Then, like the veil of gauze that is raised sometimes before the last scene of a pantomime, Peter began to see the dream country through which she was running. First, she realized that everything around her was cold and grey, but the light was so weird that she could not tell whether it was day or night. Soon, then, she realized that she was stumbling downhill through heather that scratched her legs, towards a little clump of pine trees in a hollow. She turned her head and, with a sudden shock, saw that she was not alone. A few yards to her left a girl of about her own age was running with her, and as Peter looked at her with curiosity, the girl turned towards her and gave her a friendly smile.

Peter was certain that she had never seen her companion before but felt that she also was searching and, in a way, believed that they were perhaps both seeking the same thing. Unlike many dreams Peter found that she had lost the power of speech. So, without words, the two girls ran on down the slope while a bitter wind whistled round them and swayed the branches of the trees in the spinney below. The country was wild and desolate and Peter was sure that she had never seen it before.

At last they reached the trees and stood, still without words, while the strong wind at their backs moaned through the tree tops. For a long minute Peter felt that they were both waiting for something to happen, for suddenly even the wind died away and the trees around them stood still like silent sentinels. Then the girl at her side broke the spell by stepping forward to where they could see, between the trees, a rough cart-track winding downhill. She clutched Peter's arm and pointed ahead, and suddenly Peter felt that the ugly, grey-walled house in the hollow below them was one of the things for which she had been searching.

What did she want in this strange house? What secret was it keeping from her and why did she feel so strongly even now that she must go down to the big double gates set in the high stone walls to see what else she could discover?

Without a word to each other the two girls left the whispering trees behind them and went on down the cart-track together. And as they went it seemed to Peter that the light was changing, and before they had gone many yards the dream country was bathed in silver moonlight. Another few steps and the sky was flecked with scarlet, and when she turned to look over her shoulder Peter saw that all the moorland behind was on fire. Without either fear or surprise the two girls stood and watched the trees in the spinney flare up like giant torches and then, as the cruel wind swept the flames down towards them and the strange house, Peter woke.

It was very cold. As usual her bedroom window was open, and the curtains were rustling gently in the wind. Her window, under the eaves, faced east and as she turned over and snuggled down in the warm bed, Peter saw that the sun was up and knew that it must be just after eight o'clock. She was just slipping back into sleep again when she heard footsteps on the stairs, and her bedroom door was opened. She sat up in bed.

"Daddy! You've brought me a cup of tea."

Mr Sterling smiled slowly at his daughter over the top of his spectacles.

"So you are awake, my dear... Good morning. And what are you going to do to-day?"

"I'm going to Witchend again for the day. Mrs Morton asked me last night. You don't mind, do you, Daddy?"

"The Mortons are very kind to you, my dear, and if the weather holds you will have a good day. A few more frosts and we shall be able to invite them all to skate on the water here. Breakfast in ten minutes."

When Peter came down the sun was high enough to shine in through the kitchen windows and set all the brass and copper and china plates gleaming. It was David Morton who had once said that the Hatchholt kitchen reminded him of a lighthouse because everything was so bright and clean.

After she had helped her father wash up Peter ran out to find Sally, her pony. Putting her fingers to her mouth, she whistled shrill and clear, and Sally came trotting over to her and nuzzled for the potato or carrot which she knew her mistress was hiding in her pocket. Sally was not a show pony and not even very good looking, but she was faithful, intelligent, and almost tireless in the hill country, and Peter could do anything with her.

When the pony was saddled and tied to the gate-post, Peter ran in for her gloves and two extra jerseys, for although the sun was well up the sky now, it was still bitterly cold. The underneath jersey was as blue as the shirt she always wore with her jodhpurs, but the top jersey with its rolled collar was scarlet. Mrs Morton had knitted this for Peter and given it to her for Christmas.

"When will you be back?" Mr Sterling asked plaintively as his daughter swung into the saddle.

"Not to dinner, Dad... Tea, I expect... Expect me when you see me, and don't worry. 'Bye!"

As she rode down the winding valley she knew so well, she noticed how on one side the bracken glowed golden in the sunshine, while on the other the frost powdered the brittle fronds which still stood in cold shadow. Sally could have picked her way blindfold down the stony track, so Peter let her make her own pace while she flicked back her fair plaits and whistled to greet another lovely day.

One more turn between the enfolding hills and Peter knew she would see the track running off to the right which led to the next valley called Dark Hollow and thence on to Witchend. As Sally stepped delicately over the brook which just here ran across the path, her ears went forward. Peter checked her own whistle, wondering what the pony had heard. Then she laughed and touched Sally's sides with her heels, as sweet and clear through the still air came the haunting cry of the lapwing... "Peeeewit! Peeee-wit!"

Peter knew whom she would see when they turned the corner.

David Morton was leaning against the gnarled trunk of a hawthorn tree whittling at a stick with a big knife. He looked up and smiled as Peter came into sight.

"Hello, Peter!" he said. "You look like a fire station or a pillar-box! That jersey is terrific."

She laughed, pleased at his noticing, then asked, "What are we going to do to-day? How are the twins?"

"Awful," David replied, answering the last question first as he swung along by her side. "They're much worse since they were separated in term-time..."

"Time we had another adventure, David," she said. "However irritating the twins may be, they're good when we have an adventure... David! We must get Tom and try and fix something up, and we must get Jenny over from Barton Beach before the holidays are over... Do you realize we're nearly half-way through them?"

David nodded. "I know. The club should be doing something. Trouble is that Tom is kept busy and Jenny can hardly get here and back again in a day."

"I know things are difficult for Jenny," Peter nodded, "and you've never liked her much, David, but she is a member. I like her. She's fun, and I believe she'd come over even for a day if we asked her."

"Jenny's all right, I know," David said, "but she either makes me laugh or makes me mad."

"Anyway, let's try and arrange a meeting of the club soon, and if we can't make an adventure perhaps one will happen to us... If not, ask Dickie and Mary to make one for us... They will!"

"I tell you what would be fun, Peter. I wish we could have Jon and Penny Warrender up here for a bit."

"Yes," Peter said without enthusiasm, for she had yet to forget how disappointed she had been to miss the adventure at Rye. (See The Gay Dolphin Adventure.)

"Trouble is," David went on quite unaware of Peter's feelings, "that we've no room for them at Witchend, and you can't put them up at Hatchholt, and there's no place where they could stay in Onnybrook... They're keen to join the Lone Piners, and I know you'd like them, Peter."

"I'm sure I should," she said as coldly as before, and then, suddenly sorry for her stupid jealousy, she said, "Let's talk it over with the others and see if there's some way of asking them up here for a week. Your father and mother know Mrs Warrender, don't they?"

They had crossed the Dark Hollow valley now and were within sight of Witchend. Sally automatically turned up a lane.

"Hello, twins," Peter called as she recognized the two figures sitting on the top bar of the gate. "Hi, Mackie."

The Morton twins looked up at the sound of her voice, smiled politely and simultaneously, and then continued in earnest conversation. The black Scottie dog sitting below them wagged his tail as Peter called him a second time, and then sat down with his ears well forward and his head on one side. He looked as if he would have liked to welcome Peter in person, but a word from Mary seated above him kept him still.

Peter rode up to them and David said, "Get down and open the gate for Peter! Buck up!"

"Look who's here, Dickie!" Mary said with an innocent smile.

"It must be Peter," her twin replied. "How did she get here, I wonder?... We were just talking about her, weren't we, twin? Oh, look, Mary... David's been to meet her. He'd better open the gate, hadn't you, David?"

"We wondered why you had your breakfast early and hurried off," Mary broke in. "Acksherly we didn't mind because we had two extra sausages, but we do think you should tell us where you are going when you run off like that..." But as David strode towards them they jumped down and fled from his wrath with Macbeth at their heels.

Peter slipped from the saddle as David opened the gate for her, looped Sally's reins over the hook in the gate-post and walked over to greet Mr and Mrs Morton, who were sitting in the porch.

Mrs Morton smiled at them both. "What are you going to do to-day? You're staying to lunch, anyway, aren't you, Peter?"

"We thought of going down to Ingles and seeing if Tom could get the day off," David said. "It seems too good a day to stay at home, doesn't it? We're rather hoping something will turn up, Father."

Mr Morton nodded towards the gate.

"Here comes your adventure," he smiled, "for here's the postman. Every unopened letter is a mystery and may be an adventure, too... Let's see what he's got for us this morning...' Morning, George - how are you?"

"Nicely, thank you," the old man replied as he leaned his bicycle against the open gate and walked across to him. "Not many for you this morning, though there's one from London... and there's one for old Agnes, too... Good morning, all," and he ambled back to his cycle and pedalled away without knowing that he had brought two letters which were to change the Christmas holidays for all the members of the Lone Pine Club.

"Agnes, here's a letter for you," Mrs Morton called, as their beloved housekeeper came to the door.

"For me?" She took the letter gingerly. "But it can't be for me! There'll be someone having a joke with me and sending me a letter. Maybe it's those two young limbs? They did it once before on Valentine's Day, I remember!"

"Why not open it and see?" Mr Morton smiled, and then caught sight of his wife's face as she read the letter which had come from London. Peter noticed also and strolled over to the stream, realizing that other people's letters were no business of hers.

David soon joined her.

"Something has happened, Peter," he said glumly; "I'm sure of it... They're both looking worried."

Then the twins appeared.

"I say," Dickie began, "what do you think? Something's up... Agnes has got a letter in the kitchen and she looks as if she's crying."

"And Mum and Dad have got another one," Mary broke in, "and they just turned us out of the room when we strolled in, and they're talking like anything."

"Well, we shall soon know," David said, "because here comes Father, and he looks grim."

"Don't go away, Peter," Mr Morton called as he came over to them. "We count you one of the family, anyway... And don't look so worried, David. Nothing very desperate has happened, but it looks as if your mother and I will have to go to London for a little while... There is no getting out of it. But you mustn't let this spoil your holidays. Agnes will look after you all, but you must promise - specially you twins - to make everything as easy as you can for her... Promise, Dickie? Word of honour, Mary?"

The twins nodded.

"Are you sure something hasn't happened to Agnes, too?" Dickie asked. "She was crying when we came through the kitchen."

"I think there's a crisis," Mary said tersely.

She was right, for suddenly through the open door came the sound of loud lamentation, and then Mrs Morton's voice saying:

"Now, Agnes, please don't make such a fuss. I'm sure the news isn't as bad as it sounds, and, anyway, Mr Morton can take you over in the car to-day to see your sister, and then you can talk things over together and make your plans."

"But the little 'uns," Agnes cried. "How can I go away and leave them and you going off to Lunnon an' all just at this very time? I canna' go... and yet I must..."

Even Mr Morton was startled at this outburst, but at last Mrs Morton came out and smiled at their glum faces.

"Fetch some chairs out of the shed, David," she said, "and let's all sit in the porch and have a council of war."

"What's happened to Agnes, Mummy? That's what we want to know," Dickie said.

But not until they were all sitting round Mrs Morton did she tell them what they all wanted to know.

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