"Is it perfectly and absolutely true?" enquired Cicely.

"Yes, it is quite true. It was Sir Roger Courtenay who began to build the Manor as it stands to-day. All the central portion was put up in his time, and the coats of arms over the porch are those of himself and his wife, Catharine Mowbray. Their tomb is in the church too--that big carved monument in the side chapel. They had seven children--five sons and two daughters. The eldest son, Sir G.o.dfrey Courtenay, married a relation of Sir Thomas More. Her name is mentioned in one of the Paston Letters."

"Was it really in Haversleigh Church that Sir Mervyn climbed into the belfry and was killed?"

"Or did the writer make that up?"

"No, that is true too," replied Monica. "The tower is still called 'Sir Mervyn's Tower', and it is said there is the stain of his blood on the great bell, and that nothing can ever take it off."

"Have you seen it?"

"Yes, once. It's only a patch of rust."

"Was Sir Mervyn buried in the church too?"

"There's no monument to him, and no record in the old church doc.u.ments of his grave. I should think it was much more likely that his followers were allowed to carry him to his own estate near Appleford, and bury him in the church there. The story runs that his ghost haunts Haversleigh Tower and walks up the belfry stairs, but of course that's nothing but superst.i.tion and nonsense."

"Don't you believe in ghosts?" asked Cicely, who was sometimes a little afraid of the dark pa.s.sages at the Manor.

"No: when people are dead, I think if they were good they are either resting until the resurrection, or have something so much better and n.o.bler to do in another world that they could not revisit this, any more than a b.u.t.terfly could turn again into a chrysalis; and if they were bad, I am sure they would not be allowed to come back simply to terrify the living."

"Quite right," agreed Mildred. "In most of the stories one reads about ghosts, they never return for any useful purpose, only to make silly people run and scream."

"There was one thing that didn't seem perfectly clear in the story,"

said Lindsay. "Was it really Roger who came to the Manor disguised as an old pedlar?"

"Evidently it was. He couldn't trust anyone else to give the letter to Catharine, and he wanted to see for himself how Sir Mervyn was prepared to defend the Manor. There is still part of a ruin left of the old Franciscan Convent near Covebury, where Catharine took sanctuary. It's not much though--only a few pillars and a tumble-down wall."

"Why didn't she go to the Convent of St. Agatha at Torton? It was so much nearer to ride."

"Because the nuns there wished to persuade her to take the veil, and she wanted to marry Roger."

"Were they very angry with her?"

"How can I tell, Cicely? You must ask the writer of the romance; he has a better imagination than I have. I wonder if Miss Russell has come back yet? I'm going indoors to see. By the by, I want to ask a favour. I practise the organ every Wednesday evening at the church, and to-night Judson, the old clerk, will be too busy to blow for me as usual. Would anybody be charitable enough to volunteer? And would Miss Russell allow it, do you think?"

"I expect Miss Russell wouldn't mind," said Mildred. "I'd go with pleasure if I could, but I have an hour's practising to do myself to-night, as well as preparation, and so have Irene and Mary."

"Oh, Monica, could we blow the organ?" cried Lindsay. "Cicely and I have both finished our practising, and if we were to learn our French at once, before tea, I believe Miss Frazer could be persuaded to excuse us from prep. We'd simply love to come."

"Thank you, Lindsay. I'll ask Miss Russell. If she says 'Yes', will you meet me at the church at seven?"

Miss Russell was lenient enough to give the required permission, having ascertained that all lessons for next day were duly prepared; so Lindsay and Cicely, much envied by the rest of their cla.s.s, betook themselves with zeal to try their 'prentice hands at the task of organ blowing. The church was open, and Monica was already waiting for them in the porch.

She soon showed them how to work the bellows, and after telling them to stop and rest as soon as they were tired, seated herself at the keyboard and began her practice. Both the younger girls felt it a decidedly novel and interesting experience to be in the little s.p.a.ce behind the pipes, working away at a long handle. As they took it in turns they were able to keep the organ going fairly steadily, and only once left Monica without wind in the middle of a piece. As a reward she allowed them to try the instrument before she locked it up, showing them the various stops and pedals, and how they were to be used.

"It's much more difficult than the piano," sighed Cicely, after a rather unsuccessful attempt, "and yet it's simply grand to hear the lovely big notes sounding through the church. I should like to learn myself sometime when I'm older."

"Saint Cecilia was the patroness of music, and is always represented playing the organ, so you might very well justify your name by following in her footsteps," said Monica. "Now I simply must go, because my mother will be wanting me. I've been far longer than usual to-night."

"It's our fault, I'm afraid," said Lindsay. "We kept making you pull out the stops."

"No, you were dears to come. Perhaps Miss Russell will let you blow for me some other evening; then we'll start earlier, and I shall have time to let you both try again."

They had pa.s.sed under the old yew trees of the churchyard and out through the lich-gate into the road, when Monica suddenly looked over her music and exclaimed:

"How stupid! I've left my little copy of _Lux Benigna_ behind. It doesn't really matter much, only I don't care to get my pieces mixed up with the organist's, and he will be there at a choir practice to-morrow."

"Shall we go back?" suggested Cicely.

"No, I'm in too great a hurry. I want to get home at once."

"Then we'll fetch it for you," said Lindsay.

"Oh, thanks so much! Will you take it to school, please, and give it to me to-morrow, so that I needn't wait now? Good-bye!" and Monica hastened away as fast as possible in the direction of the cottage.

Lindsay and Cicely walked leisurely into the church again, and found the missing piece of music lying on a seat near the organ. They were returning down the aisle when Cicely said:

"Which is the tomb of Sir Roger Courtenay and Catharine Mowbray?"

"Monica said it was the one in the small side chapel," replied Lindsay.

"Shall we go and look at it?"

What an old monument it was! Four centuries had pa.s.sed away since it was placed over those who slept beneath. The carving was chipped and the marble scratched; part of Sir Roger's head was broken away, and one of poor Dame Catharine's clasped hands; and the letters of the inscription were so worn and effaced that it was with difficulty the girls could make out even a few words.

"It's in Latin, so we couldn't have understood it in any case," said Lindsay.

"How funny her costume is!" said Cicely. "She has a coif on her head, and very long sleeves; and he is in full armour. It makes them seem much more real people when we know their story."

"Can you imagine them living at the Manor?"

"I can hardly believe there was ever a fight going on inside this church."

"And people killing one another!"

"I suppose Sir Mervyn ran through this door up into the tower."

"I wonder if the stain is still on the bell?" said Lindsay.

"The story was that nothing could ever take it off."

"Shall we go up and see if it's really there?"

"What! Up into the belfry?"

"Yes. Why not?"

"Well, isn't it getting too late, and a little dark?"

"Not yet."