But what about the Hon. Mrs. Bullivant all this time?
After that last interview with the Squire, she had waited with exemplary patience for the news of his demise. He was a dear old man, and she had been grieved at finding him so near to death's door; but all these things are ordained by Providence for the best, and it would not only be useless but wicked to rebel against them. Of course, under the circumstances, she would have to go into mourning--that is to say, into a modified kind of mourning--for a short time. Society would expect it of her when the dead man's munificent bequest to her was made public. Well, she had the consolation of knowing that she never looked better than she did in mourning. Dear, dear Mr. Cortelyon!
Still, the expected news--one hardly likes to term it the longed-for news--failed to come. It was strange, it was very strange. After waiting a few more days with restrained impatience, she sent one of her servants direct to the Hall with a diplomatically worded message having reference to the state of Mr. Cortelyon's health. The answer he brought back was both surprising and disconcerting. An unexpected change had manifested itself; the Squire was very much better, and the improvement seemed likely to last.
"Oh, I am so glad, so very glad!" said Mrs. Bullivant to her messenger when he had unburdened himself of his news. "You have relieved me of a great anxiety."
"So the improvement seemed likely to last, did it?" she said to herself. But that was sheer nonsense. It had been her lot to see a good deal of sickness and death, and if she had ever seen a man whose hours were numbered, that man was Ambrose Cortelyon. The so-called improvement, as to the nature of which every one about him seemed to be laboring under a misapprehension, was but Nature's expiring effort. She had been a witness of such things before. For a few brief moments the lamp would flame up as brightly as ever it had done, and then would come sudden darkness.
It was with an easy mind that she set out next day for London, where some law business connected with her late father's affairs rendered her presence imperatively necessary. She was gone six weeks, during the whole of which time she looked, morning by morning, to receive a letter containing an announcement of the Squire's demise. But none came to hand. It was both unaccountable and disappointing. It would have been such an advantage to her to be able to buy her mourning in town! She journeyed back home in anything but a pleasant frame of mind. It was no longer "dear, noble-hearted Mr. Cortelyon," with her; he was now a "nasty tiresome old man, who ought to be ashamed of himself to be so long a-dying."
On this occasion Mrs. Bullivant had a travelling companion in the person of her half-brother, Captain Wilton Ferris, who was a son of the late Mrs. Flood by her first husband.
Captain Ferris, who had sold out of the army some years before in consequence of a certain scandal with which his name was prominently mixed up, was a handsome but blasé-looking man of forty. He was well-known in London society as a gambler and a rake who had been black-balled at more than one club. In his time he had gone through two fortunes, his own and his wife's--he was now a widower without family--and for the last few years had been reduced to living by such wits as nature had endowed him with; but at length he had come to the end of his tether. He had received a quiet hint that his presence on the heath at Newmarket was undesirable; men looked shyly on him at the card-table; his reputation with the dice-box seemed to have preceded him wherever he went; pigeons worth the plucking were few and far between; and, worse than all, a bill for five hundred pounds, bearing his signature, would fall due in about ten weeks' time, his failure to take up which would involve nothing less than social ruin--such ruin as was still possible to him--and outlawry.
His strait was a desperate one, and, as a last resource, he had come to his half-sister, in the hope that once more--neither for the first nor second time--he might find salvation at her hands.
Mrs. Bullivant was a woman of tepid affections; nature had made her so, and she could not help herself; but, in her limited and narrow way, she had always cherished a fondness for her handsome, scampish half-brother. Her own bringing-up had been of the most strait-laced kind, and maybe for that very reason she liked him none the worse on account of his faults, which--and so far one may give him credit--he never strove to hide from her; in point of fact, she was the only person in the world to whom he ever spoke frankly. As a consequence, she cherished no illusions in respect of him; she knew that at his time of life it was useless to look for any radical change or improvement in him; that which he had been and was now he would remain till the end.
He had told her all about the "damnable fix" in which he now found himself, and if she did not sympathize with him, that was probably because it was not in her nature to sympathize with any one. On the other hand, she did not blame him, as so many people in her place would have done, for the reckless folly which had at length landed him in such animpasse.
But if she did not sympathize with him in words, she did something else which was very much more to the purpose so far as he was concerned. She said to him, "As soon as ever Mr. Cortelyon's legacy of three thousand pounds comes into my hands--and I am expecting the news of his death from hour to hour--I will place five hundred pounds of it at your disposal."
That had been a fortnight ago, but the wished-for news was still lacking; so now Captain Ferris was journeying down to Uplands with his sister, glad enough to get away from London for awhile, where, so importunate were his creditors becoming, it was no longer safe for him to venture out of his lodgings by daylight. Besides, at Uplands he would be on the spot when the longed-for legacy, in which lay his only hope of salvation, should drop into his sister's lap.
At this time it so happened that Mrs. Bullivant was not in a position to supply her brother out of her own resources with anything approaching the sum needed to help him out of his difficulty. She had just completed the purchase of a considerable slice of freehold property abutting on her own estate, and for the present her balance at her banker's might be said to be down to zero.
Although the late Mr. Flood had never liked his stepson, and after his wife's death, which occurred within a few years of their marriage, had kept him at arm's-length as much as possible, he had yet felt compelled, for the sake of appearances, to invite him now and again on a short visit to Uplands, so that the Captain was no stranger to the place and its surroundings.
No sooner was breakfast over on the morning after the arrival of himself and his sister than he set out on foot for a long ramble. The way he took led him in the direction of Stanbrook, and when he reached the village of that name, which, as we know, lay within a bow-shot of the Hall, he marched into the bar parlor of the White Hart Inn and called for a bottle of the best sherry the house could furnish.
Such an order was attended to by the landlord in person, which was just what Ferris had counted on.
After they had chatted together for a few minutes about the weather and the crops, there was nothing out of the common in the Captain asking the worthy Boniface to join him over a glass of his own wine. A second glass helped to loose the latter's tongue, after which the rest was easy. They gossiped together for upwards of an hour before Ferris went his way. There was no need for him to seek further information elsewhere; he had learnt all he wanted to know.
What he had heard impressed him greatly; nor was its effect less marked upon his sister, who was, however, inclined to be skeptical with regard to some of the details. One thing was evident to both: Mrs. Bullivant must go to Stanbrook on the morrow and ascertain for herself how matters were progressing.
"Well, how did you fare? How much longer is the old scoundrel going to keep Beelzebub out of his own?"
These questions were addressed by Captain Ferris to his sister, who had just got back from Stanbrook. He had been awaiting her return with ill-concealed impatience. It seemed to him that she had been gone an unconscionable time.
"My dear Wilton, I wish you wouldn't flurry one so. I will tell you all there is to tell if you will give me time. But first of all, mix me a little brandy-and-water."
Having taken off her outdoor things, inducted her feet into a pair of roomy house-shoes, and planted herself in her favorite easy-chair Mrs. Bullivant was ready to begin her narrative:
"In the first place, the rumors which have reached us from various quarters about Mr. Cortelyon's amazing recovery are not a bit exaggerated. I know for a fact that, at the time I saw him last, he had been given up by both his doctors, and was not expected to last the week out. If I ever saw a man with death in his face, it seemed to me he was that man. When I left him I bade him (mentally) a final farewell. So far so good. But what do I find to-day on reaching Stanbrook? The same man, truly, and yet another. Not the Ambrose Cortelyon whom I left at death's door, on whose face I saw already the shadow of the tomb, but Ambrose Cortelyon as I remember him a number of years ago. For him Time's dial has been put back a decade. Can you wonder if, for a few moments, I was struck dumb with astonishment?
"I found him, not in his bedroom, but in his library, and how do you think he was engaged? Why, in drawing up, with the help of his secretary, a catalogue of the coins and medals which he has been accumulating for the last forty years? When he turned to greet me his voice was as firm and resonant as I ever remember it to have been. Then his secretary left the room and we were alone.
"He held out a lean, withered hand, and his face lighted up with one of his peculiar smiles. (When Mr. Cortelyon smiles you never can be sure whether he is smiling with you, at you, or merely at some hidden thought of his own.) 'Welcome, Onoria!' he began. 'I have been expecting a visit from you for some time past, but better late than not at all. You are surprised--he!--he! (now don't deny it, I can read your face like a book) at finding me perched here and busying myself with my favorite trivialities, when, if only I had behaved as ordinary mortals are wont to do, I should have been shouldered to my last abode weeks ago, and you would have been a considerably richer woman than you are to-day. Well, well, nobody can be more surprised than I. But why don't you sit down? I hate to have people standing about and staring at me.'
"What I said in reply, when he gave me a chance of speaking, is not worth repeating. As a matter of course, I explained how I had been called from home and did not get back till yesterday, but he listened without seeming to hear what I was talking about. Evidently he was busy with his own thoughts.
"His next words had reference to Gavin. He wanted to know whether the boy was quite well. When assured on the point he nodded his head and seemed pleased. Then he lay back in his chair for a little while without speaking, twiddling between his fingers, as if he loved it, a large gold coin which looked as if it might have been minted a couple of thousand years ago.
"At length he spoke: 'There is one matter, Onoria, about which I wish to give you my assurance. It is this: that whether I die to-morrow or not for five years to come, my will, as it now stands, will remain unchanged. When once my mind is made up, it is made up for good; I never go back from my decision. Consequently, you may make yourself easy on that point. You know already that neither yourself nor your son has been forgotten in the will; indeed, I will go so far as to tell you this, that there is perhaps such a surprise in store for you as you little wot of. And now let us talk of something else. I hear the Browhead property is likely to come into the market in the course of a few weeks. I wish you would drive as far some day soon, look over it, and let me know what you think of it.'
"Nothing more passed that it would interest you to be told about, and before long I took my leave, but not till Mr. Cortelyon had requested me to visit him again on this day fortnight and take Gavin with me."
Captain Ferris's face was black as night. "Then it's quite evident the old fox has made up his mind not to die just yet," he said. "And yet it might be as well that he should not live too long. His promise about the will may be taken for what it's worth. Invalids--and I suppose Mr. Cortelyon may be counted one still--are notoriously changeable, and any day may see your hopes dashed to the ground."
Mrs. Bullivant looked at him, but his eyes did not meet hers. There was something behind his words, but she was not quite sure what it was. "Of course I fully admit, between you and me, that it would be a great relief if the Lord were to see fit to take the poor man to Himself," she said, after a pause. "But what can I do? In a case of this sort one is absolutely helpless." The Captain was trimming his nails, and did not reply.
After waiting a moment or two, his sister said: "By the way, I have something more to tell you. As I was driving back I overtook Ann Thorpe, who used to be under-cook at Uplands, but left my service three years ago to enter that of the Squire. I know her for a talkative, simple-minded young woman, and the sight of her supplied me with an idea which I at once proceeded to put into practice. Stopping the carriage, I alighted, and bade Trotter drive on slowly and pick me up at the toll-bar. Then I joined Ann, and we walked on together. It was a lonely bit of road, and there was nobody to observe us. I was desirous of putting certain questions to her which no one but an inmate of the Hall could have answered to my satisfaction.
"With the questions themselves I need not trouble you. What I wanted from Ann was a confirmation or otherwise of the all but incredible news you picked up yesterday with reference to the man Dinkel and his doings at the Hall. What you had heard might be merely one of those idle rumors in which ignorant folk delight, but which they are never at the trouble to sift; or there might be a substratum of truth in it, but so overlaid with fiction that it would be next to impossible to separate the two. Strange to say, your statement was confirmed by Ann Thorpe in almost every particular.
"Mrs. Dinkel, the mother, has been acting as nurse to the Squire ever since Tatham, his body-servant, had to resign his duties on account of ill-health, and it was she who introduced her son at the Hall, but not till her patient had been given up by his doctors and was hardly expected to live from hour to hour.
"As you were told yesterday, this young Dinkel is said to have brought with him a marvellous drug from the Far East, which will almost bring dead people back to life. In any case, it seems certain that he has effected several remarkable cures in the village and neighborhood, and from the date of his first visit to the Hall the Squire began to mend. It appears that he goes there every evening after dark, taking with him a dose of his wonderful medicine, which he will allow no one to administer but himself.
"I have told you already how changed I found the Squire from what he was when I saw him last. It is a change which to me seems little less than miraculous, and yet, so far as can be gathered, it is wholly due to the man Dinkel. Dr. Banks, who has attended the Squire for years, keeps on sending his physic as usual, but Ann Thorpe assures me that the bottles are never as much as uncorked. From what I saw myself to-day, and from what I gathered from Ann, it seems not unlikely that the Squire may last for a year or two, or even longer. But life is made up of crosses, and, however much one may try to convince oneself that everything is ordered for the best, it is sometimes a little difficult to do so."
Captain Ferris shut his penknife with a click. "And what would be the consequence, so far as Mr. Cortelyon is concerned, in case of anything happening to this fellow Dinkel?" he asked.
Mrs. Bullivant lifted her eyebrows. "Really, my dear Wilton, that is a question which I have no means of answering."
"For all that, it is one which might be worth considering."
He got up, stretched himself, crossed to the window, and stood staring out, whistling under his breath. His sister followed him with her eyes. She could read between the lines of his character far more clearly than any one else could.
"In such a case as you speak of, I should think it would be a very bad thing for Mr. Cortelyon," she said after a pause, in a low voice.
"My own opinion exactly," he made answer, without turning round.
The days followed each other till a week had gone by, and Captain Ferris was still at Uplands. Indeed, he knew of nowhere else to go to. London was too hot to hold him; the bailiffs were looking for him high and low. Here at any rate, he could lie by for awhile. But not for long. Hour by hour the day was creeping nearer when the fatal bill for five hundred pounds would fall due. After that not even Uplands would be safe for him. He must put the Channel between himself and the bloodhounds of the law.
p131"The body of the 'Man-witch' hadbeen found shot through the heart."
Little further allusion was made either by his sister or himself to the subject which loomed so largely in the thoughts of both. What more, indeed, was there to be said? Talk for talking's sake was what neither of them was given to indulge in. For them, just then, life seemed to be at a standstill. They were waiting breathlessly, so to speak, for the tidings which still delayed their coming. Captain Ferris was out and about a great deal, putting a discreet question here, and eliciting a morsel of information there, but all he heard pointed to an unchanged state of affairs at the Hall. Any fine afternoon Mr. Cortelyon might be seen driving about the country roads in the shabby old chariot which dated from his grandfather's era, and had in those days ranked as one of the grandest coaches in town.
"He'll live to be a hundert, you see if he doan't, sir," said one man to whom the Captain had put a certain question.
Ferris turned away with a stifled oath.
It was on the afternoon of the tenth day after Mrs. Bullivant's return from London that some startling news reached Uplands. It was brought by the Tuxford carrier, who retailed it as abonne boucheto the maids in the kitchen, whence, before long, it penetrated to the drawing-room. The body of the "man-witch," Cornelius Dinkel, had been found early that morning, shot through the heart, in Threeways Spinny. So far nobody had been arrested for the crime.
Mrs. Bullivant was alone in the drawing-room when her maid brought her the news. Gavin had lately had a pony given him, and his uncle had taken him out for a ride on it. A sudden vertigo took the mistress of Uplands almost before her maid had got half-way through her story. She motioned for her salts, and for a few moments lay back in her chair with closed eyes and white face. Then presently, with a faint, "I'm better; you can go," she dismissed the girl.
It was not the news itself, startling though it was, which had had such an effect on Mrs. Bullivant. It was a horrible suspicion which, so to speak, had gripped her by the throat and refused to loosen its hold of her.
Yesterday evening, as daylight was dying into dusk, her brother had left the house without saying either where he was going or when he might be looked for back. But she was used to his queer moods and apparently purposeless comings and goings, and found it best to question him as little as possible. She had hardly thought to see anything more of him till breakfast time next morning. Great, therefore, was her astonishment when, on crossing the hall a little after eleven o'clock on her way to her bedroom, she suddenly met him face to face. He had entered the house by a side door which could be opened from the outside without disturbing any of the servants. That he was both surprised and disconcerted by the meeting he showed plainly, his intention having apparently been to reach his room unseen by any one.
But it was not so much the fact of coming unexpectedly on her brother as the appearance he presented that caused Mrs. Bullivant to start back with a low cry of alarm. For his face was as colorless as that of a corpse; his features were drawn and haggard; he looked at her with eyes which she did not recognize as his, so strangely changed was their expression; he was bareheaded, and his black hair, matted with sweat, was all in disorder; while his chest rose and fell pantingly like that of one who had outspent himself with running. Finally, both his boots and his clothes were bespattered with mud, for much rain had fallen in the course of the day.
"Great heavens! Wilton, what ails you? What has happened to you?" cried Mrs. Bullivant.
"For God's sake not so loud! Such an adventure!" he panted. "Set upon by two ruffians in a lonely part of the road. One of 'em I managed to knock over with a lefthander--then took to my heels. If I hadn't they'd have bludgeoned my brains out. Two to one, you know."
"What a narrow escape for you! But what has become of your hat?"
"I've not lost it, have I?" he gasped, while a great terror leapt into his eyes. "If so, I'm lost too!" A moment later his expression changed. "What a fool I am!" he exclaimed with a ghastly attempt at a smile. "I've got it all the while. It fell off while I was running and as the rascals were not far behind me I made a dash at it and crammed it into one of my pockets. It will look a pretty object to-morrow,sans doute. But now to bed, for I'm dog-tired."
"Shall I send you up some hot water and----"
"Curse it all, no! I want no eye but yours to see me to-night." He glared at her for a moment as if he was about to strike her. Then with a shrug and a sudden dropping of his hands, he said. "Forgive me, Onny, I'm not myself to-night." And with that he passed her and went swiftly upstairs, and presently she heard the key turned in the lock of his room.
It was the recollection of this scene which shook her with such a terrible fear this afternoon. What had her brother meant by saying that if his hat were lost he was lost too? Supposing he had lost it and it had afterwards been found, what then? And why had he been so anxious that no eyes save hers should see him on his return? Was there any truth in the story of his encounter with the two men? But, above all, had he had any hand in last night's tragedy? That he was utterly unscrupulous she had long known, and she divined, without knowing, that in his nature there were dark unsounded depths in which the most ghastly secret might be hidden up forever. She was only too well aware by what desperate reasons her brother was urged to wish Dinkel out of the way. To him it might, and most likely would, mean all the difference between salvation and ruin.
She waited his coming with a quaking heart. She was sitting in a mixed light, that of the dying afternoon and that thrown out by the glowing embers on the hearth, when he entered the room. Having shut the door, he stood there with the handle in his hand, without advancing. "Well, have you heard the news?" he asked abruptly in a high, harsh voice, very different from his usual smooth cultivated tones. "Dinkel's dead--shot through the heart last night, presumably when on his way back from Stanbrook. Body found early this morning by some hedgers on their way to work. What will happen now, I wonder? There's the rub, both for you and me."
"I had already heard. The Tuxford carrier brought the news about an hour ago."
"Had I known that I needn't have hurried back, as I did, on purpose to tell you. But no matter."
"Have any traces of the--the perpetrator of the crime been discovered, or have they any idea where to look for him?"
"'Pon my soul, I don't know. I never asked. 'Twas a point that had no interest for me. But now I'll go upstairs and make myself presentable, and join you presently over a cup of tea. We have had a famous scamper, the boy and I. But he will be with you in a minute or two."
After tea they played ecarté for a couple of hours, and never had Mrs. Bullivant seen her brother more cheerful and at his ease. She went to bed not knowing what to think.
The news of the tragedy in Threeways Spinny reached Stanbrook about nine o'clock in the morning. The body of the murdered man had already been taken home, and it was Mrs. Dinkel's next-door neighbor who was deputed to convey the sad tidings to her.
She was on the point of taking the Squire's breakfast upstairs when the man arrived at the Hall, and asked to see her.
Ten minutes later Mrs. Dinkel entered her patient's room. Like the thoughtful creature she was, even in the midst of her distress she had not forgotten the breakfast tray. Having placed it on the table by the bedside, she turned to the Squire, and, in a voice which not all her efforts could render firm, said:
"Sir, a great misfortune has befallen me--the most terrible that could have happened. My son has been murdered! The tidings have just reached me. His body was found early this morning in Threeways Spinny. He had been shot through the heart--he who had not an enemy in the world! Sir, I must leave here at once. I am wanted at home, as you can well conceive; but if----"
"Dead! your son dead!" shrieked the Squire, almost as shrilly as a woman might have done. Then for a few seconds he remained speechless. His heart stopped beating, and a black veil dropped before his eyes. But the very force of the shock brought its own reaction. He flung up his arms, and then let them drop helplessly on the bed. "In that case, what is to become of me?" he moaned.
"The Lord in heaven only knows, sir, for I'm sure I don't," answered Mrs. Dinkel. It was all she could do to crush down her emotion.
The Squire sank back on his pillow with a groan. The bereaved mother stood looking at him, anxious to go, and yet, so strong was the professional instinct in her, not liking to leave him.
Of a sudden he beckoned her to go closer to him, and when she had done so he clutched her by the sleeve of her gown. In three short minutes his face seemed to have aged a dozen years. His lips had turned of a grayish purple, and a thin froth had gathered at their corners. His eyes were the eyes of a terror-hunted soul brought to bay, and yet ready to turn and curse with its latest breath the inexorable fate which had driven it there.
"Don't think I do not pity you, because that would be a mistake on your part," he said. "I pity you and sympathize with you most sincerely. But--but your son must have left a lot of the drug--you know what I mean--behind him. Don't you think so, hey? And--and as soon as ever you can spare time--in the course of the day, you know--you will have a thorough search made, and ascertain the quantity, and let me know at the earliest possible moment, won't you? Yes, yes; he must have left quite a considerable quantity ready prepared. I feel sure of it; so don't forget to send me word as soon as you can."
There was a terrible eagerness in the way he spoke, and he would not loose his hold of her till she had promised him, that he should hear from her in the course of the forenoon.
When she was gone her place was taken by Miss Baynard.
That morning the Squire's breakfast was sent away untasted, and he made no effort to get up. Anxiety held him as with a vise--an anxiety shot through and through with forebodings the most dire. He lay without speaking, watching with feverish eyes the slow-moving fingers of the clock on the chimney-piece, each of whose solemn ticks seemed to him to mark a stitch in the tapestry of Doom. It was a few minutes past two when a servant brought upstairs a small sealed packet, together with a letter, both of them addressed to "Ambrose Cortelyon, Esq.," and both of them just brought by a special messenger. The sick man had no need to ask who was the sender.
"Open the letter and read it aloud, Nell," he said, as soon as the servant had left the room. It was not merely that he had lost the control of his fingers--he shook from head to foot like one in an ague fit.
Nell did as she was bidden.
"Honored Sir" (she read), "In accordance with your wish and my own promise, I have made diligent and careful search in every corner, cupboard, and drawer of the room in which my poor son mixed his physics and attended to his doctoring business, with the result (and it grieves me much to have to tell it you) that I have not succeeded in finding more than two phials of the stuff ready mixed for taking, the which, under cover, I herewith send you.
"It would appear to have been my son's custom not to prepare any large quantity of the drug beforehand, perhaps--but on this point I speak without certainty--because he found that some portion of its virtue was lost with keeping.
"I remain, honored sir,
"Your obedient, humble servant,
"Martha Dinkel.
"P.S.--Since writing the above I have made another thorough search, high and low, in every nook and corner of the premises, but it has proved a sheer waste of time.
"Mr. Cortelyon, sir, in the midst of my own distress, permit me respectfully to observe that my heart bleeds for you."
When Nell had read to the last word, the Squire made no comment aloud, only to himself he murmured: "Mors ultima linea rerum est." He had not opened his Horace for years, but the line came back to him quite freshly to-day. He knew that he was a doomed man, and that no earthly power could save him. Well, according to all human calculations he ought to have been dead and buried a number of weeks ago, but another brief spell of life had been granted him, and if, through a tragic misfortune which no one could have foreseen, it had come prematurely to a close, why, there was no help for it. All that was now left him to do was to wrap his toga about him and await the end with silent stoicism.
Although he took the two remaining doses of the drug in due course, he made no attempt to rise from his bed after hearing of Dinkel's death. From that hour life, with its manifold interests, became to him as a dead letter. He had done with it, and it had done with him. They were quits.
So, day after day and night after night, he lay in the big four poster, silent for the most part, and often without opening his eyes for hours together; feeling his strength ebbing imperceptibly away, and, between his fitful snatches of sleep, thinking, ever thinking, for his mind remained as vigorous and lucid as ever it had been. What strange and awesome thoughts must oftentimes have been his as he lay there in grim resolute silence, waiting for his "order of release"!
His niece and Andry Luce took it in turns to watch by him. It was an easy task, there was so little that he wanted or that could be done for him. Miss Baynard had taken it on herself to send for Drs Banks and Mills, who responded to the summons in all haste.
The Squire opened his eyes and favored them with one of his sardonic smiles as they entered the room.
"Eh-eh! come to see the last of your handiwork?" he said, and already his voice had sunk to a half-whisper. "Very kind and attentive of you, I'm sure. And besides, my case is such an interesting and uncommon one. It will be something for you to wrangle over as long as you live, and at the end you will know no more about it than you do now. Yes, yes, very kind and attentive of you; but as for your physic, I'll have no more on't--that's flat. Throw it to the dogs, as Shakespeare says. And now, 'I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.'"
Of course they could do nothing, and to Miss Baynard they were candid enough to admit as much. It was a sad state of things.
And so the muffled hours stole after each other one by one till a week had gone by, by which time it became evident that the end was not far off.
No arrest had yet been made in connection with the murder of Cornelius Dinkel, and it may here be added that none ever was made. The murderer had left no traces behind him, and, search as diligently as they might, not a tittle of evidence was forthcoming to back up any of the theories propounded by the authorities in relation to the crime.
On a certain afternoon, somewhat to Miss Baynard's surprise, Mrs. Bullivant made her appearance at the Hall. It was a step which she had not taken till after mature consideration. The first few days after Dinkel's death had been passed by her in a fever of apprehension. Precisely what it was that she feared she did not whisper even to herself, but she could not bear a ring or a knock at the door without experiencing a spasm of silent terror. Yet all this time her brother remained as darkly quiet, as listless, and apparently as indifferent to everything, save his own little comforts, as she ever remembered him to have been. Wet or fine, he went out every day for a long walk, and it was he who brought back the rumors he lighted on in his rambles anent the Squire of Stanbrook.
One day he brought back something which was more than a rumor. It was something he had been told at second-hand as having emanated from no less an authority than Dr. Banks. Mr. Cortelyon was at death's door, and this time there was no possible chance of his recovery! Then it was that Mrs. Bullivant debated with her brother whether she ought not to pay one more visit to Stanbrook while the Squire was able to recognize her. Captain Ferris was strongly of opinion that she ought on no account to omit doing so. There was no knowing what influences might be at work. What more easy than to persuade a dying man to execute a codicil to his will, or even to have a fresh will drawn up, cancelling wholly or in part the provisions of the one already in existence? Most certainly she ought to see for herself how the land lay, not merely in her own interest, but in that of her son, and, if necessary, remain on the spot till all was over.
Little persuasion was needed to induce Mrs. Bullivant to fall in with her brother's views. By this time her vague, unspoken apprehensions had in a great measure subsided. Dinkel had been dead more than a week, and nothing had happened. Nothing would happen now, she told herself. She would go to Stanbrook.
More than once--indeed quite a number of times--when talking over her last interview with Mr. Cortelyon, her brother had made her repeat one sentence in particular which the Squire had addressed to her in allusion to the contents of his will: "There is perhaps such a surprise in store for you as you little wot of." To both her and the Captain it was a sentence which seemed pregnant with golden possibilities; and it is hardly to be wondered at that, on her way to Stanbrook, her imagination built up more than one gorgeous aerial fabric, although, as a rule, she kept that arrant jerry-builder in the most complete subjection.
On hearing that Mrs. Bullivant had arrived, Miss Baynard went downstairs to receive her. When they met the former made as if she would have kissed Nell, but the girl drew back a little haughtily. She was not in the habit of being kissed, even by those of her own sex, and in her visitor's case it would have seemed to her a veritablebaiser de Judas. But she could not, with any show of courtesy, refuse her hand.
"How is he, dear Miss Baynard?" were Mrs. Bullivant's first words. She spoke in hushed tones, although as yet she had got no farther than the entrance-hall.
"He is sinking fast, and is almost speechless."
"You shock me more than I can say." And, to do her justice, for the moment she looked shocked. To herself she said, "If he is speechless, or nearly so, it is too late for him to think of altering his will, and, if he has done so already, I have come too late to help it." Aloud she went on: "I had not the faintest idea that his illness had assumed the gravity you tell me it has--news percolates to us so slowly at Uplands--otherwise I should have been here before now. But now that I am here, dear Miss Baynard, you must let me stay with you till the end. Mr. Cortelyon, as you are probably aware, regarded me with a very special affection. Had circumstances turned out differently, I should have been his daughter-in-law. But my life has been one long disappointment."
Knowing what she did of the purport of her uncle's will, Nell felt that, little as she liked the woman, she was not in a position to object to her presence in the house. In a very little while Mrs. Bullivant would be mistress of Stanbrook and of everything in it, while she, Nell, would be little better than an outcast. But however bitter and humiliating it might be to know this, she had other things to think of just now.
When Mrs. Bullivant and Nell entered the sick room together some minutes later, Mrs. Budd, who had been keeping watch in the interim, rose, curtsied to the newcomer, and went.
Mr. Cortelyon lay with closed eyes and with both arms extended on the coverlet; one shut hand held the coveted stater of Epaticcus, the other grasped his silver snuffbox. An involuntary exclamation escaped Mrs. Bullivant as her eyes fell on his face. Once before she had believed him to be at the point of death, and only by what might almost be termed a miracle had his life been prolonged. This time no miracle would intervene. His hours, nay, his very minutes, were numbered; Death's awful shadow was already closing round him; would he live through the night?
About half an hour later he opened his eyes, turned his head slightly and stared about him. Mrs. Bullivant rose, crossed on tiptoe to the bed and bent over him. "Dear Mr. Cortelyon, don't you know me?" she murmured. "Yes, I am sure you do."
For a second or two he peered up into her face with contracted lids, as if not quite sure about her identity. Then, with an inarticulate noise, which seemed more indicative of anger and repulsion than of anything else, he raised both his hands and pushed her rather roughly away. Mrs. Bullivant went back to her chair with a somewhat heightened color in her cheeks. "Poor dear!" she said in an undertone; "it is quite evident that he no longer knows what he is about."
And so daylight slid slowly into dark, and the two women still kept watch on either side of the bed. Dr. Banks, with a cheerful fire and a magnum of port to keep him company, sat below in the library--merely for form's sake, and because it would be an injustice to his wife, and family not to make his bill as long a one as possible while the chance was his of doing so.
For some hours the dying man's skin had been gradually changing color, till now it had become of one uniform leaden blue tint. Dr. Banks, who stepped upstairs for a couple of minutes every half-hour or so, said to himself that it must be one of the effects of "that damned drug."
Midnight was drawing on. For upwards of an hour Mr. Cortelyon had been lying to all appearance in a comatose state, when of a sudden he opened his eyes and raised himself in bed without help--a thing he had not done for days past. "The will! the will!--get it and destroy it before it's too late!" he cried in harsh, insistent tones, punctuated by gasps. "I've done wrong--wrong. I know it now--I feel it. To my grandson all--all! To that woman"--pointing to the shocked Mrs. Bullivant--"nothing. Send at once--not a minute's delay. Piljoy has it. Or else it will be too late--too late!"
Alas! it was already too late. He sank back, gasping for breath, with eyes that were already beginning to glaze. Five minutes later all was over.
Mrs. Bullivant dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. "Poor dear! I am so thankful he did not suffer much," she said. "That he should wander a little in his mind at the last is not to be wondered at. Nearly all aged people do that when they are dying."
It was five days later.
The funeral was over. Everything had been done decently and in order, and in the great drawing-room at Stanbrook, the shutters of which of late years had been rarely opened, a small company were assembled, by invitation of Mr. Piljoy, to hear the reading of the dead man's will.
Miss Baynard and Mrs. Budd sat together on one of the couches; a little way removed, in stately isolation, sat Mrs. Bullivant; while Mrs. Dace, the housekeeper, remained modestly in the background, with Andry Luce and two or three other old servants to keep her company.
The gentlemen comprised Mr. Herries, the vicar; Mr. Delafosse, Sir James Dalrymple, of Langrig, and Squire Staniforth, of Claypool; the two latter of whom, at Mr. Cortelyon's request, had agreed to act as trustees under his will. They were clear-headed, thoroughly practical men, with plenty of leisure on their hands, and, as such, had recommended themselves to the late Squire, who was their senior by more than a score years, and had known their fathers before them.
Mr. Piljoy sat by himself at the big oval table in the centre of the room. The will, as yet unopened, lay there in front of him.
When everybody had settled into their places and the door was finally shut, Mr. Piljoy cleared his voice, and, leaning forward a little with his clasped hands resting on the table, said, addressing the company at large: "Before breaking the seal of the document which I am here for the purpose of reading to you, I may just remark for the information of everybody, and in order to satisfy any curiosity which might otherwise be felt on the point, that this is not the first testament drawn up by me for the late Mr. Cortelyon. There was a much earlier will, the provisions of which, I need scarcely tell you, were of a widely different nature from those of the present one; but that will was destroyed at the time of the unhappy quarrel between father and son, of which, I daresay, most of those here have some cognizance. For the next few years no will of any kind was in existence, nor could Mr. Cortelyon be persuaded into making another till he found himself overtaken by illness of a very serious kind. I will now, with your permission, proceed to open and read the will."
Sir James tapped his snuff-box, opened it, offered it to his co-trustee, and then indulged himself with a large pinch. The servants in the background laid their heads together and whispered among themselves. Mrs. Bullivant tried to look as if the reading was a matter which in no way concerned her, and almost succeeded. Miss Baynard and Andry Luce alone knew what was coming. To the former the whole proceeding was fraught with heartfelt torture, from which she would fain have escaped had there been any way open for her to do so.
The will itself was enclosed in a sheet of parchment secured with two large black seals. These latter Mr. Piljoy did not break, but cut round them with his penknife and got at the contents that way. Pushing the envelope aside, he proceeded to unfold and straighten out the will; then, having settled his spectacles more firmly astride his nose, he gave a preliminary cough and turned over the first page.
Apparently, however, he had forgotten to how many pages the document extended, and in order to satisfy himself on the point, before beginning to read he turned the leaves over one by one--there were only five or six in all--till he came to the last one, on reaching which his eye instinctively travelled to the foot of it.
Next instant he gave a start and sprang to his feet, his eyes still glued to the bottom of the will. He looked dazed--thunderstruck--and well he might.
"What is the meaning of this?" he cried. "What devilry has been at work? The will is unsigned!"
And so, indeed, it proved to be. There was the space for the three signatures, those of the testator and the two witnesses, but the signatures themselves were wanting.
Over the scene that ensued we need not linger. The servants were told that they were no longer wanted, and went back to their duties terribly crestfallen. The legacies on which they had so surely counted seemed to have dissolved on a sudden into thin air.
For the first few minutes after the fatal announcement Mrs. Bullivant sat like an image of stony despair. So stunned was she that, for the time being, she seemed deprived of the power of coherent thought. She was roused, in part at least, by some words addressed by Sir James Dalrymple to Mr. Piljoy.
"Of course the will as it stands is wholly inoperative, still, Mr. Staniforth and I are a little curious with regard to its contents, so perhaps you won't mind devoting a minute or two to our enlightenment. There is no need for you to read out the different clauses; all we want is to be made acquainted with the main features of the document."
"Five minutes will suffice for that purpose," replied the lawyer. "To begin with, there are some half-dozen bequests, varying in amount, to as many old servants and dependents, with the details of which I need not trouble you. To the testator's old friend, Mr. Delafosse"--bowing to that gentleman--"are bequeathed sundry coins, medals, and other curios, a list of which will be found among the private papers of the deceased. Then I must not omit to mention that to each of you gentlemen, for your trouble in acting as trustees, is left the sum of one hundred and fifty guineas; and to Mr. Herries a similar sum for distribution among the deserving poor of the parish. With regard to his niece, Miss Baynard"--here he favored Nell with a bow--"the testator's instructions are that a sum of money be invested in her name in the public funds sufficient to bring her in an annual income of three hundred pounds, the which she shall enjoy for life, the principal at her demise to be divided among certain specified charitable institutions. To the Hon. Mrs. Bullivant"--a bow for that lady--"is left the sum of three thousand pounds in hard cash. Every thing else of which the testator may die possessed--including the Stanbrook and Barrowmead properties, another large estate on the borders of Yorkshire, and certain other smaller estates--is willed in trust to Gavin Bullivant, the son of the Hon. Mrs. Bullivant, on condition that on coming of age he adds to his present cognomen that of 'Cortelyon.' Finally, I may mention that as regards the Stanbrook property Mrs. Bullivant is bequeathed a life-interest in the same."
He ceased, and Sir James and his friend stared at each other in sheer amazement, but in Mrs. Bullivant's presence they could not well give expression to what they thought. Mr. Staniforth was the first to break the silence.
"Both Sir James and I were under the impression that the late Mr. Cortelyon had a grandson. His only son died some few years ago, did he not, leaving behind him a widow and one child?"
"He did."
"And yet in your summary of the contents of the will you made no mention of either of their names."
"The widow died some time ago. There was no mention of the boy's name on my part for the very good reason that it is not included in the will. Mr. Cortelyon never forgave his son's marriage, and refused in any way to acknowledge his grandchild."
Again the two men looked at each other, and again they refrained from giving expression to the thoughts at work within them.
Then said Sir James: "An unsigned will is so much waste paper. In case no other will, duly executed, should turn up, what will happen?"
"Only one thing can happen. The case will resolve itself into one of intestacy, and everything--lock, stock, and barrel--will go to the heir-at-law, that is to say, to the grandson of whom mention has just been made."
The two gentlemen nodded. That was their own view exactly.
Miss Baynard had sat all this time without speaking or stirring. When Mr. Piljoy made the startling announcement that the will was without signature, she flashed a look at Andry Luce which seemed to ask in bewilderment, "What is the meaning of this?" But Andry, nursing his chin in the palm of one hand, was apparently staring straight before him, and did not, or would not, meet her eyes. When, however, Mrs. Dace and the others proceeded to leave the room, Andry, who was about to follow them, glanced at Nell, and, in obedience to a signal from her, resumed his seat.
Nell as was dumfounded as Mrs. Bullivant by the turn events had taken. She had not clearly comprehended what the result would be of the will being unsigned till she heard Mr. Piljoy's declaration that, in the event of no other will being found, everything would go to Evan as his grandfather's heir-at-law. Then a great gladness took possession of her, and her heart swelled with thankfulness.
But of a sudden, a shiver of apprehension ran through her. Mr. Staniforth was speaking:
"Have you any reason whatever, Mr. Piljoy, for supposing that any other will than this unsigned one is in existence?"
Not Miss Baynard only, but Mrs. Bullivant as well, awaited the lawyer's answer with strained breathlessness.
Mr. Piljoy shrugged his shoulders. "That, sir, is a question which just now I am hardly prepared to answer, and for this reason, that no one can be more mystified and puzzled by the turn affairs have taken this afternoon than I am. One supposition, and one only, suggests itself to me as tending in the slightest degree to elucidate the mystery. What that supposition is I will, with your permission, now proceed to explain."
He lay back in the big library chair, cleared his voice, and toyed with his spectacles for a few seconds before proceeding.
"In accordance with Mr. Cortelyon's instructions, his will was drawn up by me in duplicate. This was done as a provision of safety; in the event of any hitch or blunder occurring in the signing or witnessing of one document, the other would be available. Gout having laid me by the heels, I gave the duplicate wills into the charge of Mr. Tew, my managing clerk, who was just as competent to see to the signing and witnessing as I was. Here before me is the will which he next day brought back and handed to me for safe custody in the belief that it had been duly signed and witnessed; and here is the envelope that held it, sealed in two places with Mr. Cortelyon's own seal, and with the words, 'Ambrose Cortelyon--His Will' written across the face of it with his own pen. Now, on consideration, it seems to me just possible that, through some mischance, the unsigned will got substituted for the signed one in the envelope. If my supposition has any basis of fact, the question that naturally follows is, What became of the duplicate will? Is there any one present, who is in a position to throw any light on the point involved?"
Whether consciously or unconsciously, as he asked the question his eyes fixed themselves on Miss Baynard. The eyes of every one there followed those of Mr. Piljoy.
Nell stood up, her cheeks warmed with the fine glow of color. "My uncle's secretary, Andry Luce, who is now present, was, I believe, in the room when the will was signed."
"Then he will doubtless be willing to answer to the best of his ability any questions we may think well to put to him?"
Turning to Andry, Nell said, "You are quite willing to answer any questions Mr. Piljoy or these other gentlemen may ask you, are you not?"
The reply was two vigorous nods in the affirmative.
Turning to Sir James and his friend, Nell said, "Unfortunately, Andry is dumb, and has been so from his youth, so that I shall have to translate his answers for you."
"Come a bit more to the front, Andry, there's a good fellow," said Mr. Piljoy, who knew him of old. Then he seemed to consider for a few seconds while Andry changed his seat.
"You were in the room when the will was signed?" was the lawyer's first question.
With a look at Nell, his quick-moving fingers spelled out the answer, "I was," which was repeated aloud by her; and the same process had to be gone through in the case of all his answers.
"What persons were in the room at the time besides yourself and the testator?"
"Mr. Tew, and the two witnesses--Peter Grice, the groom, and Mike Denny, the under-gardener."
"Were you aware that Mr. Tew had brought two wills with him?"
"I was, I saw both of them."
"On entering the room what did he do with them?"
"He gave them both to the Squire."
"And what happened next?"
"The Squire thrust one of them under his pillow, and gave the other back to Mr. Tew for him to read it aloud."
"And what happened when the reading had come to an end?"
"The bell rang for me--I had been ordered out of the room while the reading took place--and, on entering, Mr. Tew told me that the Squire was ready for the witnesses, whom I had been careful to have close at hand, so that there should be no delay."
"Proceed."
"The witnesses were brought into the room and placed where they could see all that went forward. Pen and ink were in readiness. I raised the Squire in bed--he was too weak to sit up without help--and supported him with an arm round his waist. Mr. Tew placed the will in front of him, gave him the pen, pointed out the place for him, and with that Mr. Cortelyon slowly and carefully signed his name. Then Mr. Tew took the will to the table and caused Grice and Denny to sign it one after the other. When that was done the two men were dismissed."
"Yes, and after that?"
"Following the men into the corridor, by the Squire's orders I made each of them a present of a crown piece. That done, I at once went back to the room. Mr. Tew was standing by the table with the folded will in his hand. 'Seal it up,' said my master to me. Mr. Tew having handed to it to me, I at once proceeded to enclose it in the sheet of parchment, out of which it was taken by Mr. Piljoy a little while since, sealing the packet in two places with my master's own seal. Then I held him up again, and with a trembling hand he wrote on the envelope, 'Ambrose Cortelyon--His Will.' That done, the packet was given into the custody of Mr. Tew, and the business was at an end."
"Not quite, Andry, not quite--at least as far as we are concerned. You are forgetting the duplicate will. What became of that?"
"Mr. Tew had not been five minutes gone before my master drew the other will from under his pillow, and, giving it to me, said, 'Burn it now--at once.' There was a fire in the room, and, taking the will, I thrust it between the bars. Mr. Cortelyon never took his eyes off the grate till it was burnt to ashes."
"You have no reason whatever for supposing that the unsigned will was substituted for the signed one during the time you were out of the room?"
"No, sir--how should I? Mr. Tew never left the room, and when I went back it was from his hands I received the will in order to seal it up."
Apparently Mr. Piljoy had no more questions to put. After a glance round at the perplexed faces of his audience, he said: "Notwithstanding the very clear and straightforward statement with which Andry Luce has just favored us, the mystery of the unsigned will remains exactly where it was before. We seem no nearer a solution of it than we were at first, and I confess myself wholly at a loss to advise as to what step, if any, it behoves us to take next. Never in the whole of my experience have I been confronted with a state of affairs so puzzling and inexplicable."
"Never heard tell of owt like it, dang me if I have!" exclaimed Sir James, who had a habit of lapsing into the vernacular now and again.
"Licks cock-fighting all to bits, that it does," muttered Mr. Staniforth.
The Vicar and Mr. Delafosse spoke together in low tones.
So far Mrs. Bullivant had maintained an unbroken silence. Though more than once greatly tempted to do so, she had put a strong restraint upon herself, and had sat there with compressed lips listening to all that was said, passing through the whole gamut of feeling from hope to despair, and finally struck to the earth, almost, as it seemed, beyond recovery, by Mr. Piljoy's last words. There had been revealed to her a golden vision far exceeding her utmost dreams, but between her and it some malignant fiend had dug a shadowy gulf which he defied her to overpass. She had been vouchsafed a glimpse of Paradise, only to have the gates of pearl slammed in her face. It was maddening. Her very soul was aflame with impotent rage. She was tortured almost beyond endurance by the knowledge of all she had lost; of all that had slipped through her fingers, as at the bidding of a necromancer, before she had a chance of grasping it; of all that ought to have been hers, but was not!
She could no longer keep silent. "It is very evident to me," she began, addressing herself directly to the lawyer, "that my helpless boy and I have been made the victims of a vile conspiracy. Whether you, sir, are in the secret of it or no I cannot say, but I give you warning that I shall lose no time in placing the affair in the hands of my solicitors, and that even if it cost me every shilling I have in the world, this foul attempt to defraud me and mine shall be unmasked, and the concocters of it brought to the bar of justice."
She spoke with studied quietude and without any trace of passion, but her hearers felt that in those smooth accents there was a hidden venom far more dangerous than any mere outburst of feminine anger would have been.
"A vile conspiracy!" burst forth the irate lawyer. "I would have you know, madame, that----"
She stopped him with an imperious gesture. "I have said all I wish to say, and no empty protestations on your part will avail anything. Roguery has been at work and must be unmasked. It is enough that you know my intentions."
She had risen while speaking, and now, after the slightest possible bow to Sir James and the others, she moved with her proudest and most dignified air towards the door, which Andry hastened to open for her, and so went her way, to the great relief of everybody there.
"Well, that caps everything!" ejaculated Mr. Staniforth. "A sweet temper to live with, eh, Jimmy?"
"Ay, but think of all the woman has lost, and by a turn of fortune's wheel the like of which I never heard tell of. No wonder she's put about; in her place who wouldn't be? Not but what, mind you, I consider the will a most unjust one, and I can't say I'm anything but glad that things have turned out as they have."
Mr. Delafosse had sat through the proceedings as mum as a mouse. He had all a collector's selfishness, and although he told himself how glad he was that, despite his late friend's unjust will, the rightful heir would succeed to the property, he could not help being very sorrowful on his own account. Under the changed circumstances of the case not a coin, not a medal, not a curio of any kind would come to him; and there were so many things in his friend's collection which his soul coveted! It was very, very sad, but there was no help for it.
When the others were gone Mr. Piljoy and Nell had a little confidential talk together.
"Never in the whole of my professional experience have I been so perplexed and mystified as by the events of this afternoon," said the lawyer. "I can't make head or tail of 'em, and that's a fact. Of course, when I get back I shall question Tew very closely about all that took place at the signing of the will, but I must say that I have very little hope of his being able to throw any fresh light on the affair. It's just as if we had all been made the victims of a conjurer's trick. Not but what, Miss Nell, I'm more than pleased at the way things have turned out, and I don't mind confessing to you that I was strongly opposed to the will as it stands, and went as far as I dared in the endeavor to persuade your uncle not to disinherit his grandsonin toto. But you know the kind of man he was, how obstinate, and how utterly opposed to any suggestions from others which ran counter to his own views; indeed, he would hardly listen to me, and ended by telling me with an oath to mind my own business. On one point only do I feel sorry. If no other will turns up, of which I fail to see any likelihood, you, my dear Miss Nell, will be left out in the cold, for in that case, as I have remarked already, the son of Richard Cortelyon becomes the sole heir and legatee."
"And do you think for one moment, Mr. Piljoy, that I am anything but rejoiced that such should be the case?" demanded Nell, with sparkling eyes. "If you do, you misjudge me strangely. Oh! it was a most unjust and unnatural will, and my uncle himself acknowledged it to be so, but not till too late. With his last breath he implored me to send for the will and destroy it. His last conscious words were, 'To my grandson--all; to that woman'--meaning Mrs. Bullivant, who was there by the bedside--'nothing.' Had he but lived a few hours longer, the will would have been destroyed in accordance with his wishes."
"I am very glad you have told me this, Miss Nell, very glad indeed. If one were superstitiously inclined, one would not find it hard to believe that it was the Squire's own hand which, by some means unknown to us, erased his signature from a document the existence of which, in the clear light which sometimes comes to people at the point of death, he saw reason to regret."
"Should I live to be a hundred, I shall look back to this day as one of the red-letter days of my existence," said Nell with fervor. "No words could express to you how glad I am. But tell me, Mr. Piljoy, what is the next thing to be done?"
"My advice is that just at present we do nothing. Should it really prove to be Mrs. Bullivant's intention to contest the heir's claim--for one never can foretell what a desperate woman may or may not choose to do--I shall doubtless hear from her solicitors before long. Meanwhile, our best plan will be to rest quietly on our oars."