Chapter Twenty Seven.Claud Wilton took to the search for his cousin with the greater eagerness that he found it much more pleasant to be where he was not likely to come in contact with Pierce Leigh, for there was something about that gentleman’s manner which he did not like. He knew of his ability in mending bones, for he had become aware of what was done when one labourer fell off a haystack, and when another went to sleep when riding on the shafts of a wagon, dived under the wheels, and had both his legs broken; but all this was suggestive of his ability to break bones as well, and recalling a horse-whipping, received in the hunting field, from the brother of a young lady to whom he had been too polite, he scrupulously avoided running further risks. Consequently, after the unpleasant interruption of his meeting with Jenny Leigh, he lost no time in getting up to town, being pretty well supplied with money by his father, who was to follow next day.“I’m short of cash, my boy,” said Wilton; “but this is a case in which we must not spare expense.”“Go to Scotland Yard, and set the detectives to work?”“In heaven’s name no, boy! We must be our own detectives, and hunt them out. Curse the young scoundrel. I might have known he would be after no good. An infernal poacher on our preserves, boy.”“Yes, guv’nor; and he has got clear off with the game.”“Then you must run him down, and when you have found out where he is, communicate with me; I must be there at the meeting.”“What? Lose time like that! No, guv’nor; I’ll half kill him—hang me if I don’t.”“No, no! I know you feel ready to—a villain—but that won’t do. You’ll only frighten the poor girl more, and she’ll cling to him instead of coming away with you.”“But, guv’nor—”“Don’t hesitate, boy; I tell you I’m right. Let’s get Kate away from him, and then you may break every bone in his skin if you like.”“But I want to give him a lesson at once.”“Yes, of course you do—but Kate and her fortune, my boy. Once you’re on the scent, telegraph to me. I’ll come and stay at Day’s, in Surrey Street.”“Suppose they’re gone abroad, guv’nor?”“Well, follow them—all round the world if it’s necessary. By the way, you’ve always been very thick with Harry; now, between men of the world, has there ever been any affair going on? You know what I mean.”“Lots, dad.”“Ah!—Ever married either of them?”“Not he.”“That’s a pity,” said Wilton, “because it would have made matters so easy. Well, there, be off. The dog-cart’s at the door.”Claud slapped his pocket, started for the station, and went up to stay at a bigger hotel than the quiet little place affected by his father; and about twelve o’clock the next day he presented himself at Garstang’s office, where Barlow, the old clerk, was busy answering letters for his employer to sign.“Morning, Barlow,” said Claud, “Mr Harry in his room?”“Mr Harry, sir? No, sir. I thought he was down with you, shooting and hunting.”“Eh? Did he say that he was going down to Northwood?”“Well, dear me! Really, Mr Claud Wilton, sir, I can’t be sure. I think I did hear him say something about Northwood; but whether it was that he was going there or had come back from there I really am not sure. Many pheasants this season?”“Oh, never mind the pheasants,” cried Claud, impatiently. “When was that?”“Dear me now,” said the man, thoughtfully; “now when was that—Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday—?”“Thursday, Friday, Saturday,” cried Claud, impatiently. “What a dawdling old buffer you are! Come, when was it: you must know?”“Really, sir, I can’t be sure.”“Was it this week?”“I shouldn’t like to say, sir.”“Well, last week then?”“It might have been, sir.”“Yah!” growled Claud. “Think he’s down at Chislehurst?”“He may be, sir.”“Yes, and he may be at Jericho.”“Yes, sir; but you’ll excuse me, there was a knock.”The clerk shuffled off his stool, and went to the door to admit a fresh visitor in the person of Wilton pere.“Ah, Claud, my boy! You here?”“Yes, father, I’m here; just come,” said the young man, sulkily.“Well, found them?”“Do I look as if I had found them, dad? No.”“Tut-tut-tut!” ejaculated Wilton, who looked pale and worn with anxiety. “Mr Garstang in, Mr Barlow?”“Yes, sir,” said the clerk; “shall I say you are here?”“Ye-es,” said Wilton. “Take in my card, and say that I shall be obliged if he will give me an interview.”The old clerk bowed, and left the outer office for the inner, while Wilton turned to his son, to say hastily, “You may as well come in with me as you are here.”“Thanks, no; much obliged. What made you come here? You don’t think he’s likely to know?”“Yes, I do,” said Wilton, in a low voice. “I believe young Harry’s carried her off, and that he’s backing him up. You must come in with me: we must work together.”“Mr Garstang will see you, gentlemen,” said the old clerk, entering.“Gentlemen!” muttered Claud angrily, to his father.“Yes, don’t leave me in the lurch, my boy,” whispered Wilton; and Claud noted a tremor in his father’s voice, and saw that he looked nervous and troubled.Wilton made way for his son to pass in first, the young man drew back for his father, and matters were compromised by their entering together, Garstang, who looked perfectly calm, rising to motion them to seats, which they took; and then there was silence for a few moments, during which Claud sat tapping his teeth with the ivory handle of the stick he carried, keeping his eyes fixed the while upon his father, who seemed in doubt how to begin.“May I ask why I am favoured with this visit, gentlemen?” said Garstang, at last.This started Wilton, who coughed, pulled himself together, and looking the speaker fully in the face, said sharply,“We came, Mr John Garstang, because we supposed that we should be expected.”“Expected?” said Garstang, turning a little more round from his table, and passing one shapely leg over the other, so that he could grasp his ankle with both hands. “Well, I will be frank with you, James Wilton; there were moments when I did think it possible that you might come; I will not say to apologise, but to consult with me about that poor girl’s future. How is she?”Father and son exchanged glances, the former being evidently taken a little aback.“Well,” said Garstang, without pausing for an answer to this question; “I am glad you have come in a friendly spirit; I shall be pleased to meet you in the same way, so pray speak out. Let us have no fencing. Tell me what you propose to do.”Wilton coughed again, and looked at his son.“You must see,” said Garstang firmly, “that a fresh arrangement ought to be made at once. Under the circumstances she cannot stay at Northwood, and I will own that I am not prepared to suggest any relative of her father who seems suitable for the purpose. The large fortune which the poor child will inherit naturally acts as a bait, and there must be no risk of the poor girl being exposed to the pertinacious advances of every thoughtless boy who wishes to handle her money.”“I say, look here,” cried Claud, “if you want to pick a quarrel, say so, and I’ll go.”“I have no wish to pick a quarrel, young man,” replied Garstang, sternly; “and I should not have spoken like this if you had not sought me out. Perhaps you had better stay, sir, and hear what your father has to propose, unless he has already taken you into his confidence.”“Well, he hasn’t,” said Claud, sulkily. “Go on, guv’nor, and get it over.”“Yes, James Wilton, go on, please, as your son suggests, and get it over. My time is valuable, and in such a case as this, between relatives, I shall be unable to make a charge for legal services. Now then, once more, what do you propose?”“About what?” said Wilton, bluntly.“About the future home of your niece?”“Ah, that’s what I’ve come about,” said Wilton, gazing at the other sternly. “Where is she?”Garstang looked at him blankly for a few moments.“Where is she?” he said at last. “What do you mean?”“What I say: where is Kate Wilton?”“Where is she?” cried Garstang, changing his manner, and speaking now with a display of eagerness very different from his calm dignified way of a few minutes before. “Why, you don’t mean to say that she has gone?”“Yes, I do mean to say that she has gone.”“Bravo!” cried Garstang, putting down the leg he had been nursing, and giving it a hearty slap. “The brave little thing! I should not have thought that she had it in her.”“That won’t do, John Garstang,” said Wilton, sourly; “and it’s of no use to act. The law’s your profession—not acting. Now then, I want to know where she is.”“How should I know, man? She was not placed in my charge.”“You know, sir, because it was in your interest to know. This isn’t the first time I’ve known you play your cards, but you’re not playing them well: so you had better throw up your hand.”“Look here, James Wilton,” said Garstang, looking at him curiously; “have you come here to insult me with your suspicions? If this young lady has left your roof, do you suppose I have had anything to do with it?”“Yes, I do, and a great deal,” cried Wilton, angrily. “You can’t hoodwink me, even if you can net me and fleece me. Do you think I am blind?”“In some things, very,” said Garstang, contemptuously—“Then I’m not in this. I see through your plans clearly enough, but you are checked. Where is that boy of yours?”“I have no boy,” said Garstang, contemptuously.“Well, then, where is your stepson?”“I do not know, James Wilton. Harry Dasent has long enough ago taken, as your son here would say, the bit in his teeth. I have not seen him since he came down to your place. But surely,” he cried, springing up excitedly, “you do not think—”“Yes, I do think, sir,” cried Wilton, rising too; “I am sure that young scoundrel has carried her off. He has been hanging about my place all he could since she has been there, and paying all the court he could to her, and you know it as well as I do, the scoundrel has persuaded her that she was ill-used, and lured her away.”“By Jove!” said Garstang, softly, as he stood looking thoughtfully at the carpet, and apparently hardly hearing a word in his stupefaction at this announcement,“Do you hear what I say, sir?” cried Wilton, fiercely, for he was now thoroughly angry; “do you hear me?”“Yes, yes, of course,” cried Garstang, making an effort as if to rouse himself. “Well, and if it is as you suspect, what then? Reckless as he is, Harry Dasent would make her as good a husband as Claud Wilton, and a better, for he is not related to her by blood.”“You dare to tell me that!” thundered Wilton.“Yes, of course,” said Garstang, coolly. “Why not?”“Then you do know of it; you are at the bottom of it all; you have helped him to carry her off.”“I swear I have not,” said Garstang, quietly. “I would not have done such a thing, for the poor girl’s sake. It may be possible, just as likely as for your boy here, to try and win the girl and her fortune, but I swear solemnly that I have not helped him in any way.”“Then you tell me as a man—as a gentleman, that you did not know he had got her away?”“I tell you as a man, as a gentleman, that I did not know he had got her away. What is more, I tell you I do not believe it. Tell me more. How and when did she leave? When did you miss her?”“Night before last—no, no, I mean the next morning after you had left. She had gone in the night.”Garstang’s hand shot out, and he caught Wilton by the shoulder with a fierce grip, while his lip quivered and his face twitched, as he gazed at him with a face full of horror.“James Wilton,” he said, in a husky voice, “you jump at this conclusion, but did anyone see them go?”“No: no one.”“You don’t think—”“Think what, man? What has come to you?”“She was in terrible trouble, suffering and hysterical, when she went up to her room,” continued Garstang, with his voice sinking almost to a whisper, and with as fine a piece of acting as could have been seen off the stage. “Is it possible that, in her trouble and despair, she left the house, and—”He ceased speaking, and stood with his lips apart, staring at his visitor, who changed colour and rapidly calmed down.“No, no,” he said, and stopped to dear his voice. “Impossible! Absurd! I know what you mean; but no, no. A young girl wouldn’t go and do that just because her cousin kissed her.”“But she has been ill, and she was very weak and sensitive.”“Oh, yes, and the doctor put her right. No, no. She wouldn’t do that,” said Wilton, hastily. “It’s as I say. Come, Claud, my lad, we can do no good here, it seems. Let’s be moving. Morning, John Garstang; I am going to get help. I mean to run her down.”“You should know her best, James Wilton, and perhaps my judgment has been too hasty. Yes, I think I agree with you: so sweet, pure-minded, and well-balanced a girl would never seek refuge in so horrible a way. We may learn that she is with some distant relative after all.”“Perhaps so,” said Wilton hastily. “Come, Claud, my lad,” and he walked straight out, without glancing to right or left, and remained silent till they were crossing Russell Square.“I say, guv’nor,” said Claud, who passed his tongue over his lips before speaking, as if they were dry, “you don’t think that, do you? It’s what the mater said.”“No, no, impossible. Of course not. She couldn’t. I think, though, we may as well get back,” and for the moment he forgot all about the ladder planted against the sill.And as they walked on they were profoundly unconscious of the fact that Garstang’s grave elderly clerk was following them at a little distance, and looking in every other direction, his employer having hurried him out with the words:“See where they go.”John Garstang then seated himself before the good fire in his private room, and began to think of the interview he had just had, while as he thought he smiled.
Claud Wilton took to the search for his cousin with the greater eagerness that he found it much more pleasant to be where he was not likely to come in contact with Pierce Leigh, for there was something about that gentleman’s manner which he did not like. He knew of his ability in mending bones, for he had become aware of what was done when one labourer fell off a haystack, and when another went to sleep when riding on the shafts of a wagon, dived under the wheels, and had both his legs broken; but all this was suggestive of his ability to break bones as well, and recalling a horse-whipping, received in the hunting field, from the brother of a young lady to whom he had been too polite, he scrupulously avoided running further risks. Consequently, after the unpleasant interruption of his meeting with Jenny Leigh, he lost no time in getting up to town, being pretty well supplied with money by his father, who was to follow next day.
“I’m short of cash, my boy,” said Wilton; “but this is a case in which we must not spare expense.”
“Go to Scotland Yard, and set the detectives to work?”
“In heaven’s name no, boy! We must be our own detectives, and hunt them out. Curse the young scoundrel. I might have known he would be after no good. An infernal poacher on our preserves, boy.”
“Yes, guv’nor; and he has got clear off with the game.”
“Then you must run him down, and when you have found out where he is, communicate with me; I must be there at the meeting.”
“What? Lose time like that! No, guv’nor; I’ll half kill him—hang me if I don’t.”
“No, no! I know you feel ready to—a villain—but that won’t do. You’ll only frighten the poor girl more, and she’ll cling to him instead of coming away with you.”
“But, guv’nor—”
“Don’t hesitate, boy; I tell you I’m right. Let’s get Kate away from him, and then you may break every bone in his skin if you like.”
“But I want to give him a lesson at once.”
“Yes, of course you do—but Kate and her fortune, my boy. Once you’re on the scent, telegraph to me. I’ll come and stay at Day’s, in Surrey Street.”
“Suppose they’re gone abroad, guv’nor?”
“Well, follow them—all round the world if it’s necessary. By the way, you’ve always been very thick with Harry; now, between men of the world, has there ever been any affair going on? You know what I mean.”
“Lots, dad.”
“Ah!—Ever married either of them?”
“Not he.”
“That’s a pity,” said Wilton, “because it would have made matters so easy. Well, there, be off. The dog-cart’s at the door.”
Claud slapped his pocket, started for the station, and went up to stay at a bigger hotel than the quiet little place affected by his father; and about twelve o’clock the next day he presented himself at Garstang’s office, where Barlow, the old clerk, was busy answering letters for his employer to sign.
“Morning, Barlow,” said Claud, “Mr Harry in his room?”
“Mr Harry, sir? No, sir. I thought he was down with you, shooting and hunting.”
“Eh? Did he say that he was going down to Northwood?”
“Well, dear me! Really, Mr Claud Wilton, sir, I can’t be sure. I think I did hear him say something about Northwood; but whether it was that he was going there or had come back from there I really am not sure. Many pheasants this season?”
“Oh, never mind the pheasants,” cried Claud, impatiently. “When was that?”
“Dear me now,” said the man, thoughtfully; “now when was that—Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday—?”
“Thursday, Friday, Saturday,” cried Claud, impatiently. “What a dawdling old buffer you are! Come, when was it: you must know?”
“Really, sir, I can’t be sure.”
“Was it this week?”
“I shouldn’t like to say, sir.”
“Well, last week then?”
“It might have been, sir.”
“Yah!” growled Claud. “Think he’s down at Chislehurst?”
“He may be, sir.”
“Yes, and he may be at Jericho.”
“Yes, sir; but you’ll excuse me, there was a knock.”
The clerk shuffled off his stool, and went to the door to admit a fresh visitor in the person of Wilton pere.
“Ah, Claud, my boy! You here?”
“Yes, father, I’m here; just come,” said the young man, sulkily.
“Well, found them?”
“Do I look as if I had found them, dad? No.”
“Tut-tut-tut!” ejaculated Wilton, who looked pale and worn with anxiety. “Mr Garstang in, Mr Barlow?”
“Yes, sir,” said the clerk; “shall I say you are here?”
“Ye-es,” said Wilton. “Take in my card, and say that I shall be obliged if he will give me an interview.”
The old clerk bowed, and left the outer office for the inner, while Wilton turned to his son, to say hastily, “You may as well come in with me as you are here.”
“Thanks, no; much obliged. What made you come here? You don’t think he’s likely to know?”
“Yes, I do,” said Wilton, in a low voice. “I believe young Harry’s carried her off, and that he’s backing him up. You must come in with me: we must work together.”
“Mr Garstang will see you, gentlemen,” said the old clerk, entering.
“Gentlemen!” muttered Claud angrily, to his father.
“Yes, don’t leave me in the lurch, my boy,” whispered Wilton; and Claud noted a tremor in his father’s voice, and saw that he looked nervous and troubled.
Wilton made way for his son to pass in first, the young man drew back for his father, and matters were compromised by their entering together, Garstang, who looked perfectly calm, rising to motion them to seats, which they took; and then there was silence for a few moments, during which Claud sat tapping his teeth with the ivory handle of the stick he carried, keeping his eyes fixed the while upon his father, who seemed in doubt how to begin.
“May I ask why I am favoured with this visit, gentlemen?” said Garstang, at last.
This started Wilton, who coughed, pulled himself together, and looking the speaker fully in the face, said sharply,
“We came, Mr John Garstang, because we supposed that we should be expected.”
“Expected?” said Garstang, turning a little more round from his table, and passing one shapely leg over the other, so that he could grasp his ankle with both hands. “Well, I will be frank with you, James Wilton; there were moments when I did think it possible that you might come; I will not say to apologise, but to consult with me about that poor girl’s future. How is she?”
Father and son exchanged glances, the former being evidently taken a little aback.
“Well,” said Garstang, without pausing for an answer to this question; “I am glad you have come in a friendly spirit; I shall be pleased to meet you in the same way, so pray speak out. Let us have no fencing. Tell me what you propose to do.”
Wilton coughed again, and looked at his son.
“You must see,” said Garstang firmly, “that a fresh arrangement ought to be made at once. Under the circumstances she cannot stay at Northwood, and I will own that I am not prepared to suggest any relative of her father who seems suitable for the purpose. The large fortune which the poor child will inherit naturally acts as a bait, and there must be no risk of the poor girl being exposed to the pertinacious advances of every thoughtless boy who wishes to handle her money.”
“I say, look here,” cried Claud, “if you want to pick a quarrel, say so, and I’ll go.”
“I have no wish to pick a quarrel, young man,” replied Garstang, sternly; “and I should not have spoken like this if you had not sought me out. Perhaps you had better stay, sir, and hear what your father has to propose, unless he has already taken you into his confidence.”
“Well, he hasn’t,” said Claud, sulkily. “Go on, guv’nor, and get it over.”
“Yes, James Wilton, go on, please, as your son suggests, and get it over. My time is valuable, and in such a case as this, between relatives, I shall be unable to make a charge for legal services. Now then, once more, what do you propose?”
“About what?” said Wilton, bluntly.
“About the future home of your niece?”
“Ah, that’s what I’ve come about,” said Wilton, gazing at the other sternly. “Where is she?”
Garstang looked at him blankly for a few moments.
“Where is she?” he said at last. “What do you mean?”
“What I say: where is Kate Wilton?”
“Where is she?” cried Garstang, changing his manner, and speaking now with a display of eagerness very different from his calm dignified way of a few minutes before. “Why, you don’t mean to say that she has gone?”
“Yes, I do mean to say that she has gone.”
“Bravo!” cried Garstang, putting down the leg he had been nursing, and giving it a hearty slap. “The brave little thing! I should not have thought that she had it in her.”
“That won’t do, John Garstang,” said Wilton, sourly; “and it’s of no use to act. The law’s your profession—not acting. Now then, I want to know where she is.”
“How should I know, man? She was not placed in my charge.”
“You know, sir, because it was in your interest to know. This isn’t the first time I’ve known you play your cards, but you’re not playing them well: so you had better throw up your hand.”
“Look here, James Wilton,” said Garstang, looking at him curiously; “have you come here to insult me with your suspicions? If this young lady has left your roof, do you suppose I have had anything to do with it?”
“Yes, I do, and a great deal,” cried Wilton, angrily. “You can’t hoodwink me, even if you can net me and fleece me. Do you think I am blind?”
“In some things, very,” said Garstang, contemptuously—
“Then I’m not in this. I see through your plans clearly enough, but you are checked. Where is that boy of yours?”
“I have no boy,” said Garstang, contemptuously.
“Well, then, where is your stepson?”
“I do not know, James Wilton. Harry Dasent has long enough ago taken, as your son here would say, the bit in his teeth. I have not seen him since he came down to your place. But surely,” he cried, springing up excitedly, “you do not think—”
“Yes, I do think, sir,” cried Wilton, rising too; “I am sure that young scoundrel has carried her off. He has been hanging about my place all he could since she has been there, and paying all the court he could to her, and you know it as well as I do, the scoundrel has persuaded her that she was ill-used, and lured her away.”
“By Jove!” said Garstang, softly, as he stood looking thoughtfully at the carpet, and apparently hardly hearing a word in his stupefaction at this announcement,
“Do you hear what I say, sir?” cried Wilton, fiercely, for he was now thoroughly angry; “do you hear me?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” cried Garstang, making an effort as if to rouse himself. “Well, and if it is as you suspect, what then? Reckless as he is, Harry Dasent would make her as good a husband as Claud Wilton, and a better, for he is not related to her by blood.”
“You dare to tell me that!” thundered Wilton.
“Yes, of course,” said Garstang, coolly. “Why not?”
“Then you do know of it; you are at the bottom of it all; you have helped him to carry her off.”
“I swear I have not,” said Garstang, quietly. “I would not have done such a thing, for the poor girl’s sake. It may be possible, just as likely as for your boy here, to try and win the girl and her fortune, but I swear solemnly that I have not helped him in any way.”
“Then you tell me as a man—as a gentleman, that you did not know he had got her away?”
“I tell you as a man, as a gentleman, that I did not know he had got her away. What is more, I tell you I do not believe it. Tell me more. How and when did she leave? When did you miss her?”
“Night before last—no, no, I mean the next morning after you had left. She had gone in the night.”
Garstang’s hand shot out, and he caught Wilton by the shoulder with a fierce grip, while his lip quivered and his face twitched, as he gazed at him with a face full of horror.
“James Wilton,” he said, in a husky voice, “you jump at this conclusion, but did anyone see them go?”
“No: no one.”
“You don’t think—”
“Think what, man? What has come to you?”
“She was in terrible trouble, suffering and hysterical, when she went up to her room,” continued Garstang, with his voice sinking almost to a whisper, and with as fine a piece of acting as could have been seen off the stage. “Is it possible that, in her trouble and despair, she left the house, and—”
He ceased speaking, and stood with his lips apart, staring at his visitor, who changed colour and rapidly calmed down.
“No, no,” he said, and stopped to dear his voice. “Impossible! Absurd! I know what you mean; but no, no. A young girl wouldn’t go and do that just because her cousin kissed her.”
“But she has been ill, and she was very weak and sensitive.”
“Oh, yes, and the doctor put her right. No, no. She wouldn’t do that,” said Wilton, hastily. “It’s as I say. Come, Claud, my lad, we can do no good here, it seems. Let’s be moving. Morning, John Garstang; I am going to get help. I mean to run her down.”
“You should know her best, James Wilton, and perhaps my judgment has been too hasty. Yes, I think I agree with you: so sweet, pure-minded, and well-balanced a girl would never seek refuge in so horrible a way. We may learn that she is with some distant relative after all.”
“Perhaps so,” said Wilton hastily. “Come, Claud, my lad,” and he walked straight out, without glancing to right or left, and remained silent till they were crossing Russell Square.
“I say, guv’nor,” said Claud, who passed his tongue over his lips before speaking, as if they were dry, “you don’t think that, do you? It’s what the mater said.”
“No, no, impossible. Of course not. She couldn’t. I think, though, we may as well get back,” and for the moment he forgot all about the ladder planted against the sill.
And as they walked on they were profoundly unconscious of the fact that Garstang’s grave elderly clerk was following them at a little distance, and looking in every other direction, his employer having hurried him out with the words:
“See where they go.”
John Garstang then seated himself before the good fire in his private room, and began to think of the interview he had just had, while as he thought he smiled.
Chapter Twenty Eight.Kate gave way most unwillingly, but felt obliged to yield to what she felt was a common-sense view of the question.“If you write now we shall be having endless trouble,” said Garstang. “Your uncle will come here, and I shall be compelled to give you up.”“But I would refuse to go,” said Kate, with spirit.Garstang smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.“Will you give me credit, as an old lawyer, my dear child, for knowing a little of the law?”“Of course,” she cried.“Well, let me tell you that if James Wilton finds out where you are, I foresee endless troubles. You know his projects?”Kate nodded quickly.“To compass those plans, he will stop at nothing, even force. But supposing I defeat him in that, for I tell you frankly I should make every effort, he would set the law to work. If I get the best counsel I can, we shall have a long, wearisome lawsuit, and probably your late father’s estate will be thrown into Chancery. You will become a ward of the Lord Chancellor, and the inroads made upon your fortune will be frightful.”“I don’t think I should care,” said Kate, looking at him wistfully, “so long as I could be at peace.”“Have you thought out any relative or friend whom you feel that you can trust, and to whom you would like to go?”“No; not yet,” said Kate, wearily; “and I have tried very hard.”“Then don’t try, my child,” he said, with a smile, “and then perhaps the idea will come. I ought to say, though,” he added, playfully, “do try hard, so as not to succeed, for I do not want you to go. It is as if a change had come over my life, and like the man in one of the old plays, I had discovered a long-lost child.”“Pray don’t treat it lightly, Mr Garstang,” said Kate. “All this troubles me terribly. I feel so helpless.”“Believe me that if I talk lightly, I think very, very seriously of your position,” said Garstang, quickly. “I know how painful it must be for you to neglect your friends, those to whom you would write, but really I am obliged to advocate reticence for the present. I will have your letters posted if you desire me to, but I am bound to show you the consequences which must follow.”Kate sighed, and looked more and more troubled.“To put it more plainly,” continued Garstang, “my position is that I have an extensive practice, with many clients to see, and consequently I must be a great deal away. Now suppose one morning, when I am out, James Wilton and his son present themselves. What will you do?”Kate shivered, and gazed at him helplessly.“I shall not feel best pleased to come back home to dinner, and find you gone.”“My position is terrible,” said Kate. “I almost wish I were penniless.”“Come, come, not so terrible; it is only that of a prisoner who has her cell door barred inside, so that she can open it when she pleases. May I try and advise you a little?”“Yes, pray, pray do, Mr Garstang.”“Well, my advice is this—even if it causes your poor old nurse great anxiety. She will be content later on, when she learns that it was for your benefit. My advice is for you to try and settle down here for a while, so as to see how matters shape themselves, or till you have decided where it would be better for you to go.”She looked at him wistfully.“Could I not take apartments somewhere, and have Eliza up to keep house for me?”“Well—yes,” he said, thoughtfully. “It would be risky, for every movement of your old servant will be jealously watched just now. It would be better later on. What do you think?”“That I do not wish to seem ungrateful for your kindness, neither do I feel justified in putting you to great trouble and expense.”“Pooh, pooh,” he said, merrily, “I am not so poor that I can not afford myself a few pleasures. But proper pride is a fine thing. There, you shall be independent, and pay me back everything when you come of age.”He glanced at his watch, for breakfast had been over some time, and they had sat talking.“I am keeping you, Mr Garstang,” she said.“Well, I like to be kept, but I have several appointments to-day. Have a good quiet think while I am gone, and we will talk it over again to-night.”“No,” said Kate, quietly, “you will be tired then. I will take your advice, Mr Garstang.”“Yes?” he said, raising his eyebrows a little.“I will stay here for a time, where, as you say, I can be at rest and safe from intrusion. We will see what time brings forth.”“Spoken like a thoughtful, wise little woman,” said Garstang, without the slightest display of elation. “By the way, you find plenty of books to read?”“Oh, yes, and I have been studying the old china.”“A very interesting subject; but music—you are fond of music. We must see about that.”He nodded and smiled, and then she saw that he became very calm and thoughtful, as if immersed in his business affairs.Once more she was quite alone, thinking that she had been a whole week in the solemn old house, and a few minutes later the housekeeper entered to clear away the breakfast things.“Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?” said the woman sadly, when she had finished her task, Kate noticing the while that there was an occasional whisper outside the door, as the various articles were handed out.“No, I think not, this morning, Sarah,” said Kate, with a smile which proved infectious, for the woman stood staring at her for a few moments as if in wonder, and then her own countenance relaxed stiffly, as if she had not smiled in years, till her face looked nearly cheerful.“You are handsome, ma’am,” she said; “I haven’t seen you look like that before since you’ve been here.”“Why does not Becky come in to help you to clear away?” said Kate, to change the conversation, and Sarah Plant’s face grew stern and withered again, as she shook her head.“She’s such a sight, ma’am, with that handkercher round her head.”“I should not mind that; I have not fairly seen her since I came.”“No, ma’am, and you won’t if she can help it. You mayn’t mind, but she do. She always hides herself when anybody’s about. Poor girl, she’s been in trouble almost ever since she was born. There’s sure to be something in this life. Not as I complains of master. It was just the same with old master, and when he died it made Becky ever so much worse. You see, ma’am, old master’s wife was ill for a long time, and that made the house dull and quiet; and then she died, and old master was never the same again. He spent scores o’ thousands o’ pounds on furniture, and books, and china, and did everything he could to make the place nice, but he never held up his head again. And then somehow his money went wrong, and new master used to come to help him out of his troubles, but it was no use; old master never had the blinds pulled up again; and that made Becky and me different to most folk, for it used to be like being shut up in a cupboard, and we never hardly went out. Becky ain’t been out of the house for years, and years, and years.”“We must make the house more cheerful now, Sarah.”The woman looked at her in astonishment, and then shook her head.“Well, ma’am, I will say that it has seemed different since you came; but no—it’s beautifully furnished, and I never see a better kitchen in my life—but make it cheerful? No, ma’am, it ain’t to be done.”“We shall see,” said Kate, smiling, and the woman’s face relaxed once more as she gazed at the fair, intellectual countenance before her as if it were some beautiful object which gave her real pleasure; but as Kate’s smile died away her own features looked cloudy, and she shook her head.“No, ma’am, it’s my belief as this was meant to be a dull house before the big trouble came. Me and Becky used to say to one another it was just as if the sun had gone out, but we never expected what came at last, or I believe we should have run away.”The moment before Kate had been thinking of dismissing the housekeeper to her work, but this hint at something which had happened enchained her attention, and the woman went on.“You see, old master kept on getting from bad to worse, spite of Mr Garstang’s coming and seeing to his affairs; and one day the doctor says to me: ‘It’s of no use, Mrs Plant, I can do nothing for a man who shuts himself up and sets all the laws of nature at defiance.’ Those were his very words, ma’am; I recollected them because I never quite knew what they meant; but the doctor evidently thought master had done something wrong, though I don’t think he ever did, for he was such a good man. Then came that morning, ma’am. I may as well tell you now. Becky used to sleep with me then, same as she does now, but that was before she had face-ache and fits. I remember it as well as can be. It was just at daylight in autumn time, when the men brings round the ropes of onions, and I nudged her, and I says, ‘Time to get up, Becky,’ and she yawned and got up and went down, for she always dressed quicker than I could. And there I was, dressing, and thinking that master had told me that Mr Garstang was coming at ten o’clock, and I was to send him into the library at once, and breakfast was to be ready there.“I’d just put on my cap, ma’am, and was going down, when I heard the horridest shriek as ever was, and sank down in a chair trembling, for I felt as sure as sure that burglars were in the house, and they were murdering my poor Becky. I was that frightened I got up and tottered to the door, and locked and bolted it, for I said they shouldn’t murder me. But, oh, dear; what I did suffer! ‘Pretty sort of a mother you are,’ I says to myself, ‘taking care of yourself, and letting poor Becky be cut to pieces p’raps to hide their crime.’“That went to my heart like a knife, ma’am, and I unfastened the door again and went out and listened, and all was still as still. You know how quiet it can be in this house, ma’am, don’t you?”Kate nodded.“So I stood trembling there at the very top of the house, for we used to sleep up there, then, before Becky took to wanting to be downstairs, where she wasn’t so likely to be seen; and though I listened and I listened, there wasn’t a sound, and I give it to myself again. ‘Why,’ I says, ‘a cat would scratch if you tried to take away its kitten to drown it’—as well I know, ma’am, for I’ve tried—‘and you stand there doing nothing about your own poor girl.’ That roused me, ma’am, and I went down, with the staircase all gloomy, with the light coming only from the sooty skylight in the roof; and there were the china cupboards and the statues in the dark corners all seeming to look down at something on the first floor. I was ready to drop a dozen times over, but I felt that I must go, even if I died for it; and down I went, step by step, peeping before me, and ready to shriek for help directly I saw what it was.“But there was nothing that I could see, and I stopped on the first floor, looking over the banisters and trying to make out whether the hall door was open; but no, I couldn’t see anything, and I went along sideways, looking down still, till I saw that the dining-room door was open, and it seemed to me that the shrieking must have come from there. I was just opposite to the door leading into the two little lib’ries—you know, ma’am, where the big curtain is—and I was taking another step sideways, meaning to look a little more over and then go and call up master, who didn’t seem to have heard, when I caught my foot on something, and cried out and fell. And then I found it was poor Becky, who had just crawled out of the doorway on her hands and knees.“For just a minute I couldn’t say a word, but when I did, and asked her what was the matter, she only knelt there, clinging to my gownd, and staring up at me with a face that was horrible to behold.“‘What is it—what is it?’ I kept on saying, but she couldn’t speak, only kneel there, staring at me till I took her by the shoulders and shook her well. ‘Why don’t you speak?’ I says. ‘What is it?’“She only said ‘Oh’—a regular groan it was, and she turned her head slowly round to look back at the little lib’ry passage, and then she turned back and hid her face in my petticoats.“‘Tell me what it is, Becky,’ I says, more gently, for it didn’t seem that any harm was coming to us, but she couldn’t speak, only point behind her toward the little lib’ry door, and this made me shiver, for I knew there must be something dreadful there. At last, though, for fear she should think I was a coward, I tried to get away from her, but she clung to me that tight that I couldn’t get my gownd clear for ever so long. But at last I did, and I went into the little lobby through the door; but there was nothing there, and the lib’ry door was shut close; and I was coming back when I felt Becky seize me by the arm and point again, and then I saw what I hadn’t seen before; there were footmarks on the carpet fresh made, and I saw that Becky must have made ’em when she had gone to the lib’ry door; and there was the reason for it, just seen by the light which came from the little skylight—there it was, stealing slowly under the bottom of the mat.”
Kate gave way most unwillingly, but felt obliged to yield to what she felt was a common-sense view of the question.
“If you write now we shall be having endless trouble,” said Garstang. “Your uncle will come here, and I shall be compelled to give you up.”
“But I would refuse to go,” said Kate, with spirit.
Garstang smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Will you give me credit, as an old lawyer, my dear child, for knowing a little of the law?”
“Of course,” she cried.
“Well, let me tell you that if James Wilton finds out where you are, I foresee endless troubles. You know his projects?”
Kate nodded quickly.
“To compass those plans, he will stop at nothing, even force. But supposing I defeat him in that, for I tell you frankly I should make every effort, he would set the law to work. If I get the best counsel I can, we shall have a long, wearisome lawsuit, and probably your late father’s estate will be thrown into Chancery. You will become a ward of the Lord Chancellor, and the inroads made upon your fortune will be frightful.”
“I don’t think I should care,” said Kate, looking at him wistfully, “so long as I could be at peace.”
“Have you thought out any relative or friend whom you feel that you can trust, and to whom you would like to go?”
“No; not yet,” said Kate, wearily; “and I have tried very hard.”
“Then don’t try, my child,” he said, with a smile, “and then perhaps the idea will come. I ought to say, though,” he added, playfully, “do try hard, so as not to succeed, for I do not want you to go. It is as if a change had come over my life, and like the man in one of the old plays, I had discovered a long-lost child.”
“Pray don’t treat it lightly, Mr Garstang,” said Kate. “All this troubles me terribly. I feel so helpless.”
“Believe me that if I talk lightly, I think very, very seriously of your position,” said Garstang, quickly. “I know how painful it must be for you to neglect your friends, those to whom you would write, but really I am obliged to advocate reticence for the present. I will have your letters posted if you desire me to, but I am bound to show you the consequences which must follow.”
Kate sighed, and looked more and more troubled.
“To put it more plainly,” continued Garstang, “my position is that I have an extensive practice, with many clients to see, and consequently I must be a great deal away. Now suppose one morning, when I am out, James Wilton and his son present themselves. What will you do?”
Kate shivered, and gazed at him helplessly.
“I shall not feel best pleased to come back home to dinner, and find you gone.”
“My position is terrible,” said Kate. “I almost wish I were penniless.”
“Come, come, not so terrible; it is only that of a prisoner who has her cell door barred inside, so that she can open it when she pleases. May I try and advise you a little?”
“Yes, pray, pray do, Mr Garstang.”
“Well, my advice is this—even if it causes your poor old nurse great anxiety. She will be content later on, when she learns that it was for your benefit. My advice is for you to try and settle down here for a while, so as to see how matters shape themselves, or till you have decided where it would be better for you to go.”
She looked at him wistfully.
“Could I not take apartments somewhere, and have Eliza up to keep house for me?”
“Well—yes,” he said, thoughtfully. “It would be risky, for every movement of your old servant will be jealously watched just now. It would be better later on. What do you think?”
“That I do not wish to seem ungrateful for your kindness, neither do I feel justified in putting you to great trouble and expense.”
“Pooh, pooh,” he said, merrily, “I am not so poor that I can not afford myself a few pleasures. But proper pride is a fine thing. There, you shall be independent, and pay me back everything when you come of age.”
He glanced at his watch, for breakfast had been over some time, and they had sat talking.
“I am keeping you, Mr Garstang,” she said.
“Well, I like to be kept, but I have several appointments to-day. Have a good quiet think while I am gone, and we will talk it over again to-night.”
“No,” said Kate, quietly, “you will be tired then. I will take your advice, Mr Garstang.”
“Yes?” he said, raising his eyebrows a little.
“I will stay here for a time, where, as you say, I can be at rest and safe from intrusion. We will see what time brings forth.”
“Spoken like a thoughtful, wise little woman,” said Garstang, without the slightest display of elation. “By the way, you find plenty of books to read?”
“Oh, yes, and I have been studying the old china.”
“A very interesting subject; but music—you are fond of music. We must see about that.”
He nodded and smiled, and then she saw that he became very calm and thoughtful, as if immersed in his business affairs.
Once more she was quite alone, thinking that she had been a whole week in the solemn old house, and a few minutes later the housekeeper entered to clear away the breakfast things.
“Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?” said the woman sadly, when she had finished her task, Kate noticing the while that there was an occasional whisper outside the door, as the various articles were handed out.
“No, I think not, this morning, Sarah,” said Kate, with a smile which proved infectious, for the woman stood staring at her for a few moments as if in wonder, and then her own countenance relaxed stiffly, as if she had not smiled in years, till her face looked nearly cheerful.
“You are handsome, ma’am,” she said; “I haven’t seen you look like that before since you’ve been here.”
“Why does not Becky come in to help you to clear away?” said Kate, to change the conversation, and Sarah Plant’s face grew stern and withered again, as she shook her head.
“She’s such a sight, ma’am, with that handkercher round her head.”
“I should not mind that; I have not fairly seen her since I came.”
“No, ma’am, and you won’t if she can help it. You mayn’t mind, but she do. She always hides herself when anybody’s about. Poor girl, she’s been in trouble almost ever since she was born. There’s sure to be something in this life. Not as I complains of master. It was just the same with old master, and when he died it made Becky ever so much worse. You see, ma’am, old master’s wife was ill for a long time, and that made the house dull and quiet; and then she died, and old master was never the same again. He spent scores o’ thousands o’ pounds on furniture, and books, and china, and did everything he could to make the place nice, but he never held up his head again. And then somehow his money went wrong, and new master used to come to help him out of his troubles, but it was no use; old master never had the blinds pulled up again; and that made Becky and me different to most folk, for it used to be like being shut up in a cupboard, and we never hardly went out. Becky ain’t been out of the house for years, and years, and years.”
“We must make the house more cheerful now, Sarah.”
The woman looked at her in astonishment, and then shook her head.
“Well, ma’am, I will say that it has seemed different since you came; but no—it’s beautifully furnished, and I never see a better kitchen in my life—but make it cheerful? No, ma’am, it ain’t to be done.”
“We shall see,” said Kate, smiling, and the woman’s face relaxed once more as she gazed at the fair, intellectual countenance before her as if it were some beautiful object which gave her real pleasure; but as Kate’s smile died away her own features looked cloudy, and she shook her head.
“No, ma’am, it’s my belief as this was meant to be a dull house before the big trouble came. Me and Becky used to say to one another it was just as if the sun had gone out, but we never expected what came at last, or I believe we should have run away.”
The moment before Kate had been thinking of dismissing the housekeeper to her work, but this hint at something which had happened enchained her attention, and the woman went on.
“You see, old master kept on getting from bad to worse, spite of Mr Garstang’s coming and seeing to his affairs; and one day the doctor says to me: ‘It’s of no use, Mrs Plant, I can do nothing for a man who shuts himself up and sets all the laws of nature at defiance.’ Those were his very words, ma’am; I recollected them because I never quite knew what they meant; but the doctor evidently thought master had done something wrong, though I don’t think he ever did, for he was such a good man. Then came that morning, ma’am. I may as well tell you now. Becky used to sleep with me then, same as she does now, but that was before she had face-ache and fits. I remember it as well as can be. It was just at daylight in autumn time, when the men brings round the ropes of onions, and I nudged her, and I says, ‘Time to get up, Becky,’ and she yawned and got up and went down, for she always dressed quicker than I could. And there I was, dressing, and thinking that master had told me that Mr Garstang was coming at ten o’clock, and I was to send him into the library at once, and breakfast was to be ready there.
“I’d just put on my cap, ma’am, and was going down, when I heard the horridest shriek as ever was, and sank down in a chair trembling, for I felt as sure as sure that burglars were in the house, and they were murdering my poor Becky. I was that frightened I got up and tottered to the door, and locked and bolted it, for I said they shouldn’t murder me. But, oh, dear; what I did suffer! ‘Pretty sort of a mother you are,’ I says to myself, ‘taking care of yourself, and letting poor Becky be cut to pieces p’raps to hide their crime.’
“That went to my heart like a knife, ma’am, and I unfastened the door again and went out and listened, and all was still as still. You know how quiet it can be in this house, ma’am, don’t you?”
Kate nodded.
“So I stood trembling there at the very top of the house, for we used to sleep up there, then, before Becky took to wanting to be downstairs, where she wasn’t so likely to be seen; and though I listened and I listened, there wasn’t a sound, and I give it to myself again. ‘Why,’ I says, ‘a cat would scratch if you tried to take away its kitten to drown it’—as well I know, ma’am, for I’ve tried—‘and you stand there doing nothing about your own poor girl.’ That roused me, ma’am, and I went down, with the staircase all gloomy, with the light coming only from the sooty skylight in the roof; and there were the china cupboards and the statues in the dark corners all seeming to look down at something on the first floor. I was ready to drop a dozen times over, but I felt that I must go, even if I died for it; and down I went, step by step, peeping before me, and ready to shriek for help directly I saw what it was.
“But there was nothing that I could see, and I stopped on the first floor, looking over the banisters and trying to make out whether the hall door was open; but no, I couldn’t see anything, and I went along sideways, looking down still, till I saw that the dining-room door was open, and it seemed to me that the shrieking must have come from there. I was just opposite to the door leading into the two little lib’ries—you know, ma’am, where the big curtain is—and I was taking another step sideways, meaning to look a little more over and then go and call up master, who didn’t seem to have heard, when I caught my foot on something, and cried out and fell. And then I found it was poor Becky, who had just crawled out of the doorway on her hands and knees.
“For just a minute I couldn’t say a word, but when I did, and asked her what was the matter, she only knelt there, clinging to my gownd, and staring up at me with a face that was horrible to behold.
“‘What is it—what is it?’ I kept on saying, but she couldn’t speak, only kneel there, staring at me till I took her by the shoulders and shook her well. ‘Why don’t you speak?’ I says. ‘What is it?’
“She only said ‘Oh’—a regular groan it was, and she turned her head slowly round to look back at the little lib’ry passage, and then she turned back and hid her face in my petticoats.
“‘Tell me what it is, Becky,’ I says, more gently, for it didn’t seem that any harm was coming to us, but she couldn’t speak, only point behind her toward the little lib’ry door, and this made me shiver, for I knew there must be something dreadful there. At last, though, for fear she should think I was a coward, I tried to get away from her, but she clung to me that tight that I couldn’t get my gownd clear for ever so long. But at last I did, and I went into the little lobby through the door; but there was nothing there, and the lib’ry door was shut close; and I was coming back when I felt Becky seize me by the arm and point again, and then I saw what I hadn’t seen before; there were footmarks on the carpet fresh made, and I saw that Becky must have made ’em when she had gone to the lib’ry door; and there was the reason for it, just seen by the light which came from the little skylight—there it was, stealing slowly under the bottom of the mat.”
Chapter Twenty Nine.Kate Wilton looked at the woman in horror.“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah continued, “there it was, and when I opened the door I could only get it a little way, for something was just inside, and as I stood there trembling, there came out a nasty wet smell of gunpowder, just as if water had been upset on the hob.“I didn’t want any telling, ma’am; I knew, and poor Becky knew, that master had shot himself with something and was lying there.“I waited for just about a minute, ma’am, for my senses seemed to be quite gone, and I was as bad as poor Becky; but I got to be a little sensible soon, and began to feel that I must do something. I called to Becky to come and help me, but it was no use; she was just as if she was stunned, and could only stare at me, shivering all the while. So I felt that I must do what there was to do myself, and I went back to the door, and pushed and pushed till I could just squeeze myself through the narrow slit I made; and then I dursen’t look round, but stood with my back to it for ever so long before I could feel that he might be alive, and that I ought to go for the doctor.“I looked round then, feeling as I turned that I should be obliged to shriek out, but I didn’t. Poor master, he was lying on his side, with his hand under his head, just quiet and calm, as if he had only gone to sleep. It made me wonder what I had been frightened at, and I went down on one knee and took the hand which was by his side, touching a pistol.”“Yes?” said Kate, breathlessly, for the woman paused.“Yes, ma’am, it was quite cold. He must have shot himself early in the night, and I knew it was no good to go to fetch a doctor then. Leastwise I think that’s what I felt, for I didn’tgo, but crept out very softly and shut the door; and then I took hold of poor Becky’s arm and led her down to the kitchen, where she went off into a dead faint, and came to, and fainted over again—fit after fit, so that I was busy for hours and didn’t know how time went, till all at once there was a double knock at the door, which I knew was Mr Garstang come.“I went up and let him in, and he looked at me so strange.“‘What is it?’ he said; ‘your master?’“‘Yes, sir,’ I says, ‘and I was to show you in as soon as you came.’“He nodded, and went up at once, neither of us saying another word. Then he went in through the door gently, and came out again, looking horribly shocked.“‘When did you find him?’ he says; and I told him. ‘Poor fellow!’ he says, ‘I am not surprised. Sarah Plant, you must go and tell the police;’ and I did, and there was an inquest, and at last the poor old master was to be buried, with only Mr Garstang to follow him, for he had no relations or friends.“I sat in my bit of noo black, and Becky just opposite me, waiting while they’d gone to the cemetery, for no one asked me to go, and I sat there looking at Becky, who began crying as she heard them carrying the coffin downstairs and never stopped all that time. And I thought to myself, ‘We two will have to go out into the world, and nobody won’t take us with poor Becky like that;’ and my heart was so full, miss—ma’am, that I began to cry, too; but I’m afraid it was for myself, not for poor master. Last of all, the carriage came back, and I let Mr Garstang in, looking terribly cut up.“‘Bring me a little tea, Sarah,’ he says, and I went and got it, and had a cup, too, wanting it as I did badly, and by-and-by he rung for me to fetch the tray.“I got to the door with it, when he calls me back.“‘Sarah,’ he says, ‘your poor master has no relations left, and by the papers I hold, everything comes to me.’“‘Yes, sir; so I s’posed,’ I says to him, ‘and you want me and Becky to go at once.’“He looked at me with that nice soft smile of his, and he says, ‘Why should you think that? No,’ he says, ‘I want everything to stay just as it is; I won’t have a thing moved, and I should be very glad if you and Becky would stay and keep the house for me.’“I couldn’t answer him, ma’am, for I was crying bitterly; but I knew him, what a good man he was, and that me and Becky had found a friend. Seven years ago, ma’am, and never an unkind word from him when he came, which wasn’t often. He only told me not to gossip about the place, and I said I wouldn’t, and never did till I talked to you, ma’am, and as for poor Becky, she never speaks to no one. Perhaps, ma’am, you’d like to come upstairs, and see the marks.”“See the marks?” stammered Kate.“Yes, ma’am, where old master lay. You’ve never been in the little lib’ry, but if you like I’ll show you now. There’s only a little rug to move, and there it is, quite plain.”“No, no, I do not wish to see,” said Kate, shuddering. “So there has been a terrible tragedy here?”“Yes, ma’am, and that’s what makes the place so dull and still. I often fancy I can see poor old master gliding about the staircase and passages; but it’s all fancy, of course.”“All fancy, of course,” said Kate, softly. “But it is very terrible for such a thing to have happened here.”“Yes, ma’am, that’s what I often think; and there’s been times when I’m low-spirited; and you know there are times when one does get like that Becky’s enough to make anyone dumpy, at the best of times, ’specially towards night, when she’s sitting there with her face tied up and her eyes staring and looking toward the door, as if she fancied she was going to see master come in; for she will believe in ghosts, and it’s no use to try to stop her. Ah, she’s a great trial, ma’am.”“Poor girl!” said Kate.“Thankye, ma’am. It’s very good of you to say so,” sighed the woman; “and it is nice to have a lady here to talk to. It’s quite altered the place. There have been times, and many of them, when I felt that I must take poor Becky away and get another situation, but it would be ungrateful to new master, who’s a dear good man, and never an unkind word since with him I’ve been. It isn’t everyone who’d keep a servant with a girl like Becky about the house. But he never seems to mind, being a busy man, and I s’pose he must see that the only way in which Becky’s happy is in cleaning and polishing things. I believe if she woke up in the middle of the night and remembered that she hadn’t dusted something she’d want to get up and do it; and she would, too, if she dared. But go about the house in the middle of the night without me, ma’am? No; wild horses wouldn’t drag her.”Sarah Plant ceased speaking, for she suddenly woke to the fact that Kate was gazing at the fire, with her thoughts evidently far away; and the woman stole softly from the room. But as the door clicked faintly Kate started and looked about her, half disposed to call her back, for the narrative she had heard made her position seem terribly lonely.She restrained herself, though, and sat trying to think and turn the current of her thoughts, telling herself that she had no cause for anxiety save on Eliza’s account. For Garstang could not have been more fatherly and considerate to her. His words, too, were wise and right. To let her uncle know where she was must result in scenes that would be stormy and violent; and she determined at last to let herself be guided entirely by her self-constituted guardian.“Yes, he is right. He is all that is kind and fatherly in his way, and I, too, should be ungrateful if I murmured against my position. It will not be for long. In less than two years I shall be of age, and fully my own mistress.”She paused to think, for a doubt arose.Would she be her own mistress? She had heard her father’s will read, but it was at a time when she was distracted with grief, and save that she grasped that she was heiress to a large fortune, which was to remain invested in her father’s old bank, she knew comparatively nothing as to the control her uncle possessed. Yes; she recalled that he was sole executor and guardian until she married.“And I shall never marry,” she sighed; but as the words were breathed, scenes at the old Manor came back; the pleasant little intimacy with Jenny Leigh, her praise of her brother, and that brother’s manly, kindly attentions to his patient, his skill having achieved so much in bringing her back to health.Yes, he had always been the attentive, courteous physician, and neither word nor look had intimated that he was anything else; but these things are a mystery beyond human control, and as Kate Wilton sat and thought, it was with Pierce Leigh present with her in spirit, and she felt startled; for the tell-tale blood was mantling her cheeks, and she hurriedly rose to do something to change the current of her thoughts.“Poor Mr Garstang,” she said, softly; “he shall not find me ungrateful. He, too, has suffered. If he had had a daughter like this!”She recalled his words, evidently not intended for her ears. Wifeless—childless—wealthy, and yet solitary.Her heart warmed towards him, and she was ready to call herself selfish for intruding her wishes upon one whose sole thought seemed to be to protect her and make her life peaceful.“He shall not find me selfish,” she said to herself, “and I will be guided by him and do what he thinks right.”She went out into the solemn-looking hall and began to ascend the great staircase, taking a fresh interest in the place, which seemed now as if it would be her home perhaps for months. The pictures and statues interested her, and she paused before a cabinet of curious old china, partly to try and admire, partly to think of how ignorant she was of all these matters, and a few minutes after, found herself close to the heavy curtain, beyond which was the door leading into the little library.A strange thrill ran through her, and she turned to hurry into her own room, with her cheeks growing pale. But the blood flowed back, and with a feeling of self-contempt she walked straight to the curtain, drew it aside, passed through an archway, and turned the handle of a door. This opened upon a passage, whose walls were covered with venerable looking books, a dim skylight above showing the faded leather and worn gilding upon their backs. There was another door at the end, and as the woman’s narrative forced itself back to her attention there was a fresh thrill which chilled her; but she went on firmly, opened the door, and passed through to find herself in the first of two rooms connected by a broad opening dimly lit by a stained-glass window, and completely covered with books, all old and evidently treasures of a collector.Once more she shuddered, for she was standing upon one of several small Persian rugs dotted about the dark polished floor, and from the woman’s description she knew that she must be where the former owner of the house had lain dead.But the sensation of dread was momentary, and the warm flush of life came back to her cheeks as she said softly:“What is there to fear?” and then found herself repeating:“‘There is no Death! What seems so is transition;This life of mortal breathIs but a suburb of the life elysianWhose portal we call Death.’“Oh, father—father!” she moaned softly; “but I am so lonely without you;” and she sank into a chair, to weep bitterly.The tears brought relief and firmness, and drying her eyes, she went slowly from room to room, thinking of him who had once trod those boards—a sad and solitary man.Somehow her thoughts brought her back to Garstang, who seemed so noble and chivalrous in his conduct to her, and how that he, too, was a sad and solitary man, for she had heard in the past that his marriage had proved unhappy.A few minutes later, when she let the curtain drop behind her, and stood once more on the staircase, a change had come over her, and in spite of the slight redness and moisture remaining in her eyes, she looked brighter and more at rest, till she caught a glimpse of a strangely wild pair of staring eyes gazing at her from one of the dark doorways in horror and wonder, till their owner grasped the fact that she was observed, and fled.“Poor Becky!” thought Kate, as she smiled sadly? “I must try and make friends with her now.”
Kate Wilton looked at the woman in horror.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah continued, “there it was, and when I opened the door I could only get it a little way, for something was just inside, and as I stood there trembling, there came out a nasty wet smell of gunpowder, just as if water had been upset on the hob.
“I didn’t want any telling, ma’am; I knew, and poor Becky knew, that master had shot himself with something and was lying there.
“I waited for just about a minute, ma’am, for my senses seemed to be quite gone, and I was as bad as poor Becky; but I got to be a little sensible soon, and began to feel that I must do something. I called to Becky to come and help me, but it was no use; she was just as if she was stunned, and could only stare at me, shivering all the while. So I felt that I must do what there was to do myself, and I went back to the door, and pushed and pushed till I could just squeeze myself through the narrow slit I made; and then I dursen’t look round, but stood with my back to it for ever so long before I could feel that he might be alive, and that I ought to go for the doctor.
“I looked round then, feeling as I turned that I should be obliged to shriek out, but I didn’t. Poor master, he was lying on his side, with his hand under his head, just quiet and calm, as if he had only gone to sleep. It made me wonder what I had been frightened at, and I went down on one knee and took the hand which was by his side, touching a pistol.”
“Yes?” said Kate, breathlessly, for the woman paused.
“Yes, ma’am, it was quite cold. He must have shot himself early in the night, and I knew it was no good to go to fetch a doctor then. Leastwise I think that’s what I felt, for I didn’tgo, but crept out very softly and shut the door; and then I took hold of poor Becky’s arm and led her down to the kitchen, where she went off into a dead faint, and came to, and fainted over again—fit after fit, so that I was busy for hours and didn’t know how time went, till all at once there was a double knock at the door, which I knew was Mr Garstang come.
“I went up and let him in, and he looked at me so strange.
“‘What is it?’ he said; ‘your master?’
“‘Yes, sir,’ I says, ‘and I was to show you in as soon as you came.’
“He nodded, and went up at once, neither of us saying another word. Then he went in through the door gently, and came out again, looking horribly shocked.
“‘When did you find him?’ he says; and I told him. ‘Poor fellow!’ he says, ‘I am not surprised. Sarah Plant, you must go and tell the police;’ and I did, and there was an inquest, and at last the poor old master was to be buried, with only Mr Garstang to follow him, for he had no relations or friends.
“I sat in my bit of noo black, and Becky just opposite me, waiting while they’d gone to the cemetery, for no one asked me to go, and I sat there looking at Becky, who began crying as she heard them carrying the coffin downstairs and never stopped all that time. And I thought to myself, ‘We two will have to go out into the world, and nobody won’t take us with poor Becky like that;’ and my heart was so full, miss—ma’am, that I began to cry, too; but I’m afraid it was for myself, not for poor master. Last of all, the carriage came back, and I let Mr Garstang in, looking terribly cut up.
“‘Bring me a little tea, Sarah,’ he says, and I went and got it, and had a cup, too, wanting it as I did badly, and by-and-by he rung for me to fetch the tray.
“I got to the door with it, when he calls me back.
“‘Sarah,’ he says, ‘your poor master has no relations left, and by the papers I hold, everything comes to me.’
“‘Yes, sir; so I s’posed,’ I says to him, ‘and you want me and Becky to go at once.’
“He looked at me with that nice soft smile of his, and he says, ‘Why should you think that? No,’ he says, ‘I want everything to stay just as it is; I won’t have a thing moved, and I should be very glad if you and Becky would stay and keep the house for me.’
“I couldn’t answer him, ma’am, for I was crying bitterly; but I knew him, what a good man he was, and that me and Becky had found a friend. Seven years ago, ma’am, and never an unkind word from him when he came, which wasn’t often. He only told me not to gossip about the place, and I said I wouldn’t, and never did till I talked to you, ma’am, and as for poor Becky, she never speaks to no one. Perhaps, ma’am, you’d like to come upstairs, and see the marks.”
“See the marks?” stammered Kate.
“Yes, ma’am, where old master lay. You’ve never been in the little lib’ry, but if you like I’ll show you now. There’s only a little rug to move, and there it is, quite plain.”
“No, no, I do not wish to see,” said Kate, shuddering. “So there has been a terrible tragedy here?”
“Yes, ma’am, and that’s what makes the place so dull and still. I often fancy I can see poor old master gliding about the staircase and passages; but it’s all fancy, of course.”
“All fancy, of course,” said Kate, softly. “But it is very terrible for such a thing to have happened here.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s what I often think; and there’s been times when I’m low-spirited; and you know there are times when one does get like that Becky’s enough to make anyone dumpy, at the best of times, ’specially towards night, when she’s sitting there with her face tied up and her eyes staring and looking toward the door, as if she fancied she was going to see master come in; for she will believe in ghosts, and it’s no use to try to stop her. Ah, she’s a great trial, ma’am.”
“Poor girl!” said Kate.
“Thankye, ma’am. It’s very good of you to say so,” sighed the woman; “and it is nice to have a lady here to talk to. It’s quite altered the place. There have been times, and many of them, when I felt that I must take poor Becky away and get another situation, but it would be ungrateful to new master, who’s a dear good man, and never an unkind word since with him I’ve been. It isn’t everyone who’d keep a servant with a girl like Becky about the house. But he never seems to mind, being a busy man, and I s’pose he must see that the only way in which Becky’s happy is in cleaning and polishing things. I believe if she woke up in the middle of the night and remembered that she hadn’t dusted something she’d want to get up and do it; and she would, too, if she dared. But go about the house in the middle of the night without me, ma’am? No; wild horses wouldn’t drag her.”
Sarah Plant ceased speaking, for she suddenly woke to the fact that Kate was gazing at the fire, with her thoughts evidently far away; and the woman stole softly from the room. But as the door clicked faintly Kate started and looked about her, half disposed to call her back, for the narrative she had heard made her position seem terribly lonely.
She restrained herself, though, and sat trying to think and turn the current of her thoughts, telling herself that she had no cause for anxiety save on Eliza’s account. For Garstang could not have been more fatherly and considerate to her. His words, too, were wise and right. To let her uncle know where she was must result in scenes that would be stormy and violent; and she determined at last to let herself be guided entirely by her self-constituted guardian.
“Yes, he is right. He is all that is kind and fatherly in his way, and I, too, should be ungrateful if I murmured against my position. It will not be for long. In less than two years I shall be of age, and fully my own mistress.”
She paused to think, for a doubt arose.
Would she be her own mistress? She had heard her father’s will read, but it was at a time when she was distracted with grief, and save that she grasped that she was heiress to a large fortune, which was to remain invested in her father’s old bank, she knew comparatively nothing as to the control her uncle possessed. Yes; she recalled that he was sole executor and guardian until she married.
“And I shall never marry,” she sighed; but as the words were breathed, scenes at the old Manor came back; the pleasant little intimacy with Jenny Leigh, her praise of her brother, and that brother’s manly, kindly attentions to his patient, his skill having achieved so much in bringing her back to health.
Yes, he had always been the attentive, courteous physician, and neither word nor look had intimated that he was anything else; but these things are a mystery beyond human control, and as Kate Wilton sat and thought, it was with Pierce Leigh present with her in spirit, and she felt startled; for the tell-tale blood was mantling her cheeks, and she hurriedly rose to do something to change the current of her thoughts.
“Poor Mr Garstang,” she said, softly; “he shall not find me ungrateful. He, too, has suffered. If he had had a daughter like this!”
She recalled his words, evidently not intended for her ears. Wifeless—childless—wealthy, and yet solitary.
Her heart warmed towards him, and she was ready to call herself selfish for intruding her wishes upon one whose sole thought seemed to be to protect her and make her life peaceful.
“He shall not find me selfish,” she said to herself, “and I will be guided by him and do what he thinks right.”
She went out into the solemn-looking hall and began to ascend the great staircase, taking a fresh interest in the place, which seemed now as if it would be her home perhaps for months. The pictures and statues interested her, and she paused before a cabinet of curious old china, partly to try and admire, partly to think of how ignorant she was of all these matters, and a few minutes after, found herself close to the heavy curtain, beyond which was the door leading into the little library.
A strange thrill ran through her, and she turned to hurry into her own room, with her cheeks growing pale. But the blood flowed back, and with a feeling of self-contempt she walked straight to the curtain, drew it aside, passed through an archway, and turned the handle of a door. This opened upon a passage, whose walls were covered with venerable looking books, a dim skylight above showing the faded leather and worn gilding upon their backs. There was another door at the end, and as the woman’s narrative forced itself back to her attention there was a fresh thrill which chilled her; but she went on firmly, opened the door, and passed through to find herself in the first of two rooms connected by a broad opening dimly lit by a stained-glass window, and completely covered with books, all old and evidently treasures of a collector.
Once more she shuddered, for she was standing upon one of several small Persian rugs dotted about the dark polished floor, and from the woman’s description she knew that she must be where the former owner of the house had lain dead.
But the sensation of dread was momentary, and the warm flush of life came back to her cheeks as she said softly:
“What is there to fear?” and then found herself repeating:
“‘There is no Death! What seems so is transition;This life of mortal breathIs but a suburb of the life elysianWhose portal we call Death.’
“‘There is no Death! What seems so is transition;This life of mortal breathIs but a suburb of the life elysianWhose portal we call Death.’
“Oh, father—father!” she moaned softly; “but I am so lonely without you;” and she sank into a chair, to weep bitterly.
The tears brought relief and firmness, and drying her eyes, she went slowly from room to room, thinking of him who had once trod those boards—a sad and solitary man.
Somehow her thoughts brought her back to Garstang, who seemed so noble and chivalrous in his conduct to her, and how that he, too, was a sad and solitary man, for she had heard in the past that his marriage had proved unhappy.
A few minutes later, when she let the curtain drop behind her, and stood once more on the staircase, a change had come over her, and in spite of the slight redness and moisture remaining in her eyes, she looked brighter and more at rest, till she caught a glimpse of a strangely wild pair of staring eyes gazing at her from one of the dark doorways in horror and wonder, till their owner grasped the fact that she was observed, and fled.
“Poor Becky!” thought Kate, as she smiled sadly? “I must try and make friends with her now.”
Chapter Thirty.The days passed calmly enough with Kate Wilton, and no more was said on either side about communicating with anyone. Garstang was there at breakfast, and left till dinner time, when he returned punctually.Kate read and worked, and waited for him to speak, striving the while by her manner to let her guardian see that she was trying to show her gratitude to him for all that he had done. And so a fortnight glided by, and then, unable to bear it longer, she determined to question him.That evening Garstang came in looking weary and careworn. There was evidently some trouble on the way, and as she rose to meet him she felt that she must not speak that night, for her new guardian had cares enough of his own to deal with.But he began at once as he took her hands, smiling gravely as he looked in her eyes.“Well, my poor little prisoner,” he said, half-banteringly, “aren’t you utterly worn out, and longing, little bird, to begin beating your breast against the bars of your cage?”“No,” she said, gently; “I am getting used to it now.”“Brave little bird!” he said, raising both her hands to his lips and kissing them, before letting them fall; “then I shall come back some evening and hear you warbling once again. I have not heard you sing since the last evening I spent in Bedford Square long months ago.”He saw her countenance change, and he went on hastily:“By the way, has Sarah Plant bought everything for you that you require?”“Oh, yes,” she said; “far more.”“That’s right. I am so ignorant about such matters. Pray do not hesitate to give her orders. Do you know,” he continued, as he sat down and began to warm his hands, gazing the while with wrinkled brow at the fire, “I have been doing something to-day in fear and trembling.”“Indeed?” she said, anxiously.“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, as he took up the poker and began to softly tap pieces of unburned coal into glowing holes. “My conscience has been smiting me horribly about you, my child. I come back after fidgeting all day about your being so lonely and dull, with nothing but those serious books about you—by the way, did they send in that parcel from the library?”“Yes. Thank you for being so thoughtful about me, Mr Garstang.”“Oh, nonsense! But I think, my child, we could get rid of that formal Mr Garstang. Do you think you could call me guardian, little maid?”“Yes, guardian,” she said, smiling at him, as he turned to look at her anxiously.“Hah! Come, that’s better,” he cried; and he set down the poker and rubbed his hands softly, as he gazed once more thoughtfully at the fire. “That sounds more as if you felt at home, and I shall dare to tell you what I have done. You see, I have been obliged to beg of you not to go out for a bit without me, and I have not liked to propose taking you of an evening to any place of entertainment—not a theatre, of course yet awhile, but a concert, say.”“Oh no, Mr Garstang!” she said, hastily, with the tears coming to her eyes.He coughed, and looked at her in a perplexed way.“Oh no, guardian,” she said, smiling sadly.“Hah! that’s better. Of course not; of course not. Forgive me for even referring to it. But er—you will not feel hurt at what I have done?”She looked at him anxiously.“Yes,” he said, speaking as if he had been suddenly damped. “I ought not to have done it yet. It will seem as if I were making it appear that you will have to stop some time.”“What have you done?” asked Kate, gravely.“Well, my child, I know how musical you used to be, and as I was passing the maker’s to-day the thought struck me that you would like a piano. ‘It would make the place less dull for her,’ I said, and—don’t be hurt, my dear—I—I told him to send a good one in.”“Mr Garstang!—guardian!” she said, starting up, with the tears now beginning to fall.“There, there, fought to have known better,” he cried, catching up the poker, and beginning to use it hurriedly. “Men are so stupid. Don’t take any notice, my dear. I’ll counter-order it.”“No, no,” she said gently, as she advanced to him and held out her hand “I am not hurt; I am pleased and grateful.”“You are—really?” he cried, letting the poker drop, and catching her hand in his.“Of course I am,” she said, simply. “How could I be otherwise? Don’t think me so thoughtless, and that I do not feel deeply all your kindness.”“Kindness, nonsense!” he said, dropping her hand again, and turning away. “But will it help to make the time pass better?”“Yes, I shall be very glad to have it.”“And, er—you’ll sing and play to me sometimes when I come back here?”“Yes,” she said, smiling through her tears; “and I would to-night, now that you have come back tired and careworn, if it were here.”“Tired and careworn? Who is?”“You are. Do you think I could not see?”He looked at her with his eyes full of admiration, and then turned to the fire again.“I am most grateful, guardian,” she said. “But shall I have to be a prisoner long?”“Hah!” he said with a sigh, and as if not hearing her question, “you are right, my child. I have had a very, very worrying day.”“I thought so,” said Kate, resuming her seat, and looking at him in a commiserating way. “I hope it is nothing very serious.”“Serious?” he said, turning to her, sharply. “Well, yes it is, but I ought not to worry you about it.”“They say that sometimes relief comes in speaking of our troubles.”“But suppose one gets relief, and the other pain?” he said, looking at her quickly.“Then it is something about me?”He turned and looked at the fire again.“Please tell me, guardian,” she said.“Only make you unhappy, my dear, just when you are getting back to your old self.”She looked at him in a troubled way for some moments, and then with a sudden outburst:“You have seen Uncle James?”He did not answer for a while, but sat gazing at the fire.“Yes,” he said, at last; “I have seen your Uncle James.”“And he knows I am here,” she cried, clasping her hands, and looking at him in horror.He turned slowly and met her eyes.“Then you don’t repent the step you have taken, and want to go back to Northwood?” he said.“How could I when you have protected me as you have, and saved me from so much suffering and insult?”“Hah!” he said, with a sigh of relief, “thank you, my child. I was afraid that you would be ready to return to him.”“Mr Garstang!” she cried.“Guardian.”“Then, guardian, how could you think it? If I have seemed dull and unhappy, surely it was not strange, considering my position.”“Of course not; but I was flattering myself with the belief that you were really getting reconciled to your fate.”“I am reconciled,” said Kate, warmly; “but I can not help longing to take my old nurse by the hand again, and to see my friends.”“Friends?” he said, looking at her curiously.“Yes; I made two friends down there whose society was pleasant to me, and whom I have missed.”“Indeed! I did not know.”“But tell me, is uncle coming? Does he know I am here?” cried Kate, excitedly.“No, he is not coming, my child, and he does not know you are here,” said Garstang, watching her searchingly.“Ah!” ejaculated the girl, with a sigh of relief. “I could not—I dare not meet him.”“That is what I felt. You can not meet him for some time to come, but there are unpleasant complications, my dear, which trouble me a great deal.”“Yes?” said Kate, excitedly.“Such as will, I fear, make it necessary for you to remain still secluded.”“But, Mr Garstang, suppose that he should come to see you one day when you were out, and he were shown in to me.”“Ah, yes,” he said, dryly, watching her troubled face narrowly, “what I once said: that would be awkward.”“Oh, it would be horrible,” cried Kate, springing to her feet. “I could not go back with him. And he has a right to claim me, and he would insist.”She began to pace the room excitedly, with her hands clasped before her.“Yes, my child, it would be horrible,” said Garstang, gently, “and that is why, in spite of its giving you pain, I have been so particular lest by any letter of yours he should learn where you were.”“But he might come as I said—to see you, in your absence,” she cried.“No, my dear,” he said, reaching out one hand as she was passing the back of his chair; and she stopped at once, and placed hers trustingly within. “Don’t be alarmed. I am an old man of the world, and for years past I have had to set my wits to work to battle with other people’s. Uncle James does not know that you are here, and unless you tell him he is not likely to know, for the simple reason that he is not aware that I have such a place.”Kate uttered a sigh of relief, and let her hand rest in his.“Poor fellow, he is horribly disappointed, and he is leaving no stone unturned to trace you, and his hopeful son is helping him and watching me.”“Oh!” ejaculated Kate, excitedly. “Yes, but they do not know of this place, and are keeping an eye upon my offices in Bedford Row and my house down in Kent. I little thought when my poor old friend and client died and this place fell to me that it would one day prove so useful. So there, try and stop this fluttering of the pulses, little maid; so long as we are careful, and you wish it, you can remain in sanctuary. Now let’s dismiss the tiresome business altogether. I am glad, though, that you are pleased about the piano.”“No, no; don’t dismiss it yet,” cried Kate, eagerly. “Tell me what he said.”“Humph!” said Garstang, frowning; “shall I? No; better not.”“Yes, please; I can not help wanting to know.”“But I’m afraid of upsetting you, my dear.”“It will not now; I am growing firmer, Mr Garstang, my guardian,” she said. “Better tell me than leave me to think, and perhaps lie awake to-night imagining things that may not be true.”“Well, yes—that would be bad,” he said, nodding his head. “There, sit down then, and draw your chair to the fender. Your face is burning, but your hands are cold. That’s better,” he continued, as he took up the poker again, and sat forward, gazing at the fire, and once more tapping the pieces of coal into the glowing caverns. “You see, he has been to me three times.”“And I did not know!” cried Kate.“No, you did not know, my dear, because I did not want to upset you. What do you think he says?”“That I fled to you, and placed myself under your protection?”“Wrong,” said Garstang, looking round and smiling in the beautiful face across the hearth, as he played the part of an amiable fatherly individual to perfection. “Shall I say guess again?”“No, no, pray don’t trifle with me, guardian.”“Trifle with you?” he cried, growing stern of aspect. “No. There, it must come out. He did not say that, and he did not accuse me of fetching you away, for he and Master Claud are upon a wrong scent.”“Yes—yes,” said Kate, eagerly.“They say that Harry Dasent made an excuse of his friendship with Claud to go down to Northwood with another object in view.”“Yes—what?” she said, looking at him wonderingly.“You, my child.”“Me?” she cried, aghast.“Well, to speak more correctly, your money, my dear; and that, despairing of winning you in a straightforward way, he either came and caught you in the humour for being persuaded to leave with him, having on his other visits paved the way by making love to you—”“Oh!” ejaculated Kate; “I never noticed anything particular in his manner to me—yes, I did, once or twice he was very, very attentive.”“Indeed,” said Garstang, frowning.“But you said ‘either,’” cried Kate, anxiously.“Yes; either that he had persuaded you to elope with him, or he had climbed to your window and by some means forced you to come away.”“What madness!” cried Kate.“Yes, and there’s more behind; they accuse me of conniving at it, and say they are sure you are married, and that I know where you are.”“Mr Dasent!” exclaimed Kate, gazing at Garstang wonderingly.“Yes, Harry Dasent,” he said, drawing himself up. “He is my poor dead wife’s son, my dear, and it so happens that he is giving colour to the idea by his absence from home on one of his reckless, ne’er-do-weel expeditions; but between ourselves, my child, I’d rather see you married to Claud Wilton, your cousin, than to him; and,” he added warmly, “I think I would sooner follow you to your grave than—Yes—what is it?”“I beg pardon, sir,” said the housekeeper, “but the dinner’s spoiling, and I’ve been waiting half an hour and more for you to ring.”“Then bring it up directly, Mrs Plant, for we are terribly ready.”“Yes, sir.”“At least I am, my dear; I was faint for want of it when I came in. Shall we shelve the unpleasant business now?”“It is so dreadful,” said Kate.“Well, yes, it is; so it used to be with the poor folks who were besieged by the enemy. You are besieged, but you have a strong castle in which to defend yourself, and you can laugh your enemies to scorn. Really, Kate, my child, this is something like being cursed by a fortune.”She nodded her head quickly.“Money is useful, of course, and I once had a very eager longing to possess it; but, like a great many other things, when once it is possessed it is—well, only so much hard cash, after all. It won’t buy the love and esteem of your fellow-creatures. Do you know, my dear, if it were not for something I should be ready to say to you—‘Let Uncle James have your paltry fortune and pay off his debts.’ That’s what he wants, not you. As for Claud, he’d break your heart in a month.”“Could I deliver the money over to him?” said Kate, looking anxiously in her new guardian’s face.“Oh, yes, my dear, that would be easy enough. And then—I tell you what: I have plenty, and I’m tired of the worry and care of a solicitor’s life. Why shouldn’t I take a few years’ holiday and go on the Continent with my adopted daughter and her old maid? Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Switzerland, Italy, Egypt—what would you say to that? It would be delightful.”“Yes,” said Kate, eagerly, “and then I could be at rest. No,” she said, suddenly, with the colour once more rising in her cheeks, “that would be impossible.”“Yes,” said Garstang, watching her narrowly, as she averted her face, to gaze now in the fire. “Castles in the air, my dear.”“Yes,” she said, dreamily, “castles in the air;” but she was seeing golden castles in the glowing fire, and her face grew hotter as, in spite of herself, she peopled one of those golden castles in a peculiar way which made her pulses begin to flutter, and she felt that she dared not gaze in her companion’s face.“Yes, castles in the air, my child,” said Garstang again. “For that fortune was amassed by your father for the benefit of his child and her husband, and she must not lightly throw it away to benefit a foolish, grasping, impecunious relative.”“The dinner is served, sir,” said Mrs Plant.Garstang rose and offered his arm, which Kate took at once.“We may dismiss the unpleasant business now,” he said, with a smile.“Yes, yes, of course,” she said.“But tell me, you do feel satisfied and safe—at rest?”“Quite,” she said, looking smilingly in his face.“Then now for dinner,” he said, leading her to the door.That evening John Garstang sat over his modest glass of wine alone, fitting together the pieces of his plans, and as he did so he smiled and seemed content.“No,” he said, softly, “you will not pocket brother Robert’s money, friend James, for I hold the winning trump. What beautiful soft wax it is to mould! Only patience—patience! The fruit is not quite ripe yet. A hundred and fifty thou—a hundred and fifty thou!”
The days passed calmly enough with Kate Wilton, and no more was said on either side about communicating with anyone. Garstang was there at breakfast, and left till dinner time, when he returned punctually.
Kate read and worked, and waited for him to speak, striving the while by her manner to let her guardian see that she was trying to show her gratitude to him for all that he had done. And so a fortnight glided by, and then, unable to bear it longer, she determined to question him.
That evening Garstang came in looking weary and careworn. There was evidently some trouble on the way, and as she rose to meet him she felt that she must not speak that night, for her new guardian had cares enough of his own to deal with.
But he began at once as he took her hands, smiling gravely as he looked in her eyes.
“Well, my poor little prisoner,” he said, half-banteringly, “aren’t you utterly worn out, and longing, little bird, to begin beating your breast against the bars of your cage?”
“No,” she said, gently; “I am getting used to it now.”
“Brave little bird!” he said, raising both her hands to his lips and kissing them, before letting them fall; “then I shall come back some evening and hear you warbling once again. I have not heard you sing since the last evening I spent in Bedford Square long months ago.”
He saw her countenance change, and he went on hastily:
“By the way, has Sarah Plant bought everything for you that you require?”
“Oh, yes,” she said; “far more.”
“That’s right. I am so ignorant about such matters. Pray do not hesitate to give her orders. Do you know,” he continued, as he sat down and began to warm his hands, gazing the while with wrinkled brow at the fire, “I have been doing something to-day in fear and trembling.”
“Indeed?” she said, anxiously.
“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, as he took up the poker and began to softly tap pieces of unburned coal into glowing holes. “My conscience has been smiting me horribly about you, my child. I come back after fidgeting all day about your being so lonely and dull, with nothing but those serious books about you—by the way, did they send in that parcel from the library?”
“Yes. Thank you for being so thoughtful about me, Mr Garstang.”
“Oh, nonsense! But I think, my child, we could get rid of that formal Mr Garstang. Do you think you could call me guardian, little maid?”
“Yes, guardian,” she said, smiling at him, as he turned to look at her anxiously.
“Hah! Come, that’s better,” he cried; and he set down the poker and rubbed his hands softly, as he gazed once more thoughtfully at the fire. “That sounds more as if you felt at home, and I shall dare to tell you what I have done. You see, I have been obliged to beg of you not to go out for a bit without me, and I have not liked to propose taking you of an evening to any place of entertainment—not a theatre, of course yet awhile, but a concert, say.”
“Oh no, Mr Garstang!” she said, hastily, with the tears coming to her eyes.
He coughed, and looked at her in a perplexed way.
“Oh no, guardian,” she said, smiling sadly.
“Hah! that’s better. Of course not; of course not. Forgive me for even referring to it. But er—you will not feel hurt at what I have done?”
She looked at him anxiously.
“Yes,” he said, speaking as if he had been suddenly damped. “I ought not to have done it yet. It will seem as if I were making it appear that you will have to stop some time.”
“What have you done?” asked Kate, gravely.
“Well, my child, I know how musical you used to be, and as I was passing the maker’s to-day the thought struck me that you would like a piano. ‘It would make the place less dull for her,’ I said, and—don’t be hurt, my dear—I—I told him to send a good one in.”
“Mr Garstang!—guardian!” she said, starting up, with the tears now beginning to fall.
“There, there, fought to have known better,” he cried, catching up the poker, and beginning to use it hurriedly. “Men are so stupid. Don’t take any notice, my dear. I’ll counter-order it.”
“No, no,” she said gently, as she advanced to him and held out her hand “I am not hurt; I am pleased and grateful.”
“You are—really?” he cried, letting the poker drop, and catching her hand in his.
“Of course I am,” she said, simply. “How could I be otherwise? Don’t think me so thoughtless, and that I do not feel deeply all your kindness.”
“Kindness, nonsense!” he said, dropping her hand again, and turning away. “But will it help to make the time pass better?”
“Yes, I shall be very glad to have it.”
“And, er—you’ll sing and play to me sometimes when I come back here?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling through her tears; “and I would to-night, now that you have come back tired and careworn, if it were here.”
“Tired and careworn? Who is?”
“You are. Do you think I could not see?”
He looked at her with his eyes full of admiration, and then turned to the fire again.
“I am most grateful, guardian,” she said. “But shall I have to be a prisoner long?”
“Hah!” he said with a sigh, and as if not hearing her question, “you are right, my child. I have had a very, very worrying day.”
“I thought so,” said Kate, resuming her seat, and looking at him in a commiserating way. “I hope it is nothing very serious.”
“Serious?” he said, turning to her, sharply. “Well, yes it is, but I ought not to worry you about it.”
“They say that sometimes relief comes in speaking of our troubles.”
“But suppose one gets relief, and the other pain?” he said, looking at her quickly.
“Then it is something about me?”
He turned and looked at the fire again.
“Please tell me, guardian,” she said.
“Only make you unhappy, my dear, just when you are getting back to your old self.”
She looked at him in a troubled way for some moments, and then with a sudden outburst:
“You have seen Uncle James?”
He did not answer for a while, but sat gazing at the fire.
“Yes,” he said, at last; “I have seen your Uncle James.”
“And he knows I am here,” she cried, clasping her hands, and looking at him in horror.
He turned slowly and met her eyes.
“Then you don’t repent the step you have taken, and want to go back to Northwood?” he said.
“How could I when you have protected me as you have, and saved me from so much suffering and insult?”
“Hah!” he said, with a sigh of relief, “thank you, my child. I was afraid that you would be ready to return to him.”
“Mr Garstang!” she cried.
“Guardian.”
“Then, guardian, how could you think it? If I have seemed dull and unhappy, surely it was not strange, considering my position.”
“Of course not; but I was flattering myself with the belief that you were really getting reconciled to your fate.”
“I am reconciled,” said Kate, warmly; “but I can not help longing to take my old nurse by the hand again, and to see my friends.”
“Friends?” he said, looking at her curiously.
“Yes; I made two friends down there whose society was pleasant to me, and whom I have missed.”
“Indeed! I did not know.”
“But tell me, is uncle coming? Does he know I am here?” cried Kate, excitedly.
“No, he is not coming, my child, and he does not know you are here,” said Garstang, watching her searchingly.
“Ah!” ejaculated the girl, with a sigh of relief. “I could not—I dare not meet him.”
“That is what I felt. You can not meet him for some time to come, but there are unpleasant complications, my dear, which trouble me a great deal.”
“Yes?” said Kate, excitedly.
“Such as will, I fear, make it necessary for you to remain still secluded.”
“But, Mr Garstang, suppose that he should come to see you one day when you were out, and he were shown in to me.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, dryly, watching her troubled face narrowly, “what I once said: that would be awkward.”
“Oh, it would be horrible,” cried Kate, springing to her feet. “I could not go back with him. And he has a right to claim me, and he would insist.”
She began to pace the room excitedly, with her hands clasped before her.
“Yes, my child, it would be horrible,” said Garstang, gently, “and that is why, in spite of its giving you pain, I have been so particular lest by any letter of yours he should learn where you were.”
“But he might come as I said—to see you, in your absence,” she cried.
“No, my dear,” he said, reaching out one hand as she was passing the back of his chair; and she stopped at once, and placed hers trustingly within. “Don’t be alarmed. I am an old man of the world, and for years past I have had to set my wits to work to battle with other people’s. Uncle James does not know that you are here, and unless you tell him he is not likely to know, for the simple reason that he is not aware that I have such a place.”
Kate uttered a sigh of relief, and let her hand rest in his.
“Poor fellow, he is horribly disappointed, and he is leaving no stone unturned to trace you, and his hopeful son is helping him and watching me.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Kate, excitedly. “Yes, but they do not know of this place, and are keeping an eye upon my offices in Bedford Row and my house down in Kent. I little thought when my poor old friend and client died and this place fell to me that it would one day prove so useful. So there, try and stop this fluttering of the pulses, little maid; so long as we are careful, and you wish it, you can remain in sanctuary. Now let’s dismiss the tiresome business altogether. I am glad, though, that you are pleased about the piano.”
“No, no; don’t dismiss it yet,” cried Kate, eagerly. “Tell me what he said.”
“Humph!” said Garstang, frowning; “shall I? No; better not.”
“Yes, please; I can not help wanting to know.”
“But I’m afraid of upsetting you, my dear.”
“It will not now; I am growing firmer, Mr Garstang, my guardian,” she said. “Better tell me than leave me to think, and perhaps lie awake to-night imagining things that may not be true.”
“Well, yes—that would be bad,” he said, nodding his head. “There, sit down then, and draw your chair to the fender. Your face is burning, but your hands are cold. That’s better,” he continued, as he took up the poker again, and sat forward, gazing at the fire, and once more tapping the pieces of coal into the glowing caverns. “You see, he has been to me three times.”
“And I did not know!” cried Kate.
“No, you did not know, my dear, because I did not want to upset you. What do you think he says?”
“That I fled to you, and placed myself under your protection?”
“Wrong,” said Garstang, looking round and smiling in the beautiful face across the hearth, as he played the part of an amiable fatherly individual to perfection. “Shall I say guess again?”
“No, no, pray don’t trifle with me, guardian.”
“Trifle with you?” he cried, growing stern of aspect. “No. There, it must come out. He did not say that, and he did not accuse me of fetching you away, for he and Master Claud are upon a wrong scent.”
“Yes—yes,” said Kate, eagerly.
“They say that Harry Dasent made an excuse of his friendship with Claud to go down to Northwood with another object in view.”
“Yes—what?” she said, looking at him wonderingly.
“You, my child.”
“Me?” she cried, aghast.
“Well, to speak more correctly, your money, my dear; and that, despairing of winning you in a straightforward way, he either came and caught you in the humour for being persuaded to leave with him, having on his other visits paved the way by making love to you—”
“Oh!” ejaculated Kate; “I never noticed anything particular in his manner to me—yes, I did, once or twice he was very, very attentive.”
“Indeed,” said Garstang, frowning.
“But you said ‘either,’” cried Kate, anxiously.
“Yes; either that he had persuaded you to elope with him, or he had climbed to your window and by some means forced you to come away.”
“What madness!” cried Kate.
“Yes, and there’s more behind; they accuse me of conniving at it, and say they are sure you are married, and that I know where you are.”
“Mr Dasent!” exclaimed Kate, gazing at Garstang wonderingly.
“Yes, Harry Dasent,” he said, drawing himself up. “He is my poor dead wife’s son, my dear, and it so happens that he is giving colour to the idea by his absence from home on one of his reckless, ne’er-do-weel expeditions; but between ourselves, my child, I’d rather see you married to Claud Wilton, your cousin, than to him; and,” he added warmly, “I think I would sooner follow you to your grave than—Yes—what is it?”
“I beg pardon, sir,” said the housekeeper, “but the dinner’s spoiling, and I’ve been waiting half an hour and more for you to ring.”
“Then bring it up directly, Mrs Plant, for we are terribly ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
“At least I am, my dear; I was faint for want of it when I came in. Shall we shelve the unpleasant business now?”
“It is so dreadful,” said Kate.
“Well, yes, it is; so it used to be with the poor folks who were besieged by the enemy. You are besieged, but you have a strong castle in which to defend yourself, and you can laugh your enemies to scorn. Really, Kate, my child, this is something like being cursed by a fortune.”
She nodded her head quickly.
“Money is useful, of course, and I once had a very eager longing to possess it; but, like a great many other things, when once it is possessed it is—well, only so much hard cash, after all. It won’t buy the love and esteem of your fellow-creatures. Do you know, my dear, if it were not for something I should be ready to say to you—‘Let Uncle James have your paltry fortune and pay off his debts.’ That’s what he wants, not you. As for Claud, he’d break your heart in a month.”
“Could I deliver the money over to him?” said Kate, looking anxiously in her new guardian’s face.
“Oh, yes, my dear, that would be easy enough. And then—I tell you what: I have plenty, and I’m tired of the worry and care of a solicitor’s life. Why shouldn’t I take a few years’ holiday and go on the Continent with my adopted daughter and her old maid? Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Switzerland, Italy, Egypt—what would you say to that? It would be delightful.”
“Yes,” said Kate, eagerly, “and then I could be at rest. No,” she said, suddenly, with the colour once more rising in her cheeks, “that would be impossible.”
“Yes,” said Garstang, watching her narrowly, as she averted her face, to gaze now in the fire. “Castles in the air, my dear.”
“Yes,” she said, dreamily, “castles in the air;” but she was seeing golden castles in the glowing fire, and her face grew hotter as, in spite of herself, she peopled one of those golden castles in a peculiar way which made her pulses begin to flutter, and she felt that she dared not gaze in her companion’s face.
“Yes, castles in the air, my child,” said Garstang again. “For that fortune was amassed by your father for the benefit of his child and her husband, and she must not lightly throw it away to benefit a foolish, grasping, impecunious relative.”
“The dinner is served, sir,” said Mrs Plant.
Garstang rose and offered his arm, which Kate took at once.
“We may dismiss the unpleasant business now,” he said, with a smile.
“Yes, yes, of course,” she said.
“But tell me, you do feel satisfied and safe—at rest?”
“Quite,” she said, looking smilingly in his face.
“Then now for dinner,” he said, leading her to the door.
That evening John Garstang sat over his modest glass of wine alone, fitting together the pieces of his plans, and as he did so he smiled and seemed content.
“No,” he said, softly, “you will not pocket brother Robert’s money, friend James, for I hold the winning trump. What beautiful soft wax it is to mould! Only patience—patience! The fruit is not quite ripe yet. A hundred and fifty thou—a hundred and fifty thou!”