CHAPTER XXVIIIN WHICH NANCY PLAYS THE PART OF DETECTIVE
AMILE away from the village the traveller on the Girston Road may pass a solitary and substantial farm and never know that he is within a field-length of the most alluring and perhaps the greatest of Mawm’s natural wonders.
There is nothing in the configuration of the landscape that suggests the extraordinary. Low-lying hills on the right slope gently down to grey-green pastures which have been wrested from the moors. The road itself, hemmed in by loosely-built limestone walls, is little better than a cart-track, and runs out upon the moor when it reaches the last gaunt farm, a mile or two farther on. The hills on the left are loftier, but no less kindly in their sober green homespun, and the brook that tumbles over its rocky bed and roars beneath the bridge is not more boisterous than many another moorland stream.
If, however, curiosity should cause you to leave the road at the stile, or if ignoring that provision for shortening your journey you pass through the yard at the back of the farm, and with the stream for your guide make your way up the narrowing valley, you will by and by acquaint yourself with the stupendous spectacle of Gordale Scar, a chasm
“——terrific as the lair,Where the young lions couch.”
“——terrific as the lair,Where the young lions couch.”
“——terrific as the lair,Where the young lions couch.”
“——terrific as the lair,
Where the young lions couch.”
It is at a sudden bend in the hills that you come unawares upon the astonishing vision, but beforeyou reach that point the landscape clothes itself in sack-cloth and throws ashes on its head as if it realised that the green pastures were to end in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and it must drape itself seemly. In winter especially there is a look of Sodom and Gomorrah about the place—a charred, lifeless look that is weird and depressing. On the one hand the slender stems of ash and hazel, rising grey from the grey hill-slope, seem as though some storm of fire had swept them. Here and there a dead tree, stripped of its bark, still mocks the power of the wild winds that are forcing it earthwards. On the left the cragged hill sweeps round in a quick semi-circle to shut in the valley. Like ragged ramparts its serrated, rocky outline shows crisp against the sky; screes of loose stone, from which here and there a huge boulder uprears its bulk, cover the sides; and other boulders, hurled down by successive avalanches, line the bank of the stream.
This, however, is only the cheerless bodement of what is beyond. When the sweep of the semi-circle forces you round the curve of the hill the vision of stern grandeur and majesty may well rob you of speech.
The hills have drawn together until they almost meet, but they are no longer hills—they are stupendous, unscaleable precipices of rock, three hundred feet high. Grim and forbidding—black rather than grey—they offer no hospitality to the foot of man; but jackdaws and ravens make their home there, and birds of prey may sometimes be seen perching on the crags.
Into this roofless cavern—for there is evidence that the beetling rocks that project overhead once met in a great arch—the stream projects itself by a series of waterfalls which roar in time of flood like the “young lions” of Wordsworth’s fancy, and rushes along its stony channel scattering white foamupon the piled-up boulders that almost fill the floor of the chasm and make progress difficult. Steps have been cut in the rock beside the lower waterfall so that even the inexpert may climb to the “upper air,” and on their way to the higher reaches of the stream may trace out for themselves the course of the great convulsions that gave to Mawm its wonderland. Level with the summit of the cliffs is the moor with its far-stretching fissured platforms of grey limestone.
Awe-inspiring even in brilliant sunshine the chasm is really “terrific” at night. Then the frowning cliffs roof themselves in with blackness and the roar of the Stygian stream is direful. Man shuns it, and the birds that shriek and chatter there are birds of ill-omen.
Between the hours of twelve and one on a dark night in the last week of March when yet the faint crescent of a new moon gave a glimmer of light, a man made his way stealthily across the field, and in the shadow of the high walls, towards the Scar. When he reached the entrance he sat down on a rock with his back to the cliff, and for the space of ten minutes remained absolutely motionless. But though his body was still, his intelligence was alert, and his senses were scouting for him. He was accustoming himself to the sounds that become easily distinguishable when one listens intently; and training his eyes to penetrate the darkness. Directly opposite to where he sat the ravine touched hands with the valley; the frowning western cliff ran out upon the moor and became dismembered; the upper part falling back from the lower. On the intervening space a portion of the steep slope was carpeted with green; but the greater part was covered with a thick deposit of loose shingle, the plunder snatched by wild free-booting storms from the rocks overhead. Below there was another wall of rock of no great height above the stream that raged at its base.
Inman—for the nocturnal visitor was he—rose atlast, and as if satisfied that no further precautions of an elaborate nature were necessary, crossed the stream and set himself to scale the rock. Apparently he was familiar with his task, for he climbed confidently and before long had his feet upon the shingle. It was here that the more serious part of the adventure began, and from the hesitating way in which he set out upon the second part of his journey it was evident that he regarded it with some distaste.
Every movement of his feet sent a mass of loose stones hurtling down the slope, and he made slow progress. To his sensitive ears the noise was appalling, for the air was still and sound travelled far. In the distance a dog began to bark, and kept on barking loudly and uneasily, but although Inman cursed it in his heart he did not allow it to affect his movements. Helping himself forward with his hands, he had almost reached the stretch of green at which he was aiming when a too eager step set the unstable track in motion; and in spite of his efforts—it may be even because of them—he was carried with ever-accelerating speed down the precipitous incline and only saved himself at the very edge of the low cliff.
For some minutes he lay prone, thinking deeply, whilst the shingle continued to roll past him. After a while it ceased to fall, and he had just determined to rise and make a second attempt when he became convinced that the dog was loose and coming in his direction, whereupon panic seized him, and having groped with his toes until he found a crevice in the rock, he lowered himself to the ground.
Arrived there, he listened again and was satisfied the barking was nearer, so instead of returning by the fields which would almost certainly have meant an encounter with the dog, he made his way to the foot of the waterfall, and by means of the steps cut in the face of the rock reached the hazardous path that led to the moors.
He was now safe from pursuit by any dog; but imagination was by this time active, and a movement that he thought he heard in the ravine below checked the impulse to stay, and he hurried on. Angry disappointment at the failure of his enterprise filled his thoughts with bitterness, and his brow was black as Gordale itself as he strode over the moor. To severe mental disturbance there was also added physical discomfort, for rain began to fall heavily, and he was soon very wet. By the time he reached the road he was in a disagreeable mood; but his spirits revived somewhat when he found himself on his own doorstep and reflected that he had reached home unobserved.
“The usual Inman luck!” he said to himself with gloomy satisfaction.
He was of a different mind the next moment, for the new Chubb lock he had fixed failed to respond to the demand of the key and he found himself locked out. Very stealthily he raised the latch and put his knee to the door. It was secured by the heavy lock, and the latch of the Chubb was evidently pegged back. Someone had tampered with it in his absence!
The frown deepened on his face, but he did not lose his self-command, and having looked cautiously round he struck a match, and shading it with his hands stooped down and examined the flagstone in front of the door. Satisfied with what he saw, he turned and entered his workshop, where he made his way to the office, but sleep was far from his eyes and thoughts, and he was conscious of no lack. When day came stealing down the moors, he went out and tried the latchlock on the house-door again. This time it responded at once, and he nodded his head slowly as if a hypothesis had received support, and went upstairs to his room.
When he heard Keturah bustling about in the kitchen he went across the landing into his wife’sroom. Nancy, in bed and awake, looked up in surprise when Inman came and stood beside her.
“What ails you?” she asked.
For a moment he allowed his stern eyes to be his sole weapon of attack, but when her face remained fearless he began to speak.
“Innocent child!” he sneered; “innocent lamb! What a pity your husband isn’t simple and innocent too! Then you could play with his hair, and coo him to sleep with nice little songs, and sell him to his enemies, like the painted woman in the Bible!”
“Have you lost your reason, James, or are you drunk?”
Though a savage gleam was replacing the sneer in the cold eyes she thrust back fear and spoke quite calmly.
“You devil!” he replied without opening his teeth. “I could find it in my heart to admire your pluck and your cunning if it wasn’t too dangerous. You’re playing your part well, but your acting’s thrown away on me, my lass. Your lip trembles at the corners and your heart’s sinking in spite of your bold face. You know you’re found out, and will have to be punished; you hell-spawn, you!”
His coolness and the note of concentrated hate and power in his voice chilled Nancy’s heart, and made her conscious that unless he was conciliated her husband was in a mood to torture her; but she was never less disposed to conciliate; on the contrary, she experienced a reckless desire to laugh and risk the consequences; and when she spoke her voice was charged with contemptuous and half-amused defiance.
“God knows what you’re getting at! If you’ve anything to say, get it said like a man, and don’t think you can frighten me out o’ my wits by glowering at me as if I’d turned street-walker——”
As she uttered the word she knew by the look thatleaped to his eyes that she had given him his opportunity, and she stopped involuntarily.
“That pulls you up, does it?” he asked. “Asifyou’d turned street-walker, you say! That reminds me, I’ve a little visit of inspection to make to your wardrobe.”
He turned as he spoke and walked over to the recess where her clothes were hanging and she raised herself on her elbow and watched him.
“If you’re seeking the coat and skirt I wore this morning,” she said, “you might have seen that they’re hanging over the chair to dry on this side of the bed. I don’t put my things away wet.”
“Then you admit you were out this morning?” He wheeled round as he asked the question, and his eyes blazed.
“And why not?” she answered. “If you’d been awake you’d have heard me go. There’s no law against a woman going out if she can’t sleep, is there? What’s all the fuss about?”
Not a line of the man’s expression changed.
“Tell me truly why you went,” he demanded, striding up to the bed again, and looking into her face with a threatening scowl.
“Tell me!” he repeated, and seizing her wrist in his strong palm he twisted it roughly.
“I have told you already!” she replied, and set her teeth to hold back an exclamation of pain.
“I’ll have the truth if I murder you!” he said, bending her arm until the pain brought unwilling tears to her eyes.
Still she was silent, and her lips closed firmly, whereupon the tiger in the man conquered his self-control, and in a sudden gust of rage he seized her by the throat, and as he tightened his grip upon it, hissed:
“Then listen and I’ll tellyou! You spied on me, you she-devil! Whether you’d any other motivethan curiosity I don’t know, but you’ve got to tell me everything or I’ll choke the life out of you. Now speak!”
He widened his fingers, but still kept them on her throat, and she never raised her hands in what must have been a vain effort to free herself, but kept them tightly clasped on her breast.
“Do your worst!” she said hoarsely. “Brute and coward! Kill me, if you like, and hang for me! Do you think it’s any catch to live tied to a man like you? I wouldn’t say a word to save you from hell!”
Strangely, her boldness sobered him, and he threw her head back on the pillow with a movement that was almost a blow, and walked over to the window. In less than a minute he turned and spoke from that position.
“Is it me or yon rake-hell of a Jagger you’re after? Answer me that!”
Scorn flashed from the dark eyes at the inquiry, but there was no other reply.
“Will you give me your word not to leave the house again at night?”
“I’m not your slave!” she answered. “You’ve called me devil and threatened to kill me—I’ll promise you nothing!”
“Then you’re a prisoner in this room,” he said. “You can get up or not, just as you please, but here you’ll remain until I release you”; and with these words he left the room, locking the door behind him.
Nancy made no attempt to rise, but leaned back on her pillows and considered the situation. She realised at once what must have happened; that in the interval between her reaching her room and the moment, nearly an hour later, when she remembered she had turned the lock in the outer door and omitted to drop the latch, her husband had returned and made his deductions.
“He would see my footmarks, too, if he sought for them,” she reflected. “What a stupid mess I made of it!”
Though he had treated her so roughly she was surprised to find herself thinking of her husband without resentment. A bracelet of red on her wrist showed with what merciless force he had gripped her, and her arm and shoulder ached as with the gnawing pain of a bared nerve; but to a woman of her hard race these things were trifles, and less than might have been expected from a man of Inman’s breed. She even excused him, realising the mortification he must feel at the suspicion that his own wife was plotting against him. It was a game they were playing, and she had made a wrong move—a pitiably careless move which well merited punishment; but he had nothing more than inference to go upon when he charged her with spying, and the game was not over.
She rose and dressed, made the bed and tidied the room, and finally seated herself by the open window. The moors lay warm in the embrace of the sunshine and unseen birds were chirping their grace for the bounties of the moistened earth. Nancy wondered if she was to be left breakfastless, but she was not hungry enough to be concerned. “They say fasting sharpens the wits,” she reflected.
What was the meaning of the Gordale adventure? All the night through she had puzzled her brains and found no answer. She had feared to follow when she saw her husband pass over the stile that led to the Scar; but curiosity had got the better of nervousness and she had gone round by the farm, forgetting the watch-dog in the yard whose noisy greeting drove her back to the roadway. Eventually she had climbed the wall some distance away, and reached the chasm when the rumbling of the stones was just beginning. Fascinated by what her sensestold her was proceeding, she had taken up her position behind a rock and awaited results.
The barking of the dog had given her no concern, though she was surprised that it was continued so long; and when the catastrophe occurred and Inman found himself on comparatively level ground again, she had been unable to account for the speed with which he left the gorge and for his choice of that inconvenient exit. It had, however, put pursuit out of the question, and she had returned home by the much shorter field-path, arriving a full half hour before Inman. She had fastened back the latch before leaving and locked the door with the big key, as she had felt certain that her husband’s project would enable her to return first, and it was preoccupied thoughts and the force of habit that had led her to secure the door in the old familiar way, by which unfortunate blunder she was now finding herself thwarted.
She was thinking about it, but making no progress towards a solution of the mystery when Inman entered with her breakfast.
“Close that window!” he commanded, as he set down the tray on the bed.
“I prefer it open,” she replied. “Even prisoners are allowed air.”
He made no reply but left the room, returning a minute later with screws and screwdriver, by means of which he made the window secure. Neither of the two spoke until the work was finished, and Nancy poured out her tea with a steady hand.
“Hadn’t you better board it up?” she asked as he put the screwdriver in his pocket. “What’s to hinder me from breaking the window?”
“The thought that I’ll break your neck!” he replied grimly.
She laughed mockingly, all the moorwoman in her roused to defy him.
“You dursn’t!” she said. “You’re all for yourself, James, and a man who’s all for himself isn’t for doing the hangman a good turn! Your mind’s willing enough, I daresay, but putting me out o’ my misery wouldn’t help your game.”
“That’s true!” he replied, with a calmness equal to her own. “You’ve beaten me so far, but I’ll find a way of hurting you, my lass. I’ll squeeze the blood from your heart drop by drop before I’ve done! Aye, and from that pet-rabbit of yours, too! He’ll scream when the weasel gets his teeth in his neck! There’ll be no mercy then!”
“You can’t hurt him!” she said proudly. “He’s too big and good for you!”
She thought he would have struck her, but he restrained himself and left the room without a word, locking the door behind him; and for a moment Nancy’s heart sank. She was thinking not of herself but of Jagger.
“He can’t hurt him,” she repeated. “Maniwel’ll see to that!”
Subconsciously there was the feeling that Maniwel was in favour with the high court of Heaven, and that his influence would shield his son.
“I must get word to Jagger somehow,” she said to herself. “What James is up to I can’t think; but he’ll finish the job to-night if I’m out o’ the way, and he ought to be watched.
“He’s locked me up, has he?” she went on a moment later, as a faint smile overspread her face “Love laughs at locksmiths and so does hate.”