CHAPTER VIII.
Amongst Frederick Walcheren’s varied accomplishments, swimming held a prominent position. From a child he had exercised this most useful of all practices, until he was as much at home in the water as on land. And on that fatal Saturday there was every inducement for him to spend a long time in his favourite occupation. The day was transcendently beautiful; the sea was sparkling with electricity and warm as a tepid bath; and the beach was crowded with spectators, eager to watch and applaud the various feats of natation which he performed. He was in good temper with himself and the world, poor fellow! and anxious to give them all the pleasure inhis power. So he remained in the warm, exhilarating water as long as possible, performing all sorts of extraordinary dives and plunges and strange modes of swimming, whilst the people on the shore were full of admiration for his skill. At last he felt he had had about enough of it for the present, and dressed to return to the hotel. As he descended the steps of his machine, a young man of ordinary appearance, who was apparently waiting for him, came forward.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he began, ‘but, from witnessing your feats of skill in the water, I presume you are a swimming master, and should like to know your terms for a course of lessons.’
Frederick laughed heartily at the idea, but he was not snob enough to be offended by the young man’s mistake.
‘Indeed, I wish I were anything half so useful,’ he replied; ‘but I am only an amateur like yourself. Swimming is not at all difficult; it only requires pluck and practice. Anyone could attain myproficiency if he cared to take the trouble.’
‘You’ll forgive me for mentioning it, sir?’ said the stranger, who feared he might have offended him.
‘With all my heart. There was no harm in asking,’ replied Frederick, as he heard the town clock strike three, and hastened towards the hotel. He reached it, almost running, and, going breathlessly upstairs, threw open the door of their sitting-room. But Jenny was not there. A waiter was employed putting the last touches to the luncheon-table, which was evidently only waiting their return to be spread with the noonday meal.
‘Where is Mrs Walcheren?’ inquired Frederick.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ replied the stolid waiter, as he continued putting out cruets and water bottles.
Frederick ran up to their bedroom, which was on an upper floor, and finding that also empty, put on his straw hat again and descended to the vestibule.
‘Has my wife—Mrs Walcheren, gone out?’ he asked of the porter.
‘Well, sir, I really can’t say. There’s been a gentleman asking that question here already, but I couldn’t give him no satisfaction. I suppose the lady must be out, because we can’t find her nowhere, but none of us see her pass through the hall, and I’ll take my oath she hasn’t come in, for I’ve never left my post one minute. Perhaps she went to the beach to you, sir.’
‘Oh, doubtless, but about the gentleman who called to see her, what was his name?’
‘He didn’t leave no name, sir, but said he would call again.’
‘What was he like? Short and stout and middle-aged, with rather a red complexion, eh?’
He concluded at once that it must have been Mr Crampton, who had followed his daughter on the receipt of her letter that morning.
‘Well, not very red in the face, sir,but stoutish certainly, and not over tall.’
‘I know him,’ replied Frederick, thinking he did. ‘If he comes again during my absence, ask him to walk upstairs and wait until we return.’
‘All right, sir.’
Of course it was Mr Crampton, he thought. It could be no one else, and he must be by Jenny’s side when their encounter took place. If old Crampton thought that, by right of his paternity, he would bully Jenny, he was very much mistaken. He would have to answer to her husband first. He went back to the beach, thinking he should find her amongst all the nursemaids, children, serenaders and fruit-sellers, and was prepared to meet her with a little scolding for exposing herself to the heat of the day and the vulgarities of the Dover sands. But she was not there. The beach was almost deserted now, for the babies and their attendants had gone back to their lodgings to early dinner, and the serenaders were performingin front of the ‘pubs,’ in hopes of earning a meal. There would have been no difficulty in discerning Jenny’s distinguished little figure on the long line of sand and shingle, but it was evident she was not there. Where could the minx have hidden herself? Frederick was a little inclined to feel cross, although itwasthe first day of their married life, because Jenny had so decidedly said she would rather not go out that morning, and, if she had not done so, he should not have left her to herself. Could she have ventured into the town? She had come away so hurriedly, that she might have found herself in want of some trifling article that she had forgotten and gone to the shops to procure it. He turned his steps, therefore, in that direction, but saw her nowhere in the streets. He even asked one or two pedestrians if they had met a young lady in a broad-brimmed hat trimmed with poppies and grasses, but they all shook their heads. Frederickwandered about the streets for some time, and then resolved to go back to the hotel. After all, Jenny was not a baby. She had been well used to look after herself, and had a watch to tell her the proper time to return. It was more than likely she was already at the Castle Warden. His first inquiry on re-entering was naturally for her.
‘No, sir, the lady ain’t been in yet,’ was the disappointing reply, ‘but the gentleman as I spoke of, he came again and left his card.’
‘Where is it?’ said Frederick, eagerly, and was handed the one which Henry Hindes had left behind him.
‘Did you ask him to wait and see us?’ he inquired.
‘Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I had gone for my dinner and didn’t see the gentleman this time, but William tells me he seemed in a great hurry like, and didn’t ask to wait, but said he had no time to come again to-day, as he had to catch a train for London.’
‘Oh, very well, it is of no consequence,’ replied Frederick Walcheren rather testily. ‘Tell them not to serve luncheon until Mrs Walcheren returns. She cannot be many minutes now.’
But it was many many minutes before she came back to the hotel. Frederick went upstairs to their sitting-room, and tried to occupy his mind with newspapers, and persuade himself that he was not particularly anxious for his wife’s return. But there is nothing more irritating than to be kept in suspense, especially for a trifle. He could not help wondering where Jenny had gone to, and why she had gone, and why the dickens she hadn’t come back again! If the stranger who had inquired for her had not left a proof that he was Mr Henry Hindes instead of Mr Crampton, he should have almost fancied that she had been silly enough to have been lured away again by her father. But that was folly! Jenny was his wife; by love and by law. No one could ever take her from him againunless that quibble about her age would be considered sufficient to annul the marriage. But the next moment he laughed at the idea. Mr Crampton would surely never be such a fool as to take advantage of a loop-hole that would bring disgrace upon his daughter’s name! How foolish he was to let so absurd an idea worry him!
But why the deuce didn’t Jenny come back? It was now four o’clock. This was carrying a joke too far. She couldn’t possibly have lost her way in such a place as Dover. Besides, she wasn’t the sort of girl to lose her way! Even if she had broken her leg, or done any unlikely thing of that sort, she would have had the nous to call assistance, or send him a message to say what was the matter. The only solution of the mystery that he could think of, was that she had gone for a walk and wandered so far away that she was too tired to walk home quicker. But why, in that case, had she not procured some vehicle toconvey her back again. The more Frederick thought of it, the more puzzled he became. When five o’clock struck, he went out of doors for the second time, and ran all over the place, making inquiries of everybody he met. One girl said she had seen a very pretty young lady at about one o’clock that afternoon, walking towards the cliffs. She particularly noticed that she wore a large chip hat with scarlet poppies in it, and a white dress. She had a book in her hand, and she went up that way, continued his informant, pointing in the direction of the grassy downs. Frederick thanked her and commenced running off in the direction she had intimated. Of course, he said to himself, the cool breezy downs would be far more likely to attract Jenny than the hot beach. How foolish it was of him not to have thought of that before! He walked rapidly straight ahead of him for three or four miles, and then stopped to consider what he was doing. Jenny was not there! Hecould see from end to end of the broad wide expanse, and a sheep would have been visible to the naked eye. What was the use of his rushing about in that aimless manner, after a full-grown woman. Jenny was such a spoilt child, the Lord only knew whether she might not be playing a practical joke on him all this time, and hiding away for her own pleasure to see how much she could frighten him. He had been far wiser to eat his luncheon in comfort and let the young lady see that that sort of trick would not do with him. He was beginning to feel a little angry and hurt by this time. It was not good manners, to say the least of it—it showed a lack of good feeling and good taste to make him look like a fool in the eyes of the hotel servants, so soon after their wedding-day. He should give up the search as a bad job, and return to the Castle Warden and rest. Without doubt, she would come in for her dinner.
He gained the hotel again, but stillno news had been heard of the missing lady. By this time every menial in the house knew that the bride (for when can people ever hide the glaring fact that they were married yesterday?) had played truant, designedly or otherwise, and many were the conjectures as to her reason for making herself so conspicuous. Meanwhile, Frederick Walcheren sat in his own apartments, by turns angry, impatient, anxious and despairing. He hardly took heed how the time went on. Every moment he expected to hear the sound of Jenny’s footstep running up the staircase—to hear her merry voice telling him the reason of her extraordinary absence—to feel her arms round his neck and her lips pleading for forgiveness. But the hours went on till seven and eight o’clock had struck, and still she was not there. As the last hour sounded Frederick heard a low tap on his door; he was not in the mood to see strangers or talk with them, but he cried, ‘Come in!’ The door opened, and the landlordof the Castle Warden entered and closed it securely behind him.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he commenced, ‘but I am told that your lady has not come home, and that you are rather uneasy about her.’
‘Well, I am, naturally,’ replied Frederick, ‘in fact, I don’t know what the devil to think about her absence. It is most extraordinary! I went out to bathe this morning, leaving Mrs Walcheren here, and when I returned she was gone. No one saw her go out, nor can I hear any news of her, except from a little girl, who says she met her walking in the direction of the cliffs, about one o’clock this afternoon. I have been all over the cliffs, and the town, and the beach, but can neither see nor hear anything more. What should you advise me to do, Mr Cameron? I am nearly distracted with anxiety.’
‘The lady was seen going towards the cliffs,’ said the landlord, musingly, ‘our cliffs are not very safe for strangers.I hope there has not been an accident.’
At this Frederick leapt from his seat as if he had been shot.
‘My God! man,’ he cried, ‘what do you mean? You cannot think it possible that—that—’
He tried to finish the sentence, but failed.
‘Indeed, sir, I meant nothing but that we must look at all possible contingencies if we are to find the young lady. It is a long time for her to be away, and, if I mistake not (though I hope you will excuse my mentioning it), the day after her wedding.’
‘Yes, yes; I don’t care who knows it,’ replied Frederick in a voice of pain. ‘We were only married yesterday, that makes this all the more mysterious and extraordinary; but how are we to ascertain the truth? What am I to do?’
‘If you will allow me, sir, I will send some of the boatmen who know the cliffs to search for Mrs Walcheren, and theywill soon relieve your suspense, for if she is there they will find her safe enough.’
‘By all means; I ought to have thought of it myself. Thank you, Mr Cameron; pray send for the boatmen as soon as possible, and I will accompany them.’
Mr Cameron looked dubious.
‘If you will permit me, sir, to advise you, I should say stay here, in case of your being wanted, or other news arriving.’
But Frederick was not to be persuaded.
‘Stay here!’ he echoed; ‘what on earth should I do that for? My place is with the men who are going to find her. She has lost her way, probably, and is wandering about in the dark. Of course, I shall accompany them.’
But the landlord kept his back firmly against the door, and prevented the young man passing out.
‘You will forgive me, sir, but you must not go—not just yet—not till I have said something. I have been tryingto break it to you, Mr Walcheren, but I am afraid I have done it badly. Theyhavefound her, sir. She was found hours ago, and I came to tell you so.’
Frederick Walcheren stared at him, as if he thought he was mad.
‘Found!’ he ejaculated, ‘and hours ago. What do you mean? Why has she not come home then? Is she injured—hurt? Has any accident happened to her?’
‘Yes, sir, there has indeed, and you must try and bear it like a man. The lady has been hurt—badly—and she was found on the beach by two boatmen at five o’clock, or thereabouts.’
‘Hurt! my darling. Oh! my God! this is hard,’ exclaimed Frederick, in a voice of anguish. ‘But where is she? Why have they not brought her here? Why did they not send for me?’
‘Well, sir, they did not know where the lady belonged at first, nor who she was, so they carried her to the nearestpublic-house; “The Bottle and Spurs,” which is half-way down the cliffs to the town.’
‘A public-house!’ cried Walcheren, indignantly; ‘how dared they take a lady there? What was Mrs Walcheren about, to consent to it? Order a carriage at once, if you please, Mr Cameron, and I will go and fetch her home.’
The landlord fidgeted with the handle of the door.
‘Well, you see, sir, I am not sure if the authorities will allow of her removal. It’s the usual thing, under the circumstances, you see, and sorry as I should be to disoblige you, I’m afraid my customers might object to her being brought here. “The Bottle and Spurs” is a very respectable house, sir, and everything will be done, I feel sure, as can be done, to make things as little unpleasant for you as possible, but the authorities—’
Still the unhappy man did not understand the extent of his calamity. He satdown again and passed his hand wearily through his hair.
‘What does it all mean?’ he muttered in a dazed manner. ‘At all events order the carriage and send for the best doctor in the town to accompany me.’
‘The doctor is here sir,’ replied the landlord, quickly, ‘ready to speak to you. Dr M‘Coll, one of our most skilful practitioners.’
Then he opened the door, and called out, ‘Will you step up, doctor, please, the gentleman is ready to see you,’ and in another minute a middle-aged kindly-looking man entered the room and went up to Walcheren’s side.
‘Doctor!’ said Frederick faintly, ‘what is all this about? I don’t understand it. Have you seen my wife? Is she much hurt?’
‘She is not suffering now, my dear sir,’ replied the doctor.
‘Thank God for that. But why did you not bring her home? I have been in such awful suspense all the afternoon.’
‘I am sure you must have been, but now I am going to take you to see her. Here, Mr Cameron, a glass of brandy for Mr Walcheren. No! no soda thanks. I want him to take it as it is.’
He held the liquor to Frederick’s lips, who drank it at a draught, and put down the wine-glass with a deep sigh.
‘You must nerve yourself to hear what I have to tell you,’ said Dr M‘Coll firmly. ‘I told you your wife no longer suffered, it is because she has gone beyond the reach of suffering. She had been dead for hours before the boatmen found her.’
The young man sprung from his seat with the one word on his lips—‘DEAD!’ He stared at his informant for a moment wildly, and then sinking down on his chair again, threw his arms over his stricken face and burst into a storm of tears.
‘Leave him alone,’ whispered the doctor to the landlord; ‘they will save his brain.’ But the next minute Frederick leapt up, and, seizing Dr M‘Coll by the arm, exclaimed,—
‘Take me to her. Don’t let us lose a moment. Oh, my God! my darling, my darling!’
He tore down the staircase as he spoke, closely followed by the landlord and the doctor. The waiters and chambermaids, who were hanging about the passages discussing the awful event that had occurred, made way respectfully for him as he appeared, and looked after the bereaved bridegroom with melancholy interest. But Frederick might have passed through the ranks of a regiment at that moment without perceiving them. There was but one idea in his brain—to get as quickly as he could to the side of his beloved. He had heard distinctly what the doctor said, but he did not realise that Jenny was dead—that she would never speak to him, nor smile at him, nor kiss him any more. The drive to the public-house was performed in mournful silence, and when they reached it they were at once taken through the bar to a back room, where on a table was placed, just as she had been found, all thatwas left of sweet Jenny Walcheren. Her chip hat, so fresh and pretty in the morning, was still attached to her hair, by a long pin with a butterfly at the end of it, but it was crushed and forced back upon her head by the awful fall she had sustained. Her white dress had been decently composed about her young limbs; she might have almost have deceived one into the belief that she was sleeping, except for the purple lips which were drawn off the white teeth, and a dark blue bruise over the right eye, where her temple had struck the cruel rocks. But Frederick saw nothing but that he had regained his wife, and falling on her body, covered it with kisses, imploring her by every fond entreaty he could frame, to open her eyes once more and look at him, and to unclose her bruised and livid lips and speak his name. At last his madness calmed down a little, leaving a dull despair behind it, when he turned to the doctor and said,—
‘Tell me, for mercy’s sake, how did it happen?’
‘We are as much in the dark as you are, my dear young friend,’ replied Dr M‘Coll, ‘all we know is, that two Deal boatmen, Jackson and Barnes by name, went to the lower beach after their boats, which are drawn up there, at five this afternoon, and found the poor lady lying under the cliffs, over which there is no doubt she must have fallen, but how, there is nothing to tell. They did not know her name, so carried her here and sent for me. But I could do nothing. She must have been dead for two or three hours before I saw her. When I was convinced of that, I set inquiries on foot, to find out who she was, and they soon led me to the Castle Warden Hotel.’
‘It wasn’t easy to mistake her,’ interposed Mr Cameron, whose own eyes were suspiciously red; ‘the prettiest bride, as everyone says, we have had in the hotel for the last twelve month.’
‘Don’t, don’t,’ said Frederick, in a voice of the keenest pain. ‘Doctor, how shall we take her back? She shallnot lie here! I must take her to the hotel at once.’
‘My dear Mr Walcheren, even if that were admissible, it would not be permitted. The body must not be touched until after the inquest, which, unfortunately, cannot be held till Monday.’
‘She must lie here on this rough table, within sound of those rough voices, for forty-eight hours? Oh, impossible! I will not allow it!’
‘My dear sir, you must allow it! It is the law! This poor young lady has met her death in a mysterious manner, and, until the police have evidence that it was an accident, they will not, in the cause of justice, permit the body to be tampered with.’
‘An accident! but how could it be anything but an accident?’ said Frederick, staring at the doctor.
‘I have no doubt myself whatever in the matter; but the law must be satisfied. Meanwhile, let me persuade you, Mr Walcheren, to return to the hoteland try and calm yourself. You can do no good by remaining here, and I will engage that every respect shall be paid to her remains.’
‘Igo away,’ said Frederick, in a broken voice, ‘and leave her lying here? Oh, no; you mistake me! It is impossible! If I may not take her away yet, I shall stay by her till I can! Nothing shall persuade me to leave her, my darling little wife!’ and he took one of her dead hands and kissed it fondly as he spoke.
‘If you are determined—’ began Dr M‘Coll.
‘I am determined, and nothing will shake my determination. Here I remain till they take my angel from me. But is an inquest imperative? I cannot bear to think of it! It is such an indignity—such a public insult! A body of strangers, men, too, whom I would not have allowed in her presence whilst living, to be admitted to view her remains. I am rich, doctor! Can nopayment of money avert this outrage?’
‘Nothing can avert it, Mr Walcheren; but I will take care it is conducted as quietly as possible. Remember, it is in the cause of justice; and now, what can I do for you? Can I wire the sad news to any of her relatives, or yours? You should have your own friends near you in this trial.’
Frederick turned and seized the doctor’s hands as if he were a child, clinging to him in his trouble.
‘Advise me, tell me what to do,’ he said. ‘I am unfit to think for the best. My head is all in a maze. Doctor, I must tell you the truth. This was a runaway marriage. She was an only child, and her parents doated on her. I dare not think what they will say. How am I to break it to them? Ought I to go myself?’
‘I don’t think they would let you leave Dover until after the inquest, Mr Walcheren, but your late wife’s relations shouldcertainly be told at once. If you wish it, to-morrow being a free day with me, I will go and break the sad intelligence to them.’
‘It will greatly relieve me if you will. And every expense, you know doctor—’
‘Yes, yes. We need not mention that at present. When you have strength to write down the names and addresses, I will make my arrangements.’
‘And what about the gentleman who called twice to see Mrs Walcheren to-day?’ inquired the landlord. ‘Is he a relation of hers?’
‘No, curse him!’ said Frederick unthinkingly.
The doctor and the landlord glanced at one another.
‘I havehisname and address on his card,’ whispered Mr Cameron significantly to his companion. ‘I fancy he will be subpœnaed. He may have seen the poor lady after she left the hotel.’
‘What are you whispering about?’ said Frederick irritably.
‘Nothing, sir. I will speak to the people of the house. I know them well, and they will see you have everything you may want.’
‘And I will communicate with you directly I return to Dover,’ added the doctor.
And so they left him to his vigil, with his hand clasping the hand of his dead wife, and his face bowed down till it was lost in the folds of her dress.