Patricia packed her few belongings that same evening, and next day took leave of Ma and the children. Mrs. Sellars wept copiously, for she was sorry to lose the charming girl who made the house so bright. Also, she could not help lamenting that of all the fortunes offered to her, Miss Carrol had chosen what seemed to the old actress to be the meanest. Patricia could have married money and good looks and position, for all these had been offered to her by various letters, since her portrait had appeared in the illustrated papers. She could have been engaged at several music-halls at a lordly salary, getting twice over in one week what she had elected to receive a year. But the girl, rejecting wealth and publicity, had chosen obscurity and comparative poverty. No wonder Mrs. Sellars mourned.
"But I wish you well, my dear," she said, when the cab was waiting at the door and Patricia was shaking hands and kissing all round. "I hope you will be very happy, though from what I remember of Beckleigh, it is one of the dullest places in the world."
"I like dullness," said Miss Carrol, who was weary of argument, "and I am very thankful to get such a situation at such a good salary. Good-bye, dear Ma, and keep up your spirits. When I come to town again I shall see you."
"And write, my dear, write," screamed Mrs. Sellars, as the cab rolled away.
Patricia nodded a promise and leaned back on the cushions with a sigh of relief, as the vehicle turned the corner of the curvedcul de sac. Her last glimpse of The Home of Art showed her Ma surrounded by her children standing at the front door, waving farewells and blowing kisses. Miss Carrol sighed. They were all good and kind and simple. All the same, she was glad to have left that dreary house, which was connected in her mind with so woeful a tragedy. The excitement was now at an end, since the verdict of the jury had been given, and it was probable that in a few days the whole affair would be forgotten, for there seemed to be no chance that interest would be re-awakened by the capture of the assassin. That evil creature had stolen into the house out of the mist to kill his victim, and had then departed again into the darkness. And now Patricia herself was departing from the scene of the crime, and it seemed to her as though this horrible chapter in her life was closed for ever. "Thank God for that!" said the girl, putting her thoughts into speech.
At Paddington Station she found Squire Colpster waiting for her. The body of his late housekeeper, he informed her, had already gone on to Devonshire by the early morning train. Patricia was glad of this, as if the corpse had been in the train she was to travel in, she would have felt as though she were taking a portion of the disagreeable past with her into what she hoped would prove a very bright future. She strove to banish all the unpleasant memories of the past week, and presented a very smiling face to Mr. Colpster when he placed her in a first-class compartment. With a look of approval he commented on her cheerfulness when the train started.
"I am glad to see that your late troubles will not have a lasting effect on you," he said, placing a pile of magazines and illustrated papers beside her. "You look better than when I saw you last."
"It is because I am leaving all this unpleasantness behind," replied Patricia, with a little shiver. "And I am so thankful that you have taken me away from The Home of Art. I could not have remained there; it would have always been haunted to my fancy by the ghost of poor Mrs. Pentreddle. Yet if you had not offered me a home, Mr. Colpster, I don't know where I should have gone. In self-defence I might have had to accept the offer of that horrid music-hall manager. Beggars can't be choosers."
"You will never be a beggar again," said the Squire, with a kindly look on his clean-shaven face. "What would Colonel Carrol say if I allowed his only child to want?"
Patricia bent forward with sudden vivacity. "Did you know my father?"
"Yes. I knew him many years ago, and for this reason, amongst others, did I ask you to be my daughter's companion."
"I wondered why you made such an offer, when you knew nothing about me," said Miss Carrol thoughtfully.
"Oh, I know a great deal about you from Mrs. Sellars, who is your great admirer," said Mr. Colpster easily. "And then you have the very look of your father at times. I am asking you to Beckleigh, not so much as a companion to my daughter, as that you may become one to myself. You must look upon me as a relative, my dear girl."
"How good you are!" cried Patricia, taking his lean hand and stroking it softly. The two had the compartment to themselves, so she was able to give vent to her feelings in this way. "How can I thank you?"
"By rousing Mara from her dreamy state," said he quickly. "I want to see her more practical and take more interest in life. As it is, she always seems to be in the clouds."
"Has she ever had a companion of her own age?"
"No. All her young life she had been with older people. Certainly my nephew Theodore has been with her a great deal; but, like myself, he is inclined to study and so is much alone. Basil, who is in the Navy, is nearly always absent with his ship. Beckleigh Hall is isolated too," added Mr. Colpster thoughtfully; "so I daresay Mara's sadness and dreamy ways are due to her surroundings. All the servants are more or less old, and we live a very, very quiet life."
Patricia nodded, and quite comprehended. "I don't wonder that Mara is sad," she said bluntly. "How old is she?"
"Eighteen!"
"And you have kept her more or less surrounded by elderly people all these years," cried Patricia reproachfully. "No wonder she is sad, as I said before. I am glad I am coming to cheer her up. Has she been to school?"
"No. She has always been delicate, and I did not think it wise that she should leave home. Until last year she had a governess."
"Also elderly?"
"Yes. Miss Tibbets was nearly fifty," replied Colpster, with a smile.
"Oh, poor Mara! But does not your nephew try to brighten her life?"
The Squire's face grew dark, and his heavy grey eyebrows drew down over his keen eyes. "She does not like Theodore," he said at length, and he seemed to weigh his words. "Yet he wishes to marry her."
"He loves her?"
"So far as a cold-hearted being such as Theodore is can love, I believe he does love Mara. But he is much taken up with literary work, and studies for hours all alone in his own room. Basil is quite different, being gay and light-hearted."
"Does Mara love Mr. Basil?"
"In a sisterly way she does. The two boys and Mara have been brought up together, although Theodore and Basil are much older. I don't think Mara is earthly enough to love anyone. She always seems to live in a land of dreams, and looks more like a shadow than a flesh-and-blood girl."
Patricia nodded absently. She felt a strong desire in her heart to see this strange girl with her fancies and unearthly nature. Surrounded almost constantly by elderly people and secluded in an old country-house hidden away in a lonely corner of Devonshire, it was scarcely to be wondered at that the girl with the weird name should be unlike those of her own age.
"And Mara means 'bitter,' doesn't it?" asked Miss Carrol, following her idle thoughts.
Mr. Colpster bowed his head. "Yes. Her mother died in child-birth when Mara was born, and so I gave her the name. As the sole child of my house in the direct line, she also deserves it, for we have fallen on evil days."
"What do you mean?" asked Patricia, wondering at the strange subdued excitement of the old man, for his face was red, his eyes sparkled, and his deep voice shook with emotion.
"What I mean will take some time to tell," he said, after a pause. "It is because I had to tell you something and to question you that I engaged this compartment. We are undisturbed here, and we have some hours to ourselves before we arrive at Hendle, which is the nearest station to Beckleigh." He fixed his fiery eyes on her startled face. "Are you prepared to believe a strange story, Miss Carrol?"
"Yes," replied Patricia boldly. "I have experienced such strange things myself lately that I am prepared to believe anything."
"Good. I shall tax your credulity to the uttermost. It is strange, as you will admit, that the daughter of my old friend should be brought into my life to help the Colpster family to regain what has been lost."
Patricia echoed his words in a puzzled manner: "What has been lost?"
"The emerald snatched from you in the Park is lost, is it not?"
The girl started forward in her seat, almost too amazed to speak. That the Squire should refer to the incident on the night of the murder was the very last thing she expected. "What do you mean?" she asked again.
He replied irrelevantly, as it seemed: "Let me tell you a story, Miss Carrol. I can trace my family back to Amyas Colpster, who lived in the reign of Henry the Seventh. Who his father was, or where he came from, there is nothing to show. He was what would be nowadays called an adventurer, and in that capacity he went to the New World."
"Was the New World discovered then?" asked Patricia, wondering what all this was to lead to.
"Yes. Columbus discovered America in Henry's reign, and, indeed, the King might have fitted out the expedition had not Ferdinand and Isabella done so earlier. But I do not refer so much to Columbus as to those who followed him. It was in the early part of Henry VIII.'s reign that Cortes conquered Mexico, and it was about 1532 that Pizarro took possession of Peru."
"But what has all this to do with the emerald stolen from me in----"
"You shall hear," interrupted Mr. Colpster, rather impatiently. "Amyas, my ancestor, went to Mexico, but had no success there. Afterwards he went to Peru and there accumulated a fortune, with which he returned to England. He bought Beckleigh and a great deal of land, and so built up our family. When in Peru he saved an Inca princess from death, and out of gratitude she gave him a large emerald." Patricia uttered an exclamation. "Yes, the same emerald that was stolen from you on the night of the murder. It formerly belonged to the Temple of the Sun at Cuzco, and passed, in the way I have related, into the possession of Amyas Colpster. Being a sacred stone, it was reported to have some strange influence, which brought luck to its possessor, and Amyas believed this, as while it remained in his possession and in the possession of the son who succeeded him, everything went well. The family increased in wealth and in favour with the reigning monarch. It remained for Bevis Colpster, towards the end of Elizabeth's reign, to throw away the luck which had been bestowed on his grandfather by the Inca princess."
"Do you mean that he gave away the emerald?"
"Yes. To gain a knighthood, he presented it to the Queen. From that time the fortunes of our family have decreased gradually, and now I have only about fifty acres of land, the old Hall, and one thousand a year well invested."
"That doesn't seem to be absolute pauperism," said Patricia, with a smile.
"It is poverty compared to what our family once possessed," said the old Squire petulantly. "Once we had wide lands and much money, and great influence in worldly affairs. All these things Bevis Colpster threw away for a knighthood which did him no good, for a title which did not even descend to his children. And our fortunes have dwindled since then, until we have only what I mention. But unless the emerald is recovered, what we now possess will also leave us, and our family will die out. Even as it is," he ended bitterly, "I have no son to succeed me."
Patricia wondered at what she took to be superstition in so clever a man, but saw that he could not be argued out of his fancies. She therefore pretended to accept his beliefs as true, and asked a question. "What became of the emerald?" she inquired eagerly, for the family legend interested her.
Colpster roused himself and his sunken eyes flashed keenly. "When Will Adams went to Japan, in 1597, as a pilot of Jacques Mahay's fleet, the Queen gave him the emerald to present to some potentate in the East."
"To the Emperor of Japan?"
"No. Because the fleet which sailed from Amsterdam did not intend to go to Japan. I was wrong in saying so. It was going to the Indies. Akbar was reigning then, and the emerald was for him. But Adams was wrecked on the coast of Japan, and when he became a favourite with the Shogun Ieyasu, he presented him with the great jewel. Ieyasu gave it to the Mikado Go Yojo, and he presented it--or one of his successors did--to the Shinto Temple of Kitzuki. There it remained for hundreds of years."
"But how did it come to be in the deal box? And what had Mrs. Pentreddle to do with it? And why was it snatched from me in----"
Mr. Colpster threw up his slender hand. "One question at a time, please," he said, with a faint smile. "I can't exactly say. You can form your own conclusions from what I tell you."
He paused, as though collecting his thoughts, and Patricia did not interrupt him again. She also was thinking and recalling that strange jewel which was set in the centre of the regular circle of stiff petals. Knowing that the chrysanthemum was the royal badge of Japan, she felt certain that the whole jewel was meant to represent the same. It was at this point of her meditations that Mr. Colpster began to speak again.
"As I told you," he continued, "I was anxious that we should recover the emerald, so that our family luck should return. I therefore read many books of travel, and spoke to many Japanese about the stone. In a strange way, which I shall tell you some day, I learned that the jewel was at the Temple of Kitzuki, in the province of Izumo. It was regarded as very sacred, and how to regain it again I could not tell."
He paused once more, and then went on quietly: "As you know, I have no son of my name to carry on the line. But my only sister, whose husband was already dead, died also and left me her two sons to look after. I brought them up with my daughter. Basil went into the Navy and Theodore remained at home to look after the estate."
"Then is Mr. Theodore your heir?" asked Patricia swiftly.
"At one time I intended him to be, as I desired to marry him to Mara. He could then, as I decided, take the name of Colpster, and when I was gone, carry on the family in the female line. But while the emerald was lost I thought that the luck would not return to the Colpsters. I therefore told what I have told you to my nephews, and said that the one who brought back the Mikado Jewel--as I called it--should be my heir."
"What did they say?"
"Theodore scoffed at the idea, and said that he did not want my money. He declined to go to Japan and run any risk of getting the jewel, either by stealing or purchase."
"But surely you did not wish him to steal it?"
"Oh, no," said Mr. Colpster, so hurriedly that Patricia felt sure he had once intended to get the jewel fraudulently, if not honestly; "but I thought that the emerald might be brought back. Will Adams had no right to give it to the Shogun, as it was intended by Queen Elizabeth to cement her friendship with Akbar. We--the family, I mean--would be quite justified in taking it by force. But that was not to be thought of. I therefore gave Basil a sum of money, which I obtained by mortgaging all my property, and told him, when his ship touched at Nagasaki, to try and buy it. I am expecting his ship, H.M.S.Walrus, back in a fortnight."
"But the emerald is in London."
"Exactly, and it was brought to be given to Martha Pentreddle. That is what puzzles me. What do you think, Miss Carrol?"
"I hardly know what to think," said the girl, in a puzzled voice; then added, after a few moments of thought: "Perhaps it isn't the Colpster emerald after all."
"Yes, it is," asserted the Squire positively. "When I read your description of the jewel I was certain that it was the same stone. It was made into a sacred jewel by the Shinto priests of the Temple. They surrounded it with the petals of a chrysanthemum flower carved out of green jade."
"Jade!" Patricia recollected the stiff petals. "Oh, is that the kind of stone?"
"Ah!" said Colpster eagerly and with an air of triumph. "You see, you remember the Mikado Jewel. Yes, the emerald in the centre is the same which Amyas Colpster got from the Inca princess and which Bevis parted with to Elizabeth for a knighthood."
"But can you be certain?" persisted Patricia, bewildered by the strangeness of what she took to be a coincidence. "The emerald and the jade chrysanthemum may be still at Kitzuki, in the province of Izumo."
The Squire shook his head sadly. "No. Basil wrote me some time ago, saying that he had gone to Kitzuki to make an offer to buy back the emerald, but he learned that it had been stolen."
"Stolen! Who could have stolen it?"
"That is what I wish to find out. But it has been stolen, and now it appears in London, and was placed in your hands only to be taken away again by----" He paused and looked at the girl.
"I don't know who gave it into my hands, or who snatched it," she said, in a regretful tone. "You know all that I know."
"Didn't Martha tell you anything?" he asked eagerly.
"Not a word. She said that when I came back with the deal box she would explain. You know what happened before I reached home."
Colpster nodded. "She was murdered. Who could have murdered her? Unless----"
"Unless what?" asked Patricia, quickly.
"Have you read Wilkie Collins' story ofThe Moonstone?"
"Yes, many years ago."
"Well, as you know, it is about a sacred diamond taken from the eye of an idol, and is recovered after various adventures by the priests of the god."
"But what has that to do with----?"
"One moment, Miss Carrol. This emerald also has become a sacred stone; it also has been stolen. What is more likely but that some Shinto priest murdered Martha and another priest should snatch it from your hands?"
"But why should the emerald come to Mrs. Pentreddle at all?"
"That is what I wish to know," said the Squire, feverishly and clenching his hands. "And that," he added, bending forward, "is what you and I must find out. We must learn who murdered Martha and recover our family luck."
"I don't see how it is to be done," sighed Patricia.
"It must be done; it has to be done," and Colpster smote his knee hard.
"I'll try," said the girl and extended her hand. The Squire shook it warmly.
After the turmoil of London and the excitements of that last uncomfortable week at The Home of Art, the peace and beauty and rural influences of Beckleigh were extremely pleasant. Patricia arrived with unsteady nerves and an unhappy feeling of unrest, but after seven days in this somnolent corner of Devonshire, she regained her usual placidity of character. Although she was Irish, the girl, by reason of her magnificent health, escaped, to a great extent, those up-in-the-air and down-in-the-sea moods which characterize the Celt. As Arthur had been taken to the island valley of Avilion, there to be healed of his grievous wound, so Patricia felt that she had been guided to this Garden of Sleep that her irritated nerves might be soothed. And at the end of a week, she was more convinced than ever that she had chanced upon a veritable paradise of rest, which well deserved the name. "It is the Garden of Sleep," thought Patricia dreamily, "and here I shall rest until----" she paused at this point, as her future could not be foretold in any way.
The girl found Beckleigh to be a little fairy bay on the south coast of Devonshire, shut out from the world by high moorlands, over which tourists rarely came. Where the rolling downs dipped to the sea, there was a secluded nook--a dimple on the face of natural beauty, and here a quaint, rambling old house of mellowed grey stone nestled close to a mighty cliff of red sandstone. It was a quarter of a mile from the mansion to the yellow sands of the tiny beach, and the fertile acres were covered with many trees. The wood was partly wild and partly artificial, and was threaded by dozens of paths, narrow and broad. These led unexpectedly to clearings, rainbow-hued with flowers, or to sylvan glades fit for the revels of Titania and her elves. Although it was close upon Christmas, yet myriad flowers were in bloom, and stately palms, growing here and there, gave a suggestion of tropical vegetation to the miniature forest. The climate of this particular beauty-spot was truly wonderful, with almost constant warmth and sunshine. And here again it resembled Avilion, lacking snow and hail and rain, and the voice of wild, destructive winds. The ruddy cliff gathered the heat of many suns and poured it forth when the skies were clouded, while the high moors screened this favoured paradise from the cutting north winds.
"It is truly lovely," said Patricia, as she strolled with Mara through these gardens of Alcinous, day after day, and found the same bland conditions prevailing. "I would not have believed that there was such a lovely spot in this cold, grey England."
"Oh, we have bad weather sometimes," said Mara, in her soft, low voice; "the skies grow cloudy and the sea grows very rough. It rains, too, heavily at times, but I don't think we have ever had snow or hail. The cliff keeps us warm."
The two girls turned on the edge of the lawn, where the woods began, and looked upward at the mighty cliff, which towered majestically above them like the Tower of Babel. To Mara, who had dwelt beneath it for so long, it looked like a kindly guardian giant, who gave shelter and warmth to the favoured acres at its base; but Patricia thought it looked frowning and menacing.
"It looks as though one day it would fall and crush the house," she said with a shiver, for the hostility of the great mass of rock seemed certain.
Mara smiled in her slow, sad way. "It has stood there without falling since the world began, I suppose," she said wisely, "so I don't see why it should fall, now you have come."
"I suppose not. Yet," Patricia shivered again, "it makes me feel uncomfortable. Do you remember in 'Childe Roland,' how the hills, like giants at hunting, lay watching the game at bay. It looks to me like that."
But Mara had not read Browning, and could not grasp the allusion. She gazed at the vast, lowering mass with affection, for to her it was like a domestic hearth where she could warm herself. After a time she turned, and stared seaward towards the glistening sapphire waters, which flashed in the pale winter sunshine. Through the woods a broad path was cut from the lawns surrounding the house to the smooth beach, where the wavelets broke in gentle play. To right and left of the bay were tall cliffs, similar to that which guarded the mansion, and these ended in bold headlands some distance out. On one side and the other, rising gently and greenly, the vast spaces of the moorlands swept grandly away to the heights above. And in their cup was the solitary mansion muffled in its warm woods. In spite of the lateness of the season, the air was moist and heated, as if the red cliff was clasping the home of the Colpsters to its gigantic breast.
"But how do you get food here?" asked Patricia suddenly, when she saw that Mara did not speak; "are there any villages about?"
"Two on the moorlands, and one on the way to Hendle, where the railway stops."
"Ah, yes," Patricia nodded. "I remember Hendle, and how I drove here with the Squire down that winding road. But it was so dark that I could see nothing on the way, and since I have been in this place I have not explored the neighbourhood."
"We can do so whenever you like," said Mara quietly; "but it will be best to wait until Basil comes home next week. He loves this place, and knows every inch of the surrounding country."
"Doesn't Mr. Dane know it also?"
"Theodore? Oh, yes, in a way. But he is like my father, and is never so happy as when he is reading and writing. He does not go out much, and we only see him at luncheon and dinner. It is nearly luncheon now."
Patricia caught the girl's slim hand. "Let us go in now," she said. "I am hungry, Mara, but I don't believe you are. A fairy like you, lives on:--
"'apricocks and dewberries,With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries.'"
"Who said that?" asked Mara, smiling in her dreamy fashion.
"Titania said it, and Shakespeare put the words into her mouth. Mara, I must educate you in English literature. You knew nothing of Browning when I quoted him lately, and now I see that you have not read Shakespeare's plays. This is dreadful."
Mara shrugged her thin shoulders. "I don't care for reading, Patricia. It is much nicer to walk about under the open sky. I don't wish to become like Theodore and father. They stay indoors everlastingly."
"Do they never go away for a change?"
"Rarely. Both Theodore and father have been in London lately. Theodore came back first, and then father came last week with you."
"Are you sorry he brought me?" asked Patricia, slipping her arm impulsively round the girl's waist.
"No," said Mara, in so unemotional a fashion that Patricia felt chilled. "I like you, as you don't worry me. Miss Tibbets always worried me with lessons."
"But you must be educated, Mara?"
"Why? I don't see the use of learning things."
Patricia looked at her curiously, for although she had been studying the girl for several days, Mara was still an enigma to her. Mr. Colpster's only daughter and only child was undersized and slim, graceful in figure and movements, and clever enough, in spite of her dreamy ways, to look after herself in a very thorough fashion. Patricia did not at all agree with Mrs. Sellars' use of the word "weak" as applied to Mara, for that young lady made shrewd remarks at times which showed a capable character. But there was something decidedly elfish about the girl, both in looks and ways. Mara's pale golden locks and pale blue eyes and pale complexion presented her to the onlooker as a somewhat shadowy creature. Her silent movements and low voice and frequent lack of conversation gave the same impression. Patricia could not get near the shy soul clothed in this fragile, tintless body. She seemed to be scarcely human, but to be compounded of moonlight and grey mist, containing in herself all that was melancholy in Nature. The warmth and tropical luxuriance of Beckleigh did not suit her personality. She should have been placed in some sad, antique temple, isolated on a lonely plain, and under sombre skies. The Irish girl was warm, human, life-loving and affectionate, so it was difficult to make friends with this Undine, so chill and distant in her ways and looks. Patricia began to think that, after all, the salary she had thought so large was not too much, seeing that she had to warm this statue into life. But how to set about the task she did not know.
"What do you like doing?" she asked, as they walked towards the house.
"Nothing."
"Don't you get bored?"
"Not at all; I--" Mara hesitated, then turned her pale blue eyes on the flushed and lovely face of her companion--"I dream," she said quietly.
"What do you dream about?" asked Patricia curiously.
Mara passed her pale hand across her pale forehead. "I can hardly tell you," she said in her low voice, which suggested softly breathing midnight winds; "there is something wanting."
"Something wanting?"
"To bring back that which I dream about."
"But what do you dream about?" persisted Miss Carrol, more puzzled than ever, as she looked at Mara's pale, pathetic face.
"The something will tell me when it brings it back."
"Brings what back?"
"That which I dream about?"
"And that is----?"
"I don't know."
The conversation was turning in a circle, and Mara was repeating her answers, as was Patricia her questions. Some invisible barrier divided the two girls, and although Patricia wished, in order to earn her salary honestly, to break it down, Mara apparently did not. Neither in look nor gesture did she make any advance, so Miss Carrol could do nothing but sigh over the difficulty of the problem which she had to solve, and renew her walk towards the house. Mara followed in silence, not sullen at being questioned and not angry. She was simply indifferent.
The Colpster homestead was two-storey and rambling, confusedly composed of various styles of architecture. The oldest portion was Tudor, and had been built by Amyas, the founder of the family, when he had first set up his tent in this solitary spot. Later Colpsters had added and taken away, so that one wing was wanting, while the other was of Jacobean style. On one side also there stood a square Georgian block of many rooms, comfortable but ugly. The effect of this mass of different orders of architecture was to make the entire dwelling look picturesque, if not strictly beautiful. Time also had mellowed the whole to lovely restful hues, and Nature had clothed many eye-sores with trailing ivy and Virginian creeper. Indeed, so thickly were the walls covered with living vegetation, that it looked as though the loosely-built, untidy dwelling was fastened to the emerald sward of the lawns. Or, as Patricia thought, halting on the doorstep for a single moment, as though the building had sprang therefrom in a single night, like a mushroom. And the house dwelt in, and fondled, and loved for many generations had about it a warm, homely feeling of intimate humanity. But over it, as the girl again observed with a shiver, ever hung the angry, red-faced cliff, menacing and sinister.
The interior of the mansion was as jumbled, so to speak, as its outside, for various additions and alterations and removals had destroyed the original plan of the dwelling, if, indeed, it ever had possessed any such design. Some rooms had doors leading into others, passages twisted and turned in a most bewildering manner, and a few ended in blank walls. A stranger would find himself stepping down into one room and up into another, as the flooring of the whole house was irregular. There were narrow doors and broad doors: many of the windows were diamond-paned casements, while others presented a large surface of modern glass. Grates were here, and vast open fireplaces there, and many rooms were as dark as others were light.
The house both pleased and irritated, as everywhere the visitor came upon unexpected corners, or was brought up short before closed entrances. It was a nightmare house, and like none that Patricia, used to extreme modernity, had ever entered.
The furniture and furnishing of the many rooms was also fantastic, and here Patricia saw more plainly the effects of Colpster's narrow income, as everything was old-fashioned and worn. The carpets and hangings, the paper covering the walls and the paintings adorning the ceiling, were shabby and faded. The drawing-room was filled with Chippendale tables, Sheraton chairs, fender-stools of the Albert period, and Empire sofas covered with worn brocade, while the dining-room had merely a horsehair mahogany suite, aggressively slippery. The whole house looked shabby and was shabby, yet the hand of Time had so co-ordinated the furniture and decorations of various epochs that the effect of the whole was beautiful. The sombre family portraits, the tarnished silver ornaments, the subdued hues of curtains and carpets, all gave the dwelling a refined air. There was nothing modern or garish or machine-made about the place. Everything looked mellow, suitable, old-world and slightly melancholy. It was a house to dream in, as it was filled with drowsy suggestions: a mansion of meditation, as the grounds without were the Gardens of Sleep. No wonder Mara was given to vague visions. A stronger person would have succumbed to the somniferous influence of the place.
The luncheon-table, laid with snow-white linen, glittering with diamond-cut glass, and heavy, old-fashioned silver, looked very attractive in the soft light of the large room, which stole in through quaint casements. Patricia, anxious to take up her household duties, had arranged the decorations of the table, and was rapidly getting into the swing of her domestic duties. She found the servants dull and out-of-date, but very obedient; and although, with the privilege of old retainers, they grumbled at many of her innovations, they did what she asked them to do. Mr. Colpster congratulated her on her successfuldébuton this very occasion.
"You are a born housekeeper, Miss Carrol," he said, when he took his place at the head of the table, looking leaner and more like a student than ever.
"I used to look after my father's house before he died," said Patricia with a sigh, "and he was very particular."
"He was, even as a boy. I remember him at Sandhurst."
"Were you at Sandhurst?" remarked the girl, looking at her host, who did not in any way resemble a military man.
Colpster laughed in his silent fashion. "Oh, yes. I had thoughts of winning the V.C., and so tormented my father to make me a soldier. But I soon grew tired of the Army, as I had not the necessary money to keep it up. I therefore retired when my father died and have vegetated here ever since. I hope you don't find our life here too dull, Miss Carrol," and he looked anxiously towards the bright face of the girl.
"I like it," replied Patricia absently; "it is such a rest after the rush and worry of London. By the way, Mr. Colpster, I wish you would not call me Miss Carrol: it sounds so stiff."
"Patricia, then," said the Squire genially, and with a bright look in his usually sad eyes which showed that he was pleased; "it is a very charming name and suits"--he made an old-world bow--"a very charming young lady."
The girl laughed and coloured and bowed in return. Then, to turn the conversation, which was becoming too complimentary, she glanced at the vacant place opposite to that of Mara's. "Where is Mr. Dane?" she asked abruptly.
"Talk of angels and you hear their wings," said the Squire, for at that moment the door opened to admit the eldest nephew.
Theodore was tall and rather stout, with a heavy face by no means attractive. His skin was pale, and he possessed very bright blue eyes, and reddish hair, worn--as was his uncle's--rather long. His jaw was of the bull-dog order, and with this, and his bulky figure, to say nothing of the piercing look in his eyes, he appeared to be rather a formidable personage. But he was so good-natured and conversational that Patricia liked him, and thought--which was probably true--that his bark was much worse than his bite. He dressed much more carefully than did Mr. Colpster, and one noticeable point about him were his delicate white hands, which he was rather fond of using to emphasize his conversation. Patricia guessed that the man was proud of those hands, as one of his rare good points, and liked to draw attention to their perfection.
"I am sorry that I am late, Miss Carrol," said Theodore, sitting down with an alacrity surprising in so heavy a man. "I was taken up with a new manuscript which I acquired when I was in London."
"What is it about?" asked Patricia politely.
"Occult matters. You would not understand even if I explained." Theodore stopped; then looked into her face and added: "Yet you are Irish."
"What has that got to do with your remark, Mr. Dane?"
"Only this: that the Celt is usually more in touch with the Unseen than is the Saxon. I come of the latter race, and have no psychic powers; but I think you have, Miss Carrol."
"What do you mean exactly by psychic powers?"
"You can see things and feel things, which is more than many people can do by reason of their limitations. Ah!" he looked at her sharply, as he saw her face change. "You have felt something, or you have seen something."
"Well, yes," answered Patricia, and regretted the admission. At the moment, she was thinking of the Mikado Jewel and her sensations when holding it. Fearful of being ridiculed, she had not said anything even to Mr. Colpster about this, and did not wish to speak even to Theodore, although she guessed from his talk that he was less sceptical about such things than the ordinary man. "I may tell you about my experience some day," she added, quickly, seeing from his face that he was about to press his questions. "Not now."
Theodore nodded. "I shall keep you to your promise," he said alertly, "and we might try some experiments. Mara won't let me experiment with her."
"I don't like your experiments, Theodore," said Mara quietly, and looking up with a nervous look on her pale face, "they are dangerous."
"There is always danger, my dear girl, when one is exploring a new country, and the Realms of the Unseen are new to us. Your dreams----"
Mara flushed. "Never mind about my dreams," she said frowning, and with a sudden glance at Patricia.
"And never mind continuing this unwholesome conversation," said Mr. Colpster, who had been opening letters, "it is not good for Mara. By the way, Basil is coming home in three days. His ship is at Falmouth."
"Oh, I am so glad!" cried Mara delightedly. "I love Basil. He's a dear!"
"Let us hope that Miss Carrol will love him also," said Theodore grimly.
"I love everybody who is nice to me," said Patricia, laughing, although she wondered why Mr. Dane made such a remark.
"Oh, Basil will be nice! He's a universal lover," scoffed the man shrugging.
Patricia looked at him sharply and noticed the acrid tone. It seemed to her that Theodore was not fond of his brother. "I wonder why?" she asked herself, but naturally could obtain no reply to such an intimate question.
Life went so softly and gently at Beckleigh that it was like dwelling in an enchanted land, in a fabled heaven of drowsy ease. Patricia compared the place to the island of the Lotus-eaters, and after the storms of her early experiences, she enjoyed to the full its calm seclusion. Never was there so solitary a place. The Colpsters were a county family of respectable antiquity, and it was to be presumed that in the ordinary course of things they knew many people of their own rank. But either their friends and acquaintances lived too far away or were not invited to the house, for no stranger ever came near the place. Not even the inevitable tourist chanced upon this charmed spot. Beckleigh might have been situated in the moon, for all connection it had with the outside world.
The dwellers in this quiet haven did not seem to mind being left alone in this odd way. The servants, mostly old and staid, were contented with the house and grounds, and occasionally ventured on the quiet waters of the fairy bay in rowing-boats. Once a week the elderly butler drove to Hendle and to the adjacent villages, to bring back groceries and such things as were needful to support life. The postman came on a bicycle, once a day, with news from the outside world, and Patricia found that the library was well supplied with magazines and newspapers. There was no complaint to be made on that score, as the inhabitants of Beckleigh always knew what was going on both at home and abroad. They might be secluded, but they were not ignorant, and although not rolling stones, they gathered no moss. This warm, forgotten nook was an ideal home for a student.
And both Theodore and his uncle were students, as Patricia gradually learned. Mr. Colpster was writing a history of his family, and had been engaged for many years in doing so. From Amyas downward the Squire traced the history of his forebears, showing how they had risen to wealth and rank until the middle part of Elizabeth's reign, and how, from that period, by the selfish conduct of Bevis Colpster in parting with the emerald, his sons and grandsons had lost the greater part of their possessions. Also, he related various romantic stories dealing with the attempts of Georgian Colpsters to redeem the family fortunes. And, finally, when he reached the conclusion of the book, as he told Patricia, he intended to relate how the emerald had been recovered, and how again it had worked its spell of good fortune.
"But if you don't recover the emerald?" asked Miss Carrol very sensibly.
"I must recover it," said the Squire vehemently. "If I do not, the family will die out. When the Mikado Jewel is again in our possession, she can inherit the estates on condition that she marries Theodore or Basil."
"Are you speaking of Mara?" questioned Patricia, noting the vague way in which her companion talked.
"Of course; of course," he answered testily. "She must marry one of her cousins, and her husband can take the family name. Then the emerald will draw plenty of money to us, and we will again buy back our lost lands."
"How can the emerald draw back money?" asked Patricia, again thinking, as she very often did, of her sensations when holding the stone.
"I don't know; I can't say. I am only using a figure of speech, as it were, my dear girl. But in some way this emerald means good fortune to us, as was amply proved by the success of Amyas, his son and grandson. They owned all the land as far as Hendle; but when the emerald was lost the acres and their villages were lost also." Mr. Colpster rose and began to walk to and fro excitedly. "I must find that emerald; I must; I must!"
"How are you going to set about it?" asked the girl, doubtfully.
"I cannot say." He resumed his seat at his desk with a heavy sigh. "There is no clue to follow. If we could learn who murdered Martha we might discover the assassin and regain the jewel."
"But how can the assassin have it, Mr. Colpster? Assuming that he murdered poor Mrs. Pentreddle in order to steal the emerald, you know that it was not in her possession."
"No. That is quite true. While the assassin was searching the house, the emerald was being stolen from you in the Park. But undoubtedly the emerald was meant to be given to Martha since you went to receive it. How did she manage to get it? I want an answer to that question."
"Why not ask it of Harry Pentreddle?" suggested Patricia quietly.
Colpster raised his head and stared. "Why? What could Harry possibly know about the matter?"
"I am only putting two and two together," continued the girl, thoughtfully looking out of the window. "You told me that the emerald was taken to Japan, and also that Harry Pentreddle had returned from the Far East. He----"
"What?" Colpster rose excitedly to his feet. "You think that Harry brought it with him; that he stole it from the Temple of Kitzuki?"
"Why not?" demanded Patricia swiftly. "Japan is in the Far East, and Harry Pentreddle came from there. Also, his mother came up to London to meet him and receive the emerald. I feel sure of it."
"But Harry never came near the house," expostulated the Squire. "That was clearly proved at the inquest."
"Quite so. But do you remember what you told me about the emerald being a sacred stone, and how you mentioned Wilkie Collins' novel of 'The Moonstone'? Perhaps some priests were on Harry Pentreddle's track, and so he did not dare to go openly to his mother. He must have arranged the signal of the red light in the Park, so that he could give his mother the emerald secretly. She could not keep the appointment by reason of her sprained foot, and so sent me. I now believe, on these assumptions," declared Patricia firmly, "that it was Harry Pentreddle who gave me the deal box."
Colpster grew very excited. "It sounds a feasible theory," he muttered. "Of course, Martha knew all about my desire to get back the emerald. But why should she get her son to steal it? I can understand the secrecy of the meeting in the Park, as undoubtedly the priests of the Kitzuki Temple would make every effort to regain the stone. Harry had to give the emerald to his mother secretly, and probably for the same reason he is now in hiding at Amsterdam. It all fits in. But"--Mr. Colpster paused and looked straightly at the girl--"why did Martha want the emerald?"
"Perhaps to give it to you."
"In that case, she would have told me of her plans."
"I think not," said Patricia, after a pause. "She might fancy you would not approve of the jewel being stolen. However, it is all theory, and the only way in which you can get at the truth is by questioning Harry Pentreddle."
"The question is how to find him," murmured the Squire musingly. "If he thinks the priests are after him, he will remain in hiding."
"If he has seen the report of his mother's death and of the inquest," said Patricia coolly, "he will see that there is no longer any reason for him to dread the priests of Kitzuki."
"Why not?"
"Because I believe that Harry was followed by one on that night, and that the second man who stole the jewel from me was one of the priests."
"If that is so, why was Martha murdered?"
"I can't say. Of course, like the Moonstone guardians, there may have been three priests. One followed Harry and one went to The Home of Art."
"And the third?"
"The third may have directed the other two. It is all fancy, perhaps," said Patricia, hesitating; "but I think that my theory is correct."
"I am positive that it is," said the Squire, with decision. "Where a man argues to reach a point, a woman jumps in the dark intuitively. Gradually I might have arrived at the same conclusion you suggest by reasoning; but I feel certain that you have given me the truth by using that subconscious mind which is more active in woman than man. Yes, yes!" Mr. Colpster opened and shut his hands excitedly; "you have given me the clue. Harry was told by his mother to steal the emerald; she did not tell me, as she knew that I would not approve. Harry secured the emerald and was followed by those who guarded it. Being in danger of death, he made the secret appointment with his mother which you kept, and passed along the jewel. The Japanese who was following saw that what he wanted had changed hands, and leaving Harry, came after you. When you looked at the jewel he snatched it. Meanwhile, in some way, these priests knew that the jewel was to go to Martha, and so one must have gone to get it from her. She refused to say anything and was killed by the man, who afterwards searched the house for the emerald. It is all clear, perfectly clear."
"What will you do now?" asked Patricia, catching fire from his enthusiasm.
"Do?" almost shouted the old man, straightening his bent frame. "I shall try and find Harry Pentreddle and see if he will endorse your story."
"My theory," corrected the girl quickly.
"Well, theory, if you like. But Harry must be found. No doubt, thinking he was in danger of his life, he went abroad and is in hiding."
"How can you find him, then?"
"I shall ask Isa Lee. She lives at Hendle, and is the girl to whom he is engaged. He must have written to her, and--and----"
"And why not ask Mara," broke in a quiet voice.
Patricia looked up with a start, so unexpected was the observation. From behind a screen which was placed in front of the door came Theodore Dane. For so huge a man--and in Patricia's eyes he looked more gigantic than ever at the moment--he moved as quietly as a cat. Mr. Colpster seemed rather annoyed by this stealthy entrance.
"I wish you would make more noise," he said irritably.
"I thought you did not like noise, uncle," said Theodore calmly, and allowed himself to drop into a saddle-back chair.
"No more I do. All the same, I don't care about being surprised in this way. You should have knocked at the door, or have rattled the handle, or----"
"I did knock, I did rattle the handle," said Dane carelessly, and thrust one white hand through his leonine masses of reddish hair; "but you were so interested in your conversation with Miss Carrol that you did not hear me."
"And you listened?" continued the Squire irritably.
"I ask pardon for doing so. But the conversation was about the Mikado Jewel, which always fascinates me, and I could scarcely help overhearing a few words. But if the conversation is private----" He heaved up his big frame as if to go away.
"It's not private," snapped Colpster, sitting down at his desk; "only your unexpected appearance startled me. I would have reported the conversation to you later, as I know that you are as anxious as I am to recover the palladium of the family."
"I should certainly like to recover it personally," said Theodore with point, "as I know the succession to the estate depends upon its being given to you. If I get it, I inherit; if Basil is the lucky finder, he obtains all the property. You know what you arranged."
"Yes, and I hold to that arrangement. But as neither Basil nor you have secured the Mikado Jewel----"
"Neither one of us inherits?" finished Dane quietly.
"The one who marries Mara gets it," said Colpster decisively. "She is my only daughter and must benefit under my will. Marry her, Theodore, and be my heir. Mara is a nice girl; you can't object."
"Mara will. She likes Basil better than she does me."
"In that case, she must marry Basil, and he can become master here, when I pass over," said Mr. Colpster, with a shrug.
Theodore's white face flushed and his blue eyes glittered even more brightly than usual. Patricia, who was watchful of his every movement--for the latent strength of the man impressed her--guessed that he was furiously angry, but was reining in his passion with an iron hand. "If Basil inherits he will turn me out of doors," he said heavily.
"Oh, you can make your own arrangements with Basil," said the Squire. "You and he never get on well together, so----"
"Because I am the ugly duckling," burst out Theodore, his eyes flaming like sapphires. "Basil is the popular one; he has all the looks and all the----" He checked himself suddenly and smiled in a wry manner. "But these family arrangements cannot interest Miss Carrol. Let us leave marriages and any arrangement that may come after your death, uncle, alone for the moment. We have to find the emerald."
"In what way?" asked the Squire directly, and rather sourly. There did not seem to be much love lost between him and his burly nephew.
"We must find out where Harry Pentreddle is and question him. Isa Lee may know, but in order not to lose time, I suggest that we question Mara."
"No," said Colpster sharply. "Last time you put her in a trance she was ill for days. I won't have her constitution tampered with."
"Mara's spirit got beyond my control," said Theodore quickly, "and remained away longer than was wise. It would not obey!"
"The child might have died," growled the Squire, who did not seem surprised at this strange speech of his nephew's. "Leave her alone. Isa Lee will certainly be able to tell us where Harry is. Mara is useless."
"She was not useless when she told you where the emerald was to be found," said Theodore calmly, and lounging in his deep chair.
Mr. Colpster looked at Patricia, who was privately amazed at this extraordinary conversation, which dealt in a matter-of-fact way with super-physical things, and laughed at the expression on her face. "I promised to explain one day how I came to learn where the emerald was," he remarked.
Patricia nodded. "Yes, you did, Mr. Colpster. In the train."
"I remember. Well, then, Theodore here put Mara asleep, and told her to look for the jewel. She went unerringly to Japan and saw that it was in the Temple of Kitzuki in the province of Izumo. At the time I did not believe this, but it proved to be true, and the shrine which held it, as Basil wrote home to me, was precisely described by Mara when in her trance."
"But I don't believe in these things," burst out Patricia, staring aghast at what she regarded as gross superstition.
"And the Inquisition did not believe that the earth went round the sun," said Theodore coolly. "But although they forced Galileo to deny that truth, the earth continued to circle the sun and took the disbelieving Inquisitors along with it. Do not measure everything by your own brain, Miss Carrol, for there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your----"
"Oh, I have heard that quotation so often," cried Patricia impetuously; "but nothing can be proved."
"Not to those who only possess physical brains. But those who have eyes can see and those who have ears can hear. To those people Christ appealed."
Patricia laid her delicate hands on her lap despairingly. "I don't know what you are talking about," she observed, with a shrug.
"Well, never mind," Theodore hastened to say, seeing that she was rather annoyed. "Some day you will understand. Just now all you need know is that Mara told us that the emerald was to be found in the Temple of Kitzuki in Japan. That proved to be true, although it was learned in what appears to you to be a nonsensical way. I believe," he fixed her gaze with his keen blue eyes strongly, "I believe that you are psychic yourself."
Mr. Colpster jumped up a trifle nervously. "I won't have it, Theodore. Leave Patricia alone. I am quite sure your experiments with Mara have done her a great deal of harm, and have made her more dreamy and unpractical than ever. I won't have Patricia caught in these evil nets."
"There is no evil in searching for the Unseen," protested Theodore warmly. "In that case--if it was regarded as evil, I mean--men would cease to inquire and there would be no inventions."
"If the searching you mention was regarded as evil," said the Squire grimly, "men would certainly search more willingly than if the powers were regarded as good. However, I put my foot down. I am not an unbeliever, as you know, but I don't think it is right to pry into what God wishes to be concealed. 'Thus far shalt thou go and no further!'"
"That was said of the ocean," retorted Theodore. "And yet we have reclaimed lands from the sea and prevented the waves from going as far as they used to. Everything is good if rightly used, and----"
"I won't hear; I won't hear;" Mr. Colpster walked abruptly to the window. "You are always arguing. Leave Patricia alone."
"What does Miss Carrol say herself?" asked Dane, turning to the girl.
"I agree with Mr. Colpster," she rejoined promptly. "I don't like such things, and think they are evil."
"Very good. We will talk no more of the matter," said Theodore quietly. "Only one thing I will ask you, since I believe you to be a sensitive. Have you not experienced strange sensations yourself?"
"In connection with the emerald I have," replied Patricia, who was anxious to have her curiosity in this respect gratified. And Dane certainly seemed a man who could do so.
On hearing her reply, Mr. Colpster turned away from the window and walked back to plant himself before her. "What do you mean?" he asked abruptly.
"I mean that while I held the emerald I felt the strangest sensations. It was because I felt these that I opened the box."
Theodore leaned forward with his hands on the arms of his chair. "I knew you were psychic," he said triumphantly. "All Irish people are, more or less, as they come along the Chaldean-Egyptian-Carthagenian line."
"What do you mean?" asked Patricia, completely puzzled.
"Oh, never mind; never mind," broke in the Squire impatiently. "Theodore can explain himself later. Meanwhile tell me what sensations you felt?"
Patricia stared straight before her, striving to recall what she had experienced on that terrible night. "Both when the jewel was in the box and in my hand," she said slowly, "I felt a sensation as though it held some great force which was ever pushing outward."
"Pushing outward!" muttered Theodore, pinching his nether lip. "How?"
"I can scarcely explain. Wave after wave of this invisible force seemed to radiate from the petals of the flower."
"What flower?" asked Colpster, greatly interested.
"The chrysanthemum blossom which was formed of the carved jade petals, with the emerald in its centre. The radiating force seemed to push back all darkness and all evil, so that I did not feel afraid. It seemed as though I were in the middle of a circle of light, and thus was safe from any harm."
Theodore muttered again and bent forward eagerly. "Was there any sign carved on the emerald?" he demanded breathlessly.
"What sign?" she asked, greatly puzzled.
"A triangle; a circle; a--a--oh, any sign?"
"I did not observe," replied Patricia simply. "The jewel was so lovely, and my sensations were so strange, that I kept staring at it in silence, feeling happy and safe. When it became cold and dark I then was afraid."
Theodore held up his hand to prevent his uncle from speaking. "When did the jewel become cold and dark, as you phrase it?" he asked sharply.
"Just before the man snatched it. The radiance seemed to die away, and the power appeared to falter. When I felt that I was holding a mere ornament, dull and dead and cold, the thief snatched it away from me."
Dane rose slowly, and nodded towards his uncle. "It certainly was a priest who stole the jewel," he observed. "Probably it is now on its way back to Japan. You will never get it, uncle, as now it will be guarded more carefully."
"Why do you think the thief is a priest?" questioned the Squire abruptly.
"Well, you thought so yourself," said Theodore lightly. "And it seems natural to suppose that the priests of Kitzuki would be more anxious than other people to get back their sacred talisman."
"Talisman!" echoed Patricia.
Theodore turned heavily towards her. "Yes," he said emphatically. "The emerald in some way has been impregnated with the radiating power you mention, for some purpose which I cannot say. Perhaps, as you suggest, to keep off evil and darkness. At all events, the man who stole it had some way of neutralizing the power, which he did when he saw you staring at the jewel. It might be that he could not take it from you until he had destroyed the barrier of light which you felt. But in any case, seeing that he was able to take away the force, he must have been a priest of the Temple, who knew all about the Mikado Jewel. You understand."
"No," faltered Patricia. "I don't understand at all."
"Neither do I," growled the Squire; "but I intend to recover the jewel some day and in some way. It is mine, and I shall regain it."
Theodore shook his head. "You will never regain it," he said firmly. "It is now on its way back to the shrine whence it was taken by Pentreddle."