For the next week or so, Herrick had his hands full. Mrs. Marsh grew rapidly worse, and several times nearly slipped through his fingers. But the doctor's skill, Petronella's nursing, and above all the indomitable determination of Mrs. Marsh not to die, enabled her to turn the corner. She became much better, but still suffered from racking pains. At times Herrick gave her morphia, but did so sparingly. From Petronella he learned that she had taken chloral for years past, and feared that if she gained a taste for morphia she might take to it instead of the weaker drug. For Stephen's sake, Jim could not let that happen.
Never had Herrick had so unruly a patient. He did not wonder that she had quarrelled with all the Beorminster doctors. The wonder was that she had a friend left. Her temper was ungovernable, and she fought Herrick on every point that did not chime in with her inclinations. In spite of the fact that he was attending her out of sheer kindness, and had intimated to Stephen that he expected no fee, Mrs. Marsh abused him virulently whenever she felt so inclined. But then she abused everyone, even Petronella, who was her slave. As to Stephen, devoted as he was to her, she could not find words bad enough for him sometimes. He was a fool, a ninny, a milksop, he lived upon her charity, etc., etc. Yet there were times when the young man was all that was good in her eyes. Even Herrick came in for his share of praise at odd moments.
"Gran' Dio!" Petronella would say to Herrick after some tussel, "was there ever such a diavola as the Padrona?"
"The old Italian woman had taken a great fancy to Dr. Jim. He was good to her mistress whom she idolized, he was kind to Petronella herself, and could speak her language. He had once made a tour of Europe for three years with a young dipsomaniac and had contrived to pick up three or four tongues, which he spoke remarkably correctly. Spanish, French, German, Italian, Dr. Jim knew them all and could both read and write them with wonderful accuracy. In the eyes of Petronella he was a marvellous man, and she often talked to him on subjects which she would not discuss with anyone else.
"Do not be angry with the padrona Signor Dottore," she said sometimes, "it is the blood of the Michelotto family. Eh, the Michelotti were wicked!"
"Like Colonel Carr? Eh, Petronella?"
"Signor Dottore, the Colonel was an angel of light to the wicked Michelotti. The padrona is the last of them, and it is not wonder she is angry. Per Bacco," added Petronella who could swear on occasions, "see this casa--a fitting casa for the last of the grand signori."
"But it is all right now Petronella. As soon as your signora can be removed we shall take her to The Pines.
"That is a fine casa if you like!" Petronella spat, and shook her white elf-locks. "It will bring no luck. Eh Signor, but that man had the evil eye. Once I went with the padrona to see him. He overlooked me although I made horns, and I hurt my foot. If my padrona goes to that casa she will die."
Herrick shrugged his shoulders, and did not argue. There was no means of persuading Petronella out of the spite she had taken to The Pines. It was now the property of Stephen Marsh. The senior partner of Frith and Frith had come down personally with the will. This left Stephen the house, on condition that he pulled down the tower. Furthermore the personal property of the late Colonel, amounting to eight thousand a year well invested, was given to the young man on a still more curious condition.
"You are to have a special vault constructed in Saxham churchyard," said Mr. Frith, "it is to be built of stone and lined with sheet iron. The body of our late client is to be put in there, and you alone are to hold the key of the door. Once a month you are to enter the vault and see that the body is safe. If you do this for a year then the property becomes yours absolutely. If you miss going once, the money goes to--Frisco."
"To Frisco--the Colonel's servant!" said Stephen in surprise, "and by that name Mr. Frith?"
"Yes! It is legal enough. But the man evidently murdered his master, and has gone away to avoid consequences, I do not think you will be troubled by him. Also Mr. Marsh--or rather Mr. Carr since you have to take the name--you can avert all chance of this man getting the money by visiting the vault monthly for a year."
Here was another mystery. Why the money should have been left to Frisco no one could guess. Stephen often talked it over with Herrick, but could come to no conclusion. However he set to work to carry out the terms of the will. A body of workmen were employed to take down the tower; and Mr. Corn was seen about the construction of a new vault. Evidently the Colonel did not consider that his remains would be safe in the ancestral burial-place. In spite of all secrecy, the countryside came to know of this strange provision of Carr's will, and it was said that he wanted to make sure that his body would not be carried off by the devil to whom he had sold himself. In fact the general opinion was, that some night the remains would be carried off like those of the old woman of Berkley. The villagers grew confused over the matter, and did not distinguish between the body and soul.
While Mrs. Marsh was slowly getting better, and Stephen was attending to the carrying-out of the will, Dr. Jim remained at Saxham, or rather for the sake of his patient he lived at Beorminster, paying occasional visits to the village. Robin had long since returned to London, and had left in much anger at Jim's refusal to accompany him.
"You have found a new friend," he said angrily, "and I must go to the wall. I do call it unfair Jim."
"My dear Robin, I cannot be your shadow. You are quite well able to look after yourself now. I took you for this walking tour, to do you good. Now you are in excellent health. I must remain here until Mrs. Marsh is quite well. Remember if I go she has no doctor to attend her."
"I can't do without you," persisted Robin. "You have such an influence over me that I am lost if you are away."
"You must take up your life on your own shoulders," replied Herrick impatiently; "it is no use relying on other people. But if you feel that I am so indispensable to you, why not stay here? You have money, no ties, and can do your work here better than in London."
"I want to go back to town. If I stay here I shall not see much of you. Marsh is your friend now."
"I like Marsh. He is a good fellow, and I can make something of him. I suppose Robin you think I am after his money; but you know me better than that. The three hundred a year I have is enough for me. I was never a man for luxury."
"I never thought or hinted such a thing," said Joyce with a blush. "Well, if you like to stay here Jim, I'll return to London, and we can meet when you return. I suppose you'll be back some time,--that is if Miss Endicotte will let you go."
"Nonsense," replied Dr. Jim, "she has no thought of me. I like her very much but in my present state of poverty I could not ask her to be my wife."
Joyce said nothing more, but the next week took his leave. He was much missed in Saxham where his bright talk and merry face had made him a general favourite. The Biff's especially were sorry. Bess had foregathered with Joyce on the common ground of literature, and she lamented when he departed.
"Why can't you stay here?" she said in her blunt way, "you can work better in the country."
"No, Miss Bess. I am like Charles Lamb; London is my home. I cannot get enough of the divine fire in this tame locality."
"There is nothing tame about it," cried Bess fired with indignation.
Joyce laughed. "Not to you perhaps; but I prefer London myself. However, I hope you will let me come down and see you at times. And we can correspond. And if you have any manuscripts you think well of, send them to me. I will see what I can do with them."
This arrangement was made, and Robin, taking a friendly leave of Jim went back to his West Kensington fiat. He wrote frequently at first, but after a time his letters became rarer. Herrick was sorry, but on the whole somewhat relieved to be rid of such a burden. For Robin was one of those people who are delightful to meet and terrible to live with. Had he been ill or in trouble the conscientious Jim would have stayed with him. But since he had been particularly well after that attack of nerves when the body was discovered, there was no necessity for Herrick to martyrise himself further.
And besides Jim had fallen seriously in love with Ida Endicotte. When Mrs. Marsh was fairly on the road to recovery, Stephen had taken Jim over to Saxham and introduced him to the Biffs. They lived in a tumbledown house of considerable size, down a deep and leafy lane. At one time the Endicottes had been great folks, but the late Mr. Endicotte who had married the daughter of an Earl, had squandered the revenues of the family. His wife Lady Arabella had died of sheer worry, and Mr. Endicotte had found himself alone with five children and an impoverished estate.
For a time he did his best to keep things together, but ultimately died--as it was said--of a broken heart. It seemed probable that the five children would go on the parish. "What a fall for the haughty Endicotte."
It was at this juncture that Lord Gartham stepped in. He was an Irish peer, and poor himself, but he could not see his sister's children entirely penniless. Ida the eldest was twenty-four when her father died; Bess, had reached the age of twenty-three; and Sidney the youngest, was sixteen. The five Endicottes were all handsome, and had high spirits; but poorer than the proverbial church mouse. What was to be done?
"We'll earn our own livings," said Bess who was the most energetic of the five. "Ida can look after the house, Frank can manage the farm; and Sidney can go to school, and I shall ask Mr. Arch to take me on to the Weekly Chronicle."
"But my dear child!" expostulated the Earl.
"What does it matter?" cried Bess. "We are the Endicottes whatever we may do. Everybody knows who we are and what we are. There is nothing disgraceful in earning one's own living Uncle Gar!"
The Earl--rather a helpless person--who had never done a stroke of honest work in his life, was rather surprised at the energy of Bess. However her scheme recommended itself to his favour since there was absolutely no other way of settling the matter. In one way and another, Lord Gartham paid off the debts by selling some of the land, and arranged that the united five should have a small income which they would have to increase as best they could. Thus it was that the Endicottes found themselves with their ancestral home, a small farm, two hundred a year, and the world before them.
They were all young and hearty so they thought very little of the matter. Bess obtained a post on the Weekly Chronicle at Beorminster, Ida looked after the house, and Frank managed the farm. Flo was put to a Beorminster school, whence she returned once a week to Saxham, and Sidney studied under Mr. Corn who expressed a desire to take him. The countryside all approved of this independent spirit, and made much of the Biffs.
When the Colonel died, this had been going on for three years. Ida was still unmarried, as she had refused several offers. "I cannot leave the children," she said, and people were divided as to the wisdom of this attitude. Some said it was right; but the majority agreed that it was a pity such a beautiful girl should develop into an old maid. But the fact is no one knew Ida's secret. She was in love with Stephen, and although they had never spoken on the subject they understood one another very well. Hitherto Stephen's poverty had prevented his speaking openly. Now the inheritance of eight thousand a year had altered all that, and he intended to ask Ida to be his wife on the very earliest opportunity.
It was a pity Jim did not know of this. He had fallen in love with Ida, and as she was always pleasant to him, it never crossed his mind that her heart was engaged. Open on most points with his new friend, Stephen out of delicacy for Ida was reticent about his love. So Jim continued to live in a Fool's Paradise, and not even the sharp-eyed Joyce had been able to able to enlighten him.
Certainly Mrs. Marsh had spoken to Jim on the subject. She wanted Stephen to marry Miss Endicotte, But Dr. Herrick thought that was merely her own desire, and did not think there was anything serious between the young people. Nor could Mrs. Marsh inform him of more than the fact that they liked one another, and that it was the desire of her heart to see them married.
One day when Stephen was at Saxham, Mrs. Marsh had a long talk with the doctor in which he saw more of her stormy character, than had ever been shown to him before. She could sit up in bed now, and wearied of the society of Petronella, frequently asked Herrick to stay beside her.
"You are one of the few sensible men I have met," she said, drawing her black brows together. "Come and talk. I want you to tell me what you think of Stephen."
"What can I think but that he is the best of fellows," replied Jim taking a chair by the beside.
"H'm! That sounds like the 'weakest of men,' Stephen I mean. You are strong enough in every way. That is why I want you to look after Stephen."
"How do you mean look after him Mrs. Marsh." The widow mused for a time before replying. "He is a good-hearted fool," she said at last, "and with his sweet nature is likely to be imposed upon in this world. Now he is rich and scoundrels will prey on him. I want you to see he comes to no harm."
"But I have to return to London," remonstrated Jim, rather taken aback by the responsibility thrust upon him. "I am not a rich man Mrs. Marsh, and I must look after my practice."
"I can arrange all that," she replied sharply. "You are a good man Dr. Herrick. I can see that; and I'm no fool. All your influence over Stephen will be for good. I can get him to offer you some inducement to stay beside him--at all events until he is married."
"Until he is married?" echoed Jim puzzled. "Has he any intention of getting married?"
"Not that I know of. He is too much wrapped up in his poetry. But I wish him to marry Ida Endicotte. She is a well-born girl and a good woman. I think she will make Stephen an excellent wife. She likes him."
Jim felt the blood flush in his face. "Liking is not love," he said in a rather irritated tone.
Mrs. Marsh pulled the curtains aside so that the light fell on the face of the young man. Then after a scrutiny she gave a short laugh. "So that is it, is it?" she said. "You are in love with the girl!"
"I never said so Mrs. Marsh."
"Pshaw! You can't blind me. I am a woman. Come. You are in love."
Herrick shrugged his broad shoulders. "I do not see why I should deny it," he said coldly, "I am in love with Miss Endicotte; but so far as I can judge she is not in love with me.
"I don't think she is in love with anyone," replied Mrs. Marsh, "but I have not seen enough of her to judge. If I could only see them together, I could tell. She likes Stephen though. But here I am chained to this bed and cannot get out to attend to matters of importance. Humph!" she eyed Herrick steadily, "so you are in love with her! Well! it has been the desire of my life to see Stephen married to Ida, but for all that, I want you to stay. Stephen shall give you a thousand a year to stay."
"My dear Mrs. Marsh!"
"Now don't contradict me or you will put me out of temper. And you know what that means. I ask you to stop, to show my regard for you. Many another woman would get you out of the way rather than see her pet scheme interfered with. I am not that sort of narrow-minded person. You shall have your chance along with Stephen. If she loves you, marry her in God's name and let's have done with the matter. If however she prefers my poor Stephen--sweet-hearted fool that he is--you must promise me not to put any obstacle in the way of the marriage."
"If Miss Endicotte prefers your step-son I certainly should not think of objecting Mrs. Marsh," said Herrick stiffly. "Your remark is rather unnecessary."
"I don't think it is," retorted the widow, "you are a gentleman, I know. But you are also a human being, and when love comes into the question there are few things a man will not do, or a woman for the matter of that!" She clenched her thin hand that laid outside the coverlet, and her face darkened. "I know! I know," she muttered between her teeth, "who should know but I who have suffered? Give me something to drink doctor. My throat is dry with talking."
"I think I had better leave you," said Herrick after her thirst was assuaged, "you are wearying yourself."
"Don't go," cried Mrs. Marsh abruptly, "I have much to say of importance. I may not be here long to say it."
"Nonsense, Mrs. Marsh. You are getting better,--much better."
"All the same I may die; one never knows," said the widow gloomily.
Herrick laughed at these forebodings. "What!" said he trying to joke her out of so morbid a mood, "have you enemies, like Carr?"
"Anyone who came into contact with Carr was bound to have enemies," said Mrs. Marsh bitterly. "He was a devil if ever there was one. However this is not to the point," she went on impatiently, "I want to know if you will stay with Stephen for a thousand a year?"
"It is a tempting offer to a poor man like myself," said Herrick with some hesitation, "but until Stephen himself asks me to stay, I cannot promise. He may not wish----"
"Oh, that is all right Dr. Herrick. Stephen knows that you are his best friend. I want you to take him in hand and make a man of him. He is too fond of poring over books; too careless of his physical health. Make him ride, and golf, and all the rest of it. I have been a fool keeping him so much beside me. But I love the boy, and that was my woman's weakness. Now he is rich, teach him how to use his riches and be happy."
"You have most influence over him" said Herrick still hesitating.
"I have had too much and not for the best" was her gloomy reply, "no; you are the teacher he wants. Besides who knows what may happen to me?"
Herrick looked at her uneasily. Again she had hinted at something of danger to herself. "I wish you would be plain with me," he said.
"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Marsh with a frown.
"I think you can guess," retorted the doctor. "You hint at your dying; so far as I know there is not the least likelihood of your doing so unless you take an overdose of that chloral which I am always advising you to leave off. Have you some enemy who is likely to----"
"No!" replied Mrs. Marsh with unnecessary violence, "I have no enemy. But I feel--I have a presentiment--that I am not long for this world. As an Italian you know I am bound to be superstitious."
"I should think the English part of your blood would revolt against such morbid nonsense. Again I say you are not plain with me."
"I am. How dare you talk to me so!" cried Mrs. Marsh furiously. "You are the one man I have met in this world of fools, other than that dead devil Carr. If I made a confidant of anyone it would be of you. But so far as I personally am concerned there is nothing to say. But Stephen--" she hesitated and fell to plucking restlessly at the coverlet.
"Well! You wish me to be his bear-leader? If he is willing, I am willing. A thousand a year is not to be despised. Moreover my conscience is perfectly clear as regards Miss Endicotte."
"I understand. If she loves you, marry her by all means! If Stephen is her choice, you must promise----"
"I promise nothing," said Herrick impatiently walking to and fro, "there is no necessity to promise. I am a man of honour. If Stephen and Miss Endicotte love one another I am the last man in the world to step between them. You know that."
"If I didn't I should not ask you to stop and look after him," said Mrs. Marsh cynically. "However, you complained of my want of confidence. I am going to amend that. Do you know why I want you to stay with Stephen."
"To make a man of him--so you said."
"That certainly, but it is something of an excuse. I also want you--and this is the main reason--to guard him."
"Against whom? What are you hinting at?" asked Herrick sharply.
"At Frisco," was the unexpected reply. "Oh, you may look astonished, but if you remember the will?--well?"
"The will," repeated Dr. Jim, "I see what you mean. The money goes to Frisco if Stephen should neglect to visit the vault monthly for a year. What of that?"
"This much. Frisco killed Colonel Carr. Oh, I am sure of it! If not, why did he fly? Besides there is no one else I can think of who had an interest in Carr's death. I do not know what secrets he had, but what there were Frisco knew. That was why Carr left the money to him failing Stephen."
"Nonsense. If Frisco possessed Colonel Carr's secrets he could have blackmailed him without the necessity of murder."
"Ah, you don't know," said Mrs. Marsh mysteriously. "I have heard Frisco and Carr quarrel. It is my belief--if you remember Napper's evidence that they quarrelled on the night of the murder. They must have fought a duel, which is just what two devils like them would do. Frisco killed his master before he could fire a shot. That is why all the chambers of the revolver were found loaded. Well, Frisco has had to fly; but he will not give up his chance of getting the money. No! He will," here Mrs. Marsh bent forward to whisper, "he will try and maim or kill Stephen so that he may not fulfil the conditions of the will--and visit the vault. Then Frisco will claim the money. I have thought this all out while lying here."
"It is ingenious," replied Herrick, "but you forget that if Frisco shows himself, he will be arrested. That stops his attempting to harm Stephen."
Mrs. Marsh shook her head. "You do not know Frisco; I do," she said: and not another word could Herrick extract from her.
While the tower at "The Pines" was being pulled down, Stephen paid frequent visits to Saxham. Sometimes Dr. Herrick went with him, and together they would go through that wonderful house. Marsh had never before been inside it, and he was amazed at the luxury. His life had been so simple, so deprived of all beauty, that his artistic temperament had been starved from lack of nutriment. Highly gifted with the imaginative faculty, possessed of a keen perception of loveliness, Stephen revelled in the beautiful things which filled every corner of the house.
"You will have to get a wife to share it all," said Herrick one day after his conversation with Mrs. Marsh. He looked keenly at the young man as he spoke.
Stephen however betrayed no emotion. "I suppose I shall have to marry some day," he said coolly. "If I were to die without children my cousin would get the property."
"I did not know you had a cousin?" said Herrick, rather astonished.
"I believe so. A distant cousin, although I have never seen him. My mother can tell you all about him. It seems that Colonel Carr's father had a younger brother who was turned out by his father. He went to America and married there. Then he died leaving a widow and a daughter. The widow died and the daughter married some one in the States. I do not know the name but my mother may. I believe there is a son, but whether he is in America or in England I cannot say."
"Humph!" said Jim, "very interesting. I must ask your mother about this. If you secure the property by complying with the conditions of the will, it will be yours entirely. Even if you do not marry, you will be able to leave it to whomsoever you please."
"I should leave it to my cousin, whatever his name is," said Stephen in a careless tone. "It seems to me that he has the right to enjoy it after me, since he is of the Carr blood."
"Always provided you do not marry and have children!"
"Of course. But there is time enough to think of marriage. I want my mother to be sole mistress of this beautiful place for a time. She has had such a dose of poverty that I should like her to taste luxury."
"You are not in love then?" asked Herrick in a jocular tone.
"I don't know!" this time Stephen flushed. "I'll tell you when I am. Meantime let me enjoy the present. I'll soon have this tower down and the house put to rights. Then my mother can come. I hope you will stay also Herrick," he added rather anxiously. "I don't want to lose my friend you know."
"It all depends," replied Jim with a flush. He was thinking of Ida. "I will remain until your mother is quite well. You may be sure of that."
Nothing more was said at the time. Herrick could not be certain that Stephen was in love with Ida or that the girl had set her heart on Marsh. They were excellent friends, but in spite of Herrick's lynx eye he could not learn if they understood one another. As a matter of fact they did; but neither of them wished to hurry matters. Both felt that Mrs. Marsh would have to be consulted before anything was settled, and therefore waited until she recovered her health and was established at "The Pines."
Mrs. Marsh slowly regained her strength, and almost dispensed with Herrick's attendance. She never recurred to the subject of Ida or of Frisco after that one interview, although Herrick several times tried to make her speak. Evidently she knew something about the man--perhaps had heard the Colonel speak of him. But whatever it was she kept her own counsel. There was no need that she should do otherwise. Perhaps if Frisco had made his appearance she might have been induced to speak out, but the ex-sailor (as Herrick learned he was) had vanished completely. He was traced to Paddington station, and after that all sign of the trail was lost. Like a rain drop he had disappeared into the mighty sea of London life, and in spite of all offers of reward not a hint could be gained of his whereabouts.
It was generally considered that he was the criminal, most people holding that he had shot the Colonel unawares. Napper's evidence went to prove that the two men were on bad terms with one another, and probably Frisco excited by rum and a sense of his wrongs, whatever these might be, had returned to "The Pines" with the intention of righting himself. No one entertained the idea of a duel having been fought. Only Mrs. Marsh gave Frisco that grace. Herrick considered her theory a feasible one, and felt that it was confirmed by the fact of the revolver found in the dead man's hand being loaded. If Frisco had fired first, the Colonel would have fallen with his weapon undischarged, and this would account for the six chambers being filled. But what it would not account for was the fact of one bullet being different to the remaining three. That was a puzzle, and Dr. Jim could in nowise arrive at the solution of the problem, although he thought over it a great deal.
Bess Endicotte was the only person who insisted on Frisco's innocence. She declared that the man was too devoted to his master to kill him, and that there could be no reason for the crime. This she explained to Herrick a week after the interview with Mrs. Marsh. Both Herrick and Marsh had come over to Biffstead to spend the afternoon, intending to return to Beorminster by the last bus, somewhere about ten o'clock. It was characteristic of Stephen's simple habits that he still went to and fro by the public vehicle, although he could now have afforded a cart, a horse, a bicycle, or even (had he so chosen) a motor-car. But before taking full advantage of his new position and of his wealth, he wanted his mother to be well enough to direct matters. She had held him in subjection for so many years, that he hesitated to do anything without her approval. So Herrick and Stephen came to Saxham by the bus, or used their legs. For the sake of his health Herrick made Marsh walk as much as possible. The man was visionary and it was necessary to shake him into something like practical life by exercise.
On arriving at the Grange, the two young men, found the whole family at home. There was Ida tall and beautiful who welcomed the visitors in her usual placid way. She was of the Junoesque type, stately and maternal, moving like a large goddess amongst minor mortals. Bess, who was all alert and vivacious, was accustomed to make fun of Ida's stately ways. "The Sacred White Cow," said Bess folding her hands, and when Ida remonstrated pointed out that the term meant no disrespect. "Juno was called ox-eyed, and I'm sure the cow is a most beautiful animal," said she inconsequently. "Why should a comparison to a useful animal be taken as an insult? If I said you were like a fawn, or a stag, or a swan, you would be quite pleased. But because I call you a lovely snowy cow--you _are_ a beautiful cow," broke off Bess with a shrug, "the sacred white cow. There!"
"Really Bess, you are getting more dreadful every day," cried Ida helplessly, "please don't call me this horrid name when Stephen and Dr. Herrick come."
"Dr. Herrick would understand; he is a scholar. However I won't call you anything but Juno--will that do?"
"I should prefer to be called by my proper name!"
Bess made a mouth but yielded the point. She was devotedly fond of Ida, and always said that her beauty would raise the family into affluence once more. "My _brains_ may do something," she said, "but Ida's looks will attract all the men of wealth and position."
"I do not want any of them," protested Ida with a blush. "Do let me see after my own future, Bess darling."
Undeniably Bess was the cleverest of the family. She was so bright and quick, and possessed of such indomitable perseverance, that she easily exercised a despotic sway over the weaker vessels. Ida looked after the house, but Bess was the real head who paid the bills, and bullied the tradesmen, and saw that everything was in order. Even Frank gave way before her. But Frank was rather like Ida in the matter of bovine simplicity. He was a big handsome fellow, never out of temper. When he was not looking after the farm he strolled in the fields, and searched into the secret workings of Nature. Sometimes he wrote articles for the papers and magazines. A Gilbert White of the Parish of Saxham, that is what Frank Endicotte was. Some of his articles had even been accepted in London, and when he could be induced to write, he usually made a few guineas. But Frank was lazy, and it needed all the scolding of Bess to make him do his duty in the way of literary work. So far as the farm went he was never idle, as he loved an open air-life, and took a genuine interest in stock, top drainage and crops.
Florence, who was now home on her weekly holiday, bounced out on Dr. Jim and Stephen as they came up the avenue. She was a girl in her teens, more like Bess than any of the rest, and bubbled over with animal spirits. This was her last quarter at school, and now her hair was turned up and she had arrived at the dignity of long frocks. But at heart she was still a schoolgirl, and on this especial day had let down her long hair much to the dismay of Ida who was nothing if not conventional.
"Oh, Stephen!" she cried clasping him by the arm. "I am so glad you have come. Frank is writing, Bess is typing, and Ida is making a new dress. I have no one to amuse me."
"Where is the Changeling?" asked Stephen laughing.
"Sidney! Oh, he has a holiday, and has gone over to see 'The Pines.' You know how fond he is of going there. He was the only one of us that was not afraid of the Colonel."
"I don't think Bess was."
"No. It would take an army to frighten Bess. How are you Dr. Herrick? I am rude not to have spoken to you before. Come inside, and wake us all up. I am sure this place is like the palace of the Sleeping Beauty."
"Suppose we go over to 'The Pines' and have afternoon tea in one of the rooms," suggested Stephen. "There is no food there, but we can take what we want from here, and have a picnic."
"Jolly!" cried Flo the schoolgirl, "there are kettles and tea-pots and all the rest of the things we want at 'The Pines' I suppose?"
"The house is remarkably well furnished," said Herrick laughing. "It is a good idea; three o'clock. We had better go at once."
The others entered into the scheme with avidity, and thus it was that Herrick found himself walking beside Bess to "The Pines." Not without a pang had he relinquished Ida to his friend; but bearing in mind the confidence reposed in him by Mrs. Marsh, he desired to act as fairly as possible. Besides he was growing fond of Bess. She was such a bright companion, and so clever. At first she was disinclined to speak of the Colonel and Frisco, but gradually became more outspoken. In his quiet way Herrick had a wonderful gift of making people talk. "I wouldn't say it to any one but you Dr. Jim," said Bess--for so she now called him, "but there is something about you that makes me believe in you. I think you must have a kind of daemonic influence like Goethe."
"I am sympathetic if that is what you mean," said Jim. "I took to you immediately I saw you in the inn parlour."
Bess blushed a little through her tanned skin, and cast a keen look at the big man. Somehow Herrick was conscious of that look, and wondered what it was for. Perhaps with a woman's quickness Bess divined that he admired Ida and did not approve of it. However she was too clever to say anything if such was the case, but went on to talk of Colonel Carr and Frisco.
"I liked Frisco," she said in her quick decisive way, "he was a bad man and some of the things he told me he had done were really dreadful; but somehow he was attractive. Much better than the Colonel."
"I thought you liked the Colonel," said Jim with a side glance.
"Well you see it was this way," replied the girl laughing. "I was rather bold in introducing myself to him, and he was so kind that I forgave him his bad reputation."
"How was it you met him?"
"I wanted some copy for the Chronicle and did not know what to write about. Something had to be done, so I kept my ears open for an idea. Ida happened to mention something about 'The Pines,' so I thought it would be nice to see all the wonderful furniture that was in the house. Would you believe it," she added lightly, "I went straight to 'The Pines' and asked to see Colonel Carr? At first he refused, but I was so persistent that he let me come in. I told him frankly what I wanted and how hard up I was for an article. He was so taken back by my assurance that he said I could describe 'The Pines,' provided I did so under a fictitious name. Then he took me all over the house himself; gave me tea in the big drawing-room and sent me off. I got a good article out of what he showed me, but of course I said that it was a description of a millionaire's palace in Park Lane. Nobody believed that. I think the Colonel guessed they wouldn't. He just let me write the article to make the people's mouths water with telling about things he would not let them see."
"A nice Christian spirit!" remarked Jim grimly. "Ah! but you must remember that he was treated very badly by the country people when he came back from America."
"Oh! Then America was the place of his exile?"
"So Frisco said; Mexico and Peru. The two had many adventures and used to tell me about them. I made up several stories out of the material I got from them."
"You called to see the Colonel again then?"
"Why not! He was always polite, and I wasn't a bit afraid of him. Oh, I know he had a dreadful reputation, but he was never rude to me. Poor man," said Bess letting her eyes rest pensively on the house which they were now approaching, "I think he was very weary of living alone."
"Were the Colonel and Frisco good friends?"
"The very best. Frisco adored the Colonel, who had saved his life. Both of them seem rather afraid of---" here Bess was silent.
"Of what?"
"I hardly know. But they hinted at some enemy who would kill the pair of them if he discovered their whereabouts. That was what Frisco meant at the public-house, when he hinted about his master not living long. If Frisco had given information, the enemy would have killed the Colonel."
"I wonder if Frisco did, and then went away to escape the consequences?"
"No!" said Bess thoughtfully. "Frisco would have been killed also. I think myself that the enemy found out the Colonel and murdered him; then Frisco ran away to save his own life."
"Humph! That is one way of looking at the matter. Did you hear if any stranger was seen in the neighbourhood on the night of the murder?"
Bess looked quickly at her companion. "No," she said with some hesitation. "I never heard of anyone. Besides it would have come out in the evidence."
"You have no idea who killed the man?"
"Certainly not. If I knew I should tell. There was something--I'll tell you that later."
"Tell it to me now!"
"I can't do that until I get my facts together," said Bess firmly, "Look here Dr. Jim, I intend to find out the truth about this mystery. From something the Colonel let drop, I believe it is concerned with the money he came back with."
"From South America?"
"Or from North America," replied Miss Endicotte musingly, "I am not quite clear. But I'll ask you to help me when I get my facts together."
"You rouse my curiosity. Tell me now what you----"
"I said no and I mean no," retorted Bess setting her mouth firmly. "You will be here for some time yet. If you go away I shall write to you. I am sure we shall find out who killed the Colonel, and I am equally sure that Frisco is not the man."
"Well. Have it your own way. Tell me one thing. How is it the Colonel was so anxious about the preservation of his body?"
"Ah! Now you are asking more than I can tell you."
"You know though," said Jim looking at her sharply.
"I think--I am not sure. Wait, Dr. Jim. In good time you shall know all that I know. This is a romance in real life."
"A tragedy rather," said Herrick grimly, "mind you keep your promise."
"You can be sure I shall keep it," said Bess nodding and for the time being the matter ended. But Jim was considerably puzzled. How she could have got hold of information of which the police knew nothing was difficult to say. All the same he had more confidence in the brains of Bess than in those of Inspector Bridge.
As it was Saturday afternoon, the workmen had knocked off for the day. By this time the tower was half demolished, and curious it looked in its dilapidated state, with the pile of débris round about its base. The visitors looked at it for some time, then went into the house. In the kitchen off the dining-room they found an old woman who agreed to boil the kettle for them. After some deliberation they fixed on the library as the best place for the meal. On entering they found a boy reading in the corner under the window.
"You here Sidney?" said Ida amazed. "How can you come here without asking Stephen's permission?"
"Stephen doesn't mind I'm sure," replied Sidney with a smile, and Stephen assured him that he was welcome. While the others were talking and admiring the place Dr. Jim stood looking at the boy who was leaning back on the sofa taken up with his own thoughts. There was something peculiar about Sidney Endicotte, which procured him the name of the Changeling. This was given to him in fun by Bess; but many people in the village really believed that he was half a fairy if not a whole one. This reputation rose from the fact that the lad possessed that gift which in Scotland is called the second sight. No one in Saxham who saw Master Sidney's large blue eyes fixed upon him or her but turned pale. In Italy he would have been credited with the Evil eye, and indeed old Petronella always crossed herself when she chanced to meet him. Once or twice Sidney had foretold the death of those who had afterwards died. Thus he had an uncanny reputation.
He was a small thin boy looking much older than his years. Although he was but sixteen, yet on occasions he looked quite twenty. Pale, thin-faced, with large blue eyes, and a curious insistent gaze, he sometimes made even his own family feel uncomfortable. Then he had such peculiar habits. At night he was generally wakeful, and he slept much in the day-time particularly in cold weather. Sometimes he would slip out of his bedroom by the window and remain away for hours. When questioned where he had been he used vaguely to answer "In the wood." The doctors who had seen him could make nothing of him. He was healthy in his own way, his head was clear, and Corn reported that he learned rapidly. But about him hung a glamour not of this world. He might have been a male Kilmeny who had returned from fairy-land. Bess sometimes called him Thomas the Rhymer. When she did so Sidney would nod and laugh in so strange a way, that Bess herself grew frightened, and dropped the name.
"How do you feel to-day Sidney?" asked Jim sitting down beside the boy.
"Not very well," he replied vaguely. "I feel that I am not myself. I came here to read myself to sleep."
"Why did you want to do that?"
"Because I could go away then. I always do when I feel like this."
"Like what?" Jim was puzzled. The boy was by no means mad, yet he talked in a manner quite beyond the comprehension of a sane person. Jim had never met anyone like him before and was much taken up with the oddity of the case from a medical point of view.
"I can't explain; you would not understand," said Sidney. "Please leave me alone, Dr. Herrick."
At this moment Bess called to Jim from the other side of the room and he hurried across to her. Sidney remained vaguely staring into nothingness. After a time his eyes closed and he looked as though he were fast asleep. The others gathered round the tea table, and prepared to eat. Bess would not allow her brother to be awakened.
"It makes him ill if he is roused suddenly," she said. "He will wake up himself and be all right."
"It doesn't look to me like a natural sleep," said Jim anxiously. "How pale he is! Don't you think----"
"No," said Ida sharply, "I agree with Bess. Sidney had better be left alone. He gets into these states at times. Let us have tea. I am so hungry, and it's past five."
"A quarter past," said Stephen glancing at his watch.
They began to eat and drink, laughing and enjoying themselves. No one took any notice of Sidney, and even Jim's attention was distracted. The boy remained on the sofa, leaning back, white as snow, and drawing long deep breaths. He looked like a dead person.
After a time the conversation languished. The tea was done, the food was finished, and they talked about packing up to go. "Poor Sidney's tea is quite cold," said Ida. "I really think we might wake him now. Oh, he is coming to himself. Wake up Sidney, and have some tea. It is nearly six and we must be getting home."
The boy's face had now a delicate pink tinge on it, and he seemed more himself than he had been when he fell asleep. For a moment he was silent. Then he looked slowly round at those who were present, until his blue eyes fixed themselves calmly on Stephen.
"Mr. Marsh!" he said quietly, "you had better go home. Your mother is dead."
Ida gave a cry and Stephen turned pale. Bess alone retained sufficient presence of mind to cross over to the boy and shake him, "Sidney, what do you mean by saying such a horrible thing."
"It is true," replied the boy quietly, "Mrs. Marsh is dead. I have just seen her. She died at half-past five. Go home Stephen."
Without a word Marsh rushed from the room. He knew of Sidney's prophecies, and dreaded lest this one should be true. He made for Beorminster as fast as he could go, and was met by Petronella.
"My padrona is dead!" said the old woman.