“Yes, I know,” he said, with a dark look in his eyes; and – fluttered and trembling before the strange, stern manner of her visitor – she drew back, allowed him to enter, closed the door, and led the way to the snug back room – half kitchen, half parlour – and then looked at him wonderingly, her heart fluttering more and more as she saw his wild look, and that he carefully closed the door.
“Goodness me, Mr Wimble, what is the matter?” she said faintly.
“Everything,” he cried, making a snatch at her wrist, and holding it tightly. “Woman, you know how for years I have had hopes.”
“Well, Mr Wimble, you made me think so; but it’s quite impossible, I assure you. Neighbours, but nothing more.”
“Why, woman, why?” he said, in a whisper.
“Because – because I am quite happy and contented as I am, Mr Wimble, with my little bit of an income and my lodger.”
“Yes,” cried Wimble, with a laugh, “that’s it. Ah, woman, woman, that you could throw yourself away upon a creature like that?”
“Mr Wimble, what do you mean?”
“Knowing how I worshipped you, for you to consort with a vile creature, who cheats and abuses your confidence – a villain too bad to be allowed to live – a man whom the law will seize before long.”
“Mr Wimble, are you mad?”
“Yes, madam, with shame and horror, to think what must come when you find out that this serpent who has wound himself about you is a convict, a murderer, who stops at nothing.”
“Mr Wimble, whom do you mean?”
“Mean? who should I mean,” he cried tragically, “but that wretch in yonder room?”
“A murderer!”
“Yes, of the man who drove him from his home. I denounce him as the murderer of poor old Gartram, and – ”
There was a wild shriek, and as Chris Lisle rushed into the room to see what was wrong, Wimble remembered his promise to the lawyer; but too late: the box was wide open now.
“Mrs Sarson – Wimble! what is the matter?”
“Oh, Mr Lisle,” cried the widow, sobbing wildly. “Oh, my poor darling, he says you murdered Mr Gartram. Tell him he is mad.”
Sarah Woodham was seated an hour later that night sewing, when she was startled by the sudden entrance of Reuben, the gardener, looking wild-eyed and strange, and she involuntarily rose from her chair, and stood upon the defensive, the other servants being down the town, and her heart telling her that “this foolish man,” as she termed him, was about to renew advances which he had been making before.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said, quickly grasping the meaning of her action; “I wasn’t going to say anything about that now. Have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“I’ve just come from the harbour, and they’re all talking about it.”
“Yes? What – some wreck?”
“No; about Mr Chris Lisle.”
“What about him – dead?” said Sarah Woodham, in a hoarse whisper, as she laid her hand upon her side and thought of Claude.
“Better if he was, my dear,” said the gardener hoarsely, and in her excitement the woman did not think to resent his familiarity. “They are saying that he murdered master with poison.”
Sarah reeled, and would have fallen, so great was the shock the words gave her, but Brime caught her in his arms.
She recovered herself, and thrust him away.
“Mr Chris Lisle? Impossible.”
“So I thought, but he was skulking about our grounds that night, for I caught him hiding.”
“Oh, it can’t be true. You people are always inventing foolish scandals. What nonsense! Let him rest in his grave in peace.”
She looked so ghastly that even the unobservant gardener noticed it, and made a remark.
“Look white? of course,” she said, with a curious laugh. “Any woman would turn pale on hearing such talk as that. There, go away.”
“You needn’t be cross with me, Sarah Woodham,” said Brime, paying no heed to her last words, and only too glad of an excuse to hold her in conversation. “I knew how you liked Miss Claude, and the news was about her young man, and I thought it better to tell you than go and tell her.”
“What! you would not dare to tell her such a thing.”
“Well, somebody will if I don’t. She’s sure to know.”
“Hush, man! Don’t dare to speak of it again. It is a miserable scandal of some of the tattling gossips, and it will be forgotten, perhaps, to-morrow. There, not another word.”
“But, Sarah, let me talk of something else.”
She went to the door and opened it, pointing out.
“Go,” she said.
Brime sighed deeply, and went away slowly without another word.
“Poor fellow,” said the woman softly, “better for him to jump into the sea than to go on thinking about that.”
She stood for a few moments with her hands to her forehead, as if to dull the excitement from which she was suffering, uttering a low moan from time to time.
“How horrible!” she gasped. “It seems more than I can bear. Poor child, if she was to hear!”
She stood staring before her at last, with her lips moving, and her eyes fixed upon the darkness in the farther corner of the room, as if she saw something there.
“I cannot bear it,” she muttered at last; and hurriedly passing out, she hurried up to her room, and threw herself upon her knees by the bedside.
How long she remained there she did not know. Suddenly she started up, believing that she heard voices below.
“They will have heard it, perhaps,” she said excitedly; and, hurrying out, she found that the two servants who had been out had returned, and were talking quickly.
Sarah Woodham turned cold with apprehension, under the impression that the women were retailing the scandal they had heard to their mistress, and she uttered a sigh of relief as she heard Mary Dillon say quickly —
“And they are talking about it everywhere you say?”
“Yes, miss; and we thought you ought to hear.”
“Hush! – Oh, Woodham, these two have come back with a silly tale that – ”
Sarah Woodham laid a thin hand upon her arm.
“That – have you heard? Oh, how horrible! But what absurd nonsense. There, go away, all of you. It is too dreadful to talk about, and you must let it die a natural death.”
“But they say, miss, that the police will take Mr Christopher Lisle, and that he will be hung for murder,” whispered the cook in awe-stricken tones; “and if Miss Claude should hear that – Oh!”
Claude had quietly opened the drawing-room door and stepped out into the hall, coming in search of her cousin, the low whispering without having attracted her attention.
“You heard what I said,” cried Mary, quickly. “Why don’t you go?”
“Stop!” said Claude, in a strangely altered voice.
“No, no, Claude, dear,” said Mary, crossing to her. “It is nothing you need listen to. Only a wretched tattling from down on the beach.”
“I know what they said,” replied Claude, hoarsely. “Sarah Woodham, have you heard this – this dreadful charge?”
The woman did not answer with her lips, but her dark eyes were fixed wildly on those of her mistress.
“Then it is true!”
“Claude, dear; pray come,” whispered Mary, clinging to her; but she was thrust away.
“I will know everything,” she cried, excitedly. “You, Sarah Woodham, speak out, and tell me all the truth.”
“No – no,” whispered the woman, and she stood trembling as if with ague.
“I will know,” said Claude, catching her up by the arm. “I heard what was said – that Mr Lisle was charged with murder. It could not be.”
“No, no, Claude, of course not.”
“Silence, Mary! Speak, woman, or must I go down to the beach and ask there. Tell me. It was a quarrel; they met and fought. Is Mr Glyddyr dead?”
They gazed at her wonderingly – stricken for the moment – the silence being broken by the two servants exclaiming in a breath —
“No, no, miss. It was master they said he killed.”
“What?”
“Come away, Claude,” whispered Mary, who was white and trembling. “It is a horrible invention. There is no truth in it. Come back into the drawing-room, and I’ll tell you quietly, dear, what I have heard.”
“Go on,” said Claude, fixing the two women with her eyes as she held her cousin’s arm and half forced her back. “Tell me everything you have heard.”
Between them, trembling the while before the wild eyes which seemed to force them to speak, the women related confusedly the report they had heard, one which had grown rapidly as is the custom with such news; and out of the tangle, as Sarah Woodham and Mary both strangely moved, stood speechless and silent, Claude learned the charge which had arisen against the man she loved, to the bitter end, struggling the while to make indignant denial of that at which her soul felt to revolt. But no words would come. Her reason, her soul, both cried out aloud within her that this was an utter impossibility, but the rumours mastered them with a terrible array of facts, till she was forced to believe that, stung to madness by the treatment he had received, and hurried on by a lust for gold, Chris, her old playmate and brother as a child, the man at last she had grown to love, had been tempted to commit this deed.
“It is not true – it is not true,” something within her kept on saying as she gazed wildly from one to the other, seeing the gap – the black gap – already existing between her and her lover, widening into an awful, impassable chasm, in which were buried her life’s hopes and happiness for ever.
Volume Three – Chapter Nine.
A Debate
Glyddyr had undoubtedly gone backward in health with rapid strides since he and the Doctor had last met, not many hours before. His face was of a sickly yellow; there were dark marks under his eyes, and his hands trembled as he weakly arranged the flower in his button-hole, and played with his blue serge yachting cap.
“How terrible!” he murmured at last. “Poor girl! What a shock!”
“Yes; enough to give her brain fever,” said the Doctor, speaking quickly. “The wretched, cackling fools.”
“Terrible! terrible!” muttered Glyddyr. Then, after a pause, as he took a turn up and down the Doctor’s little surgery, as if it were his own cabin, he passed his tongue over his dry lips, and turned quickly to the Doctor, who was watching him curiously. “Here, I say: I’m completely knocked over. For heaven’s sake give me a dose.”
“Yes, of course.”
“No, no, not that cursed stuff,” cried Glyddyr, as he saw the Doctor’s hand raised toward the ammonia bottle. “Brandy – whisky, for goodness’ sake!”
Asher gave him a quick look, then took his key, and, opening a cellaret, poured a goodly dram of brandy into a glass, and placed it on the table.
“There’s water in that bottle,” he said.
Glyddyr made an impatient gesture, and tossed off the raw spirit.
“Hah!” he cried, setting down the glass, “I can talk now. What – what do you think of this report?”
“Oh, all madness, of course,” cried the Doctor hastily.
“Yes – yes – all madness, of course,” said Glyddyr, letting himself sink down in a chair. “All madness, of course. He couldn’t, could he?”
The two men gazed in each other’s eyes, and there was silence for quite a long space.
“But they found that bottle,” continued Glyddyr, as if speaking to himself. “Ugly piece of evidence, isn’t it?”
“Oh, but that proves nothing,” said Asher.
“And he being found in the garden that night, when Gartram was having his after-dinner nap,” continued Glyddyr, looking at the door.
“Yes, looks bad,” said the Doctor, “but all nonsense. Why can’t they let the old man rest?”
“You – you don’t think he poisoned him?” said Glyddyr.
“No, certainly not.”
“It would have been impossible, of course. But they say he is rich now; has plenty of money. How could he come by that?”
“Who can say?”
“Yes; and a large sum was missing – a very large sum.”
“That is the worst argument yet,” said the doctor. “But, pooh, pooh, my dear sir, the old man died from an overdose of chloral. My colleague and I were satisfied about that. There, don’t look so white.”
“Do I look white?” said Glyddyr, picking up the glass he had used and draining the last drops. “Oh, I feel much better now. But, Doctor, what do you think of it all? They’ll arrest that young man, I suppose. It would be very horrible if he were to be tried and condemned to death.”
“Horrible!”
“Do you think he will be taken?”
“No.”
“I’m – I’m glad of that,” faltered Glyddyr, with his trembling hands playing about his watch chain. “So horrible. He was a friend, you see, of Miss Gartram’s. Of course, with such a charge as that against him, he could never speak to her again.”
“Look here, Glyddyr,” said the Doctor, “you and I may as well understand each other.”
“What do you mean?” cried Glyddyr, sinking back in his chair.
“That we have somehow become friends, and we may as well continue so. You mean to marry Claude Gartram?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” assented Glyddyr drawing a long hoarse breath.
“And, I’m sure, you feel all this very deeply. Terrible shock for the poor girl.”
“Yes, terrible,” whispered Glyddyr.
“I don’t wonder that you are so completely prostrated this morning.”
“No; it is no wonder, is it?”
“Not the slightest.”
“And I feel it, too, about young Lisle. I – I shouldn’t like him to be hung.”
“Make yourself easy, man; he will not be. There will be nine days’ talk about it, and that is all. The old man was examined; our evidence was taken, and he is at rest in his grave. The law can’t take any notice of these scandals.”
“Do – do you feel that – it will not take him and imprison him for life, say.”
“No, man, it will not; but as far as he is concerned with Claude Gartram, it will be just as if he had been put out of the way. Last night’s reports will be the making of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Claude had a lingering liking for that fellow, but she can never speak to him again; and if you play your cards right, her pretty little hand will some day be laid in yours. You’ll give her a new name, and take possession yonder.”
Glyddyr looked at him rather wildly.
“Why, you don’t seem glad, man. Hallo!”
There was a sharp knock just then, and the two occupants of the surgery listened intently to the opening, and the low murmuring of voices.
The servant tapped on the surgery door directly after.
“Mr Trevithick, sir, would be glad to speak to you.”
“Show him in,” said the Doctor. “No, don’t go, Glyddyr. He has come over about that rumour.”
The lawyer entered, and shook hands with both.
“Did not want to interrupt you, Doctor; but I should like a few minutes’ conversation.”
“About that rumour concerning Gartram? By all means. Mr Glyddyr and I were discussing the matter.”
“Well, what is your opinion?”
“That it is all nonsense.”
“You have heard everything; the report of the money, the finding of a bottle, and Mr Lisle being seen that night in the grounds?”
“Yes – oh, yes; but what does all that prove?” said the Doctor decisively. “We were quite satisfied how Gartram met with his end. Let the rumour blow over, as it will do, and let the old man rest.”
The lawyer sat looking very thoughtful for a few moments, as he ran over in his mind all that had passed.
“By the way, how did you hear of it?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” said Asher quickly. “That crazy barber came over to you yesterday. He found a bottle, and showed it to me. Bah! all rubbish. The man’s half mad.”
“I am beginning to think you are right,” said Trevithick.
“I’m sure I am.”
“But it is a bad thing for Mr Christopher Lisle to have such a charge made against him, especially after being on such friendly terms with the family.”
“Well, gentlemen, you must excuse me; I am going up to the house,” cried the Doctor.
“I will walk with you,” said Trevithick quietly.
“And I am to be left out in the cold,” muttered Glyddyr, as he followed them slowly out, only to stop hesitating, as he caught sight of the principal object of his thoughts.
“That don’t look like guilt, Mr Trevithick,” said Asher, who had seen Chris before Glyddyr had caught sight of him.
“Might be clever cunning,” said the lawyer quietly.
“Might be, but it is not. Oh, hang it all, sir, don’t let us harbour the thought for a moment. The young man’s as innocent as you are. Good-morning, Mr Lisle.”
“Ah, glad to see you, Doctor,” cried Chris, whose face looked drawn and old. “Morning, Mr Trevithick. You have heard the rumour?”
The Doctor bowed his head.
“I will not stoop to deny it, of course. The insensate fools! As if it were possible,” he cried excitedly.
“Of course no one believes such an absurd rumour – I mean no one with brains – eh, Mr Trevithick?” said Asher.
The lawyer coughed, and the pair moved on.
Chris was left standing by himself as the Doctor and lawyer went on up to the house. He stood gazing after them for a time, and then turned to go all alone towards the beach. At that moment he became aware of the fact that Glyddyr was watching him, and the feeling of love and sympathy for Claude, and the desire to clear himself in her eyes, turned to bitterness and jealousy.
“Of course,” he said savagely; “ready to believe ill of me! Ah, how I could enjoy half-an-hour with you, Parry Glyddyr, alone!”
He walked on, to become conscious directly of that which, in his excitement, he had not before observed.
There were not many people visible, but those who were hanging about in knots were evidently talking about and watching him; and as he passed on toward his home, he found that men who had known from boyhood suddenly turned away to enter their houses, or begin talking earnestly to their companions. Not one gave him look or word of recognition.
“Has it come to this?” he said, savagely. “A pariah – a leper to be avoided. Well, let them. Oh! you!” he muttered, as a great stout fisherman, whose boat he had used scores of times, passed him with his hands deep down in his pockets, staring straight out over his left shoulder to sea.
Chris’s fists involuntarily clenched, and he strode away, not once looking back or he would have seen heads thrust out of doors, and knots gathering together to discuss his case, and the burden of all the converse was: “How soon will he be took and put in gaol?”
“Hah! my dear,” ejaculated Mrs Sarson, as he reached his lodgings. “You’ve got safely back. Mr Wimble came by just now, and though I wouldn’t listen to him, he said the police were going to take you over to Toxeter and lock you up for committing murder.”
“They will if that man don’t mind, Mrs Sarson,” cried Chris, as he hurried into his room. “Curse him! I feel as if I could go at once, get hold of him, and wring his neck.”
“Mr Christopher!” cried the poor woman, bursting into a fit of sobbing; “don’t – don’t do anything rash.”
“Look here, old lady,” he cried, catching her by the arm; “you are not going to join this wretched crew, are you, and to believe I could be such a wretch?”
“Oh, no, my dear! Oh, no.”
“That’s right. But think twice. If you have the least thought of the kind, I’ll go at once.”
“Indeed, no, my dear,” she sobbed; “and even if you had done it, I couldn’t be such a cruel wretch as to tell against you, for you must have been mad.”
“Hang it, woman! if you talk like that, you’ll make me mad.”
“I’ve done, my dear. There, I won’t say another word, only to defend you. But tell me, my dear, what are you going to do?”
“What an honest man should do, Mrs Sarson,” said Chris, excitedly. “Mind I’m not wild with you, only with the wretched fools out yonder,” he said more gently, as he took his landlady’s hands. “There, my good old soul, it’ll all come right some day, here or hereafter.”
“But you’ll go and tell the magistrate, won’t you, that it’s all false?”
“No,” said Chris, sternly, and with his face growing hard and old. “I’m not going to deny anything. I’m an Englishman, Mrs Sarson, a strong-willed, stubborn Englishman, let them say what they like – do what they like, I’m here, and here I stay till they drag me away, and I do not care whether they do or do not now.”
“But one thing, my dear, one word, and I won’t ask you another question. Were you at the Fort that night, and did Reuben Brime find you?”
“Yes, Mrs Sarson.”
“Oh! – But why were you there, my dear, like that?”
“You asked one question, but I’ll answer the other. Because I am a weak young fool – in love with somebody who seemed to have cared little for me, and I wanted to get one word with her. Yes, I was a weak young fool. That seems years ago now,” he continued, half-talking to himself, “and I seem to have grown much older. Old enough to be firm and strong.”
“But you didn’t tell me, my dear, what you mean to do.”
“Mean to do?” cried Chris, with a bitter laugh. “I’m going to live it down.”