"All the more reason that I should make her my wife and cherish her," said Allen quickly. "I'll go to the cottage," he looked at his father; "may I take the pony chaise? – my foot-"
"I was thinking of going myself," said Hill hesitating, "but as you are engaged to the girl, it is right you should go. I'll drive you." Allen looked dubious. Mr. Hill thought he could drive in the same way that he fancied he could do all things: but he was not a good whip, and Allen did not want another accident to happen. However, he resolved to risk the journey, and, thanking his father, went out of the room. While the chaise was getting ready, Allen, looking out of the window, saw his father leave the grounds in the company of Wasp. Apparently both were going to Misery Castle. He turned to his mother who was in the room. "What about my father driving?" he asked. "I see he has left the house."
"Probably he has forgotten," said Mrs. Hill soothingly; "you know how forgetful and whimsical he is."
"Do I not?" said Allen with a sigh, "and don't you?" he added, smiling at the dark face of his mother. "Well, I can drive myself. Will you come also, mother, and comfort Eva?"
"Not just now. I think that is your task. She is fond of me, but at present you can do her more good. And I think, Allen," said Mrs. Hill, "that you might bring her back. It is terrible that a young girl should be left alone in that small cottage with so dismal a woman as Mrs. Merry. Bring her back."
"But my father?"
"I'll make it right with him," said Mrs. Hill determinedly.
Allen looked at her anxiously. His mother had a firm, dark face, with quiet eyes steady and unwavering in their gaze. It had often struck him as wonderful, how so strong a woman-apparently-should allow his shallow father to rule the house. On several occasions, as he knew, Mrs. Hill had asserted herself firmly, and then Hill, after much outward anger, had given way. There was a mystery about this, and on any other occasion Allen would have asked his mother why she held so subordinate a position, when, evidently, she had all the strength of mind to rule the house and her husband and the whole neighbourhood if necessary. But at present he was too much taken up with the strange fulfilment of Eva's dream, and with the thought of her sorrow, to trouble about so petty a thing. He therefore remained silent and only spoke when the chaise came to the door in charge of a smart groom.
"I'll tell you everything when I return," he said, and hastily kissing his mother he moved slowly out of the room. Mrs. Hill stood smiling and nodding at the window as he drove away, and then returned to her needlework. She was always at needlework, and usually wrought incessantly, like a modern Penelope, without displaying any emotion. But today, as she worked in the solitude of her own room, her tears fell occasionally. Yet, as she did not like Strode, the tears could not have been for his untimely death. A strange, firm, self-reliant woman was Mrs. Hill; and although she took no active part in the management of the house, the servants secretly looked on her as the real ruler. Mr. Hill, in spite of his bluster, they regarded as merely the figurehead.
On the way to Misery Castle, Allen chatted with Jacobs, a smart-looking lad, who had been transformed from a yokel into a groom by Mr. Hill. Jacobs had heard very little of the affair, but admitted that he knew the crime had been committed. "My brother was one of them as brought the corp home, sir," he said, nodding.
"Why did your brother and the others not report to Wasp?"
Jacobs grinned. "Mr. Wasp have himself to thank for that, sir," said he, "they were all frightened as he'd say they did it, and don't intend to come forward unless they have to."
"All zeal on Mr. Wasp's part, Jacobs," said Allen, smiling faintly, "I can quite understand the hesitation, however. How did your brother find the body?"
"Well, sir," Jacobs scratched his head, "him and Arnold and Wake was coming across Chilvers Common last night after they'd been to see the circus at Westhaven, and they got a thirst on them. There being no beer handy they went to the spring at the Red Deeps to get water. There they found Mr. Strode's body lying in the mud. His face was down and his hands were stretched. They first saw the corpse by the white glove, sir, on the right hand."
"The wooden hand," said Allen absently.
"What, sir? Is it a wooden hand?" asked Jacobs eagerly.
"Yes. Didn't you know? – no-" Allen checked himself, "of course you wouldn't know. You can't remember Mr. Strode when he was here last."
"It's not that, sir," began Jacobs thoughtfully, "but here we are at the gate. I'll tell you another time, Mr. Allen."
"Tell me what?" asked Allen, as he alighted painfully.
"No matter, sir. It ain't much," replied the lad, and gathering up the reins he jumped into the trap. "When will I come back?"
"In an hour, and then you can tell me whatever it is."
"Nothing-nothing," said the groom, and drove off, looking thoughtful.
It seemed to Allen that the lad had something to say to him relating to the wooden hand, but, thinking he would learn about the matter during the homeward drive, he dismissed the affair from his mind and walked up the path.
He found the front door closed, and knocked in vain. Finding that no one came, he strolled round to the back, and discovered Mrs. Merry talking to a ragged, shock-headed, one-eyed boy of about thirteen. "Just you say that again," Mrs. Merry was remarking to this urchin.
The boy spoke in a shrill voice and with a cockney accent. "Cain sez to me, as he'll come over and see you to-morrer!"
"And who are you to come like this?" asked Mrs. Merry.
"I'm Butsey, and now you've as you've heard twice what Cain hes t'saiy, you can swear, without me waiting," and after this insult the urchin bolted without waiting for the box on the ear, with which Mrs. Merry was prepared to favour him. Allen, quick in his judgments, saw that this was a true specimen of a London gamin, and wondered how such a brat had drifted to Wargrove. As a rule the London guttersnipe sticks to town as religiously as does the London sparrow.
"If I had a child like that," gasped Mrs. Merry as the boy darted round the corner of the cottage, "I'd put him in a corner and keep him on bread and water till the sin was drove out of him. Ah, Mr. Allen, that's you. I'm glad you've come to the house of mourning, and well may I call this place Misery Castle, containing a corp as it do. But I said the dream would come true, and true it came. Five knocks at the door, and the corp with three men bearing it. Your pa's inside, looking at the body, and Miss Eva weeping in the doring-room."
Allen brushed past the garrulous woman, but halted on the doorstep, to ask why she had not come to the front door. Mrs. Merry was ready at once with her explanation. "That door don't open till the corp go out," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh, I know as you may call it superstition whatever you may say, Mr. Allen, but when a corp enter at one door nothing should come between its entering and its going out. If anything do, that thing goes with the corp to the grave," said Mrs. Merry impressively; "police and doctor and your pa and all, I haven't let in by the front, lest any one of them should die. Not as I'd mind that Wasp man going to his long home, drat him with his nasty ways, frightening Miss Eva."
Waiting to hear no more, Hill went through the kitchen and entered the tiny drawing-room. The blinds were down and on the sofa he saw Eva seated, dressed in black. She sprang to her feet when she saw him. "Oh, Allen, I am so glad you have come. Your father said you could not, because of your foot."
"I sprained it, Eva, last night when-"
"Yes. Your father told me all. I wondered why you did not come back, Allen, to relieve my anxiety. Of course you did not go to the Red Deeps?"
"No," said Allen sitting down, her hand within his own, "I never got so far, dearest. So your dream came true?"
"Yes. Truer than you think-truer than you can imagine," said Eva in a tone of awe. "Oh, Allen, I never believed in such things; but that such a strange experience should come to me," – she covered her face and wept, shaken to the core of her soul; Allen soothed her gently, and she laid her head on his breast, glad to have such kind arms around her. "Yes, my father is dead," she went on, "and do you know, Allen, wicked girl that I am, I do not feel so filled with sorrow as I ought to be? In fact" – she hesitated, then burst out, "Allen, I am wicked, but I feel relieved-"
"Relieved, Eva?"
"Yes! had my father come home alive everything would have gone wrong. You and I would have been parted, and-and-oh, I can't say what would have happened. Yet he is my father after all, though he treated my mother so badly, and I knew so little about him. I wish-oh, I wish that I could feel sorry, but I don't-I don't."
"Hush, hush! dearest," said Allen softly, "you knew little of your father, and it's natural under the circumstances you should not feel the loss very keenly. He was almost a stranger to you, and-"
While Allen was thus consoling her, the door opened abruptly and Hill entered rather excited. "Eva," he said quickly, "you never told me that your father's wooden hand had been removed."
"It has not been," said Eva; "it was on when we laid out his body."
"It's gone now, then," said Hill quietly, and looking very pale; "gone."
CHAPTER VI
THE WARNING
On hearing this announcement of the loss, Eva rose and went to the chamber of death. There, under a sheet, lay the body of her father looking far more calm in death, than he had ever looked in life. But the sheet was disarranged on the right side, and lifting this slightly, she saw that what Mr. Hill said was true. The wooden hand had been removed, and now there remained but the stump of the arm. A glance round the room showed her that the window was open, but she remembered opening it herself. The blind was down, but some one might have entered and thieved from the dead. It was an odd loss, and Eva could not think why it should have taken place.
When she returned to the tiny drawing-room, Allen and his father were in deep conversation. They looked up when the girl entered.
"It is quite true," said Eva, sitting down; "the hand is gone."
"Who can have stolen it?" demanded Allen, wrinkling his brow.
"And why should it be stolen?" asked Hill pointedly.
Eva pressed her hands to her aching head. "I don't know," she said wearily. "When Mrs. Merry and I laid out the body at dawn this morning the hand was certainly there, for I noted the white glove all discoloured with the mud of the Red Deeps. We pulled down the blind and opened the window. Some one may have entered."
"But why should some one steal?" said Hill uneasily; "you say the hand was there at dawn?"
"Yes." Eva rose and rang the bell. "We can ask Mrs. Merry."
The old woman speedily entered, and expressed astonishment at the queer loss. "The hand was there at nine," she said positively. "I went to see if everything was well, and lifted the sheet. Ah, dear me, Mr. Strode, as was, put a new white glove on that wooden hand every morning, so that it might look nice and clean. Whatever would he have said, to see the glove all red with clay? I intended," added Mrs. Merry, "to have put on a new glove, and I sent Cain to buy it."
"What?" asked Eva, looking up, "is Cain back?"
"Yes, deary. He came early, as the circus is passing through this place on to the next town, Shanton. Cain thought he'd pick up the caravans on the road, so came to say good-bye."
Eva remembered Cain's odd behaviour, and wondered if he had anything to do with the theft. But the idea was ridiculous. The lad was bad enough, but he certainly would not rob the dead. Moreover-on the face of it-there was no reason he should steal so useless an object as a wooden hand. What with the excitement of the death, and the fulfilment of the dream, not to mention that she felt a natural grief for the death of her father, the poor girl was quite worn out. Mr. Hill saw this, and after questioning Mrs. Merry as to the theft of the glove, he went away.
"I shall see Wasp about this," he said, pausing at the door, "there must be some meaning in the theft. Meanwhile I'll examine the flower-bed outside the window."
Mrs. Merry went with him, but neither could see any sign of foot-marks on the soft mould. The thief-if indeed a thief had entered the house, had jumped the flower-bed, and no marks were discoverable on the hard gravel of the path. "There's that boy," said Mrs. Merry.
"What boy?" asked Hill, starting.
"A little rascal, as calls himself Butsey," said the old woman, folding her hands as usual under her apron. "London street brat I take him to be. He came to say Cain would be here to-morrow."
"But Cain is here to-day," said Mr. Hill perplexed.
"That's what makes me think Butsey might have stolen the wooden hand," argued Mrs. Merry. "Why should he come here else? I didn't tell him, as Cain had already arrived, me being one as knows how to hold my tongue whatever you may say, Mr. Hills" – so Mrs. Merry named her companion. "I would have asked questions, but the boy skipped. I wonder why he stole it?"
"You have no proof that he stole it at all," said Hill smartly; "but I'll tell Wasp what you say. When does the inquest take place?"
"To-morrow, as you might say," snapped Mrs. Merry crossly; "and don't bring that worriting Wasp round here, Mr. Hills. Wasp he is by name and Wasp by nature with his questions. If ever you-"
But Mr. Hill was beyond hearing by this time. He always avoided a chat with Mrs. Merry, as the shrillness of her voice-so he explained-annoyed him. The old woman stared after his retreating figure and she shook her head. "You're a bad one," she soliloquised; "him as is dead was bad too. A pair of ye-ah-but if there's trouble coming, as trouble will come, do what you may-Miss Eva shan't suffer while I can stop any worriting."
Meanwhile Eva and Allen were talking seriously. "My dream was fulfilled in the strangest way, Allen," the girl said. "I dreamed, as I told you, the night before last at nine o'clock-"
"Well?" questioned the young man seeing she hesitated.
Eva looked round fearfully. "The doctor says, that, judging by the condition of the body, my father must have been shot at that hour."
"Last night you mean," said Allen hesitatingly.
"No. This is Friday. He was shot on Wednesday at nine, and the body must have lain all those long hours at the Red Deeps. Of course," added Eva quickly, "no one goes to the Red Deeps. It was the merest chance that those labourers went last night and found the body. So you see, Allen, my father must have been killed at the very time I dreamed of his death."
"It is strange," said young Hill, much perturbed. "I wonder who can have killed him?"
Eva shook her head. "I cannot say, nor can any one. The inspector from Westhaven has been here this morning making inquiries, but, of course, I can tell him nothing-except about the telegram."
"What telegram?"
"Didn't I mention it to you?" said the girl, raising her eyes which were fixed on the ground disconsolately; "no-of course I didn't. It came after you left me-at nine o'clock-no it was at half-past nine. The wire was from my father, saying he would be down the next day. It had arrived at Westhaven at four, and should have been delivered earlier but for the forgetfulness of the messenger."
"But, Eva, if the wire came from your father yesterday, he could not have been shot on Wednesday night."
"No, I can't understand it. I told Inspector Garrit about the wire, and he took it away with him. He will say all that he learns about the matter at the inquest to-morrow. And now my father's wooden hand has been stolen-it is strange."
"Very strange," assented Allen musingly. He was thinking of what his father had said about Mr. Strode's probable enemies. "Eva, do you know if your father brought any jewels from Africa-diamonds, I mean?"
"I can't say. No diamonds were found on his body. In fact his purse was filled with money and his jewellery had not been taken."
"Then robbery could not have been the motive for the crime."
"No, Allen, the body was not robbed." She rose and paced the room. "I can't understand my dream. I wonder if, when I slept, my soul went to the Red Deeps and saw the crime committed."
"You did not see the crime committed?"
"No; I saw the body, however, lying in the position in which it was afterwards found by Jacobs and the others. And then the laugh-that cruel laugh as though the assassin was gloating over his cruel work-the man who murdered my father was laughing in my dream."
"How can you tell it was a man?"
"The laugh sounded like that of a man."
"In your dream? I don't think a jury will take that evidence."
Eva stopped before the young man and looked at him determinedly. "I don't see why that part of my dream should not come true, if the other has already been proved true. It's all of a piece."
To this remark young Hill had no answer ready. Certainly the dream had come true in one part, so why not in another? But he was too anxious about Eva's future to continue the discussion. "What about you, darling?" he asked.
"I don't know," she replied, and sat down beside him again. "I can think of nothing until the inquest has taken place. When I learn who has killed my father, I shall be more at ease."
"That is only right and natural; but-"
"Don't mistake me, Allen," she interrupted vehemently. "I saw so little of my father, and, through my mother, knew so much bad about him, that I don't mourn his death as a daughter ought to. But I feel that I have a duty to perform. I must learn who killed him, and have that person sent to the scaffold."
Allen coloured and looked down. "We can talk about that when we have further facts before us. Inspector Garrit, you say, is making inquiries?"
"Yes; I have given him the telegram, and also the address of my father's lawyer, which I found in a letter in his pocket."
"Mr. Mask?"
"Yes; Sebastian Mask-do you know him?"
"I know of him. He is my father's lawyer also, and so became Mr. Strode's man of business. Yes, it is just as well Garrit should see him. When your father arrived in London he probably went to see Mask, to talk over business. We might learn something in that quarter."
"Learn what?" asked Eva bluntly.
Allen did not answer at once. "Eva," he said after a pause, "do you remember I told you that my father said Mr. Strode might not arrive. Well, I asked him why he said so, and he declared that from what he knew of your father, Mr. Strode was a man likely to have many enemies. It struck me that this crime may be the work of one of these enemies. Now Mask, knowing all your father's business, may also know about those who wished him ill."
"It may be so," said Eva reflectively; "my father," from what Mrs. Merry says, "was a most quarrelsome man, and would stop at nothing to make money. He doubtless made enemies in Africa as your father suggests, but why should an enemy follow him to England to kill him? It would have been easier to shoot him in Africa."
Allen shrugged his shoulders. "It's all theory on our parts," he said. "We don't know yet if Mr. Strode had any virulent enemies, so we cannot say if he was shot out of malice."
"As the contents of his pockets were not touched, Allen, it looks as though malice might have led to the crime."
"True enough." Allen rose wearily to go, and Eva saw that he limped. "Oh," she cried with true womanly feeling, springing forward to help him, "I forgot about your sprain; is it very painful?"
"Oh no, not at all," said Allen, wincing; "help me to the door, Eva, and I'll get into the chaise. It must be here by this time. We must go round by the back."
In spite of her sorrow, Eva smiled. "Yes, Mrs. Merry won't allow the front door to be opened until my father's corpse passes through. I never thought she was so superstitious."
"The realisation of your dream is enough to make us all superstitious," said Allen as they passed through the kitchen. "Oh, by the way, Eva, my mother wants to know if you will stop with her till the funeral is over?"
"No, Allen, thanking your mother all the same. My place is here. Mrs. Palmer asked me also."
Mrs. Palmer was a gay, bright young widow who lived at the other end of the village, and whom Mrs. Merry detested, for some unknown reason. The sound of the name brought her into the conversation, as she was just outside, when the couple arrived at the kitchen door.
"Mrs. Palmer indeed," cried Mrs. Merry, wiping her red eyes; "the idea of her asking Miss Eva to stop with her. Why, her father was a chemist, and her late husband made his money out of milk and eggs!"
"She is very kind to ask me, Nanny, all the same."
"She's no lady," said Mrs. Merry, pursing up her lips, "and ain't the kind for you to mix with, Miss Eva."
"My mother wishes Miss Strode to come to us," said Allen.
"Well, sir," said the old nurse, "I don't say as what it wouldn't be good for my dear young lady: that is," added Mrs. Merry with emphasis, "if she keeps with your ma."
"My father won't trouble her if that's what you mean," said the young man drily, for Mrs. Merry made no secret of her dislike for Mr. Hill.
"People have their likings and no likings," said the old dame, "but if your ma will take Miss Eva till we bury him," she jerked her head in the direction of the death chamber, "it would be happier for her than sticking in the house along with her pa and me. If Cain was stopping I'd say different, but he's going after his circus, and two women and a corpse as ain't lived well, isn't lively, whatever you may say, Mr. Allen."
"I intend to stop here," said Eva sharply, "so there's no need for you to say anything more, Nanny. Ah, here's Cain. Help Mr. Hill, Cain."
The dark-eyed youth doffed his cap and came forward with alacrity to aid Allen. "Jacobs is at the gate with the pony, miss," he said, "but I hope our horses won't run over him."
"What do you mean?" asked Allen, limping round the corner.
"The circus is coming, on its way to Shanton. I told Mr. Stag-he owns it, Miss Eva-that murder had been committed, so the circus band won't play when the horses pass."
"Oh," said Eva stopping short, for already she saw a crowd of people on the road. "I'd better remain within."
"Yes, do, Eva," said Allen. "Cain will help me to the chaise. I'll come and see you again; and Eva," he detained her, "ask Inspector Garrit to see me. I want to know what can be done towards discovering the truth."
While Allen whispered thus, a procession of golden cars and cream-coloured horses was passing down the road amongst a sparse gathering of village folk. These had come to look at the house in which the body of the murdered man lay, although they knew Misery Castle as well as they knew their own noses. But the cottage had acquired a new and terrible significance in their eyes. Now another sensation was provided in the passing of Stag's Circus on its way to Shanton fifteen miles further on. What between the tragedy and the circus the villagers quite lost their heads. At present, however, they looked at the cages of animals, at the band in a high red chariot, and at many performers prancing on trained steeds. With the music of the band it would have been even more exciting, but Stag, with extraordinary good taste, forbore to play martial melodies while passing through the village. Cain had not told him about the cottage, so the equestrians were unaware that Misery Castle contained the remains of the man whose death had caused such excitement in Westhaven.
Just as Eva turned to go in, and thus avoid the gaze of the curious, she heard a deep voice-a contralto voice-calling for Cain. On turning her head, she saw a handsome dark woman mounted on a fine white horse. "It's Miss Lorry," said Cain, leaving Allen's arm and running to the gate, with his face shining.
The young man, still weak in his ankle, lurched, so sudden had been Cain's departure, and Eva, with a cry of anger, ran forward to stop him from falling. "Cain, how could you!" cried Eva; "hold up, Allen."
"Go back and help the gentleman," said the dark woman, fixing her bold eyes on the girl's white face with a look of pity. "Miss Strode!"
Eva turned indignantly-for Cain by this time was helping Allen, and she was returning to the house-to see why the woman dare address her. Miss Lorry was reining in her rearing, prancing horse, and showing off her fine figure and splendid equestrian management. She was dressed plainly in a dark blue riding-habit, and wore a tall silk hat. With these, and white collar and cuffs and neat gloves, she looked very well turned out. By this time the procession had passed on towards the village, and the people, drawn by the superior attraction of the circus, streamed after it. Only a few hung about, and directed curious eyes towards the cottage and towards Eva, who paused near the fence in response to Miss Lorry's cry. Allen, who was now in the chaise, and had gathered up the reins, also waited to hear what this audacious woman had to say to Eva.
"Come here, please," said Miss Lorry, with a fine high colour in her cheeks. "I'm not going to bite you. You are Miss Strode, aren't you? – else that lad," she pointed to Cain, "must have lied. He said you lived in his mother's cottage and-"
"I am Miss Strode," said Eva sharply. "What is it? I don't know you."
Miss Lorry laughed in an artificial manner. "Few people can say that," she said; "Bell Lorry is known everywhere as the Queen of the Arena. No, Miss Strode, you don't know me; but I know you and of you. Your cousin Lord Saltars-"
"Oh!" cried Eva, turning red, and walked up towards the house.
"Come back," cried Miss Lorry, "I want to whisper-it's about the death," she added in a lower tone. But Eva was out of hearing, and round the corner walking very fast, with her haughty head in the air.
Miss Lorry, who had not a good temper, ground her fine white teeth. "I've a good mind to hold my tongue," she said.
"What is it about the murder?" asked Allen quickly; "I am engaged to marry Miss Strode."
"Oh, are you? Then tell her to be careful of the wooden hand!"