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Chapter Twenty Seven

Claud Wilton took to the search for his cousin with the greater eagerness that he found it much more pleasant to be where he was not likely to come in contact with Pierce Leigh, for there was something about that gentleman’s manner which he did not like. He knew of his ability in mending bones, for he had become aware of what was done when one labourer fell off a haystack, and when another went to sleep when riding on the shafts of a wagon, dived under the wheels, and had both his legs broken; but all this was suggestive of his ability to break bones as well, and recalling a horse-whipping, received in the hunting field, from the brother of a young lady to whom he had been too polite, he scrupulously avoided running further risks. Consequently, after the unpleasant interruption of his meeting with Jenny Leigh, he lost no time in getting up to town, being pretty well supplied with money by his father, who was to follow next day.

“I’m short of cash, my boy,” said Wilton; “but this is a case in which we must not spare expense.”

“Go to Scotland Yard, and set the detectives to work?”

“In heaven’s name no, boy! We must be our own detectives, and hunt them out. Curse the young scoundrel. I might have known he would be after no good. An infernal poacher on our preserves, boy.”

“Yes, guv’nor; and he has got clear off with the game.”

“Then you must run him down, and when you have found out where he is, communicate with me; I must be there at the meeting.”

“What? Lose time like that! No, guv’nor; I’ll half kill him – hang me if I don’t.”

“No, no! I know you feel ready to – a villain – but that won’t do. You’ll only frighten the poor girl more, and she’ll cling to him instead of coming away with you.”

“But, guv’nor – ”

“Don’t hesitate, boy; I tell you I’m right. Let’s get Kate away from him, and then you may break every bone in his skin if you like.”

“But I want to give him a lesson at once.”

“Yes, of course you do – but Kate and her fortune, my boy. Once you’re on the scent, telegraph to me. I’ll come and stay at Day’s, in Surrey Street.”

“Suppose they’re gone abroad, guv’nor?”

“Well, follow them – all round the world if it’s necessary. By the way, you’ve always been very thick with Harry; now, between men of the world, has there ever been any affair going on? You know what I mean.”

“Lots, dad.”

“Ah! – Ever married either of them?”

“Not he.”

“That’s a pity,” said Wilton, “because it would have made matters so easy. Well, there, be off. The dog-cart’s at the door.”

Claud slapped his pocket, started for the station, and went up to stay at a bigger hotel than the quiet little place affected by his father; and about twelve o’clock the next day he presented himself at Garstang’s office, where Barlow, the old clerk, was busy answering letters for his employer to sign.

“Morning, Barlow,” said Claud, “Mr Harry in his room?”

“Mr Harry, sir? No, sir. I thought he was down with you, shooting and hunting.”

“Eh? Did he say that he was going down to Northwood?”

“Well, dear me! Really, Mr Claud Wilton, sir, I can’t be sure. I think I did hear him say something about Northwood; but whether it was that he was going there or had come back from there I really am not sure. Many pheasants this season?”

“Oh, never mind the pheasants,” cried Claud, impatiently. “When was that?”

“Dear me now,” said the man, thoughtfully; “now when was that – Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday – ?”

“Thursday, Friday, Saturday,” cried Claud, impatiently. “What a dawdling old buffer you are! Come, when was it: you must know?”

“Really, sir, I can’t be sure.”

“Was it this week?”

“I shouldn’t like to say, sir.”

“Well, last week then?”

“It might have been, sir.”

“Yah!” growled Claud. “Think he’s down at Chislehurst?”

“He may be, sir.”

“Yes, and he may be at Jericho.”

“Yes, sir; but you’ll excuse me, there was a knock.”

The clerk shuffled off his stool, and went to the door to admit a fresh visitor in the person of Wilton pere.

“Ah, Claud, my boy! You here?”

“Yes, father, I’m here; just come,” said the young man, sulkily.

“Well, found them?”

“Do I look as if I had found them, dad? No.”

“Tut-tut-tut!” ejaculated Wilton, who looked pale and worn with anxiety. “Mr Garstang in, Mr Barlow?”

“Yes, sir,” said the clerk; “shall I say you are here?”

“Ye-es,” said Wilton. “Take in my card, and say that I shall be obliged if he will give me an interview.”

The old clerk bowed, and left the outer office for the inner, while Wilton turned to his son, to say hastily, “You may as well come in with me as you are here.”

“Thanks, no; much obliged. What made you come here? You don’t think he’s likely to know?”

“Yes, I do,” said Wilton, in a low voice. “I believe young Harry’s carried her off, and that he’s backing him up. You must come in with me: we must work together.”

“Mr Garstang will see you, gentlemen,” said the old clerk, entering.

“Gentlemen!” muttered Claud angrily, to his father.

“Yes, don’t leave me in the lurch, my boy,” whispered Wilton; and Claud noted a tremor in his father’s voice, and saw that he looked nervous and troubled.

Wilton made way for his son to pass in first, the young man drew back for his father, and matters were compromised by their entering together, Garstang, who looked perfectly calm, rising to motion them to seats, which they took; and then there was silence for a few moments, during which Claud sat tapping his teeth with the ivory handle of the stick he carried, keeping his eyes fixed the while upon his father, who seemed in doubt how to begin.

“May I ask why I am favoured with this visit, gentlemen?” said Garstang, at last.

This started Wilton, who coughed, pulled himself together, and looking the speaker fully in the face, said sharply,

“We came, Mr John Garstang, because we supposed that we should be expected.”

“Expected?” said Garstang, turning a little more round from his table, and passing one shapely leg over the other, so that he could grasp his ankle with both hands. “Well, I will be frank with you, James Wilton; there were moments when I did think it possible that you might come; I will not say to apologise, but to consult with me about that poor girl’s future. How is she?”

Father and son exchanged glances, the former being evidently taken a little aback.

“Well,” said Garstang, without pausing for an answer to this question; “I am glad you have come in a friendly spirit; I shall be pleased to meet you in the same way, so pray speak out. Let us have no fencing. Tell me what you propose to do.”

Wilton coughed again, and looked at his son.

“You must see,” said Garstang firmly, “that a fresh arrangement ought to be made at once. Under the circumstances she cannot stay at Northwood, and I will own that I am not prepared to suggest any relative of her father who seems suitable for the purpose. The large fortune which the poor child will inherit naturally acts as a bait, and there must be no risk of the poor girl being exposed to the pertinacious advances of every thoughtless boy who wishes to handle her money.”

“I say, look here,” cried Claud, “if you want to pick a quarrel, say so, and I’ll go.”

“I have no wish to pick a quarrel, young man,” replied Garstang, sternly; “and I should not have spoken like this if you had not sought me out. Perhaps you had better stay, sir, and hear what your father has to propose, unless he has already taken you into his confidence.”

“Well, he hasn’t,” said Claud, sulkily. “Go on, guv’nor, and get it over.”

“Yes, James Wilton, go on, please, as your son suggests, and get it over. My time is valuable, and in such a case as this, between relatives, I shall be unable to make a charge for legal services. Now then, once more, what do you propose?”

“About what?” said Wilton, bluntly.

“About the future home of your niece?”

“Ah, that’s what I’ve come about,” said Wilton, gazing at the other sternly. “Where is she?”

Garstang looked at him blankly for a few moments.

“Where is she?” he said at last. “What do you mean?”

“What I say: where is Kate Wilton?”

“Where is she?” cried Garstang, changing his manner, and speaking now with a display of eagerness very different from his calm dignified way of a few minutes before. “Why, you don’t mean to say that she has gone?”

“Yes, I do mean to say that she has gone.”

“Bravo!” cried Garstang, putting down the leg he had been nursing, and giving it a hearty slap. “The brave little thing! I should not have thought that she had it in her.”

“That won’t do, John Garstang,” said Wilton, sourly; “and it’s of no use to act. The law’s your profession – not acting. Now then, I want to know where she is.”

“How should I know, man? She was not placed in my charge.”

“You know, sir, because it was in your interest to know. This isn’t the first time I’ve known you play your cards, but you’re not playing them well: so you had better throw up your hand.”

“Look here, James Wilton,” said Garstang, looking at him curiously; “have you come here to insult me with your suspicions? If this young lady has left your roof, do you suppose I have had anything to do with it?”

“Yes, I do, and a great deal,” cried Wilton, angrily. “You can’t hoodwink me, even if you can net me and fleece me. Do you think I am blind?”

“In some things, very,” said Garstang, contemptuously —

“Then I’m not in this. I see through your plans clearly enough, but you are checked. Where is that boy of yours?”

“I have no boy,” said Garstang, contemptuously.

“Well, then, where is your stepson?”

“I do not know, James Wilton. Harry Dasent has long enough ago taken, as your son here would say, the bit in his teeth. I have not seen him since he came down to your place. But surely,” he cried, springing up excitedly, “you do not think – ”

“Yes, I do think, sir,” cried Wilton, rising too; “I am sure that young scoundrel has carried her off. He has been hanging about my place all he could since she has been there, and paying all the court he could to her, and you know it as well as I do, the scoundrel has persuaded her that she was ill-used, and lured her away.”

“By Jove!” said Garstang, softly, as he stood looking thoughtfully at the carpet, and apparently hardly hearing a word in his stupefaction at this announcement,

“Do you hear what I say, sir?” cried Wilton, fiercely, for he was now thoroughly angry; “do you hear me?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” cried Garstang, making an effort as if to rouse himself. “Well, and if it is as you suspect, what then? Reckless as he is, Harry Dasent would make her as good a husband as Claud Wilton, and a better, for he is not related to her by blood.”

“You dare to tell me that!” thundered Wilton.

“Yes, of course,” said Garstang, coolly. “Why not?”

“Then you do know of it; you are at the bottom of it all; you have helped him to carry her off.”

“I swear I have not,” said Garstang, quietly. “I would not have done such a thing, for the poor girl’s sake. It may be possible, just as likely as for your boy here, to try and win the girl and her fortune, but I swear solemnly that I have not helped him in any way.”

“Then you tell me as a man – as a gentleman, that you did not know he had got her away?”

“I tell you as a man, as a gentleman, that I did not know he had got her away. What is more, I tell you I do not believe it. Tell me more. How and when did she leave? When did you miss her?”

“Night before last – no, no, I mean the next morning after you had left. She had gone in the night.”

Garstang’s hand shot out, and he caught Wilton by the shoulder with a fierce grip, while his lip quivered and his face twitched, as he gazed at him with a face full of horror.

“James Wilton,” he said, in a husky voice, “you jump at this conclusion, but did anyone see them go?”

“No: no one.”

“You don’t think – ”

“Think what, man? What has come to you?”

“She was in terrible trouble, suffering and hysterical, when she went up to her room,” continued Garstang, with his voice sinking almost to a whisper, and with as fine a piece of acting as could have been seen off the stage. “Is it possible that, in her trouble and despair, she left the house, and – ”

He ceased speaking, and stood with his lips apart, staring at his visitor, who changed colour and rapidly calmed down.

“No, no,” he said, and stopped to dear his voice. “Impossible! Absurd! I know what you mean; but no, no. A young girl wouldn’t go and do that just because her cousin kissed her.”

“But she has been ill, and she was very weak and sensitive.”

“Oh, yes, and the doctor put her right. No, no. She wouldn’t do that,” said Wilton, hastily. “It’s as I say. Come, Claud, my lad, we can do no good here, it seems. Let’s be moving. Morning, John Garstang; I am going to get help. I mean to run her down.”

“You should know her best, James Wilton, and perhaps my judgment has been too hasty. Yes, I think I agree with you: so sweet, pure-minded, and well-balanced a girl would never seek refuge in so horrible a way. We may learn that she is with some distant relative after all.”

“Perhaps so,” said Wilton hastily. “Come, Claud, my lad,” and he walked straight out, without glancing to right or left, and remained silent till they were crossing Russell Square.

“I say, guv’nor,” said Claud, who passed his tongue over his lips before speaking, as if they were dry, “you don’t think that, do you? It’s what the mater said.”

“No, no, impossible. Of course not. She couldn’t. I think, though, we may as well get back,” and for the moment he forgot all about the ladder planted against the sill.

And as they walked on they were profoundly unconscious of the fact that Garstang’s grave elderly clerk was following them at a little distance, and looking in every other direction, his employer having hurried him out with the words:

“See where they go.”

John Garstang then seated himself before the good fire in his private room, and began to think of the interview he had just had, while as he thought he smiled.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Kate gave way most unwillingly, but felt obliged to yield to what she felt was a common-sense view of the question.

“If you write now we shall be having endless trouble,” said Garstang. “Your uncle will come here, and I shall be compelled to give you up.”

“But I would refuse to go,” said Kate, with spirit.

Garstang smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Will you give me credit, as an old lawyer, my dear child, for knowing a little of the law?”

“Of course,” she cried.

“Well, let me tell you that if James Wilton finds out where you are, I foresee endless troubles. You know his projects?”

Kate nodded quickly.

“To compass those plans, he will stop at nothing, even force. But supposing I defeat him in that, for I tell you frankly I should make every effort, he would set the law to work. If I get the best counsel I can, we shall have a long, wearisome lawsuit, and probably your late father’s estate will be thrown into Chancery. You will become a ward of the Lord Chancellor, and the inroads made upon your fortune will be frightful.”

“I don’t think I should care,” said Kate, looking at him wistfully, “so long as I could be at peace.”

“Have you thought out any relative or friend whom you feel that you can trust, and to whom you would like to go?”

“No; not yet,” said Kate, wearily; “and I have tried very hard.”

“Then don’t try, my child,” he said, with a smile, “and then perhaps the idea will come. I ought to say, though,” he added, playfully, “do try hard, so as not to succeed, for I do not want you to go. It is as if a change had come over my life, and like the man in one of the old plays, I had discovered a long-lost child.”

“Pray don’t treat it lightly, Mr Garstang,” said Kate. “All this troubles me terribly. I feel so helpless.”

“Believe me that if I talk lightly, I think very, very seriously of your position,” said Garstang, quickly. “I know how painful it must be for you to neglect your friends, those to whom you would write, but really I am obliged to advocate reticence for the present. I will have your letters posted if you desire me to, but I am bound to show you the consequences which must follow.”

Kate sighed, and looked more and more troubled.

“To put it more plainly,” continued Garstang, “my position is that I have an extensive practice, with many clients to see, and consequently I must be a great deal away. Now suppose one morning, when I am out, James Wilton and his son present themselves. What will you do?”

Kate shivered, and gazed at him helplessly.

“I shall not feel best pleased to come back home to dinner, and find you gone.”

“My position is terrible,” said Kate. “I almost wish I were penniless.”

“Come, come, not so terrible; it is only that of a prisoner who has her cell door barred inside, so that she can open it when she pleases. May I try and advise you a little?”

“Yes, pray, pray do, Mr Garstang.”

“Well, my advice is this – even if it causes your poor old nurse great anxiety. She will be content later on, when she learns that it was for your benefit. My advice is for you to try and settle down here for a while, so as to see how matters shape themselves, or till you have decided where it would be better for you to go.”

She looked at him wistfully.

“Could I not take apartments somewhere, and have Eliza up to keep house for me?”

“Well – yes,” he said, thoughtfully. “It would be risky, for every movement of your old servant will be jealously watched just now. It would be better later on. What do you think?”

“That I do not wish to seem ungrateful for your kindness, neither do I feel justified in putting you to great trouble and expense.”

“Pooh, pooh,” he said, merrily, “I am not so poor that I can not afford myself a few pleasures. But proper pride is a fine thing. There, you shall be independent, and pay me back everything when you come of age.”

He glanced at his watch, for breakfast had been over some time, and they had sat talking.

“I am keeping you, Mr Garstang,” she said.

“Well, I like to be kept, but I have several appointments to-day. Have a good quiet think while I am gone, and we will talk it over again to-night.”

“No,” said Kate, quietly, “you will be tired then. I will take your advice, Mr Garstang.”

“Yes?” he said, raising his eyebrows a little.

“I will stay here for a time, where, as you say, I can be at rest and safe from intrusion. We will see what time brings forth.”

“Spoken like a thoughtful, wise little woman,” said Garstang, without the slightest display of elation. “By the way, you find plenty of books to read?”

“Oh, yes, and I have been studying the old china.”

“A very interesting subject; but music – you are fond of music. We must see about that.”

He nodded and smiled, and then she saw that he became very calm and thoughtful, as if immersed in his business affairs.

Once more she was quite alone, thinking that she had been a whole week in the solemn old house, and a few minutes later the housekeeper entered to clear away the breakfast things.

“Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?” said the woman sadly, when she had finished her task, Kate noticing the while that there was an occasional whisper outside the door, as the various articles were handed out.

“No, I think not, this morning, Sarah,” said Kate, with a smile which proved infectious, for the woman stood staring at her for a few moments as if in wonder, and then her own countenance relaxed stiffly, as if she had not smiled in years, till her face looked nearly cheerful.

“You are handsome, ma’am,” she said; “I haven’t seen you look like that before since you’ve been here.”

“Why does not Becky come in to help you to clear away?” said Kate, to change the conversation, and Sarah Plant’s face grew stern and withered again, as she shook her head.

“She’s such a sight, ma’am, with that handkercher round her head.”

“I should not mind that; I have not fairly seen her since I came.”

“No, ma’am, and you won’t if she can help it. You mayn’t mind, but she do. She always hides herself when anybody’s about. Poor girl, she’s been in trouble almost ever since she was born. There’s sure to be something in this life. Not as I complains of master. It was just the same with old master, and when he died it made Becky ever so much worse. You see, ma’am, old master’s wife was ill for a long time, and that made the house dull and quiet; and then she died, and old master was never the same again. He spent scores o’ thousands o’ pounds on furniture, and books, and china, and did everything he could to make the place nice, but he never held up his head again. And then somehow his money went wrong, and new master used to come to help him out of his troubles, but it was no use; old master never had the blinds pulled up again; and that made Becky and me different to most folk, for it used to be like being shut up in a cupboard, and we never hardly went out. Becky ain’t been out of the house for years, and years, and years.”

“We must make the house more cheerful now, Sarah.”

The woman looked at her in astonishment, and then shook her head.

“Well, ma’am, I will say that it has seemed different since you came; but no – it’s beautifully furnished, and I never see a better kitchen in my life – but make it cheerful? No, ma’am, it ain’t to be done.”

“We shall see,” said Kate, smiling, and the woman’s face relaxed once more as she gazed at the fair, intellectual countenance before her as if it were some beautiful object which gave her real pleasure; but as Kate’s smile died away her own features looked cloudy, and she shook her head.

“No, ma’am, it’s my belief as this was meant to be a dull house before the big trouble came. Me and Becky used to say to one another it was just as if the sun had gone out, but we never expected what came at last, or I believe we should have run away.”

The moment before Kate had been thinking of dismissing the housekeeper to her work, but this hint at something which had happened enchained her attention, and the woman went on.

“You see, old master kept on getting from bad to worse, spite of Mr Garstang’s coming and seeing to his affairs; and one day the doctor says to me: ‘It’s of no use, Mrs Plant, I can do nothing for a man who shuts himself up and sets all the laws of nature at defiance.’ Those were his very words, ma’am; I recollected them because I never quite knew what they meant; but the doctor evidently thought master had done something wrong, though I don’t think he ever did, for he was such a good man. Then came that morning, ma’am. I may as well tell you now. Becky used to sleep with me then, same as she does now, but that was before she had face-ache and fits. I remember it as well as can be. It was just at daylight in autumn time, when the men brings round the ropes of onions, and I nudged her, and I says, ‘Time to get up, Becky,’ and she yawned and got up and went down, for she always dressed quicker than I could. And there I was, dressing, and thinking that master had told me that Mr Garstang was coming at ten o’clock, and I was to send him into the library at once, and breakfast was to be ready there.

“I’d just put on my cap, ma’am, and was going down, when I heard the horridest shriek as ever was, and sank down in a chair trembling, for I felt as sure as sure that burglars were in the house, and they were murdering my poor Becky. I was that frightened I got up and tottered to the door, and locked and bolted it, for I said they shouldn’t murder me. But, oh, dear; what I did suffer! ‘Pretty sort of a mother you are,’ I says to myself, ‘taking care of yourself, and letting poor Becky be cut to pieces p’raps to hide their crime.’

“That went to my heart like a knife, ma’am, and I unfastened the door again and went out and listened, and all was still as still. You know how quiet it can be in this house, ma’am, don’t you?”

Kate nodded.

“So I stood trembling there at the very top of the house, for we used to sleep up there, then, before Becky took to wanting to be downstairs, where she wasn’t so likely to be seen; and though I listened and I listened, there wasn’t a sound, and I give it to myself again. ‘Why,’ I says, ‘a cat would scratch if you tried to take away its kitten to drown it’ – as well I know, ma’am, for I’ve tried – ‘and you stand there doing nothing about your own poor girl.’ That roused me, ma’am, and I went down, with the staircase all gloomy, with the light coming only from the sooty skylight in the roof; and there were the china cupboards and the statues in the dark corners all seeming to look down at something on the first floor. I was ready to drop a dozen times over, but I felt that I must go, even if I died for it; and down I went, step by step, peeping before me, and ready to shriek for help directly I saw what it was.

“But there was nothing that I could see, and I stopped on the first floor, looking over the banisters and trying to make out whether the hall door was open; but no, I couldn’t see anything, and I went along sideways, looking down still, till I saw that the dining-room door was open, and it seemed to me that the shrieking must have come from there. I was just opposite to the door leading into the two little lib’ries – you know, ma’am, where the big curtain is – and I was taking another step sideways, meaning to look a little more over and then go and call up master, who didn’t seem to have heard, when I caught my foot on something, and cried out and fell. And then I found it was poor Becky, who had just crawled out of the doorway on her hands and knees.

“For just a minute I couldn’t say a word, but when I did, and asked her what was the matter, she only knelt there, clinging to my gownd, and staring up at me with a face that was horrible to behold.

“‘What is it – what is it?’ I kept on saying, but she couldn’t speak, only kneel there, staring at me till I took her by the shoulders and shook her well. ‘Why don’t you speak?’ I says. ‘What is it?’

“She only said ‘Oh’ – a regular groan it was, and she turned her head slowly round to look back at the little lib’ry passage, and then she turned back and hid her face in my petticoats.

“‘Tell me what it is, Becky,’ I says, more gently, for it didn’t seem that any harm was coming to us, but she couldn’t speak, only point behind her toward the little lib’ry door, and this made me shiver, for I knew there must be something dreadful there. At last, though, for fear she should think I was a coward, I tried to get away from her, but she clung to me that tight that I couldn’t get my gownd clear for ever so long. But at last I did, and I went into the little lobby through the door; but there was nothing there, and the lib’ry door was shut close; and I was coming back when I felt Becky seize me by the arm and point again, and then I saw what I hadn’t seen before; there were footmarks on the carpet fresh made, and I saw that Becky must have made ’em when she had gone to the lib’ry door; and there was the reason for it, just seen by the light which came from the little skylight – there it was, stealing slowly under the bottom of the mat.”