by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XIII
A STORMY NIGHT
Having given Gabriel plainly to understand the terms upon which she wasprepared to continue their secret engagement, Bell kissed him once ortwice to soften the rigour of her speech. Then she intimated that shewould return alone to The Derby Winner, and that Gabriel could followafter a reasonable interval of time had elapsed. She also explained themeaning of these precautions.
'If the old cats of the town saw you and I walking along on Sundaynight,' said she, at the door of the vestry, 'they would screech outthat we were keeping company, and in any case would couple our namestogether. If they did, father would make it so warm for me that I shouldhave to tell the truth, and then--well,' added Miss Mosk, with abrilliant smile, 'you know his temper and my temper.'
'You are sure it is quite safe for you to go home alone?' said Gabriel,who was infected with the upper-class prejudice that every unmarriedgirl should be provided with a chaperon.
'Safe!' echoed the dauntless Bell, in a tone of supreme contempt. 'Mydear Gabriel, I'd be safe in the middle of Timbuctoo!'
'There are many of these rough harvest labourers about here, you know.'
'I'll slap their faces if they speak to me. I'd like to see them try it,that's all. And now, good-bye for the present, dear. I must get home assoon as possible, for there is a storm coming, and I don't want to getmy Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes spoilt.'
When she slipped off like a white ghost into the gathering darkness,Gabriel remained at the door and looked up to the fast clouding sky. Itwas now about nine o'clock, and the night was hot and thundery, and soairless that it was difficult to breathe. Overhead, masses of blackcloud, heavy with storm, hung low down over the town, and the earth,panting and worn out with the heat, waited thirstily for the cool drenchof the rain. Evidently a witch-tempest was brewing in the halls ofheaven on no small scale, and Gabriel wished that it would break at onceto relieve the strain from which nature seemed to suffer. Whether it wasthe fatigue of his day's labour, or the late interview with Bell whichdepressed him, he did not know, but he felt singularly pessimistic andhis mind was filled with premonitions of ill. Like most people withhighly-strung natures, Gabriel was easily affected by atmosphericinfluence, so no doubt the palpable electricity in the dry, hot airdepressed his nerves, but whether this was the cause of his restlessnesshe could not say. He felt anxious and melancholy, and was worried by asense of coming ill, though what such ill might be, or from what quarterit would come, he knew not. While thus gloomily contemplative, the greatbell of the cathedral boomed out nine deep strokes, and the hollow soundbreaking in on his reflections made him wake up, shake off his dismalthoughts, and sent him inside to attend to his work. Yet the memory ofthose forebodings occurred to him often in after days, and read by thelight of after events, he was unable to decide whether the expectationof evil, so strongly forced upon him then, was due to natural orsupernatural causes. At present he ascribed his anxieties to thedisturbed state of the atmosphere.
In the meantime, Bell, who was a healthy young woman, with no nerves tobe affected by the atmosphere, walked swiftly homeward along the airlessstreets. There were few people on their feet, for the night was tooclose for exercise, and the majority of the inhabitants sat in chairsbefore their doors, weary and out of temper. Nature and her creatureswere waiting for the windows of the firmament to be opened, for the airto be cleansed, for life to be renewed. Bell met none of the harvestersand was not molested in any way. Had she been spoken to, or hustled,there is no doubt she would have been as good as her word and haveslapped her assailant's face. Fortunately, there was no need for her toproceed to such extremes.
At the door of The Derby Winner she was rather surprised to find MissWhichello waiting for her. The little old lady wore her poke bonnet andold-fashioned black silk cloak, and appeared anxious and nervous, andaltogether unlike her usual cheery self. Bell liked Miss Whichello asmuch as she disliked Mrs Pansey, therefore she greeted her withunfeigned pleasure, although she could not help expressing her surprisethat the visitor was in that quarter of the town so late at night. MissWhichello produced a parcel from under her voluminous cloak and offeredit as an explanation of her presence.
'This is a pot of calf's-foot jelly for your mother, Miss Mosk,' shesaid. 'Mr Cargrim came to luncheon at my house to-day, and he told mehow ill your mother is. I was informed that she was asleep, so, notwishing to disturb her, I waited until you returned.'
'It is very kind of you to take so much trouble, Miss Whichello,' saidBell, gratefully receiving the jelly. 'I hope you have not been waitinglong.'
'Only ten minutes; your servant told me that you would return soon.'
'I have been to church and stopped after service to talk to somefriends, Miss Whichello. Won't you come in for a few minutes? I'll seeif my mother is awake.'
'Thank you, I'll come in for a time, but do not waken your mother on myaccount. Sleep is always the best medicine in case of sickness. I hopeMrs Mosk is careful of her diet.'
'Well, she eats very little.'
'That is wise; very little food, but that little nourishing andfrequently administered. Give her a cup of beef-tea two or three timesin the night, my dear, and you'll find it will sustain the bodywonderfully.'
'I'll remember to do so,' replied Bell, gravely, although she had nointention of remaining awake all night to heat beef-tea and dose hermother with it, especially as the invalid was not ill enough for suchextreme measures. But she was so touched by Miss Whichello's kindnessthat she would not have offended her, by scouting her prescription, forthe world.
By this time Miss Whichello was seated in a little private parlour offthe bar, illuminated by an oil-lamp. This Bell turned up, and then shenoticed that her visitor looked anxious and ill at ease. Once or twiceshe attempted to speak, but closed her mouth again. Bell wondered if MrsPansey had been at work coupling her name with that of Gabriel's, andwhether Miss Whichello had come down to relieve her conscience bywarning her against seeing too much of the curate. But, as she knew verywell, Miss Whichello was too nervous and too much of a lady to give heropinion on questions unasked, and therefore, banishing the defiant lookwhich had begun to harden her face, she waited to hear if it was anyother reason than bestowing the jelly which had brought the little oldspinster to so disreputable a quarter of the town at so untoward anhour. Finally Miss Whichello's real reason for calling came out bydegrees, and in true feminine fashion she approached the main point byside issues.
'Is your father in, Miss Mosk?' she asked, clasping and unclasping herhands feverishly on her lap.
'No, Miss Whichello. He rode over this afternoon to Southberry onbusiness, and we do not expect him back till to-morrow morning. Poorfather!' sighed Bell, 'he went away in anything but good spirits, for heis terribly worried over money matters.'
'The payment of his rent is troubling him, perhaps!'
'Yes, Miss Whichello. This is an expensive hotel, and the rent is high.We find it so difficult to make the place pay that we are behindhandwith the rent. Sir Harry Brace, our landlord, has been very kind inwaiting, but we can't expect him to stand out of his money much longer.I'm afraid in the end we'll have to give up The Derby Winner. But it isno good my worrying you about our troubles,' concluded Bell, in a morevivacious tone; 'what do you wish to see father about, Miss Whichello?Anything that I can do?'
'Well, my dear, it's this way,' said the old lady, nervously. 'You knowthat I have a much larger income than I need, and that I am always readyto help the deserving.' 'I know, Miss Whichello! You give help whereMrs Pansey only gives advice. I know who is most thought of; that I do!'
'Mrs Pansey has her own methods of dispensing charity, Miss Mosk.'
'Tracts and interference,' muttered Bell, under her breath; 'meddlesomeold tabby that she is.'
'Mr Cargrim was at my house to-day, as I told you,' pursued MissWhichello, not having heard this remark, 'and he mentioned a man calledJentham as a poor creature in need of help.'
'He's a poor cre
ature, I daresay,' said Miss Mosk, tossing her head,'for he owes father more money than he can pay, although he does saythat he'll settle his bill next week. But he's a bad lot.'
'A bad lot, Miss Mosk?'
'As bad as they make 'em, Miss Whichello. Don't you give him a penny,for he'll only waste it on drink.'
'Does he drink to excess?'
'I should think so; he finishes a bottle of brandy every day.'
'Oh, Miss Mosk, how very dreadful!' cried Miss Whichello, quite in thestyle of Daisy Norsham. 'Why is he staying in Beorminster?'
'I don't know, but it's for no good, you may be sure. If he isn't herehe's hob-nobbing with those gipsy wretches who have a camp on SouthberryCommon. Mother Jael and he are always together.'
'Can you describe him?' asked Miss Whichello, with some hesitation.
'He is tall and thin, with a dark, wicked-looking face, and he has anasty scar on the right cheek, slanting across it to the mouth. But thefunny thing is, that with all his rags and drunkenness there issomething of the gentleman about him. I don't like him, yet I can'tdislike him. He's attractive in his own way from his very wickedness.But I'm sure,' finished Bell, with a vigorous nod, 'that he's ablack-hearted Nero. He has done a deal of damage in his time both to menand women; I'm as sure of that as I sit here, though I can give noreason for saying so.'
Miss Whichello listened to this graphic description in silence. She wasvery pale, and held her handkerchief to her mouth with one tremblinghand; the other beat nervously on her lap, and it was only by a strongeffort of will that she managed to conquer her emotion.
'I daresay you are right,' she observed, in a tremulous voice. 'Indeed,I might have expected as much, for last night he frightened my niece andher maid on the high road. I thought it would be best to give him moneyand send him away, so that so evil a man should not remain here to be asource of danger to the town.'
'Give him money!' cried Miss Mosk. 'I'd give him the cat-o-nine tails ifI had my way. Don't you trouble about him, Miss Whichello; he's nogood.'
'But if I could see him I might soften his heart,' pleaded the old lady,very much in earnest.
'Soften a brick-bat,' rejoined Bell; 'you'd have just as much successwith one as with the other. Besides, you can't see him, MissWhichello--at all events, not to-night--for he's on the common with hisnasty gipsies, and--won't be back till the morning. I wish he'd stayaway altogether, I do.'
'In that case I shall not trouble about him,' said the old lady, rising;'on some future occasion I may see him. But you need not say I wasasking for him, Miss Mosk.'
'I won't say a word; he'd only come worrying round your house if hethought you wanted to give him money.'
'Oh, he mustn't do that; he mustn't come there!' cried Miss Whichello,alarmed.
'He won't, for I'll hold my tongue. You can rest easy on that score,Miss Whichello. But my advice is, don't pick him up out of the mire;he'll only fall back into it again.'
'You have a bad opinion of him, Miss Mosk.'
'The very worst,' replied Bell, conducting her guest to the door; 'he'sa gaol-bird and a scallywag, and all that's bad. Well, good-night, MissWhichello, and thank you for the jelly.'
'There is no need for thanks, Miss Mosk. Good-night!' and the old ladytripped up the street, keeping in the middle of it, lest any robbershould spring out on her from the shadow of the houses.
The storm was coming nearer, and soon would break directly over thetown, for flashes of lightning were weaving fiery patterns against theblack clouds, and every now and then a hoarse growl of thunder wentgrinding across the sky. Anxious to escape the coming downfall, MissWhichello climbed up the street towards the cathedral as quickly andsteadily as her old legs could carry her. Just as she emerged into theclose, a shadow blacker than the blackness of the night glided past her.A zig-zag of lightning cut the sky at the moment and revealed the faceof Mr Cargrim, who in his turn recognised the old lady in the bluishglare.
'Miss Whichello!' he exclaimed; 'what a surprise!'
'You may well say that, Mr Cargrim,' replied the old lady, with anervous movement, for the sound of his voice and the sudden view of hisface startled her not a little. 'It is not often I am out at this hour,but I have been taking some jelly to Mrs Mosk.'
'You are a good Samaritan, Miss Whichello. I hope she is better?'
'I think so, but I did not see her, as she is asleep. I spoke with herdaughter, however.'
'I trust you were not molested by that ruffian Jentham, who stays at TheDerby Winner,' said Cargrim, with hypocritical anxiety.
'Oh, no! he is away on Southberry Heath with his gipsy friends, Ibelieve--at least, Miss Mosk told me so. Good-night, Mr Cargrim,' sheadded, evidently not anxious to prolong the conversation. 'I wish to getunder shelter before the storm breaks.'
'Let me see you to your door at least.'
Miss Whichello rejected this officious offer by dryly remarking that shehad accomplished the worst part of her journey, and bidding the chaplain'Good-night,' tripped across the square to her own Jenny Wren nest.Cargrim looked after her with a doubtful look as she vanished into thedarkness, then, turning on his heel, walked swiftly down the streettowards Eastgate. He had as much aversion to getting wet as a cat, andput his best foot foremost so as to reach the palace before the raincame on. Besides, it was ten o'clock--a late hour for a respectableparson to be abroad.
'She's been trying to see Jentham,' thought Mr Cargrim, recalling MissWhichello's nervous hesitation. 'I wonder what she knows about him. Theman is a mystery, and is in Beorminster for no good purpose. MissWhichello and the bishop both know that purpose, I'm certain. Well!well! two secrets are better than one, and if I gain a knowledge of themboth, I may inhabit Heathcroft Rectory sooner than I expect.'
Cargrim's meditations were here cut short by the falling of heavy dropsof rain, and he put all his mind into his muscles to travel the faster.Indeed, he almost ran through the new town, and was soon out on thecountry road which conducted to the palace. But, in spite of all hisspeed, the rain caught him, for with an incessant play of lightning anda constant roll of thunder came a regular tropical downpour. The raindescended in one solid mass, flooding the ground and beating flat thecrops. Cargrim was drenched to the skin, and by the time he slippedthrough the small iron gate near the big ones, into the episcopalianpark, he looked like a lean water-rat. Being in a bad temper from hisshower bath, he was almost as venomous as that animal, and raced up theavenue in his sodden clothing, shivering and dripping. Suddenly he heardthe quick trot of a horse, and guessing that the bishop was returning,he stood aside in the shadow of the trees to let his superior pass by.Like the chaplain, Dr Pendle was streaming with water, and his horse'shoofs plashed up the sodden ground as though he were crossing a marsh.By the livid glare of the lightnings which shot streaks of blue firethrough the descending deluge, Cargrim caught a glimpse of the bishop'sface. It was deathly pale, and bore a look of mingled horror and terror.Another moment and he had passed into the blackness of the drenchingrain, leaving Cargrim marvelling at the torture of the mind which couldproduce so terrible an expression.
'It is the face of Cain,' whispered Cargrim to himself. 'What can hissecret be?'
