by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XIV
'RUMOUR FULL OF TONGUES'
It is almost impossible to learn the genesis of a rumour. It may bestarted by a look, a word, a gesture, and it spreads with suchmarvellous rapidity that by the time public curiosity is fully aroused,no one can trace the original source, so many and winding are thechannels through which it has flowed. Yet there are exceptions to thisgeneral rule, especially in criminal cases, where, for the safety of thepublic, it is absolutely necessary to get to the bottom of the matter.Therefore, the rumour which pervaded Beorminster on Monday morning wassoon traced by the police to a carter from Southberry. This manmentioned to a friend that, when crossing the Heath during the earlymorning, he had come across the body of a man. The rumour--weak in itsgenesis--stated first that a man had been hurt, later on that he hadbeen wounded; by noon it was announced that he was dead, and finally theactual truth came out that the man had been murdered. The policeauthorities saw the carter and were conducted by him to the corpse,which, after examination, they brought to the dead-house in Beorminster.Then all doubt came to an end, and it was officially declared during theafternoon that Jentham, the military vagabond lately resident at TheDerby Winner, had been shot through the heart. But even rumour, prolificas it is in invention, could not suggest who had murdered the man.
So unusual an event in the quiet cathedral city caused the greatestexcitement, and the streets were filled with people talking over thematter. Amateur detectives, swilling beer in public-houses, gave theiropinions about the crime, and the more beer they drank, the wilder andmore impossible became their theories. Some suggested that the gipsiescamped on Southberry Heath, who were continually fighting amongstthemselves, had killed the miserable creature; others, asserting thatthe scamp was desperately poor, hinted at suicide induced by sheerdespair; but the most generally accepted opinion was that Jentham hadbeen killed in some drunken frolic by one or more Irish harvesters. TheBeorminster reporters visited the police station and endeavoured tolearn what Inspector Tinkler thought. He had seen the body, he hadviewed the spot where it had been found, he had examined the carter,Giles Crake, so he was the man most likely to give satisfactory answersto the questions as to who had killed the man, and why he had been shot.But Inspector Tinkler was the most wary of officials, and pending theinquest and the verdict of twelve good men and true, he declined tocommit himself to an opinion. The result of this reticence was that thereporters had to fall back on their inventive faculties, and nextmorning published three theories, side by side, concerning the murder,so that the _Beorminster Chronicle_ containing these suppositions provedto be as interesting as a police novel, and quite as unreliable. But itamused its readers and sold largely, therefore proprietor and editorwere quite satisfied that fiction was as good as fact to tickle the longears of a credulous public.
As the dead man had lodged at The Derby Winner, and many people hadknown him there, quite a sensation was caused by the report of hisuntimely end. From morning till night the public-house was thronged withcustomers, thirsting both for news and beer. Nevertheless, althoughbusiness was so brisk, Mosk was by no means in a good temper. He hadreturned early that morning from Southberry, and had been one of thefirst to hear about the matter. When he heard who had been killed, heregarded the committal of the crime quite in a personal light, for thedead man owed him money, and his death had discharged the debt in a wayof which Mr Mosk did not approve. He frequently referred to his lossduring the day, when congratulated by unthinking customers on theexcellent trade the assassination had brought about.
'For, as I allays ses,' remarked one wiseacre, 'it's an ill wind asdon't blow good to somebody.'
'Yah!' growled Mosk, in his beery voice, 'it's about as broad as it'slong so far as I'm concerned. I've lost a couple of quid through Jenthamgoin' and gettin' shot, and it will take a good many tankards of bitterat thru'p'nce to make that up.'
'Oo d'y think shot 'im, Mr Mosk?'
'Arsk me sum'thin' easier, carn't you? I don't know nothin' about thecove, I don't; he comes 'ere two, three weeks ago, and leaves owin' memoney. Where he comes from, or who he is, or what he's bin doin' to getshot I know no more nor you do. All I does know,' finished Mosk,emphatically, 'is as I've lost two bloomin' quid, an' that's a lot to apoor man like me.'
'Well, father, it's no good making a fuss over it,' cried Bell, whooverheard his grumbling. 'If Jentham hadn't been shot, we wouldn't bedoing so well. For my part, I'm sorry for the poor soul.'
'Poor blackguard, you mean!'
'No, I don't. I don't call any corpse a blackguard. If he was one, Idaresay he's being punished enough now without our calling him names. Hewasn't the kind of man I fancied, but there's no denying he wasattractive in his own wicked way.'
'Ah!' said a dirty-looking man, who was more than suspected of being awelcher, 'couldn't he tell slap-up yarns about H'injins an' 'eathens asbows down to stocks and stones. Oh, no! not he--'
'He could lie like a one-year-old, if that's what y' mean,' said Mosk.
'Bloomin' fine lyin', any'ow,' retorted the critic. 'I'd git orf theturf if I cud spit 'em out that style; mek m' fortin', I would, on th'paipers.'
'Y've bin chucked orf the turf often enough as it is,' replied thelandlord, sourly, whereat, to give the conversation a less personalapplication, the dirty welcher remarked that he would drain anotherbitter.
'I suppose you'll be as drunk as a pig by night,' said Bell, taking theorder. 'Jentham was bad, but he wasn't a swine like you.'
'Garn! 'e got drunk, didn't he? Oh, no! You bet he didn't.'
'He got drunk like a gentleman, at all events. None of your sauce,Black, or I'll have you chucked. You know me by this time, I hope.'
In fact, as several of the customers remarked, Miss Bell was in a finetemper that morning, and her tongue raged round like a prairie fire.This bad humour was ascribed by the public to the extra work entailed onher by the sensation caused by the murder, but the true cause lay withGabriel. He had promised faithfully, on the previous night, to comeround and see Mrs Mosk, but, to Bell's anger, had failed to put in anappearance--the first time he had done such a thing. As Miss Mosk'sobject was always to have an ostensible reason for seeing Gabriel inorder to protect her character, she was not at all pleased that he hadnot turned her excuse for calling on him into an actual fact. It is truethat Gabriel presented himself late in the afternoon and requested tosee the invalid, but instead of taking him up to the sickroom, Bellwhirled the curate into a small back parlour and closed the door, inorder, as she remarked, 'to have it out with him.'
'Now, then,' said she, planting her back against the door, 'what do youmean by treating me like a bit of dirt?'
'You mean that I did not come round last night, Bell?'
'Yes, I do. I told mother you would visit her. I said to Jacob Jarper asI'd come to ask you to see mother, and you go and make me out a liar bynot turning up. What do you mean?'
'I was ill and couldn't keep my promise,' said Gabriel, shortly.
'Ill!' said Bell, looking him up and down; 'well, you do look ill.You've been washed and wrung out till you're limp as a rag. White in theface, black under the eyes! What have you been doing with yourself, I'dlike to know. You were all right when I left you last night.'
'The weather affected my nerves,' explained Gabriel, with a weary sigh,passing his thin hand across his anxious face. 'I felt that it wasimpossible for me to sit in a close room and talk to a sick woman, so Iwent round to the stables where I keep my horse, and took him out inorder to get a breath of fresh air.'
'What! You rode out at that late hour, in all that storm?'
'The storm came on later. I went out almost immediately after you left,and got back at half-past ten. It wasn't so very late.'
'Well, of all mad things!' said Bell, grimly. 'It's easy seen, MrGabriel Pendle, how badly you want a wife at your elbow. Where did yougo?'
'I rode out on to Southberry Heath,' replied Gabriel, with somehesitation.
'Lord ha' mercy! Where Jentham's
corpse was found?'
The curate shuddered. 'I didn't see any corpse,' he said, painfully andslowly. 'Instead of keeping to the high road, I struck outcross-country. It was only this morning that I heard of the unfortunateman's untimely end.'
'You didn't meet anyone likely to have laid him out?'
'No! I met no one. I felt too ill to notice passers-by, but the ride didme good, and I feel much better this morning.'
'You don't look better,' said Bell, with another searching glance. 'Onewould think you had killed the man yourself!'
'Bell!' protested Gabriel, almost in an hysterical tone, for his nerveswere not yet under control, and the crude speeches of the girl made himwince.
'Well! well! I'm only joking. I know you wouldn't hurt a fly. But you dolook ill, that's a fact. Let me get you some brandy.'
'No, thank you, brandy would only make me worse. Let me go up and seeyour mother.'
'I sha'n't! You're not fit to see anyone. Go home and lie down till yournerves get right. You can see me after five if you like, for I'm goingto the dead-house to have a look at Jentham's body.'
'What! to see the corpse of that unhappy man,' cried Gabriel, shrinkingaway.
'Why not?' answered Bell, coolly, for she had that peculiar love oflooking on dead bodies characteristic of the lower classes. 'I want tosee how they killed him.'
'How who killed him?'
'The person as did it, silly. Though I don't know who could have shothim unless it was that old cat of a Mrs Pansey. Well, I can't stay heretalking all day, and father will be wondering what I'm up to. You gohome and lie down, Gabriel.'
'Not just now. I must walk up to the palace.'
'Hum! The bishop will be in a fine way about this murder. It's yearssince anyone got killed here. I hope they'll catch the wretch as shotJentham, though I can't say I liked him myself.'
'I hope they will catch him,' replied Gabriel, mechanically. 'Good-day,Miss Mosk! I shall call and see your mother to-morrow.'
'Good-day, Mr Pendle, and thank you, oh, so much!'
This particular form of farewell was intended for the ears of Mr Moskand the general public, but it failed in its object so far as theespecial person it was intended to impress was concerned. When theblack-clothed form of Gabriel vanished, Mr Mosk handed over the businessof the bar to an active pot-boy, and conducted his daughter back to thelittle parlour. Bell saw from his lowering brow that her father wassuspicious of her lengthened interview with the curate, and was bentupon causing trouble. However, she was not the kind of girl to bedaunted by black looks, and, moreover, was conscious that her fatherwould be rather pleased than otherwise to hear that she was honourablyengaged to the son of Bishop Pendle, so she sat down calmly enough athis gruff command, and awaited the coming storm. If driven into acorner, she intended to tell the truth, therefore she faced her fatherwith the greatest coolness.
'What d'y mean by it?' cried Mosk, bursting into angry words as soon asthe door was closed; 'what d'y mean, you hussy?'
'Now, look here, father,' said Bell, quickly, 'you keep a civil tonguein your head or I won't use mine. I'm not a hussy, and you have no rightto call me one.'
'No right! Ain't I your lawfully begotten father?'
'Yes, you are, worse luck! I'd have had a duke for my father if I'd beenasked what I wanted.'
'Wouldn't a bishop content you?' sneered Mosk, with a scowl on hispimply face.
'You're talking of Mr Pendle, are you?' said Bell wilfullymisunderstanding the insinuation.
'Yes, I am, you jade! and I won't have it. I tell you I won't!'
'Won't have what, father? Give it a name.'
'Why, this carrying on with that parson chap. Not as I've a word to sayagainst Mr Pendle, because he's worth a dozen of the Cargrim lot, buthe's gentry and you're not!'
'What's that got to do with it?' demanded Bell, with supreme contempt.
'This much,' raved Mosk, clenching his fist, 'that I won't have yourunning after him. D'y hear?'
'I hear; there is no need for you to rage the house down, father. I'mnot running after Mr Pendle; he's running after me.'
'That's just as bad. You'll lose your character.'
Bell fired up, and bounced to her feet. 'Who dares to say a word againstmy character?' she asked, panting and red.
'Old Jarper, for one. He said you went to see Mr Pendle last night.'
'So I did.'
'Oh, you did, did you? and here you've bin talking alone with him thismorning for the last hour. What d'y mean by disgracing me?'
'Disgracing you!' scoffed Bell. 'Your character needs a lot ofdisgracing, doesn't it? Now, be sensible, father,' she added, advancingtowards him, 'and I'll tell you the truth. I didn't intend to, but asyou are so unreasonable I may as well set your mind at rest.'
'What are you driving at?' growled Mosk, struck by her placid manner.
'Well, to put the thing into a nutshell, Mr Pendle is going to marryme.'
'Marry you! Get along!'
'I don't see why you should doubt my word,' cried Bell, with an angryflush. 'I'm engaged to him as honourably as any young lady could be. Hehas written me lots of letters promising to make me his wife, he hasgiven me a ring, and we're only waiting till he's appointed to be rectorof Heathcroft to marry.'
'Well, I'm d----d,' observed Mr Mosk, slowly. 'Is this true?'
'I'll show you the ring and letters if you like,' said Bell, tartly,'but I don't see why you should be so surprised. I'm good enough forhim, I hope?'
'You're good-lookin', I dessay, Bell, but he's gentry.'
'I'm going to be gentry too, and I'll hold my own with the best of them.As Bishop Pendle's daughter-in-law, I'll scratch the eyes out of any of'em as doesn't give me my place.'
Mosk drew a long breath. 'Bishop Pendle's daughter-in-law,' he repeated,looking at his daughter with admiration. 'My stars! you are a clevergirl, Bell.'
'I'm clever enough to get what I want, father, so long as you don't putyour foot into it. Hold your tongue until I tell you when to speak. Ifthe bishop knew of this now, he'd cut Gabriel off with a shilling.'
'Oh, he would, would he?' said Mosk, in so strange a tone that Belllooked at him with some wonder.
'Of course he would,' said she, quietly; 'but when Gabriel is rector ofHeathcroft it won't matter. We'll then have money enough to do withouthis consent.'
'Give me a kiss, my girl,' cried Mosk, clasping her to his breast,'You're a credit to me, that you are. Oh, curse it! Bell, think of oldMother Pansey!'
Father and daughter looked at one another and burst out laughing.
