CHAPTER FOUR
THE PERIL BEYOND
My taxi pulled up before my own white-enamelled door in Wilton Street,off Belgrave Square, and, alighting, I entered with my latch-key.
I had been home about ten days--back again once more in dear, dirtyold London, spending most of my time idling in White's or Boodle's;for in May one meets everybody in St. James's Street, and menforegather in the club smoking-room from the four ends of the earth.
The house in Wilton Street was a small bijou place which my father hadoccupied as a _pied-a-terre_ in town, he being a widower. He had beena man of artistic tastes, and the house, though small, was furnishedlightly and brightly in the modern style. At Carrington he alwaysdeclared there was enough of the heaviness of the antique. Here, inthe dulness of London, he preferred light decorations and modern artin furnishing.
Through the rather narrow carpeted hall I passed into the study whichlay behind the dining-room, a small, cosy apartment--the acme ofcomfort. I, as a bachelor, hated the big terra-cotta-and-whitedrawing-room upstairs. When there, I made the study my own den.
I had an important letter to write, but scarcely had I seated myselfat the table when old Browning, grave, grey-faced and solemn, entered,saying--
"A clergyman called to see you about three o'clock, sir. He asked ifyou were at home. When I replied that you were at the club, he becamerather inquisitive concerning your affairs, and asked me quite a lotof questions as to where you had been lately, and who you were. I wasrather annoyed, sir, and I'm afraid I may have spoken rudely. But ashe would leave no card, I felt justified in refusing to answer hisinquiries."
"Quite right, Browning," I replied. "But what kind of a man was he?Describe him."
"Well, sir, he was rather tall, of middle age, thin-faced and drawn,as though he had seen a lot of trouble. He spoke with a pronounceddrawl, and his clerical coat was somewhat shabby. I noticed, too, sir,that he wore a black leather watch-guard."
That last sentence at once revealed my visitor's identity. It was theReverend Edmund Shuttleworth! But why had he returned so suddenly fromRiva? And why was he making secret inquiry concerning myself?
"I think I know the gentleman, Browning," I replied, while thefaithful old fellow stood, a quaint, stout figure in a rathertight-fitting coat and grey trousers, his white-whiskered face full ofmystery. I fancy Browning viewed me with considerable suspicion. Inhis eyes, "young Mr. Owen" had always been far too erratic. On manyoccasions in my boyhood days he had expressed to my father his strongdisapproval of what he termed "Master Owen's carryings-on."
"If he should call again, tell him that I have a very great desire torenew our acquaintance. I met him abroad," I said.
"Very well, sir," replied my man. "But I don't suppose he will callagain, sir. I was rude to him."
"Your rudeness was perfectly justifiable, Browning. Please refuse toanswer any questions concerning me."
"I know my duty, sir," was the old man's stiff reply, "and I hope Ishall always perform it."
And he retired, closing the door silently behind him.
With my elbows upon the table, I sat thinking deeply.
Had I not acted like a fool? Those strange words, and that curiouspromise of Sylvia Pennington sounded ever in my ears. She hadsucceeded in inducing me to return home by promising to meet meclandestinely in England. Why clandestinely?
Before me every moment that I now lived arose that pale, beautifulface--that exquisite countenance with the wonderful eyes--that facewhich had held me in fascination, that woman who, indeed, held me nowfor life or death.
In those ten days which had passed, the first days of myhome-coming after my long absence, I knew, by the blankness of ourseparation--though I would not admit it to myself--that she was myaffinity. I was hers. She, the elegant little wanderer, possessed me,body and soul. I felt for her a strong affection, and affection is thehalf-and-half of love.
Why had her friend, that thin-faced country clergyman, called?Evidently he was endeavouring to satisfy himself as to my _bonafides_. And yet, for what reason? What had I to do with him? She hadtold me that she owed very much to that man. Why, however, should heinterest himself in me?
I took down a big black volume from the shelf--_Crockford'sClerical Directory_--and from it learned that Edmund CharlesTalbot Shuttleworth, M.A., was rector of the parish ofMiddleton-cum-Bowbridge, near Andover, in the Bishopric of Winchester.He had held his living for the past eight years, and its value wasL550 per annum. He had had a distinguished career at Cambridge, andhad been curate in half-a-dozen places in various parts of thecountry.
I felt half inclined to run down to Middleton and call upon him. Icould make some excuse or other, for I felt that he might, perhaps,give me some further information regarding the mysterious Penningtonand his daughter.
Yet, on further reflection, I hesitated, for I saw that by acting thusI might incur Sylvia's displeasure.
During the three following days I remained much puzzled. I deeplyregretted that Browning had treated the country parson abruptly, andwondered whether I could not make excuse to call by pretending toexpress regret for the rudeness of my servant.
I was all eagerness to know something concerning this man Pennington,and was prepared even to sink my own pride in order to learn it.
Jack Marlowe was away in Copenhagen, and would not return for a week.In London I had many friends, but there were few who interested me,for I was ever thinking of Sylvia--of her only and always.
At last, one morning I made up my mind, and, leaving Waterloo,travelled down to Andover Junction, where I hired a trap, and, afterdriving through the little old-fashioned town out upon the dustyLondon Road for a couple of miles or so, I came to the long stragglingvillage of Middleton, at the further end of which stood the ancientlittle church, and near it the comfortable old-world rectory.
Entering the gateway, I found myself in pretty, well-wooded andwell-kept grounds; the house itself, long, low, and covered withtrailing roses, was a typical English country rectory. Beyond that laya paddock, while in the distance the beautiful Harewood Forest showedaway upon the skyline.
Yes, Mr. Shuttleworth was at home, the neat maid told me, and I wasushered into a long old-fashioned study, the French windows of whichopened out upon a well-rolled tennis-lawn.
The place smelt of tobacco-smoke. Upon the table lay a couple ofwell-seasoned briars, and on the wall an escutcheon bearing itsowner's college arms. Crossed above the window was a pair ofrowing-sculls, and these, with a pair of fencing-foils in closeproximity, told mutely of long-past athletics. It was a quiet,book-lined den, an ideal retreat for a studious man.
As my eyes travelled around the room, they suddenly fell upon aphotograph in a dark leather frame, the picture of a young girl ofseventeen or so, with her hair dressed low and secured by a big blackbow. I started at sight of it. It was the picture of SylviaPennington!
I crossed to look at it more closely, but as I did so the door opened,and I found myself face to face with the rector of Middleton.
He halted as he recognized me--halted for just a second in hesitation;then, putting out his hand, he welcomed me, saying in his habitualdrawl--
"Mr. Biddulph, I believe?" and invited me to be seated.
"Ah!" I exclaimed, with a smile, "I see you recognize me, though wewere only passers-by on the Lake of Garda! I must apologize for thisintrusion, but, as a matter of fact, my servant Browning described agentleman who called upon me a few days ago, and I at once recognizedhim to have been you. He was rather rude to you, I fear, and----"
"My dear fellow!" he interrupted, with a hearty, good-natured laugh."He only did his duty as your servant. He objected to my infernalimpertinence--and very rightly, too."
"It was surely no impertinence to call upon me!" I exclaimed.
"Well, it's all a question of one's definition of impertinence," hesaid. "I made certain inquiries--rather searching inquiries regardingyou--that was all."
"Why?" I asked.
He mov
ed uneasily in his padded writing-chair, then reached over andplaced a box of cigarettes before me. After we had both lit up, heanswered in a rather low, changed voice--
"Well, I wanted to satisfy myself as to who you were, Mr. Biddulph,"he laughed. "Merely to gratify a natural curiosity."
"That's just it," I said. "Why should your curiosity have been arousedconcerning me? I do not think I have ever made a secret to any oneregarding my name or my position, or anything else."
"But you might have done, remember," replied the thin-faced rector,looking at me calmly yet mysteriously with those straight grey eyes ofhis.
"I don't follow you, Mr. Shuttleworth," I said, much puzzled.
"Probably not," was his response; "I had no intention to obtrudemyself upon you. I merely called at Wilton Street in order to learnwhat I could, and I came away quite satisfied, even though yourbutler spoke so sharply."
"But with what motive did you make your inquiries?" I demanded.
"Well, as a matter of fact, my motive was in your own interests, Mr.Biddulph," he replied, as he thoughtfully contemplated the end of hiscigarette. "This may sound strange to you, but the truth, could I butreveal it to you, would be found much stranger--a truth utterlyincredible."
"The truth of what?"
"The truth concerning a certain young lady in whom, I understand, youhave evinced an unusual interest," was his reply.
I could see that he was slightly embarrassed. I recollected how he hadsilently watched us on that memorable night by the moonlit lake, and afeeling of resentment arose within me.
"Yes," I said anxiously next moment, "I am here to learn the truthconcerning Miss Pennington. Tell me about her. She has explained to methat you are her friend--and I see, yonder, you have her photograph."
"It is true," he said very slowly, in a low, earnest voice, "quitetrue, Son--er, Sylvia--is my friend," and he coughed quickly toconceal the slip in the name.
"Then tell me something about her, and her father. Who is he?" Iurged. "At her request I left Gardone suddenly, and came home toEngland."
"At her request!" he echoed in surprise. "Why did she send you awayfrom her side?"
I hesitated. Should I reveal to him the truth?
"She declared that it was better for us to remain apart," I said.
"Yes," he sighed. "And she spoke the truth, Mr. Biddulph--the entiretruth, remember."
"Why? Do tell me what you know concerning the man Pennington."
"I regret that I am not permitted to do that."
"Why?"
For some moments he did not reply. He twisted his cigarette in histhin, nervous fingers, his gaze being fixed upon the lawn outside. Atlast, however, he turned to me, and in a low, rather strained tonesaid slowly--
"The minister of religion sometimes learns strange family secrets,but, as a servant of God, the confidences and confessions reposed inhim must always be treated as absolutely sacred. Therefore," he added,"please do not ask me again to betray my trust."
His was, indeed, a stern rebuke. I saw that, in my eager enthusiasm, Ihad expected him to reveal a forbidden truth. Therefore I stammered anapology.
"No apology is needed," was his grave reply, his keen eyes fixed uponme. "But I hope you will forgive me if I presume to give you, in yourown interests, a piece of advice."
"And what is that?"
"To keep yourself as far as possible from both Pennington and hisdaughter," he responded slowly and distinctly, a strange expressionupon his clean-shaven face.
"But why do you tell me this?" I cried, still much mystified. "Haveyou not told me that you are Sylvia's friend?"
"I have told you this because it is my duty to warn those in whosepath a pitfall is spread."
"And is a pitfall spread in mine?"
"Yes," replied the grave-faced, ascetic-looking rector, as he leanedforward to emphasize his words. "Before you, my dear sir, there liesan open grave. Behind it stands that girl yonder"--and he pointed withhis lean finger to the framed photograph--"and if you attempt to reachher you must inevitably fall into the pit--that death-trap socunningly prepared. Do not, I beg of you, attempt to approach theunattainable."
I saw that he was in dead earnest.
"But why?" I demanded in my despair, for assuredly the enigma wasincreasing hourly. "Why are you not open and frank with me? I--Iconfess I----"
"You love her, eh?" he asked, looking at me quickly as he interruptedme. "Ah, yes," he sighed, as a dark shadow overspread his thin, paleface, "I guessed as much--a fatal love. You are young andenthusiastic, and her pretty face, her sweet voice and her soft eyeshave fascinated you. How I wish, Mr. Biddulph, that I could reveal toyou the ghastly, horrible truth. Though I am your friend--and hers,yet I must, alas! remain silent! The inviolable seal of TheConfessional is upon my lips!"
Hushed Up! A Mystery of London Page 6
