by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XIV.
MISS GREEBY, DETECTIVE.
As Miss Greeby had informed Lambert, she intended to remain at theGarvington Arms until the mystery of Pine's death was solved. But herinterview with him necessitated a rearrangement of plans, since theincriminating letter appeared to be such an important piece of evidence.To obtain it, Miss Greeby had decided to return to London forthwith, inorder to compel its surrender. Silver would undoubtedly show fight, buthis mistress was grimly satisfied that she would be able to manage him,and quite counted upon gaining her end by bullying him into compliance.When in possession of the letter she decided to submit it to Agnes andhear what that lady had to say about it as a dexterous piece of forgery.Then, on what was said would depend her next move in the complicatedgame. Meanwhile, since she was on the spot and desired to gather allpossible evidence connected with Chaldea's apparent knowledge of thecrime, Miss Greeby went straight from Lambert's cottage to the gypsycamp.
Here she found the community of vagrants in the throes of an election,or rather their excitement was connected with the deposition of GentillaStanley from the Bohemian throne, and the elevation of Chaldea. MissGreeby mixed with the throng, dispensed a few judicious shillings andspeedily became aware of what was going on. It appeared that Chaldea,being pretty and unscrupulous, and having gained, by cunning, awonderful influence amongst the younger members of the tribe, wasinsisting that she should be elected its head. The older men and women,believing wisely that it was better to have an experienced ruler than apretty figurehead, stood by Mother Cockleshell, therefore the camp wasdivided into two parties. Tongues were used freely, and occasionallyfists came into play, while the gypsies gathered round the tent of theold woman and listened to the duet between her and the younger aspirantto this throne of Brentford. Miss Greeby, with crossed legs and leaningon her bludgeon, listened to the voluble speech of Mother Cockleshell,which was occasionally interrupted by Chaldea. The oration was deliveredin Romany, and Miss Greeby only understood such scraps of it as washastily translated to her by a wild-eyed girl to whom she had given ashilling. Gentilla, less like a sober pew-opener, and more resemblingthe Hecate of some witch-gathering, screamed objurgations at the pitchof her crocked voice, and waved her skinny arms to emphasize her words,in a most dramatic fashion.
"Oh, ye Romans," she screeched vehemently, "are ye not fools to begulled by a babe with her mother's milk--and curses that it fedher--scarcely dry on her living lips? Who am I who speak, asses of thecommon? Gentilla Stanley, whose father was Pharaoh before her, and whocan call up the ghosts of dead Egyptian kings, with a tent for a palace,and a cudgel for a sceptre, and the wisdom of our people at the serviceof all."
"Things have changed," cried out Chaldea with a mocking laugh. "For oldwisdom is dead leaves, and I am the tree which puts forth the green ofnew truths to make the Gorgios take off their hats to the Romans."
"Oh, spawn of the old devil, but you lie. Truth is truth and changesnot. Can you read the hand? can you cheat the Gentile? do you know thelaw of the Poknees, and can you diddle them as has money? Says you, 'Ican!' And in that you lie, like your mother before you. Bless yourwisdom"--Mother Cockleshell made an ironical curtsey. "Age must bowbefore a brat."
"Beauty draws money to the Romans, and wheedles the Gorgios to part withred gold. Wrinkles you have, mother, and weak wits to--"
"Weak wits, you drab? My weakest wits are your strongest. 'Wrinkles,'says you in your cunning way, and flaunts your brazen smoothness. I spiton you for a fool." The old woman suited her action to the word. "Everywrinkle is the mark of lessons learned, and them is wisdom which theRomans take from my mouth."
"Hear the witchly hag," cried Chaldea in her turn. "She and her mustywisdom that puts the Romans under the feet of the Gentiles. Are notthree of our brothers in choky? have we not been turned off common andout of field? Isn't the fire low and the pot empty, and every pursewithout gold? Bad luck she has brought us," snarled the girl, pointingan accusing finger. "And bad luck we Romans will have till she is turnedfrom the camp."
"Like a dog you would send me away," shrieked Mother Cockleshell,glancing round and seeing that Chaldea's supporters outnumbered her own."But I'm dangerous, and go I shall as a queen should, at my own freewill. I cast a shoe amongst you,"--she flung one of her own, hastilysnatched off her foot--"and curses gather round it. Under its heelsshall you lie, ye Romans, till time again and time once more beaccomplished. I go on my own," she turned and walked to the door of hertent. "Alone I go to cheat the Gentiles and win my food. Take your newqueen, and with her sorrow and starvation, prison, and the kicks of theGorgios. So it is, as I have said, and so it shall be."
She vanished into the tent, and the older members of the tribe, shakingtheir heads over the ill-omen of her concluding words, withdrewsorrowfully to their various habitations, in order to discuss thesituation. But the young men and women bowed down before Chaldea andforthwith elected her their ruler, fawning on her, kissing her hands andinvoking blessings on her pretty face, that face which they hoped andbelieved would bring prosperity to them. And there was no doubt that oflate, under Mother Cockleshell's leadership, the tribe had beenunfortunate in many ways. It was for this reason that Chaldea had raisedthe standard of rebellion, and for this reason also she gained hertriumph. To celebrate her coronation she gave Kara, who hoveredconstantly at her elbow, a couple of sovereigns, and told him to buyfood and drink. In a high state of enjoyment the gypsies dispersed inorder to prepare for the forthcoming festivity, and Chaldea, weary butvictorious, stood alone by the steps of the caravan, which was herperambulating home. Seizing her opportunity, Miss Greeby approached.
"My congratulations to your majesty," she said ironically. "I'm sorrynot to be able to stay for your coronation, which I presume takes placeto-night. But I have to go back to London to see a friend of yours."
"I have no friends, my Gentile lady," retorted Chaldea, with a fieryspark in each eye. "And what do you here amongst the gentle Romany?"
"Gentle," Miss Greeby chuckled, "that's a new word for the row that'sbeen going on, my girl. Do you know me?"
"As I know the road and the tent and the art of dukkerhin. You stay atthe big house, and you love the rye who lived in the wood."
"Very clever of you to guess that," said Miss Greeby coolly, "but as ithappens, you are wrong. The rye is not for me and not for you. Hemarries the lady he worships on his knees. Forgive me for speaking inthis high-flowing manner," ended Miss Greeby apologetically, "but inromantic situations one must speak romantic words."
Chaldea did not pay attention to the greater part of this speech, asonly one statement appealed to her. "The rye shall not marry the Gentilelady," she said between her white teeth.
"Oh, I think so, Chaldea. Your plotting has all been in vain."
"My plotting. What do you know of that?"
"A certain portion, my girl, and I'm going to know more when I seeSilver."
Chaldea frowned darkly. "I know nothing of him."
"I think you do, since you gave him a certain letter."
"Patchessa tu adove?" asked Chaldea scornfully; then, seeing that hervisitor did not understand her, explained: "Do you believe in that?"
"Yes," said Miss Greeby alertly. "You found the letter in Pine's tentwhen he was camping here as Hearne, and passed it to Silver so that hemight ask money for it."
"It's a lie. I swear it's a lie. I ask no money. I told the tiny rye--"
"Silver, I presume," put in Miss Greeby carelessly.
"Aye: Silver is his name, and a good one for him as has no gold."
"He will get gold from Lady Agnes for the letter."
"No. Drodi--ah bah!" broke off Chaldea. "You don't understand Romanes. Ispeak the Gorgio tongue to such as you. Listen! I found the letter whichlured my brother to his death. The rani wrote that letter, and I gave itto the tiny rye, saying: 'Tell her if she gives up the big rye free sheshall go; if not take the letter to those who deal in the law.'"
"The police, I suppose you mean
," said Miss Greeby coolly. "A verypretty scheme, my good girl. But it won't do, you know. Lady Agnes neverwrote that letter, and had nothing to do with the death of her husband."
"She set a trap for him," cried Chaldea fiercely, "and Hearne walkedinto it like a rabbit into a snare. The big rye waited outside andshot--"
"That's a lie," interrupted Miss Greeby just as fiercely, and determinedto defend her friend. "He would not do such a thing."
"Ha! but I can prove it, and will when the time is ripe. He becomes myrom does the big rye, or round his neck goes the rope; and she danceslong-side, I swear."
"What a bloodthirsty idea, you savage devil! And how do you propose toprove that Mr. Lambert shot the man?"
"Aha," sneered Chaldea contemptuously, "you take me for a fool,saying more than I can do. But know this, my precious angel"--shefumbled in her pocket and brought out a more or less formless pieceof lead--"what's this, may I ask? The bullet which passed throughHearne's heart, and buried itself in a tree-trunk."
Miss Greeby made a snatch at the article, but Chaldea was too quick forher and slipped it again into her pocket. "You can't prove that it isthe bullet," snapped Miss Greeby glaring, for she dreaded lest itsproduction should incriminate Lambert, innocent though she believed himto be.
"Kara can prove it. He went to where Hearne was shot and saw that therewas a big tree by the blue door, and before the shrubbery. A shot firedfrom behind the bushes would by chance strike the tree. The bullet whichkilled my brother was not found in the heart. It passed through and wasin the tree-trunk. Kara knifed it out and brought it to me. If this,"Chaldea held up the bullet again jeeringly, "fits the pistol of the bigrye he will swing for sure. The letter hangs her and the bullet hangshim. I want my price."
"You won't get it, then," said Miss Greeby, eyeing the pocket intowhich the girl had again dropped the bullet. "Mr. Lambert was absent inLondon on that night. I heard that by chance."
"Then you heard wrong, my Gentile lady. Avali, quite wrong. The big ryereturned on that very night and went to Lundra again in the morning."
"Even if he did," said Miss Greeby desperately, "he did not leave thecottage. His housekeeper can prove--"
"Nothing," snapped Chaldea triumphantly. "She was in her bed and thegolden rye was in his bed. My brother was killed after midnight, and ifthe rye took a walk then, who can say where he was?"
"You have to prove all this, you know."
Chaldea snapped her fingers. "First, the letter to shame her; then thebullet to hang him. The rest comes after. My price, you know, myGorgious artful. I toves my own gad. It's a good proverb, lady, and trueRomany."
"What does it mean?"
"I wash my own shirt," said Chaldea, significantly, and sprang up thesteps of her gaily-painted caravan to shut herself in.
"What a fool I am not to take that bullet from her," thought MissGreeby, standing irresolutely before the vehicle, and she cast a glancearound to see if such an idea was feasible. It was not, as she speedilydecided, for a single cry from Chaldea would bring the gypsies round toprotect their new queen. It was probable also that the girl would fightlike a wild cat; although Miss Greeby felt that she could manage her sofar. But she was not equal to fighting the whole camp of vagrants, andso was compelled to abandon her scheme. In a somewhat discontented mood,she turned away, feeling that, so far, Chaldea had the whip-hand.
Then it occurred to her that she had not yet examined Mother Cockleshellas had been her original intention when she came to the camp. Forthwithshe passed back to the tent under the elm, to interview the deposedqueen. Here, she found Gentilla Stanley placing her goods in an untidybundle on the back of a large gray donkey, which was her privateproperty. The old creature's eyes were red with weeping and her grayhair had fallen down, so that she presented a somewhat wild appearance.This, in connection with her employment, reminded Miss Greeby--whosereading was wide--of a similar scene in Borrow's "Lavengro," when Mrs.Pentulengro's mother shifted herself. And for the moment MotherCockleshell had just the hairy looks of Mrs. Hern, and also at themoment, probably had the same amiable feelings.
Feeling that the old woman detested her successful rival, Miss Greebyapproached, guessing that now was the right moment to work on her mind,and thus to learn what she could of Chaldea's underhand doings. Shequite expected a snub, as Gentilla could scarcely be expected to answerquestions when taken up with her own troubles. But the artful creature,seeing by a side-glance that Miss Greeby was a wealthy Gentile lady,dropped one of her almshouse curtseys when she approached, and bundledup her hair. A change passed over her withered face, and Miss Greebyfound herself addressing not so much a fallen queen, as a respectableold woman who had known better days.
"And a blessing on your sweet face, my angel," mumbled MotherCockleshell. "For a heart you have to feel for my sorrows."
"Here is a sign of my feelings," said Miss Greeby, handing over asovereign, for she rightly judged that the gypsy would only appreciatethis outward symbol of sympathy. "Now, what do you know of Pine'smurder?"
Mother Cockleshell, who was busy tying up the sovereign in a corner ofher respectable shawl, after biting it to make sure it was current gold,looked up with a vacant expression. "Murder, my lady, and what should Iknow of that?"
Miss Greeby looked at her straightly. "What does Chaldea know of it?"
A vicious pair of devils looked out of the decent widow's eyes in amoment, and at once she became the Romany. "Hai! She knows, does she,the drab! I hope to see her hanged."
"For what?"
"For killing of Hearne, may his bones rest sweetly."
Miss Greeby suppressed an exclamation. "She accuses Lady Agnes of layinga trap by writing a letter, and says that Mr. Lambert fired the shot."
"Avali! Avali!" Mother Cockleshell nodded vigorously, but did notinterrupt her preparations for departure. "That she would say, since sheloves the Gorgio, and hates the rani. A rope round her neck to set therye free to make Chaldea--my curses on her--his true wife."
"She couldn't have fired the shot herself, you know," went on MissGreeby in a musing manner. "For then she would remove an obstacle to Mr.Lambert marrying Lady Agnes."
"Blessings on her for a kind, Gentile lady," said Gentilla, piously,and looking more respectable than ever, since the lurking devils haddisappeared. "But Chaldea is artful, and knows the rye."
"What do you mean?"
"This, my lady. Hearne, who was the Gorgio Pine, had the angel to wife,but he did not hope to live long because of illness."
Miss Greeby nodded. "Consumption, Pine told me."
"If he had died natural," pursued Mother Cockleshell, pulling hard at astrap, "maybe the Gentile lady would have married the golden rye, whomshe loves. But by the violent death, Chaldea has tangled up both in herknots, and if they wed she will make trouble."
"So she says. But can she?"
"Hai! But she's a deep one, ma'am, believe me when I say so," MotherCockleshell nodded sapiently. "But foolish trouble has she givenherself, when the death of Hearne natural, or by the pistol-shot wouldstop the marriage."
"What do you mean?" inquired Miss Greeby once more.
"You Gentiles are fools," said Gentilla, politely. "For you put otherthings before true love. Hearne, as Pine, had much gold, and that heleft to his wife should she not marry the golden rye."
"How do you know that?"
"Chaldea was told so by the dead, and told me, my lady. Now the angel ofthe big house would give up the gold to marry the rye, for her heart isall for him. 'But,' says he, and tell me if I'm wrong. Says he, 'No. IfI make you my romi that would beggar you and fair it would not be, for aRomany rye to do!' So, my lady, the red gold parts them, because it'sred money."
"Red money?"
"Blood money. The taint of blood is on the wealth of the dead one, andso it divides by a curse the true hearts of the living. You see, mylady?"
Miss Greeby did see, and the more readily, since she had heard Lambertexpress exactly the sentiments with which the old gypsy cred
ited him.An overstrained feeling of honor prevented him in any case from makingAgnes his wife, whether the death had come by violence or by naturalcauses. But it was amazing that Gentilla should know this, and MissGreeby wonderingly asked her how she came by such knowledge. Therespectable widow chuckled.
"I have witchly ways, ma'am, and the golden rye has talked many a timeto me in my tent, when I told him of the Gorgious lady's goodness to mewhen ill. They love--aye, that is sure--but the money divides theirhearts, and that is foolish. Chaldea had no need to shoot to keep themapart."
"How do you know she shot Pine?"
"Oh, I can say nothing the Poknees would listen to," said MotherCockleshell readily. "For I speak only as I think, and not as I know.But the child was impatient for joy, and hoped by placing the cruel willbetween true hearts to gain that of the golden rye for her own part. Butthat she will not. Ha! Ha! Nor you, my lady, nor you."
"Me?" Miss Greeby colored even redder than she was by nature.
Gentilla looked at her shrewdly. "La! La! La! La!" she croaked. "Agebrings a mighty wisdom. They were fools to throw me out," and she jerkedher grizzled head in the direction of the caravans and tents.
"Don't talk rubbish, you old donkey! Mr. Lambert is only my friend."
"You're a woman and he's a man," said Mother Cockleshell sententiously.
"We are chums, pals, whatever you like to call us. I want to see himhappy."
"He will never be happy, my lady, unless he marries the rani. And death,by bringing the money between their true love, has divided them forever,unless the golden rye puts his heart before his fear of silly chatterfor them he moves amongst. The child was right to shoot Hearne, so far,although she could have waited and gained the same end. The rye is freeto marry her, or to marry you, ma'am, but never to marry the angel,unless--" Mother Cockleshell adjusted the bundle carefully on thedonkey, and then cut a long switch from the tree.
"I don't want to marry Mr. Lambert," said Miss Greeby decisively. "AndI'll take care that Chaldea doesn't!"
Gentilla chuckled again. "Oh, trust you for that."
"As to Chaldea shooting Pine--"
"Leave it to me, leave it to me, ma'am," said the old gypsy with agrandiloquent wave of her dirty hand.
"But I wish to learn the truth and save Lady Agnes from this trouble."
"You wish to save her?" chuckled Mother Cockleshell. "And not the goldenrye? Ah well, my angel, there are women, and women." She faced round,and the humor died out of her wrinkled face. "You wish for help and sohave come to see me? Is it not so?"
"Yes," said Miss Greeby tartly. "Chaldea will make trouble."
"The child won't. I can manage her."
Miss Greeby hitched up her broad shoulders contemptuously. "She hasmanaged you just now."
"There are ways and ways, and when the hour arrives, the sun rises toscatter the darkness," said Gentilla mystically. "Let the child win forthe moment, for my turn comes."
"Then you know something?"
"What I know mustn't be said till the hour strikes. But contentyourself, my Gorgious lady, with knowing that the child will make notrouble."
"She has parted with the letter?"
"I know of that letter. Hearne showed it to me, and would make for thebig house, although I told him fair not to doubt his true wife."
"How did he get the letter?"
"That's tellings," said Mother Cockleshell with a wink of her livelyeye.
"I've a good mind to take you to the police, and then you'd be forcedto say what you know," said Miss Greeby crossly, for the vague hintsirritated her not a little.
The old woman cackled in evident enjoyment. "Do that, and the pot willboil over, ma'am. I wish to help the angel rani who nursed me when I wassick, and I have debts to pay to Chaldea. Both I do in my own witchlyway."
"You will help me to learn the truth?"
"Surely! Surely! my Gorgious one. And now," Mother Cockleshell gave atug at the donkey's mouth, "I goes my ways."
"But where can I find you again?"
"When the time comes the mouth will open, and them as thinks they'rehigh will find themselves in the dust. Aye, and maybe lower, if six feetof good earth lies atop, and them burning in lime, uncoffined andunblessed."
Miss Greeby was masculine and fearless, but there was something so weirdabout this mystic sentence, which hinted at capital punishment, that sheshrank back nervously. Mother Cockleshell, delighted to see that she hadmade an impression, climbed on to the gray donkey and made a progressthrough the camp. Passing by Chaldea's caravan she spat on it andmuttered a word or so, which did not indicate that she wished a blessingto rest on it. Chaldea did not show herself, so the deposed queen wasaccompanied to the outskirts of the wood by the elder gypsies, mourningloudly. But when they finally halted to see the last of MotherCockleshell, she raised her hand and spoke authoritatively.
"I go and I come, my children. Forget not, ye Romans, that I say somuch. When the seed needs rain it falls. Sarishan, brothers and sistersall." And with this strange speech, mystical to the last, she rode awayinto the setting sun, on the gray donkey, looking more like an almshousewidow than ever.
As for Miss Greeby, she strode out of the camp and out of the Abbot'sWood, and made for the Garvington Arms, where she had left her baggage.What Mother Cockleshell knew, she did not guess; what Mother Cockleshellintended to do, she could not think; but she was satisfied that Chaldeawould in some way pay for her triumph. And the downfall of the girl wasevidently connected with the unravelling of the murder mystery. In awitchly way, as the old woman would have said herself, she intended toadjust matters.
"I'll leave things so far in her hands," thought Miss Greeby. "Now forSilver."
