The Red Window

by Fergus Hume

  CHAPTER VI

  A MAIDEN GENTLEWOMAN

  "Hurseton, in Essex, lies about ten miles from the coast, and iselevated on a wide plateau whence can be obtained a fine and picturesqueview of the famous marshes. It is a quaint, old-world village, gatheredround an ancient Saxon Cross, which occupies the centre of the villagegreen. The church--eleventh century--is dedicated to St. Peter, and is,for the most part, sunken in the ground owing to its antiquity. Thetower and spire are of wood. Many of the gentry have country seats inthis popular vicinity. The rising watering-place of Market-on-Sea, fivemiles distant, is much frequented by Londoners during the holidayseason. Hurseton can be reached from town by rail a little over thehour."

  So far the guide-book; but the above-mentioned gentry referred totherein were not at all pleased by the advertisement, as many of thecheap trippers came to visit the place from Market-on-Sea, and by nomeans improved the countryside with their rowdy manners. Miss BerengariaPlantagenet was especially wrathful at the yearly plague of sightseers,and would have put them all in jail had she been able. She was adignified old lady, small in stature, with a withered rosy face, whitehair, and eyes as keen as those of a robin, if not so shallow. Hermansion--so she called it--stood at the end of the village, a little wayback from the long, straight road which ran towards the coast and themarshes. But the term mansion was rather a misnomer. The place hadoriginally been a small farmhouse, and Miss Berengaria--as she wasusually called--had added to it considerably, so that it formed anirregular pile of buildings, all angles and gables, sloping roofs andstacks of twisted chimneys. Some of it was thatched, a portion wascovered with mellow red tiles, and a kind of round turret, quite out ofkeeping with the rest of the building, was slated. Every species ofarchitecture was represented in "The Bower," and the name did not fit itin the least. But Miss Berengaria had dwelt in it for forty years--eversince she had been disappointed in love--and, being a lady of singularlyindependent character, she gave the house its odd appellation. The lowpile of buildings--for the most part of these did not exceed one storyin height--looked quaint and queer, but then Miss Berengaria was queerherself.

  Every morning she could be seen in her garden snipping and picking andclipping and scolding. The gardens were divided from the highroad by alow hedge of holly and hawthorn, carefully trimmed, and presented apleasant spectacle of lawn and flower-beds. In summer the place was gaywith cottage flowers, for Miss Berengaria, being old-fashioned herself,would have no new-fangled importations. The flowers she loved weresnapdragon, sweet-william, heart's-ease, and all those homely blossomssuch as John Bunyan loved. The house was covered with Virginia creeper,wistaria and ivy, and through the thick growth peeped the latticedwindows under heavy eyebrows of gray thatch. It might have been acottage out of a fairy tale for quaintness; and its mistress might havebeen a fairy herself in stature and oddity. The villagers liked her,though she was rather dreaded.

  "A sharp old lady," said the host of the Conniston Arms, "and quite thelady, bless you! though she do keep fowls and ducks and though she dosell her fruit. She looks like a gipsy by way of dress in the day, butwhen she claps her diamonds on at night, bless you! she's as grand asthe queen herself."

  This report was perfectly true. Miss Berengaria always dressed--as sheput it--anyhow during the day; but at night she appeared in silver graysilk covered with costly lace, and wearing jewels of great value. Shehad a weakness for jewels, and had many, which she wore every evening.People hinted that she would be robbed, as the cottage was situated inrather a solitary position, and a quarter of a mile from the village.But Miss Berengaria was a stout-hearted old lady and laughed such ideasto scorn.

  As it was now winter, Miss Berengaria was attired in a wincey dresswith a tartan shawl, and wore rubber boots on her feet and largegardener's gloves on her hands. Having finished clipping andpruning--she kept no gardener, saying she knew more than a trainedprofessional--she tripped round to the back of the house, where acolony of fowls, pigeons, ducks, turkeys and geese welcomed her comingwith much noise. Her hobby--amongst others--was fowl-farming, and shegave up a large portion of her time to rearing and fattening birds forthe market. As her income was five thousand a year there was no need forher to work so hard, but she was out at all times and in all weathersattending to her feathered pets. A particularly ugly bull-dog, calledSloppy Jane, accompanied her. Miss Berengaria did not approve of thename, but the dog would answer to no other, so it had to be adopted.Sloppy Jane was devoted to her mistress and to Alice. While MissBerengaria was feeding the fowls and wondering when the gong would soundfor breakfast, Alice came out with a paper in her hand. She was a tall,slim girl with a fair face and brown eyes and hair. Not particularlypretty, perhaps, but with such a sweet expression and such a charmingdisposition that young men fell in love with her on the spot. Nor aftera closer acquaintance did any see fit to change their opinions. Had SirSimon seen her he might have approved of Bernard's choice, but therebeing a standing quarrel between the old baronet and Miss Berengaria, onthe rights of a footpath, the old man had never come near "The Bower"for years. The old gentlewoman, in spite of a rather sharp manner, wasfond of Alice, and Miss Malleson was devoted to her. The morning wassharp and cold, but there was a blue sky and occasional glints ofsunshine. "And I shouldn't wonder if we had snow," said Miss Berengaria,looking up. "Perhaps a snowy Christmas. Ah, we had them when I was agirl. But there! the weather's deteriorated like everything else."

  "Aunt," said Alice, in a faint voice--Miss Berengaria always liked tohear the name, although she was no relative--"Aunt!"

  At the sound of the faint voice the old dame wheeled round--she wasactive in spite of being eighty years of age--and uttered an exclamationon seeing the white face of the girl. Alice was deathly pale and,clinging with one hand to some wire netting, held a newspaper in theother. "What's the matter, child? Anything wrong?"

  "Bernard?" gasped Alice. "Oh, Bernard! Bernard!"

  "This must be looked into," said Miss Berengaria, using her favoriteexpression. "Something is wrong with that silly boy. What's he beendoing, child? It must be something bad if it's in the paper."

  "I don't believe he did it," said Alice, trembling. "He is innocent."

  Miss Berengaria trembled also and sat down. "Don't hint at horrors,Alice," she said, with an effort at self-command. "I'm not fit for suchthings. I don't suppose the boy's killed anyone--though, to be sure, ashe's a soldier now, it's his trade."

  "Murder!"

  "Eh! What's that? Murder, Alice!" The old lady's ruddy cheeks grewwhite, and she stretched out her hand for the paper. "Show me!" she saidresolutely.

  Alice did not hand her the paper. She seemed almost incapable ofunderstanding what was said.

  "Bernard is dead!" she moaned.

  "Dead! Great Heavens!"

  "He is drowned. It's all in the paper. It's all--Oh--oh!"

  Breaking off suddenly she dropped the paper, and fled towards the houselike a creature suddenly aroused to life. Miss Berengaria did not lose amoment. With an activity wonderful in a woman of her years she sprang toher feet, and hurried up the path round to the front of the house,following in the wake of the weeping girl. She saw Alice disappear intothe porch and enter the breakfast-room, where the meal was alreadywaiting. There, on the hearth-rug, Alice fell prone. Miss Berengariaknelt down and took her hand. She had not fainted, but, cold andshivering, was sobbing as though her heart would break. And perhaps itwould, under this unexpected and terrible calamity. Bernard was heridol, and now he was dead, and his memory fouled with the accusation ofan awful crime.

  Finding that Alice still had her senses Miss Berengaria nodded and satdown. "The best thing for you, my dear," she said in a soft voice. "Weepyour heart out, while I read the paper."

  These words sound rather heartless, but the old lady did not intend themto be so. She realized that tears would relieve the strain on the almoststunned girl, and welcomed them gladly. Alice knew that her friend spokefor th
e best, but she gave no sign as, lying prone on the rug, sheconcealed her agonized face, while Miss Berengaria adjusting herspectacles, glanced through the paper. Already the gong had sounded, themeal smoked on the table, and there was no fear of interruptions by theservants. But neither Miss Berengaria nor Alice was able to eat in theface of this bolt from the blue.

  "Where is it, my dear?--oh, here! Murder and Suicide. A nice heading,upon my word. Rubbish! I don't believe a word of it."

  "Read! Read!" moaned the girl at her feet.

  "Alice," said Miss Berengaria, severely, "before reading a word I tellyou that I don't believe a word of it. Bernard, though a silly boy,would not kill a fly, nor would he kill himself. Murder and Suicide! Oh,rubbish--rubbish!"

  "But you know, and I know, he quarrelled with his grandfather."

  Miss Berengaria looked at the girl's white face as she half crouched,half sat on the rug, with her eyes wild and her brown hair in disorder.

  "I don't see what Sir Simon has to do with it," said she, tartly.

  "He is dead."

  "Dead!"--Miss Berengaria shivered. "You don't mean to say that."

  "Read! Read! Everything is against him--everything. Oh, how can I bearmy life? How can I live?"

  "Alice," said the old dame again, although she was very white, "if thislying paper means to say that Bernard murdered Sir Simon, I tell youagain that I don't believe a word of it. You, who love him, ought tobelieve in his innocence."

  "But the evidence."

  "A fig for evidence. Circumstantial evidence has hanged an innocent manbefore now. Bernard Gore kill that old tyrant----?"

  "Hush! He is dead!"

  "And so we are to speak well of him," snapped Miss Berengaria. "Oh,well"--she rubbed her nose--"we'll tell lies about him like the majorityof tombstones do of those who lie below, but I tell you, foolish girlthat you are, Bernard did not kill the old man, nor did he killhimself."

  "But the paper says----"

  "I don't care what the paper says," said Miss Berengaria, resolutely."No, indeed. I am a better judge of character than any paper. That poorboy was vilely treated by that--there! there! I won't say a word againstSir Simon. He's dead, and we must be lenient. But Bernard Gore isinnocent. Before I read I tell you that."

  "I hope it may be so," cried Alice, clasping her hands.

  "It is so," said the other, sharply and in a truly feminine way. "All Iknow is that Sloppy Jane adored him, and she's not the dog to adoreanyone who would shed blood."

  Alice could not but see that this reasoning was not based on facts. But,all the same, ridiculous though it was, she derived a certain comfortfrom it. Miss Berengaria, who had been thus optimistic to quieten thepoor girl, nodded, when Alice took a seat in the opposite chair morecomposed, and addressed herself to mastering the facts of the case.Alice, with clasped hands, stared at the old lady as she read silentlybut with frequent raising of her eyebrows and sometimes a sniff. Thepaper stated that Sir Simon and his grandson, Bernard, were enemies,that the young man, having been hanging round the house for a fortnightcourting the housemaid, had secured an interview with the elder whenMiss Randolph was at the theatre. He had evidently quarrelled with SirSimon, and, having chloroformed him, had quietly strangled him with hisown handkerchief, after which he left the house. Then followed anaccount of the pursuit and failure to capture Gore. "He escaped theofficers by plunging into the river," said the journal. "Next morninghis khaki coat and hat were found on the opposite bank, so doubtless hegot rid of them when attempting to swim. But what, with the cold and thefog, undoubtedly he must have succumbed to the force of the current."Finally the paper stated that an inquest would be held within two dayson the dead body. At the conclusion of this somewhat bald article, MissBerengaria gave a short laugh and threw down the paper. "I don't believea word of it," she said, folding her arms, "and I'm going up to London."

  "What for, aunt?"

  "To see into the matter myself. I believe that Beryl creature isresponsible for the whole thing."

  "But see," said Alice, picking up the paper, "he was at the theatre withLucy and a Mrs. Webber."

  "I don't care. Failing Bernard, Julius comes in for the money."

  "He comes in for it even without that," said Alice, bitterly. "Don't youremember that Sir Simon disinherited Bernard because he would not giveme up? I implored Bernard, for his own sake, to break our engagement,but he refused. He gave up all for me, and now he is dead--dea--dead.Oh," sobbed Alice, "how unhappy I am!"

  "How foolish you are," said Miss Berengaria, her eyes hard and bright."Do you think a man, who could act towards you in so noble a way, wouldcommit a cowardly murder, and then shirk the consequences? Not at all.I'm ashamed of you. I once loved," said the old lady, rising andmarching energetically about the room, "and my lover was a fool and avillain. Bernard is neither. He is a fine fellow, God bless him andbring him safely out of this trouble! He shall have my help--yes, mybest help," added Miss Berengaria nodding.

  "But he is dead."

  "He is not dead, you weak-minded, silly, hysterical girl. That sort ofman has as many lives as a cat. He's alive, to vindicate his reputationand to bring home the crime to the real assassin."

  "But who can that be?" asked Alice, comforted by this assurance.

  "I don't know," said Miss Berengaria, taking a seat at the table. "Comeand pour out my coffee, and eat."

  Alice dragged herself to the table and took up the silver pot. "I can'teat," she said faintly.

  "Yes, you can; and, what's more, you're going to. No nonsense with me,miss. You and I have a hard task before us."

  "What is that?"

  Miss Berengaria laid down her knife and fork with which she was about tocarve a piece of bacon. "Well, I am astonished," she said, glaring. "Inmy young days a girl in love would have been ashamed to make such aspeech. Why, bless me! haven't we got to prove Bernard's innocence?"

  "Will that bring him to life?" said Alice, bitterly.

  "It would, if it were necessary; but it isn't. Bernard's in hiding."

  "Can you be sure?"

  "Alice Malleson," said the resolute old dame, "if you were younger Iwould shake you and send you to bed on bread and water. You don'tdeserve to be loved by such a man. He gave up all for you, and youbelieve the worst of him."

  "Bernard has a temper, and he might have--"

  "But he didn't. I know he has a temper. I admire his temper. I saw himthrash a tramp for throwing away a loaf of bread, and that warmed myheart towards him. Had I married the villain I didn't marry, and hehadn't been such a villain as he was, I would have had a son just likeBernard--perhaps two or three. Dear! dear, what a loss to the BritishEmpire that I never married."

  In spite of her grief Alice could not help smiling at this way ofputting things. But certainly Miss Plantagenet was right. Had she been amother, her dauntless nature was of the sort that would have bred bravesons for the motherland. The old lady was one of those strong peoplealways to be relied upon in time of calamity. The worse the trouble thequicker Miss Berengaria rose to the occasion. She prided herself onfacing facts, alleging that only in this way could things be settled. Atthe present moment she acknowledged silently to herself that thingslooked black against Bernard Gore and that he really might be dead forall she knew. But to Alice she refused to admit these thoughts.

  "This must be looked into," she said energetically, "and I am going upto town to see about the matter. When I have heard the evidence at theinquest I'll know how to shape my course."

  "What will you do?" asked Alice, brightening under this optimism.

  "When acquainted with the facts," said Miss Berengaria, rolling up hernapkin, "and when I have formed my theory--"

  "Your theory, aunt?"

  "Yes! My theory as to who murdered the old--Well, it's Sir Simon Imean--we must be lenient to his memory. But when I have formed my theoryI'll see a detective and place the matter in his hands. I shall thenadvertise for Bernard and we must see if we can't get him to come here."

  "
He would be arrested if he did."

  "Not at all. I know where to hide him. There's the haunted room in theturret. If he were hidden there no one could find him. And if anyone ofmy servants--my good servants," said the old dame, emphatically,"denounces him I'll eat my hat, and that's a vulgar expression," addedshe, as she placed the napkin on the table with a smart tap. "Child,come and help me to dress. I shall leave by the mid-day train. You cansend all letters to the Waterloo Hotel, Guelph Street."

  "But I am coming also," said Alice, rising resolutely.

  "No, you are not," rejoined Miss Berengaria, patting the hand laid onher shoulder, and turning back from the door. "Though I am glad to seethat you are ready to help."

  "Who has the right to help my darling but I?"

  "Ah!" Miss Berengaria rubbed her nose with satisfaction. "It does myheart good to hear you talk sense. Is Bernard innocent?"

  "Yes," said Alice, emphatically.

  "Is he alive?"

  The girl faltered, but Miss Berengaria's eyes were on her, and shefaltered out a faint "Yes."

  "Not so strong as you ought to be," said the aunt, sadly. "My dear, youmust believe that he is alive, because he is. I have no reason to give,so don't ask me for one. He is alive, and all you have to do is toremain here and watch for his coming. Yes. It is more than probable thatBernard will come here."

  "But the danger," said Alice, faintly.

  "Bernard knows neither you nor I will give him up, and this is the placehe will come to. The poor soul is being hunted down, I daresay. But heknows where to come to, bless him! Watch, my dear child. It is probablehe will come at night. Then take him to the turret room, and tell theservants to hold their tongues. What's that?"

  It was a demure old woman--all Miss Berengaria's servants were aged--whoadvanced with a telegram for Alice. With shaking fingers, the girlopened it. "From Mr. Durham," she said. "He is Bernard's lawyer andwants me to come to see him at once."

  "No," said Miss Berengaria, taking the telegram from her. "I'll gomyself. You stay here and wait for the coming of that poor boy."