by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER IX.
Directly after breakfast was over the next morning the Rector came in.
"I would not come in yesterday, Mark," he said. "I knew that you wouldbe best alone; and, indeed, I was myself so terribly upset by the newsthat I did not feel equal to it. I need not say how deeply I and my wifesympathize with you. Never did a kinder heart beat than your father's;never have I seen people so universally grieved as they are in thevillage. I doubt whether a man went to work yesterday, and as forthe women, had it been a father they had lost they could not be moreaffected."
"Yes, he will be greatly missed," Mark said unsteadily; "and, betweenourselves--but this must go no further--I have a suspicion, amountingalmost to a certainty, that the hand that dealt this blow is the samethat caused the vacancy that brought you here."
"Do you mean Arthur Bastow?" Mr. Greg said in amazement. "Why, I thoughtthat he was transported for fifteen years."
Then Mark told the Rector the inner history of the past six months,and of the report they had had from the officer at Bow Street of thepersonal appearance of the wounded man.
"Other things are in favor of it," he went on. "My father's watch andpurse were untouched, and a stranger on a dark night would be hardlylikely to have discovered the ladder, or to have had a file in hispocket with which to cut through a link, though this might have beenpart of the apparatus of any burglar. Then, again, an ordinary man wouldhardly have known which was my father's bedroom, except, indeed, that hesaw the light there after those in the ladies' rooms were extinguished;but, at any rate, he could not have told which was my father's and whichwas mine. But all this is, as I said, Mr. Greg, quite between ourselves.I had a long talk yesterday with Sir Charles Harris, and, as he said,there is no legal proof whatever, strong as the suspicion is; so I amgoing to say nothing on the subject at the inquest. The scoundrel's poorfather is dying, happily in ignorance of all this. Dr. Holloway was upwith him all night, and told me this morning before he drove off that itis very unlikely that he will get through the day."
"It is all very terrible, Mark; but I cannot deny that everything pointsto the man. Surely no one else could have cut short so useful a life,for certainly no ordinary degree of hatred would drive a man, howeverbrutal his nature, to commit such a crime, and to run the risk ofhanging for it. Let us take a brisk walk in the garden for an hour--thatwill be the best thing for you. I will stop with you until the inquestis over, and then you had better come over and have lunch with us."
"Thank you; I cannot do so," Mark said, "though I should like to. In thefirst place, Millicent will come downstairs this afternoon, and I shouldlike to be in to meet her. Had it not been for that I might have come,as I can walk across the fields to the Rectory without passing throughthe village. There is another reason. I sent up yesterday by the coacha letter to be delivered at once by hand, and I expect a detective downhere by one o'clock. I don't know that he will do any good; but atthe same time it will give me something to do, and at present there isnothing I dread so much as sitting alone. Fortunately, yesterday eveningMillicent went to bed at five o'clock, and Mrs. Cunningham sat with meall the evening, and her talk did me a great deal of good."
The inquest occupied a very short time, the only point on which manyquestions were asked being as to the firing through the window. Markstated that it was already so dark that although he was within fiftyyards of the man when he mounted and rode off, he could not give anyvery distinct description of his figure. It struck him as being that ofa man of medium height.
"You have made out that the bullet was intended for your father?"
"I cannot say that, sir, it went between his head and that of Mr.Bastow, but it might have been meant for either."
"Was your father impressed with the idea that it was an attempt tomurder him?"
"He naturally thought so. Mr. Bastow can assuredly have no enemies,while my father, as a magistrate, may have made some. He certainlythought it was an attempt to murder him, and was so impressed by thefact that when we went to the library later on he went into certainfamily matters with me that he had never communicated before, and which,had it not been for this, he would not have entered into for some yearsto come."
"He had his opinion, then, as to who was his assailant?"
"He had, sir, but as it was but an opinion, although there wereseveral facts that seemed to justify the conviction, there was no proofwhatever, and therefore I do not think myself justified in saying whatthat opinion was."
"Do you entertain the same opinion yourself?"
"I do," Mark said emphatically; "but until I can obtain some evidence insupport of what is really but a matter of opinion, and because, were Ito give the name, it would lessen my chance of obtaining such evidence,I decline to mention the name."
"You have no doubt that the author of the second attempt is the same asthat of the first?"
"Personally, I have no doubt whatever; it stands to reason that it isbarely possible that two men could have, unknown to each other, made uptheir minds to murder my father on the same evening."
The constable's evidence added nothing to that given by Mark. He hadbeen down to the lane where the man pursued had mounted. The reins ofthe horse had apparently been thrown over a gatepost, and he thought ithad been standing there for some little time, for there were marks whereit had scraped the ground repeatedly. He had followed the marks of itshoofs for some distance; it had gone at a gallop for about half a mile,and then the pace had slackened into a trot. It continued until thelane fell into the main road, but beyond this he had been unable todistinguish it from the marks of the traffic in general.
"You found no footprints whatever near the foot of the ladder, oranywhere else round the house?"
"None whatever, sir."
"There were no signs of any other window or door save that of Mr.Thorndyke's room being attempted?"
"None at all, sir."
There was but a short consultation between the jurors, who at oncereturned a verdict of "Willful murder by some person or personsunknown."
Dr. Holloway had, after giving evidence, returned at once to Mr.Bastow's room. The only point of importance in his evidence was thestatement that the wound must have been fatal at once, the heart itselfhaving been penetrated. It had been inflicted by a dagger or a narrowbladed knife.
"Do you mean that it was an unusually small dagger, Dr. Holloway?"
"I should say it was a very fine dagger; not the sort of weapon that youwould expect to find a highwayman carry, if he carried one at all, butrather a weapon of Spanish or Italian manufacture."
"Not the sort of wound that a rapier would make?"
"Yes, the wound itself might have been very well made by a light rapier,but there was a slight bruise on the flesh on each side of the wound,such a mark as might be made by the handle or guard of a dagger, andsufficiently plain to leave no doubt in my mind that it was so made."
"Had the wound a downward course, or was it a straight thrust?"
"A straight thrust," the doctor replied. "My idea is that the two menwere grappling together, and that as Mr. Thorndyke was a very powerfulman, his assailant, who probably was approaching the bed with thedagger in his hand, plunged it into him; had he struck at him I shouldcertainly have expected the course of the wound to be downward, as Ifancy a man very seldom thrusts straight with a dagger, as he would dowith a rapier."
When the inquest was over, Mark, going out into the hall, found thedoctor waiting there for him.
"Mr. Bastow breathed his last some ten minutes ago. I saw when I went upto him just before I gave my evidence that it was likely that he woulddie before I returned to the room."
"I am very sorry," Mark said, "although I expected nothing else fromwhat you told me: He was a very kind hearted man; no one could havehad a kinder or more patient tutor than he was to me, while my fatherregarded him as a very dear and valued friend. I am expecting theundertaker here in a few minutes, and they can both be buried at thesame time."
It was l
ate in the afternoon before Millicent came down with Mrs.Cunningham. The news of Mr. Bastow's death had set her tears flowingafresh; she had been very fond of him, and that he and the Squire shouldhave been taken at once seemed almost beyond belief. She had, however,nerved herself to some degree of composure before she went down to meetMark; but although she returned the pressure of his hand, she was unablefor some time to speak. Mrs. Cunningham thought it best to speak firston the minor grief.
"So Mr. Bastow has gone, Mark?"
"Yes, Dr. Holloway thought very badly of him yesterday, and said that hehad but very faint hope of his rallying. I cannot help thinking that itwas best so. Of course, he was not a very old man, but he has for someyears been a very feeble one, and now that Millicent and I have bothgiven up our studies with him, I think that he would have felt that hiswork was done, and would have gone downhill very fast."
"I think so, too," Mrs. Cunningham agreed. "I am sure that even had theSquire's death come quietly, in the course of nature, it would havebeen a terrible blow to him. He was fond of you and Millicent, but hisaffection for your father was a passion; his face always lit up when hespoke to him. I used to think sometimes that it was like an old dog withhis master. It was quite touching to see them together. I think, Mark,with you, that it is best that it should be as it is."
Gradually the conversation turned to other matters. Millicent was,however, unable to take any part in it, and half an hour later she heldout her hand silently to Mark and left the room hurriedly. The next dayshe was better, and was able to walk for a time with Mark in the gardenand talk more calmly about their mutual loss, for to her, no less thanto Mark, the Squire had been a father.
"'Tis strange to think that you are the Squire now, Mark," she said asthey sat together in the dining room on the evening before the funeral.
"You will think it stranger still, Millicent," he said, "when I tell youthat I am not the Squire, and never shall be."
She looked up in his face with wonder.
"What do you mean, Mark?"
"Well, dear, you will know tomorrow, as Mr. Prendergast, one of thefamily solicitors, is coming down; but I think it is as well to tell youbeforehand. It has been a curious position all along. I never knew itmyself till my father told me when we went into the library afterthe shot was fired. The news did not affect me one way or the other,although it surprised me a great deal. Like yourself, I have alwayssupposed that you were my father's ward, the daughter of an old comradeof his brother's. Well, it is a curious story, Millicent. But there isno occasion for you to look frightened. The fact is you are my uncle'sdaughter and my cousin."
"Oh, that is not very dreadful!" she exclaimed in a tone of relief.
"Not dreadful at all," Mark said. "But you see it involves the fact thatyou are mistress of this estate, and not I."
Millicent stood up suddenly with a little cry. "No, no, Mark, it cannotbe! It would be dreadful, and I won't have it. Nothing could make mehave it. What, to take the estate away from you when you have all alongsupposed it to be yours! How could I?"
"But you see it never has been mine, my dear. Father might have livedanother five-and-twenty years, and God knows I have never looked forwardto succeeding him. Sit down and let me tell you the story. It was not myfather's fault that he reigned here so long as master, it was the resultof a whim of your father's. And although my father fought against it, hecould not resist the dying prayer of my uncle."
He then related the whole circumstances under which the girl had beenbrought up as Millicent Conyers, instead of Millicent Conyers Thorndyke,and how the estate had been left by Colonel Thorndyke's will to hisbrother until such time as Millicent should come of age, or marry,and how he had ordered that when that event took place the rest of hisproperty in money and jewels was to be divided equally between Mark andherself.
"It must not be, Mark," she said firmly. "You must take the estate, andwe can divide the rest between us. What is the rest?"
"To begin with," Mark said cheerfully, "there are 25,000 pounds,the accumulations of the rents of the estate after the death of mygrandfather up to the time when the Colonel returned from India; andthere are, besides, a few thousands, though I don't exactly know howmany, that my father paid over to the solicitors as the surplus of therents of the estates after paying all expenses of keeping up this house.He very properly considered that although he had accepted the situationat your father's earnest wish, he ought not to make money by doing so.If we put it down at 30,000 pounds altogether, you see there is 15,000pounds for each of us. A very nice sum for a young man to start lifewith, especially as I shall have my father's estate near Hastings,which brings in 500 pounds a year; and as the rents of this have beenaccumulating for the last ten years, my share will be raised from 15,000pounds to 20,000 pounds. Besides this, there is the main bulk of theColonel's fortune made in India. That seems to be worth about 100,000pounds but I must own that the chance of getting it seems very small."
"How is that, Mark?"
Mark told her the whole story.
"I mean to make it my business to follow the matter up," he said. "Ithink that the chance of ever finding it is very small. Still, it willgive me an object to begin life with."
"Oh, I hope that you will never find it!" she exclaimed. "From what yousay it will be a terrible danger if you do get it."
Mark smiled.
"I hardly think so, Millicent. I cannot believe that people would befollowing up this thing for over fifteen years, for it was many yearsbefore the Colonel came home that he got possession of these diamonds.Even Hindoos would, I think, have got sick of such a hopeless affairlong before this; but as they may ever since your father's death havebeen watching us, although it hardly seems possible, I shall follow outthe Colonel's instructions, and get rid of those particular diamondsat once. I shall only keep them about me long enough to take them toAmsterdam and sell them there. The Colonel said they were the finestdiamonds that he ever saw, and that he really had no idea of what theywere worth. However, that is for the future."
"Mrs. Cunningham has known this all along, Mark?"
"Not about the money affairs, but of course she knew that you were mycousin. She brought you from India, you see, and has known allalong that the Colonel was your father. She knows it, and the familysolicitors know it, but I believe no one else, except, perhaps, Ramoo. Iam not sure whether he was in uncle's service when you were sent over inMrs. Cunningham's charge. He may know it or he may not, but certainlyno one else does, except, as I say, the solicitors and myself. Possiblysome other of the Colonel's old comrades knew that there was a childborn; but if they were in England and happened to hear that my fatherhad succeeded to the estate, they would, of course, suppose that thechild had died."
"Then," Millicent said, in a tone of relief, "there can be no reason whyanyone else should know anything about it. I will see Mr. Prendergastwhen he comes down tomorrow, and beg him to say nothing about it;15,000 pounds is quite enough for any girl; and besides, you say that myfather's greatest wish was that I was not to be married for money, andafter all the pains that have been taken, his wish will not be carriedout if I am to be made owner of the estate."
"You won't be able to persuade Mr. Prendergast to do that," Mark said,smiling. "It is his duty simply to carry out the provisions of yourfather's will, and to place you in possession of the estate; and if hewould keep silence, which he certainly won't, you don't suppose that Iwould."
"Then I shall hate you, Mark."
"I don't think you will, Millicent, and I would rather that you did thatthan that you should despise me. At the present moment you may thinkthat this estate would be only a burden to you, but some day when youmarry you might see the matter in a different light."
The girl looked at him reproachfully.
"I should never think so!" she burst out. "What would you have me do?Live here in this great house, with only Mrs. Cunningham, while you aregoing about the world seeking for this treasure? Never!"
"No, I don't th
ink that it would be nice for you to do that, Millicent,"Mark said. "Mrs. Cunningham and I have been talking it over. We thoughtthat the best plan would be for her to take a house in London, and gothere with you; you would have the advantages of good masters.
"Then you were saying only a short time since that you would like tolearn the harp and take lessons in painting. There would be time enoughto think about what you would do with respect to this house afterward."
"It is all horrible," Millicent said, bursting into tears, "and I shallalways feel that I have robbed you."
"But I don't feel so in the least," Mark urged. "I was not in thesmallest degree put out when my father told me about it. I have alwayshad a fancy for wandering about the world, as my uncle did, and doingsomething to distinguish myself, instead of settling down for life to bea country magistrate and a squire. Of course it came as a surprise, butI can assure you that it was not an altogether unpleasant one. Whatcan a man want more than a nice little estate of 500 pounds a year and20,000 pounds in money?"
"It is all very well to say that, but as you said to me just now, youmay see it in a different light some day."
Then she sat thinking for some time. "At any rate," she went on at last,"I don't see why anyone should know about it now. If the house is to beshut up and you are going away, why need anyone know anything about it?My father's wish was that I should not have people making love to mejust because I was an heiress; after all that has been done, it would bewicked to go against his wishes. I suppose the interest of this 15,000pounds would be enough for Mrs. Cunningham and I to live comfortably onin London?"
"Yes," Mark said; "it will, at 5 per cent, bring in 750 pounds a year."
"Then I shall remain Millicent Conyers to the world. There is nothing toprevent that, is there?" she said almost defiantly.
"No," he replied thoughtfully. "The rents of this estate mightaccumulate. I suppose the solicitors would see after that; and as Ishall be away it will, of course, make no difference to me. Were I tostay in the neighborhood I could not consent to live as my father did,in a false position; but even then I might give out that the propertyhad only been left to my father during his lifetime, and that it had nowgone elsewhere, without saying whom it had gone to. However, as I shallbe away there will be no occasion even for that. When the will is readthere will be no one present but ourselves, and I don't see why itscontents should not be kept a secret for a time; at any rate, we can askMr. Prendergast's opinion upon that subject."
At this moment, Mrs. Cunningham coming into the room, Millicent ran toher and threw her arms round her neck.
"He has made me most miserable," she said. "I thought I could not havebeen more miserable than I was before he told me all about it."
"I knew that he was going to do so, and I was quite sure that you wouldnot be pleased at the news. I have all along thought that it was amistake on the part of your father; but as it was his decision, and notmine, I only had to carry out his wishes."
"It is cruel," Millicent sobbed. "I don't mean it is cruel of my father;of course he could not have known, and he thought he was doing the bestthing for my happiness, but it has all turned out wrong."
"For the present you may think so, dear; but you must remember that upto the present time it has turned out well. I know that your uncle didnot like it at first, but I think that he passed ten happy years here.It gave him a great power for doing good, and he worthily availedhimself of it. We have all spent a happy time; he was universally likedand respected. I think all of us have benefited by it. It would not havebeen half as pleasant if it had been known that you, my child, were thereal owner of the estate, and he was acting merely as your guardian.Let us hope that everything will turn out as well in future. ColonelThorndyke told me that he had left a considerable sum in addition to theestates, and that this was to be divided between you and Mark; so yousee your cousin will not go out into the world a beggar."
"It is most of it lost," Millicent said with an hysterical laugh. "Itis all hidden away, and no one can find it; everything has gone wrongtogether."
"Well, I think, dear, that you had better go up to bed. I will gowith you. At the present time this, of course, has come upon you as anadditional shock. I would gladly have shielded you from it for a time ifI could have done so, but you must have learned it tomorrow, and I quiteagree with Mark that is was better that he should tell you this evening.I sent down to the town today to the doctor's and asked him to send meup a soothing draught, thinking that you might be upset by the news. Ihope by the morning you will be able to look at matters more calmly."
Some time later Mrs. Cunningham came down again.
"She has cried herself to sleep," she said. "She is much grieved aboutthis money being lost."
"It is annoying; still I cannot help thinking that the Colonel must havetaken some such precaution to prevent the treasure from being lost."
"One would certainly think so," Mrs. Cunningham agreed; "the Colonelseemed to me a methodical man. I know that he had the reputation ofbeing one of the most particular men in the service as to all pettydetails. His instructions to me before I left him were all very minute,and he gave me a sealed packet which he told me contained instructionsand a copy of the register of his marriage and of Millicent's birth, andhe said that in case of his death I was to take it to your father. Hesaid that there was a letter inclosed in it to him, and also a copyof his will. The letter was directed to your father, and not to me.I handed it over to him when he asked me to come here. He told meafterwards that the letter contained the request that his brother livedto make personally to him--that the child should be brought up as hisward; and that he had handed the certificates to a lawyer, who had,however, received copies of them from the Colonel himself before he wentdown to see your father. So, as he took these precautions to insurehis wishes being carried out in the event of his sudden death, I shouldthink that he must have done something of the sort with regard to thistreasure."
"I should think that extremely likely, Mrs. Cunningham. I certainly hadnot thought of that before, and I hope that for Millicent's sake and myown it may turn out to be so. I can get on extremely well withoutit, but at the same time I don't pretend that 50,000 pounds are to bedespised."
The next morning Mr. Prendergast, who had arrived at Reigate late theevening before, and had put up at an inn, came up to the house an hourbefore the time named for the funeral. He learned from Mark that he hadalready acquainted Millicent with her change of circumstances. A fewminutes after he arrived, a servant told him that Miss Conyers would beglad if he would see her alone for a few minutes in the drawing room.Mark had already prepared him for her request.
"Mark has told you that he told me about this hateful thing last night,I suppose, Mr. Prendergast?"
"He has," the old lawyer said kindly; "and he tells me also that you arenot at all pleased at the news."
"Pleased! I should think not, Mr. Prendergast," she said indignantly. "Iam not going to rob my cousin of what he has always been taught to thinkas his inheritance. It is abominable, I call it, and most unnatural."
"But, my dear young lady, it is yours, and not his. I do not wish todiscuss whether the arrangement was altogether a wise one, but I thinkthat so far it has turned out well for all parties. Your estate hasprofited greatly by the management of your uncle, the tenants and allconnected with it have benefited greatly, he himself has had activeemployment afforded him, of which he was fond. Your cousin has,I believe, enjoyed the advantages of the position, and has becomeacquainted with the best people in this part of the country, and willnow obtain the benefit of something like 15,000 pounds--a comfortablelittle sum, especially as he inherits, I believe, his father's propertyin Sussex. You yourself will have obtained what I cannot but considerthe advantage of having been brought up without knowing that you were anheiress, and therefore without being spoiled, which is, in my opinion,the case with many young ladies in such a condition; therefore I cannotbut think that, if unwise in its conception, the matter has so
farworked out well. I am bound to say that Mr. Mark Thorndyke has beenspeaking to me very handsomely on the subject, and that he appears in noway disappointed at finding that you are the heiress of the estate, andis really concerned only at your unwillingness to accept the situation."
"I wanted to know, Mr. Prendergast," she said, but in a tone that showedshe was convinced by his manner that her request would be refused, "ifyou could arrange so that things would not be disturbed, and he shouldcome into possession as his father's heir in the natural way."
"But you see he is not his father's heir, Miss Thorndyke. His fatheronly had the use, as we call it, of the property until you came of age,or marriage; it was not necessary for it to come to you on your comingof age, but only, as your father explained to me, in the event of yourmarriage; that is to say, it was not to become public that you wereentitled to the estate until your marriage. If you married before youwere twenty-one the property was then to come to you. If you did notyou were to be informed of the circumstances or not, as Mr. Thorndykemight decide was best, but you were not to come into the property untilyou married. Your cousin was also to be informed when you came to theage of twenty-one, and as at that time he was to take his half share ofthe remainder of the property, he would then be able to arrange his lifeas he liked. If your uncle died, as unfortunately he has done, beforeyou reached the age of twenty-one, you would then be placed in yourproper position; but your father desired us to say to you that it washis wish, that if it could be arranged, your having succeeded to theownership should not be publicly known until you divulged it to yourhusband after marriage. The other portions of the will must be carriedout. This being only a request, you are at liberty to follow it or notas you may choose."
"Certainly I should choose," the girl said. "After all this trouble toprevent my being run after as an heiress, it would be wicked to upsetit all and to fly in the face of his wishes by setting up as mistress ofthis estate. Still you understand, Mr. Prendergast, that I don't mean totake it."
The lawyer smiled indulgently. "There is one way in which it might bemanaged," he said. "Perhaps you can guess what it is?"
A flush of color rose over the girl's face. "Don't say it, I beg of you,Mr. Prendergast. Mrs. Cunningham hinted at it this morning, and I toldher that my own wish entirely agreed with that of my father, and thatI was determined not to be married for money; and I am quite sure thatMark would be as unwilling as I am that the estate should change handsin that way. No, Mr. Prendergast, you must find some other way of doingit than that. Surely an estate cannot be forced upon anyone who isdetermined not to take it."
"Well, we must think it over," Mr. Prendergast said quietly. "And now Ithink that it is time for me to join the others."
