by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XXI.
THORSTON.
IT is astonishing how closely one village resembles another inappearance. The square-towered church, the one winding street, thelow-roofed inn, and red-tiled cottages, isolated by narrow alleys; cornlands and comfortable farms around, and still further the mansions, moreor less stately, of the county families. Go where you will in thesouthern countries, all the villages are so constituted; one descriptionserves for all, though on occasions the expanse of the Channelintroduces a new feature into the landscape. Thorston was of the sameclass, but, in its own opinion, had more pretentions to grandeur thanits neighbors.
Before the Conquest it had been a considerable Saxon town, and, as itsname indicates, had flourished before the introduction of Christianityinto England. There, according to tradition, a temple to Thor theThunderer had stood on the hill now crowned with the church; hence thename of Thor's town. Report said that Edward the Confessor had built thechurch, but of his work little remained, and the present building wasdue to the piety or fears of a Norman baron, who wished to expiate hissins after the fashion of those times, by erecting a house to someinterceding saint. In the present instance this church was dedicated toSt. Elfrida, the holy daughter of Athelstan, who renounced her father'scourt to found a nunnery by the winding river Lax, famous for salmon, asis plainly hinted by its Scandinavian appellation. Yet notwithstandingchurch and tradition, Thorston had never since been of much importance,and it was now but an ordinary rural village, quaint and sleepy.
From Eastbourne the road, winding, dipping, rising, and curving like awhite snake, ran over hill, through dale, along plain, till itultimately formed the High Street of Thorston. Thence it ran again intothe country, but at this point it made its way between houses, thatchedand old; and toward the center opened into a market-place adorned by anantique cross. The Inn of St. Elfrida, with an effigy of the saint for asign, stood on the right of this square, fronting the battered cross;directly opposite a narrow road led on to the village green, at the endof which rose the low hill whereon the Church of St. Elfrida stood amidits trees. Lower down by the Lax could be seen the ruins of her nunnery,and a well frequented by her was to be inspected in the nearneighborhood. Here, said the legend, she fought with the devil, whostrove to carry away the tower of the church, and being worsted, as thedemons always were by Mother Church, he dropped the tower a few yardsoff the main building. As a matter of fact the square tower is detachedfrom the church, but, as has before been stated, it was built by theNormans long after Elfrida was laid to rest. But the legend took noaccount of dates, nor did the natives of Thorston, who would have beenhighly offended had anyone denied the authenticity of their story. Inconfirmation thereof they referred to the guide book--a notableauthority truly.
The whole neighborhood was full of St. Elfrida, who must have been abusy saint in her day, and numerous tourists came to view church, andtower, and holy well. The village derived quite an income from herreputation, and valued the saint accordingly. Amid ancient oaks stoodthe gray church with its detached tower; around lichened tombstonesleaned over one another, and rank grass grew up to the verge of the lowstone wall which ran like a battlement round the crest of the littlehill. A flight of rugged steps led up to the lych-gate, and here stood apretty girl in converse with Frank Linton, alias John Parver.
It was a hot summer's day, and the golden light, piercing through thefoliage of the trees, enveloped the girl in a glittering haze. She wasextremely pretty; dark-eyed, dark-haired, with a complexion of roses andlilies, and as neat a figure as was ever seen. Envious people said thatMiss Paynton pinched her waist, but such was not the case, for she wastoo careless of her appearance, and too careful of her health, tosacrifice the latter to the former. As a matter of fact, she appreciatedbrains more than beauty, and much preferred to exercise the first inclever conversation than to be complimented on the second. Linton, whohad known her for many years, skillfully combined the two modes ofpaying homage to his divinity. That he received hard words in return wasto be expected, for Jenny knew her power over the youth, and liked toexercise it. She was the least vain of mortals, but could not hide fromherself that she was clever and pretty, and therefore entitled toindulge in coquetry.
"You grow more beautiful every day, Jenny," said Linton, who had latelyarrived from town and was making up for lost time.
"And you more stupid," retorted Miss Paynton, climbing up on the lowwall, where she sat and smiled at him from under her straw hat. "If youhave come here to pay me compliments you can go away again. I want youto talk sense, not nonsense."
"What shall I talk about?"
"As if there were any question of that," said she, in supreme disdain."Are you not famous now? Tell me of your success."
"You know about it already. I sent you all the papers. 'A Whim of Fate,'is the book of the season."
"Oh, just think of that now! Oh, lucky, lucky Frank! So young and sosuccessful. You ought to be happy."
"I am happy, because I now see a chance of making you my----"
"Now you are talking nonsense," cried Jenny, ruthlessly interruptinghim. "I won't hear a word more, you ridiculous boy. You are my brother,nothing more."
"But----"
"Don't talk about it, Frank. Be sensible. Come now, you have not yettold me how your father received the news."
"Oh, he is pleased, of course," said Linton, unwillingly changing thesubject; "but he reserves his opinion till he has read the book. If hedoesn't like it he'll very likely order me to stop writing."
"I'm sure he won't," said Jenny promptly. "You'll make more as an authorthan as a lawyer."
"No doubt, if you continue to supply me with such excellent plots. Iwish I had your invention, Jenny."
"It was not invention. You know that quite well. I found an account ofthe trial in an old bundle of provincial newspapers. I couldn't havemade up such a story."
"Jenny," asked Linton, with some apprehension, "has your father read thebook?"
"No; I asked him to do so, but he refuses to read novels. History iswhat he likes--kings and dates, and battles. Father wouldn't waste aminute over fiction."
"I hope he won't be angry at your giving me the plot, Jenny."
Miss Paynton stared at him in surprise, and burst into a merry laugh.His objection seemed supremely ridiculous to her at that moment.
"My dear boy, why should he? The account of an old murder case can havenothing to do with him. I found the papers in the garret among a heap ofold books. I don't suppose he knows of their existence."
"It was a real case, wasn't it?"
"Yes; it took place at Horriston in 1866. But of course the public neednot know that."
"Well, I told someone about it."
"Oh, you are an idiot, Frank; or else," added Jenny more graciously,"you are very honest. I suppose you explained that the story was foundedon fact?"
"Yes."
"Who asked you about it?"
"Three people. An old gentleman, and two young men."
"What are their names?" asked Jenny curiously.
"I forget. The third one was called Tait, I think, but I don't rememberthe names of the other two. It doesn't matter, you know," continued thenovelist hastily; "lots of authors found their plots on episodes in reallife."
"Oh, it's of no consequence," said Jenny idly. "I suppose they thoughtthe plot was too clever for you to invent. At all events the credit isdue to you for solving the mystery."
"Ah! But did I solve it properly? Do you think Michael Dene committedthe crime?"
"No, I don't!" rejoined Jenny promptly. "I think Jeringham did."
"Jeringham. Who is he?"
"I forgot," said Jenny, with some dismay, "I did not tell you the realnames of the people. Jeringham is the man you call Markham in the book.If you remember, I wanted you to make him commit the crime."
"If I had done so no one would have read the book," protested theauthor. "His flight made it so paten
t that he was guilty; and I had toput the crime on to someone like Dene, whom no reader would suspect. Doyou think that Markham--Jeringham really committed the murder?"
"Yes, I do. If he was innocent why did he fly?"
"Was he ever found again," asked Linton, with some curiosity.
"Never! It is five-and-twenty years ago since the murder was committed,and it is a mystery to this day."
"I'd like to read that newspaper report for myself," said the author,after a pause. "Could you not let me see it?"
Jenny shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she replied guiltily. "You seeKerry found me with the papers one day and took them away. He was veryangry, and said I had no business to look at them."
"My stars!" cried Linton, in a startled tone; "what will he say when hefinds out that you and I have made use of them?"
"He won't find out," replied Jenny, jumping down off the wall. "Kerrynever reads novels, and no one will tell him. Oh, it's quite safe,Frank, quite safe."
"I'm not so sure of that, Jenny. My father will talk about my book toMr. Paynton, and he'll tell Kerry."
"Well, what if he does," cried Jenny, skipping down the steps. "I'm sureI don't care if Kerry does know. Who cares for a musty, fusty old crimeof five-and-twenty years ago? Don't trouble about it, Frank. I'll takethe blame."
Linton walked on in silence beside her, and they entered the marketplace on their way to the vicarage, He was beginning to have some qualmsabout the matter. Kerry had a very bad temper, and Linton was by nomeans anxious to encounter him.
"I wish we had left it alone," he said gloomily, pausing by the cross inthe square.
"Nonsense! Don't be a moral coward," said Jenny pettishly. "I'll takethe blame on myself. Kerry can't kill me be----"
At this point she was interrupted by a dog-cart containing two youngmen, which spun past rapidly. The driver took off his hat to MissPaynton with a smile.
"Oh!" said Jenny composedly, when the vehicle had vanished, "there isour new Lord of the Manor, Mr. Tait."
"Why, those are the two fellows who questioned me about my story!" criedLinton.
"Are they? Yes, you mentioned the name of Tait," said Jenny quietly;"but what does it matter? What a fuss you make over nothing."
"Jenny," said Linton solemnly, "there is going to be trouble over thatstory."
Miss Paynton stared at him in surprise, then pointed an accusing fingerat him.
"Francis Linton," she said slowly, "you are a silly fool. If ever I helpyou again in your writing, I give you leave to marry me."
Then she ran away and left him dumfounded in the market place. But shewas by no means so light-hearted as she appeared to be. Kerry's anger,the questions of the two strangers, made her feel uneasy, and shethought it would have been better had she left the provincial newspapersin the garret. But Fate decided otherwise, and Jenny Paynton, though sheknew it not, was an unconscious instrument to revive interest in aforgotten case, to solve a mystery of five-and-twenty years, and tobring an unknown criminal to justice. Life is a chess board, we are thepuppets, and Fate plays the game.
