The Middle of Things

by J. S. Fletcher

  CHAPTER IX

  LOOKING BACKWARD

  On the principle that business should never be discussed when one isdining, Mr. Pawle made no reference during dinner to the matter which hadbrought Viner and himself to the Ellingham Arms. He devoted all hisattention and energies to the pleasures of the table; he praised thegrilled soles and roast mutton and grew enthusiastic over some oldBurgundy which Mrs. Summers strongly recommended. But when dinner wasover and he had drunk a glass or two of old port, his eyes began to turntoward the door of the quaint little parlour in which he and Viner hadbeen installed, and to which the landlady had promised to come.

  "I confess I'm unusually curious about what we're going to hear, Viner,"he said, as he drew out a well-filled cigar-case. "There's an atmosphereof mystery about our presence and our surroundings that's like anaperitif to an already hungry man. Ashton, poor fellow, comes over tothis quiet, out-of-the-way place; why, we don't know; what he does herewe don't know, yet--but all the circumstances, up to now, seem to pointto secrecy, if not to absolute romance and adventure."

  "Is it going, after all, to clear up the mystery of his death?" askedViner. "That's what concerns me--I'm afraid I'm a bit indifferent to therest of it. What particular romance, do you think, could be attached tothe mere fact that Ashton paid a three days' visit to Marketstoke?"

  Mr. Pawle drew out a well-filled cigar-case.

  "In my profession," he answered, "we hear a great deal more of romancethan most folk could imagine. Now, here's a man who returns to thiscountry from a long residence in Australia. The first thing he does,after getting settled down in London, is to visit Marketstoke. WhyMarketstoke? Marketstoke is an obscure place--there are at least five orsix towns in this very county that are better known. Again, I say--whyMarketstoke? And why this, the very first place in England? For whatreason? Now, as a lawyer, a reason does suggest itself to me; I've beenthinking about it ever since that rosy-cheeked lass called at my officethis afternoon. What does the man who's been away from his native landfor the best part of his life do, as a rule, when at last he sets foot onit again--eh?"

  "I'm not greatly experienced," replied Viner, smiling at the oldsolicitor's professional enthusiasm. "What does he do--usually?"

  "Makes his way as soon as possible to his native place!" exclaimed Mr.Pawle, with an expressive flourish of his cigar. "That, usually, is thefirst thing he thinks of. You're not old enough to remember thecircumstances, my boy, but I have, of course, a very distinctrecollection of the Tichborne affair in the early seventies. Now, if youever read the evidence in that _cause celebre_, you'll remember that theclaimant, Orton, on arriving in England, posing as the missing heir, SirRoger Tichborne, did a certain thing, the evidence of which, I can assureyou, was not lost on the jury before whom he eventually came. Instead ofgoing direct to Tichborne, where you'd naturally have thought all hisaffection and interests rested, where did he go? To Whitechapel! Why?Because the Ortons were Whitechapel folk! The native place called him, doyou see? The first thought he had on setting foot on English soilwas--Whitechapel!"

  "Are you suggesting that Ashton was probably a native of Marketstoke?"asked Viner.

  "I mean to find out--no matter what we hear from the landlady--if thatname is to be found in the parish register here, anyway," answered Mr.Pawle. "You can be sure of this--Ashton came to this obscure country townfor some special purpose. What was it? And--had it anything to do with,did it lead up to, his murder? That--"

  A light tap at the door heralded the approach of Mrs. Summers.

  "That," repeated Mr. Pawle, as he jumped up from his chair and politelythrew the door open, "is what I mean to endeavour--endeavour, at anyrate--to discover. Come in, ma'am," he continued, gallantly motioning theold landlady to the easiest chair in the room. "We are very eager,indeed, to hear what you can tell us. Our cigars, now--"

  "Pray, don't mention them, sir," responded Mrs. Summers. "I hope you arequite comfortable, and that you are having everything you wish?"

  "Nothing ma'am, could be more pleasant and gratifying, as far asmaterial comfort goes," answered Mr. Pawle with conviction. "The dinnerwas excellent; your wine is sound; this old room is a veritable haven! Iwish we were visiting you under less sad conditions. And now about yourrecollections of this poor gentleman, ma'am?"

  The landlady laid a large book on the table, and opening it at a pagewhere at she had placed a marker, pointed to a signature.

  "That is the writing of the Mr. John Ashton who came here," she said."He registered his name and address the day he came--there it is: 'JohnAshton, 7 Markendale Square, London, W.' You gentlemen will recogniseit, perhaps?"

  Mr. Pawle put up his glasses, glanced once at the open book, and turnedto Viner with a confirmatory nod.

  "That's Ashton's writing, without a doubt," he said. "It's a signaturenot to be forgotten when you've once seen it. Well, that establishes thefact that he undoubtedly came here on that date. Now, ma'am, what can youtell about him?"

  Mrs. Summers took the chair which Viner drew forward to the hearth andfolded her hands over her silk apron.

  "Well sir," she answered, "a good deal. Mr. Ashton came here one Mondayafternoon, in a motorcar, with his luggage, and asked if I could give himrooms and accommodation for a few days. Of course I could--he had thisroom and the room I pointed out upstairs, and he stayed here until theThursday, when he left soon after lunch--the same car came for him. Andhe hadn't been in the house an hour, gentlemen, before I wondered if hehadn't been here before."

  "Interesting--very!" said Mr. Pawle. "Now, why, ma'am did youwonder that?"

  "Well, sir," replied Mrs. Summers, "because, after he'd looked round thehouse, and seen his room upstairs, he went out to the front door, andthen I followed him, to ask if he had any particular wishes about hisdinner that evening. Our front door, as you will see in the morning,fronts the market square, and from it you can see about all there is tosee of the town. He was standing at the door, under the porch, lookingall round him, and I overheard him talking to himself as I went upbehind him.

  "'Aye!' he was saying, as he looked this way and that, 'there's the oldchurch, and the old moot-hall, and the old market-place, and the oldgabled and thatched houses, and even the old town pump--they haven'tchanged a bit, I reckon, in all these years!' Then he caught sight of me,and he smiled. 'Not many changes in this old place, landlady, in yourtime?' he said pleasantly. 'No, sir,' I answered. 'We don't change muchin even a hundred years in Marketstoke.' 'No!' he said, and shook hishead. 'No--the change is in men, in men!' And then he suddenly setstraight off across the square to the churchyard. 'You've knownMarketstoke before,' I said to myself."

  "You didn't ask him that?" inquired Mr. Pawle, eagerly.

  "I didn't, sir," replied Mrs. Summers. "I never asked him a question allthe time he was here. I thought that if I was correct in what I fancied,I should hear him say something. But he never did say anything of thatsort--all the same, I felt more and more certain that he did know theplace. And during the time he was here, he went about in it in a fashionthat convinced me that my ideas were right. He was in and around thechurch a great deal--the vicar and the parish clerk can tell you moreabout his visits there than I can--and he was at the old moot-hallseveral times, looking over certain old things they keep there, and hevisited Ellingham Park twice, and was shown over the house. And beforehe'd been here two days I came to a certain conclusion about him, andI've had it ever since, though he never said one word, or did one thingthat could positively confirm me in it."

  "Yes!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle. "And that, ma'am, was--"

  "That he was somebody who disappeared from Marketstoke thirty-five yearsago," answered the landlady, "disappeared completely, and has never beenheard of from that day to this!"

  Mr. Pawle turned slowly and looked at Viner. He nodded his head severaltimes, then turned to Mrs. Summers and regarded her fixedly.

  "And that somebody?" he asked in hushed accents. "Who was he?"

  The landlady smoothed her silk a
pron and shook her head.

  "It's a long story, sir," she answered. "I think you must have heardsomething of it--though to be sure, it was not talked of much at thetime, and didn't become public until legal proceedings became necessary,some years ago. You're aware, of course, that just outside the town hereis Ellingham Park, the seat of the Earl of Ellingham. Well, what I haveto tell you has to do with them, and I shall have to go back a good way.Thirty-five years ago the head of the family was the seventh Earl, whowas then getting on in life. He was a very overbearing, harsh oldgentleman, not at all liked--the people here in Marketstoke, nearly allof them his tenants, used to be perpetually at variance with him aboutsomething or other; he was the sort of man who wanted to have his own wayabout everything. And he had trouble at home, at any rate with his elderson,--he only had two sons and no daughter,--and about the time I'mtalking of it came to a head. Nobody ever knew exactly what it was allabout, but it was well known that Lord Marketstoke--that was the elderson's name--and his father, the Earl, were at cross purposes, if notactually at daggers drawn, about something or other. And when LordMarketstoke was about twenty five or twenty-six there was a great quarrelbetween them; it broke out one night, after dinner; the servants heardangry words between them. That night, gentlemen, Lord Marketstoke leftthe house and set off to London, and from that day to this he has neverbeen heard of or seen again--hereabouts, at any rate."

  Mr. Pawle, who was listening with the deepest interest and attention,glanced at Viner as if to entreat the same care on his part.

  "I do remember something of this, now I come to think of it," he said."There were some legal proceedings in connection with this disappearance,I believe, some years ago."

  "Yes, sir--they were in the newspapers," asserted the old landlady. "Butof course, those of us about here knew of how things stood long beforethat. Lord Marketstoke went away, as I have said. It was known that hehad money of his own, that had come to him from his mother, who had diedyears before all this. But it wasn't known where he went. Some said he'dgone to the Colonies; some said to America. And at one time there was arumour that he'd taken another name and joined some foreign army, andbeen killed in its service. Anyway, nobody ever heard a word of him--Mr.Marcherson, who was steward at Ellingham Park for over forty years (hedied last year, a very old man) assured me that from the day on whichLord Marketstoke left his father's house not one word of him, not abreath, ever reached any of those he'd left behind him. There wasabsolute silence--he couldn't have disappeared more completely if they'dlaid him in the family vault in Marketstoke church."

  "And evident intention to disappear!" observed Mr. Pawle. "You'll markthat, Viner--it's important. Well, ma'am," he added, turning again toMrs. Summers. "And--what happened next?"

  "Well sir, there was nothing much happened," continued the landlady."Matters went on in pretty much the usual way. The old Earl got older, ofcourse, and his temper got worse. Mr. Marcherson assured me that he wasnever known to mention his missing son--to anybody. And in the end,perhaps about fifteen years after Lord Marketstoke had gone away, hedied. And then there was no end of trouble and bother. The Earl had leftno will; at any rate, no will could be found, and no lawyer could beheard of who had ever made one. And of course, nobody knew where the newEarl was, nor even if he was alive or dead. There were advertisementssent out all over the world--Mr. Marcherson told me that they weretranslated into I don't know how many foreign languages and published inevery quarter of the globe--asking for news of him and stating that hisfather was dead. That was done for some time."

  "With no result?" asked Mr. Pawle.

  "No result whatever, sir--I understand that the family solicitors neverhad one single reply," answered Mrs. Summers. "I understand, too, thatfor some time before the old Earl's death they'd been trying to traceLord Marketstoke from his last known movements. But that had failed too.He had chambers in London, and he kept a manservant there; the manservantcould only say that on the night on which his young master left EllinghamPark he returned to his chambers, went to bed--and had gone when he, themanservant, rose in the morning. No, sir; all the efforts andadvertisements were no good whatever, and after some time--someconsiderable time--the younger brother, the Honourable CharlesCave-Gray--"

  "Cave-Gray? Is that the family name?" interrupted Mr. Pawle.

  "That's the family name, sir--Cave-Gray," replied Mrs. Summers. "One ofthe oldest families in these parts, sir--the earldom dates from QueenAnne. Well, the Honourable Charles Cave-Gray, and his solicitors, ofcourse, came to the conclusion that Lord Marketstoke was dead, and so--Idon't understand the legal niceties, gentlemen, but they went to thecourts to get something done which presumed his death and let Mr.Charles come into the title and estates. And in the end that had beendone, and Mr. Charles became the eighth Earl of Ellingham."

  "I remember it now," muttered Mr. Pawle. "Yes--curious case. But it wasproved to the court, I recollect, that everything possible had been doneto find the missing heir--and without result."

  "Just so, sir, and so Mr. Charles succeeded," asserted Mrs. Summers. "Hewas a very nice, pleasant man, not a bit like his father--a very good andconsiderate landlord, and much respected. But he's gone now--died threeyears ago; and his son, a young man of twenty-two or three, succeededhim--that's the present Earl, gentlemen. And of him we see very little;he scarcely ever stayed at Ellingham Park, except for a bit of shooting,since he came to the title. And now," she concluded, with a shrewd glanceat the old lawyer, "I wonder if you see, sir, what it was that came intomy mind when this Mr. John Ashton came here a few weeks ago, especiallyafter I heard him say what he did, and after I saw how he was spendinghis time here?"

  "I've no inkling, ma'am; I've no inkling!" said Mr. Pawle. "Youwondered--"

  "I wondered," murmured Mrs. Summers, bending closer to her listeners, "ifthe man who called himself John Ashton wasn't in reality the long-lostLord Marketstoke."