The Blue Diamond

by Annie Haynes

  “Certainly we were, sir. Otherwise we shouldn’t have been on the spot when the alarm-bell rang. Yes, Sir Arthur’s getting up when he did cost that girl’s life; but, well, when all is said I dare say it is best for her as it is.”

  “Much the best,” Mr. Gore echoed, rubbing his forehead.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “THERE IS Minnie Spencer, off to her mother’s. Miss Mavis has made her go. I heard her tell Mrs. Parkyn’s she should. They say Minnie is afraid to put her head out of doors, she is that frightened of seeing Nurse Marston’s ghost—and no wonder, I say. I am sure in her place I should be ashamed of showing my face in the streets after being made such a fool of.” Lizzie, the smart under-housemaid, giggled and glanced coquettishly at Tom Greyson—if rumour spoke true she would be in no wise averse to consoling the good-looking young gamekeeper.

  Greyson did not smile back; he was looking away from the smiling prettiness of the girl confronting him down the avenue, where in the distance he could see a moving black speck—a speck that was Minnie Spencer.

  “She wouldn’t go in the shrubbery, not if it was ever so,” Lizzie went on, with a swift upturned glance at the young man’s absent face. “Last night she scared us all, rushing out of the still-room, and saying as she had seen Nurse Marston in the bushes outside. I wouldn’t have her conscience, that I wouldn’t, not for the world! They say as her ladyship was all for dismissing her, but Miss Mavis wouldn’t hear of it. She knew it would be difficult for Minnie to get another place—it isn’t every mistress as would give a girl like her a chance.”

  “Ah, another chance! That is what many of us would like in this life,” observed Greyson. “But I must be off,” and with a curt nod of farewell he moved away.

  Lizzie Prentice looked after him resentfully.

  “Pretty sort of boor he is! I shouldn’t wonder if, after all, Minnie was well rid of him,” she muttered to herself as she turned back to the house.

  All unconscious of the compliments that she was bestowing upon him, Tom Greyson strode across the park and through the Home Wood to his cottage.

  He found the key hanging upon the nail and let himself in; the woman who looked after his cottage had gone home, but his tea stood ready for him on the round table, a bright fire burned on the hearth. It was a cheerful and homelike interior, but Greyson’s face was dull and heavy as he threw himself down in his easy chair and whistled his dog to his knee. Presently he rose, and not without a certain awkwardness, yet with the air of a man who is accustomed to waiting upon himself, reached down his caddy and made himself a cup of tea.

  He sat stirring it for some minutes, while his eyes wandered to a rocking-chair that stood by the window —how well he remembered buying it! Minnie always had a fancy for a rocking-chair, and he had saved up a long time for it, determined to get the best of its kind, and he had planned that it should stand just there. That ornamental work-table too! He had stinted himself for weeks so that Minnie might not miss her pretty things, and he had often pictured to himself the time when he should see her there, busy with her bits of work. That was before Jim Gregory had come on the scene with his false face and lying words; Tom clenched his fist suggestively as he thought of him, but eventually he roused himself with a shake and gulped down his tea. Then, without a look at the goodly pile of scones and the appetizing slice of ham waiting for him, he rose and reached down his hat, banging the door behind him with a firmness which betokened some resolution taken.

  Outside the night was fast drawing in; there was a touch of frost on the grass, it felt crisp to his feet, and yet in the distance there was a faint suggestion of mist that warned him that the month of fogs was not yet over. Greyson took the turning that brought him out in Lockford Street and then slackened his steps and looked about him absently.

  Presently he caught sight of a little figure hurrying along the narrow, cobble-paved path. The girl would have passed without looking up, but Greyson placed himself in her way.

  “Good evening, Minnie! You are in a hurry.”

  She looked up with a start.

  “Yes. I—I must get back. I didn’t mean to be so late, but mother kept me, and now it is nearly dark.”

  She tried to hurry by him, but Greyson turned with her, accommodating his long strides to her fleeting steps.

  “I have to speak to Mrs. Parkyns about the game that’s ordered,” he observed, “so, if I shan’t be in your way, Minnie, I will just walk up with you.”

  Minnie’s face flushed; some of the scared look died out of her eyes.

  “You are only doing it out of kindness, Tom, but thank you very much, I’ll take it as it’s meant, for I’m frightened to death at the thought of going up the avenue and through the shrubbery by myself.”

  “I thought that was about how it was,” Greyson said gruffly as they turned in at the gates.

  They did not talk much as they walked up the long avenue. Once Minnie looked up at him.

  “Miss Mavis gave me till it was time to dress, but I should have been back before this only Widow Jackson was in at mother’s and I had to stop till she had gone before I could talk with mother. Widow Jackson had so many questions to ask. It upset me a bit.”

  “They all have,” the man assented. “A lot of clacking idiots.”

  He relapsed into silence again. Only too well did he realize much of the painful nature of the questioning to which Minnie would be subjected. Not in Lockford only was she an object of interest. The murder of Nurse Marston and the subsequent suicide and confession of her assassin had aroused the public in no ordinary way, and Minnie, as having been deluded into an engagement with the murderer, could not hope to escape observation, by no means of a charitable nature. The girl had paid a heavy price for her fickleness and folly, and Greyson’s heart ached as he saw how thin her cheeks had become and the pathetic droop of her eyes and mouth.

  “I saw Miss Mavis driving with Mr. Garth Davenant,” he said after a while. “I think they were going over to Overdeen. I hear it is to be put in order for the wedding at once.”

  “Yes,” said Minnie apathetically. “But Sir Arthur says he shan’t be at it,” she added. “He is going away as soon as he can. He don’t feel in touch with weddings and no more do I,” with an irrepressible sob.

  “Now, Minnie, don’t take on like that,” Greyson said awkwardly.

  “Isn’t it enough to make me?” the girl sobbed. “I tell you, Tom Greyson, all this has gone nigh to kill me. Often and often I wish they had took me off to prison, as I thought they was going to when the superintendent told me it was all found out. I tell you the truth, though I was frightened pretty nearly out of my senses about that conservatory door, the thought that he had”—she paused and caught her breath—“killed her never entered my head; I thought he knew something about it, and I have taxed him with it times without number; but he told me he hadn’t, and one always wants to believe the people one—loves.”

  There was a moment’s silence, then Greyson said heavily:

  “Ah, that is right enough.”

  Minnie smothered a sob with her handkerchief; then, as Greyson walked on with his eyes steadily fixed before him, his cap pulled over his eyes, she suddenly clutched his arm.

  “Tom! Tom! She is there again! Oh, I wish I was dead and out of this!”

  “What on earth do you mean, Minnie?”

  Greyson stared at her, an odd little thrill passing through him as he felt her hand grasping him so tightly.

  “There! There!” Minnie almost pulled him round and pointed. “It—don’t you see as it is Nurse Marston?” she gasped.

  Straining his eyes through the mist, and in spite of the overhanging branches, Greyson fancied he caught sight of a shadowy figure, a glimpse of a fluttering cloak, the gleam of a white apron. He started forward.

  “Wait a minute, Minnie, I will—”

  The girl caught at him with a cry of terror.

  “You aren’t going to leave me, Tom! I daren’t stop here by myself—
I should die of terror! Tom! Tom!”—her hands tightening as he still showed symptoms of wishing to escape—“I can’t let you—”

  “Don’t you see that I must find out what it is, Minnie?” he remonstrated. “I should catch her up in a minute.’’

  Minnie drew a deep sobbing breath.

  “I know well enough what it is. It is Nurse Marston walking again. I was in hopes now that she would rest, but it seems—”

  “Come, come, Minnie,’’ the man reproved, though his eyes looked puzzled, “you have nothing to fear from that poor thing; and I don’t believe as she would come back to frighten folk. I’ll just take you back to the house, and then—”

  With an effort Minnie grew calmer.

  “Thank you very much, Tom!” she said humbly. “Perhaps you would not mention it to them indoors as she had appeared to me again. They would all say as it is no more than I deserve, and that’s right enough. Indeed, I sometimes think that my punishment is more than I can bear.’’

  She drew her hand from his arm as she spoke, feeling a tiny pang as she reflected that a year ago he would not have let it go so easily.

  At the entrance to the stable-yard he paused.

  “You will be all right now, Minnie. I have made up my mind to find out what that thing is. Maybe I’ll come and see Mrs. Parkyns later.”

  Minnie stood still and watched his tall form striding away, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Oh, what a fool I’ve been! What a fool!” was her unspoken reflection as she turned indoors.

  Meanwhile Greyson, as he quickly made his way back to the shrubbery, was feeling distinctly puzzled. Hitherto he had set down the stories of the appearance of Nurse Marston’s apparition as merely hysterical fancies; but to-day, momentary as had been his vision, his own eyes had convinced him that they had at least some foundation in fact, and he was unable, as he mentally phrased it, to see daylight in the matter.

  He looked about him carefully in the shrubbery, but no sign of any intruder could he see. He was giving up the search in despair when, on turning down a side path to go back to the Manor, he saw a figure in a nurse’s bonnet and cloak standing with her back towards him.

  He came to a sudden stop, his heart beating faster, then he stole quickly and silently forward; the damp grass deadened any sound of his footsteps, and the figure still remained silent, motionless, until he was within a few paces, then with a weary sigh it moved away.

  With a quick breath he sprang after it and caught it in his arms, his grasp tightening as the first moment of contact showed him that this was no spirit or wraith, but real flesh and blood—flesh and blood, moreover, that was not inclined to take capture meekly and was capable of offering decided resistance.

  “Well, really,” a brisk matter-of-fact voice said, “what is the meaning of this? What sort of conduct do you call it, Tom Greyson?”

  Greyson’s grasp relaxed, his arms dropped.

  “Miss Gidden!” he ejaculated in amazement, certain conjectures flitting hazily through his mind.

  “Certainly it is Miss Gidden!” that lady assured him tartly. “What did you take me for, Tom Greyson, that you should think proper to pounce upon me in that fashion? Not for poor Mary Marston’s ghost, I presume, like those other people?”

  Greyson took off his cap and rubbed his forehead as he stared at her.

  “Then you are the ghost that has been frightening people?” he said slowly. “I can hardly believe—”

  “I am,” the lady avowed freely. “At least, I suppose I am,” she corrected. “I know when I have been taking a walk up here or in the Home Wood anyone who meets me usually throws up his or her hands wildly and rushes away.”

  Greyson could not take his gaze from her.

  “Why could you not speak out before and put an end to all this fright?”

  “Why should I?” Nurse Gidden said as she shrugged her shoulders. “I had no intention of alarming people; if their consciences pricked them and frightened them nearly to death when they saw me, was I called upon to set them at rest? Minnie Spencer, I suppose, or that wretched girl, Hilda? I tell you, Tom Greyson, I couldn’t make it out at first when I saw folk run away from the sight of me. I was staying down here for my holidays as you know, and I don’t as a rule wear uniform then. Still, when I go out in the dusk I fancy it is a sort of protection, and I used to come up here through the Home Wood and across the park sometimes of an evening, thinking of Mary and wondering where she could be. I felt sure from the finding of the notebook that the clue to her disappearance must lie between the Home Coppice and the Manor, and I used to fancy that if I looked perhaps I might find something that would help me—little thinking how near she was to me all that time, poor thing! Mr. Greyson”—striking her hands together passionately—“I loved Mary Marston. She was my greatest friend; there seems to me to be something unutterably cruel in her death.”

  “Ah, it was a terrible thing!” Greyson assented, his face looking gloomy and preoccupied.

  “Well, we must leave it at that,” said Nurse Gidden. “And, anyhow, I must be getting back, for I am only in Lockford for the day. Poor Mrs. Marston is not long for this world, and I want to be with her as much as I can. Still, I felt I must just come up here once more. Down here they must have gone and across there to the Home Wood. I can see it all in my own mind. Good night to you, Tom Greyson!” and with a curt nod she took her departure.

  Greyson walked back to the Manor; when his business with Mrs. Parkyns was done, he asked hesitatingly if he could see Minnie Spencer. Mrs. Parkyns looked at him doubtfully.

  “Well, you can, for she will be down from dressing Miss Mavis in a minute; but do you think you are wise, Greyson? Still, if the girl has done wrong she has suffered for it, and you know your own business best, both of you, I suppose.”

  “Well, I have got a bit of news for Minnie as I think she will be pleased to hear,” Greyson went on steadily, “if so be as you would give me the opportunity of telling her, Mrs. Parkyns, m’m.”

  The housekeeper was pleased with this appeal to her importance.

  “Certainly! Certainly!” she said affably. “You wait here, Greyson; I’ll send her to you. And as for your news, I dare say we shall all be hearing it before long.” She opened the door with as near an approach to a wink as her dignity would permit. “Here she is! Minnie, here is some one as is anxious to have a word with you. Come in, my girl; there is no call for you to look so frightened.”

  She pushed the girl into the room and shut the door.

  Minnie glanced up timidly.

  “Tom! What is it? Have you seen—”

  Greyson took her cold hand in his.

  “I have come to tell you that I have laid the ghost for you, Minnie! ’Twas naught but Miss Gidden, Nurse Marston’s friend; I caught her in the shrubbery.”

  The quick colour flushed Minnie’s face.

  “Oh, Tom! Are you sure?”

  “Ay, there is no doubt about it, my lass! She owned up to it herself as you had run away from her, believing her to be Nurse Marston. So there is no more cause for you to be scared. She won’t trouble you again.”

  “No!” The tears sprang up in Minnie’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks; wrenching her hand from Greyson’s, she drew out her handkerchief. “Oh, I shall never, never forgive myself!” she sobbed. “Thank you so much for finding it out and telling me, Tom!”

  Greyson drew near and laid his rough hand almost timidly on her shaking shoulder.

  “Come, come, Minnie! It is no good crying over what is past. You’ll be wiser in the future. You know as if there is anything you want doing you have only to tell me. You can trust your old playmate, can’t you, Minnie?”

  “Yes, yes!” the girl whispered, her sobs almost choking her. “You—you have always been good to me, Tom.”

  Greyson’s blue eyes grew dim as he bent over her.

  “It is early days yet, Minnie, and I hadn’t meant to speak so soon; but some time, dear, don’t you think you could
bring yourself to forget the past and let me take care of you? I would be very patient if you would give me one word of hope, Minnie.”

  For one moment Minnie glanced up, her tears checked by her surprise.

  “Oh, Tom, you don’t mean—It is like you to think of it, Tom. But don’t you see I am not deserving of such goodness—now?”

  Emboldened, Greyson ventured to put an arm lightly round her waist.

  “Don’t talk about goodness, Minnie,” he said gruffly. “Don’t you know you are the girl I have always wanted? Tell me that some day—”

  Minnie had turned to him and laid her head on his shoulder with a little weary sob.

  “Oh, Tom, Tom, you have been so good to me, and I am so tired!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  MAVIS was sitting in the morning-room, her favourite chair drawn up to the window, her work and books lying untouched before her as she gazed absently down the avenue. The girl was looking pale and tired. The events of the past few months had tried her sorely; the revelations of Hilda’s duplicity and her terrible death, as well as the discovery of Nurse Marston’s body and the suspicion which for a time had been attached to Garth Davenant—all these had had their effect upon her. She was unable to rouse herself to take an ordinary bridal interest in her trousseau, for preparations were now going on apace, and before Christmas she and Garth would be married.

  Her white cheeks and general languor had aroused Garth’s anxiety in no slight degree, and he had insisted upon a speedy wedding, after which he meant to carry off his bride to the Riviera, where later on Lady Laura and Dorothy would join them.

  Sir Arthur, unable to bear the comments excited both in the Press and throughout the country by the recent proceedings at Hargreave Manor, had, as soon as the double inquest was over, betaken himself to the Rocky Mountains in search of big game, and incidentally, it was hoped, forgetfulness, and the Manor was to be left to the combined care of Mrs. Parkyns and Jenkins.

  The sound of wheels in the avenue roused Mavis from her abstraction at last, and a faint tinge of colour crept into her cheeks as she recognized Garth Davenant driving his two-seater. As she leaned forward it struck her that he was looking graver and sterner, that his mouth was set in new lines, and she glanced up quickly as the door opened.