by Guy Boothby
CHAPTER XIII
"What's that you say?" cried Jim, trying to appear as if he werescarcely able to believe that he heard aright. "Do you mean to tell methat Mr. Bursfield is dead?"
"Yes, sir," said the old man; "when I went into his study this morningto open the shutters, I found him seated at his table in the arm-chairstone dead. I ran up at once to Miss Helen's room to tell her, only tofind that her bed had not been slept in. Me and my wife searched thehouse for her, but she is not to be found anywhere. Oh, sir, what doesit all mean?"
"It means that Miss Decie came to my house last night at about eleveno'clock. Mr. Bursfield's condition was such that she was afraid toremain in the house with him any longer. You must have noticed that hehas been very strange of late?"
"The poor old gentleman has been ailing for some days past," Isaacreplied. "He always was quick tempered, but for the last month or so hedoesn't seem to have been able to control himself. Perhaps it isn'tright for a servant to say it, sir, but there 'ave been times latelywhen I 'ave been afraid that his reason 'ave been a-failing him. Therewas a time when he couldn't make enough of Miss Helen, but lately he'sbeen scarce able to speak civil to her. It's a sad thing, sir, a verysad thing, especially for a servant that's worked for him true andfaithful for nigh upon forty years."
"His fit of rage last night must have hastened the end," said Jim. "Thenews you bring will affect Miss Decie very painfully. You had better goback and send at once for the doctor; I will return to the Manor Houseand tell Miss Decie."
"I humbly thank you for your kindness, sir," the man replied. "I will dowhat you say, and perhaps you will be kind enough to come over later."
When he had extracted the other's promise he hobbled off, and Jimreturned to his own house. He found Helen and Alice in the hall,standing before the great fireplace in earnest conversation. He badethem as cheery a good morning as was possible under the circumstances,and when he had done so his sister enquired why his throat was wrappedup so closely.
"It's a trifle sore this morning," Jim replied, with some truth. "That'sall. It will be all right very soon."
He then suggested that they should go in to breakfast. He had determinedto break the news of Mr. Bursfield's death to Helen after the meal. Thishe did with great gentleness. The shock, however, was a severe one,nevertheless, but she did her best to meet it bravely.
"Poor old grandfather," she said after a while, "I always feared thathis death would come like this. Oh how sorry I am that he should havedied believing that I had ceased to love him."
"He could not have done that," Jim replied. "In his inmost heart he musthave known that your affection was one that could never change."
She shook her head, however.
"Will you take me to him?" she enquired, and Jim, feeling that it wouldnot be wise not to do so, consented to go with her to the Dower House.Side by side they crossed the park by the path they had come to know sowell, entered the house by the little postern door, and were met in thehall by the village doctor whom Isaac had summoned.
"My dear Miss Decie," he said as they shook hands, "will you accept myheartfelt sympathy for you in your trouble. I fear it must have been aterrible shock."
"It has affected me more than I can say," she answered. "I had no idea,though I was aware that his heart was in a very weak state, that the endwas so near."
"One thing I can tell you if it will make you any happier," said thedoctor, "and that is, that I am certain his end was a peaceful andpainless one."
Thanking the doctor for his sympathy, Helen left the room and wentupstairs to the dead man's bedroom. Jim and the doctor went into thestudy.
"I suppose it will be necessary to hold an Inquest," said Jim, when theywere alone together.
"I am very much afraid so," the doctor replied. "But it will be quite aformal affair. There are two circumstances, however, Mr. Standerton,about the affair, that I must confess puzzle me more than a little."
Jim felt himself turning cold. Had he left anything undone, or had hemade any mistake?
"What are those two circumstances?" he enquired.
"Well, in the first place," said the doctor, "the old gentleman seldomwent outside the house, not once a month at most, and only then on finedays. Yesterday, his man-servant tells me, he did not stir beyond thestudy door. Isaac is certain that he was wearing his carpet slippers atdinner time, and also when he looked in upon him before retiring, yetwhen he was found this morning he was wearing boots."
"That is most curious, certainly," said Jim, "but I must confess I failto see anything remarkable in it."
"Not perhaps in the fact of his wearing the boots," said the medicalgentleman, "but there is another point which, taken in conjunction withit, makes one pause to think. On the first finger of the right hand Ifound that the nail had been recently broken, and in a painful fashion.What is more, the second and third fingers had smears of blood uponthem. Now with the exception of the nail to which I have alluded andwhich did not bleed, he had not a trace of a wound on either finger.That I am quite certain of, for I searched diligently. Moreover, thereis not a trace of blood upon the table at which he was seated. And thereis one thing stranger still."
"What is that?"
"As you are aware, it commenced to rain at a late hour last night.Unfortunately I know it, for the reason that I was compelled to be outin it. The roads were plastered with mud. Now though Mr. Bursfield, forsome reason of his own, had put on his boots, he could not have venturedoutside, for there is not a speck of mud upon them. In that case, whythe boots, and where did the blood come from?"
"You are perfectly sure that he died of heart disease?"
"As sure as I can be of anything," said the doctor. "Nevertheless, it'saltogether a mysterious affair."
This also proved to be the opinion of the Coroner's Jury, and as therewas no one forthcoming to clear it up, a mystery it was likely to remainfor all time. Had the Coroner and his Jury, however, known the historyof the bruises under the thick bandage which the young Squire ofChilderbridge wore round his throat, they would have been enlightened.
As nobody was able to account for anything save the doctor, however, averdict of "Death from Natural Causes" was returned, and three dayslater, Abraham Bursfield was laid to rest with his forefathers in thelittle churchyard, scarcely fifty paces away from the grave of the manwho had fallen by his hands.
"Jim," said Alice on the evening of the funeral, when they had broughtHelen back to the Manor House, "I have a proposal to make to you. I amgoing to suggest that I should take Helen away for a few weeks to theseaside. The anxieties and sorrow of the past two months have been toomuch for her. I can see that she stands in need of a thorough change. Ifyou have no objection to raise, I thought we could start to-morrowmorning. We shall be away a month, and by that time she should be quiterestored to health."
"And pray what am I going to do with myself while you are away?" heasked. "I gather you mean when you say that you are both going away thatI am not to accompany you?"
"No; all things considered, I think it would be better not," said Alice."But if you are very good you shall come down to us for two or threedays during the month. Then if Helen agrees, and I have no doubt youwill be able to induce her to do so, you could obtain a Special License,and be quietly married at the end of that time."
Jim, who regarded it quite possible that the marriage might be postponedfor some time, clutched eagerly at the straw of hope held out to him,and willingly agreed to her suggestion.
"And now one other matter, Alice," he said. "I, on my side, have aproposal to make. Whether you will prove as complaisant as I have doneis another matter."
"What is your proposal?"
"It can be resolved into one word," he answered, "That word isMudrapilla."
He heard her catch her breath, and then she looked pleadingly at him.
"Jim," she whispered, "Oh Jim, dear, you don't mean it, do you?"
"If you and Helen will accompany me, I do," he answered. "Terence
I amquite sure will not object. Will you agree, my sister?"
The answer she vouchsafed might have meant anything or nothing. Itwas:--
"Only to think of seeing dear old Mudrapilla again!"
So it was settled. Helen and Alice departed next day to a tiny seasideplace in Devonshire, where Jim was under orders to join them for threedays at the week end once during their stay. As soon as they were gone,he in his turn set off for London. His first act on reaching the City,and when he had deposited his bag at the hotel, was to drive to theoffice of the Estate Agent with whom his father had negotiated thepurchase of Childerbridge. That portly, suave gentleman received himwith the respect due to a man worth half a million of money, and theowner of such a palatial mansion and estate.
"But, my dear sir," he began, when he had heard what James had to say,"you surely don't mean to say that you are desirous of sellingChilderbridge. You have only been there a few months."
"I am most anxious to be rid of the place as soon as possible," Jimreplied. "As you may suppose it has the most painful recollections forme. Besides I am thinking of returning to Australia almost immediately,and scarcely know when I shall visit England again."
"In that case I must do the best I can for you," said the other. "At thesame time I feel that I should warn you that the Estate Market is not ina very flourishing condition at present, and that a large number ofproperties that have been placed upon the market have not sold nearly aswell as they should have done."
"I must take my chance of not getting its value," said Jim. "Find me apurchaser and I don't think he will be able to complain that I have notmet him fairly."
The agent promised to do his best, and for the next fortnight Jim amusedhimself in a lazy fashion travelling about England, purchasing a varietyof stock for his Australian stations, and longing for the time to comewhen he should be at liberty to present himself in Devonshire. At last,however, the day arrived. It was morning when he left London, it wasevening when he reached his destination. It was winter when he leftWaterloo, dull, dismal and foggy; when he reached Devonshire it was, inhis eyes at least, perpetual summer. Both Helen and Alice were at therailway station to greet him, and immediately he saw them he realisedthe fact that a change for the better had taken place in his sweetheart.The old colour had come back to her cheeks, the old sparkle was in hereyes. She greeted him very lovingly, but if possible a little shyly.There were such lots of news to hear, and still more to be told, that itseemed as if they would never have done talking.
The village had proved itself a delightful little place. It was far fromthe track of the tripper, and had not then been spoilt by the wealthytourist. High cliffs hemmed it in on either side, and the sea broke uponthe beach of shingles. They returned to their lodgings for tea, acharming thatched cottage, within a stone's throw of the primitivelittle jetty, beside which the fisher boats were moored. Afterwards thelovers went for a walk upon the cliffs.
"Helen, my darling," said Jim, "I can scarcely realise that it is only afortnight since I saw you. It seems as if years had passed. You can haveno idea how happy it makes me to see you looking like your own dear selfonce more."
"I could not help being well here," she answered. "Besides, Alice hasbeen so good and kind to me. I should be ungrateful indeed were I toshow no improvement."
But Jim had not brought his sweetheart out on the cliff to discuss hissister's good qualities.
"Helen," he said at last, "is it possible for you to be my wife in afortnight's time?"
He took her little hand in his and looked into her eyes. The veriesttyro might have seen that the young man was terribly in earnest.
"It might be possible," she said softly, but without looking at him."Are you quite sure you _do_ wish it?"
"If you talk like that I shall go back to London to-night," he answered."You know very well that to make you my wife has been my ambition eversince I first saw you."
And then he went on to tell her of his dreams, winding up with thisquestion--"I wonder whether you will like Australia?"
"I shall like any place where you may be," she replied.
Could any young woman say more to her lover than that? At any rate Jimappeared to be satisfied.
On the Monday following he returned to London to learn from the agentthat a probable, though unexpected, purchaser had been found forChilderbridge. He proved to be a wealthy American, who was not onlyprepared to take over the estate at a valuation, but also to purchasethe furniture and effects as they stood.
On the day following the receipt of this news, Jim travelled down withthe would-be buyer, conducted him over the property, and was in aposition to assure himself, when the other had departed, thatChilderbridge would be very soon off his hands. To the agent's horrorthe matter was conducted on both sides with unusual promptness, and inconsequence, when, a fortnight later, Jim stepped into the Devonshiretrain with a special marriage license in his pocket, the sale was asgood as effected.
The wedding was solemnised next day in the quaint little village church,and excited no comment from the humble fisher folk. The only personspresent were the bride and bridegroom, Alice, and the family lawyer, whohad travelled down from London expressly to give the bride away. Then,no impediment being offered, James Standerton, bachelor, took to himselffor wife Helen Decie, spinster. The worthy old gentleman pocketed hisfee with a smiling face, congratulated both parties, and then hurriedoff to another parish to bury a fisherman who had been drowned in thebay a few days before. An hour later Jim and Helen started for Exeter,_en route_ for Scotland, while Alice accompanied the lawyer, whosewife's guest she was to be, to London, to wait there until her brotherand sister-in-law should return from the north.
* * * * *
Four years have elapsed since that terrible night when Abraham Bursfieldwas found dead in the secret passage leading from Childerbridge ManorHouse to the Dower House in the corner of the Park. Those four yearshave certainly worked wondrous changes in at least four lives. One shortsketch must serve to illustrate this fact, and to bring my story to aconclusion. The scene is no longer laid in England but on a rough Bushtrack on a very hot Australian afternoon. A tall good-looking man isjogging contentedly along, apparently oblivious to all that goes onaround him. It is easily seen that he and his horse are on the very bestterms with each other. He passes the Pelican Lake, descends into thehollow of what was perhaps a continuation of the same lake, and ongaining the summit of the next rise finds himself looking upon what, atfirst glance, would appear to be a small village. This village is thestation of Mudrapilla, and the giant gums which can just be discernedsome five miles or so to the right, indicate the spot where on a certaineventful evening, James Standerton first came face to face with RichardMurbridge. This same James Standerton, for it is he who is the rider ofthe horse, increases his pace as soon as the station itself comes intoview. He passes the men's quarters, the store, the blacksmith's shop,and finally approaches a long and extremely comfortable lookingone-storied residence, whose broad verandahs are confronted by orangegroves on the one side, and the brave old river on the other. As herides up one of the overseers emerges from the barracks, and hastensforward to greet his employer, and to take his horse from him. Thatoverseer is no less a person than our old friend, Terence O'Riley,looking just the same as ever. Jim gives him a few directions concerningthe sheep in the Mountain Paddock, which he has visited that afternoon,and then dismounts and strolls on through the gates, and up the gardenpath towards the house. In the broad verandah a lady is seated in a longcomfortable chair, and playing beside her on the floor is a chubbyurchin upwards of two years of age. Helen, for as may be supposed, it isnone other than she, rises on hearing her husband's step on the path,and catching up the infant brings him forward to greet his father with akiss.
"I didn't expect you for half-an-hour at least, dear," she says, whenshe in her turn has kissed him. "The boy and I have been patientlyawaiting your arrival. Did you meet the mail?"
"I did,"
he answered, "and I opened the bag upon the road. There are twoletters for you, one I see is from Alice."
"And you?" she asks, as she takes the letters from him.
"Well, I had one of some importance," he replied. "It is fromFairlight--my old solicitor in England, you remember him--and what doyou think he tells me?"
Helen, very naturally, could not guess.
"Well, he says that Childerbridge Manor was burnt down by fire threemonths ago and totally destroyed. The American, the owner, is going torebuild it at once on a scale of unparalleled magnificence."
There was a pause for a few moments, then Helen said:--
"What do you think about it, Jim?"
"All things considered I am not sorry," he answered. "Yet, perhaps, Ishould not say that, for it brought me the greatest blessing a man canhave."
"And that blessing?" she asked innocently.
"Is a good wife," he answered, stooping to kiss her. After which hedisappeared into the house.
"And pray what does Alice say?" he asked, when he returned a few minuteslater.
"She gives us such good news," Helen replied. "She and Jack will spendChristmas with us. She declares she is the happiest woman in the world.Jack is a paragon."
In case the reader should fail to understand who Jack is, I might remarkthat he is no less a person than Jack Riddington, the overseer,mentioned at the commencement of my story, and who was supposed to beJim's best friend. Alice, after they were engaged, admitted that she hadalways entertained a liking for him, while it was well known that he hadalways been head over ears in love with her. During Jim's absence inEngland he had come into a large sum of money, had purchased a stationone hundred and fifty miles south of Gundawurra, had married Alicewithin six months of her return, and was now living a life of undoubtedfelicity.
"They may be happy," said Helen, "but they can never be as happy as weare. That is quite certain, husband mine."
THE END.
