The Lost Clue - Abridged Edition

by Mrs. O. F. Walton

  "You look sleepy, Phyllis," said Marjorie, as they sat down to tea. "You ought to have come with me to Seatoller. It was lovely out today."

  "What's the good of going out when there's nowhere to go?" the younger sister said. "Besides, I was reading. I wanted to finish that book Louis brought. I never can stop when I'm in the middle of a story."

  Mrs. Douglas laughed. "Phyllis is afflicted with deafness at times, Captain Fortescue," she said. "And if she is reading, she is stone-deaf the whole time."

  The oldest sister Leila had joined them at the table, and Carl, a boy of three, with fair hair and blue eyes, was seated on a high chair by her side. Leila looked ill and depressed and spoke little, but the child was full of life.

  After tea they had games and music. Phyllis was talented at the latter and sang well. She was not at all like her sister. Kenneth thought she had rather a discontented face, and she moved wearily when she was asked to do anything by her mother, as though every exertion, however small, cost her an effort.

  It was Marjorie who was the life of the party, who saw at a glance what everyone wanted, who was ready to run here and there for them all. It was Marjorie who carried Carl up to bed, who picked up her mother's ball of wool when it fell, and who kept her eyes open all the time to see what she could do for the others. He found himself thinking what a blank there would be if she left them.

  The pleasant evening came to an end at last, and Kenneth rose to take leave. Then, for the first time, he mentioned the object of his visit to Rosthwaite. As he shook hands with Mrs. Douglas, and thanked her for her great kindness to him, he said, "I shall not forget my promise."

  She pressed his hand affectionately as she whispered, "God bless you." and he knew the words came from her heart.

  Then Marjorie ran for the lantern, for there was not a star in the sky, and she insisted on lighting him to the gate.

  "Now it really is goodbye," he said. "The road has been cleared, and I am off early tomorrow." He paused. "Miss Douglas . . ."

  "Yes, Captain Fortescue."

  "I have kept my promise to my poor old father as well as I could."

  "You have indeed," she said.

  "Now I want you to make me a promise."

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "I want you to let me know as soon as your plans are settled where you are going and what you are going to do. Will you?"

  "Yes, I will."

  He nodded. "You won't forget that promise, I know. Goodbye."

  History seemed to repeat itself, for as on the night before, he heard her calling him back when he had gone a few steps along the road.

  "How can I let you know, when I don't know your address?" she said.

  "Of course, I quite forgot I am leaving Sheffield."

  He took out a card, and by the light of her lantern he wrote on it the name and address of his father's lawyer, Northcourt.

  "That will always find me," he said. "Once more, goodbye."

  Again he stood at the gate as she climbed the hill, and when once more he watched her go into the lighted hall and close the door behind her, he thought that the night looked darker and more dreary than before.

  Chapter 9

  A Finished Chapter

  CAPTAIN FORTESCUE was up early the following morning, and set off in good time for the morning train.

  On his way to Keswick he passed Louis Verner in Borrowdale, who stopped the pony trap to speak to him. Louis told him that he had tried to get through the valley the day before, but had found the road quite impassable. He said he was on his way to Fernbank to take Mrs. Douglas a copy of the Standard.

  The train journey was a cold one, and the Kenneth Fortescue was not sorry to reach Sheffield. He had wired the time of his arrival to the old butler Elkington, and he found a bright fire in the library. Drawing his chair near it he opened the pile of letters addressed to his father, which had arrived during his absence from home.

  Most of these were requests for payment, but he came to one addressed to him in a lady's handwriting, with a coronet on the envelope. He opened it, and found that it was a kind note from Lady Earlswood telling him that she had seen in The Times the notice of his father's death, and she wished to express her deep sympathy with him in his bereavement. She also wished to invite him to come to Grantley Castle on his way back to Aldershot.

  The house party had broken up, but her son Berington was still at home, and they would all be delighted to see him for as long as it was possible for him to stay.

  He sat down after dinner to write an answer to this letter, in which he thanked Lady Earlswood for her kindness, but at the same time politely declined her invitation.

  He had finished this letter, and was putting it in the envelope which he had addressed, when he suddenly changed his mind, tore up what he had written, and wrote another letter. He would go to see them, and once there he would explain his altered position. It would be better so, and if they chose to drop his acquaintance after they knew all, they could do so. Berington, he thought, would always remain his friend, at least he hoped so; but he was not so sure what Lady Earlswood's view of the subject would be. She might not care to have him at her house when she knew how greatly his prospects had altered.

  In a week's time he had wound up his father's affairs as far as it was possible for him to do so. The house, the land and all property were to be sold to meet substantial debts. There would be nothing for his servants, nor for himself. His father had died penniless and heavily in debt.

  He dismissed the servants, took an affectionate farewell of old Elkington, and started on his journey to Lady Earlswood at Grantley Castle. As he stepped that afternoon into the light four-wheeled carriage waiting for him at the station, he felt as if he was beginning to write the very last page of the first volume of his life.

  A five miles' drive took him to the entrance to the Castle, which stood on the side of a hill several hundred feet above sea level. He drove in at the great gates, which were opened by the lodge keeper as the carriage was heard approaching. The drive was made through a beautiful avenue of beech trees, and led steeply uphill. The house stood on a plateau, from which was a glorious view of the valley below and the wooded hills beyond.

  The door was opened by a footman, and Kenneth entered a magnificent marble hall filled with palms and other hothouse plants, tastefully grouped round the lovely statuary of pure white marble, like the portico in which it stood. A flight of marble steps led him to another door, where he was met by the butler and conducted to the library.

  Lady Earlswood welcomed him kindly. Her daughter Lady Violet, who was pouring out tea at a small table in the window, told him how delighted her brother Berington was that he could come to see them. Berington had been obliged to make a distant call that afternoon, but would be home in a short time. Then the conversation turned on the Riviera and the happy month which they had spent together there the year before.

  Lady Violet went for her photo album, to show him the prints of the negatives which he had helped her to take. Captain Berington came in before they had looked through them all, and they talked together of the many places which the photos recalled, the different pleasant excursions during which they had been taken, and the various amusing incidents which had occurred while they were there. Kenneth himself appeared in several of the photographs, and as he looked at these he wished that he could feel once more the light-heartedness which he had then enjoyed.

  Then it was time to dress for dinner, and he went to his room feeling as if he was in a dream, or rather, as if this was reality, and the past three weeks had been a distressing dream from which he had awaked.

  He went down to the drawing-room and found young Lady Violet there before him. She looked lovely in her pale blue evening dress, wearing the magnificent diamond necklace which had been her mother's present to her when she came of age.

  "I'm awfully glad you were able to come," she said in a low voice.

  "Thank you, Lady Violet. I am glad too. I have
come because I want to say goodbye to you all."

  "Why goodbye?"

  "May I tell you in the morning some time, if you and Lady Earlswood could spare me half an hour? I had rather not talk about it tonight, if you don't mind. I think I should like to tell you just before I go."

  "But you're not going tomorrow. You must stay longer than that."

  "Impossible, Lady Violet. My leave has been extended more than once, and I'm due in Aldershot tomorrow."

  "Oh, what a pity. I thought . . ."

  But what Lady Violet thought she never told him, for at that moment her brother and younger sister came into the room together, and Lady Earlswood soon followed. And then dinner was announced.

  The dinner table was decorated with the rarest hothouse flowers and ferns, among which were burning numbers of tiny electric lamps, the brightness of which was reflected in the shining silver and glass. As Kenneth Fortescue sat talking to Berington after the ladies had gone into the drawing-room, he could not help wondering whether he would ever again sit down at such a table.

  The evening passed pleasantly and all too quickly. Lady Earlswood had the happy gift of making all who came to her house feel at home and thoroughly at their ease, and she expressed great sorrow when Captain Fortescue announced that he must be back in Aldershot the following day. She looked somewhat surprised when he asked her if he might speak to her on a personal matter.

  She glanced at Lady Violet, and wondered if the interview he had asked for had anything to do with her. If so, she felt inclined to listen favourably to what he had to say, for Captain Fortescue was apparently the richest man of her acquaintance, and certainly the most aristocratic in appearance. He had no title, which was, of course, a serious drawback, and she would have to make full inquiry about his family and prospects before giving her consent. But if Violet was fond of him, and if all turned out satisfactory, now that Captain Fortescue would have inherited his father's money, an offer from him would, at any rate, have her serious consideration.

  Thus Lady Earlswood looked forward to the appointment that she had made with Kenneth Fortescue, to come to her morning-room after breakfast the following day.

  "You would like to see me alone?" she whispered, as they rose from the breakfast table and were leaving the room.

  "No, Lady Earlswood. If you do not mind, I should like all of you to hear what I have to say."

  Lady Earlswood was surprised. Surely his private communication could not be what she had expected. However, she at once fell in with his suggestion, and soon the family party was gathered together in her pretty boudoir.

  Then he told them all. He laid before them the story of his life, speaking tenderly of his father, dwelling on his self-denying love in bringing him up and educating him regardless of expense. He said that he had often wished to tell them of this, but a feeling of loyalty to his father had held him back from doing so.

  Then he went on to the cause of his father's death. He told them of the telegram from Brazil, and of the terrible news it contained; and then he spoke of the consequence of that news to himself. He said that he was intending to throw up his commission in the army, inasmuch as he could not possibly live on his captain's pay; that he must now turn his attention to something which would be sufficient to provide for him in a quiet and simple way, and which might also enable him, by means of the greatest economy, to repay an obligation incurred by his father some years ago, and for which, as his son, he felt morally responsible.

  They did not interrupt him as he was telling this story, but listened attentively. Lady Violet, with heightened color, turned a little away from him as he was speaking, and as soon as he had finished the young lady rose and left the room.

  Lady Earlswood thanked him for speaking as frankly as he had done. She said that certainly it was the only right thing to do, for, in their position of life, there were obligations which they owed to society, and her husband, the late Earl, being dead, these obligations of course devolved upon herself. She was sorry that circumstances, over which of course Captain Fortescue had no control, had occurred to terminate what had been a pleasant acquaintanceship. She wished it could have been otherwise, but she felt sure he would see that she had no choice in the matter but to ask him to see no more of her and her two daughters. At the same time she could only repeat that she was exceedingly sorry, and that she wished that it could have been otherwise.

  It was what Captain Fortescue had expected her to say, and he was therefore neither surprised nor disappointed as he rose to take leave of her and her daughter Lady Maude.

  Berington, who had not spoken once during the interview, now told him that he was coming with him to the station and would join him in a few minutes. As Kenneth passed through the inner hall on his way to the door where the carriage was waiting for him, Lady Violet was just crossing it. She was still flushed, and he thought that she had been crying. He went up to her to say goodbye.

  "I think you might have told us all this before," she said.

  "I have only known it three weeks myself, Lady Violet."

  "Oh, about the money -- yes. But about your father -- you knew that. You see, it has put us in an unpleasant position."

  "I think I explained to you why I did not tell you before. It was for my poor old father's sake."

  "It makes it awfully hard for us."

  "It will not be harder than I can help, Lady Violet. You need not be afraid that I shall presume upon our former acquaintance. I know my altered position, and I shall never forget it, I hope. Goodbye."

  "Goodbye, Captain Fortescue."

  She did not even shake hands with him as she said it, but ran swiftly upstairs, and Kenneth passed on through the marble hall to the carriage waiting at the door.

  Berington was most friendly during the drive, but did not allude to the conversation that had taken place until he was standing at the carriage door just before the train started.

  Then he grasped Kenneth's hand, and said, "You and I can still be friends, Fortescue. Of course my mother has to be particular for the girls' sake, and my older brother, the Earl, is more particular still. He's obliged to be, I suppose. But I'm only a younger son, so can do as I like. Goodbye."

  The train moved off before Kenneth could answer, and as it left the station behind he felt that in spite of Berington's friendly words, he had reached the last line of the last page of Volume One of his life story.

  But as he journeyed on to Aldershot, and recalled Lady Violet's words, "It makes it awfully hard for us," he could not help contrasting them with other words, spoken by another voice, only ten days before, "Please don't trouble about us. It is quite hard enough for you." And, as he thought of the difference between the two remarks, he mourned less than he would otherwise have done over the Finis which he had now placed at the bottom of that last page.

  Chapter 10

  Goodbye

  WHEN Louis Verner arrived at Fernbank on the morning of Captain Fortescue's departure, Marjorie Douglas was looking out for him. As soon as he took the Standard out of his pocket she ran upstairs and carried it to her own room. Spreading the paper out on the bed she turned to the advertisement page and looked down the column headed Situations Vacant. She passed quickly over these at the top of the column, Wanted, a Gentleman of Smart Habits; Wanted a Salesman; Wanted a Well-educated Youth, etc., and passed on to those advertisements which referred to women.

  A Working Housekeeper wanted for a London Business House.

  "I should not do for that," she said.

  Lady Cook wanted at once.

  "I should not like to be a lady cook, nor do I know enough about cooking. Oh, this is better." Mother's Help -- Nice young girl. "I wonder if I am a nice young girl," she said, laughing. Three boys, ages 11, 5, and 2. Good reference. Write fully, Mrs. Burstall, 51, Lester Street, London S.E.

  "Some registry office, I suppose. I don't like the sound of that nice young girl. Oh, here's another." Mother's help wanted, fond of children, must be thoroughly domestic
ated, comfortable home, one servant kept. Apply by letter, Mrs. Holtby, Daisy Bank, Staffordshire.

  "That sounds better. I am fond of children. I wonder if I am thoroughly domesticated. And Daisy Bank sounds inviting. I wonder if it is the name of the house or the place. I should like to go to a pretty place, if possible. Of course it does not matter really, only after Borrowdale. . ."

  And Marjorie looked lovingly at the beautiful view from her bedroom window.

  "Mother," she called, as Mrs. Douglas passed the bedroom door, "come and look at these advertisements."

  Mother and daughter sat down together and read them through, and Mrs. Douglas agreed with Marjorie that the Daisy Bank one appeared to be the most promising.

  "But, oh, darling," she said, "how shall I ever get on without you?"

  "Or I without you, mother?" said Marjorie. "But we must do something, and this seems the best, does it not?"

  "I suppose so, dear."

  "And I do think it will be good for Phyllis. She is a clever and capable sister -- when she gives her mind to anything. I am sure she will help you all she can, and she would never settle away from home, would she?"

  "Oh no, that would never do," said Mrs. Douglas. "I don't think poor little Phyllis is cut out to rough it at all."

  So that day the letter was written, and Marjorie took it herself to the post office and dropped it into the box.

  How impatiently she waited for the answer. It came two days afterwards in a man's handwriting.

  Colwyn House,

  Daisy Bank.

  Dear Miss Douglas,

  Mrs. Holtby being ill and unable to write to you herself. She has asked me to inform you that we have written to your referees, and if all proves satisfactory she will be pleased to engage you at a salary of twenty-five pounds per annum. Your duties will be quite simple, and we shall treat you as one of the family. As you ask for a reference from me, I beg to give you the following: --