The House 'Round the Corner

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XII

  THE DAWN OF A BLACK FRIDAY

  There were three bedrooms and a bathroom on the first floor of theGrange, all nearly of equal size, and remarkably spacious, since theycorresponded in area with the rooms beneath. Percy Whittaker occupiedthe westerly front room, Marguerite had pre-empted the easterly one, andArmathwaite's room lay in the north-east angle. Thus, he was earlyaroused by the morning sun, and was up and about long before Mrs.Jackson or Betty put in an appearance. For lack of the bath which he hadbeen prevented from ordering through Tom Bland, he splashed in anold-fashioned shallow zinc contrivance which reminded him of former daysin Baluchistan. Crossing the landing afterwards, meaning to look in onPercy Whittaker, he glanced at the now oddly familiar black figure inthe stained-glass window.

  At the moment his thoughts were not dwelling on the topic which hadoccupied them, well nigh to the exclusion of all else, since he hadfirst set eyes on Elmdale, yet, by some occult influence, no sooner didhe meet the cold, unseeing glare of the painted effigy than his brainbegan to calculate the significance of certain dates. The _NuttonbyGazette_ dated Saturday, June 22nd, of two years ago, had stated thatthe inquest on Stephen Garth was held at the Fox and Hounds Inn,Elmdale, "to-day" (so the enterprising Banks had evidently brought out aspecial edition). Mrs. Jackson and Police Constable Leadbitter haddeposed to the finding of the body on "Friday evening," which would bethe 21st. Mrs. Jackson and Betty had last seen Garth alive on theWednesday. Certain post-mortem indications showed that the death hadtaken place that night, the 19th. To-day, Friday, two years later, wasthe 19th! Armathwaite was not a nervous subject, but he was aware oncemore of a creepy sensation when he realized that this sunlit morningprobably heralded in the fatal anniversary.

  Seen in a clear and penetrating light, and closely examined at an hourwhen each line stood out boldly, the face of the figure revealed certainpeculiarities. Artists in stained glass seldom attempt to conveysubtleties in flesh tints. At best, their craft is mainly decorative,and effects are obtained by judicious grouping of colors, each of adistinct tone value, rather than by the skilled merging of light intoshadow, which is the painter's chief aim. But, in this instance, adeliberate attempt had been made to depict features of a trulymalevolent cast. The oval formed by the open visor of the helmet gavescope for the use of an almost invisible casing of lead, which alsoprovided the larger outline of the helmet itself, and of an enormousraven, with outstretched wings, perched on the crest.

  Yet, instead of the youthful and noble countenance which tradition wouldsurely ascribe to a gallant prince, the face which peered from thecasque was that of an evil-minded ascetic. Indeed, the longerArmathwaite looked, the more he was convinced that the artist had triedto suggest a mere skull covered with dead skin. The nose was pinched,and the nostrils were unpleasantly prominent. The lips were mere seamsof dried parchment, and the cavernous eyes were really two emptysockets.

  This sinister and ghoul-like visage was totally at variance with theremainder of the work. The armor was correct from helm to sollerets,with hauberk and corselet, greaves and jambards, while the gauntletedhands were crossed, in true warrior fashion, on the hilt of a long,straight sword. The vignette border of tendrils and vine-leaves wascharming in design and rich in well-blended color, and an observer ofcritical taste could not fail to compare the gross offense of theportrait with the quiet beauty of its setting. To some minds, there isan element in art which denies a true sense of harmony to a distortedimagination, and the notion was suddenly borne in on Armathwaite thatthe same hand had never limned that demoniac face and the remainder ofthe window. The one might have been the product of some debaucheesteeped in the worst excesses of a libidinous society, while the otherbreathed the calm serenity of the Renaissance. Armathwaite had in fullmeasure the hunter's instinct which incites mankind to seek out anddestroy ferocious beasts. If he had a weapon in his hands at the momenthe would have smashed that diabolical mask out of existence.

  The unaccountable spasm passed, and he entered Whittaker's room, to findthat disconsolate youth lying on his back, wide awake, and staringblankly at the ceiling.

  "Hullo!" he said cheerily. "Had a good night's rest?"

  "Pretty fair," muttered the invalid, turning his eyes dully on theother. "That doctor chap doped me, I expect. Anyhow I slept till I heardyou splashin' in the bath."

  "How's the ankle?"

  "Rotten. Look here, Mr. Armathwaite, you seem to understand this sort ofthing. Bar jokes, how long must I remain here?"

  "In bed, do you mean?"

  "Yes."

  "A week, at least. After that, you may be able to hop about on one leg."

  "If _you_ were in my place, would you stop in bed a week?"

  "What else could I do? Even walking with a crutch is impossible becauseof the strain on the ligaments."

  Whittaker moved involuntarily, and was given a sharp reminder that hisinformant was not exaggerating his disability.

  "All right," he said sullenly. "What time is it?"

  "About six o'clock. Betty will bring you some tea and an egg beforeseven."

  "Miss Ogilvey isn't up yet?"

  "No."

  Half unconsciously, Armathwaite resented the studied formality of that"Miss Ogilvey." He fully appreciated its intent. He was a stranger andmust be kept at arm's length. Moreover, the crippled Percy held him at adisadvantage. The younger man might be as insolent as hechose--Armathwaite was muzzled.

  "Can I do anything for you," he said.

  "In what way?"

  "Well, if the pain is very bad, an extra bandage, soaked in cold water,will relieve the burning sensation."

  "No, thanks. I'll wait till the doctor comes."

  "He is bringing a nurse, by the way. You'll need proper attention forthe next few days."

  "Right. Don't let me keep you. I think I can sleep another hour or so."

  Armathwaite was at no loss to understand why the cub wished to be rid ofhim. Whittaker was not only torturing himself with the knowledge thathis host would be free to enjoy Marguerite Ogilvey's company without letor hindrance, but he also felt a grudge against the fates which hadsnatched him out of active participation in the day's events. Neitherdreamed that the accident would precipitate the crisis each wished toavoid. In fact, in view of what did actually happen, it would beinteresting to speculate on the probable outcome if, by chance,Armathwaite had been disabled instead of Whittaker. But history, whetherdealing with men or nations, recks little of "what might have been." Itis far too busily occupied in fashioning the present and concealing thepast, for, let students dig and delve ever so industriously, they seldomobtain a true record of occurrences which have shaken the world, while,in the lives of the few people with whom this chronicle deals, therewere then at work certain minor influences which no one of them everdiscerned in their entirety. There was nothing surprising in this. Acrystal-minded woman like Marguerite Ogilvey could never adjust herperceptive faculties to the plane of a decadent Percy, while RobertArmathwaite was too impatient of ignoble minds that he should ever seekto uncover the mole-burrowings of James Walker.

  Certain developments took place which affected each and all in relativedegrees, and each acted according to his or her bent. Beyond that,analysis of cause and effect can hardly be other than sheer guesswork.

  Armathwaite rummaged in the larder for a crust, chewed it, and, havingthus appeased the laws of hygiene, lighted the first joyous pipe of themorning.

  He was smoking contentedly in the garden when a bent, elderly manapproached. Though twisted with rheumatism--the painful tribute whichMother Earth exacts from those of her sons who know how to obtain herchief treasures--this man quickened into a new life when he sawArmathwaite. He cast a sorrowing glance at the wilderness of weeds as hecame up the garden path, but his weather-lined face broke into apleasant smile as he halted in front of the new tenant.

  "Good mornin', sir," he said, touching his hat, though the action wasdevoid of any semblance of servility. "Things are in a
nice mess, aren'tthey?" and he wheeled round to gaze at dandelions rampant in a bedsacred to begonias.

  "They are, indeed!" agreed Armathwaite, wondering what white-hairedphilosopher had come on the scene.

  "You'll be Mr. Armathwaite, I'm thinkin'?" went on the other.

  "Yes."

  "My name's Smith, sir. Mr. Leadbitter, the policeman, told me you hadtaken on the Grange. Mebbe you'll be wantin' a gardener."

  A light broke in on Armathwaite.

  "Oh! Begonia Smith!" he cried. "Come back to the old love--is that it?"

  "That's it, sir. She looks as if she wanted someone to look after her."

  "Very well. Take charge. It's too late in the year to grow flowers orvegetables, but you can tidy things up a bit."

  "A man who has his heart in the job, sir, can grow flowers at any timeof the year. If I was to drop a line to the Nuttonby carrier to-night,I'd have a fair show of geraniums, calceolarias, lobelia, an' margueritedaisies in the front here by to-morrow evenin'."

  Armathwaite was not one to check enthusiasm. Moreover, the notion ofbrightening the surroundings appealed to him.

  "That would be sharp work," he said, eyeing the jungle.

  Smith, with the suspiciousness of an old man eager to show that he wasas good as some of the young ones, misunderstood that critical survey.

  "Before Tom Bland brings the plants from the nursery I'll have a cannybit o' soil ready for 'em," he vowed.

  "I'm sure of it," said Armathwaite, quickly alive to the aged gardener'srepudiation of any doubt cast on his powers. "But surely you can bebetter employed than in mere digging. Are there laborers to be hired inthe village?"

  Smith swept the bare meadow-land with the appraising eyes of knowledge.

  "Plenty of 'em, sir. The hay is in, an' they'll be slack enough now foranother month."

  "Very well. Send your order to Bland, including such implements as youmay need. Hire three or four men, and get them busy. By the way, haveyou heard that Miss Meg is here?"

  "Miss Meg! Our Miss Meg?"

  Smith's astonishment was not feigned. He was slightly dazzled already bythe way in which his new employer had received suggestions for theregeneration of the garden; now, he was thoroughly bewildered.

  "Yes," said Armathwaite, watching him narrowly. "She may join us anyminute. Of course, if she expresses any preference for a particularmethod of laying out the flower-beds, you will adopt it withoutquestion."

  "Why, sir," said the old man simply, "if it's the same Miss Meg as Ihev' in mind I'll not charge you a penny for what little I can do aboutthe place. It'll be enough for me to see her bonnie face again an' hearher voice."

  "I'll tell her that," laughed Armathwaite. "But we don't trade on thoseterms. You were happy here, I suppose, before Mr. Garth died?"

  "No man could ha' worked for nicer people, sir. It bruk me all to pieceswhen t' maister tellt me to go. An' I never rightly understood it,until--until the sad thing happened you'll hev' heerd of. Mr. Garth wasjust as much cut up about me goin' as I was meself--that was the queerpart of it.... Sir, tell me this, D'you mean to live here any length o'time?"

  "I hope so."

  "Well, it's a bold thing to say, afore I've known ye five minnits, so tospeak, an' there may be nowt in it other than owd wives' blether, but,if you ain't such a great lover o' stained glass, I advise ye to hev'yon staircase window riven out by t' roots."

  "Now, why in the world do you say that?"

  "I can't put it into plain words, sir, an' that's a fact, but I'd beglad to see the house shut o' that grinnin' death's head. I wellremember my own father tellin' me there was a curse in it, an' many'sthe time Mr. Garth laughed at me when I spoke on't. But t' owd man'sprophecy kem yam (came home) to roost at last. It did, an' all."

  "What reason did your father give for his belief?"

  "It's a strange story, sir, but I know bits of it are true, so mebbe therest isn't so far out. D'you see yon farm?" and Begonia Smith pointed tothe Burt homestead.

  "Yes," said Armathwaite. "I met Mr. Burt yesterday."

  "It's built on the ruins o' Holand Castle, sir. It's barely ten yearsago since Mr. Burt used the last o' t' stones for his new barn. TheseHolands were descended from a lady who married Edward, the Black Prince.She had three sons by her first husband, an' one of 'em kem to this parto' Yorksheer. As was the way in them days, he set a church alongside hiscastle, and was that proud of his step-father, who would ha' bin King ofEngland had he lived, that he had that painted glass window med in hismemory. In later times, when there was a cry about images, the owner ofHoland Castle had the window taken out an' hidden. Then, to pleasesomebody or another, he set fire to t' church. After that, things wentbadly with him, an' the castle was deserted, because it had the plague,though I'm thinking the only plague was bad drainage. Anyhow, nigh ontwo hundred year ago, a man named Faulkner settled i' this quietspot--you can guess what it was like, sir, when there was no railways,an' the nearest main road ran through Leyburn on t' other side o' t'moor. This Faulkner had gathered his brass in no good way, robbin' shipsan' killin' folk on the high seas, it was said. He used to importhogsheads o' wine all the way from Whitby, an' rare good wood was in'em, because I saw the last of 'em used as a rain barrel, an' I'm notseventy yet. The story goes that one night, in his cups, he was annoyedby the way the Black Prince looked at him, hard an' condemning like ajudge. He got a pair o' big pistols, an' fired one at the Prince's face.He shot the eyes out, an' then aimed the second one at the mouth, butthat burst, and blew his own right hand off, an' he bled to death aforethey could plug the veins. His son, who was a chip o' t' owd block,hired a drunken artist to paint another face. This man knew nowt aboutstained glass, but he was a rare hand at drawin' terrible things, so heplanned yon devil's phiz on oiled paper, an' stuck it between two thinplates o' glass, an' it was leaded in. If you was to climb on a ladderyou'd find the difference at once between that part o' t' window an' allt' remainder. Many's the time I've seen it when nailin' up the wistaria,an', if I'd dared, would have put the hammer-head through it. But Mr.Garth refused to have it touched. He called it an antiquariancuriosity. All the same, he wouldn't have Miss Meg told about it,because it might have frightened her but he was always careful to seethat the blind was not drawn across the front door on June evenings.Mebbe, you'll have heerd of a ghost, sir?"

  A window was raised, and both men looked up. Marguerite was leaning out,her face aglow with pleasure.

  "Why, if it isn't my own dear Smith!" she cried. "What lucky windbrought _you_ here? Mr. Armathwaite, is this _your_ doing? Smith, I'llbe down in a jiffy. Mind you don't skedaddle before I come!"

  Thus it befell that when Betty Jackson brought an early breakfast toPercy Whittaker, and she was asked where Miss Meg was, she answered:

  "Out in the garden with Mr. Armathwaite. They're talkin' to BegoniaSmith."

  "Ah, I heard the voices. And who, pray, is Begonia Smith?" demandedPercy.

  "The old gardener," said Betty. "He was here years an' years."

  "Does Mr. Armathwaite mean to have the grounds attended to?"

  "Looks like it, sir. He an' Miss Meg are measurin' bits, an' Smith'sstickin' in pieces of wood. It'll be nice to have the place kept spickan' span again."

  It was, perhaps, unfortunate that Meg's glimpse of her friend from thebedroom window should have brought her downstairs pell-mell without evena tap on Whittaker's door to inquire as to his well-being. It wasperhaps, equally unfortunate that, when she remembered her remissness,she should have hurried to his room while her cheeks were flushed withthe strong moorland air and her eyes shining with excitement.

  "How are you, Percy dear?" she said, entering in response to his surly"Come in!" "I ought to have looked in on you sooner, but I could hardlybelieve my eyes when I saw Mr. Armathwaite in the garden with Smith, ourown old gardener, whom I've known ever since I was a baby."

  "Why has Armathwaite brought Smith here?" said Whittaker, peering at herfixedly, yet veiling those gray-green eyes under lowered
lids.

  "He didn't. Smith just came. But isn't it fortunate? He couldn't havefound a better man, especially as Smith won't have any of the hard workon his hands. Mr. Armathwaite is giving him all the help he needs."

  "To put the place in order?"

  "Yes, of course. Smith promises marvels by to-morrow evening. But youhaven't told me yet how your poor ankle feels."

  "Never mind my poor ankle, Meg. I understood that the house was only letfor three months?"

  "Oh, much longer, I believe. Mr. Armathwaite----

  "Confound Mr. Armathwaite! The devil fly away with Mr. Armathwaite! I'msick of his name: I spit on him!" He literally writhed in a paroxysm ofanger.

  "Percy!"

  He had chosen an unhappy word when he spoke of spitting on his rival. Hereminded her of a toad, and she hated toads.

  With a desperate effort he sat bolt upright in the bed.

  "It's high time you and I had a few straight words, Meg," he said, andhis voice lost its drawl, and the blase manner was dropped. "You haven'tforgotten, I suppose, that I've asked you to marry me?"

  "No. Perhaps, if you rack your memory, you'll remember my answer," shesaid indignantly, for she felt the innuendo, and was resolved to resentit with vigor.

  "No, oh, no! You said you didn't mean to marry anybody. That is amaidenly sentiment which is right and proper, and I agreed with it atthe time. But the position has altered considerably during the pastcouple of days. As matters stand now, Meg, you may change your mind,and I beg to inform you that when you do marry, you'll marry me."

  "It is hardly fair to take advantage of your accident," she said, with aquiet scorn that only served to infuriate him the more.

  "What do you mean?" he said thickly.

  "You are not usually so dense. If you were not ill you would never darespeak to me in that fashion."

  "Never mind my illness. That will soon pass. And the density youcomplain of is not so one-sided as you imagine. I pointed out that theposition had changed. Two days ago you were free to say 'Yes' or 'No' tomy proposal. To-day you are not. You've got to marry me now, Meg. You'llbe my wife by fair means or foul. Need I explain myself further?"

  "It--it would be as well."

  "All right. You've asked for it, and you'll get it. Unless I have yourpromise here and now that our marriage will take place as soon as I canstand on my feet again, I'll have your father arrested for murder."

  "Percy, you must be mad even to think of such a dreadful thing!"

  "No, not mad, but sane, very sane and wide-eyed. That fellow,Armathwaite, wants you, and he'll snap you up while I'm lying in thisinfernal house unless I strike now, and strike hard. I mean exactly whatI say. I've thought it all out here, though I'm suffering pain enoughto drive me crazy. But the mind can conquer the body, and my mind is notonly clear, but fixed. Tell me you'll marry me, and I'll be patient as asaint. I'll take your word for it. I don't want you to sit by my sideand hold my hand, as some sniveling fools would wish. You can plan yourgardens with Armathwaite, and smile at him and talk with him as much asyou please. But you've got to be my wife. Refuse, and the only way youcan save your father from arrest is by getting Armathwaite to commitanother murder."

  "You brute!" she almost whispered. Her lips were quivering pitifully,but the fount of tears was dried, and her eyes blazed with an intensitythat conquered Whittaker for the moment.

  He lay back on the pillows again, with a smile that was twisted into arictus of agony as a twinge wrung the injured limb.

  "Call me any hard names you like," he muttered, closing his eyes underthe intolerable contempt and loathing of Marguerite's steadfastscrutiny. "I've said what I had to say, and I'll not depart from asyllable of it. You'd have married me one of these days if you hadn'tmet Armathwaite. He has turned your pretty little head with hisknight-errant airs and cavalry officer appearance. So I've determinedto pull you back by force--see? You'll get over it in time. You and Iwill be as good chums as ever when this gale has blown itself out. Don'tthink I shall hold you less dear because your father placed himself indanger of the law. He escaped neatly before, and can escape again. I'lleven tell you how. No one here knows--"

  He opened his eyes again, to ascertain if some dawning interest in theproject he was about to reveal--which was precisely that already setforth by Armathwaite--had driven the horror from her drawn features; butMarguerite had vanished. He listened for her footsteps, and could hearno sound. He shouted loudly, and tugged frenziedly at a bell. Betty camerunning, thinking he had fallen out of bed, and needed assistance.

  "Why, whatever is the matter?" she cried, with true Yorkshireabruptness, when she found him lying as she had left him a few minutesearlier.

  "Where is Miss Meg?" he raged. "Tell her she must come here--at once!Tell her that! Use those very words--come at once!"

  "My! What a to-do about nowt! I was sure the house was on fire!"

  "Confound you, will you go!" he shouted.

  "Yes, I'll go! For goodness' sake, keep quiet. You're doing yourself nogood by gettin' that excited. Oh, you needn't bawl at me! I'll findher. It isn't such a big place that she can be lost for more'n a minnitor two."

  Grumbling audibly at the funny ways some folk had, to be sure, Bettywent downstairs. She looked into the drawing-room, dining-room, andlibrary, but Marguerite was in none of those places. Then she passed outinto the garden; through the open window Whittaker could hear her askingArmathwaite if he knew where Miss Meg was. He caught the answer, too.

  "Yes. She left me to visit Mr. Whittaker."

  "She's not there, sir, and he has just sent me for her in an awfulhurry," said Betty.

  "Is it anything I can do for him?"

  "No, sir. He wants Miss Meg."

  "Well, she can't be far away. She may be in her bedroom. Go and lookthere. If I see her, I'll hand on your message."

  Soon, when Betty had ransacked the house, she came to the conclusionthat Marguerite had gone into the village. For some reason, on hearingthis, Whittaker appeared to be calmer, and only growled an order that hewas to be informed instantly of Miss Garth's return. Betty retreated tothe kitchen. When the door was safely closed she said to her mother:

  "That Percy Whittaker is daft, an' it's easy to see what ails him. If Iwas Miss Meg I wouldn't have him if he was hung with diamonds."

  "You're nobbut a fond lass," commented Mrs. Jackson, cracking an egg onthe side of a basin preparatory to emptying its contents into afrying-pan. "Always thinkin' of young men, like the rest of 'em. PoorMeg Garth has other things to bother her. If you hadn't lost a goodfather when you were too little to ken owt about it, you'd know whatshe's goin' through now."

  "But she says her father is livin'," said Betty.

  "Tell me summat fresh," retorted her mother. "Wouldn't it be better forher if he wasn't? You mark my words. There'll be a bonny row i' thishouse afore we're much older. Now, hurry up with t' toast. No matterwhat else happens, folk mun eat."