My mother! Beatrice stopped short at the door, and caught hold of a chair to support herself. The shock of this discovery came upon her with overwhelming force. "Impossible!"
It is true, said Lady Watson, advancing towards her with outstretched arms. "I am your most unhappy mother."
The girl suffered the little woman to embrace her, but did not return the caress. "My mother!" she repeated again faintly; "it is impossible, Lady Watson."
Don't call me Lady Watson. I am your mother. I should not have told you: I promised Durban that I would not. But Nature is too, too strong, cried Lady Watson theatrically; "my heart spoke, and I responded. Darling! darling!" She embraced Beatrice still more affectionately, and guided her to a low armchair, into which the bewildered girl sank unresistingly.
Was Lady Watson in earnest? Was she really her mother? Were these violent demonstrations genuine? Beatrice could not tell. The whole thing seemed to be beyond the bounds of possibility. What of the supposed mother who was buried in Hurstable churchyard? Revolving these things in a much-puzzled brain, Beatrice sat silently staring at the artificial little woman who claimed so sacred a relationship. Lady Watson, seeing the girl's coldness--as she thought it was--squeezed out a few serviceable tears.
Oh, cruel, cruel! she wept. "My own child--the baby that I carried in my arms--to act like this! It is wicked, it is incredible."
Mother! said Beatrice blankly. "Are you really and truly my mother?"
Of course I am, snapped the elder woman, drying her tears. "How often do you wish me to repeat it? I am not in the habit of calling other people's children my children. Can't you say something more affectionate, you cold-hearted girl?"
It is all so strange--so new, gasped Beatrice. "Tell me how it came about that I never knew this until now."
It's Durban's fault, said Lady Watson sullenly. "Durban always hated me, though I'm sure I was always kind to him--the beast!"
Durban is a good man, said Beatrice quickly.
Oh! dear me, that is exactly the exasperating sort of thing your father would have said. He was a good man also--the kind of man I most particularly hate. Never mind, I'll make everything plain to you. I've held my tongue long enough. Now I am going to speak out, and take back to my hungry heart the baby girl I loved.
Did you really love me? asked Beatrice doubtfully.
Yes--really I did. You were all that I had to love, as my husband--the first one, your father--was a kind of stone image with no feelings and no affections. I loved you fondly, and wanted to be your dearest mother--which I certainly am--but that Durban and that horrid Alpenny were too strong for me. No, it wasn't Alpenny. I don't think he wanted to bring you up; but Durban insisted, and I gave way.
Why did you?
There were reasons, said Lady Watson evasively, and a spot of red burned on either cheek.
They must have been strong reasons to make a mother surrender her child to the care of strangers.
Durban wasn't a stranger. He was in the house when you were born; and really you might have been his own child, from the fuss he made over you. But Colonel Hall--your father, my dear--saved Durban from being lynched in America, and Durban always pretended that he loved him dearly.
I am sure Durban did, insisted Beatrice. "He is not a man who says one thing and does another."
That is just what he does do, cried Lady Watson, fanning herself with a flimsy handkerchief all lace and scent. "Look at the way he has kept you in the dark all these years. And I am quite sure that he has told you heaps and heaps of lies! These niggers never can tell the truth."
Durban told me as little as he could, confessed Beatrice; "but he never told me a deliberate lie, I am sure. But if you are my mother, who is the woman who is buried as you?"
Not as me--the idea! protested Lady Watson; "as Alpenny's wife--and a nice bargain she got in that old scoundrel! She was Amelia Hedge, and called herself Mrs. Hedge when she married Alpenny, to account for you. It wasn't my fault. I'm sure I always liked to have you with me, Beatrice, as you were such a pretty child, and it looks well to have one's children about one, nowadays. But Durban would insist that I should give you up--and perhaps he was right after all," ended Lady Watson candidly "as Sir Reginald--my second husband--would never have married a widow with a child."
So the weak little woman babbled on, and Beatrice felt her heart sink as she at last beheld her mother. To think that this frivolous and weak creature should have given her birth! Then a thought came to her. "Durban said that my mother was quiet and silent."
And so I was, for years and years and years. Colonel Hall--I never could call him George, he was so military and stiff--made my life a perfect burden, and never would give me any pleasure. I was crushed, Beatrice, perfectly crushed, and held my tongue because I could not be natural. I was a dull, dowdy thing in those days. But now I really am something to look at and to listen to! and Lady Watson smirked in a near mirror at her artificial beauty.
Mother, said Beatrice, accepting what appeared to be the inevitable with a good grace, although the discovery of the relationship did not please her, "will you tell me if you had anything to do with the murder of my father?"
Oh, dear me! no, said Lady Watson perfectly calmly, and showing no signs of indignation at the accusation,--which it was, in a way. "Of course Durban made capital out of it, and forced me to part with you and the necklace because of that horrid death. But I've got back the necklace"--Lady Watson fingered it fondly--"and you."
How did you get the necklace?
A friend of mine called Miss Carr gave it to me. She got it from her father, though I don't know how he got it, I'm sure. Major Ruck--you know the man, dear?--wanted Maud--that is Miss Carr--to give it up, and would have killed her for it. He's just the sort of bully who would kill a woman to get money, and I don't mind saying it, although he was my friend. So Maud, to spite him, gave it to me, and----
Wait one moment, mother. Were you not going to elope with Major----
Lady Watson interrupted in her turn, and uttered an embarrassed scream. "Yes, I was, my dear. Your father was a bear--there's no good saying anything else. He was a bear! I couldn't stand his Puritan airs any longer, and on the very night he was murdered I intended to elope with him, to pay your father out. But Alpenny met me----"
At the head of the stairs?
Who told you that?
Mrs. Snow, said Beatrice promptly.
Julia Duncan? Ah, she always was a false-hearted cat. Why, the very last time I saw her, and that was when I went down to get Alpenny's money, she promised to hold her tongue.
I forced her to speak.
And you have forced me, you clever girl. I promised Durban never to reveal who I really was but I did so, through natural affections; and now you know. I'm sure I don't care, added Lady Watson with a reckless air. "Durban can do his worst."
What can he do?
Accuse me of your father's murder, although I'm as innocent as a child. But I dare say he'll hold his tongue if I pay him well. He was always fond of money, and Alpenny's legacy has made me rich.
I don't think Durban can be bribed, nor do I think he is fond of money, said Beatrice with decision. "But for my sake, he may hold his tongue."
Well, I shan't give up the Obi necklace, muttered Lady Watson. "The Colonel bought it for me; he got it from a Brazilian negro, and said there was a curse on it,--at least the negro did. For that reason your father--who really was fond of me, I suppose, although he had a horrid, dull way of showing his love--would not give it to me. He kept it in a green box along with his papers beside his bed, and I got it from there when he was lying dead."
Did you see him dead? asked Beatrice, horrified. "Of course I did. That is why Durban says that I killed him. He always did hate me, the beast!"
Beatrice passed her hand wearily across her forehead. "I cannot gather much from these scraps of information," she said irritably; "please tell me all connectedly and from the beginning."
Oh, dear me, how very like your father you are! said Lady Watson, with an affected shudder. "He was always so very precise: I don't know how I came to marry so dull a man. But my father made the match. He was a planter in Jamaica, and Colonel Hall was stationed at Port Royal I was merely a child--seventeen, in fact--and the Colonel fell in love with me. I married him, although I liked twenty other men better. Sir Reginald was one; but he went to England, on leave, and my father made me marry the Colonel while Reginald was away. He was in a rage when he came back. Afterwards, when the Colonel died so dreadfully, Sir Reginald married me, as he knew--if no one else did--that I had nothing to do with that horrid murder."
Tell me the events of that night, said Beatrice keeping the voluble little woman to the point.
Well, I'm doing it, if you will only let me speak, snapped Lady Watson; "but you are like your father, and want me to hold my tongue as he did. I'm sure I never opened my mouth for years with that man. Shortly after you were born we went to England. Amelia and Durban came also, as Durban would never leave the Colonel; and Amelia was brought for your sake, you being a baby--and a very pretty one too. Colonel Hall went down to see Mr. Paslow at Convent Grange, as they were great friends. I stopped in London for a time, as I was so sick of the Colonel's stiffness. Then I came down because he insisted on it. Major Ruck--who was really a nice man in those days--followed, and stopped at The Camp, as he wished me to elope with him. On the night of the murder I arranged to do so."
Had the Major anything to do with the murder? asked Beatrice hurriedly.
He said he hadn't, but he might have told a lie. He never could tell the truth, said Lady Watson vaguely. "But as I was saying--and don't interrupt again, please--I dressed late at night I knew that Mr. Paslow, and Alpenny, and the Colonel had gone to bed. Your father and I were in different rooms, because we had quarrelled. I came out into the passage, and intended to meet Major Ruck at The Camp, where he had a carriage waiting. Alpenny should have been at The Camp also, only he stopped at the Grange--to spite me, I believe, as he loved me, and wanted to prevent my elopement."
Did he know about it?
Yes. He wheedled the information out of the Major, and learned also that I intended to bring the Obi necklace with me. It was because of the necklace, as well as because of his love for me, that he stopped at the Grange to thwart me.
But the necklace was in my father's possession?
In a green dispatch box beside his bed, explained Lady Watson. "You are quite right, dear; so it was. I stole out into the passage, and there I met at the head of the stairs that horrid Alpenny, who was on the watch. Julia Snow was watching also, as she told me afterwards. The horrid woman, she loved George, and----"
I know--I know--please go on.
I am going on, cried Lady Watson in despair; "but you will interrupt. Alpenny said he wanted to help me to get away, which was a lie. I believed him, and we went to the Colonel's chamber. I could easily make some excuse, you know; that I had the toothache or something, and George would believe me."
But your dress--your hat?
Oh, I took those off and gave them to Alpenny, who remained outside the bedroom door. When I went in I nearly screamed, for the Colonel did look so horrid, lying in bed with his throat cut. I could see it and him, plainly in the moonlight. I called Alpenny, and we were both afraid. Then I saw the box, and got out the necklace.
Ugh! said Beatrice, disgusted at this callous behaviour. "Why didn't you call for help?"
What! and be arrested? Everyone knew that George and I were on bad terms; and besides, with the necklace in my possession, I might have been accused of killing him. Alpenny said we had better take the necklace and go away. The window was open, and I suppose the man who killed the Colonel got in there. I took the necklace, and went out into the passage with Alpenny, closing the door after me. I put on my hat and cloak, and then he refused to let me go to The Camp to meet the Major unless I gave him the necklace. I had to, and then went back to bed.
Why didn't you elope? asked Beatrice sarcastically.
My dear, my nerves were shattered, and it would have been most dangerous. I went to bed, and pretended to be horrified when I heard of the murder. The Major would not marry me when he found that I hadn't got the necklace; so after the inquest I came to town, and met Reginald Watson. I told him everything, and he married me.
But how did my nurse marry Mr. Alpenny?
Durban arranged that, said Lady Watson promptly. "He was almost mad when he found the Colonel was dead, and he forced the truth out of me. I believe Julia Snow told him what she had seen. I knew Durban would say nothing, because if he hated me, he loved you and your father. He did hold his tongue, but he insisted that Alpenny should give the necklace to him in trust for you. Of course Alpenny would not do so, and Durban threatened to inform the police. Then Durban, who didn't know much about English law, thought that he might get into trouble and be accused. I really don't know," added Lady Watson, pondering, "if I didn't threaten to accuse him."
Oh, how could you?
Well, he might be guilty. Niggers always prefer to cut throats, and your father certainly died in that horrid way.
The man with the black patch killed him?
Did he? I heard something about that; but I'm not sure. However, to make a long story short, Durban arranged that you should be taken charge of by Alpenny, and that he should look after you along with Amelia, who was consumptive.
But why?
Lady Watson rose wrathfully. "You may well ask that, Beatrice. Why? Because, if you please, this nigger didn't think I was a proper person to look after you. Then Amelia refused to go to The Camp unless she went--as she said, respectably. Alpenny, who was in love with me, and knew that I intended to marry Sir Reginald, agreed to marry her in order to keep the necklace. Amelia died shortly afterwards, and for the sake of safety was buried as your mother: you took her name of Hedge, you know. That's the story."
It is a very horrible one, said Beatrice, rising in her turn.
Lady Watson burst into tears. "It is not my fault," she sobbed. "I'm sure, in spite of Reginald's objections, I would have kept you beside me; only Durban took you away, and Amelia also, because she wanted to marry a rich man, as Alpenny was supposed. They knew too much; I had to yield; and then Reginald thought you were dead. But I have always loved and longed for my pretty baby. Kiss me, darling!"
No, said Beatrice sternly.
The little woman looked up aghast. "Your own mother?"
I do not look upon you as my mother, said the girl coldly. "You deserted me in the most heartless manner. I don't know how much of your story is true----"
It is all true--I swear it.
It may be, and you may be innocent. But to see my father lying dead, and not give the alarm, was wicked. The assassin might have been caught and----
I would have been caught! cried Lady Watson vehemently. "As it was, people thought that I had something to do with the horrid thing. I was quite innocent," she protested, sobbing. "Beatrice!"
Her voice rose to a scream as the girl walked to the door for the second time. "I am going," said Beatrice quietly. "You must give me time to think over our new relationship. I'll see you again soon."
Oh! wailed Lady Watson, as the door closed on the daughter who rejected her; "how like your father--how very like!"
Beatrice walked calmly down the stairs, and opening the front door herself, returned to the hotel to think over the matter. At the door of the little inn she found the stout landlady arguing with a red-haired, foxy man.
Waterloo! said Beatrice, drawing back.
There, chuckled the rogue, grinning at the landlady, "she knows me does the young lydy.--Miss, come at once--Durban's dying."
Durban dying!
He'll be dead in a jiffy, said Waterloo, grinning. "You come, miss." Then dropping his voice, "He wants to tell you who killed your father."
Don't go with him, miss, urged Mrs. Quail. "He's a bad one: look at his eyes."
Beatrice had no need to look at them. She knew well the evil that they held, and shrank, as she always did, from contact with this creature of the night. Certainly Waterloo was much better dressed than when she had seen him last. He wore a somewhat shabby frock coat, a pair of smart patent-leather boots, a fashionable collar, and a silk hat which glistened like the sun. The tramp actually reeked of some fashionable scent, and swung a dandy cane with a genteel air. He wore a wig, from under which his natural red hair peeped; and his false teeth looked aggressively white and new. On the whole, Waterloo evidently considered that he was now a perfect buck, and ogled the comely landlady and the shrinking girl with an assured air.
You are not deceiving me? asked Beatrice, forcing herself to be civil to the man, for obvious reasons.
S'elp me Bob! no, leered the rejuvenated wreck. "Durban, he come up t'town t'other day, an' wos run h'over by a bus as wos drivin' motor-car fashions--more miles an hour than sense, miss. He ses t'me--an ole pal of his--as he wanted to see you, and tell you wot y'should know. He ses es he'll tell you who killed your par an' th' ole Alpenny bloke."
This remark decided Beatrice. Come what may, she determined to learn the truth at last. Also, Durban was her best and oldest friend, and from what Lady Watson had said he had evidently been a better friend to her than she knew. After a moment or two she made up her mind, and turned to Mrs. Quail, who was gazing disdainfully at the leering Waterloo.
I must go, Mrs. Quail, she said decisively; "if Durban is ill I must help him."
But with this man?
Oh! I'm saif, laidy. No 'arm about me. Oh no, not at all.
If Mr. Paslow comes, said Beatrice, addressing the landlady, and taking no notice of Waterloo, "tell him I have gone with Waterloo to see Durban.--Where is he?" she asked the man.
In a room in a 'ouse, Malta Street, Stepney--No. 50, said Waterloo quickly, and passed along a scrap of dirty paper to Mrs. Quail. "If the young laidy don't come back saif an' sound, you'll find me 'ere."
If she's not back by nine to-night, retorted Mrs. Quail, putting the paper in her pocket, "I'll see the police about the matter.--And after all, miss, I wouldn't go with him."
I must, said Beatrice quickly; "there is so much at stake." And giving the landlady no further time to remonstrate, she walked away with Waterloo, who swaggered like the buck he thought he was.
How do we get to Stepney? asked Beatrice while they walked along Kensington High Street.
Underground, said Waterloo glibly. "Underground to Bishopgate, an' then we taike th' Liverpool Street train to Stepney, an'----"
That is enough, said Beatrice, cutting him short, and walking very fast; "speak as little to me as you can."
Waterloo scowled, and his scowl was not a pleasant sight. However, he held his tongue until they were safe in a first-class underground carriage--Beatrice did not want to go with this creature in a third-class, and luckily there were three or four ladies in the compartment. While the train was steaming through the tunnels, Waterloo held a whispered conversation with Beatrice. At first she was inclined to stop him; but when she heard what he had to say, she listened attentively.
I saiy, murmured the rogue confidentially, "you're a clipper; y'are tryin' to find out all about us. But y'won't. There's only one cove es can put things straight, an' thet is Waterloo Esquire."
What do you mean by that?
Ah, thet's tellin's, miss. Don't you arsk any questing, an' no lies will be tole. But if y'meke it wuth me while, I'll git you the young gent all t'yourself.
Mr. Paslow?
Thet's him. Not a bad cove--oh, by no means--but a greenhorn, miss, es anyone kin see. If he don't do wot the Major wants him to do, he's a goner--saime es your par an' the Alpenny cove.
What does the horrible creature mean? Beatrice asked herself half aloud, and he heard her.
Don' call naimes, miss. Th' king comes the cadger's waiy sometime, es I knows, an' you may 'ave to meke use of me some daiy. It's all a questing of money.
Of money?
Yuss--he leaned forward and whispered hoarsely in her ear--"or of thet there necklace."
It is not mine--it is----
But it are yours, miss, and you git it. Wen y'arsked everyone to try an' git t'know wot y'want t'know, and fail, said Waterloo, with great emphasis, "you pass along the necklace t'me, and then I'll tell y' wot's wot. I'm a oner, I am."
But why do you wish to betray your friends for me?
Ah, their toime's acomin' to an end, miss, an' I don't want t'be in et th' finish, which is in th' dock. Wen ole Alpenny wos alive, he 'ad a 'ead, he 'ad; but this Major Ruck cove's spilin' things as quick es jimmy, oh.
But in what way?
Oh, I ain't agoin' to saiy any more. Wen th' bust comes y'think of me, miss, and with this final remark, Waterloo lay back luxuriously against the soft cushions. Beatrice saw the necessity of enlisting this traitor on her side, and saw also that he was open to bribery, although the bribe of the necklace was a very costly one. But in spite of all her endeavours, she could not get the man to talk. Waterloo only winked and leered, and thrust his tongue in his cheek, much to the disgust of the ladies opposite, who apparently could not understand how such a quiet, ladylike girl came to be in the society of such a raffish animal.
With the utmost gravity Waterloo conducted Beatrice to the Liverpool Street Station, and placed her in another first-class carriage. This time he got the tickets himself, and she wondered where he had procured the money to do so. From what she had seen of the man, he was a genuine tramp, and more used to walking than to riding. But it was evident that he belonged to the Black Patch Gang, and apparently the gang had been successful lately. Waterloo himself declined to impart further information, but leered and winked as usual, so Beatrice held her peace, and tried to steel herself to the adventure. She recognised that she was acting foolishly in going into the slums with Waterloo, but since Vivian was lost to her, she felt that she cared very little what happened. Besides, desperate diseases require desperate remedies, and in that proverb she found ground for believing that she was acting rightly. Finally, she was certain that whatever was intended, her life would be safe, and while she lived she could always get out of any difficulty by exercising her strong will and undaunted spirit.
Alighting at Stepney Station, Waterloo conducted her to a four-wheeler, and this drove off down the street Then Waterloo engaged her in conversation, and hinted that he knew everything about the Black Patch Gang. Beatrice, listening to his half hints, became so interested that she did not notice that the cab was passing down a series of mean streets; and only when it drew up with a jerk before a most disreputable-looking house, did she see that she was in a very low and dangerous neighbourhood. However, she had gone too far to retreat, and therefore stepped out with great coolness. The cab drove off without payment. "One of us," said Waterloo, jerking his thumb over his shoulder with a wink.
They were admitted through a closely barred door into a narrow passage dimly lighted. On ascending the stairs Beatrice noted how foul the walls were with grime and grease. Various small rooms, some of which had open doors, revealed raffish individuals, and various states of disorder. The place was a den as foul as that inhabited by Mr. Fagin, and Beatrice, used to the fresh air of the country, felt ill with the tainted atmosphere. However, she suppressed all signs of disgust, as these would have made Waterloo angry, and for apparent reasons she wished to cultivate his good will.
He led her to the very top of the house, and came to another door sheeted with iron. In response to a touch on a button this opened, and pushing Beatrice in he closed it again, remaining on the outside. The girl, who was taken by surprise, tried to reopen the door, but it was fast closed, and she heard the little brute chuckle on the other side. She was caught, like a rat in a trap. It only remained for her to see if Durban was caught also--or if he exercised sufficient authority over the gang to release her when she wished to return to Kensington.
The surroundings amazed her. The corridor--it was not a narrow passage this time--was spacious, and decorated with velvet hangings. The carpet was velvet pile, and the ceiling was painted in a most delicate and artistic manner. While she was marvelling at this sight, so unexpected, a side door opened, and she beheld Major Ruck, as gigantic as ever, arrayed in a smart smoking suit.
Just in time for afternoon tea, said the Major gallantly, and threw open the door. "Please to enter a bachelor's den, Miss Hedge."
But Durban? she asked, drawing back.
I will tell you all about him, said the big man, with a bland smile. "In the meantime, as we have much to talk about and you must be faint after your long journey into these wilds, perhaps you will enter and accept my hospitality."
Beatrice cast one look at him, and entered without another word. The room was not large, but furnished with a splendour which startled her when she remembered the exterior of the house. The walls were hung with green silk, and the hangings were drawn back here and there by silver cords to show choice pictures. The ceiling was also painted, the floor was stained and covered with valuable Persian praying mats, and the furniture would have done credit to a West End drawing-room. It really looked rather like a woman's room, as there were plenty of flowers about, and on a tiny table of carved wood stood a tea equipage of silver and delicate egg-shell china.
I have made ready for you, said the Major, drawing forward a chair to the table, and near a window which was filled in with stained glass. "I hope you like my crib. It is not so comfortable as that in the West End; but in these wilds"--he shrugged his big shoulders--"one has to put up with hardship. Will you have some tea?"
No, thank you. I want to see Durban.
He will be in presently.
Beatrice started to her feet. "Is he not ill?"
He never was better in all his life. Pardon the ruse that was used to bring you here, but I knew well that you wouldn't come of your own free will.
Allow me to go away, said Beatrice, walking towards the door,
When we have had a talk and understand one another--not before, said Ruck, rising and standing before the fireplace. He was still smiling and bland and genial, and looked very spruce in his well-cut clothes. It was difficult to imagine such a man in such a room, when one recollected the vile neighbourhood.
You will not dare to detain me against my will?
Oh yes, if it be necessary, said Ruck easily; "but I trust"--with a graceful bow--"that it will not be necessary."
If you keep me here, my landlady in Kensington has the address of this place and will tell the police.
I fear the police will waste their time, Miss Hedge. The address was a wrong one, with which Waterloo was purposely furnished.
The address was Stepney----
But not Malta Street. This is in a different locality. Come, Miss Hedge, you must see that you are in my power. But I am a gentleman, so do not be afraid.
Afraid! The sound of the word made Beatrice fling back her head with a proud gesture. "I am afraid of nothing and no one, Major Ruck. I know how to protect myself."
I hope you will know how to protect Mr. Paslow.
What do you mean?
That can be explained after tea. Do pour out the tea, Miss Hedge; it is so pleasant to see a lady officiate.
Beatrice deliberately walked to the table and poured out a cup of tea for the Major, which she handed to him along with a plate of delicate cakes. "Will you not take one yourself?" said Ruck winningly; "it is not drugged."
Beatrice, although her heart was beating loudly, walked back to the table with a gay laugh. "You do not give me time," she said. "I am not at all afraid of drugs," and she filled herself a cup which she sipped with great enjoyment. When she also began to eat a cake, the Major smacked his leg with a look of admiration.
Upon my word, Miss Hedge, you are plucky and no mistake. I wish you would marry me.
Thanks; but I have no wish to.
We should do great things together, urged Ruck.
Doubtless; but you see I have an aversion to appearing in a police-court, Major Ruck. By the way, why did you not tell me that Mr. Paslow had appeared in one?
I very nearly did, said Ruck with great frankness, "as I thought it might frighten you into refusing him. But then I thought it would be better to send his wife along."
Is she really his wife? asked Beatrice doubtfully.
Really and truly. Paslow always was a moral man. You can never marry him now.
No. But I can always love him.
The shadow without the substance, said Ruck, with a shrug; "you will find that unsatisfactory, Miss Hedge."
That is entirely my affair, Major. And why don't you give me my proper name of Miss Hall?
Oh yes. I forgot that you knew all about that matter.
I know more than you think, since I have seen Lady Watson.
Ruck started. "She told you nothing?" he said in vexed tones.
Everything--even to the fact that she was about to run away with you on the night my father was murdered.
Ruck's brow grew dark, and he uttered something which was not exactly a blessing. However, he speedily recovered his good humour, and asked for a second cup of tea, which Beatrice just as good-humouredly handed to him. It was an odd interview.
Well, said Beatrice after a pause, "and what do you wish to see me about, Major? I don't want to stay long."
You seem to forget that you are in my power, said Ruck, nettled by this coolness.
Oh no, I don't; but I am not afraid. Come now, Major, you can speak glibly enough when it suits you. I pay you the compliment of saying that you don't want to make love?
I don't. All the same, I admire you so much that I am mighty near insisting upon your becoming my wife. We have a clergyman who belongs to the Black Patch Gang, you know.
Ah! Then you are a member of that Gang?
Yes, said the Major, with an embarrassed air. "I am a poor gentleman, who has taken to bad ways instead of earning an honest living."
That is a pity, replied Beatrice, "for, in spite of your behaviour, Major, I like you. I wish you would turn over a new leaf."
I doubt if I have one to turn, muttered Ruck, flushing a brick-red at her words. "However, if you will give me that necklace, I shall try and lead a better life. I have to," he confessed candidly, "as I don't mind telling you that the course of the Black Patch Gang is nearly run. The police have got to know too much, and at any moment may raid us."
I have not got the necklace, said Beatrice coldly.
I know that. Maud Carr had it, and told me how her father had found it. But instead of giving it to me, she passed it along to your mother.
To whom, said Beatrice with emphasis, "it rightfully belongs."
Well, yes; but also it belongs to me. Lady Watson will not give it to me, but she will to you. And, as a matter of fact, your father the Colonel left you the necklace.
You contradict yourself, Major: you said it belonged to my mother.
Possession is nine points of the law, said the big man, with a shrug, "and Lady Watson has the necklace, sure enough. But you can insist on her giving it to you, and then hand it to me. I'll vanish out of your life and trouble you no more. There is a wide field for the exercise of a gentleman's abilities in the States."
And suppose I decline? asked Beatrice disdainfully.
In that case, replied Ruck, regarding her attentively, "I shall be compelled to accuse Mr. Vivian Paslow of having murdered Alpenny."
That is a lie, cried Beatrice, starting to her feet. "It is the truth," retorted the Major, "the real truth."
Beatrice sank back in the chair and fixed her eyes fearfully on the man who thus accused Vivian of a terrible crime. "You say that to frighten me," she gasped.
Major Ruck made no direct reply, but touched a bell. In response to its sound an old woman neatly dressed, but as evil-looking as the tramp, appeared. "Send Waterloo to me," said the Major.
The old woman vanished, and Major Ruck strolled to the window, whistling, with his hands behind his back. Beatrice, grasping the arms of her chair with the perspiration beading her forehead, wondered what Waterloo had to do with the accusation. She remembered the tramp's hint, and fancied that perhaps after all he really knew the truth; but that the truth should place Vivian in the position of an assassin appeared too terrible for words. While she thus meditated and the Major whistled, Waterloo with his familiar leer appeared. In the presence of his master the old man--for he was very old, as Durban had said, in spite of his attempts to renew his youth--seemed meaner than ever, and very much afraid.
Yuss, Major, said Waterloo meekly.
Ruck wheeled sharply. "Tell this young lady what you saw of Alpenny's murder," he commanded.
Why, lor' bless me, I sawr very little, sir, whined the tramp.
Tell what you did see, and how Vivian Paslow killed the man.
I don't believe it--I can't believe it! muttered Beatrice, twisting her hands in agony.
Wait till you hear what Waterloo has to say, said Ruck grimly.
It wos this waiy, miss, said the tramp, addressing himself to the pale girl. "The Alpenny cove, he set me to watch you an' Mr. Paslow seein' as you loved one another."
And do still, in spite of all, murmured Beatrice, while the Major raised his eyebrows superciliously.
I wos awatchin' the pair of you on thet night, went on Waterloo in a cringing way, "and follered you, miss, to th' oak."
You were the man crouching near the gates of The Camp?
Yuss, miss. I guessed you sawr me. I follered y'; and then wen Mr. Paslow sawr me, he follered me. He got 'old of me and kicked me, and I tuck out my knife to stab him. But he went away and back to the oak; I pulled myself together, and follered to knife him if I could. You had gone, miss, and Mr. Paslow he went to The Camp to see if you wos back, miss. I didn't keep quiet enough in the follering, and Mr. Paslow he caught me agin near The Camp and kicked me 'ard. I tried to use my knife, said Waterloo with a venomous look, "but he took it off me, and climbed over the big gates. I follered."
Why did Mr. Paslow enter The Camp? questioned Beatrice.
To see if you wos back, miss, explained the tramp, while the Major smiled graciously. "I follered to git back me knife. I sawr the door of the counting-house open, an' the ole cove Alpenny come out hollering Thieves!' He was dressed in his hat an' cloak to go away----"
That, interpolated the Major, "will be explained later."
Wen he sawr Mr. Paslow he made for him, and Mr. Paslow held out my knife--unthinking, like. Alpenny fell on it, and then he struck Mr. Paslow. I never sawr any cove go so mad es Mr. Paslow did. He fair raged, and got the ole man down an' cut his throat.
No, no, no! cried Beatrice fiercely; "you lie!"
I don't lie, now, said Waterloo sullenly; "it's the truth. And wen Mr. Paslow sawr me comin' over the gate, he bolted, leaving his handkerchief behind."
Ah! Beatrice remembered what Durban had said about the handkerchief. "Mr. Paslow left that with Mr. Alpenny on the day he quarrelled with him, previous to the death."
Did Mr. Paslow explain that himself? asked Ruck sneeringly.
No. Durban gave me the explanation. I never spoke to Mr. Paslow of the handkerchief, as I believed Durban.
And Durban told that lie to save your asking Mr. Paslow. Though, I dare say, added the Major with a shrug, "that Paslow would have lied also had you spoken to him."
Go on, said Beatrice, speaking to Waterloo with grey lips. The conviction was forcing itself upon her that, after all, he might be telling the terrible truth.
Wen Mr. Paslow slung his 'ook, said Waterloo, leering, and more at his ease, "he got over the big gate. I dragged Alpenny into the counting-house and laid him out. Then I locked the door, and got away by the underground passage. Outside I heard voices, and saw the Major here."
Quite so, said Ruck courteously; "and now I can tell the remainder of the story. I came down, Miss Hedge, to punish Alpenny, who had been betraying the organisation of which he was the founder."
The Black Patch Gang? said Beatrice faintly. She felt very ill.
Exactly. Alpenny founded it thirty years ago, and I was one of the earliest members, as was Waterloo here. When Alpenny was stopping at Convent Grange with your father and Mr. Paslow's father, he was even then a receiver of stolen goods, although the operations of the Gang were not so wide then as they have been since. We include all classes amongst us. Tuft the lawyer, who acted for Alpenny, and who got Mr. Paslow out of trouble when he was accused of shoplifting, is one of us; so is his wife, Miss Carr--or, as I should say, Mrs. Paslow. I am the head of the lot. The cabman who drove you here is a member; so is the doctor who attended Miss Carr's double, and who gave a false certificate by my direction.
Why? asked Beatrice quickly.
Well, if you had procured me the necklace, I would have allowed you to marry Paslow. And then if Miss Carr had married this American, we would have got money out of him. I always, added the Major with a smile, showing his white teeth, "believe in killing two birds with one stone. However, to resume. We are bound by a death-oath not to betray one another. Alpenny made a lot of money, and found that the police were getting to know too much. He decided to bolt. I warned him twice, and the third time the warning was conveyed by Durban, through Mr. Paslow."
Wait. Is Durban one of the Gang?
No, scowled the Major with a sudden change of tone, "he is too honest. But he knows everything about us. Because we threatened to kidnap you, he held his peace. However, Alpenny received his third warning, and instead of profiting by it he prepared to bolt. I thought he would do it, and went down with another man to kill him."
Kill him! screamed Beatrice. "Oh no, no!"
Oh yes, yes! said the Major coolly; "we had to make an example of him. However, Mr. Paslow saved us the trouble. When Waterloo here heard my voice, he came out and told us the truth. I entered by the great gates, as I had a duplicate key. Waterloo went through the underground passage and let us into the counting-house. We saw the body, and searched for the Obi necklace, which, however we were unable to discover."
It was in a pocket behind the rep curtains, said Beatrice.
And Durban found it. I know all about that. But at the moment we could not find the necklace, and as you might be back at any moment, according to Waterloo here, we had to go away. But I picked up Mr. Paslow's handkerchief where he left it on the ground while struggling with his victim, and, soaking it in the blood, I left it beside the body in the counting-house.
I found it, said Beatrice. "Why did you do that?"
I wanted Paslow to be accused, since he would not join us. However, you found it, and Durban explained its presence there by a lie. Waterloo and the other man, whose name need not be mentioned, as he is our executioner----
Ah! You did not intend to kill Mr. Alpenny yourself?
No, said Ruck, with an expression of disgust. "I have done many criminal things in my time, but my hands are free from blood. This man was always employed to punish any traitor. I took him down to kill Alpenny, but Mr. Paslow, as I say, saved us the trouble. I was alone outside the counting-house as Waterloo and the other man locked the door from the inside, and then escaped by the underground passage. When I was going away amidst the storm I saw you enter the great gates----"
Ah! Beatrice started up. "You were the tall man in the cloak with the black patch?"
I was, admitted the Major coolly; "so now you know the whole story.--Waterloo, you can go."
The little man seemed glad to get away from the calm, searching eye of the Major, and with a final leer at Beatrice he slunk out of the door. When alone with the girl, Ruck turned to her again. "Well?" he asked.
What do you want me to do?
You must get your mother to return the necklace to you, and go back to The Camp. I shall meet you there in a couple of days--in the evening. At any moment the police may get to know of the Gang's movements, and then we will be raided. I have had several warnings. There are traitors about; but I won't punish them. Since Alpenny's death things have gone wrong. I have not the head to command, as had that old scoundrel; I confess it freely. However, I have collected what money I could, and I am going to America. I want the Obi necklace also, which will bring me in ten thousand pounds. I'll settle in Mexico and live a decent life--retire, as it were, said the Major jocularly, "on my money."
And if I get the necklace?
Then I'll say nothing about Vivian Paslow's guilt, or about your mother's complicity in the death of your father.
She never killed him, said Beatrice weakly. "She felt crushed by the things she had been told."
I am not so sure of that. If she did not kill him herself, she knows who did. I wanted the necklace, said the Major brutally, "and not her. However, Alpenny got ahead of me. But he's dead; and now you know my terms. I must have that necklace."
You will hold your tongue?
Ruck bowed gracefully. "I promise you," he said in a smooth voice. "You can easily see that if you do not accept my terms that I can make myself very unpleasant."
You forget that if the Gang is found out the police will arrest you, said Beatrice, trying to get out of the dilemma in which he had placed her.
I admit that, and so I intend to do what Alpenny designed, namely, to bolt--with the necklace, of course. But even if arrested I could denounce Paslow, and get him hanged. I could also tell Lady Watson's friends what she is, and how she helped to kill her husband. I could make things very unpleasant. Now, if you accept my terms, I'll hold my tongue, and then you can marry Vivian Paslow.
That is impossible; he is married already. I don't suppose you intend to kill Mrs. Paslow with that executioner of yours?
Oh no,--the Major shuddered,--"I can fix matters without going so far. Believe me, Miss Hedge--or, rather, Miss Hall--I can do all I say. You will marry Paslow--that is, if you are willing to take a hand which is stained with blood."
I don't believe that he is guilty.
What! Not after all the evidence?
No. I cannot believe that Vivian would act in such a way.
Well, well, said Ruck impatiently; "believe it or not as you like, Miss Hall. Time is precious with me. Accept my terms, and you can return to get the necklace. I don't want to keep you here."
I accept, said Beatrice faintly. "There is nothing else for me to do, Major Ruck."
Really, I don't think there is, said the Major pleasantly. "Well, then, I'll expect you in the counting-house, where that old scoundrel was murdered, within two days--in the evening. If you play me false, I'll send a letter to the police, and Mr. Paslow will find himself in the dock instead of at the altar. And now, Miss Hall, permit me to escort you to the four-wheeler, which will be waiting."
He held out his long white hand with a polite smile; but Beatrice, ignoring the courtesy, walked alone towards the door. Ruck frowned and winced, and followed with a shrug. All the same, scoundrel as the man was, he did not like the implied slight. As the two emerged into the corridor there came a ring at the door. With a stifled exclamation of anger the Major opened it, and there on the threshold stood Durban, looking green with rage. The half-caste entered hurriedly and closed the door.
Waterloo told me that missy was here, he said in an imperious tone, "and I have come to take her away."
Oh, Durban, Durban! cried the girl, and seized his arm.
It's all right, missy. He patted her hand. "You are safe with me."
She is safe in any case, said Ruck contemptuously. "She has accepted my terms, and she has my leave to go. As to Waterloo, I will punish him for telling you what he had no right to tell you."
He has told many other things he has no right to tell, said Durban significantly, "and to the police."
What? The Major's face became ghastly, and he reeled against the wall with an oath.
The game is up, Major, said Durban, holding the hand of Beatrice still tighter. "All I want to do is to get Miss Hall away before the police come to arrest the lot of you."
I believe you told the police yourself, said the Major, choking with fury. "Waterloo would never dare----"
Pshaw! I come to give you warning, Major, as you have always been kind to me. Waterloo was in league with my dead master to cheat you and the rest of the Gang.
Is this true? asked the Major of himself, biting his carefully-tended nails. "It is impossible! I could have staked my life on Waterloo's truth."
Then you would lose your wager, said Durban. "The man is, and always was, a scoundrel.--Come, missy."
One moment, said Ruck, recovering himself. "I am ready to get away, and have placed all my money safely abroad. When do the police come?"
This night, I believe, said Durban. "I came up from town a few days ago to see if I could find out who killed Alpenny. I guessed it was one of the Black Patch Gang, especially as you gave him warning through me--or rather through Mr. Paslow. In making enquiries, I heard enough to convince me that Waterloo was in correspondence with the police, and was prepared to turn King's evidence to save his skin."
And the beast was here only a few moments ago. Where is he?
Where you won't find him. He met me down the stairs a short time since, and told me what I now tell you--that the police were going to break up the Gang. He hates you, Major, because you once horsewhipped the poor wretch. He also told me that missy was here, and I came to save her from being taken along with your scoundrels. Waterloo has hidden himself; where he is, I don't know. He guessed that I would tell you, I suppose, as I let him know that I knew of his treachery. You won't get him, Major.
Oh yes, I shall, said Ruck grimly. "I'm not going to be betrayed by a reptile like that without revenging myself. All the same, Miss Hall, I hold you to my terms. Remember, The Camp in two days--seven in the evening of the second day."
Beatrice bowed her head, being too weak to speak. Durban, with a surprised glance at the Major--for he could not understand the reason of this appointment--drew the girl away, and together they descended the grimy stairs, leaving the Major arranging for immediate flight. The four-wheeler was waiting, sure enough, and Durban told the man to drive to the station. When in the cab with his young mistress, Durban questioned her about the interview and the appointment. Beatrice told him the truth and concealed nothing. "And, I fear," she said with a shudder, "that the Major will betray Vivian, in spite of everything."
No, said Durban quietly; "when he gets the necklace he will hold his peace. The Major is not a cruel man, in spite of his surroundings and follies--criminal follies. He will hold his tongue, but I doubt if Waterloo will."
He wants the necklace also, said Beatrice faintly.
I don't care if he gets it, or if the Major secures it, or if Lady Watson keeps it, missy, said Durban gloomily; "it will bring bad luck to either one of the three. But the Major said that you could marry Mr. Paslow?"
Yes. I don't know how he intends to arrange. But I cannot marry Mr. Paslow. I believe him to be innocent, but I cannot be sure. There was the handkerchief, you know.
I lied about that to save you pain, missy, said Durban sadly. "But it really seems as though Mr. Paslow was guilty. But he is not."
How do you know?
Because I know who killed Mr. Alpenny.
You, Durban? she said, astonished.
Yes. You can marry Mr. Paslow with a clear conscience, missy, because you love him, and he is innocent of this crime.
Then who is guilty, Durban?
I am, missy. I killed the master.
In spite of her regard for the old servant, Beatrice shrank from him as far as the space of the four-wheeler would permit. It was not agreeable to be cooped up with a self-confessed murderer, especially when the crime had been of so terrible a nature. Durban saw the movement and his eyes filled with tears. He was always emotional, and wept at very slight provocation.
Don't shrink from me, missy, he implored, much agitated. "I did it for you, missy--for you."
Why for me? asked Beatrice, controlling herself with an effort.
I'll tell you when we are in the train, replied the man, as the cab stopped at the station. He assisted her to alight, and she strove to suppress the shudder which almost overcame her as she touched his hand. Shortly they were seated in the train which was going to Liverpool Street. As the distance was very short, Durban commenced to tell the story of his crime at once. Fortunately there was no one else in the carriage.
Missy, he said solemnly, "your dear father saved me from being hanged in the States. I was accused of stealing a horse, and although it was utterly false, the white men wanted to lynch me on account of my colour. The Colonel, however, came upon the scene, and he saved me. The real culprit confessed a few days later; but had it not been for the Colonel, I should now have been dead. Since that day to the hour of his death I never left him, and he always trusted me."
You did not kill him, Durban? faltered Beatrice, pale with fear.
Missy, he exclaimed vehemently, "I would rather have killed myself than the good man who saved me! No, I did not kill him; but I believe Alpenny did for the sake of the diamond necklace."
No, no! cried Beatrice quickly. "My mother told me that she took the necklace from the green box; and as she was in the company of Mr. Alpenny all the time, he must be innocent."
It might be so, said Durban gloomily; "but I never did trust your mother."
Why do you dislike her so? asked Beatrice wonderingly. In the interest of the conversation she quite forgot the earlier confession of the old servant.
Why? asked Durban fiercely. "Because she's a wicked woman, and made my dear Colonel's life a misery. She was always fond of admiration, and she broke his heart. But for the sake of his name, and but that he loved you, missy, as I love you, the Colonel would have separated from her many and many a time. She was always flirting with other men. She would have run away with Alpenny had he been willing to settle a good income on her: she would have eloped with Major Ruck but that he refused when he found that she had not the Obi necklace. And Alpenny left her the money--I was angry at that."
Yes, I remember how angry you were.
Because she deserved it so little, said the servant, with a gesture of rage. "But everything has gone well with her. She may not have killed the Colonel, but she knows who did; and I believe she and Alpenny between them are guilty. But she went away, as I arranged to keep things quiet for your sake, missy. I could not bear that there should be a blot upon your name. I intended to tell you one day who you were, and about the money you ought to have; but you found out things for yourself. I let you do so, as I thought that you might be the chosen instrument to put things right. You have proved yourself to be so; for now the Black Patch Gang, which has been the cause of these troubles, will be broken up, and everything will be right."
Durban, I cannot believe that a good man like yourself would murder Mr. Alpenny.
God bless you for that thought, missy! But I did kill him, and for your sake. He was about to force you into a marriage with Major Ruck, whom I knew to be a scoundrel. You would have killed yourself had you married him.
I should never have married him, said Beatrice firmly.
Yes, you would, insisted Durban. "Alpenny would have threatened to accuse your mother to the police. In order to save her you would have consented to become the wife of that wretch."
Perhaps, said Beatrice, hesitating. "Is he a wretch, Durban?"
Yes. He is also a gentleman, and was in the army. But he has no moral principles: he never had. He was kicked out of the army for cheating: he has been twice or thrice suspected of card-sharping, but the charges could not be brought home to him. There is not a club in London will have him for a member; and he knows only the wicked, needy people who hang on to the skirts of society.
He knows Lady--I mean my mother.
Yes. But he knew too much about her for her to refuse to acknowledge his acquaintance. Lady Watson knows very good people, as her husband, Sir Reginald Watson, was a rich and well-known sporting officer. Nothing is known in society about Lady Watson's past, or her connection with the death of Colonel Hall, her first husband. That is an old story, and people forget very easily nowadays, when a lady is rich. What with Sir Reginald's money and Mr. Alpenny's, your mother must be very wealthy.
Did she inherit nothing from my father?
No, she did not. The money--and there was a great deal of it--was left to you, missy, with your mother as guardian. But I knew that if your mother brought you up, she would ruin you in some way, as she is so wicked. I therefore threatened to tell the police what Miss Duncan (who now is Mrs. Snow) told to me--that is, about the midnight meeting with Mr. Alpenny on the stairs. I insisted that you should be given into my care, so that I could look after you.
And you have done it like a father, said Beatrice, giving him her hand gently.
Durban bent down and kissed it, with tears in his eyes. "I have done my best for your father's sake, missy, and at least I have saved you from your mother. I would have worked for you, and would have taken you from Hurstable, but I insisted on getting the diamond necklace which rightfully belonged to you. But Mr. Alpenny refused to give it up in spite of all threats, so I arranged that Amelia Hedge should marry him, and take charge of you. Alpenny promised that when he died he would leave the money and the diamond necklace to you. But he left the money to your mother, whom he always loved; and the necklace I got rid of, as I told you, as I feared for its luck. But it must be got back from your mother. We will go to her house now."
By this time they were at Liverpool Street Station, and the conversation was interrupted for a time. But shortly they were seated in a cab, as Durban thought he could talk more freely in one than if the two returned to Kensington by the underground railway. As the hansom rolled down Ludgate Hill, and on to the Embankment, the old servant renewed the conversation.
We will meet Major Ruck at The Camp, missy, and give him the necklace, as I don't want you to have it.
But could we not break it up and destroy the bad luck? argued the girl. "It seems a pity to throw away ten thousand pounds on Major Ruck, especially as Mr. Paslow needs money."
You will have your father's money, said Durban obstinately. "I shall make your mother give it to you. Of course, as you were thought to be dead, Lady Watson got the money, and no doubt has spent it. But she will have to refund it out of Alpenny's legacy. There will be no need to employ lawyers: I can force her to do what I want."
Does she know that--that---- Beatrice hesitated.
That I killed Alpenny? No; she does not know that. But she thinks that I killed my master--as though I would have hurt a hair of his dear head!
And I don't believe that you killed Alpenny either.
Yes I did, missy, said Durban obstinately. "He wanted to make your life a misery, and I was right to kill him."
Beatrice said nothing for a few moments. With a white man it would have been different; but Durban had negro blood in his veins, and did not look upon murder as a more civilised person would have done. Beatrice was horrified inwardly, but she controlled herself sufficiently to keep quiet. After all, Durban had committed the crime for her sake; and much as she reprobated his wickedness--if wickedness it could be called, to kill so evil-living a man as the usurer--she could not find it in her heart to condemn him to the uttermost.
How did you kill him? she asked in a low voice.
I did not go to town that night. I returned to see him, and had a quarrel in the counting-house. He was violent and flew at me. I had a struggle with him, and killed him. That is all! he ended with apparent indifference.
Durban spoke as though he were saying a lesson. Beatrice looked at him attentively, and saw that his face had resumed the usual green colour it always took on when he was excited. The story was plausible enough. All the same, she did not believe that he was guilty any more than she believed in the guilt of Vivian. "You are innocent!" she said sharply. "Don't deny it. You accuse yourself to screen Mr. Paslow."
Do you believe that he is guilty? asked Durban hoarsely.
No. I don't care what Waterloo says.
What did he say?
Beatrice related the whole accusation with the evidence, as detailed by Waterloo. Durban listened attentively, and wiped his face. "Guilty or innocent," he said in a strangled voice, "that evidence is sufficient to hang Mr. Paslow. I am guilty, missy."
I don't believe it, retorted Beatrice. "Everything connected with these matters has been sordid and evil; but that you, who have always been so kind, should kill even so wicked a man as Mr. Alpenny, is ridiculous. Nothing will ever make me believe in your guilt. But here we are," she broke off abruptly; "say nothing more until we have seen my mother. We will get the necklace, and close the Major's mouth. I will question Vivian and hear what he has to say."
No, no, missy!
Yes, yes! retorted Beatrice imperiously. "I will not let you, my oldest friend--my almost father--accuse yourself of a vile crime, when I know that you would not hurt a fly."
Durban would have answered, but that they had to alight. The cab was dismissed, and Durban rang the bell. As Lady Watson proved to be at home, they were shown up into the drawing-room. The mistress of the house might have refused herself to Durban, whom she hated, but the footman said that he had been given orders to admit Miss Hedge whenever she called. This showed Beatrice two things. Firstly, that her mother really wanted to see her as often as possible, and might have some small affection left; and secondly, that she did not intend to acknowledge her as her daughter, seeing that she had given the servant the name of Miss Hedge instead of Miss Hall.
Lady Watson expressed surprise at seeing Durban, and joy at beholding Beatrice. "You dear girl!" she said, embracing her; "you did make me so miserable this afternoon. I am just going out to dinner, and can only give you ten minutes.--I am surprised to see you, Durban."
And not very pleased, Mrs. Hall.
Give me my title, if you please, said the little woman sharply. "Say what you have to say, and go away. I wish to speak with my child--the child of whom you robbed me."
Durban shrugged his stout shoulders and turned away, while Beatrice looked at her mother steadily. Lady Watson was arrayed in a very fashionable dinner-gown worn very low, and her complexion was coloured to match. Her jewels were many and rich, and conspicuous amongst them was the diamond necklace which they had come to take away. She really looked very well in the rose-hued light of the drawing-room, and wonderfully pretty. No one would have thought that she was the mother of this noble, sad girl arrayed in deep black.
Ten minutes, said Lady Watson, consulting a tiny jewelled watch. "But you can come to-morrow, darling."
I am going down to Hurstable to-morrow, said her daughter coldly--"to The Camp."
The horrid place! said Lady Watson, fastening her glove. "I shall sell it, I think."
No, said Durban, coming close to her; "you will give it to Miss Beatrice along with the money she inherits from her father."
She inherits nothing.
Yes, she does. The money of my dead master was left to you for her use. She was supposed to be dead----
That was your fault, burst out Lady Watson savagely.
And you used the money, went on Durban, as though he had not heard her speak; "but Mr. Alpenny's legacy will provide funds for you to restore the money. There is sufficient to give Miss Beatrice two thousand a year."
I won't give her a penny! said the little woman, setting her teeth and looking extremely ugly. "I want all my money to myself."
You must return this money, said Durban coldly; "and also, this very moment, you must give back the diamond necklace."
Lady Watson placed her gloved hand on the jewel which flashed on her neck. "This?" she gasped. "Never! it is mine. It was bought for me."
Quite so, madam, said Durban; "but when the Colonel found that you were flirting with Major Ruck, he determined to keep it for his child. By the will--of which I have a copy--Miss Beatrice inherits that necklace."
Child! said Lady Watson tragically, "will you see your mother robbed by this--this--this low nigger?"
If the necklace is mine, I intend to have it, said Beatrice coldly; "it is my intention to make some use of it, otherwise I would leave it to you. I want to have nothing to do with you, Lady Watson."
Lady Watson dashed the fan she held on the table, and broke it to pieces. "I am your mother!"
No, said Beatrice steadily, "you never loved me, or you would not have given me into the care of strangers."
He made me--he made me, and she pointed to Durban.
For the sake of my dead master, said Durban calmly. "Come now, madam, you must give up the necklace. I will see your lawyer to-morrow about the transfer of Miss Beatrice's money to herself."
I refuse--I refuse!
Take care, said Durban fiercely, and again coming close to her. "I can make Mrs. Snow tell what she saw on that night."
I have told all that to my child, quivered Lady Watson, crying with fear.
But not to the police.
The police! echoed the little woman, growing pale under her carefully coloured face, and sinking into a chair.
Yes. If you did not kill the Colonel, Alpenny did.
No. I swear he was with me the whole time: he is as innocent as I am. You can do nothing.
I perhaps cannot prove you guilty, said Durban steadily, "but I can tell the police what Mrs. Snow saw, and get the whole case into the papers."
Who will care, when the Colonel died so long ago?
His death is evidently connected with this Alpenny crime, said Durban harshly, "and so the public will be quite glad to read all about the earlier one. What will your friends say?--who will take your hand when he or she knows what I have to tell about that midnight meeting, and of your projected elopement with the notorious Major Ruck?"
Lady Watson trembled and burst into tears, which, streaming down her face, aged her in a few minutes. "Beatrice, what am I to do?" she wept.
Give up the necklace, said the girl, keeping aloof--she could not find it in her heart to pity a mother who had behaved so badly to her child, a wife who had tricked her husband so often--"then we will leave you, and say nothing."
But if I give up the necklace, will you come and see me?
Yes, said Beatrice with an effort; "after all, you are my mother."
You horrid girl! you are just like your father. Oh, well, if I am to be blackmailed by an unnatural child and a nigger, I must pay the price, and you may be glad that I don't give you both in charge.
Durban crossed to the bell. "I will ring if you like. There is a constable outside."
No! shrieked Lady Watson, and unfastened the necklace with trembling fingers. Durban took it from her in silence, and then she rallied sufficiently to rage. "You horrible black creature!" she cried, "you have stolen my property, and have turned from me the heart of my dear child. Go away, I hate the sight of you."
Come, missy, said Durban, holding open the door.
Yes, go--go, Beatrice. You've made me quite ill. I shan't enjoy my dinner a bit to-night, and there is such a good cook. I'll have to look after my face again--it's quite ruined. She tripped to the mirror and looked in perfectly calmly. While she did this Beatrice, sad at heart at such frivolity under such circumstances, withdrew with Durban, and they took their way to Mrs. Quail's hotel.
I'm glad you saved me from my mother, Durban, was all the girl said; but in the seclusion of her bedroom she wept bitterly. In those days, at that moment, the world was very grey and dismal.
Having finished her business in London, Beatrice returned to Hurstable with Durban. They went back to The Camp, as the girl did not wish to again take up her abode in Convent Grange until her relations with Vivian Paslow were more settled. What Major Ruck meant by his mysterious hints, she could not imagine, but deep in her heart she cherished a hope that everything would yet be made smooth, and that all these troubles which desolated her life would be finally ended by her marriage with the man she loved.
It may seem strange that she should dwell at The Camp along with one who had confessed himself guilty of a terrible crime. But Beatrice, as she had said in London, and repeated frequently afterwards, did not believe Durban to be guilty. In an excess of zeal, and in order to secure her happiness, he professed himself to be the criminal. Had Waterloo and Major Ruck not accused Vivian, the girl felt very certain that Durban would not have accused himself. The man still insisted that he was guilty, and Beatrice still refused to believe him. After much thought she determined to give Vivian a chance of clearing himself, and believed that could he prove his innocence, Durban would not proceed with his self-sacrifice. With this in her mind, she wrote a note to Paslow the day after she arrived at The Camp. Durban was not with her at the time, as he had gone to the station to get the newspapers. It was necessary to see if the Black Patch Gang's quarters had been raided, and if Major Ruck had been arrested; if so, the appointment which the Major had made for the next evening at seven need not be kept.
Paslow, looking anxious and eager, arrived about three in the afternoon, and with him came Dinah. Without giving her brother time to speak, the girl flew at Beatrice and kissed her several times.
Oh, Beatrice, I have such heaps and heaps to tell you, she gasped, with a flushed face and very bright eyes. "Jerry and I are going to be married in three months."
That is indeed good news, said Beatrice cordially, and did not seek to stop the flow of Miss Paslow's confidences. After the sordid scoundrels with whom she had been mixed up lately she was more than delighted to be in the company of this homely, honest maiden, and to hear her artless prattle. Vivian cast an inquiring look at Beatrice, as he was anxious to know how she had sped with Lady Watson, and could not understand why she had returned with Durban. But the girl merely smiled to reassure him, although she felt far from smiling, and demanded the news from Dinah. That damsel was only too glad to lead the conversation.
It's this way, she declared, sitting down, and breathing hard: "Jerry has had his salary raised, and we'll have enough to rent a tweeny house at Fulham, or Bedford Park, or somewhere nice. Jerry is writing a novel, and I'm going to help him. And Mr. Snow has been made a Dean of some place in Wales."
I am glad to hear that, said Beatrice quickly, for she thought that this preferment would remove Mrs. Snow from the neighbourhood--a thing devoutly to be wished for, since the woman disliked her.
So am I, because Mr. Snow will get a large salary; and, in spite of Mrs. Snow (who is a cat!), Mr. Snow intends to allow Jerry and me one hundred a year. Vivian (who is a dear!) intends to allow me the same, so what with this and Jerry's salary we'll have about four or five hundred a year to begin life on. I really don't know if I am standing on my head or my heels, cried Dinah, clapping her hands, and with her freckled face aglow with lively joy.
So you see, Beatrice, said Vivian, with a smile on his dark face, "her happiness and life are settled. She will marry Jerry, and help him to become the Shakespeare of his generation."
Oh no. Shakespeare only wrote plays! said Dinah contemptuously. "Or was it Bacon? Jerry is to write novels, like Thackeray or George Eliot--but she was a woman, wasn't she? We'll be so happy; and I intend to furnish the drawing-room in cherry-colour, which always----"
My dear Dinah, said Vivian impatiently, "can't you leave these minor details to some future occasion?"
Ah! wait till you and Beatrice consult about the refurnishing of the Grange, said Dinah reprovingly; "then you'll find how important all these things are. Mr. and Mrs. Snow go to Wales in a month, Beatrice, and I shan't be sorry. I want to be miles and miles away from my future mother-in-law. But I must go." Dinah rose in a hurry. "I am on my way to the station to meet Jerry. I only called in to tell you how delicious everything is. Good-bye, good-bye!" and Dinah, kissing Beatrice twice, took herself off rapidly, while Vivian shrugged his shoulders.
What a whirlwind in petticoats! said he good-humouredly.
I am glad she is to be happy with her lover, said Beatrice in a pensive manner. "And I am also glad," she added, looking attentively at Paslow, "to know that Mrs. Snow is leaving the neighbourhood."
So am I, said Paslow, with a sigh. "That woman hates you, Beatrice."
She cannot do me any harm, replied the girl, and then looked again at Vivian. She noted with a pang how worn and thin he appeared: noted also that there were white hairs amongst his thick black locks. "My poor boy," she said tenderly, "you have suffered!"
Vivian looked at her in a startled way, and put out his hand as though to keep her off. "Don't," he said hoarsely, "or else I shall forget myself and take you in my arms."
Vivian--she touched his arm and he winced, with a flush of colour, at the tenderness--"we may come together after all."
Beatrice! he said breathlessly, then dropped the hand which he had seized. "You know who stands between us."
She may not always stand between us, Vivian.
What! Is she dead?
No. But Major Ruck---- Wait, Vivian; let us sit down and talk. I have much to tell you, dear.
Yes, yes, Sit here! Vivian hurriedly led her towards a garden seat near the battered sundial, and fixing his eyes on her tired face, waited impatiently for what she had to say. But Beatrice did not begin at once: she wanted to startle him into telling the truth.
Major Ruck and Waterloo both accuse you of killing Alpenny, she said bluntly, and looking straightly at him.
Vivian jumped up with a suppressed oath. "What a lie!"
Tell me, she said quickly--"tell me exactly what you did on that night."
I have told you. I caught Waterloo and kicked him; then I looked for you, and not finding you, went home. Next morning I called to see how you were getting on, and gave the key of the smaller gate to Durban, who hung it up in the counting-house, as he told you.
You were not near this place on that night?
No. I swear I was not.
Beatrice saw from his earnest, puzzled look that he really spoke the truth. Without wasting further time in skirting round the subject, she related what had taken place at the Black Patch Gang's den in Stepney. Vivian listened with growing surprise, and jumping up, began to walk backwards and forwards, much agitated. When she had finished, he stopped before her with an angry air.
The whole story is a lie! he declared decisively. "I certainly caught Waterloo, and kicked him: he certainly threatened me with a very ugly-looking knife; but he got away before I could take it off him. I wish I had found it before I tied his hands."
You tied his hands?
Yes, with my handkerchief.
Beatrice rose suddenly, and caught her lover's arm with so much force that he winced. "What is it?" he asked, puzzled by her look.
Did--did--Waterloo get away with the handkerchief?
Yes. I knocked him down and tied his hands. I was going away, when he got rid of the handkerchief, and ran at me with a knife. I dodged him, and then tried to seize him again; but he showed no more fight, and ran away. He held the handkerchief in one hand and the knife in another.
Vivian, cried Beatrice, with a pale face, "Waterloo killed Mr. Alpenny!--yes, he killed him, I am certain."
What do you mean? How can you explain?
Listen. I found your handkerchief soaking in the blood of Alpenny, and lying near the body in the counting-house yonder. I thought for the moment that you were guilty. I spoke to Durban, and he told me that you had given him the handkerchief--no, that wasn't it. He said that you had left the handkerchief behind when you quarrelled with Mr. Alpenny, when you last met him.
I never did. And----
Wait, wait. Of course you didn't. To save my feelings Durban told a lie.
Why didn't you speak to me?
I didn't think of doing so; you explained about the key. I forgot, I suppose, with all the troubles that we had. But you can see now: this man, Waterloo, had the knife, he had the handkerchief, and he was a member of the Black Patch Gang. Alpenny, because he betrayed the Gang, was condemned to death, and Waterloo is the man whom Major Ruck called the executioner. He left you to return to The Camp and kill Mr. Alpenny; then he escaped by the secret passage.
Vivian walked about in an excited manner. "By Jupiter! Beatrice, I do believe that you are right. We'll have the little beast arrested."
I dare say, if the police have raided the Stepney den, that he has already been arrested. Oh, how I wish those papers would come!
What papers?
The daily newspapers. Durban went to the station to get them, as we expect to read about the raid. And I want to clear your character--so that Durban's life may be saved.
What do you mean? asked Vivian, utterly puzzled.
He accuses himself of the crime to clear you. He knows that I love you, and, thinking your loss would break my heart, intended to answer for you.
But I have not committed any crime.
No. But the Major and Waterloo can build up an accusation against you; it will be difficult to disprove, and----
It will not be difficult, said Vivian determinedly; "the handkerchief will prove Waterloo's guilt. Does Durban believe that I am the guilty person?"
I think so, or he would not take the guilt upon himself.
Then I forgive his doubts of me, because he is so ready to take my supposed crime on his own shoulders. But do you believe me to----
Vivian--she stretched out her hands--"I never have believed you to be guilty. You know that; and now we both know the truth--Waterloo is the criminal."
And Waterloo will soon be in the hands of the police. Beatrice, I shall go and see the constable at Hurstable. He will send for the Inspector who had charge of the case. We'll tell him everything, and when Major Ruck comes here to-morrow at seven, he can be arrested.
But he is not guilty?
He is an accomplice. Waterloo apparently killed Alpenny by his order--and, indeed, the Major probably was present at the time, since he admits himself to have been the man you saw leaving The Camp. I shall go at once. Wait here, Beatrice; I'll come back with the constable. And meantime, when Durban returns with the papers, you can see if the Gang's den has been raided.
Yes, yes. Go at once!
The face of Beatrice was aglow with joy, and she went with her lover to the great gates, which now usually stood wide open. And she had every cause for joy. They now knew that Waterloo was the assassin who had murdered old Alpenny. Vivian was guiltless, and so was Durban, who, to save the tears of his young mistress, had so nobly taken upon himself the burden of shame. When Vivian departed post-haste to see the village constable, and to put all things in train for the capture of Major Ruck and his accomplices, Beatrice walked to and fro much excited.
Dear Durban, good Durban! she murmured again and again. "What a friend he has been to me! But there will be no need for this sacrifice. Vivian's character can be cleared, and then----" She hesitated, and wondered again if Major Ruck could fulfil his promise and remove the obstacle to her marriage with Vivian. She could not think of how this could be done, save by the death of Maud Paslow; and yet she did not think that Ruck, villain as he was, would kill a woman. All the same, he had certainly killed Alpenny through the instrumentality of Waterloo. "I must give Major Ruck the necklace in any case," said Beatrice, quite forgetting that when Vivian told the police, Ruck would need no necklace and would be in the dock. She went to her bedroom-carriage and got out the necklace, which flashed bravely in the sun. It was certainly a magnificent ornament, and Beatrice was woman enough to regret parting with it, especially to such a scamp as the Major. However, as she recollected Vivian's errand, it might be that it would not need to be given up. "But then," she thought, "if Major Ruck is arrested, he will certainly not forward my marriage with Vivian, as out of revenge he will hold his tongue."
With the necklace in her hand, she went across to the counting-house carriage in order to make a packet of it and seal it up. The place was chill and dismal in its desolation. Beatrice closed the door and seated herself at the desk, looking about for a sufficiently thick sheet of paper in which to wrap the jewel. Hardly had she found one when she heard a grating noise, and turned her head to see the sheet of galvanised tin, upon which stood the stove, slip aside. The next moment, and she saw the red head of Waterloo protrude from the hole.
You! cried Beatrice, starting to her feet, and her blood ran cold when she thought of what the reptile had done.
Yuss, said Waterloo, who looked haggard and white. "The Major is after me. I cut away from Stepney when the plaice was raided by the perlice. The Major cove got away too, and has been follering me. He come down by the saime train----"
He is here? cried Beatrice interrogatively, bending forward.
She had the necklace dangling from her hand, and in bending down it was brought within reach of Waterloo. He snatched at it at once and growled like a dog over a bone. "Yuss," he said hoarsely, while the girl remained paralysed by his sudden move; "he's after this, and me. He's goin' to kill me, becas I set the peelers on to the Gang. But he'll not come by this passage, and I'll slip away. Don't you give the alarm, miss, or I'll cut your throat."
The same as you did Mr. Alpenny's?
Ho! you knows that, does you? yelped Waterloo. "Yuss, I did; an' I'll kill you if----"
Beatrice ran to the door and opened it. "Help! help!" she cried, not thinking of the mad thing she was doing to provoke this murderer to wrath. There was no help near--The Camp was completely isolated, and unless Durban came back at once, or Vivian returned, she was at the mercy of this wild beast in the lonely place. Waterloo apparently guessed that he could do what he liked, for he made a spring to get out of the passage. As he did so he was pulled back, and gave a yell of alarm.
Oh lor', who's got me? 'Elp! 'elp! Ah! ow--ow--it's the Major--it's---- Here he was pulled out of sight. Apparently the Major, on the track of the man who had betrayed him, had entered the secret passage also, and was pulling the traitor down into the depths. Beatrice stared at the gaping black hole, and heard sounds of snarling and worrying and swearing and fighting going on in the bowels of the earth. Suddenly she heard the shriek of a man in mortal agony. With an effort she opened wide the counting-house door, anxious only to escape from the horrible place; but as the sunshine streamed on her face, everything seemed to grow black round her, and she fell down in a dead faint.
It was quite two months before Beatrice Hall recovered sufficiently to hear after-events. For a long time she remained unconscious, and then came to herself only to suffer from a severe attack of brain fever. The poor girl had gone through so much--she had borne up with such bravery--that the long-continued strain had sapped her strength, and she was seriously ill for weeks. Even when she recovered her reason--which she did, owing to the careful and assiduous nursing of Vivian and his sister--the doctor would not allow her to be told anything. And, indeed, Beatrice did not seem anxious to hear: it appeared as though her mind was a blank. All she cared to do was to lie on her bed, and listen to Vivian reading some soothing book.
Dr. Herman (the same who had examined the corpse of Alpenny, and had given evidence at the inquest) was her medical attendant, and he conducted the treatment with great care. With such a delicately-balanced brain as Beatrice possessed, and after she had undergone such terrible experiences, the doctor seemed to be doubtful if she would be quite sane when she got back her physical strength. He went about with a grave face, and Vivian's heart was wrung with anguish as he thought of what might happen. It seemed terrible that he should, for once, have a chance of happiness with the woman he loved, only to find that she would suffer from something worse than death. In those long days of suspense Vivian turned more to God than he had ever done before in his careless life. And God rewarded his faith. Slowly but surely Beatrice recovered, and when the doctor permitted her to be taken on to the terrace in the mild autumn weather, the peace and fresh air completed her cure. She felt her brain becoming much steadier, and again began to take an interest in life. But always she desired to have Vivian by her side, and was never so happy as when he sat beside her couch holding her hand. In two months she was quite her old self, although paler and thinner. But the troubles she had passed through left their marks on her lovely face and in her sad eyes.
Let me tell her everything now, Vivian urged to Dr. Herman one day; "she is beginning to ask questions, and will not be satisfied with being put off with vague replies."
Ah, said the doctor with much satisfaction, "she is asking questions, is she? Then you can take it from me, Mr. Paslow, that she will recover completely. It is that renewed interest in life which I wished to see. Wait for a week, and then she will be strong enough to hear what you have to say. But when she once knows," added the doctor, raising his finger gravely, "never let her hear of the subject again."
Never, never! said Vivian, with a shudder, as he also was only too anxious to bury the past which had tormented him for so long. And then he went to tell the joyful news to Durban.
Needless to say, Durban also had been watching everlastingly beside the couch and bed of the creature whom he held dearest on earth. He was like a dog, and when not within the sick-room would lie on the mat at the door. When he heard that his dear young mistress was out of danger, he almost went out of his mind, and vehemently embraced Mrs. Lilly, much to the indignation of that portly female. But when she saw his dog-like devotion, she forgave that exuberant expression of the man's feelings.
So things slowly worked themselves out to a joyful issue. Beatrice was told that in a few days she would be informed of all that had taken place since she fainted in the counting-house, and obeyed the orders of Vivian that, until the time came, she was not to ask any questions. Then one glorious autumn day, when the sun was shining with a summer-like force, and everything seemed to revive under its royal beams, Vivian carried her down the stairs as usual and out on to the terrace. Here, in her favourite nook, she rested contentedly on a soft couch, and a small table was placed beside her. Dinah and Jerry, who were also faithful attendants, hovered round with shawls and rugs and reviving drinks, and such-like things. When Beatrice was comfortably established, she took Vivian's hand softly.
How good it is to be loved! she said sweetly.
Who could help loving you, my own? said Paslow tenderly. "We are all your slaves here."
Where is Durban?
He will come shortly. And Dinah and Jerry can go away?
Why? demanded Dinah quickly, and rather offended.
Because Dr. Herman says that I can tell Beatrice everything, and it will be better that we should be alone.
Oh, Vivian--the face of the invalid flushed a rose colour--"am I to know everything now?"
Yes--he bent down and kissed her--"as a reward for obedience. Then Durban will come and see you; and Jerry can escort Dinah back, unless they forget us in love-making."
Well, said Jerry very shrewdly, and taking Dinah's hand, "I expect you really won't want us, as you will be love-making yourselves. Besides, I have to read a letter to Dinah."
From your mother? asked Dinah rather nervously.
From my father. He is now settled comfortably in Wales, and likes everything immensely, and----
Oh, come away, interrupted Dinah, tugging him by the hand; "don't give me the gist of the letter here. Can't you see that Beatrice and Vivian are dying to be alone? And I want to consult you again about that study of ours. I really don't think that green hangings will suit your complexion, and then--" Here Dinah dragged the willing Jerry down the shallow steps and across the lawn, babbling all the time of their future home.
Beatrice, left alone with Vivian, put out her hand, and heaved a sigh of pleasure when she felt his warm fingers close on that frail member. A thrill ran through her, and everything she beheld before her seemed to take on a brighter hue, because the man she loved was beside her. Yet as she felt his touch and looked into his bright face--for bright it seemed, though sadly worn and thin--a recollection of the barrier between them disturbed her pleasant thoughts.
Why do you wish to take your hand away? asked Vivian, as he felt her exert a weak strength.
Your--your--wife, faltered Beatrice faintly.
You are to be my wife, dearest, he answered gravely. "No," in reply to her startled look, "Maud is not dead. But she never was my wife."
Vivian! She said that she was.
Of course, to gain her own ends. But she is really the wife of Major Ruck: she married him when she first went to town. I believe old Alpenny arranged the marriage, as Major Ruck being a member of his Gang, he wished to secure so clever a woman as Maud also.
Is this true?
Perfectly true; so you can leave your hand in mine for ever.
That would be a long time, said Beatrice, with a weak laugh of joy. But all the same she allowed her little white hand to rest within Vivian's, and then looked at him inquiringly.
You wish to ask how we found out? said Paslow, smiling. "Easily enough. Major Ruck redeemed his promise, and removed the obstacle to our marriage by leaving on the desk in the counting-house a certificate of marriage between himself and Maud Orchard. We--that is, Durban and myself--went to the church where the marriage was solemnised, and found that the certificate was genuine. Major Ruck and Maud Orchard were man and wife some months before I came on the scene, and she entrapped me into that unhappy marriage."
But what was Major Ruck doing in the counting-house? said Beatrice, puzzled. "He was not due until the next evening at seven."
You forget, my darling, what has happened. Waterloo----
Yes, yes! I remember now, cried Beatrice, half raising herself in her excitement. "He was coming out to kill me with that horrible knife, when someone pulled him down, and I fainted."
It was the Major who pulled him down, said Vivian, gently pushing her back. "Be calm, Beatrice, and I'll tell you everything."
But I remember a lot, she insisted. "Waterloo said that the den at Stepney had been raided, and that he had got away--the Major also. Then because he knew--the Major, I mean--that Waterloo had betrayed the Gang, he followed him down to kill him."
The Major did not kill him, however, darling. Waterloo was----
Wait a moment, Vivian, she entreated. "I want to see how much I remember. Waterloo said that the Major had followed him down by the same train. I suppose the Major came by the secret passage----"
Vivian placed his arms round her so that her head could rest on his breast. "Darling, darling, you must allow me to speak. What you say is true, and you have remembered much. Major Ruck was after Waterloo to kill him, because of his treachery. How he found that the man was coming to Hurstable I do not know. But the den was certainly raided: Tuft and the doctor who attended my wife's double are in custody--the Gang is broken up. The police have examined Durban and myself, and everything has been made clear. While you have been ill the newspapers have been full of the business, and Jerry Snow has made quite a reputation in writing sensational articles."
Go on, said Beatrice, much interested.
I will, if it will not excite you too much.
No, no; I am perfectly calm. Feel my pulse, dear.
Vivian did so, and caressed her fondly. "Speak as little as you can, my dear," he said softly, and then continued his story. "Waterloo knew that Ruck would kill him if he could, and never thinking that the Major would suspect his coming to The Camp--into the jaws of the lion, as it were--he came down here, and the Major--as Waterloo told you--followed him."
Waterloo got the necklace? said Beatrice, thinking with an effort.
He did for a time; but the Major has it now. Hush, dear! The Major, as he wanted to escape, could not wait until the next evening to see you. He came down at once, or perhaps he followed Waterloo. However, he tracked him to The Camp, and saw him go down the secret passage. Ruck went down also, and listened below while Waterloo was talking to you. He knew or guessed that he had the necklace, and when Waterloo was about to kill you--which he would have done in that deserted Camp--the Major saved you by pulling Waterloo into the passage. Waterloo fought like a wild cat, I believe--at least he says that he did----
What! Did Waterloo confess?
On his dying bed he did.
Is he dead, then?
Quite dead. God punished him. Do listen, my own. Waterloo fought, not only for his life but for the necklace. But Ruck, as you know, is a big man of great strength. He dragged him along the passage and strove to strangle him. Waterloo tried to use his knife, but could not do so at first. Then Ruck secured the necklace, and Waterloo made a violent effort to strike. To escape the wound, Ruck threw him as far as he could along the passage. Waterloo struck against the brickwork, and tried to rise. But the passage as you know, Beatrice, was in bad repair; the blow loosened the earth overhead where it was not bricked in, and a mass of earth fell which buried Waterloo under it. Then Ruck, seeing that the villain was punished, entered the counting-house and found you insensible. He did not wait to revive you, as he knew that the police were on his track; he simply left on the desk the certificate of his marriage with Maud Orchard, and bolted.
Where has he gone?
I can't tell you that. But he vanished, and his wife Maud has vanished also. They managed to get a boat at Brighton, and rowed out at night to a passing tramp. It seems that the captain was in the pay of the Black Patch Gang to take the stolen goods abroad. However, the steamer was waiting off-shore, and Ruck escaped with his wife and the necklace in that way. Nothing has been heard of him up to date, and I don't expect anything ever will be heard of the two. Maud is clever, and so is her rightful husband, so I expect, now that they have money, they will live in some tropical clime in the odour of sanctity. At all events, my darling, they have passed out of our lives.
Thank God for that! said Beatrice fervently. "And Waterloo?"
Durban came back and tried to revive you. I returned with the constable, and saw that something terrible had taken place. While Durban and Dinah took you back to Convent Grange, I and the constable searched. We went down the secret passage, as we found the trap in the counting-house open. We heard groans, and got some men to dig Waterloo out. He was taken to the Brighton Hospital, and Inspector Jones--who had to do with the inquest, you remember?--was sent for. Waterloo made a full confession.
About Alpenny's murder?
Yes, and about the doings of the Black Patch Gang. You were right, my dear. Waterloo was the member. Ruck called the executioner, and I will not shock your feelings by telling you how many people the wretch murdered. But he killed Alpenny almost in the way he accused me of killing him. That is, he went back to The Camp and there met Ruck. They entered through the large gates, and Alpenny, dressed for his flight, came out. He cried for mercy, but Waterloo cut his throat.
Beatrice shivered. "Don't tell me any more."
Only this, darling--that Waterloo gave Ruck my handkerchief, and he placed it near the body to incriminate me. Ruck walked to Brighton after making an ineffectual search for the necklace--which was the real reason for the crime; and Waterloo escaped by the secret passage and loafed up to London as a tramp.
And Durban?
He arrived later, and found Alpenny dead. He told you all about that. He then found the necklace and placed it on the sheep's neck, to get rid of it for ever. He returned the next morning pretending to know nothing, as he was fearful lest he should be accused.
Then Ruck was the man I saw at the gate?
Yes. He wore the black patch over the left eye, as a member of the Gang. That is their mark--or rather it was, as the Gang is now but a name. Those caught have been sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, although Ruck and Maud have escaped, and Waterloo is dead.
The Black Patch? mused Beatrice. "Vivian," she added suddenly, "did Waterloo kill my father?"
He did, said Vivian quickly. "I thought you would guess that. It seems that Alpenny found out about your mother's intended elopement, and told Ruck that he would prevent it unless he got the necklace. As that was all Ruck wanted--for he had no love for your mother--he induced Waterloo to try and steal it, promising him a share. Waterloo assumed the black patch so that, if possible, the blame might be put on to Alpenny."
How do you mean?
Waterloo threw away the patch when he escaped, so that Alpenny, if the doings of the Gang ever came to light, might be suspected.
I see. Go on, Vivian; I am much interested.
I hope it is not too much for you, dearest, said Paslow earnestly. "But to make a long story short, Waterloo entered by the window and tried to steal the green box, where Ruck had told him the necklace was placed. The box, however, was chained to the bed. The noise that Waterloo made woke your father; but before any struggle could take place, and while the Colonel was but half awake, Waterloo sprang on him and cut his throat. Then while he was trying to wrench open the green box and get the necklace, he heard voices."
Those of my mother and Alpenny?
Yes. But they spoke so low that he did not know who they were, or he might have remained. As it was he ran away, fearful of being caught. He dropped the black patch to incriminate Alpenny, as I told you. Next day Ruck learned that Alpenny had the necklace, and how he had forced it from Mrs. Hall--that is from Lady Watson, your mother. The rest you know.
How terrible! said Beatrice with a sigh. "And my mother?"
She saw the police, and substantiated Waterloo's dying confession. But the police acquit her of complicity in the crime. However, although as little as possible was published in the papers, she has gone to the Continent, and talks of entering a convent. And I hope she will like it, ended Vivian grimly.
I am not sorry, for I never could have loved her, Vivian. But she is my mother after all, so I shall see her when we go abroad.
You shall do what you like, dearest. We will be married as soon as possible and go to Italy for a year.
Can you afford it, Vivian?
You can, he said, laughing. "Don't you know that you have two thousand a year inherited from your father? Lady Watson had spent it, but at Durban's request she refunded it out of Alpenny's legacy. We will not be rich, dearest, but we will be able to pay off the mortgage and restore the Grange, and live a quiet life together."
That is all I wish for, said Beatrice, putting her arms round his neck. "I want peace after all this storm."
You will have, darling, said Vivian, kissing her; "but we will first go abroad so that your cure may be completed. Jerry and Dinah will be married on the same day as ourselves."
Not by Mr. Snow? said Beatrice, shuddering. "I have no grudge against him: but his wife----"
She cannot harm you, dear, now. The police gave Mrs. Snow a pretty talking to for withholding the evidence she could have given. She is a very subdued woman now, and, I think, is glad to bury herself in Wales as the wife of that rural Dean, Mr. Snow. He will be master in his own house at last, for he knows so much about her that she will not dare to contradict him.
And Durban?
Here he comes. Durban, come here.
The half-caste, his face shining with joy, rolled towards them as stout as ever in spite of his grief. At the expression on the face of his young mistress he stopped short. "She knows?" he asked Vivian timorously.
Everything, said Beatrice, before Vivian could speak. "And I thank God, Durban, for having given me such a friend!"
Missy, I loved your father. He dropped on his knees beside the couch and took her hand. "And you do not blame me for having kept you in ignorance?"
No. The situation was a difficult one. You and Mr. Paslow here were both surrounded by rogues and many dangers. And all your concealments and reluctant confessions were made to save me anxiety, so I thank you, my dear friend, for your kindness I knew you were a good man, even when you accused yourself to save Vivian.
I could not let him be hanged when you loved him, said Durban, hanging his head.
You see, Beatrice, said Vivian, smiling, "it is only of you that Durban thinks. I am nowhere."
When you marry Miss Beatrice, said Durban, rising, with a grave smile, "you will be one with her, and I'll love you both equally. I know you will be happy, missy. After much storm has come the sunshine."
And that, said Vivian gaily, "will endure for the rest of our lives."
Beatrice took the old servant's hand. "There is only one thing to settle," she said sweetly: "Durban is to give me to you at the altar."
Oh, missy--me--no--no--a black--a half black!
You are a whole white, said Vivian quickly, and taking the good old fellow's other hand. "Beatrice is right. You have stood to her in the place of her father and mother, and you have shielded her from a thousand dangers. You shall come to the wedding and give your treasure to me."
Sir--missy---- Durban could say nothing more; his eyes filled with tears and he hastily retreated.
Joyful tears, good old soul! said Vivian, again gathering Beatrice to his breast. "He'll come and live with us, Beatrice, and we'll turn that horrible Camp into a jungle. Never more will we talk of the past, and--and----"
Vivian, Vivian! How you run on!
I am too happy to be sensible. What are those birds we hear singing, saying, my sweetest?
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow! was the unexpected answer of Beatrice.
Vivian's face grew grave. "I think we will, and now," he said; and with his future wife in his arms he breathed a prayer of thankfulness to the merciful Father who had brought them both to a safe haven.
The End