"No! the will – this will – which gives Mr. Gore the money was never cancelled."
"A new will was prepared leaving all to me. You read it to me yourself in your office and in the presence of Sir Simon."
"Quite so," rejoined the lawyer, smoothly folding up the parchment; "but after you left, Sir Simon, refusing to execute that will, put it into the fire."
"It is a lie!"
"It is the truth," said Durham, his color rising. "I can bring forward my clerks who were to witness the new will, and they will state that it was never executed. Sir Simon changed his mind. The estate goes to Sir Bernard Gore, the new baronet, and as the executor of the will, I will take charge of all monies and of the property until he comes forward to claim them."
"But you know he is dead," said Julius, clenching his hand.
"I know nothing of the sort. He is supposed to be dead, but we must have proof of the death. A production of his body will be sufficient, Mr. Beryl," added Durham, cynically. "I think on your own account you had better offer that reward I spoke of."
"You have been playing the fool with me," said Julius, hardly able to speak for passion.
"No, I advised you what to do!"
"One moment," said a precise man who had not been mentioned in the will. "If young Gore really is dead – which I for one, hope is not the case – who inherits the money?"
"There is a codicil to that effect," said Durham, "which I had intended to read when interrupted by Mr. Beryl." He re-opened the parchment. "In it Sir Simon leaves the property to charity with the exception of any legacies. This in the event of Bernard Gore making no will. But the property has been left unreservedly to him, and, should he be alive, he has the power to will it to whomsoever he wishes."
"And if he is dead the property goes to a charity."
"Yes! I will read the codicil!" and this Durham did to the dismay of the company. Only Miss Berengaria chuckled. She was delighted to see that Beryl had been punished, and smiled when she thought how correct had been her guess when talking to the lawyer. As for Alice, remembering that Bernard was alive and well, she found it hard to contain her satisfaction that he had been fairly dealt with. Even the thought of the crime, under the ban of which he lay, faded for the moment from her mind. Julius, with a certain malignancy, brought it back to her recollection.
"Even if Bernard is not dead he cannot inherit as a felon," said he.
"Pardon me," interposed the lawyer. "You have yet to prove his guilt."
"It was proved at the inquest."
"A jury at an inquest has not the right to condemn a man," said Durham, sharply. "If Sir Bernard" – Julius winced at the title – "is alive and comes forward, I shall do my best to prove his innocence."
"And in any case," said Miss Berengaria in clear tones, "Mr. Beryl does not benefit."
Julius turned on her with fury, and seemed on the point of breaking out into wrathful speech. But his habitual dissimulation came to his aid, and he suppressed himself. More than that, he attempted to smile.
"I don't say that I do not feel hurt," he said, with a desperate attempt at cheerfulness. "Sir Simon distinctly named me as his heir, and, moreover, asked Mr. Durham to read the new will in which I was named as such."
"Perfectly true," said Durham, coldly. "But Sir Simon changed his mind and burnt the new will. It was never executed, as I say."
"Sir Simon had every right to do what he liked with his own," said the diplomatic Beryl, while Miss Berengaria, wondering what was in his mind, watched him with her keen eyes. "But, as I say, I am hurt. I quite understood that Sir Simon had disinherited my cousin, but I was prepared to allow him an income had I received the property."
"Two hundred a year," said the lawyer. "A munificent offer."
"It was approved by Sir Simon," said Julius, calmly. "However, it appears that Sir Simon rescinded the new will – "
"It was never executed."
"Then we will say he never executed it. The money goes to Bernard Gore. So far as I believe he is dead, but I hope Mr. Durham, as the executor of the estate, will offer a reward to prove if he is dead or alive.
"With regard to the commission of the crime, the jury at the inquest found Bernard guilty without one dissenting voice. However, I am willing to give my cousin the benefit of the doubt, and should he reappear (and I hope he may) I shall do my best to aid him to prove his innocence. I hope any words that may have escaped me in the heat caused by a disappointment will be overlooked."
Whether any of those present believed this statement it is impossible to say. Everyone looked down and no response was made, save by Miss Plantagenet. She rose, and walking across the room, offered her hand to the disappointed heir. "You are a good young man," she said heartily. "And I hope you will come and see me."
Julius, rather taken aback by this invitation from one whom he had cause to think loved him but little, grasped her hand and thanked her with great fervency. Her speech was a relief to him, and he sat down with a calmer face, when the old lady returned to her seat.
"Why did you do that, aunt?" asked Alice, dismayed.
"My dear," whispered Miss Berengaria, with a grim smile, "that young man means mischief. I am taking Mr. Durham's advice and making friends with him, that I may thwart his plans."
This was whispered so softly that Lucy did not overhear. Nor, had it been spoken aloud, would she have attended. Durham had come forward and was speaking earnestly to her.
"I trust you will stop at the Hall for the present," he said, "until Bernard comes home."
"Will Bernard ever come home?" asked Lucy, sighing.
"Let us hope so. I doubt if he is dead, and I will not believe he is until his body is laid before me. As to the crime, I do not believe he committed it. However, I want you to stay here as the chatelaine of the Hall. All things will go on as before."
"Am I to stay, sir?" asked Mrs. Gilroy, coming forward.
"Yes! nor will the servants be changed. Of course, any of them who wish to leave can do so. But you – "
"I will stop on in my old position, if Miss Randolph wishes."
Lucy nodded. "Yes! let all things remain as they were," she said.
Mrs. Gilroy made a stiff curtsey and returned to the other servants, who then filed in an orderly manner out of the room. The relatives also took their leave, amongst them Julius, now smiling. At the door Lucy said something to him about Bernard. He smiled darkly.
"We have yet to prove that Bernard is alive," he said.
"Danger!" thought Miss Berengaria. "I'll watch you, young man."
CHAPTER IX
AT COVE CASTLE
Five miles from Hurseton the marshes began and did not end until they touched the coast. There were acres of mud and reeds and succulent grasses, interspersed with narrow waterways. In rainy weather this low-lying land – if it could be called so – almost disappeared under water, and in summer the poisonous morass exhaled white mists which caused fever and ague. The people who dwelt on the border of the slough of despond were rarely healthy, but they were attached to the dismal neighborhood and refused to move to higher ground where they would have enjoyed better health. What was good enough for their fathers was good enough for them, was the argument upon which they based their refusal.
The road from Hurseton changed where the marshes began to a causeway and ran solid and high across the treacherous bog towards the coast. Here it took a sudden turn, and passed through several fishing villages on its way to Market-on-Sea. And thence between hedges it passed onward to London, a road once more. Some distance from the curve an arm of the causeway ran for a quarter of a mile to Cove Castle, which was built on a firm and elevated spot of ground, near a kind of estuary which communicated with the sea. The sea itself was only distant half a mile, and a fine view of it could be obtained from the castle. Why the building should be called by so high-sounding a name, it is hard to say. It was simply a large stone house of two story, with a kind of tower at one end. Formerly, in the reign of Elizabeth, it had been a fort, and afterwards, falling into decay, had been used by smugglers for the storing of contraband goods. In the reign of George III., the then Lord Conniston being disgusted with life, and anxious to isolate himself from the gay world, in which he had glittered to the detriment of his purse and health, had bought the property and there had lived and died. At that time the family possessed several seats and a town house. But the Georgian Conniston preferred this unhealthy neighborhood, as least likely to attract his former friends. So no one visited him, and he lived and died a recluse. Afterwards the castle was deserted again, the successors of this lordly hermit preferring to live in more healthy parts. But gradually the property had been sold bit by bit, until, when Dick, the present lord, inherited, nothing remained to him but Cove Castle and the few acres around. Also he possessed the family vault, which was underneath the Church of St. Agnes at the village of Benstow, three miles away. It was strange that the members of the family should have decided to be buried in this lonely place, when they could have rested in some green churchyard in the Midlands. But, seeing that Cove Castle alone remained to their descendants, it was just as well that the former holders of the title had entertained this odd idea. The present Lord Conniston at least retained, out of the wreck of the property, the vault wherein the remains of his forebears were laid.
When Conniston arrived at the castle he was met at the door by a gigantic female of uncommon ugliness, who answered to the name of Selina Moon. She was large enough to have earned an income by exhibiting herself in a caravan, being considerably over six feet, and sufficiently ugly to shame even the witches in Macbeth. Had Mrs. Moon lived in the Middle Ages, she would assuredly have been put to death for sorcery, as her looks seemed hardly human. She had the frame of a grenadier and the voice of a drill sergeant. Her face was large and round and pallid, from a long life in the midst of the marshes. A few grey hairs on her upper lip gave her a still more masculine look, and, indeed, the least observant would have taken her for a man in disguise. She wore a frilled cap, which surrounded her face like the rays of a sunflower, and wore a vivid red gown bound at the waist by a yellow scarf. Mrs. Moon loved bright colors, and apparently, if one could judge from her black eyes and beaked nose, had something of the gipsy in her. Not so far as wandering was concerned, though, for she rarely left the castle. This was because her great size, coupled with her love of finery, provoked comment from adults and insults from children whenever she ventured abroad.
This Amazonian female, from her height of six feet five, looked down on Conniston with a submissive air. She was as timid as a rabbit, the most harmless of her sex, and report went, that the late Mr. Moon, who had been almost a dwarf, had frequently beaten her in spite of her superior inches. However, the old man was dead, and for many a long day Mrs. Moon had lorded it over the one servant in the castle. But she still wore her submissive air, and when her master imperiously demanded a sight of the gentleman who was expecting him, led the way at once to an upper room.
"But I wouldn't take everyone," said Mrs. Moon in a thin, high voice like the midnight wind in a chimney. "He being wishful to keep hisself quiet. What have he done, my lord?"
"Nothing," said Conniston, promptly. "He only came down here for a rest. Do you think he has robbed the bank?"
"There's worse things than robbing banks," remarked Mrs. Moon, shaking her frilled cap portentously, "and the worse things is what he's done. And why shouldn't he tell me his name if he was a babe for innocence?"
"Didn't he do so when he arrived?" asked Conniston, halting on the landing with an anxious look.
"No, my lord, bless your heart! he didn't," said the giantess; "and but that he had your letter, which was as plain as print – "
"And was print," interpolated Dick, remembering his caligraphy adapted to the brains of Mrs. Moon.
"I shouldn't have let him in. But your lordship said he was to have the best room, and the best room he has, to say nothing of your lordship's clothes, he having arrived in tatters like a tramp, which he isn't from the princely looks of him. No one knows as he is here, he having asked me to say nothing. But Victoria – "
"What about her?" asked Conniston, rather sharply, for Victoria was a small servant, preternaturally sharp and mighty curious.
"She's allays asking questions as to what he's doing here."
"Then, don't answer her questions."
"I don't," said Mrs. Moon, plaintively, "and but that she's so strong I'd smack her hard. But only Jerry could manage her, and, bless me! your dear lordship, he's earning his bread in London, though I haven't heard of him for months."
"He's not in the place I obtained for him," said Conniston, stopping at the door of the room indicated by the housekeeper. "He's robbed the till and bolted."
Mrs. Moon was not all disturbed. "Just like his poor father, my second son," said she, shaking the frilled cap again. "He was a wonderful boy for money and never minded how he got it. Have they jailed Jerry?" she asked, with great simplicity.
Conniston could hardly help smiling at the calm way in which she took the report of her grandson's wickedness. "No, his master turned him out and gave him another chance."
"Bless and preserve your dear lordship, Jerry won't take no chance, as I always said, being advised by the cards. It's the gallers that boy will come to, and may I not be here to see him dangling at the end of a rope, much as he may deserve it. Jerry's a bad 'un, for sure, and takes after my old man's side of the family, several having been choked by the lawr for thieving and murdering and otherwise taking their enjoyment. Where is he now?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Moon. But if he comes here, don't you let him into the castle and don't you let him know that Mr. – Mr. Grant" – Dick gave Bernard a new name for the sake of concealment – "is here."
"Grant!" echoed Mrs. Moon. "But he don't look Scotch."
"Never you mind what he is. You hold your tongue and make Victoria hold hers."
"Only Jerry can manage her," said Mrs. Moon, firmly, "me not being strong enough for such a tearing cat. If your lordship would speak yourself – "
"I'll see to it," interrupted Conniston, quickly. "I'm stopping here for the night, Mrs. Moon. Can you give me and Mr. – er – Grant a good dinner?"
"I'll cook it myself, Victoria being fond of burning things and her pastery being lead for heaviness. The wine your lordship knows – "
"Is there any of that port left?"
"Plenty, save what Jerry drank, he being fond of his glass."
"What! a boy of thirteen, Mrs. Moon!" said Conniston, seriously. "If you had stifled Jerry in the mud years ago it would have been better for him and for you."
Mrs. Moon blew a gigantic sigh. "True enough, your lordship, seeing as he'll occupy a place in the Chamber of Horrors in the exhibition me and Moon saw in London. Ah, well, some of his grandfather's people were hanged and – "
Conniston waited to hear no more of this domestic Newgate's Calendar, but abruptly opened the door and entered the room.
It was a large, airy apartment, with two windows looking on to the shining expanse of the sea, and well furnished in an old-fashioned way. In a large grate a fire of logs was briskly burning, so that the atmosphere was less damp than in the other rooms of the castle. The furniture was all of black oak, and included a square table, a comfortable sofa which was drawn up close to the fire, and several arm-chairs. Also there was a sideboard and a bookcase well supplied with volumes of works long since out of print. The hangings were of faded brocade, and the carpet was patched and mended. Here and there was valuable china and a few silver ornaments. The whole room looked comfortable and home-like, and rather quaint in its faded and mellow beauty.
"Where are you, Bernard?" asked Conniston, seeing the room was empty.
For answer a window curtain was drawn aside and Gore came out, holding the heavy steel poker. "It's only you," he said, looking very pale. "I heard voices and concealed myself behind the curtain. I expected you, but didn't know but what someone else might come. That servant suspects me."
"Not Mrs. Moon," said Conniston, pitying the haggard looks of his friend.
"No, Victoria. She is as sharp as a needle and – "
"Don't distress yourself, old boy," said Dick, taking Gore's hand and leading him to the sofa upon which he had been apparently lying until startled by the sound of voices. "Mrs. Moon can be depended upon and I'll speak to Victoria myself. You are safe here."
"Are you sure, Dick?"
"Perfectly sure. And even if you were discovered I could manage to conceal you in the vaults below the castle."
"Are there vaults?" asked the fugitive, who was shivering and pale.
"Yes! The old smugglers used them to store goods and as hiding-places. There is a passage and door communicating with the arm of the sea which runs near the castle, and you could easily escape to foreign parts by means of a boat. Cheer up, old boy," added Dick, clapping his friend on the back, "you're not dead yet."
The poor, hunted young fellow threw his arm schoolboy fashion over Conniston's shoulder. "What a good fellow you are, Dick!" he said. "I fancied you might believe me guilty."
"I'd as soon believe myself guilty, you several kinds of ass."
"And Alice?" asked Bernard, under his breath.
"She believes you innocent, so does Aunt Berengaria and Durham. Yes! and Miss Randolph also. She's a ripping girl that. I wish she wasn't engaged to Beryl, the pig!"
"What does he say?" asked Gore, warming his hand and casting a look over his shoulder.
"He says nothing, because he thinks you are drown-dead, as Mr. Peggotty would say. And, by Jove! Bernard, I thought you really were dead. You have no idea what a relief it was when I got your letter. How did you escape?"
Bernard passed his hand through his hair and sighed wearily. The strain through which he had passed, and from which he still suffered, showed itself in his bloodless cheeks and his wild eyes. At every sound he started and shook. His nerves, and small wonder, were quite unstrung, and even while sitting safely beside his old school chum on the sofa near the fire, he kept a tight hold of him, like a child by its mother's knee. Seeing this, Conniston rose quickly. Bernard was on his feet in a moment, startled by the suddenness of the movement.
"What's the matter?" he demanded, looking anxiously around, and eyeing both door and window suspiciously.
"You are the matter," said Conniston, touching the bell. "I must get you some wine. You look so awfully ill, old chap. This will never do. I tell you, Bernard, you are all right. I'll stick to you through thick and thin."
"But if I was arrested?"
"You won't be arrested. Everyone thinks you are dead. You'll stay here until we sift this matter to the bottom, and then you can take your place again in the world as Sir Bernard Gore."
"Sir Bernard!"
"Of course. You inherit the title and the money also."
"Not the money, Dick?"
"Yes! Durham told me to tell you, as he couldn't come himself. He is now reading the will and Beryl will find himself left out in the cold. You get everything."
Bernard threw up his hands. "And I'm a hunted fugitive."
"Steady, old boy. Bite on the bullet. You're a dead man, and will remain one until we discover who killed your grandfather."
"And how can we – "
"Shut up, Bernard!" Conniston made an imperative sign as a knock came to the door. Gore at once turned his face to the fire and began to arrange the logs, while Lord Conniston spoke to a sharp, dark, wizen child who entered the room. She was no more than fifteen, but had such an old face and such a womanly appearance that she looked much older. Her eyes were as black as sloes and her thin lips tightly closed. A most unpleasant-looking creature with a waspish nature.
"Oh, Victoria," said Conniston, as this goblin dropped a curtsey, "I want you to bring up some port wine. – Mrs. Moon will give it to you – and some glasses also."
"Yes, m'lord!"
"Bring a plate of biscuits too."
"Yes, m'lord!"
"And, Victoria," said the young man, as she retreated, "there is no need for you to mention that I have visitors at the castle."
"No, m'lord," said Victoria, and, with a glance full of suspicion at Bernard's back, she withdrew as noiselessly as she entered, and with a final curtsey, such as might have been made by a wooden doll. Indeed, Victoria – a most inappropriate name – might well have been cut out of wood, so stiff and angular and hard did she look. Conniston did not wonder that placid Mrs. Moon could not control this embryo virago. A combat between them would be like that between an elephant and a mosquito, with the betting on the insect.
"That's a mistake, Dick," said Bernard, when the door closed.
"What is?" asked Conniston, staring.
"Telling that girl to hold her tongue. She has no reason to suspect me, and quite as likely as not thought me merely your guest. Now she will fancy all sorts of things."
"I hope not," said Conniston, uneasily, "but she's such a little devil that I thought it best to give her one for herself. And if she chatters she will lose her situation. I am so afraid lest she should be in communication with Jerry."
"Jerry?"
"Judas. The grandson of Mrs. Moon who robbed Taberley. He and Victoria were as thick as thieves, and are about equal in wickedness. If the girl suspected anything she might ask Judas to help her to learn more of the truth than we want known. Both would sell their nearest and dearest for a pound. But don't bother, Bernard," said the easy-going Dick, again crossing to the sofa, "everything is right."
"I hope so, I hope so," muttered Gore. "If I am arrested I cannot make any defence."
"We'll talk of that later. Here comes Mrs. Moon with the wine, and so speedily that I suspect she must have out a bottle for her private drinking. I say, Mrs. Moon," said Conniston, as the giantess entered with a silver tray and the wine, "don't let Victoria leave the castle on any account."
"I should think not," said Mrs. Moon, setting down the tray. "She works little enough as it is without trapesing about on holidays. I'd keep her under lock and key on bread and water if I had my way, and if she wasn't too strong for me, the besom that she is! – begging your dear lordship's pardon. Anything else, my lord?"
"No. You can go."
"And glad I am to go," said Mrs. Moon, withdrawing with a ponderous step, "being engaged in playing kings."
"Kings," said Conniston, when she vanished.
Bernard, in spite of his sadness, laughed and explained. "It's a game of patience," he said. "I asked Mrs. Moon for a pack of cards to pass the time, and was playing the game myself. She was curious; so, to keep her in a good temper, I taught it to her. Ever since she has been playing it unsuccessfully."
"Oh!" Conniston was not interested in his housekeeper's games. He opened the bottle of port and carefully poured out a full glass, which he passed to Bernard. "Drink that up, you sinner."
Gore sipped a little wine but finally drank the whole glass. Conniston made him take another in spite of his protestations, and then the color came back to his sunken cheeks. The poor fellow was thin with anxiety and want of sleep. When Conniston saw he was better he made him light a pipe and then sat down to hear an account of his escape. Bernard was grateful for these attentions and began to look less cowed.
"You're a good friend, Dick," he said, smoking luxuriously. "This is the first moment of peace I have known since that awful moment."
"How did you escape?" asked Conniston, lighting a cigarette.
"I threw myself into the river and swam across."
"In the fog?"
"Yes. I was guided by the piers of the Chelsea Bridge. On the opposite side I took off my coat and hat and left them lying on the bank, so that it might be thought I was drowned."
