See me! Of course he did. His eyes as well as his ears were as sharp as a Red Indian’s – I can’t find a better comparison – and a smile, half-triumphant, half-impish, broke over his face as he looked at me. He nodded reassuringly, and I think he was just going to speak, when suddenly, in the flash of a lightning gleam, it seemed to me, his whole expression changed. The smile vanished, a look almost of terror came over his face; he made a frantic gesture to me, which I interpreted rightly enough to mean, “get out of the way; hide yourself,” and disappeared as completely as if he had not been there at all.
For half a second I stood, dazed and completely bewildered – rubbing my eyes to make sure that I had seen him, that the whole thing had not been an extraordinary optical delusion, born of my nervous anxiety, or – worse still – could it have been not Moore himself, but his ghost that I had seen? After all, what might not have happened to him in that mysterious secret house? There was something abnormal about it, or rather about the lives of its inhabitants. Why, oh why had I told the boy anything about it, I thought with momentary anguish. But another instant reassured me as to this last foolish terror. It was Moore himself – he had smiled in the mischievous way he sometimes did. How grateful I felt for that smile!
All these thoughts, as will readily be understood by those who have gone through similar crises, had flashed across my mind in far less time than it takes to write them.
The reason for Moore’s alarm and sudden gesture of warning to me was still a mystery, when, as I stood motionless, awaiting I knew not what, there reached my ears a sound which, from where he was, he had become aware of some moments before – it was that of measured footsteps, slowly advancing from the inner end of the long conservatory. And then I realised my situation, and the necessity for effacing myself. I glanced around me. Moore had evidently taken refuge behind some of the plants inside, but I dared not follow him. Probably enough, there would only have been room to conceal one of us in the corner he had descried; for all I knew, he might be stretched on the ground at full length; a boy of his size is at great advantage in such a quandary, and Moore was not one to stick at much, at a pinch. No, less than an instant’s reflection satisfied me that I must remain out of doors, and I pressed my way behind the greenery, at the part which appeared to me the thickest.
“There is not much fear of him or them” – for it seemed to me that the footsteps were those of more than one person, though accompanied by the tap of the crutch that I had heard on a previous occasion – “coming out,” I thought. “It is getting chilly, and the cripple Mr Grey is very delicate.” And I breathed a little more freely once I felt myself screened among the bushes; fortunately, too, my dress was dark.
Still my heart beat very much faster than usual as I heard the steps coming nearer and nearer. By peeping out cautiously I could see two figures at last, as they reached the open glass door and stood there. They were those of the brothers. How I prayed that they might remain where they were; but such was not to be the case. They halted for a moment or two on the threshold, as if undecided whether to turn or walk on, then, to my unspeakable consternation, they passed out along the tonnelle past the very spot which I had only just quitted a moment or two before! Instinctively I drew myself together as if to grow as small as possible, scarcely daring to breathe for fear of being heard.
But they were talking, as I soon perceived, and to my further satisfaction, in absorbed though low tones – so absorbed that I question if any little unusual sound would have caught their attention, and after all, some slight rustling among the dripping leaves would have explained any disturbance I might involuntarily have caused.
My ears, however, were terribly on the alert, whatever theirs were not. I was in an agony lest Moore should betray his whereabouts. My fears for him and myself had completely swamped my curiosity. So it will be believed that I had no wish to overhear what the newcomers were saying. I would have stopped my ears if I had dared to do so, though, ashamed as I was of our position, I do not think it struck me in any very acute way at the time that I was forced into playing the part of an eavesdropper. And I really do not believe that in my intense engrossment I would have noticed the words that fell from the brothers, but for a peculiar circumstance – that of the mention of our own name!
One’s own name, it is said, always catches one’s attention more readily than any other word.
“Fitzmaurice,” I heard the younger brother say, as if repeating it thoughtfully, though not in any tone of surprise. “Oh yes, I agree with you, but – ”
“I know what you are going to say,” interrupted the elder, “but don’t say it. I sometimes almost regret having told even you my conviction that Ernest Fitzmaurice is the only chance of my rehabilitation. I would not of course – I would die sooner than have had the girls” (afterwards the pathos of his thus speaking of the two poor faded little old maids, whom he could not disassociate from what then must have been a quarter of a century ago, struck me pitifully) “suspect my suspicion, my conviction, I may say. And nothing, Caryll, nothing would ever make me breathe it except to you.”
The cripple sighed a deep sigh.
“I understand,” he said, “and sympathise, especially as the chance of its being any use is so small, so very small.”
“That young fellow,” resumed the elder Mr Grey, “is clever and well-meaning; acute in a remarkable degree, to have discovered that I have a secret on the subject even from his father. But the discussion tortures me, Caryll – yes, tortures me. I would not take any steps in that quarter. He must surely understand now that his persistence is useless, worse than useless.”
“I think he does,” replied the other simply.
“And after all,” he repeated half dreamily, “it is the smallest of chances. He may be dead, or undiscoverable. If what we have been talking of were the case, he would of course have the strongest motives for keeping out of the way.”
“I am not so sure of that,” said the elder Mr Grey, after a moment’s pause. “You forget that no one dreamt of such a thing but myself. He kept perfectly clear. No, he may even be a prominent person by now, for all I know, in one of the colonies – I forget which he was bound for. But one thing is certain, the man who could do what I believe he did, and act with such fearful hypocrisy, must have slain his conscience long ago. There would be no use in tracing him, and even if there were – no! I do not think I could bring upon another, above all for Jessie’s sake I could not, what I have gone through myself.”
This was all I heard distinctly. I do not imagine either of them spoke again for some moments, and by that time they were back close to the conservatory, which they entered, the elder brother closing the door after him. I took this to be a sign that they were not coming out any more.
I cannot of course, at this distance of time, vouch for the perfect accuracy of the words I have quoted, but the sense of it is exact. I was in a state of nervous tension, in which my hearing was almost abnormally quick; then the mention of our own surname had of course startled me into even closer attention, and through all, my original curiosity was still in existence, though to some extent it had become dormant. So when the time came for the question to arise as to whether I was justified in making use of my unintentional eavesdropping, I felt no misgiving as to my capability of reporting it correctly.
But for the moment, as soon as the brothers had disappeared, everything in my mind gave way to the intense wish to make our escape. Would Moore come out? Must I summon him, or should I leave him to his fate and save myself? – for to me, as a lady, the whole situation was far more grave than for a mischievous schoolboy like my brother. I was revolving these alternatives in my mind when my perplexity was set at rest by the glass door opening cautiously, and Moore’s face, somewhat paler than usual and portentously solemn, peering out. I pushed through the bushes so that he could see me, and said his name in the faintest of whispers. He heard me, and was beside me in a moment, not forgetting, however – I must say the boy had plenty of presence of mind – to close the door behind him. I did not speak – I was too angry to have done so in measured tones – so I said nothing, only grasping him by the arm to make sure of no evasion, as the two of us rushed down the tonnelle, till, breathless, I pulled up for a moment or two once I felt ourselves, comparatively speaking, safe, close against the wall and behind the shelter of the bushes bordering it.
Then I really could not contain myself, though I had intended to keep silence until we were outside the grounds.
“Moore,” I burst out, “how could you? Breaking your promise and terrifying me, and, and – ”
I could scarcely speak. I was on the point of tears, which under the circumstances I should have felt peculiarly humiliating.
The boy was distressed, and in reality, I think, not a little frightened. But he held his ground, nevertheless.
“No, Reggie,” he replied, “you must not say I broke my word. I promised I would do nothing without letting you know. And I did let you know that I had not given it up, and that I meant to do more; you dared me to, you know you did, and I called after you, ‘you shall see if I find out nothing,’ and you only laughed.”
“I call that a mean quibble,” I replied indignantly, though in my heart I felt that I had been wildly injudicious. “You did not tell me where you were going this evening before you came out.”
“No,” he replied, “I had not decided that I would come – word of honour, Reggie. And I am very sorry that I stayed so long – but – it was so tempting. I got in so easily, and everything seemed to favour it, and – ”
“Moore,” I exclaimed, “did you really go into the house? I am ashamed of you. It wasn’t like a gentleman;” and indeed I felt aghast.
“Only into that first room,” he replied deprecatingly. “I did so want to see what was behind that black curtain, though – you were right, Reggie – it isn’t black, only very dark red.”
“And what was behind it?” I could not help asking.
“Something very queer,” he answered eagerly, delighted to find that my curiosity was still in existence, “ropes and pulleys, horrid looking things. They reminded me of the Inquisition.”
“I dare say it is only a shower-bath,” I replied, “No, no, I thought of that. I am sure it isn’t,” he exclaimed. “I – ” but here I stopped him.
“Moore,” I interrupted, “we are mad to stand chattering here. Any moment some one may pass and hear us. Wait till we are safely outside the door.”
He made no objection, and we hurried on as fast as the small space before us made it possible, and we reached the door without further ado.
With no misgiving I seized the handle – for there was a handle – to pull it open, when – never shall I forget my horror! – it resisted me.
The door was locked!
Chapter Eight.
A Catastrophe
For a moment or two we stood, as people generally do in such a case, stupefied, paralysed, so to say, staring at each other blankly. Then there came a reaction of incredulity. It could not be so.
“It must have stuck,” said Moore, seizing the handle in his turn. But no! He shook and pulled and pushed in vain, there was no sign of yielding, not even the faintest creak. The door was a strong one, and the lock in good order.
Some one must have passed out since I entered – a gardener probably – with authority in the shape of a key, to fasten up for the night. There was no use in hiding from ourselves any longer the dire certainty that we were trapped, however involuntarily on the part of our captors.
“It must be the rule, I suppose, to lock up here late every evening. Moore, what have you got me into? It is far worse for me than for you.”
“You shouldn’t have followed me,” he said half sulkily, then his better feelings reasserted themselves. “I am awfully sorry, Reggie, dreadfully sorry, but don’t lose heart yet. There are ways and means; the wall isn’t so very high after all,” and he stepped back a pace or two, and stood regarding it with anxious criticism.
“Yes,” he said at last, “I thought so! It is lower a bit farther on. Either it is lower or the ground slopes upwards, which, as far as we are concerned, comes to the same thing; and now that all is shut up for the night, it’s most unlikely that any one will be coming this way. We can go about things quietly, without fussing.”
“What will they be thinking about us at the Manor-house!” I exclaimed. “There’ll be a hue and cry over the neighbourhood if we don’t return soon!”
“No fear?” said Moore reassuringly. “Servants’ nerves are not so easily upset. They will just think we’ve missed our way, or something of that kind. Besides, I hope we shall not be so very late after all; once over the wall we can run all the way home. You can get over the ground nearly as fast as I can if you like, you know, Reggie!”
I felt that he was doing his best to keep up my spirits, and, in spite of everything, I was sorry for him; so I allowed him to take the lead, and followed him silently to the spot he had pointed out, where the wall certainly looked more easy to scale. Arrived there, Moore began feeling in his pockets; out came the stout piece of whipcord and the old geological hammer which I mentioned before, with which he started operations. The wall was rough and uneven, fortunately for us; I think it was of brick – there were already small ledges, so to say, here and there, one or two of which Moore chipped away at to make them deeper, with a great air of importance. I could have danced with impatience!
“We shall be here all night,” I said at last, “if you are going on like that. I believe I could climb the wall as it is!” But he tapped on for a moment or two longer without replying.
“Now,” he said, “I dare say you could! There are enough footholds, but of course I will go up first. Then, as I couldn’t reach to your hands, I’ll let down two long loops of cords to you, which you can pull yourself up by.”
“No, thank you,” I replied ungratefully. “I had much rather trust to clutching at the stones or the ivy.” For though the ivy was cleared on this side, branches here and there came straggling over.
Moore took my snub quietly.
“You will see,” he said, “once I am up, you’ll be glad enough of the loops.”
See I did not; for, alas! just as the boy was close to the top, something, I know not what – a loosened brick perhaps – gave way, and with a cry he fell heavily, poor child, down on to the ground beside where I stood. At first I was too terrified to think of anything but him; for a moment or two I thought he was killed, and my relief was great when he spoke.
“I’m not badly hurt, Reggie,” he whispered; “my head’s all right, it is only my – ” and a little moan escaped him – “my ankle,” he continued. “Can I have broken it?”
He sat up and began to examine it. Even in the dim light I could see that he was very pale.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, “if I could get my shoe off! My foot feels bursting!”
I was not altogether without experience in injuries of the kind. With so many brothers always coming to grief more or less, I had acquired a smattering of “first aid to the injured,” as it is called nowadays. I stooped down, and getting Moore’s pocket-knife from him, I cut the shoelaces, and rather deftly, I flattered myself, released the poor, already painfully swollen foot.
“No,” I said, “I think and hope it is only a bad sprain. But even if no worse, you cannot possibly attempt to stand, or drag yourself along with it in such a state.”
“I don’t think I could,” he allowed, and he looked so nearly fainting that I grew desperate.
“I must go for help,” I said, “whatever or whoever these people are! It is the only thing to do.”
Moore was too utterly knocked over to remonstrate, and I felt it would be cruel and useless to reproach him. I started off, running as quickly as was safe in the increasing dusk, scarcely giving myself time to think how I could explain our unwarranted intrusion. Some instinct told me that it was better to go straight to the front door than through the conservatory. I did so, but before I had time to ring, I saw that it was standing wide open, and almost immediately two figures crossed the hall. They must have caught sight of me at once, for the foremost of them – it was the elder Mr Grey – came forward, amazement depicted on his face, and stood gazing at me for a moment as if unable to speak. His stupefaction gave me a sort of courage, or rather I felt the necessity of speech.
“I beg your pardon,” I began. “I don’t know how to explain, but – oh! my brother – he’s quite a boy – has hurt himself badly. He has fallen from the top of your wall, and – and – somebody must come to help him!”
I could not utter another word. I felt myself beginning to choke and sob.
“How the – ” Then the speaker checked himself. “What in the world was he doing at the top of the wall, and how did he get there? And how did you – ” Here again he stopped. I think it dawned upon him at that moment that he was addressing a lady. Probably, too, it struck him that if some one was lying badly injured by some accident, the first thing to do was to see to him, and reserve explanations till after this had been done. But the poor man was terribly upset – as to that there could be no doubt; and excited though I was, I was able to feel fearfully ashamed and penitent.
During the moment or two that had passed, the second person in the hall, a travelling-rug over his arm, had come forward. To him Mr Grey now turned.
“Have you heard?” he said. “Come with me. We must at all costs see what is the matter.”
The younger man, for considerably such he was had taken it all in, though in silence.
“Where is the boy?” he said to me abruptly, though not uncourteously.
I pointed to the side of the grounds where Moore was lying.
“Over there,” I said, “not far from the – the door in the wall. It is locked, and we were trying to climb over.”
As I said this, the prelude to the inevitable confession, the misery and shame of the whole position almost overwhelmed me, in spite of my increasing anxiety about Moore’s injuries. It was with great difficulty that I suppressed a sob.
The last speaker, less startled and bewildered than the hermit-like owner of the place, was naturally quicker to realise what I was feeling, and I think he heard the catch in my voice, and was sorry for me. He turned to the other.
“I will hurry on with this young lady, Mr Grey,” he said, “and see what can be done. Perhaps you – ”
“Yes, yes,” our host interrupted. “I’ll – I had better – the others might be startled, and – ” I fancied I heard him mutter something about “the servants.”
“I will follow you immediately,” he went on, and as he spoke he dived back into the dim recesses of the gloomy hall and disappeared.
We – the younger man and I – hurried out. As we went, I felt that, however badly hurt my brother was, I must say something. So I began —
“I – I am so terribly ashamed,” I said. “We had no right to come into the grounds at all. We are well punished. I – you see I got frightened about Moore, my brother, and I followed him in, and then – the door had been locked in the meantime, and – we thought we could climb over.”
My companion assuredly was very quick of apprehension. He glanced at me, and I could feel that his eyes were kind, dark as it was.
“Try not to distress yourself,” he said very gently. “I do not see that you are the least to blame – rather the other way, indeed, for bravely entering the ogre’s den,” he laughed a little, evidently taking for granted that I was acquainted with the uncanny reputation of the place, “for your brother’s sake, and – ”
Here I interrupted him. I think, I hope, that I am really candid by nature. Unmerited praise is always painful and humiliating to me, as to all honestly-inclined folk.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, “please don’t say that. If you knew – ”
Then he interrupted. I think he was terrified of my beginning to cry!
“One thing I do know,” he said, “and that is, what boys are, and the inconceivable hobbles they get themselves and their belongings into. Let us hope your brother is not badly hurt after all. Ah! there he is,” for his quick eyes had discerned Moore’s half-prostrate form even before I had done more than peer about, knowing we must be near him.
“Moore,” I exclaimed, “here we are. I – this gentleman will help us.”
I spoke encouragingly. I was very sorry for him. I was answered by an exclamation of relief.
“O Reggie,” he said, with something like a smothered sob, “I am so thankful. I thought you were never coming.”
“Yes,” said our new friend, who was already on his knees beside the boy, “under such circumstances time does not fly. Let me see! which foot is it? The left? Ah,” – for Moore must have winced even at his careful touch – “yes; a good thing you got the boot off. I am not a doctor – ” (as to which fact I had had a slight doubt), “but I think it’s not worse than a sprain. Of course the thing is to get you home at once. You live near here?”
“No,” I began; “yes, I mean. We are staying at the Manor-house, Mr Wynyard’s, in the village.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know the neighbourhood at all,” he said. “I have only been here two or three times, and only for a few hours together. Is the village – oh yes, I remember – is the Manor-house on the way to the church?”
“Yes,” I replied, and I went on to explain, as well as I could, whereabouts stood our temporary home. Then a sudden remembrance flashed across me, and I exclaimed impulsively, “Was it not you whom I met a week or two ago out there?” and I nodded towards the road, “You had lost your pocket-book?”
“Exactly,” he replied; “and you kindly looked for it. One good turn deserves another. I wonder how I can best help you and your brother just now. By-the-bye, my fly must be at the door by this time.” He peered at his watch. “I am – I was to catch the London express, if possible.”
“Oh don’t,” I began.
“It is not of enormous importance if I miss it,” he said. “It’s about the fly.”
“Reggie,” whispered Moore, “stoop down a moment.”
I did no, and nodded in agreement.
“If,” I began again – “the thing is – can we possibly get Moore home without any one knowing about it? About how it happened, I mean? You don’t know how perfectly horrible it would be for Mr Wynyard to know. He is very, very particular, and he would make no allowances or excuses.” Here I unconsciously clasped my hands in entreaty. “If we were at home,” I went on, “I would tell father and mamma all about it. Don’t think I want to conceal it from them. But as visitors – and Moore is sure to be laid up here for some time.”
“I see,” said our friend thoughtfully. “It would be rather horrid for you. But – can you propose anything?”
“Mr Wynyard and his daughter are away,” I replied. “We can’t hide the accident of course, but if we could hide that it was here. Oh, if we could!”
Moore echoed what I said. In his anxiety he sat up, almost forgetting the pain.
“If you could get me outside the wall,” he said, “and then Reggie could fetch some one – there are cottages not far off – or I wouldn’t even mind waiting while you went home,” he added, turning to me.
“No, no,” said the stranger, “that would never do. There must be no avoidable delay.” He stopped a moment. “I think I have it!” he exclaimed, “and here comes Mr Grey. For his sake, too, it is best to avoid any gossip, as he is so sensitive. I will go and speak to him for a moment;” and he was moving away, when he turned towards me again. “Don’t misunderstand him or them,” he said quickly. “They are the kindest-hearted people in the world.”
Then for two or three minutes Moore and I were left alone.
“I wonder what they are going to do,” I said anxiously, for I saw that the two were talking together eagerly. “O Moore, I shall never, never for – ”
