Читать книгу Whoso Findeth a Wife - Le Queux William - Страница 6

Leaving the Earl’s presence, I refused old Stanford’s invitation to take some refreshment, and, walking along the corridor on my way out, came face to face with Frayling, who was being conducted to the library.

“Going?” he inquired.

“Yes,” I answered, and passing on, engrossed in bitter thoughts that overwhelmed me, strode out into the park, wandering aimlessly across the grass to where a well-kept footpath wound away among the trees. Taking it, heedless of my destination, I walked on mechanically, regardless of the brilliant sunshine and the songs of the birds, thinking only of the unjust accusation against me, and of my inability to clear myself. I saw that the stigma upon me meant ruin, both social and financial. Branded as a spy, I should be spurned by Ella, sneered at by Mrs Laing, and avoided by Beck. Friends who had trusted me would no longer place any confidence in a man who had, according to their belief, sold his country into the hands of her enemies, while it was apparent from the Earl’s words that he had no further faith in my actions.

Yet the only man who could have cleared me, who could have corroborated my statement as to how I spent my time during my absence at lunch, and shown plainly that I had never entered the Strand nor visited the branch post-office next to Exeter Hall, was dead. His lips were for ever sealed.

I went forward, plunged deeply in thought, until passing a small gate I left the park, and found myself in Warnham Churchyard. For a moment I stood on the peaceful spot where I had often stood before, admiring the quaint old church, with its square, squat, ivy-covered tower, its gilded clock face, and its ancient doors that, standing open, admitted air and sunshine. Before me were the plain, white tombs of the departed earls, the most recent being that in memory of the Countess, one of the leaders of London society, who had died during her husband’s absence on his official duties; while across the well-kept lawn stood a quaint old sun-dial that had in silence marked the time for a century or so. From within the church the organ sounded softly, and I could see the Vicar’s daughter, a pretty girl still in her teens, seated at the instrument practising.

Warnham was a quiet Sussex village unknown to the world outside, unspoiled by modern progress, untouched by the hand of the vandal. As presently I passed the lych-gate and entered its peaceful street, it wore a distinctly old-world air. At the end of the churchyard wall stood the typical village blacksmith, brown-faced and brawny, swinging his hammer with musical clang upon his anvil set beneath a great chestnut tree in full bloom; further along stood the schools, from the playground of which came the joyous sound of children’s voices; and across the road was the only inn – the Sussex Arms – where, on more than one occasion, I had spent an hour in the bare and beery taproom, chatting with the garrulous village gossips, the burly landlord and his pleasant spouse. The air was heavy with the scent of June roses and the old-fashioned flowers growing in cottage gardens, whilst the lilacs sent forth a perfume that in my perturbed state of mind brought me back to a realisation of my bitterness. Lilac was Ella’s favourite scent, and it stirred within me thoughts of her. How, I wondered, had she borne the news of Dudley’s tragic and mysterious end? How, I wondered, would she greet me when next we met?

Yet somehow I distrusted her, and as I walked on through the village towards the Ockley road, nodding mechanically to a man I knew, I was seriously contemplating the advisability of never again seeing her. But I loved her, and though I strove to reason with myself that some secret tie existed between her and Beck, I found myself unable to break off my engagement, for I was held in her toils by the fascination of her eyes.

For fully an hour I walked on, ascending the hill swept by the fresh breeze from the Channel, only turning back on finding myself at the little hamlet at Kingsfold. In that walk I tried to form resolutions – to devise some means to regain the confidence of the Earl, and to conjecture the cause of Dudley’s death – but all to no purpose. The blows which had fallen in such swift succession had paralysed me. I could not think, neither could I act.

Re-passing the Sussex Arms, I turned in, dusty and thirsty. In the bare taproom, deserted at that hour, old Denman, a tall, tight-trousered, splay-footed, grey-haired man, who drove the village fly, and acted as ostler and handy man about the hostelry, was busy cleaning some pewters, and as I entered, looked up and touched his hat.

“Well, Denman,” I said, “you don’t seem to grow very much older, eh?”

The man, whose hair and beard were closely-cropped, and whose furrowed face had a habit of twitching when he spoke, grinned as he answered, —

“No, sir. People tells me I bear my age wonderful well. But won’t you come into the parlour, sir?”

Declining, I told him to get me something to drink, and when he brought it questioned him as to the latest news in the village. Denman was an inveterate gossip, and in his constant drives in the rickety and antiquated vehicle known as “the fly,” to villages and towns in the vicinity, had a knack of picking up all the news and scandal, which he retailed at night for the delectation of customers at the Sussex Arms.

“I dunno as anything very startling has happened lately in Warnham. The jumble sale came off at the schools last Tuesday fortnight, and there’s a cricket match up at the Lodge next Saturday. Some gentlemen are coming down from London to play.”

“Anything else?”

Denman removed his hat and scratched his head.

“Oh, yes,” he said suddenly. “You knows Mr Macandrew what’s steward for Mr Thornbury? Well, last Monday week an old gentleman called at his house up street and asked to see him. His wife asked him into the parlour, and Mr Macandrew went in. ‘Are you Mr Macandrew?’ says the old gent. ‘I am,’ says Mr Macandrew. ‘Well, I shouldn’t ’ave known you,’ says the old man. And it turned out afterwards that this old man was actually Mr Macandrew’s father, who’s lived ever so many years in America, and hasn’t seen Mr Macandrew since he wor a boy. I did laugh when I heard it.”

“Extraordinary. Have you had any visitors down from London?” I inquired, for sometimes people took the houses of the better-class villagers, furnished for the season.

“We had a lively young gent staying here in the inn for four days last week. He was a friend of somebody up at the Hall, I think, for he was there a good deal. He came from London. I wonder whether you’d know him.”

“What was his name?”

“Funny name,” Denman said, grinning. “Ogle, Mr Ogle.”

“Ogle!” I gasped. “What was his Christian name?”

“Dudley, I fancy it was.”

“Dudley Ogle,” I repeated, remembering that he had been absent from Shepperton for four days, and had told me he had been in Ipswich visiting some friends. “And he has been here?”

“Yes, sir. We made him as comfortable as we could, and I think he enjoyed hisself.”

“But what did he do – why was he down here?” I inquired eagerly.

“Do you know him, sir? Jolly gentleman, isn’t he? Up to all manners o’ tricks, and always chaffing the girls.”

“Yes, I knew him, Denman,” I answered gravely. “Tell me, as far as you know, his object in coming to Warnham. I’m very interested in his doings.”

“As far as I know, sir, he came to see somebody up at the Hall. I drove him about a good deal, over to Ockley, to Cowfold, and out to Handcross; and I took him into Horsham every day.”

“Do you know who was his friend at the Hall?”

“No, I don’t, sir. He never spoke about it; but I did have my suspicions,” he answered, smiling.

“Oh! what were they?” I asked.

“I fancy he came to see Lucy Bryden, the housekeeper’s daughter. She’s a good-looking girl, you know,” and the old man winked knowingly.

“What made you think that, eh?”

“Well, from something I was told,” he replied mysteriously. “He was seen walking with a young lady across the park one night, and I ’eard as ’ow it was Mrs Bryden’s daughter. But next day I ’ad a surprise. A young lady called here for him, and she was dressed exactly as the young woman who had been in the park with him was. But it wasn’t Mrs Bryden’s daughter.”

“Then who was it?”

“I heard him call her Ella. She came from London.”

“Ella?” I gasped. “What the deuce do you mean, Denman? What sort of a girl was she? A lady?”

“Yes, sir, quite a lady. She was dressed in brown, and one thing I noticed was that she had on a splendid diamond bracelet. It was a beauty.”

“A diamond bracelet!” I echoed. There was no doubt that Ella had actually been to Warnham without my knowledge, for the bracelet that the old ostler, in reply to my eager questions, described accurately, was the one I had given her.

“What time in the day did she call? Where did they go?” I demanded, in surprise.

“She came about mid-day, and they both went for a walk towards Broadbridge Heath. They were gone, I should reckon, about three hours, and when they returned, it was evident from her eyes that she’d been crying.”

“Crying! Had Ogle been talking to her angrily, do you think?”

“No. I don’t believe so. They remained here and had some tea together in the parlour, and then I drove ’em to Horsham, and they caught the 6:25 to London.”

I was silent. There was some remarkable, unfathomable mystery in this.

“Now, Denman,” I said at last, “I know you’ve got a sharp pair of ears when you’re perched up on that box of yours. Did you overhear their conversation while driving them to Horsham?”

Again the old man removed his battered hat and calmly scratched his head.

“Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I did ’ear a few words,” he answered. “I ’eard the young lady say as ’ow she wor powerless. He seemed to be a-begging of her to do something which horrified her. I ’eard her ask him in a whisper whether he thought they would be discovered, and he laughed at her fear, and said, ‘If you don’t do it, you know the consequences will be fatal.’”

“Do you think they went up to the Hall when they went out walking?”

“I don’t know, sir. They could, of course, have got into the park that way. But you don’t look very well, sir. I hope what I’ve told you isn’t – isn’t very unpleasant,” the old ostler added, with a look of apprehension.

“No. Get me some brandy, Denman,” I gasped.

While he was absent I rose and walked unsteadily to the window that overlooked a comfortable-looking corner residence surrounded by a belt of firs, a wide road, and a beautiful stretch of valley and blue downs beyond. The landscape was peaceful and picturesque, and I sought solace in gazing upon it. But this latest revelation had unnerved me. Dudley and Ella had met in that quiet, rural place for some purpose which I could not conceive. Their meeting had evidently been pre-arranged, and their object, from the words the old man had overheard, was apparently of a secret and sinister character.

The strange, inquiring look I had detected in Ella’s face whenever she had glanced surreptitiously at Dudley on the previous night was, I now felt assured, an index of guilty conscience; and Mrs Laing’s dread that Ella should know the truth of my friend’s tragic end appeared to prove, in a certain degree, the existence of some secret knowledge held by all three.

Yet I could not bring myself to believe that my well-beloved had wilfully deceived me. From what Denman had said, it appeared as if Ogle had held her under some mysterious thrall, and was trying to compel her to act against her better judgment. Her pure, womanly conscience had, perhaps, revolted against his suggestion, and she had shed the tears the old ostler had noticed; yet he had persisted and held over her a threat that had cowed her, and, perhaps, for aught I knew, compelled her to submit.

My thought that the man who was my friend should have thus treated the woman I adored filled me with fiercest anger and hatred. With bitterness I told myself that the man in whom I placed implicit confidence, and with whom I had allowed Ella to spend many idle hours punting or sculling while I was absent at my duties in London, was actually my enemy.

With sudden resolve I determined to travel back to Staines and, by possession of the knowledge of her mysterious visit to that village, worm from her its object. At that moment Denman entered, and I drank the brandy at one gulp, afterwards ordering the fly and driving back to Horsham station, whence I returned to London.

At my flat in Rossetti Mansions, Chelsea, I found a telegram from the Staines police summoning me to the inquest to be held next morning at eleven o’clock, and also one from Ella asking me to return. The latter I felt inclined to disregard; the former I could not. Her words and actions were, indeed, beyond comprehension, but in the light of this knowledge I had by mere chance acquired, it seemed plain that her declaration of her unworthiness of my love was something more than the natural outcome of highly-strung nerves and a romantic disposition. Women of certain temperaments are prone to self-accusation, and I had brought myself to believe her words to be mere hysterical utterances; but now, alas! I saw there was some deep motive underlying them. I had been tricked. I had, it seemed, been unduly jealous of Beck, and unsuspecting of my real enemy, the man whose lips were closed in death.

I now regretted his end, not as a friend regrets, but merely because no effort would be availing to compel his lying tongue to speak the truth. Yet, if he were my rival for Ella’s hand, might he not have lied when questioned regarding the events of that fateful afternoon when the secret defensive alliance had been so mysteriously exchanged for a dummy? Jealousy knows neither limit nor remorse.

Next morning, after spending the greater part of the night sitting alone smoking and endeavouring to penetrate the ever-increasing veil of mystery that had apparently enveloped her, I travelled down to Staines, arriving there just in time to take a cab to the Town Hall, where the inquest was to be held. The town was agog, for a crowd of those unable to enter because the room was already filled to overflowing, stood in the open space outside, eagerly discussing the tragic affair in all its various aspects, and hazarding the wildest and most impossible theories. Entering the hall, I elbowed my way forward, and as I did so I heard my name shouted loudly by a police constable. I was required as a witness, and succeeded in struggling through to the baize-covered table whereat the grave-faced Coroner sat.

He stretched forth his hand to give me the copy of Holy Writ whereon to take the oath, when suddenly my eyes fell upon a watch and a collection of miscellaneous articles lying upon the table, the contents of the dead man’s pockets.

One small object alone riveted my attention. Heedless of the Coroner’s words I snatched it up and examined it closely.

Next second I stood breathless and aghast, dumbfounded by an amazing discovery that staggered belief.