Chapter 18

AT BOWDERSTYKE.

"I hope you slept well, Vernon," said the Colonel to his guest the next morning when they were at breakfast.

"Like a top," was the response. "That journey tired me out, and your moorland air is so strong that I slept the moment my head was on the pillow."

"You will eat well also, Vernon," remarked Towton, regarding with satisfaction the attention paid by his visitor to the appetising meal. "Our air is famous as a tonic. You will return to town a giant refreshed."

"There is lots to be done before I leave here," said Vernon passing his cup for a fresh supply of coffee. "What is your first step?"

"We will call on Miss Hest this afternoon, and I can show you the village at the same time. Lady Corsoon and her daughter will come to-day, and will arrive to dinner. That is the programme."

"I'm at your disposal. And to-morrow I suppose you will get Lady Corsoon to take charge of Ida?"

"If Miss Hest will let her go," said the Colonel cautiously.

"She can't detain her, surely."

"Not by outward force; but she may use her influence to keep her. Miss Hest won't lose the chance of swaying the mind of a girl with ten thousand a year. You may be sure of that."

"H'm," said Vernon finishing the last of his coffee. "If Ida learned the secret of Dimsdale from Maunders, disguised as Diabella, you may be sure that she told Miss Hest. In that case, Ida is not worth keeping."

Colonel Towton nodded and pushed back his chair to rise. "There's something in that, I'll admit. However, we can say nothing until we interview Miss Hest. I have already sent her a note saying that we have arrived and will see her to-day."

Matters having been thus arranged, the two men lighted their pipes and strolled out into the grounds. It was a bright autumnal morning with a cloudless blue sky and a radiant sun; the moorland air was keen, and Vernon drew long invigorating breaths into his lungs. Notwithstanding the somewhat bleak surroundings, The Grange was a remarkably comfortable house, and the original Towton who had built the same had striven to render it as bright as possible, so as to contrast with the sombre moors. The Grange, indeed, was more like an Italian villa than a Yorkshire mansion, as it was constructed of white stone and every window had green shutters, while the roof was formed of cheerful red tiles. Both rooms and corridors were spacious and decorated in brilliant tints, and the furniture was of the most modern description.

"It isn't at all like an ancestral home, is it?" said Towton cheerfully. "And all the better for that, since the word suggests oak parlours, comfortable gloom, and cumbersome furniture."

"Those would suit the situation better," said Vernon, glancing at the pines and fir-trees, which formed a screen to keep away the too keen moorland winds. "Your brilliant walls and red roofs look out of place in these stern solitudes, where Nature seems to be acting the anchorite."

"I love the scenery and solitude and all that, Vernon, but I like to, be comfortably housed. My great-grand-father left the original family seat, which is in the valley almost below the Bolly Dam, and built this place after a long sojourn in Italy. My cousin, from whom I inherit, cleared out all the old Victorian furniture and redecorated the house as you see it. It's all very modern, and perhaps, in contrast with the grandeur of the moors, somewhat frivolous. But, at all events, it is cheerful and comfortable. I could scarcely ask Ida to inherit a kind of Ogre's Castle like Gerby Hall."

"Where is that?"

"You will see shortly. It's a real old Yorkshire Manor House, dating, I believe, from the Wars of the Roses. There was a lot of fighting went on during those days in Yorkshire, and the original Hest procured a grant of Bowderstyke Valley from Edward IV. But my ancestors came along later and seized a portion of it and built the mansion near the dam. I understand that the Hests and the Towtons fought like cat and dog over the valley. However, the most of the property belongs to me, and I live in this very up-to-date Grange, while they' still cling to the remnants of their lands and to Gerby Hall."

"From whom does our criminal friend inherit?"

"His grandfather. Hest's father was an officer in the Indian army, and had quarrelled with the old man. Then he died, together with his wife, some spinster he had married at Simla. The twin children were sent home to the grandfather, who brought them up and left the estates to Francis. Now that he has been shown up, he has had the sense, as I told you yesterday, to hand them over to his sister. Perhaps she'll marry and carry on the family."

"And Hest?"

The Colonel shook his head. "Who knows. He may be caught; on the other hand, he may bolt to South America and become one of those Dictators we read so much about. As The Spider, we know that he has heaps of brains, and a piratical life of that description would suit him exactly."

Talking thus, Towton showed Vernon over his small kingdom, and after luncheon the two gentlemen strolled out of the grounds with the intention of taking the winding road to Gerby Hall. On the verge of the moorland they stood for some time looking down into the cup, and Vernon thus procured a bird's-eye view of the valley in the full blaze of the noonday sun.

"It's like a bead on a string, Towton," he said after a pause.

The description was an apt one, for the hollow into which they were looking was the bead, and the narrow valley, running like an irregular crack to right and left, might be easily compared to a string. From the cup upward to Bolly Dam the valley stretched for a mile and a half, and downward it ran for two miles in a somewhat crooked fashion, to terminate on the verge of the undulating plain, which stretched the further ten miles to the railway station. At the end of the valley--as Towton informed his guest--was a village called, from its situation, Gatehead, and there were four other hamlets beyond, all of which belonged to him. The Hests were reduced to Bowderstyke village alone and to a considerable portion of the moorland on the hither side.

"It puts me in mind somewhat of Blackmore's description of Doon Valley," was Vernon's remark when in possession of these facts. "I daresay in the Middle Ages it was quite a robbers' stronghold."

"With the Hests and the Towtons as robbers. Exactly. Their hand was against every man, and likewise against each other for the mastery of Bowderstyke. At the upper end the valley is blocked by a small lake, now turned by the Bolly Dam into a very large reservoir, so they were safe in that direction. Gatehead was where their vassals lived to guard the outlet, so you can see in troublesome times everything was extremely safe. From this valley the Hests and the Towtons went forth raiding, and sometimes, when not quarrelling between themselves, formed a kind of league. They struggled for centuries, but in the end my ancestors got the upper hand, and most of the property. I believe the feud and the raiding continued down to the termination of George the Third's reign, for the King's writ did not run in these wilds."

"Where is Gerby Hall?"

Towton pointed directly downward. "Under that cliff, where the moorland rises so abruptly. Like The Grange, there is a kind of artificial forest round it, so that it is concealed. But, as you can see, it is almost within the village itself."

"Right in line of the flood, should the dam break."

"I fear so; but I hope there is no chance of the dam breaking. You see," added the Colonel pointing out the topography of the valley, "the village is divided by the ancient bed of the torrent, now comparatively dry since the construction of the Bolly Reservoir. A stone bridge connects the two portions of the village, and on this side nearest to ourselves the ground begins to rise gradually. The other portion of the village and Gerby Hall lie in the hollow, and are cut off from the sunlight. I often wondered," said Towton musingly, "why the Hests, when lords of the entire valley, should have chosen to build their manor house in such a situation; for, when the torrent was in full force from the melting of the moorland snows, they must have been exposed to many an inundation."

"And now," said Vernon glancing northward to where the cyclopean wall of the dam frowned in the sunlight, "if that great body of water were let loose both the village and the Hall would be swept away."

"They are certainly directly in the line of flood," replied Towton unhesitatingly; "but both the Hall and the village houses are strongly built of dark stone. It would take some force to smash them."

"If that dam broke, Colonel, they would be swept away like straws on the surface of a whirlpool. I can't understand what the engineers were thinking about to risk such a catastrophe."

Towton laughed. "Pooh, pooh! Nothing is likely to happen. But now that I rule here I intend to see if some outlet cannot be arranged other than down the valley, so that all risk may be done away with. I objected to the dam from the first, although I admit that it is a work which is of great public utility and supplies Bowderstyke, Gatehead, and the other villages. But it spoils my view and also is dangerous, as you observe. However, we have talked enough on this dull subject. Let us descend and pay a visit to Gerby Hall. Miss Hest will be expecting us."

"And Ida," laughed Vernon with a side glance at the suddenly-flushed cheek of the soldier.

They descended by the winding road into the valley, and after pausing to glance up the valley, where the massive wall of the dam cut short the view, proceeded slowly towards the village. It was a collection of small dark houses built of moss-clothed grey stones, and looked like a colony of dwarf buildings. But the men and women who dwelt therein were tall and burly enough, and the children seemed to be well-grown. Besides the dwellings there were also two mills, the wheels of which were driven by water in a very powerful fashion. The few shops were dark and uninviting, and the chief street narrow and crooked. Secluded as it was from the sun--which never warmed the village with its beams save at noonday--it did not appear to be a desirable residence. But the inhabitants seemed cheerful enough, and frequently greeted the Colonel with gruff amiability, although he was not their landlord. That position, as Towton had informed his guest, belonged to Hest, or rather--since he had expatriated himself--to his sister.

Crossing the curved stone bridge which arched the dwindling torrent, the Colonel led his friend through several dismal streets until they emerged into an open space, to see before them a high wall built of irregular blocks of stone, covered with mosses and grasses and lichen. The massive wooden gates, which afforded entrance into the domain, stood wide open, indicating, like the doors of the Janus temple, that the Hests were at peace with their neighbours. Passing through these the visitors walked up a gloomy avenue, where the branches of the trees met overhead, and came unexpectedly upon a square stone house, the appearance of which was similar to that of the encircling wall. There were absolutely no pretensions to architectural beauty, and the mansion looked as though it had grown out of the damp, fecund ground, where rank grasses grew in profusion. Above was the slightly sloping bank of the moorland, which here was almost perpendicular, and it threw a heavy shade over the frowning dwelling, which suited its grim looks. It was two storey, with twelve windows in the front, six on either side, and three in each storey. In the centre was the door, without a porch and without steps. Only a broad flagstone formed the threshold. The trees grew up nearly to this, and there was merely a narrow gravelled path between the luxuriant grasses and the walls of the house. So amazingly dismal a dwelling Vernon had never set eyes on, and he uttered an exclamation when he beheld the desolation.

"It's the very worst place Ida could have come to," he said in high displeasure. "What could Miss Hest have been thinking of, to ask her to live in this vault."

"Ah, she will be better up on the heights in my Italian villa, Vernon."

"That is if she will come," remarked the other gloomily, for the sombre situation and ascetic looks of the Hest mansion made his spirits sink to zero.

Their approach had been seen, for scarcely had they set foot on the flagstone, and before they had time to raise a hand to the massive iron knocker, which was covered with rust, than the door was opened by a fat-faced, stupid girl dressed in brown but with a tolerably neat cap and apron.

Without inquiring their business and without speaking she signed that the two gentlemen should enter, and conducted them to a room to the left of the cheerless hall. Here she intimated that they were to wait and that the mistress would soon come to them, after which she retired sullenly and closed the door after her. What with her looks and the gloom of the room and the closing of the door, the visitors felt as though they had been bestowed in a dungeon. Anything more dismal can scarcely be conceived.

"Oh, Lord!" ejaculated Vernon with dismay, looking round at the old-fashioned furniture and the grimly-red colouring of the decorations, somewhat faded, it is true. "Within is worse than without. I should commit suicide in such a place. No wonder Francis Hest found blackmailing a more cheerful pursuit. He ought to have----"

"Hush!" said Towton sharply, and arrested Vernon's speech as the door opened to admit the mistress of the mansion. Miss Hest looked graver than she had done at "Rangoon," and more handsome than ever in her imperial, masterful way. Vernon marvelled to see how much she resembled her brother, although the disfiguring cicatrice was absent. In her plain black dress, slashed with deep orange, Miss Hest looked like a Spanish beauty, and in the damp, secluded mansion she seemed to flourish as healthily as though she dwelt in perpetual sunshine. With a smile she came forward and greeted her visitors in a most cordial manner.

"I am very glad to see you both," said Frances, sitting down when formal greetings had passed, "and especially you, Colonel Towton, as I am anxiously waiting for your promised verbal answer to my letter."

"I shall explain why I did not write you with pleasure," said the Colonel gravely, "although my explanation is painful. You may even refuse to believe me, Miss Hest."

She looked alarmed and her lips twitched nervously.

"Francis is all right, I hope?" she inquired apprehensively. "His letter and the Deed of Gift alarmed me. I think he must be crazy."

"I don't think so," rejoined Towton drily, "but before explaining, may I ask how Miss Dimsdale is keeping?"

Frances shook her head dejectedly. "The death of her father is still preying on her mind, and nothing I can say or do will make her cheerful."

"Perhaps this house----" began Vernon.

She cut him short quickly. "I quite agree with you, and I know what you are about to say. It is too damp and too dismal for Ida. She is a flower who ought always to live in the sunshine."

"Lady Corsoon is coming down to stay with me to-day," ventured Towton anxiously, "so Miss Dimsdale might come and stay at The Grange."

"It's a capital idea. You can ask her for yourself, and as I know she thinks a great deal of you, Colonel, I hope you will be able to persuade her to pay the visit. She will be here shortly, but before she comes do tell me the meaning of my brother's extraordinary conduct."

"What makes you think the Colonel can explain?" asked Vernon unexpectedly.

Frances looked at him in surprise. "Why, I wrote after I received the Deed of Gift, asking if he had seen Francis. The Colonel replied that he would explain verbally when he came down. I have no reason to think that he knows anything of my brother's private business and I was astonished to hear that he could tell me anything. I only wrote because I wished the Colonel to see Ida, and as an afterthought asked about my brother. I thought you," she addressed the Colonel, "might have seen him in London."

"I did," replied Towton gravely; "at Professor Gail's."

"I know that; he went there to deliver a message from me. But why has he made over his property to me without a line of explanation save that he was going abroad? Did he tell you?"

"No. But I am not surprised that he has done so." Frances looked from one man to the other and, seeing their grave faces, she grew white and anxious looking. "What do you mean?"

"We saw Constantine Maunders," put in Vernon.

"Well, well! What of that?"

"He was masquerading as Diabella."

Miss Hest started to her feet. "As the fortune-teller? Surely you must be mistaken? It's impossible! Why should he do that?"

"Why should he do many things," said Towton grimly. "But he has been leading a double life."

"Oh, that's impossible. Why, he was always as open as the day. I asked him down here a week or so ago and he was coming. At the eleventh hour he put me off, saying that Mrs. Bedge was ill. I fancied that something might be wrong then, but--but--oh!" she burst out, clasping her hands, "you really must be mistaken. He is such a nice young fellow."

"He's a nice scoundrel," said Vernon heatedly. "Spare your praises of him, Miss Hest. You won't think him so nice when I tell you that he accuses your brother of being The Spider."

"The Spider? Who is The--ah!" She started to her feet as she suddenly remembered all that the information conveyed. "You mean that wretch who murdered poor Mr. Dimsdale?" Her brows grew black and she clenched her hands in a cold fury. "What do you mean by connecting my brother with----"

"It is not Vernon or I who connect your brother with The Spider. Maunders made the accusation and your brother endorsed it by his flight."

"Flight! flight! My brother," she drew herself up proudly, "has not fled."

"Why has he gone abroad, then?" asked Vernon hastily; "Why has he made over his property to you? Believe me, Miss Hest, both the Colonel and myself would be glad to spare you such a blow, but there is no doubt that your brother is none other than this famous blackmailer for whom the police are searching so ardently."

The woman dropped back into her chair and clutched at her breast as though she felt a cruel pain in her heart. Her face looked grey in the dim light of the room, and she suddenly seemed to have aged. Even her confident bearing fell away from her and she crouched as though smitten to the earth. Never was there so rapid or so terrible a transformation. "Oh, for God's sake," she moaned brokenly, "for--for--my brother. Heaven knows we did not get on over well together, but that he--he--that he should--It's a lie. I tell you, it's a lie. Why, Francis has given up all his life to doing good. Everyone round here blesses his name; he was generous to a fault. And you dare to--dare to--oh!" She leaped to her feet again and strove to recover her proud hearing. "I don't believe it. Liars! both of you."

"Maunders is the liar and not us, then," said Vernon quietly.

"I never trusted him, I never liked him," moaned Miss Hest; "he is----" Then she unexpectedly fell back again into her chair, utterly unstrung and broken down, an old, grey woman, miserable beyond belief. "Francis--my brother--our good name--oh! oh! Say that it isn't true," and she wept piteously.

"I regret to say that it is," said the Colonel, extremely sorry to dash her hopes to the ground, and he rapidly related all that had been discovered. As he proceeded Miss Hest lifted her face, which grew more composed.

"And is this all the evidence you have to go upon?" she inquired with scorn; "The word of a man whom you admit to be a scoundrel?"

"You forget," said Vernon gravely, "that your brother endorsed the accusation by flight and by taking his accomplice with him."

"Such an accusation might well make a man fail to stand his ground," said the woman resolutely, "and on the spur of the moment Francis may have lost his wits. But he will return to repel this accusation."

"From what you say of a Deed of Gift, Miss Hest, that does not seem likely to happen. If your brother is innocent let him surrender himself to the police and stand his trial."

"I shall advise him to do that at once. Where is he to be found?"

"No one knows, and the police would give much to learn. But you heard last from him, since he sent the Deed of Gift and informed you of his plans."

"There was no address on the letter," said Frances, wringing her hands helplessly, "and he did not even promise to write when he went abroad. For all I know he may have vanished for ever."

Vernon made an observation: "That looks like guilt."

"Until Francis admits with his own lips that he is The Spider I decline to believe it," said Miss Hest, making a violent effort to recover her composure. "You forget that you indirectly accuse him of murdering poor Mr. Dimsdale. How can I, his sister, bear to hear that?"

"Your feelings do you credit," said Towton sadly; "nevertheless----"

"Stop!" she interrupted, holding up her finger. "Ida is coming. Not a word to her, if you please."

"Certainly not. Neither Vernon nor I shall say anything until----"

"Say nothing until I see you again," said Frances rapidly. "I shall call at The Grange and hear more. When in possession of the facts I shall go to town and----Silence! silence! Here is Ida."

Just as the name left her lips the door slowly opened and Miss Dimsdale entered. Both the gentlemen uttered exclamations of astonishment and pity at the sight of her altered appearance. From being a bright and laughing girl, rather plump than otherwise, she had become thin and careworn, and advanced with a shrinking air, quite at variance with her known character. The black dress she wore enhanced the melancholy of her appearance, and the Colonel, being very much the lover, grew darkly red at the sight.

"How is it that Miss Dimsdale looks so ill?" he asked Frances furiously.

"She is worried over something, and the air of this house doesn't suit her at all," said Miss Hest, who was trying to subdue her emotion. "Again and again I have wanted her to return with me to London, but----"

"But I won't go, I won't go," said Ida in her soft voice. "Don't look so angry, Richard." It was the first time she had uttered his Christian name, and Towton flushed with pleasure. "I am quite well."

"You look extremely ill," he replied bluntly. Ida sat down with a sigh. "It's not the fault of Frances. She has been like a sister to me ever since the death of my dear father."

"Ida, come and stay at The Grange. Lady Corsoon is coming down this evening. I am sure you will be happier there."

"I can't leave Frances."

"Nonsense!" said Miss Hest with something of her old vigour; "you will be much better with your own people, Ida. If you stay here they will think that I am after your money."

"Oh, Frances, when you know----"

"It's all nonsense, dear. The Colonel here declares that Diabella is, or rather was, Constantine Maunders, masquerading as a fortune-teller."

"Then what he said is----"

"Are you talking of a secret of your father's, Ida?" asked Vernon quickly.

"Was Mr. Dimsdale my father?" she demanded facing round anxiously. "Diabella--that is, Constantine, if what you say is true--told me that I was not his daughter. If so, I have no right to the property, and--and----" She put her hand to her forehead, "Oh, my poor head!"

Towton crossed over and took her hand. "Ida, is it this which has been so troubling you?" he asked tenderly.

"Yes! Yes! I wondered if what Diabella said was true. I could not be certain, although I _did_ want to see the lawyer and give up the property. But Frances said----"

"Frances advised delay until the truth was known beyond all doubt," said Miss Hest, now quite composed. "For this did I send for you, Colonel Towton. Ida is fonder of you than of anyone else, so you are the person who ought to marry her. Then you can look into the matter."

"But, Frances," cried Ida much astonished, "I thought that you wanted me to marry Constantine or your brother."

"Both of them are bad matches now if what Mr. Vernon says is true," replied Miss Hest bitterly; "better take up with your old love."

"What has been said?" questioned Ida anxiously looking into the disturbed face of her friend.

"Better not ask," muttered the woman, and cast a warning glance at the two visitors; "least said, soonest mended. Ida, will you go to The Grange and stay with your aunt?"

Ida ran to Frances and, falling on her knees, threw her arms round her neck fondly. "What! Would you have me leave you when I see you so sad? Something is wrong? What is it? You have comforted me, so let me comfort you."

"Nothing can comfort me," said Miss Hest in melancholy tones; "it's nothing, my dear, nothing at all. I wish--oh, I wish----" She rose suddenly and ran towards the door. "I can't stand any more."

Vernon was not surprised at Miss Hest's sudden departure. Strong-minded as she was, the terrible news that her twin brother was a robber and a murderer and was being hunted down by the police had quite broken down her strength of character for the time being. He pitied her extremely, as he had always liked her more than Towton had done. So far as he could see, she was a kind-hearted woman: masterful, it is true, but possessed of sterling qualities which that very trait enabled her to make good use of. To one of her inflexible honesty the discovery of her brother's sin must have been gall and wormwood.

Meanwhile, the Colonel, holding Ida's hand within his own, was pleading anxiously that she should visit The Grange and regain her health in the cheerful society of her aunt and cousin. "And I can explain all about the story told by Maunders, masquerading as Diabella," coaxed Towton softly.

But Ida was in no mood to listen to her lover or to yield to his wiles. She pulled her hands away hurriedly and spoke with pettish haste. "How can you bother me about such things when Frances is so ill? I must go to her at once." And she glided rapidly towards the door, evading Towton, who would have detained her.

"Ida, Ida! do listen to me."

"No! No! No! On another occasion, when I see you again--to-morrow, or the next day. But Frances is ill: Frances wants me." She opened the door quickly. "Coming, dear; coming!" and without a glance at the visitors vanished from the room. Her heart seemed to be rather with Miss Hest than with the lover who so ardently adored her.

The gentlemen looked at one another in dismay; this did not seem a propitious moment for Towton's wooing, as Ida appeared to be entirely infatuated with her friend. There was nothing left for them to do but to take a speedy departure and to return on a more fitting occasion. Miss Hest, being naturally troubled in her mind, was not likely to reappear, and Ida undoubtedly would decline to leave her friend's side. Not unreasonably, the Colonel felt very cross.

"Ida seems to be crazy about that infernal woman," he snapped irritably.

"She is very faithful to those she loves and therefore will make you the better wife," said Vernon gravely.

"I want her to be faithful to me and not to Miss Hest," retorted Towton. "It is ridiculous that she should behave in this manner. What's to be done now?"

"We must wait until Lady Corsoon comes. She has plenty of good sense and may be able to talk Ida into a reasonable frame of mind."

"I can't see where Lady Corsoon's good sense comes in, seeing that she is a gambler and has risked her husband's displeasure in pawning family jewels, Vernon. However, only one woman can talk round another, so your suggestion is a good one. Meanwhile, just ring the bell for someone to show us out of this condemned vault."

Vernon pulled the old-fashioned bell-rope and shortly--as though she had been listening on the outside of the door--a tall, lean woman with a white face and a prim, pinch-lipped smile, made her appearance. Without waiting to be addressed she introduced herself to the visitors. "Miss Jewin, gentlemen," she said with a stiff curtsey; "What can I do for you?"

At the sound of her voice Vernon started and looked at her closely, but whatever he saw he said nothing at the moment, merely intimating that he and his friend desired to depart.

"And tell Miss Hest we will call to-morrow with Lady Corsoon," said the Colonel aggressively, and stalked out preceded by Miss Jewin, still primly smiling, and looking like a white cat.

Not until they were in the village did Vernon explain why he had started at the sound of the housekeeper's voice. "That woman," he said quietly, "is the very one who admitted me into the empty house in West Kensington and who locked me in the kitchen."