Chapter 24

ANOTHER PIECE OF EVIDENCE.

Ruth let Miss Brawn take entire possession of Neil. In spite of his languid ways, Webster was an interesting study to a woman. So Miss Cass found it a trifle dull; for Geoffrey had returned to his own place, and did not come over to Hollyoaks quite so often as she thought he might have done. Yet she rarely intruded upon Jennie and Neil, but allowed them to drift into a companionship which she devoutly hoped would result in the closer tie of marriage. Jennie continued to give the usual lessons to her little pupils; and after school hours Ruth took them off her hands, so that she might be free to entertain Neil. After a time he recovered sufficient interest in his music to take up his violin, and with Jennie he spent long hours going over his old music and experimenting on new.

Meanwhile, Ruth naturally found the house extremely dull without Geoffrey; so she spent as much time as possible in long walks, in riding her bicycle, and in paying visits. One day she recollected her promise to call and see her Aunt Inez. Mr. Marshall had gone for a change to Brighton, where, no doubt, he was enjoying himself after his usual selfish fashion. His wife had declined to accompany him, giving as her reason that she had more to do than waste her time among a pack of fools--as she was wont to designate the rest of the world. So she remained at home and attended to her duties in rather a joyless way. She still retained a mild love for her husband; she despised his weaknesses; she hated his lack of principle; but some sentiment of love remained at the bottom of her soul. Companionship had begotten toleration; and, on the whole, she thought, she was not worse off than other women. She, at least, could govern her husband's weaker nature, and could curb his follies. And this somewhat unsatisfactory employment gave her plenty to do; so she succeeded in passing her life in an endurable fashion. Fortunately for her, she was not a woman who had the capacity for being bored. Nine out of ten women would have killed themselves out of sheer weariness of the flesh; but Mrs. Marshall continued to live on--grimly.

Ruth had often wondered in her secret soul if her aunt were doing penance for some hidden sin; it was the only way in which she could account for the asceticism of her life. She lived in an ugly house, in which all the rooms were hideous both in colour and design--all, save those which were occupied by the master of the house. His apartments, furnished by himself, were charming in every way.

As she stood now in the stone-hued drawing-room, the melancholy of the place struck Ruth more than ever; and, moreover, glancing round the room, she caught sight of a copy of Thomas a Kempis. "She's taking to religion," she thought, turning over the leaves. "I really wonder if there is a secret in her past life to account for----" But at this moment a grim maid-servant entered I to interrupt her conjectures.

"If you please, Miss," she said, "mistress is in the garret storing things, and she wants to know if you will go up to her there?"

"Oh, certainly," said Ruth, wondering if her aunt were mad that she should invite a visitor to go poking about among old lumber--even though that visitor were her niece. But she meekly followed the maid up to the top of the house, and was introduced into a long, low, wide attic, immediately under the roof. Here Aunt Inez, in a stone-coloured dress, with a severe face, gave her an icy greeting. In spite of the summer warmth the garret was chilly, and this, joined to her reception, made the girl shiver.

"I am glad you have remembered me at last, Ruth," said Mrs. Marshall, in her most metallic tones. "I was beginning to think you had forgotten me."

"I found it difficult to leave the house, aunt; Neil Webster is there, and, of course, I have had to attend to him."

"I heard the young man was back again," she said, in a muffled voice, "and truly, I wonder that my brother should have him in the house!"

"Why shouldn't he? Neil is a good fellow!"

"But his mother is not a good woman. She belongs to the criminal classes."

"My dear aunt," cried Ruth, "I am sure the poor woman is more sinned against than sinning."

"What do you know of her?" asked the good lady, turning a terrible eye on her niece. "Has your father----"

"Yes, he has; and I found out a great deal for myself. I am sure Mrs. Jenner did not kill her husband."

"You know nothing at all about it. Mrs. Jenner was a minx; I knew her well when she lived at Hollyoaks and taught Amy. I lived there myself, and managed the house, too, for your poor mother never did have any idea of how to conduct an establishment. Mrs. Jenner--a bold, bad woman! She came down to Westham after the arrest of her abominable husband, and lived at the Turnpike House----"

"And there her husband called to see her on the night he was murdered."

"On the night she murdered him," corrected Mrs. Marshall, vehemently. "Will you be wiser, than the law, Ruth? I tell you it was she who struck the blow. I do not say that she had not good cause, for the man was a brute. But she had no right to take his life!"

"She didn't--she didn't," asseverated Ruth, with quite as much vehemence as her aunt had shewn. "The blow was struck through the window for the sake of getting a red---- Why, whatever is the matter, aunt?"

"Nothing--nothing!" gasped Mrs. Marshall. She had seated herself suddenly on a convenient box, and with her hand to her side, was gazing at her niece with an ashen face. "A stitch in the side--that's all, child! Why did your father tell you all this--and what does he know about the red pocket-book?"

"I have heard scraps of information at times," said Ruth, trying to get out of the unpleasant position in which her tongue had placed her. "But I know very little; I don't want to have anything to do with the matter. Please don't ask me anything more about it aunt."

"You have said so much that I must know all," said Mrs. Marshall, so fiercely that the girl was frightened. "If you refuse to tell me, I shall speak to your father."

"He is the very best person to whom you could speak," replied Miss Cass, with some defiance in her voice, for her temper was rising at her aunt's tone. "But please don't bring me into it."

"I shall act as I think best. If this case has been reopened--as I judge from your words, it has been--why was I not informed?

"I refer you to papa," said Ruth, coldly. "And, after all," she added, "I do not see what you have to do with it, Aunt Inez."

"More than you think," replied Mrs. Marshall, tightening her thin lips.

Then Ruth did a very foolish thing--a thing she repented of for many a long day after. "What about Job?" she asked. "Does he also take an interest in the case?"

Mrs. Marshall sprang forward in the most dramatic fashion, and seized her niece by the arm. "You have been asking him questions," she said.

"And what if I have?" cried the girl, twisting herself away. "Anyone has a right to ask questions, I suppose? But he told me nothing."

"He had nothing to tell."

"In that case you need not look so fiercely at me, aunt."

Mrs. Marshall realised how indiscreet was her demeanour.

"Don't trouble about me, child," she said, with a forced laugh. "I have done nothing to be ashamed of."

"I never thought you had, aunt!"

"Mrs. Jenner," continued Aunt Inez, exactly as though she were repeating a lesson, "was a flirt. When she married a brute, she only got her just punishment. I did my best to be kind to her; but I always hated her. It is no use my denying the fact--I did hate her! If you are a woman, Ruth, if you have your grandmother's blood in your veins, you will understand."

"Oh, yes," said the girl, proudly conscious of her own tiger blood, "I can quite understand. I should like to see any woman take Geoffrey from me! Aha!" And she growled like a playful cat.

"I believe Mrs. Jenner killed her husband," continued Aunt Inez, taking no notice of this speech, "and she is being punished for it. As to Job--I merely assist him out of charity; he knows nothing about the murder; it had happened before he came to these parts. Now, are you satisfied?"

"My dear aunt, I never wanted to be satisfied," replied the girl. "I never thought you knew anything about the murder."

"I don't--I don't! I swear I don't!" cried Mrs. Marshall. "But this red pocket-book--it was not mentioned at the trial."

"I know nothing about it," said Ruth, promptly; she was not going to be drawn into the discussion. "Ask papa about it."

Mrs. Marshall, seeing she would get nothing further out of her niece, returned to the examination of the lumber which was scattered over the floor of the garret. "Then we will go down shortly and have some tea, my dear," she said, in her most amiable tone. She was evidently desirous of effacing the impression of her former fierceness.

Ruth wondered but little at her aunt's strange demeanour.

In a meditative way she watched Mrs. Marshall moving about on the other side of the garret, so close under the slope of the roof that her head touched it. There were two windows--one at each end, but these were so dirty that the place was enveloped in a kind of brown twilight which had, at first, prevented the girl from seeing plainly. As her eyes grew more accustomed to the semi-gloom, she examined the lumber that was piled up on all sides. All the scum of the house had risen to the top and been left in this isolated attic. It was filled with the wreckage which will accumulate even in the most orderly houses. There were, also, ancient books, piles of newspapers, and suchlike things huddled together pell-mell, and over all lay a thick, grey dust.

Suddenly as Ruth, growing tired of waiting, shifted her position, the light from the window behind struck out a patch of red. Her eyes wandered mechanically towards the colour. It was the red morocco binding of a narrow book which protruded from the heap. Hardly thinking what she was doing, the girl picked it up, and with the light from behind her strong upon it she examined it minutely. Then her heart seemed to stand still, for it was a pocket-book--perhaps the very red pocket-book which had been stolen by Jenner's murderer, and of which they had been speaking only a few minutes before.

Anxious to make quite certain as to this, Ruth slipped off the elastic strap and examined the discoloured leaves. For the most part they were blank, but written on the front page was a name, and the name was Jenner!

At the sight Ruth uttered a cry. Mrs. Marshall turned sharply.