One quick glance at his mother, and Jake rose to his feet and suddenly clasped the girl to his breast.
“I forgive you, Sylvia. Mother!” And the woman stood before him, rigid as stone.
Into the circle stepped the uniform of the law, but too late! There were two quick shots, and Jake and his mother had gone before a Higher Judge.
And Sylvia was clasped quickly in the arms of the man whose loyal love for her, and those who had sheltered him when a hunted suspected murderer, had always prevented him saying a word to bring sorrow on the girl he worshipped.
Old Mother Alison lit another pipe, muttering—
“It was in the stars. I knew it. None could avert their destiny. Go! Get from my sight all of you,” and dismissed them with a wave of her skinny hand.
******
Years have gone by, but the natives tell a story of how, when coming to their homes late at night, over the hills, they hear the creaking and lumbering of a caravan, and see it coming along with a man and woman walking beside it.
The vision lasts but a few moments, then—two clear pistol shots ring out, waking the echoes of Snowdonia.
The Star Inn
“What do you say to a change and a bit of a rest, old lady?”
“I’m with you every time, dearly beloved,” was my reply.
After this exchange of brilliant remarks, my brother and I sat and gazed at each other in silence; but silence was not an unusual thing between us, we were so essentially two of those people—alas! that they are so rare!—who can contentedly pass long silences in perfect accord and happiness. We were neither of us exacting, and each was sure of the other—sure that no call could be made that would not be answered if possible—sure that if either had a burden, heavy to be borne, the other was waiting and ready to lighten it. Circumstances prevented our being much together, but long absences never wore any thinner The strong link of affection that bound us together; but when, as now, opportunity came for us to spend a few days in each other’s society, we were not slow to grasp it.
After his preliminary remarks, my brother puffed complacently at his old much-blackened pipe, while I waited, with a hundred plans flying to my mind.
“Not too long a journey,” he next vouchsafed, in answer to my unspoken query, “but somewhere alone—where people cannot find us.”
“And telephones cease from ringing,” I murmured.
Then he smiled, and the rough-coated dog, stretched at my brother’s feet, smiled too. He surely did, for my brother stopped to pat him, with the remark—
“You too of course, old boy.”You may not believe me, most likely you won’t, but a deeper glow shone in the loving brown eyes of the old dog! Understood? Of course he understood; it is we, poor, ignorant humans, who do not understand, and are deaf and blind to the sensitiveness, devotion and love lavished upon us, whether worthily or not, by our four-footed pals.
“And now to get our idea into train,” said my brother, hauling himself out of the depths of his easy chair, and taking up a position on the corner of the table. “I suppose you don’t much care where?” he asked.
“Not a bit,” I replied.
Then,” said he, “let’s open a timetable and race through it for places not more than an hour or two away.”
The search ended in our stopping, abruptly, at a station called “Pine Side.”Why we selected it we were never quite clear. Dick always said it was the pine that attracted me, but I think both of us imagined a place with a name like that would be a very different spot to the one we subsequently proved it to be However, we decided upon it, and stuck to it, and in our usual rather erratic way, made up our minds to journey there without even finding out whether it was town, village, hamlet, or, indeed, anything beyond a station.
“There is sure to be an inn, and that will do for one night anyway,” said Dick; and I, as ever, acquiesced.
******
There was an inn. Oh! yes; and I for one am not likely to forget it. But to return to our beginning, we parted that night, far into the night indeed, watched and followed with faithful persistence by Timothy’s brown eyes—he poor doggie, refusing supper or bed lest we should slip away with our boxes on our backs and leave him behind. We were not likely to, for he had too warm a corner in both our hearts for us willingly to be without him.
At last our belongings were ready and labelled, and when I finally put into my box Timothy’s feeding bowl and rug, his satisfaction was complete, for then, and then only, did he curl up on Dick’s bed, and heaving a sigh of relief, settled himself to sleep and dream, perhaps of bunnies, which he raced with and chased—perchance, only to, sleep with one eye and keep the other in ever watchful care upon his master.
Next morning we drove to our nearest station and asked for tickets for Pine Side; obviously, it was little known, for the booking clerk had to go through that ever tedious business of writing tickets.
“So far, so good,” whispered Dick. “ It isn’t a much-sought-after place, anyway.”
“How many changes have we?” I asked a weary-looking porter.
“Dunno,” he replied;“three or four, I expect.”
“And what time do we get there?” I went on.
“That depends,” said he. “Sometimes you’re early, often as not, late—sometimes very late—it depends on the market.”
“The market!” I said. “Where? What market?”
“Pine Side, of course,” he answered, looking with an expression that seemed to put me down as a poor ignorant kind of soul, and then he slunk off, leaving me standing with a bundle of sticks in one hand, a bag in the other, and murmuring “market” to myself.
A sudden bustle announced the arrival of our train, and we and our belongings were soon comfortably settled in a compartment, and off on our vague journey. The journey itself was nothing out of the ordinary, except as to the changes of which there were five! and each subsequent train we entered seemed slower than the last. It is unnecessary for me to give the direction of our destination except to say that we travelled north, and that our spirits rose as we drew nearer and nearer to higher hills and purer air.
It was growing dark as our slowest of engines laboriously grunted itself to a full stop at an odd-looking junction. I say odd-looking, because the platform was full of crates of hens and ducks, calves in sacks, with just their sad little faces outside the sack, pigs tied by the leg and squealing their way through the crowds of people; men in big boots, gaiters and rough cord garments with coats of antique pattern; women in clogs, wearing short, bunchy skirts, flapping hats tied under their chins with gay ribbons; most of them also enveloped in large blue and white check aprons, and carrying baskets poised on one hip; many of them leading an animal or carrying a fowl.
I wondered, idly, whether the animals and people travelled together, and my unspoken question was speedily answered by the door of our compartment being suddenly opened, and two stout women entering; or rather, they rolled in, treading on my toes, falling over my brother’s legs, and calling forth a decidedly snappish bark from Timothy, who was lolling on a seat to himself, nose between his paws and brown eyes fixedly regarding every movement made by my brother. The arrival of our fellow-passengers necessitated Tim’s removal from his seat, which was promptly crammed with bundles and packages, and crowned by two live fowls tied together by a bit of string, heads down, and gurgling as if every breath would be their last.
Tim’s interest centred in them for the moment, and he eyed them with an unholy grin on his lips, and the wickedest twinkle in his eyes. I wondered much, if he could restrain his well-known passion for anything feathered, so far as to keep his paws off them; and I know it was only the restraining glance he got from time to time from his master that made him appear the demure dog he looked. Once he raised himself—I waited breathlessly, but a murmured word, which he apparently understood perfectly, made him at once adopt an expression seeming to say: “I am utterly indifferent to fowl, or any other beast, just now!”
&nbs
p; The two women eyed us curiously, the fatter one of the two gave me an affable smile, as she remarked—
“’Oneymoon, my dear?”
“No,” I replied, “nothing like that, just a pleasant holiday with my brother.”
“Oh!” she said, “where, my dear?”
“Pine Side,” I said. “What is it like?”
“Pine Side!” she exclaimed. “Why, whit in ’eaven s name will you find to do, my dear, and where will you stay?”
“We shall walk,” I answered; “and shall stay at the inn!”
“Lord-a-mussy!” she almost shrieked, “ye’ll stay at the inn?”
At which the other woman nudged her violently in the ribs, and muttered—
“Leave ’em be, Kate; leave ’em be. They’ll be all right seeing they know nought—”
I looked the questions I did not ask, would that I had. The train with many grunts drew up to a wooden platform, and, with a bob and a muttered “afternoon,” the two women bundled out trailing their many belongings after them, hurried by Tim, who gleefully snatched a feather from one of the birds and laid it with intense devotion at his master’s feet.
“Well, girl we have arrived,” and, with a prolonged stretch of his long limbs, my brother got up, shook out his pipe and began to lift our numerous belongings from the rack, and proceeded to alight from the train on to the platform of Pine Side Station—we knew it was the station, because a broken-down board said so—but it was a melancholy spot, and except for the market folks and their animals of all sorts, was utterly devoid of all the usual look and life of a station. We stood for a moment and looked at each other, and then at our surroundings, and then both laughed, for after all, we were together, and little else mattered.
“Hold Tim while I unearth and interview the station-master,” said Dick; and, leaving me in the midst of our goods and chattels, he tramped off to emerge within five minutes from a dingy looking corner, followed by a dried-up little man, apparently the station-master signalman and porter, for we saw no other official. He and my brother were talking in a low tone as they approached me, and I caught the words, “You can but try, sir, and say nothing.”
“Even’, Miss,” said the worthy official, touching his cap. “Hope you’ll have a pleasant holiday, and be no worse for it.”
“Worse for it?” I said, smiling, “that is not possible, I’ll be all the better.”And he looked at me with keen little gimlets of eyes, from under shaggy white brows, and went back to his dingy room without any further words.
“Come on, Pat, I know where to go,” announced my brother, grabbing a bag and rugs and leaving me the rest of the things. My name, I might mention, was Patricia, but “Pat” was the nearest to it my brother ever got, so “Pat” I remained.
“Where are we to go to?” I asked.
“The Star Inn,” he replied, with a grin; and we set off.
“How far?” I next enquired.
“Wait and see” was his only answer, as we trudged down the narrow muddy lane leading from the station, and so out into the main street. I should say only street, for one could scarcely call the many straggling lanes we passed by the dignified name of street.
“Broad Street” was the name of the one and only; it certainly was broad, though rough, the middle of it being paved with big cobbles. Small compact little houses lined it on each side, and what struck me was the sameness of them and the cleanliness; each had its strip of garden divided from the next house by a low white railing; each had its spotless white step and brass knocker on a dull green door; each roof was composed of some sort of large flag—they were not slates or tiles—the windows were the only thing in any way different from each other, and they showed a decided individuality; some had scarlet blinds, some white, some had pots of flowers, and one or two had singing birds in gilt cages. There was an entire absence of people, so I surmised they lived in the back premises, and the front rooms were for show. Presently, my brother stopped under a dull red lamp.
“Here we are,” he said. “This is the ‘Star.’”
“Oh, is it?” I said.
A low rambling building with a similar roof and very neat windows, most of them full of scarlet geraniums. Blackened oak beams seemed to support two big gabled windows, a long verandah reaching nearly the entire length, and a white cat on the step washing its face. Such was my first impression of the “Star Inn.”
I looked at Dick, and Tim looked at the cat; presumably they spoke, for the cat after one scornful glance, fled precipitantly, and we rang the bell. A little old woman answered it. She had a face like a russet apple, snow-white hair, eyes like little blue beads, and not any teeth; she was dressed in a lavender print frock, and wore clogs.
“Well, what do you want?” she asked.
“We want two bedrooms and a sitting-room, some food and a wash, and we want to stay here for our holidays,” was my brother’s terse reply.
“Well, I never did!” quoth the old dame; “I never did!”
“Neither did we, I’m sure of that.”
“Come in, come in,” she said. “Visitors for me after so long!” and, muttering amiably to herself, she led us into a sort of parlour. It was spotlessly clean and uncomfortable, rigid chairs with starched antimacassars, a horse-hair sofa, some bright woolwork mats, a case of decrepit looking stuffed birds, a shining polished mahogany table with a large Bible on it, a stone floor with a deep border of whitening round it, and a grate stuffed full of coloured paper! I shivered and looked beseechingly at my brother; he had taken it all in, and then said to the old dame—
“Haven’t you any other sitting-room? This is a bit small.”
She looked at him, then snapped—
“No, I haven’t.”
“I’ll pay double for; bigger one,” he went on, and the blue beads of her eyes glittered—greed was evidently the old woman’s besetting sin, for without further demur, she said—
“You can see it, anyway,” and led us along a stone passage, up a flight of stairs to an old oak door. This she opened with a key hung from her waist by a long steel chain. We entered, and stood enthralled, delighted.
“Light the fire, this is ours,” said Dick; and, delightedly, I sank into a big old chair and gazed about me.
The room was long and narrow; it seemed to be as far as one could judge, almost the entire length of the house, and except for the passage from which we entered, would have been as wide as the house, or rather as deep. The floor was merely white boards, but they were scrubbed as white as snow; the centre of the room was covered with an old Eastern rug, in faded shades of blue and buff; the walls were only coloured a dull blue, all the wood-work was the same well scrubbed white unpainted wood. There were a few old etchings of coaching scenes on the walls, and one or two old willow-pattern plates.
The hearth was modern, with a quite up-to-date well grate and copper fire-irons. On each side of the fireplace stood deep scarlet leather chairs, artistic in a vivid way. A roomy couch piled with real feather pillows, was pulled up across one of the low windows, and a writing table with many drawers, filled the other; a woman’s workbasket stood beside one chair, and a smoker’s table beside the other. That was all the room contained, except a large feathery fern, fresh and green as if carefully tended. A soft white sheepskin rug on the floor in front of the fireplace completed the furnishing. This latter article met with the unqualified and instant approval of Timothy, who at once took possession and watched our next proceedings with a satisfied grin.
“You like it, sir?” asked the old dame.
“Certainly we do,” answered my brother. “Please let us have a fire, then some tea—a big tea,” he added; “we are hungry.”
The old dame shuffled slowly away to reappear shortly with her apron full of logs of wood; these she piled in the grate and set fire to, eyeing them complacently as the flames began to leap up the wide chimney.
“The chimney’s cold, sir,” she remarked. “It is long since a fire was burning here, but I’m gl
ad to see it,” she went on, “and trust you’ll be comfortable and warm,” she added, as she moved away towards the door with a backward glance at our now blazing fire.
It must have been almost an hour later when I heard a quick knock on my bedroom door, and a voice called—
“Your tea is ready; Miss.”
“Thanks,” I answered, though thinking it was quite time too, although the hour had given me time to unpack my own and my brother’s belongings, tidy my hair, and get rid of the dust of the journey. I speedily left my room, and entered our sitting-room. I smiled to see the happy picture which met my gaze. Dick sprawled in his big chair, before the glowing fire, with Timothy beside him, the old dog’s head resting on my brother’s knee, and those eyes of his, in which you could see his whole soul, fixed on Dick’s face in steadfast and loyal devotion. The tea-table was utterly ignored by them both, they were for the moment sufficient for each other, and were, I firmly believe, intent on a conversation, wordless, but perfectly understood on both sides.
“If you two have quite finished airing your views to each other, we will have tea,” I remarked.
Dick smiled, as he answered—
“We will come, although we were deeply engaged in a problem.”
“And the problem?” I queried.
“Merely whether in the next world we should be together,” he answered.
“And the answer?” I asked.
“We are uncertain, as yet,” was his reply, though both of us are inclined to the opinion that heaven would not be heaven to us minus each other.
“Come to tea, goose,” I said, and without further remark he came, and the three of us enjoyed the excellent tea of cold ham, scones and honey the old dame had given us. We chatted on many subjects over our meal, and decided that our vague journey had landed us in comfy quarters, and looked forward to our little holiday with much pleasure.
Just as we finished our tea, our old lady appeared, to clear away, first asking us if we would like lights, it struck me then for the first time that there was no gas, or, apparently any mode of lighting, and I asked her what sorts of lights they used.
The Collected Supernatural and Weird Fiction of Bessie Kyffin-Taylor-From Out of the Silence Page 19