A Search For A Secret: A Novel. Vol. 2

by G. A. Henty

  CHAPTER XIII.

  A YOUNG WIDOW.

  The next morning Dr. Ashleigh started from his hotel after breakfast tosee Sophy Gregory. He shrank from what he had to do, for he knew what aterrible shock it must be to her, and he remembered how ill she hadbeen, and how nearly she had gone out of her mind a year before, underthe blow of the news of Mr. Harmer's sudden death. But there was no helpfor it: it was evident that she must be told. He knew where she lived,as letters had been exchanged several times, up to the last, which hadconveyed the news of the failure of the attempt to find the will in thesecret chamber. Of course, it was possible that they might have sincechanged their abode; but if so, the people at their last lodgings wouldbe certain to know their present address. However, this doubt was atonce removed by the reply to his question, "Is Mrs. Gregory in?"

  "Yes, sir, but she is in bed."

  "In bed!" the doctor said, rather surprised. "Is she not well?"

  "Don't you know, sir, she had a little baby last week?"

  "God bless me!" was all the doctor could say; for Sophy had not in herlast letter, which, indeed, had been written some time before, made anymention of her expecting such a thing. "Will you be good enough to tellher that Dr. Ashleigh is here, and ask her if she will see him; and donot mention that I did not know of her confinement."

  The doctor was shown into the little parlour, where he sat down whileMrs. Billow went in to tell Sophy that he was there. As he looked roundon the pictures which he remembered hanging in such a different room, hewondered to himself whether the advent of this little child, who wasfatherless now, was for the better or no; and he came to the conclusionthat it was. Sophy would have two mouths to feed instead of one, but itwould be surely a comfort to her--something to cling to and love, underthis terrible blow which he had to give her.

  In about five minutes Mrs. Billow came in, and said that Mrs. Gregorywas ready to see him now.

  "She is rather low to-day, sir," she said, "for Mr. Gregory went awaythe day before yesterday, and said he should be back yesterday; but hehas not come back, and Mrs. Gregory is fretting like about it."

  Dr. Ashleigh went into the little room where Sophy was. She was sittingup in bed, in a white wrapper, and her baby was asleep beside her. Shelooked, Dr. Ashleigh thought, years older than when he had seen herfifteen months before. She had a worn look, although the flush ofpleasure and surprise which his coming had called up in her cheek madeher quite pretty for the moment.

  "Oh, Dr. Ashleigh," she said, "how kind of you to come and see me! howvery kind! I suppose you had heard of my confinement. Is it not a finelittle fellow?" and she uncovered the baby's face, that the doctor mightsee it. "Robert did not tell me that he had written to you. I suppose hewanted to surprise me. I am so sorry he is away: he is not often away,Dr. Ashleigh--very, very seldom--and then always on business. He is verykind to me."

  The doctor was greatly touched, accustomed as he was, and as all medicalmen must be, to scenes of pain and grief; yet there was something verytouching in her pleading now for her husband, for whose sake she hadgone through so much, and who was now lying dead, although she knew itnot. He could hardly command his voice to speak steadily, as heanswered,--

  "I am very glad to see you again, Sophy, and I came up specially to doso; but I did not know till I came to the door that you were confined,or were even expecting it; but I am very glad, for your sake, that it isso, and that you have got over it so well."

  Dr. Ashleigh spoke very kindly, but Sophy at once detected a certaingravity in his manner.

  "Is anything the matter?" she asked at once.

  Dr. Ashleigh hardly knew what answer to make, and hesitated for a momentwhether it would not be better to defer the communication of the fatalintelligence for a few days; but the thought of the anxiety Sophy wouldsuffer from Robert's continued and unexplained silence, decided him; forhe thought she would probably pine and fret so much, that in a shorttime she would be in a state even less fitted to stand the blow than shewas at present.

  "My dear Sophy," he said, sitting down upon the bed, and taking her handin his, "since I last saw you, things have greatly changed with us all.With you I need not say how much--with us also greatly."

  "I am so sorry----" Sophy began, as if about to lament the share she hadhad in all this.

  "My dear Sophy, we do not blame you. That was all over long ago; norcould you, at any rate, have possibly foreseen that my children couldhave been injured by anything you might have done to displease Mr.Harmer. Humanly speaking, the contrary effect might have beenanticipated. I only say that great changes have taken place. Your littlefriend Polly has grown into a very dear, lovable, clever woman; whileAgnes has suffered very much. Her engagement with Mr. Desborough hasbeen broken off, and she has been very ill. However, by God's mercy, shehas been spared to us, but she is still in a sadly weak state."

  "But there is something else, doctor--is there not?--some newmisfortune? It cannot be about Robert?" she said, anxiously; "you couldnot have heard anything of him?"

  Dr. Ashleigh was silent.

  "It is, then! Oh, tell me what it is!"

  "My dear Sophy, you have judged rightly. I do come to tell you aboutRobert, but you must be calm and collected. Remember that any excitementon your part now would be most injurious to your child--remember thatany illness on your part means death on his."

  Sophy, with a great effort, controlled herself, and sat very quiet. Thecolour had faded from her cheeks now, and the marks of care seemed tocome back again very plain and deep; then, after waiting a minute ortwo, until she felt herself quite quiet, she laid one hand on the cheekof her sleeping baby, and looked up appealingly into Dr. Ashleigh'sface.

  "My dear Sophy, your husband has met with an accident, and is seriouslyinjured."

  Sophy's cheeks were as white, now, as the dress she wore; she spoke not,although her lips were parted, but her eyes--at all times large, and nowlooking unnaturally so from the thinness of her cheeks--begged for morenews.

  "I'm afraid he is very ill," the doctor said.

  "I must go to him!" she panted out; "I must go to him!" and she made aneffort to rise.

  "You cannot," Dr. Ashleigh said; "you cannot; it would kill you. Bear itbravely, Sophy; keep quiet, my child, for your own sake and yourbaby's."

  Again Sophy's hand went back to the infant's face, from which in hereffort to rise she had for a moment withdrawn it, and rested on the softunconscious cheek, but she never took her eyes from the doctor's face.At last she said, in a strange far-off sort of voice,--

  "Tell me the worst--Is he dead?"

  She read the answer in his face, and gave a low short cry; and then wassilent, but her eyes no longer looked at him, but gazed with a blankhorror into the distance, as if they sought to penetrate all obstacles,and to seek her dead husband.

  "Comfort yourself, my poor child," Dr. Ashleigh said tenderly; "God hasstricken you grievously, but he has given you your child to love."

  Sophy made no answer; she neither heard nor saw him, but sat rigid andstiff, the picture of mute despair. Two or three times the doctor spoketo her, but nothing betokened that she heard him. He raised her hand,which was laying motionless in his; he let it go, and it fell lifelesslyon the bed again. He began to be seriously alarmed--he feared that shewould awaken from this state with a succession of wild shrieks, and thena series of fainting fits, the termination of which in her conditionwould probably be death. In the hopes of acting upon her newbornfeelings of maternity, he took the child up, and placed it against her,but the arms made no movement to enclose or support it; she showed nosign of consciousness of what he was doing. Then he slightly pinched thechild's arm, and it woke with a loud wailing cry. In an instant a changepassed over the rigid face; a human light came into the stony fixedeyes; and with a little cry, and a quick convulsive movement, sheclasped the child to her breast, leaned over it, and her tears raineddown freely now, as she swayed herself to and fro, and hushed it to herbosom.

  Dr. Ashleigh kne
w that the worst was over now, and for a time he let hergrief have its way undisturbed; he then persuaded her to lie down, and,enfeebled as she was by her recent illness, in less than an hour shecried herself to sleep.

  The doctor sat by her side until she awoke, which was not for some time,and when she did so she was calmer and more composed. He then talked toher very soothingly, but did not enter into any of the details of herhusband's death, beyond the fact that it was the result of an accident,and that he had died at Rochester, and would be buried there; that hehad sent for him, and that he had been with him to the end, and that hername had been the last word on his lips. The doctor told her he wouldreturn again in a few days to see her, and that she must not disquietherself about the future, for that he would take care of her and herchild as if they were his own.

  Sophy answered dreamily, although gratefully, to all he said, but shewas at present too much stunned by the blow to be capable of fixing herattention; indeed, she scarce understood his words. While Sophy wasasleep, Dr. Ashleigh had gone out and told the news to Mrs. Billow; shewas deeply concerned at it, although her regret was evidently more forSophy's sake than for that of her husband. She readily promised to doall in her power to soothe and comfort Sophy, and said she was sure thatas soon as she felt equal to it, one or other of her kind neighbourswould be glad to come over and sit with her; and she promised thatshould Sophy be taken worse, she would immediately telegraph for Dr.Ashleigh.

  The doctor stayed till late in the afternoon, and then drove round toSophy's medical attendant to tell him that she had just received thenews of her husband's death, and to bespeak his best care and attentionon her behalf. He afterwards returned to the station, and reached homeat nine o'clock. I was very pleased to see him back again, for it wasnot often that he was away so long as thirty hours; however, I did notask any questions, and he did not volunteer, as he usually did, anyaccount of his doings; and so I had no idea that he had been to morethan an ordinary visit, demanding unusual time and attention; and, as Ihave before said, it was some months afterwards before I was told ofRobert Gregory's death.

  It was fortunate, as it turned out, that papa got back that evening, forwhile we were at breakfast next morning a servant brought over a letterfrom Miss Harmer. It was written on the previous evening, and said thatas she had declined to see him on the day before when he had called, hemight feel a difficulty in coming now to see her; but that she had aparticular matter on which she was very anxious to speak to him.

  I have forgotten to say that when papa came home the evening before, wehad the news to give him, which indeed he had quite expected to hear,that Angela Harmer had died the previous evening.

  Papa had a strong suspicion what it was that Miss Harmer wished to seehim about. While the horses were being put into the carriage, he had alittle consultation with Polly in his study, and they agreed that forSophy's sake he should try to lull as far as possible any suspicionsMiss Harmer might entertain of Robert's having had a part in the affair.Besides, it was quite certain that unless any suspicions which she mighthave were laid at rest, she would at last destroy the will,--althoughthat was a very secondary matter now, as there did not seem the mostremote probability of its ever coming to light, even if it should be inexistence, for years. Papa then started for Harmer Place, and onarriving was shown at once into the drawing-room, orders evidentlyhaving been given to that effect; in a few minutes Miss Harmer joinedhim. Her forehead was bandaged up, and her general aspect was more stiffand forbidding than ever. After the first few remarks were over, sheproceeded at once to the point.

  "It would be a strange step to have taken, Dr. Ashleigh, in the positionin which we stand to each other, for me to have asked you to have comeover here, had I not had very powerful reasons for so doing. But itappears to me that I have, for I have very strong suspicions concerningthe events which have taken place here in the last two days. Have youheard the particulars?"

  "Yes, Miss Harmer; when I called here the day before yesterday, Dr.Sadman gave me the details of them, so far as he knew."

  "Did you hear that these burglars--" and Miss Harmer strongly emphasizedthe word--"did not attempt to take anything downstairs?" The doctorbowed assent. "Did you hear that they tortured my sister to make hertell them something?"

  "I did, Miss Harmer. I have before heard of people being threatened, oreven absolutely tortured, to oblige them to tell where their valuablesare concealed; but it is a very rare occurrence, and surprised me at thetime, almost as much as it shocked me. As a general thing, burglars whenthey attempt a robbery, ascertain previously where the valuables arekept, and act accordingly. It is possible that in this case it was notso. These men may have been merely passing vagrants, or they may havebeen thieves from London, who may have heard that there was a very finecollection of plate here. Taking into consideration the lonely positionof the place, and the fact that the only males in it are servants whosleep in a remote corner of the house, they may have thought that itwould be at once quicker, and would save them the trouble of breakingopen a number of doors in the search for the plate-closet, to come atonce to the owners, whom, they imagined, would readily be frightenedinto revealing its exact whereabouts."

  "Your supposition, Dr. Ashleigh, is nearly that of the detective who hasbeen sent down here, and who, knowing nothing of my private affairs,could not without a clue come to any other conclusion. He says it was astrange and unusual, although not an unprecedented affair. This clue Ihave not yet given him, although I intend to do so upon leaving thisroom, as I have not the least doubt in my own mind that my suspicionsare correct. My sister, Dr. Ashleigh, was not tortured to tell where anyplate was hidden: she was treated as she was to make her divulge thesupposed hiding-place of what--in spite of all we can say--it stillappears that some of you persist in believing to be in existence,--Imean my late brother's will."

  Dr. Ashleigh made a movement of astonishment.

  "Yes, Dr. Ashleigh, I have no doubt that it was so. I need not say thatI do not for a moment suspect you or yours of having the slightestknowledge or complicity in this villainous plot, to which my poor sisterhas fallen a victim; but there is another who is interested in thissupposed will, and who to the murder of my brother has now added themurder of my poor sister. I mean Robert Gregory. Thank God, the law canand will avenge this murder, if it could not the other."

  "Miss Harmer," papa said very quietly, "you have had much to agitate andtrouble you, and I am not therefore surprised at your thus fixing uponhim; indeed in the way you put it, it does seem reasonable; but Ibelieve that you will regret your hastiness when I tell you that you areactually accusing a dead man."

  "Dead!--Robert Gregory dead!" Miss Harmer exclaimed, greatly astonished;"I had no idea of that. How long has he been dead?"

  "Only a short time," Dr. Ashleigh answered. "I am not surprised that youare ignorant of the fact, for it is hardly likely that Sophy would havewritten to tell you. This poor young widow was only confined last week.I had to go to town on business, after I left here the day beforeyesterday, and I called to see her and her child. She has been keepingherself, until she was confined, by giving lessons in music."

  "Did you know of her husband's death before you saw her then?" MissHarmer asked.

  "Most assuredly I did," the doctor answered; "I heard of it at the timewhen he died. And now, Miss Harmer, I trust that I have quite dissipatedyour suspicions. Robert Gregory is dead, his wife is on a sick bed, andmy children, you acknowledge, are very unlikely to have entered into aplot of this sort."

  "Quite, Dr. Ashleigh; in fact it cannot be otherwise; and I amexceedingly glad that I spoke to you before putting the matter into thehands of the detective, for it would have perhaps put him off the rightclue, and would have led to the discussion of very painful matters.About Sophy"--and here she hesitated--"Is she in very bad circumstances?Because, even looking at her in the way I do, and always shall do, as mybrother's murderess, I should not like her to----"

  "You need not be uneasy on that score
Miss Harmer," papa said rathercoldly, "I have already told Sophy that my house is a home for her andher child, whenever she may choose to come. Whether she will use it assuch, I cannot say; but I think I can assert with certainty that shewould rather lay her head in the streets than owe a shelter to yourfavour. Is there anything else you wish to ask me about, or in which Ican be of any service to you?"

  "Nothing, Dr. Ashleigh. I really feel much obliged to you for having setmy mind at rest upon a point which has been troubling me much for thelast three days. Indeed, by the information that this bad man has goneto his end, you have set me greatly at ease on my own account;for--believing as I did that he was the perpetrator of this dreadfuldeed--I should have never felt safe until he had met with his deserts atthe hand of the law that some such murderous attack might not have beenperpetrated upon me. I am, I believe, no coward; still, with the ideathat it was my life or his in question, I should have offered a rewardfor his apprehension which would have set every policeman in England onthe look-out for him. I am glad to hear that your daughter Agnes isbetter. Goodbye, Dr. Ashleigh; I am sorry that we cannot be friends, butat least we need not be enemies." She held out her hand to Dr. Ashleigh,which he took, and then retired, well pleased that he had, without anyactual sacrifice of the truth, been enabled to save Sophy, and perhapssome day Sophy's child, from the pain and shame of the exposure whichmust have followed, had not Miss Harmer's suspicions been averted.

  On the following week papa again went up to London to see Sophy. Hefound her recovering from the blow; still pale and thin, but upon thewhole as well as could have been expected. Papa again offered her a homewith us, but she declined, gratefully but decidedly; she had, she said,even when it was supposed that she was an heiress, been looked down uponon account of the misfortune of her birth; and now, with the story ofher elopement and Mr. Harmer's sudden death fresh on the memory, shewould rather beg her bread in the streets than live there.

  "Would she accept money for her present uses?"

  Again she thanked papa, but declined. "She had," she said, "plenty ofmoney; she had been putting by nearly four pounds a week for ten months,and was therefore provided for for a long time." All that she wouldpromise at last was, that if she should ever be really in distress formoney, she would not hesitate to write and apply to him for it. Whenthis point had been discussed at length, Sophy insisted upon knowing allparticulars of Robert's death, and papa--after in vain endeavouring topersuade her to be content with what she knew already--was obliged atlast to tell her, softening all the worst points as much as he could;and saying only that Robert had gone at night with two men, in the hopesof frightening Angela Harmer into disclosing where the will was hidden;how they had been disturbed by Miss Harmer, who had fired a pistol,which had wounded Robert, and how he had been carried to Rochester todie. He told her, too--for he feared she might see it in thepapers--that Angela Harmer had died the same evening from the fright,but he suppressed all mention of the cruelty or violence. He partly toldher how Miss Harmer had entertained suspicions of the truth, and how hehad, he believed, succeeded in laying them at rest, and that he feltsure that the subject would not be pursued further in that direction;still, for her sake and the child's, should any one, under any pretenceor other, come and make inquiries as to the date of Robert's death, thatshe should mention that it took place a short time earlier than itreally did.

  Sophy heard the doctor through more tranquilly than he had expected. Sheasked a few questions here and there, but was very pale and composed.When he had quite done, she said,--

  "You do not surprise me, Dr. Ashleigh. My husband has so frequentlyasked me questions about the positions of the different rooms, and hasso often said that he would try for it some day, that when you came andtold me that he was killed by accident, and did not say how, or when, orwhere, I guessed that it was somehow in trying to get the will. If youplease, we will not say any more about it now; I want to think it allover, and my head aches sadly. I am much obliged to you for all yourkindness."

  And so Sophy held out her hand, and papa came away, still very uneasyabout her, and repeating his former direction to Mrs. Billow to send forhim at once in the event of Sophy being taken ill.

  A week after, a letter came from Sophy to me. It began by again thankingpapa for his kindness to her, but saying that she was determined, ifpossible, to earn a living for herself and child; should she, however,from illness or other cause, fail in the attempt, she would then, forher child's sake, accept his kindness. The letter went on--

  "My child will be one chief object of my life; and I have another, in the success of which he will be interested. I am determined, next to my child, to devote my life to finding the stolen will. You have tried, and failed. Robert tried, and laid down his life in the attempt. I alone, by whose conduct the will was lost, have not tried; but I will do so; it shall be the purpose of my life. Every thought and energy shall be given to it, for the sake of my child, and of you who have innocently been punished for my fault. I am not going to act now; I know it would be useless; but some day--it may be years on--some day I will try, and when I do I will succeed. Do not seek to dissuade me from this; my determination is irrevocable."

  We did write, and tried to argue with her. She answered briefly, thatnothing would alter her resolve. From time to time we exchanged letters,but at longer intervals, until at last she did not answer one of mine,and from that time years past before I again heard of Sophy Gregory.

  END OF VOL. II.