A Secret Inheritance (Volume 2 of 3)

by B. L. Farjeon

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  In solitude I reviewed with amazement the occurrences of the last fewmoments. It seemed to me that I had been impelled to do what I haddone by an occult agency outside myself. Not that I did not approve ofit. It was in accordance with my intense wish and desire--which hadlain dormant in the sweet society of Lauretta--to be alone, in orderthat I might, without interruption, think over the story I had heardfrom Doctor Louis's lips. And now that this wish and desire weregratified, the one figure which still rose vividly before me was thefigure of Kristel. As I walked onward I followed the hapless manmentally in his just pursuit of the brother who had snatched the cupof happiness from his lips. Yes, it was just and right, and what hedid I would have done under similar circumstances. Of all who hadtaken part in the tragic drama he, and he alone, commanded mysympathy.

  The distance from Doctor Louis's house to mine was under two miles,but I prolonged it by a _detour_ which brought me, withoutpremeditation, to the inn known as the Three Black Crows. I had nointention of going there or of entering the inn, and yet, findingmyself at the door, I pushed it open, and walked into the room inwhich the customers took their wine. This room was furnished withrough tables and benches, and I seated myself, and in response to thelandlord's inquiry, ordered a bottle of his best, and invited him toshare it with me. He, nothing loth, accepted the invitation, and satat the table, emptying his glass, which I continued to fill for him,while my own remained untasted. I had been inside the Three BlackCrows on only one occasion, in the company of Doctor Louis, and thelandlord now expressed his gratitude for the honour I did him bypaying him another visit. It was only the sense of his words whichreached my ears, my attention being almost entirely drawn to two menwho were seated at a table at the end of the room, drinking bad wineand whispering to each other. Observing my eyes upon them, thelandlord said in a low tone, "Strangers."

  "You do not know them?" I asked.

  "Never saw them before," he replied.

  Their backs were towards me, and I could not see their faces, but Inoticed that one was humpbacked, and that, to judge from their attire,they were poor peasants.

  "I asked them," said the landlord, "whether they wanted a bed, andthey answered no, that they were going further. If they had stoppedhere the night I should have kept watch on them!"

  "Why?"

  "I don't like their looks, and my wife's a timorous creature. Thenthere's the children--you've seen my little ones, I think, sir?"

  "Yes, I have seen them. Surely those men would do them no harm!"

  "Perhaps not, sir; but a man, loving those near to him, thinks of thepossibilities of things. I've got a bit of money in the house, to paymy rent that's due to-morrow, and one or two other accounts. They mayhave got scent of it."

  "Do you think they have come to Nerac on a robbing expedition?"

  "There's no telling. Roguery has a plain face, and the signs are intheirs, or my name's not what it is. When they said they were goingfurther on I asked them where, and they said it was no business ofmine. They gave me the same answer when I asked them where they camefrom. They're up to no good, that's certain, and the sooner they'reout of the village the better for all of us."

  The more the worthy landlord talked the more settled became hisinstinctive conviction that the strangers were rogues.

  "If robbery is their errand," I said thoughtfully, "there are housesin Nerac which would yield them a better harvest than yours."

  "Of course there is," was his response. "Doctor Louis's, for one. Hehas generally some money about him, and his silver plate would be aprize. Are you going back there to-night, sir?"

  "No; I am on my road to my own house, and I came out of the way alittle for the sake of the walk."

  "That's my profit, sir," said the landlord cheerfully. "I would offerto keep you company if it were not that I don't like to leave myplace."

  "There's nothing to fear," I said; "if they molest me I shall be amatch for them."

  "Still," urged the landlord, "I should leave before they do. It's aswell to avoid a difficulty when we have the opportunity."

  I took the hint, and paid my score. To all appearance there was noreason for alarm on my part; during the time the landlord and I wereconversing the strangers had not turned in our direction, and as wespoke in low tones they could not have heard what we said. Theyremained in the same position, with their backs towards us, nowdrinking in silence, now speaking in whispers to each other.

  Outside the Three Black Crows I walked slowly on, but I had not gonefifty yards before I stopped. What was in my mind was the referencemade by the landlord to Doctor Louis's house and to its being worththe plundering. The doctor's house contained what was dearer to methan life or fortune. Lauretta was there. Should I leave her at themercy of these scoundrels who might possibly have planned a robbery ofthe doctor's money and plate? In that case Lauretta would be indanger. My mind was instantly made up. I would return to the ThreeBlack Crows, and look through the window of the room in which I hadleft the men, to ascertain whether they were still there. If theywere, I would wait for them till they left the inn, and then would seta watch upon their movements. If they were gone I would hasten to thedoctor's house, to render assistance, should any be needed. I had noweapon, with the exception of a small knife; could I not providemyself with something more formidable? A few paces from where I stoodwere some trees with stout branches. I detached one of these branches,and with my small knife fashioned it into a weapon which would servemy purpose. It was about four feet in length, thick at the strikingend and tapering towards the other, so that it could be held with easeand used to good purpose. I tried it on the air, swinging it round andbringing it down with sufficient force to kill a man, or withcertainty to knock the senses out of him in one blow. Then I returnedto the inn, and looked through the window. In the settlement of myproceedings I had remembered there was a red blind over the windowwhich did not entirely cover it, and through the uncovered space I nowsaw the strangers sitting at the table as I had left them.

  Taking care to make no noise I stepped away from the window, and tookup a position from which I could see the door of the inn, which wasclosed. I myself was in complete darkness, and there was no moon tobetray me; all that was needed from me was caution.

  I watched fully half an hour before the door of the inn was opened. Noperson had entered during my watch, the inhabitants of Nerac beingearly folk for rest and work. The two strangers lingered for a momentupon the threshold, peering out into the night; behind them was thelandlord, with a candle in his hand. I did not observe that any wordspassed between them and the landlord; they stepped into the road, andthe door was closed upon them. Then came the sounds of locking andbolting doors and windows. Then, silence.

  I saw the faces of the men as they stood upon the threshold; they wereevil-looking fellows enough, and their clothes were of the commonest.

  For two or three minutes they did not stir; there had been nothing intheir manner to arouse suspicion, and the fact of their lingering onthe roadway seemed to denote that they were uncertain of the routethey should take. That they raised their faces to the sky was notagainst them; it was a natural seeking for light to guide them.

  To the left lay the little nest of buildings amongst which were FatherDaniel's chapel and modest house, and the more pretentious dwelling ofDoctor Louis; to the right were the woods, at the entrance of which myown house was situated. Which road would the strangers take? The left,and it was part evidence of a guilty design. The right, and it wouldbe part proof that the landlord's suspicions were baseless.

  They exchanged a few words which did not reach my ears. Then theymoved onwards to the left. I grasped my weapon, and crept after them.

  But they walked only a dozen steps, and paused. I, also. In my mindwas the thought, "Continue the route you have commenced, and you aredead men. Turn from it, and you are safe."

  The direction of the village was the more tempting to men whohad no roof to shelt
er them, for the reason that in Father Daniel'schapel--which, built on an eminence, overlooked the village--lightswere visible from the spot upon which I and they were standing. Therewas the chance of a straw bed and charity's helping hand, neverwithheld by the good priest from the poor and wretched. On their rightwas dense darkness; not a glimmer of light.

  Nevertheless, after the exchange of a few more words which, like theothers, were unheard by me, they seemed to resolve to seek thegloomier way. They turned from the village, and facing me, walked pastme in the direction of the woods.

  I breathed more freely, and fell into a curious mental considerationof the relief I experienced. Was it because, walking as they were fromthe village in which Lauretta was sleeping, I was spared the taking ofthese men's lives? No. It was because of the indication they affordedme that Lauretta was not in peril. In her defence I could havejustified the taking of a hundred lives. No feeling of guilt wouldhave haunted me; there would have been not only no remorse but no pityin my soul. The violation of the most sacred of human laws would bejustified where Lauretta was concerned. She was mine, to cherish, toprotect, to love--mine, inalienably. She belonged to no other man, andnone should step between her and me--neither he whose ruffianly designthreatened her with possible harm, nor he, in a higher and morepolished grade, who strove to win her affections and wrest them fromme. In an equal way both were equally my enemies, and I should bejustified in acting by them as Kristel had acted to Silvain.

  Ah, but he had left it too late. Not so would I. Let but the faintestbreath of certainty wait upon suspicion, and I would scotch iteffectually for once and all. Had Kristel possessed the strange powerin his hours of dreaming which Silvain possessed, he would not havebeen robbed of the happiness which was his by right. He would havebeen forewarned, and Avicia would have been his wife. In every step inlife he took there would have been the fragrance of flowers aroundhim, and a heavenly light. Thus, with me, and for me.

  Did I, then, admit that there was any resemblance in the characters ofAvicia and Lauretta? No; one was a weed, the other a rose. Herecoarseness, there refinement. Here low desire and cunning; thereangelic purity and goodness. But immeasurably beneath Lauretta asAvicia was, Kristel's love for the girl would have made her radiantand spotless.

  All this time I was stealthily following the strangers to the woods.Once I tripped. The sound arrested them; they clutched each other infear.

  "What was that?" one said hoarsely. "Are we being followed?"

  I stood motionless, and they stood without movement for many moments.Then they simultaneously emitted a deep-drawn sigh.

  "It was the wind," said the man who had already spoken.

  I smiled in contempt; not a breath of wind was stirring; there was notthe flutter of a leaf, not the waving of the lightest branch. All wasstill and quiet.

  They resumed their course, and I crept after them noiselessly. Theyentered the wood; the trees grew more thickly clustered.

  "This will do," I heard one say; and upon the words they threwthemselves to the ground, and fell into slumber.

  Sleep came to them instantaneously. I bent over them and wassatisfied. The landlord of the Three Black Crows was mistaken. I movedsoftly away, and when I was at a safe distance from them I lit a matchand looked at my watch; it was twenty minutes to eleven, and beforethe minute-hand had passed the hour I arrived at my house. The doorwas fast, but I saw a light in the lower room of the gardener'scottage, which I had given to Martin Hartog as a residence for him andhis daughter.

  "Hartog is awake," I thought; "expecting me perhaps."

  I knocked at the door of the cottage, and received no answer; Iknocked again with the same result.

  "Hartog! Hartog!" I called; and still no answer came.

  The door had fastenings of lock and latch. I put my hand to the latch,and finding that the key had not been turned in the lock, opened thedoor and entered. Martin Hartog was not there.

  The room, however, was not without an occupant. At the table sat ayoung girl, the gardener's daughter, asleep. She lay back in herchair, and the light shone upon her face. I had seen her when she wasawake, and knew that she was beautiful, but as I gazed now upon hersleeping form I was surprised to discover that she was even fairerthan I had supposed. She had hair of dark brown, which curled mostgracefully about her brow and head; her face, in its repose, was sweetto look upon; she was not dressed as the daughter of a labouring man,but with a certain daintiness and taste which deepened my surprise;there was lace at her sleeves and around her white neck. Had I notknown her station I should have taken her for a lady. She was young,not more than eighteen or nineteen I judged, and life's springtime laysweetly upon her. There was a smile of wistful tenderness on her lips.

  Her left arm was extended over the table, and her hand rested upon theportrait of a man, almost concealing the features. Her right hand,which was on her lap, enfolded a letter, and that and theportrait--which, without curious prying, I saw was not that of herfather--doubtless were the motive of a pleasant dream.

  I took in all this in a momentary glance, and quickly left the room,closing the door behind me. Then I knocked loudly and roughly, andheard the hurried movements of a sudden awaking. She came to the doorand cried softly, "Is that you, father? The door is unlocked."

  "It is I," I said. "Is your father not at home then?"

  She opened the door, and fell back a step in confusion.

  "I should have let your father know," I said, "that I intended tosleep here to-night--but indeed it was a hasty decision. I hope I havenot alarmed you."

  "Oh, no, sir," she said. "We did not expect you. Father is away onbusiness; I expected him home earlier, and waiting for him I fellasleep. The servants are not coming till to-morrow morning."

  "I know. Have you the keys?"

  She gave them to me, and asked if she could do anything for me. Ianswered no, that there was nothing required. As I wished hergood-night a man's firm steps were heard, and Martin Hartog appeared.He cast swift glances at his daughter and me, and it struck me thatthey were not devoid of suspicion. I explained matters, and heappeared contented with my explanation; then bidding his daughter goindoors he accompanied me to the house.

  There was a fire in my bedroom, almost burnt out, and the handiwork ofan affectionate and capable housewife was everywhere apparent. MartinHartog showed an inclination then and there to enter into particularsof the work he had done in the grounds during my absence, but I toldhim I was tired, and dismissed him. I listened to his retreatingfootsteps, and when I heard the front door closed I blew out thecandle and sat before the dying embers in the grate. Darkness was bestsuited to my mood, and I sat and mused upon the events of the lastforty-eight hours. Gradually my thoughts became fixed upon the figuresof the two strangers I had left sleeping in the woods, in connectionwith the suspicion of their designs which the landlord had imparted tome. So concentrated was my attention that I re-enacted all theincidents of which they were the inspirers--the fashioning of thebranch into a weapon, the watch I had set upon them, their issuingfrom the inn, the landlord standing behind with the candle in hishand, their lingering in the road, the first steps they took towardsthe village, their turning back, and my stealthy pursuit afterthem--not the smallest detail was omitted. I do not rememberundressing and going to bed. Encompassed by silence and darkness I wasonly spiritually awake.