by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XI
MRS. GILROY'S PAST
After making Lucy the mistress of the Hall until the return of its legalmaster, Mark Durham returned to town. Having regard to the fact thatBeryl had taken up his quarters at the Conniston Arms--for what purposethe lawyer could not determine--he thought it wiser not to arouse thecrafty young man's suspicions by a visit to Cove Castle. Certainly thiswas a somewhat over-strained sense of caution, since, being Conniston'slawyer, he could easily have gone there without it being thought odd.But Durham knew that Julius, driven to desperation by the loss of thefortune, would stop at nothing to accomplish his wish to obtain it. Didhe learn that Bernard was still alive he would undoubtedly blackmailhim. And in the present position of the case, when the truth could notbe arrived at, Bernard, for his own safety, would be obliged to maketerms. And such terms as Beryl would demand could not be granted.
Durham therefore returned to his business, and at once set to work. Sofar he had done all that he could to settle the government of theproperty during Gore's absence, and it now remained to take such stepsas would unravel the intricacy of what appeared to be a plot to oust himfrom his rights. That Julius was at the bottom of the whole affairDurham was certain, and that Julius had his eye on him he conjectured.Therefore it behooved him to move cautiously lest Beryl shouldcounterplot him. And as in this game, which dealt with the issues oflife and death, Durham's cards were all on the table and Beryl's wereconcealed, the chances of victory lay with the latter. And if Juliuswon, he would certainly have no mercy. Conniston had written a letterdirected to the London office stating in full the conversation which hadtaken place between him and Sir Bernard. Durham was therefore in fullpossession of all facts not known to Julius, and after turning overthese in his mind he concluded that it would be best to start with anexamination of Jane Riordan, the delinquent housemaid. She could notpossibly be in the plot, as he had seen how simple a woman she was whenat the inquest. Therefore she certainly, for some strange reason,believed Bernard to be the young soldier who had courted her. She hadsworn to his photograph, and had addressed him in the hall of the CrimeaSquare house by his name. Apparently--here Durham thought withConniston--some person had been impersonating Bernard, so the lawyersent a message to Miss Riordan asking her to call. Then he intended toquestion her as to the personality and speech of the double.
The housemaid arrived dressed in her best and looking rather downcast.She was evidently nervous, and could not think what the lawyer wantedwith her. Like all her class she had a wholesome horror of legalprocedure, and always kept out of the clutches of the law. But itappeared that for her share in receiving a follower she had beendismissed by her master, Mr. Jefferies. Being without a situation shegrasped at the chance afforded of seeing Durham, and hoped by working onhis sympathies to secure a new one. But for this want she would probablyhave refused the invitation. As it was she duly appeared, and wasaccommodated with a seat beside Durham's desk. He then proceeded toquestion her, thinking a plain, straightforward examination would bestget at the truth.
"Now then," said Durham, wheeling round his chair so that he could lookher in the face. "You know I am the solicitor of Sir Bernard Gore, whois accused of the murder of his grandfather. In spite of the evidencegiven, I do not believe he is guilty."
"I don't think so either, sir," sobbed Jane, who had got out herhandkerchief at the mention of the name.
"You never knew him."
"Yes, I did. He courted me for nearly a month. And a sweet young man hewas, the very best I ever walked out with."
Durham eyed her keenly. Apparently she was speaking as she believed, andhe considered that the double must resemble Bernard in a marvellousdegree to make the housemaid thus sure of his identity with the accusedyoung baronet. "You misunderstand me," he said mildly. "However, I'llcome to the point presently. You must answer me as though you were in awitness-box."
"Yes, sir," said Miss Riordan, timidly. "But, please, before I speak,could you help me to a new situation? Mr. Jefferies dismissed me becauseI walked out with Bernard and received him in the kitchen."
"Hum," said Durham, reflectively. He did not know very well what to sayat the outset as he was by no means prepared to promise to assist heroff-hand. But on consideration he saw the necessity of keeping sovaluable a witness under his own eye and away from Beryl, alwayssupposing Beryl to be mixed up in the matter. He therefore made up hismind swiftly, and in his answer gained Jane's goodwill. "Yes, I can helpyou," he said; "my housekeeper wants a housemaid. I will give you myaddress and a letter to her. Go to Camden Hill and if your character issatisfactory she will engage you."
"Oh, thank you, sir," said Jane, effusively. "I'm sure my character isall that can be desired, save in this last trouble. But Bernard was suchan agreeable----"
"There! there!" interrupted Durham, cutting her short, "we won't talk ofthat just now. This last episode of your career will not stand in theway of my housekeeper engaging you. I'll make that clear to her in myletter. Come now, will you answer my questions?"
"Yes, sir. Any you like to ask," said Jane, delighted at the granting ofher petition, and privately thinking Durham a sweet gentleman.
"Good!" said the lawyer in an official manner. "What is your name?"
"Jane Riordan."
Durham noted this and her other answers down.
"You were how long at Mr. Jefferies?"
"Six months, sir."
"When did you first see this soldier?"
"Bernard, sir. In the Park, about a month before Sir Simon came."
"How did he become acquainted with you?"
Jane giggled and looked down. "Well, sir," she said, blushing, "I am notbad-looking and Bernard--"
"He called himself Bernard?"
"Yes, sir. He said he was a corporal in the Imperial Yeomanry. He hadseen me in Crimea Square."
"In this house?"
"No, sir. Leaving the house. He said he had come several times, beingtaken with my looks, and that he always wanted to know me. As he was sohandsome, sir, and spoke so civil, we walked out. He treated me to teain the Park, and then I asked him to meet cook. He accepted at once,sir, and most willingly."
"I daresay," muttered Durham, seeing in this meeting how the scamp hadforced his company on the girl so as to enter the house likely to beoccupied by Sir Simon. "And he came?"
"Many times, sir--oh! many times, and made himself so agreeable thatcook was quite jealous."
"Who did he say he was?"
"Well, sir, he did nothing but hint, saying he was a gentleman of highrank, as could be seen from his manners, and that he had enlistedbecause of a quarrel he had with his grandfather. But I never knew hewas Sir Simon's grandson until I lost him," sobbed Jane. "Oh, dear me,and to think I would have been Lady Gore, with diamonds and fineclothes, had he lived."
"Hum!" said Durham, digging the point of his pencil into the blottingpaper, "so he practically told you the story of Sir Bernard."
"Yes, sir, as I afterwards learned it. And wasn't that natural, sir,seeing he was Sir Bernard?"
"Are you sure he was?"
Jane stared. "Why, sir, he was always frightened when Mrs. Gilroy camedown to the kitchen and said she was his enemy, and that if she saw himhe could never marry me. I didn't know what he meant at that time, but Isee now. She would have said who he was. I used to hide him incupboards, and once in the coal cellar. Cook and William never told,being sympathetic like!"
"Did he speak in educated manner?"
"Like the gentleman he was, sir, having been educated at Eton."
"When you saw him in the grasp of the policeman did you recognize him?Was he the same man who courted you?"
Jane stared again and looked puzzled. "There isn't two, sir, that I knowof," she said; "and now," with a fresh burst of tears, "there isn't one,seeing he is drowned. Oh dear, dear me. Yes, sir, I knew him at once,although the light was bad. And when I would have seen him plainer, Mrs.Gilroy would
not let him be brought under the lamp."
"Oh, indeed," said Durham, making a note of this. "Look here," and heheld out a large portrait of Bernard, different to that shown at theinquest. "You recognize this, I suppose?"
"That's my Bernard, sir."
"Is it a good likeness?"
Jane examined the photograph closely. "Not what I'd call a very goodone, sir, neither was the other. There's a look wanting."
"What sort of a look?"
"Well, sir, you might call it a roguish look, of a gentleman who hadseen life and had been gay. This portrait is sad and horrid looking. Ishould have been afraid to be courted by Bernard if he had looked likethis. But he was always bright and full of larks. Then he has not got aspot on his chin as he has here. I suppose he cut himself shaving whenhe had this done."
Durham started. Here was a means of identification. Bernard had a ratherlarge mole on the left of his chin. "Didn't the man who walked out withyou have this spot?" he said, purposely adopting the word she had used.
"No, sir. He had a chin like a new-born infant, smooth and white."
"Did he ever write you a letter?"
Jane blushed again. "Just a short note making an appointment, sir," shesaid, feeling in her breast, "it being early for love letters, and mebeing a most respectable young lady. I carry it next my heart."
Durham took the note she handed him without hesitation, and glancedthrough it. The writing was not unlike that of Bernard's, yet he sawvery plainly that it lacked several characteristics which distinguishedthat of Gore. The note simply asked Jane to meet the writer on Sunday atthe Marble Arch, and was signed "Bernard."
"I'll give you a sovereign for this," said Durham, quietly.
"Thank you, sir," said Jane, accepting without a moment's hesitation."Of course, Bernard's dead now, so there's no use keeping his letters,but if he'd been alive I'd have kept them on the chance of his notmaking me Lady Gore!"
"Did he wear any rings?" asked Durham, paying the money and putting theletter away.
"Three, sir. Two gold and one silver."
This was another point of difference. Bernard hated rings and never byany chance wore any, not even a signet ring. But by this time Jane'sinformation was exhausted, and Durham concluded her examination for themoment. He would be able to resume it later when necessary, andcongratulated himself on the fact that he had secured Jane as hishousemaid. When brought face to face with the real Bernard she would beable to see the difference between him and his double. And then shemight also be able to recognize the double should he be found. Just ashe was dismissing Jane with a letter to his housekeeper a clerk broughtin a name written on a piece of paper. "Mrs. Gilroy," said Durham tohimself, wondering greatly. "Tell her to come in," he said aloud, andushered Jane out quickly by another door. It would never have done tohave let Mrs. Gilroy meet her, seeing that the Hall housekeeper washostile to Bernard. So Jane departed rejoicing, and Durham went back tohis desk well satisfied.
"Bernard never wrote this note, as it is different in many ways to hiswriting," he murmured. "Bernard never wears rings, and he has a mole onhis chin which this double apparently lacks. Without doubt theimpersonation has been very clever. But I wonder how I am to find thedouble."
Before he could reply to this perplexing question, the clerk showed inMrs. Gilroy, as demure and sly-looking as ever. She was richly dressedin black silk, much better dressed in fact than she had ever been duringthe life of her master. Also Durham noted that there was an aggressiveair about her which he had not noticed before. Perhaps this was due toher receipt of an annuity. She was not a lady, and yet she could not becalled common. Durham had never examined her carefully before, but nowthat she was dangerous to Gore's interest he looked at her carefully. Astrange woman and a dangerous was his verdict. He proceeded to feel hisway cautiously, wondering what she had come about.
"It's to see me about your annuity?" he said, tentatively.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Gilroy, coldly, and took the seat which had beenvacated by Jane. "My beggarly annuity?"
The lawyer, who had taken up his position before the fire with his handsunder the tails of his frock coat, turned to look at her. The bitternessof the tone startled him. "What do you mean?"
"Mean!" echoed Mrs. Gilroy, with a vindictive glitter in her pale eyes."That Sir Simon promised me five hundred a year for life."
"Oh, you must be mistaken," said Durham, quickly. "He never said youwere to have more than one hundred."
"He might not to you, but he did to me," said the housekeeper, doggedly."I have a right to five hundred."
"I think not," said the lawyer, calmly. "And let me tell you, Mrs.Gilroy, that Sir Simon did not place your name at all in the secondwill. Had it been executed, you would not have had even the onehundred you despise. Therefore, you may congratulate yourself"--hewatched her face while speaking--"that Sir Simon changed his mind aboutdisinheriting his grandson."
The woman's eyes glittered still more maliciously and a color rose inher bloodless cheeks. "Oh!" she said, with icy disdain, "so Sir Simonwould have deprived me of my rights, would he? It's lucky he's dead, orhe'd find himself on the wrong side of the hedge with me."
"Ah!" Durham resumed his seat and waited to hear what would comeforth. And something would come out not easily attainable at othertimes, for Mrs. Gilroy was apparently losing her temper. This was mostextraordinary for her, as she was usually cautious. But since the deathof her master, who had kept her in check, she seemed to be a much morereckless woman. The lawyer had always wondered what bond held Sir Simonand the housekeeper together, and now there seemed some likelihood thathe would learn, if he held his tongue and allowed full play to that ofMrs. Gilroy.
"I knew how it would be," she muttered. "I guessed he would play mefalse. He never was worth a kekaubi."
"You are a gipsy," said Durham, looking up.
"What makes you say that?"
"Kekaubi is Romany for kettle. You wouldn't use it unless--"
"Who I am is nothing to you," interrupted Mrs. Gilroy, sharply.
"Yet you don't resemble the Romany!" said Durham, looking at her drabappearance. "Your eyes are pale and your hair--"
"Let my appearance be, Mr. Durham. I am here for justice, not to hear mylooks discussed. Sir Simon left me one hundred a year. I want you as theexecutor of the estate to make it the five hundred he promised me."
"I don't know that he promised you that sum," said the solicitor, "andeven if he did I cannot give it to you. The money now belongs to SirBernard Gore."
"He is supposed to be dead."
"You put it rightly," replied the man. "He is supposed to be dead, butuntil his dead body is found I will administer the estate on his behalf.But I have no power to help you."
Mrs. Gilroy seemed struck by this view of the case. "Suppose Sir Bernardisn't dead?" she asked.
Durham felt a qualm and suppressed a start with difficulty. Had thisdangerous woman discovered the fugitive at Cove Castle. "Do you know ifhe is alive?" asked Durham, quietly looking at her.
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Gilroy, who seemed to be thinking. Then she rose."I don't know that I need bother you further," she said.
"Will you tell me why you demand this money?"
"Because Sir Simon promised it to me."
"On what grounds."
"On very good grounds."
"Will you tell me what they are?"
"Will you give me the five hundred a year if I do?" she countered.
"That is out of my power. When Sir Bernard appears I will speak to himon the subject if your claim is a good one."
"My claim is an excellent one," she burst out, raising herself to herfull height. "It is the claim of a wronged woman!" She paused. "I wantto ask you about the will," she said. "Is it worded that the money isleft 'to my grandson.'"
"To my grandson Bernard Gore."
"The name is mentioned."
"It is. The money is clearly left to Sir Bernard."
"Sir Bernard," she sneered. "Why give him
a title to which he has noclaim? The money may be his, else I would not tell you what I now dotell you. My son is the baronet--my son Michael."
Durham stared at her, quite taken aback. "What on earth are you talkingabout, Mrs. Gilroy?" he demanded.
"Mrs. Gilroy," she echoed with scorn. "I shall no longer use a falsename. I am Mrs. Walter Gore."
"Impossible. Walter Gore was married to Bianca Tolomeo!"
"He was married to me first," said Mrs. Gilroy, rapidly. "Yes, you maystare, but I am the lawful wife of Walter Gore and my son Michael is theheir. He is the image of his father. There's no trickery about thematter."
"The image of his father," cried Durham, a sudden light breaking in uponhim. "And Walter Gore was tall, slim, the image of his son Bernard. Mrs.Gore, or Mrs. Gilroy, or whatever you call yourself, was it your son whomurdered his grandfather?"
The woman became livid. "No, I swear he didn't. He is in America."
"He is in England, and he masqueraded as Bernard when courting Jane thehousemaid," said Durham, excitedly. "You say yourself he resembledWalter Gore. Bernard is exactly like his father, so Michael mustresemble him sufficiently to pass as him."
"It is absolutely false!" cried Mrs. Gilroy, seeing she had fallen intothe trap of her own words. "My son is in America. You shall not provehim guilty. I opened the door to Bernard."
"To Michael. You perhaps mistook him for Bernard."
"A mother can't mistake her own son. But Michael is the heir. I shallwrite to America and bring him home. I can prove my marriage with WalterGore."
"Do so by all means," said Durham, recovering his wits. "I am acting forSir Bernard, and he shall not lose the title if I can help it. I see youare playing a deep game, Mrs. Gilroy, but you have let out too much. Ishall now search for Michael, your son, and see if he was not in Londonon the night of the twenty-third of October."
Mrs. Gilroy, pale and looking like a tigress at bay, drew back to thedoor without a word. Before Durham knew of her intention she opened itand slipped away. He did not seek to detain her.