Deep Moat Grange

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER XX

  CONCERNING ELSIE

  Now, I liked Mr. Ablethorpe, but after he had wrestled like that withhis conscience, just to tell me that he knew nothing about thematter--well, I could have gone back and felled him. Why, his oldconscience couldn't have made more fuss if he had known all about themurder--the hiding of the body--of a score of bodies, indeed. Butthen, with consciences, a fellow like me can't tell. It's like love,or sea-sickness, or toothache. If a fellow has never had them, he's nojudge of the sufferings of those who have.

  And that's what I always say to people when I hear of some new caper ofthe Hayfork Parson, or Rev. De la Poer, or any of that lot. "It'sconscience," I say. "It takes them like that. It's uncommon, I grant,in Breckonside, but they've got it. So take a back seat, boys, andwait till the flurry's over!"

  I am not going to go into detail of the search for my father, becausewhat with the search for Harry Foster, and my father, and all that isyet to come, the book would just be all about folk trying to find outthe mystery of the house on the farther side of the Deep Moat, andcoming back, as they say in Breckonside, with their finger in theirmouth.

  Briefly, then, everybody searched and searched, but all to no purpose.Mad Jeremy was proved to have been miles away, and Mr. Stennis safe inEdinburgh, dining with his lawyer. He came home as full of rage as hecould stick, and he threatened to bring actions for "effraction" andbreaking open of lock-fast places, trespass, damage to property, and Idon't know what all. But none of these things came to anything.

  He threatened, but did not perform. And as for me, in those days I hadenough to do with my mother, who had fallen into a frail state of bothmind and body--she who had been so robust. And if it had not been forElsie, who took care of her, coming to our house to do it, and evenbiding the night, I don't know what would have become of my mother.

  You see, she had never believed that anything serious had reallyhappened to my father, or that he was dead. And when any one tried toargue her out of it, she said: "Tell me, then, who it was that let themare into the yard?"

  And we dared not give her the answer that was uppermost in all ourminds--that it was the murderer who had done it with my father'smaster-key.

  I did not see much of Elsie, though she was in the same house with me,for I had the business to attend to, just as if my father was there--totake his place, I mean. Because I knew that he would wish it, so thatif he came back he would be proud not to be able to put his finger onanything, and say, "This has suffered in your hands, Joe!"

  Of course, I had men from Scotland Yard, and others searching for along time. But they did no good except to prove that my father hadleft the fair at Longtown in good time, carrying with him (what wasvery curious) not the money in gold or notes, but a cheque payable tobearer on the bank at Thorsby. Well, that cheque had never beenpresented. This was fatal to our theory. For if my father had beenkilled for booty, he could only have had an old silver watch on him,with the guard made of porpoise bootlaces, and perhaps five or sixshillings in silver; because he always gave trysts and fairs andmarkets a bad name, especially those so near the border as Longtown.They gathered, he declared, all the riffraff of two countries, besidesall the Molly Malones and cutpurses that ever were born to be hanged.

  This was all that could be got out of these wise men from London forthe money I spent--my father's money, rather. They never traced himbeyond half-way, where, at a lonely inn on the Crewe Moss, he hadstopped to drink a cup of coffee and break a bite of bread before goingfarther.

  Oh, I tell you that our big house, with its bricked yard, and all thefine, new outhouses, barns, storages for grain and fodder, was alonesome place those days! And how much more lonesome the nights! Itell you that, after the men had gone home, the horses been fodderedand bedded down in the stable, and the doors were locked (except thebig centre one, which my mother would not allow to be touched), BobKingsman and I went about with a permanent crick in each of our necks,got by looking over our shoulders for a thing with a master-key, thatcould let in horses, and open doors, and leave no tracks behind it onthe snow. It lurked in the dark when we turned corners, and many's thetime we felt it spring on our shoulders out of the dusk of the rafters.

  My, but Bob was scared! Me, too, when it came to pass--as it oftendid--that mother, in her moanings and wailings, sent me down to theyard gate to look for father. If anybody had spoken too suddenly to methen, I should have dropped. And as for Bob Kingsman, he slept in hislittle room with shuttered windows on both sides and barricaded doors,besides a perfect armoury of deadly weapons ready to his hand. Henearly shot himself more than once, monkeying with them.

  I used to tell him that it was all nonsense. For, at any rate, a ghostwouldn't care for repeating rifles, or even 12-inch guns, let alone hisold horse pistols, that would go off but one time in four.

  But he only said, "Fudge, Joe! Ghosts don't need master-keys. Theyuse keyholes, as a rule."

  To which I answered that they couldn't put Dapple through a keyhole, asshe, at least, was not a ghost, but hearty, and taking her oats well.He did not know exactly what to reply to this, but contented himselfwith saying, with the true Bob Kingsman doggedness--

  "Well, if he comes, I will plug him."

  "Then," said I, "if so be you do, see that it isn't the master you areloosing off at!"

  For somehow it struck me that, after all, my father might have hisreasons for keeping out of the way. He told us so little of hisaffairs, and I was always a great one for mysteries, anyway. If therewas none about a thing, I didn't mind making up one. It didn't strainme any!

  Yet now, when I come to think of it, these days with Elsie were veryhappy ones. Not that I got much out of it, but just the happiness ofbeing in the same house with her. She was seldom out of my mother'sroom, except when she went downstairs to bring something--such as asoothing drink or a cloth-covered, india-rubber bag with hot water forher feet in the cold weather. Elsie slept in a little child's cot witha folding-down end at the foot of my mother's big bed. It was one ofmother's queer ways about this time that she expected my father backall the time, and always had his place made down and his night thingslaid out every evening.

  It was nice, though, to meet Elsie on the stairs. I dare say you havenot forgotten how frequently, with an Elsie in the house, or any onelike her, young people are apt to meet on the stairs, particularly atthe dusky corner where the grandfather's clock is--you remember theplace, just where you cannot be seen, either from above or below.

  Of course, Elsie was cross with me, and said that she would go back toNance's if I did not behave--that I ought to be thinking of otherthings, which was true enough. But, for all that, she did not alterher times of coming and going up and down the stairs, and she knew Ihad a watch. Ah, well, such days pass all too soon! But they are goodwhile they last. And now, when I lie awake, I like to think it allover, taking every single time by itself. We were very young and veryinnocent then. We did not know what was the matter with us. As forElsie, she would have boxed my ears if I had dared to tell her that Iwas in love with her; and I would have blushed to say the word.

  She was my comrade, my friend, especially my sister--which is always agood lead with a nice girl. At least, I have found it so. Girls--thenice ones, I mean--are always longing to be somebody's sister--that is,if they have no brothers of their own. Then they know more about it,and are not nearly so keen. Actual brothers and sisters clout eachother and fight like fun; but the kind of brother you can be to a nicegirl sends poetry and flowers to his sister, and it is all right.

  They drop the brothering after a bit, though. At least, that has beenmy experience--when, as it were, fraternity has served its purpose.Then I used to crib poems out of Keats and Byron and L.E.L., and changethem about a bit to fit the "dear sister" dodge. And it worked firstrate. Nobody ever found me out. And they asked no questions, becauseit was all so dreadful mysterious and romantic, and made their littlehearts go pit-a-pat to have su
ch a poetic brother. I was glad they didnot ask me what I meant, because I never knew in the least myself.

  However, this by the way of it.

  It was first class to have Elsie right in the house, and a wholeshelf-full of poetry down in the parlour cupboard, which father hadtaken over as part payment for a bad debt. The debt must have been apretty bad one indeed for father to do such a thing. I think he meantsome day to give them to the village library at Breckonside, but alwaysput it off.

  They came in as handy now as a hole in an orchard wall. And Elsiewondered why I had never shown myself quite so clever at school. Icould easily have told her the reason, but didn't.

  I had not found the shelf of poetry then, which father always keptlocked. Besides, I did not want to muss up Elsie's young instincts,which were sprouting beautiful.

  This was all very well, but the end of the Christmas holidays wasapproaching, when Elsie would need to go back to her teaching at Mr.Mustard's. I did not like to think about that. For not only wouldElsie have to go back to the little Bridge End house where Nance Edgarlived, but I should have the whole care of my mother, which was nolight matter.

  And so I would have had; but one day old Mrs. Caleb Fergusson arrived.She had known mother from the time they were little girls together, andmy mother called her Susy. And when she had heard all about theuselessness of Grace Rigley, our maid-of-all-work, who, really, said mymother, "was so handless that she dropped everything--worse than aman-body in a house!--and dirty!--and not to be trusted to rise in themorning!--and no washer, bless you! But oh, the trouble o' servantlassies in the country! Certes, it's enough to turn your hair grey!And grey mine would have been but that I ken my poor good-man is comingback, and it would never do for him to find me worn lookin' and agedlike!"

  And mother tried her best to smile. And I was as sorry as if it hadall been my fault, just to see her.

  Well, there was nothing but talk of this kind between Mistress CalebFergusson from the Common Farm and my mother. And I thought they weresettled for hours, as comfortable as two old hens chunnering among thewarm dust by a bankside. So, as I got pretty tired of such talk, Isneaked out, and made a pretence to look at the firm's books--thoughJohn Brown, our cashier, knew all about them a thousand times betterthan I did. From there I stepped over to the packing and despatchingdepartment, where I put off the best part of an hour.

  For though I can stand the steady ditter-clatter of old folks' tonguesfor a good while in the dark--when I can sit near Elsie and, if shewill let me (as a brother) hold her hand--it takes me all I know to putin ten minutes of it in broad daylight, my poor mother with her eye onme (her only hope and pride!), and telling the Pride every other minutefor goodness' sake not to fidget in his seat!

  Well, what I am going to tell is almost unbelievable. But when I camein, there in the little room that had been my father's office--which hehad placed at the right hand of the entrance door, and as far away fromthe kitchen as possible, on account of Grace Rigley and her like--satElsie.

  She was crying, yes, fit to break her heart. She had her hat on, too,and the little bag of things she had fetched over from Nance Edgar'swas at her feet. I couldn't think what in the mischief had happened.All was as peaceful as Sunday afternoon when I went out, and now--this!

  Well, I went up to Elsie and wanted to take her in my arms to comforther, the way that brothers--except our kind--never dream of doing. Butshe rose and pushed me off, sobbing harder all the time, and the tearssimply rolling down. I never knew before that a girl had such a watersupply behind her eyes. Elsie had just fair cisterns full. She didn'tcry often, that's a fact; but when she did--well, Brom Water rose, andthey put it in the _Border Advertiser_ along with the extraordinaryduck's egg and Major Finn's big gooseberry.

  But though I can make fun now, you take my word for it, it was no funthen.

  "Elsie, Elsie," I said, "tell me what is the matter?"

  But she only sobbed the more, and searched deep into her pocket for ahandkerchief to wipe her eyes. But all in vain. I suppose she hadpacked her own. I offered her mine, but as I had used it some time fora penwiper, for easing up the lids of tar barrels, for putting under myknee when setting rat traps, and getting game out afterwards, perhapsit was as well she did not accept.

  But I put it to you, if she need have thrown it on the office carpetand stamped on it. But I was of a forgiving nature. I only said,"Dear sister, tell me--do tell me--all about it?"

  And I tried to remember some poetry; but that was jolly difficultwithout the book. Besides, you can't remember the changes you havemade to suit the brother and sister business, and it won't run smooth abit.

  However, Elsie saved me trouble by saying: "None of that, if youplease, Mr. Joseph Yarrow! Here are your poems. They may come inhandy for the young ladies who are coming to look after your mother. Ihave heard all about it--Miss Harriet Caw and Miss Constantia. You canbe their brother as much as ever you like, and use all the poems overagain for all I care!"

  And with that she threw the "poems" right in my face, and was out ofthe door before I could shut my mouth, which was fairly gasping withastonishment--like a fish's just out of the water. And so would yoursto have all that happen when you have only been out of doors puttingoff time till Elsie would come down to the kitchen to get mother'sbeef-tea from Grace Rigley at ten-past eleven!

  But there was no brother-and-sistering in the corner of the stairwaythat day, waiting for grandfather's clock to strike twenty-four. Isimply stood and gaped. For I had not, on my honour, the least ideawhat it was all about. I knew, of course, that when girls or womenfolk get things into their heads, it is better to let them get betterof themselves. But this was quite beyond me. I gave it up. Now, canyou get the hang of it without being told?

  I did not go after Elsie. Because--first I knew it was better to lether settle a little. More than that, I could not go racing after herall down the village street; and, lastly, I heard my mother calling.Not that I would have minded that so much, except for the two firstreasons. I knew she had Mrs. Caleb Fergusson with her. But, as itwas, I went up to see.

  The two old ladies were sitting as cosily as possible. It was mymother who spoke.

  "Susan and I have just been talking," she said, "and as Elsie will haveto go back to the school to her teaching, I see nothing for it but thatMeysie Caw's daughters should come here in her place. It is a bighouse this, and a lonely one. And forbye, I think Elsie is far fromwell. For I called her in and explained everything to her, and out shewent without answering a word or even saying how pleased she would beto ken that I was well taken care of."

  "More than that," said Mistress Caleb; "she has just gone down thestreet with a bundle as fast as if she had wings. I am doubting thatthere must be something lichtsome about Elsie Stennis. She may tak'after her minnie that ran off wi' a sodjer man. Eh, the lilt o' thebagpipes and the tuck o' the drum, but they rin i' the blood! There'sme mysel', I canna see a regiment gang by, route marchin' out o'Newcastle, but I look at my auld man and think how Caleb wad hae lookitin a red coat!"

  Then, because I was not going to have Elsie miscalled, even by mymother, I explained how that Elsie had been compelled to go back to Mr.Mustard's, and how rather than grieve her with a formal parting, shehad chosen to go off alone.

  "I think, mother," I said--hypocritically, I own it--"that Elsie wasfeared that you would be for offering something for her work."

  "And, indeed," said my mother, "what for not? I had as muckle in mymind. Who deserves it better, after all that she has done for me?"

  This was a better spirit, but it was necessary that I should holdmother's manifestation of affection well in leash also, or she wasquite capable of putting on her bonnet and going off to the BridgeEnd--where she would have heard another story from Elsie.

  "Elsie's young and shy, mother," I said, to put her off; "but she has areal affection for you. And if she thought you expected her to takesiller for her work here--it would hurt
her sore. She did it for love."

  "I doubt it not," said Mistress Caleb, a little dry like--what we call"cut" in our part of the country--"and so will Meysie Caw's bairns dothe like. They will do all that Elsie Stennis did, and as ye say, Mr.Joseph, all for love--whilk is a silly word to use. They are braveworkers, both of them; and it will be more fitting to have two younglassies in a house than one."

  "And what for that?" I said, bristling up at once.

  "Oh," said Mrs. Caleb, "they will be able to do more work!"

  I knew very well that this was not what she meant, but I was obliged tobe content; for Susan Fergusson of the Common Farm was far more subtlein her talk than any laddie of eighteen.

  "And now," she went on, "I will be takin' my road. Master Joe herewill convoy me a bit. The twa lassies will be over early i' themorning. You can tell that great lazy nowt, Bob Kingsman, to come fortheir bits o' traps wi' a cairt in the afternoon."

  I walked with her out of the town, and all the way Susan Fergussonentertained me with an account of the many good qualities of Meysie'sbairns. And I could see very well that, once installed, she did notmean that they should quit our big and comfortable house in a hurry.And the thought of Elsie nearly drove me out of my mind, to think whatshe would say and do when she heard of it.

  Not that I could say I disliked the girls in any way--at least, notHarriet Caw. No man can really in his heart dislike a girl likeHarriet.

  And that was the most dangerous symptom of all--just what the HayforkParson would have called the natural, double-dealing, deceitful heartof man.