CHAPTER XXIV
THE BREAKING DAM
(_The Narrative continued by Joe Yarrow._)
I have given this part of Elsie's diary in full, as she wrote it out,both because she was so far from the truth as to what was happeningabove ground, and because her style of writing is so literary--farbefore mine, with words that I should have to look out in thedictionary.
Why, of course, there was no end of a rumpage. The whole country rose.It is the third time that tells. You never saw anything like it.Farmers and their men flocked in from the field, and took shot guns andhay forks, or tied scythes to poles, making ugly enough weapons. Thevillage of Breckonside emptied itself. It chanced that a little boy,Frankie Leslie, on his way to school, had seen "eour teacha," as hecalled Elsie, in the company of a tall woman in black going through thepastures towards the woods of the Deep Moat.
That was enough. That was evidence at last. There was to be nopausing this time. The place was to be ransacked, if not sacked. Andwhat would have happened to the poor mad sisters if it had not been forthe presence of mind of Mr. Ablethorpe, it is better not surmising. Idon't believe that the idea of compelling witches by torture to releasetheir victims is extinct--at least, not in such a place as Breckonside.That mob of angry men and furious women which flocked out towards thehouse of the Golden Farmer would have taken to the red-hot knittingneedle and the flat-irons as naturally as their ancestors two hundredyears ago on Witches' Hill, a little beyond the Bridge End. They wouldhave burned, too, only that they were afraid of the police--I don'tmean old Codling, but the real police, who would come up from East Deneand Longtown.
I had seen the first surprise about the empty mail gig which had beenescaladed by the murderers of poor Harry Foster. I had seen themidnight levy when my father's mare came home without him. But farbeyond either was the sight of that silent flood of people, at the noonof a winter's day, when in the ordinary course of things they wouldhave been sitting down to dinner: breaking barriers, throwing downgates, and spreading over the fields in the direction of Deep MoatGrange! It fairly took the breath from me.
Once I had even been a leader at that sort of thing. I had found thetraces of the crime that had been committed in the case of poor Harry.I had been my father's son on the second occasion. People had deferredto me. Even Ebie the blacksmith, with his fore-hammer over hisshoulder, had asked my advice. But now I was nobody. No one wasanybody. A force which no one could control had been set in motion. Iunderstood better what is that Democracy of which they speak. It isthe setting in motion of destructive forces, always most dangerous whenmost silent.
The idea in the hearts of all was that this must end. There was nosaying whose turn might come next. So the rush was made in thedirection of that sinister house in the depths of the woods, surroundedby its moat, and looking out upon the gloomy pond, dark grey under theshadow of the pines.
But those of Breckonside who had imagined that there was nothing butprocessioning and incensing about Mr. Ablethorpe had their opinionsconsiderably altered that day. Mr. De la Poer was with him. They hadbeen--I forget the word--confessing or cross-examining each other. Oh,no, spiritually directing each other--that is the correct phrase. Andwhen the roar of the village rising _en masse_ against its formidableneighbours of the Grange came to their ears, they had just got the jobdone for the month, and were sitting down to a good cup of tea, whichMiss Ablethorpe, the Hayfork's sister, had brewed for them.
Immediately divining the cause, Mr. Ablethorpe dashed across thefields, leaving Mr. De la Poer to act as a drag to the armed villagers.It was evident that he had been successful in his mission; for when themob poured over the drawbridge, which was hospitably down as if toinvite them across, they found at Deep Moat Grange a house empty,swept, and garnished.
In the house they found spotless chambers, which testified to the goodhousekeeping of Miss Aphra Orrin--full pantries, well-filled larders,the milk standing to cream on the stone slabs of the dairy, butter inlordly dishes on great squares of Parton slate, the quietest, the mostinnocent house in all the parish of Breckonside.
Nor did they find anything suspicious in all the chambers of the house,though they went everywhere--into Mr. Stennis's workroom, which had thewindows tightly barred, but which, when thrown open, revealed nothingbut a spare wooden settle in a corner, and on a wonderful hand loom ahalf-worked pattern, such as only Hobby could weave, with crowns offlowers, roses and lilies, and on a scroll the words: "To ElsieStennis, on her marriage. The gift of her affectionate grandfather."
But the rest was wanting. I stood and wondered as the tide ebbed awayto other rooms--first to whom Elsie Stennis was to be married, andwhether the inscription on that half-woven wedding present had anythingto do with her disappearance in company with the granite-faced woman asreported by Frankie Leslie on his way through the meadows.
I even went so far as to suspect Mr. Ablethorpe. He had always beenfond of Elsie. He had always protected her enemies, those whoseinterest it was to deprive her of her heritage. Perhaps his verypretence of celibacy was only a cover for a deeper design of gettinghold of the riches of the Golden Farmer!
But all the turmoil, and the thundering blows of the fore-hammerwielded by Ebie McClintoch discovered nothing--not one of the madsisters, not their leader and protectress, Miss Orrin, not Mad Jeremyhimself. And, of course, no one expected to see anything of Mr.Stennis. He would be far away, as usual, with an alibi obviouslyprovided on purpose.
Most of all, the silence of the place was disquieting. The door of thebarn was open. Within, all trace of the ridiculous gauds of a formertime had disappeared. It had been restored carefully, with knowledgeand discretion, to its first use as a chapel. A crucifix hung abovethe communion table. The twin sets of commandments, written in gold onblue, were against the wall on either side. The Bible, on the littlelectern, behind a gilt eagle no bigger than a sparrow, was open at thelesson for the day. The Breckonside people, though in theirPresbyterian hearts condemning such signs and symbols, pausedopen-mouthed, taken with a kind of awe, and as Mr. De la Poer droppedon one knee to make his altar reverence, all filed out bareheaded and alittle ashamed of themselves.
None thought of going farther. Though I knew very well that behind thehanging of dull purple at the lectern was the door by which Mr.Ablethorpe had saved his strange parishioners, and so cheated the hastyangers of Breckonside.
Nor did I tell them of it. Somehow I was no longer a leader. And deepin my heart I felt sure that if Elsie were indeed there, Mr. Ablethorpewould give his life rather than that any harm should come to her.Besides Elsie and I had been so many times in danger of our lives, inthat very place even, that I knew somehow she would come back to meunhurt. At any rate, the actual prison house where she was hidden wasfar beyond our ken. None of us thought of searching on the other sideof the moat, where was the underground oven of the Cistercians, inwhich Elsie (as she has already told) was interned.
Perhaps I did wrong in not revealing the secret of the passage. Butthen if there had been bloodshed--and our folk were quite in the moodfor it--the death or ill-usage of these poor innocents (I do not speakof Miss Orrin or Mad Jeremy) would have been on my head. On the whole,I am still convinced that I acted wisely. And I am sure also that Mr.Ablethorpe did so. For he had, there was no doubt, hurried the sistersHonorine, Camilla, and Sidonia, with their eldest sister Miss Orrin,from the chapel where he had known he would be sure to find them atthat hour, by the passage along which I had chased him, and had finallyhidden them safely in the range of underground buildings that had beenthe store and treasure-houses of the monks in the days of the bordermoss-troopers. For then each good wife of a peel tower sent herhusband to "borrow" from the holy clerks of the Moated Abbey as oftenas the larder and money bag were empty. And her way was a woman's way.She served him at dinner time with only this--a clean spur upon anempty plate, which being interpreted meant, "If thou would'st eat, goodman of mine, rise and ride."
T
hey lived in dangerous territory, these good monks, and it is smallwonder if after their departure the moated island kept its repute. Thevery wealth of "hidie-holes" conduced to deeds that feared the light.
Mad Jeremy in his outcast days had sheltered there. He had exploredthem, and that knowledge had been abundantly utilized since thepurchase of the Grange by Mr. Stennis. The whole situation was mostfavourable for his traffic, and even now when its good repute was blownupon, the Cistercian abbots' "hidie-hole" still showed itself capableof keeping its secrets.
Our Breckonsiders were proverbially slow of belief, but they could notget over the facts. There before us was the house of Deep Moat, allopen to the eye, silent like a church on week days, prepared as forvisitors from floor to roof tree. And nothing to be found, neitherthere, nor in the numerous out-buildings of which Mr. Bailiff Ball, aman of approven probity, had the charge.
There was nothing for it therefore but to go home. Or rather thevillagers had almost arrived at that decision when Miss Orrin, escortedby Mr. Ablethorpe, walked suddenly into the midst of the crowd of armedcountry folk.
Her appearance caused an angry roar, pikes and scythes were raisedagainst her. But the presence of a clergyman, the dignity of even analien cloth, made them turn away a little shamefacedly. Mr. Ablethorpeput up his hand to command silence.
"My friends," he said, "I have lived among you long enough to know thatyou will offer no indignity to a woman. Miss Orrin is here of her ownwish to explain to you all that may be necessary. She does not, ofcourse, make herself responsible for the words or actions of all othermembers of her family, but so far as she is concerned she is ready toexplain."
"Where is Elsie Stennis? Murderess! Burn the witch! The she-devil!"These cries, among others, broke from the crowd, and Miss Orrin waswell advised not to attempt any long parley.
"Come with me," she said, "and I will satisfy you! But go gently. Forthe master of this house is very ill and the doctor is with him evennow."
Whereupon she opened with a key a door in the weaving chamber of Mr.Stennis, a door which I had taken for that of a large iron safe, andconveyed us into a smaller chamber, with a barred window looking acrossthe moat. Here Mr. Stennis lay on a bed, very pale and haggard, andwith him, his hand upon the sick man's wrist, was Dr. Hector ofLongtown, a man whom every one knew and respected--all the more sobecause of a brusque manner and an authoritative speech that causedpeople to place great confidence in his judgments.
He looked up astonished and rose to his feet, evidently very angry.
"Hello," he said, "what's this? What right have you to comemasquerading here with your pitchforks and hedging tools? Out of this,or I'll put my lancet into some of you! I'll wager that I will letmore blood in five minutes than you with your entrenching tools in aweek--ay, and take it from the right spot, too!"
He followed the defeated Breckonsiders to the door, made a gesture asif to hasten a few laggards with the toe of his boot, and remarkedaloud to Miss Orrin: "I thought you had more sense than to encouragethis sort of thing!"
"Me encourage it!" cried Miss Orrin, indignantly facing him--"you areunder a great mistake, sir!"
"Well, out of this, anyway, all of you," said Dr. Hector. "I will nothave it. If my patient's repose is broken into again, tell them I amarmed--I will take my horsewhip to the pack of them!"
And curiously enough the crowd of justicers melted more quickly merelywith the shame of looking a good man in the face, and before hishorsewhip of righteous indignation, than it would have done before MadJeremy, armed to the teeth.
"I went this morning to the school where Miss Elsie Stennis teaches,"said Miss Orrin, "and I gave her a message that her grandfather was illand wishful to see her. Dr. Hector is a witness that such was Mr.Stennis's urgent desire. I merely executed it, and all that I knowfurther is that Miss Stennis has not yet complied with that request."
"Our Frankie saw teacher with you on the meadow pasture at nine thismorning," interrupted a gaunt woman with the bent shoulders of theoutdoor worker and a look of poverty on her face.
"Then your Frankie lied!" retorted Miss Orrin sharply.
And after this direct challenge it needed both Mr. Ablethorpe and Mr.De la Poer to restore order. But the fury of Frankie's mothercontrasted so ill with Miss Orrin's glacial calm, that it seemedpossible enough that "Frankie" had indeed invented the littlecircumstance to add to his importance, after hearing of the loss anddisappearance of "teacher."
"Moreover," said Miss Orrin, "since Mr. Stennis is too ill to have hisbedchamber and house invaded in this way, in future Dr. Hector willarrange for special protection from the police at Longtown. And afterthis warning let any one cross the moat at their peril."
There was no more to be done. Aphra Orrin had beaten us completely.The baffled tide ebbed back the way it came, and Deep Moat Grange wasleft alone once more with the secrets it had been successful inguarding in the teeth of a whole countryside in arms and aroused to ahigh pitch of curiosity.
The two clergymen waited behind, but the sick man would have nothing todo with them, declaring his intention, if he must, of dying as a goodPresbyterian. He was the most intractable of invalids, eventhreatening to break a bottle over Dr. Hector's head if, as heproposed, he should venture to bring with him from Longtown a ministerof his own denomination.
"Hobby Stennis is none so ill as that," he said stoutly, "if only I hadmy will in a safe place, and had seen the little lass, who is all mykith and kin, I would ask no more from doctor or minister in thisworld."
"I will take charge of the will myself if no better may be," said Dr.Hector. And so, none saying him nay, he rode back to Longtown with theholograph in his breast pocket, jesting with two farmers riding thatway as he went. Had he only known, a few sheets of a folio accountbook covered with close writing in the hand of Mr. Stennis wasconsiderably more dangerous to carry about with him than the latestdiscovered high explosive!
It was with considerable astonishment that on the evening of his nextvisit to Deep Moat Grange, about midway between the edge of the woodsand the lonely alehouse where my father had alighted, Dr. Hector wassuddenly aware of a noose of rope which circled about his neck with awhiz. The next moment he was dragged from his horse. He layunconscious for an hour on the road, and then coming to himself turnedand walked back to Longtown, very stiff and very angry, but consciousof no other loss than that of several copies of prescriptions which hekept in his breast pocket.
"What they can want with these, I don't know," said the vindictivedoctor. "I only hope they will take them all together. There was atriple dose of strychnine in one which I wrote for Garmory's dog!"
Now Miss Orrin was a clever woman, and she grasped at once the immensemoral value of having the support of Mr. Ablethorpe and his friend andspiritual director Mr. De la Poer. It was quite evident that for thesisters the situation at Deep Moat Grange would no longer be tenable.Mr. Stennis might die any day. The Longtown doctor gave little hope ofultimate recovery. The will had been removed out of Aphra's reach.True, she might possibly induce the old man to make another,disinheriting his granddaughter. If Elsie died in her prison,doubtless sooner or later all would be found out. There were otherthings also.
It came as the happiest of solutions, therefore, to the strenuous headof the Orrin family, when, a few days after, Mr. Ablethorpe proposed tocharge himself with the care of the three "innocents"--Honorine,Camilla, and Sidonia. He knew of a convent, the good sisters of whichgave up their lives to the care of women mentally afflicted. Aphrarefused point blank any such assistance for herself, even temporarily.But for her sisters she rejoiced openly, and was indeed, after herfashion, really grateful to the two young clergymen who had taken upthe cause of the witless and the friendless.
"I know why you do this," she said, "it is that you may clear the boardof those who have neither art nor part in the evil. Then you willstrike the more surely. I do not blame you, Mr. Ablethorpe, But forme, I will not go with my sisters, wh
o have done nothing--knownnothing. If the guilty are to suffer--and if the guilty are indeed mybrother and my master--then I will stand in the dock by their side. Noone shall ever say that Aphra Orrin went back on a friend, or refusedher full share of responsibility. All the same, Mr. Ablethorpe--andyou, Mr. De la Poer--I am grateful from my heart for what you are doingfor my poor sisters. For me, I am neither mad nor irresponsible--onlyas the more notable sinner, in the greater need of your ghostlycounsels!"
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