A Coin of Edward VII: A Detective Story

by Fergus Hume

  CHAPTER IV

  THE CHURCHYARD

  To Daisy that drive in the motor-car was like an exquisite dream. Herfrivolous, shallow soul was awed by the vast white waste gleamingmysteriously in the moonlight as the car sped like a bird along thesilent roads. There was not a cloud in a sky that shone like temperedsteel; and amidst the frosty glitter of innumerable stars the hard moonlooked down on an enchanted world. With Giles' hand on the steering gearand Daisy beside him wrapped in a buffalo rug, the machine flew over thepearly whiteness with the skimming swiftness of the magic horse. For thefirst time in her life Daisy felt what flying was like, and was contentto be silent.

  Giles was well pleased that the Great Mother should still her restlesstongue for the moment. He was doing his duty and the will of his deadfather, but his heart ached when he thought of the woman who should beby his side. Oh that they two could undertake this magical journeytogether, silent and alone in a silent and lonely world. He made noinquiries for Anne, and Daisy said nothing. Only when the car washumming along the homeward road to land them at the church did she openher mouth. The awe had worn off, and she babbled as of old in the veryface of this white splendor.

  "Anne's going away," she said abruptly.

  For the life of him Giles could not help starting, but he managed tocontrol his voice and speak carelessly. "Ah, and how is that?" he asked,busy with the wheel.

  "She is going to-morrow. I suppose she is tired of the dull life here."

  "I expect she is," replied Ware curtly.

  "Are you sorry?"

  Giles felt that she was pushing home the point and that it behooved himto be extra careful. "Yes, I am sorry," he said frankly. "Miss Denham isa most interesting woman."

  "Does that mean----"

  "It means nothing personal, Daisy," he broke in hastily; then to changethe subject, "I hope you have enjoyed the ride."

  "It is heavenly, Giles. How good of you to take me!"

  "My dear, I would do much more for you. When we are married we must tourthrough England in this way."

  "You and I together. How delightful! That is if you will not get tiredof me."

  "I am not likely to get tired of such a charming little woman."

  Then he proceeded to pay her compliments, while his soul sickened at theavidity with which she swallowed them. He asked himself if it would notbe better to put an end to this impossible state of things by tellingher he was in love with Anne. But when he glanced at the little fragilefigure beside him, and noted the delicacy and ethereal look in her face,he felt that it would be brutal to destroy her dream of happiness at theeleventh hour. Of himself he tried to think not at all. So far as hecould see there was no happiness for him. He would have to go throughlife doing his duty. And Anne--he put the thought of her from him with ashudder.

  "What is the matter, Giles? Are you cold?" asked Daisy.

  "No; I expect a white hare is loping over my grave."

  "Ugh! Don't talk of graves," said Daisy, with a nervous expression.

  "Not a cheerful subject, I confess," said Giles, smiling, "and here weare in the very thick of them," he added, as the motor slowed downbefore the lych-gate.

  Daisy looked at the innumerable tombstones which thrust themselves upthrough the snow and shivered. "It's horrible, I think. Fancy beingburied there!"

  "A beautiful spot in summer. Do you remember what Keats said about onebeing half in love with death to be buried in so sweet a place?"

  "Giles," she cried half hysterically, "don't talk like that. I may bedead and buried before you know that a tragedy has occurred. The cardssay that I am to die young."

  "Why, Daisy, what is the matter?"

  She made no reply. A memory of the anonymous letter and its threat camehome vividly to her as she stepped inside the churchyard. Who knew butwhat within a few days she might be borne through that self-same gate inher coffin? However, she had promised to say nothing about the letter,and fearful lest she should let slip some remark to arouse thesuspicions of Giles, she flew up the path.

  Already the village folk were thronging to the midnight service. Thebells were ringing with a musical chime, and the painted windows of thechurch glittered with rainbow hues. The organist was playing someChristmas carol, and the waves of sound rolled out solemnly on thestill air. With salutation and curtsey the villagers passed by the youngsquire. He waited to hand over his car to his servant, who came up atthe moment, breathless with haste. "Shall I wait for you, sir?"

  "No, take the car to the inn, and make yourself comfortable. In an houryou can return."

  Nothing loth to get indoors and out of the bitter cold, the man drovethe machine, humming like a top, down the road. The sky was now cloudingover, and a wind was getting up. As Giles walked into the church hethought there was every promise of a storm, and wondered that it shouldlabor up so rapidly considering the previous calm of the night. However,he did not think further on the matter, but when within looked aroundfor Daisy. She was at the lower end of the church staring not at thealtar now glittering with candles, but at the figure of a woman somedistance away who was kneeling with her face hidden in her hands. With athrill Giles recognized Anne, and fearful lest Daisy should be jealousdid he remain in her vicinity, he made his way up to his own pew, whichwas in the lady chapel near the altar. Here he took his seat and stroveto forget both the woman he loved and the woman he did not love. But itwas difficult for him to render his mind a blank on this subject.

  The organ had been silent for some time, but it now recommenced itslow-breathed music. Then the choir came slowly up the aisle singinglustily a Christmas hymn. The vicar, severe and ascetic, followed, hiseyes bent on the ground. When the service commenced Giles tried to payattention, but found it almost impossible to prevent his thoughtswandering towards the two women. He tried to see them, but pillarsintervened, and he could not catch a glimpse of either. But his gazefell on the tall figure of a man who was standing at the lower end ofthe church near the door. He was evidently a stranger, for his eyeswandered inquisitively round the church. In a heavy great-coat and witha white scarf round his throat, he was well protected against the cold.Giles noted his thin face, his short red beard, and his large blackeyes. His age was probably something over fifty, and he looked ill,worried, and worn. Wondering who he was and what brought him to such anout-of-the-way place as Rickwell at such a time, Giles settled himselfcomfortably in his seat to hear the sermon.

  The vicar was not a particularly original preacher. He discoursedplatitudes about the coming year and the duties it entailed on hiscongregation. Owing to the length of the sermon and the lateness of thehour, the people yawned and turned uneasily in their seats. But no oneventured to leave the church, although the sermon lasted close on anhour. It seemed as though the preacher would never leave off insistingon the same things over and over again. He repeated himself twice andthrice, and interspersed his common-place English with the lordly rollof biblical texts. But for his position, Giles would have gone away. Itwas long over the hour, and he knew that his servant would be waiting inthe cold. When he stood up for the concluding hymn he craned his headround a pillar to see Daisy. She had vanished, and he thought that likehimself she had grown weary of the sermon, but more fortunate than he,she had been able to slip away. Anne's place he could not see and didnot know whether she was absent or present.

  Giles wondered for one delicious moment if he could see her before sheleft the church. Daisy, evidently wearied by the sermon, had gone home,there was no one to spy upon him, and he might be able to have Anne allto himself for a time. He could then ask her why she was going, andperhaps force her to confess that she loved him. But even as he thoughthis conscience rebuked him for his treachery to Daisy. He fortifiedhimself with good resolutions, and resolved not to leave his seat untilthe congregation had dispersed. Thus he would not be tempted by thesight of Anne.

  The benediction was given, the choir retired with a last musical "Amen,"and the worshippers departed. But Giles remained in his seat, knee
lingand with his face hidden. He was praying for a strength he sorely neededto enable him to forget Anne and to remain faithful to the woman whomhis father had selected to be his wife. Not until the music of the organceased and the verger came to extinguish the altar candles did Gilesventure to go. But by this time he thought Anne would surely be well onher homeward way. He would return to his own place as fast as his motorcould take him, and thus would avoid temptation. At the present momenthe could not trust to his emotions.

  Outside the expected storm had come on, and snow was falling thicklyfrom a black sky. The light at the lych-gate twinkled feebly, and Gilesgroped his way down the almost obliterated pathway quite alone, forevery one else had departed. He reached the gate quite expecting to findhis motor, but to his surprise it was not there. Not a soul was insight, and the snow was falling like meal.

  Giles fancied that his servant had dropped asleep in the inn or hadforgotten the appointed hour. In his heart he could not blame the man,for the weather was arctic in its severity. However, he determined towend his way to the inn and reprove him for his negligence. Stepping outof the gate he began to walk against the driving snow with bent head,when he ran into the arms of a man who was running hard. In the lightof the lamp over the gate he recognized him as Trim, his servant.

  "Beg pardon, sir, I could not get here any sooner. The car----" The manstopped and stared round in amazement. "Why, sir, where's the machine?"he asked, with astonishment.

  "In your charge, I suppose," replied Ware angrily. "Why were you nothere at the time I appointed?"

  "I was, begging your pardon, sir," said Trim hotly; "but the lady toldme you had gone to see Miss Kent back to The Elms and that you wanted tosee me. I left the car here in charge of the lady and ran all the way toThe Elms; but they tell me there that Miss Daisy hasn't arrived and thatnothing has been seen of you, sir."

  Ware listened to this explanation with surprise. "I sent no suchmessage," he said; "and this lady, who was she?"

  "Why, Miss Denham, sir. She said she would look after the car till Icame back, and knowing as she was a friend of yours, sir, I thought itwas all right." Trim stared all round him. "She's taken the car away, Isee, sir."

  The matter puzzled Giles. He could not understand why Anne should havebehaved in such a manner, and still less could he understand why the carshould have disappeared. He knew well that she could drive a motor, forhe had taught her himself; but that she should thus take possession ofhis property and get rid of his man in so sly a way perplexed andannoyed him. He and Trim stood amidst the falling snow, staring at oneanother, almost too surprised to speak.

  Suddenly they heard a loud cry of fear, and a moment afterward anurchin--one of the choir lads--came tearing down the path as thoughpursued by a legion of fiends. Giles caught him by the collar as he ranpanting and white-faced past him.

  "What's the matter?" he asked harshly. "Why did you cry out like that?Where are you going?"

  "To mother. Oh, let me go!" wailed the lad. "I see her lying on thegrave. I'm frightened. Mother! mother!"

  "Saw who lying on the grave?"

  "I don't know. A lady. Her face is down in the snow, and she isbleeding. I dropped the lantern mother gave me and scudded, sir. Do letme go! I never did it!"

  "Did what?" Giles in his nervous agitation shook the boy.

  "Killed her! I didn't! She's lying on Mr. Kent's grave, and I don't knowwho she is."

  He gave another cry for his mother and tried to get away, but Giles,followed by Trim, led him up the path. "Take me to the grave," he saidin a low voice.

  "I won't!" yelped the lad, and tearing his jacket in his eagerness toescape, he scampered past Trim and out of the gate like a frightenedhare. Giles stopped for a moment to wipe his perspiring forehead andpass his tongue over his dry lips, then he made a sign to Trim tofollow, and walked rapidly in the direction of Mr. Kent's grave. Hedreaded what he should find there, and his heart beat like asledge-hammer.

  The grave was at the back of the church, and the choir boy had evidentlypassed it when trying to take a short cut to his mother's cottage overthe hedge. The snow was falling so thickly and the night was so darkthat Giles wondered how the lad could have seen any one on the grave.Then he remembered that the lad had spoken of a lantern. During a lullin the wind he lighted a match, and by the blue glare he saw the lanternalmost at his feet, where the boy had dropped it in his precipitateflight. Hastily picking this up, he lighted the candle with shakingfingers and closed the glass. A moment later, and he was stridingtowards the grave with the lantern casting a large circle of lightbefore him.

  In the ring of that pale illumination he saw the tall tombstone, andbeneath it the figure of a woman lying face downward on the snow. Trimgave an exclamation of astonishment, but Giles set his mouth andsuppressed all signs of emotion. He wondered if the figure was that ofAnne or of Daisy, and whether the woman, whomsoever she was, was dead oralive. Suddenly he started back with horror. From a wound under the leftshoulder-blade a crimson stream had welled forth, and the snow wasstained with a brilliant red. The staring eyes of the groom looked overhis shoulder as he turned the body face upwards. Then Giles uttered acry. Here was Daisy Kent lying dead--murdered--on her father's grave!