by Annie Haynes
“I don’t care for it, not in the day-time,” Alice avowed openly, “not since they found those things of Nurse Marston’s in it. I—I think I should faint if I should see anything like that.”
Minnie’s face looked a curiously ashen colour in the twilight.
“There’s nothing more to be found in the Home Coppice,” she said. “Superintendent Stokes told Jim Gregory that they had searched every inch of it. It is poachers and such-like I think of when I am in the wood.”
“Or keepers,” Alice suggested with a giggle, glancing at Minnie’s unresponsive face. “I hear that Tom Greyson goes about with a long face enough to turn milk sour. If Nurse Marston went out of the house by the conservatory door”—with a sudden change of subject—“I wonder if she went across the lawn and by the pinetum to the park on her way to the Home Coppice, or whether—”
“Who says that she went through the conservatory door?” Minnie demanded.
“Nobody that I know of. You needn’t be so sharp, Minnie Spencer,” the other said in an injured tone. “I only said if she did—being as it was the nearest way out from the small library, and she must have got out somehow, spite of Mr. Jenkins telling us all the doors were shut. It stands to sense she wasn’t spirited away. Well, as I was saying just now, when you took me up, I wonder whether she made her way by the pinetum and the park, or came through this shrubbery—it would be a bit farther this way, but I reckon she’d choose it on account of being seen as she crossed the lawn. I have thought sometimes as she came no farther.”
Minnie shivered.
“How can you talk so, Alice Brown? Do you think—”
“I mean as I shouldn’t wonder if she had promised to run off for a few minutes just to speak to some murderin’ villain,” said Alice, dropping her voice to a whisper and looking round fearfully. “There—there is no knowing where she may be now! I wouldn’t come through after dark by myself for a hundred pounds. Who knows if he didn’t make away with her here? Those things found in the Home Coppice the other day show that she was made away with plain enough, I say.”
“Ugh!” Minnie caught her companion’s arm. “If I had known you were going to talk like this I wouldn’t have come a step—Mercy sakes alive! What was that?”
Right across the path the two girls were traversing—the widest of those intersecting the shrubbery and the one used by tradesmen and others coming to the back-door of the Manor—another ran at some little distance before them at right angles. As the two girls looked up it seemed to them that a figure dressed in a nurse’s costume and looking away from them walked slowly past and down the path. Simultaneously they caught hold of one another. Alice Brown gave a terrified sob.
“It is her—-it is Nurse Marston!” she whispered.
As they stood clinging together, staring at the spot with fascinated eyes as if unable to stir, the same figure came slowly into sight once more, and, halting, stood as if looking at them. With a sound like nothing but a howl of terror Minnie threw herself on the ground. Alice, shivering with fright, saw the figure raise its hand as if beckoning to them and make a few steps forward. With an awful shriek of horror she dragged Minnie up.
“It—it is coming to us, Minnie!”
Stumbling, running, sobbing, how they got back to the house they never could afterwards tell, but the fear of what might be behind them quickened their footsteps as nothing in the world could have done.
Then, seeing through the open door a vision of the great kitchen beyond, with the servants passing and re-passing in all the pleasant bustle inseparable from a big country house, leaning against the outer doorpost, Alice opened her lips and tried to call out, to make herself heard, but the words refused to come; twice she caught her breath with a curious gasping sound, then a loud hoarse cry rang through the hall—a cry that roused the cook and the frightened maids in the kitchen, that reached Mrs. Parkyns, sitting in her solitary dignity in the housekeeper’s room, and brought her on the scene.
“What on earth is the meaning of this, Minnie Spencer?” she demanded sternly. “And Alice Brown—have you taken eave of your senses, both of you?”
At this moment two fresh auditors appeared on the scene—Jim Gregory, who had brought down some flowers for Lady Laura’s room, appeared from the back regions, and Tom Greyson ran round the corner from the stableyard.
He hurried up to the two girls, while Gregory stood staring at them in amazement.
“Why, Minnie, what is the matter? Are you ill?” he cried, catching her in his arms as she was apparently about to fall to the ground.
“I should like to know what is the matter with both of them!” remarked Mrs. Parkyns in an exasperated tone. “Starting us out of our wits by shouting in such a fashion as that, and then struck dumb as far as I can see; and there—I declare if you haven’t smashed those nice fresh eggs I gave you to take to your mother, Minnie Spencer! Of all the aggravating girls—”
“Oh, Mrs. Parkyns, don’t!” sobbed Alice Brown, finding her voice at last. “I’m sure I’m all of a shiver—but we have just seen something—seen her—in the shrubbery!”
Minnie gave a little groan and clutched wildly at Greyson’s arm. Gregory stepped forward quickly, scowling at his rival.
“Minnie, let me—”
“Now Heaven give me patience, Alice Brown!” cried Mrs. Parkyns irritably. “I am sure I have need of it to-night. Who have you seen in the shrubbery, girl?”
“Nurse Marston—leastways it was her ghost!” said Alice. “We both saw it, Mrs. Parkyns, me and Minnie, and I don’t suppose either of us will forget it till our dying day.”
“Well, of all the couple of simpletons!” said the housekeeper wrathfully, though her florid face had turned some degrees paler. “Who told you that Nurse Marston was dead, pray? Ghosts indeed! Fiddlesticks!”
“Oh, Mrs. Parkyns, doesn’t everybody feel sure she was made away with that night? Doesn’t her spirit come back to her mother in her dreams? I tell you we saw her to-night as plain as could be, in her bonnet and cuffs and all,” said Alice, rallying somewhat now that the familiar faces were round her. “I—I thought she wanted to speak to us; she raised her hand and pointed. Perhaps,” shuddering, “she wanted to show us where she was buried.”
“Well, of all things, Alice Brown!” said Mrs. Parkyns with uplifted hands. “What are you going to say next, I wonder? A pack of rubbish! Buried, indeed!”
Minnie Spencer was still clinging to Greyson’s arm, seeming to derive some comfort from the contact. Gregory had halted a few paces in apparent discomfiture; even in that dim light it was obvious that his tanned complexion had altered to one of a curious leaden pallor.
“Nurse Marston’s ghost in the shrubbery!” he repeated, staring at them. “Minnie, it can’t be true!”
“True!” echoed Greyson, as Minnie at last raised herself and drew away from him. “I have heard you jeer at us country folk for superstition, Jim Gregory, but I tell you if Mary Marston is in the shrubbery it is herself and no ghost. I am going to see into it, I can tell you that. Don’t you frighten yourself, Minnie, I’ll soon find your ghost and settle it for you. Anybody like to come with me?”
Two stable-men who had lately been added to the group volunteered, and so did Gregory, after a moment’s hesitation, which did not pass unremarked by Greyson.
They were gone some little time—it seemed hours to the waiting women as they stood there wondering what the next news might be; but at last they heard the footsteps returning.
“Well, Mr. Greyson, what news?” Mrs. Parkyns called out as they came round the corner.
“None at all, ma’am. We have been all over the shrubbery and we haven’t seen so much as a sign of anybody or anything,” said Greyson in a reassuring tone.
“I never thought you would,” Mrs. Parkyns responded, with a relieved air. “You dreamt it all, you two girls, that is about it—a pair of geese! Well, I’m much obliged to you for your trouble, Mr. Greyson. As to you, Minnie Spencer, I suppose now you
have put yourself into this state you won’t dare to go down to the village, and that nice pudding I gave you for your mother will be wasted, to say nothing of those eggs you have spoilt! Well, well!”
Minnie was standing by Gregory, who had drawn her hand through his arm. Greyson reached over and took the basket from her.
“I’ll take your pudding for you, Minnie,” he said gruffly. “I have got to go down to Lockford, and I will bring you word how your mother is before I go my rounds.”
Chapter Twelve
“IT IS only what I expected!” Garth Davenant’s face was very grave as he stood before the mantelpiece and looked at Mavis’s anxious face. “What does your mother say about it, Mavis?”
“Oh, mother is in dreadful trouble! You know how she always hoped it would be Dorothy; in fact, I think she had persuaded herself that it was quite a settled thing, and that was how it was she never minded Hilda’s being here. But why do you say you expected it, Garth?”
Davenant shrugged his shoulders.
“It is not an unusual thing when a young man as impressionable as Arthur is thrown into the daily and hourly companionship of a beautiful woman older than himself.”
“Garth!” Mavis interrupted him with a little cry. “Hilda herself does not know her age, and we can only guess, but we feel quite sure that she is not more than nineteen. She says herself that ‘twenty’ sounds unfamiliar.”
“Oh, yes. I should fancy it is a good while since that particular number was used in connexion with her age,” remarked Davenant dryly.
Mavis looked at him with amazed eyes.
“What do you mean, Garth? I am sure she does not look more—”
“Are you?” Garth said cynically. “Well, I must confess that I have not the unquestioning faith of the inhabitants of Hargreave Manor, and I have studied your fair friend’s face on one or two occasions in the open sunlight, away from the couches and subdued lights she usually affects, and I think she is considerably older than you imagine.”
“Oh, don’t!” exclaimed Mavis miserably. “You make me feel so unhappy, Garth—as if I ought not to believe in anyone!”
Her lover put out his arm and drew her to him.
“I am a suspicious, world-hardened wretch, Mavis, am I not? I don’t want any trouble to come to you that I can help, and I am afraid—”
“Afraid that trouble will come if Arthur married her?” Mavis finished, her head resting against his shoulder.
“I feel sure of it if he should be mad enough to contemplate such a step before something is known about her,” said Davenant in alarm. “But I hardly thought matters had got so far as that even from your account.”
Mavis raised her head.
“Hilda seemed to want to wait until things were cleared up, but Arthur seems quite determined that the engagement shall be announced at once—and he is his own master. I am afraid that mother’s remonstrances only made him more positive. What she implied about Dorothy only annoyed him so much he said he had made up his mind that there should be no more misconception. Don’t you think you may be mistaken about Hilda, Garth? I know it sounds a mad sort of thing for Arthur to do—to marry a woman we know nothing about; but I must say that to a certain extent I cannot help sympathizing with him. Hilda is so very pretty and charming that I feel positive if I were a man I should want to marry her myself.”
“I should certainly interfere to prevent you,” said Garth, laughing and catching her hand. “Seriously, darling, cannot you see how queer the whole business is? Here is this girl, dropped apparently from the clouds on your doorstep, and nobody makes the smallest inquiry after her. One would naturally have supposed that if a girl of our class, as she appears to be, were missing, there would be such a hue and cry after her that the whole country would be roused, yet, though a description has been published and advertisements inserted, you get no reply from her friends at all!”
“Yes, yes. I know it sounds strange,” Mavis admitted at once. “But I am sure there is some satisfactory explanation of it all. Hilda and I were talking about it yesterday, and we came to the conclusion that there must have been some wrongdoing somewhere. Perhaps she may be heiress to some property which some one else wants to secure, and they may have treated her in some way that reduced her to the state she was in. Very likely they think she is dead!”
Garth’s lips curled curiously.
“I fancy I could pick a few holes in that theory, Mavis. However, shall we say no more about it? Time may prove that you are right and I am wrong. In the meantime before the wedding we will set all our wits to work. We must save Arthur from this folly if possible.”
“Oh, dear!” Mavis said with a sigh as she turned away her head.
“What is the matter with you, Mavis?” Garth’s voice was very tender, his clasp grew closer.
Mavis moved restlessly.
“Everything is so altered, Garth,” she complained miserably. “And it is such a little time ago since we were so happy; but now the very air of the Manor seems full of mystery and suspicion. One does not know whom to trust.”
Garth’s hand smoothed her brown hair gently.
“One thing is not altered, I hope, Mavis—our love for one another.”
Mavis’s fingers lingered on his arm caressingly.
“Oh, no! That is the same always; but, Garth, sometimes it seems hardly right for me to be happy in your love when I am afraid that Dorothy—”
Davenant’s dark face clouded.
“Hush, child! Poor little Dorothy! We must have patience and it will all come right some time.”
Mavis did not reply, but rested quiescent in his arms, feeling a certain comfort from the close contact with his strength, from the firmness of his clasp as he bent over her.
There was a step in the conservatory and Mavis freed herself.
“Oh, there you are!” Lady Laura said as she caught sight of them through the glass door. “I was looking for you, Mavis. You must see this person for me,” glancing at the card she held in her hand. “I’m really so upset this morning that I cannot talk to anyone. What do you say to this folly—this madness of Arthur’s, Garth?”
“It is what I have been fearing for some time. I was afraid—”
“I never thought of such a thing,” Lady Laura said plaintively. “How could I imagine a man would want to marry a girl, however beautiful, who could not remember even her own name? I concluded that that put it entirely out of the question. I should have thought it quite as improbable as that Arthur, visiting a lunatic asylum, should fall in love with one of its inmates and want to marry her. I can see now that I have been imprudent in allowing them to see so much of one another, but I assure you that was how I looked at it.”
Garth laughed in spite of his real vexation.
“There is something to be said for that point of view, Lady Laura, but I question whether the marriage can take place until the girl recovers her memory. We don’t even know that she is free.”
Lady Laura clasped her hands.
“Certainly we do not! Garth, that had not occurred to me. You must have a long talk with my poor boy. He will not listen to anything I can say. It seems useless to speak, and yet to see him throwing away his happiness in this way is heart-breaking.”
Mavis took the card from her hand.
“Nurse Gidden,” she read, and then underneath in pencil, “From Mrs. Marston.”
“Oh, mother, what does she want?” she asked.
“I do not know—something to do with Nurse Marston I suppose,” Lady Laura said tearfully. “But I really cannot stand any more worry this morning, Mavis; I am not fit for it.”
“Poor little mumsy!” Mavis kissed her heartily. “I will hear what she has to say. May I tell Jenkins to show her in here, then Garth can help me perhaps?”
“Oh, see her where you like,” Lady Laura acquiesced fretfully. “I am going out for a drive. I think it may help to steady my nerves.”
“The best thing you can do, mother dear,” Mavis ag
reed as she rang the bell and Lady Laura hurried out through the conservatory.
Garth Davenant glanced up curiously as Gidden was ushered in. He saw a plain-featured, resolute-looking woman of middle height and apparently of middle age, with a firmly-set humorous mouth and bright dark eyes. Looking at her he came to the conclusion that he would rather have Nurse Gidden as a friend than an enemy.
“You wished to speak to my mother?” said Mavis, advancing. “I am so sorry she is not able to see you this morning, but if there is anything that I can tell you—you are a friend of Nurse Marston’s are you not?”
“Her greatest friend, I believe,” Charlotte returned in her brisk, matter-of-fact tones. “We were probationers together, though Mary was some years the younger, and we have kept in communication with one another ever since. Ah, I see you did not think I was a nurse”—as Mavis glanced at her serviceable green dress and plain hat—“but I don’t wear uniform as a rule in my holidays! To tell the truth it is a relief to get out of it and dress like other people sometimes. I have a month off, Miss Hargreave, and I came to Lockford yesterday. I mean to find out what has become of Mary Marston, and I want you to help me.”
“I only wish I could,” Mavis said earnestly. “But nothing we do seems any good. You know my brother has had a detective down?”
“I have heard so.” There was a pause. Charlotte was apparently studying the pattern of the carpet. Garth, from the point of vantage he had taken up in a distant window-seat, watched her, and decided that she was at a loss how to begin. “I am sure of one thing—that Mary Marston had no idea of going away of her own free will that night; her letter to me proved it.”
Mavis drew a long breath.
“Ah, I heard you had a letter, but she must have left the house of her own free will, I think! I should like to see the letter.”
Charlotte raised her hands.
“I wish you could!” she said. “I never thought it was of any particular importance, and I should have my work cut out for me, with my luggage, going about as I do, if I hoarded up letters. I always burn them after they are read.”