The Lost Clue - Abridged Edition

by Mrs. O. F. Walton

  Marjorie was thankful for all this, and for the letters from home which were very cheering. Her widowed sister Leila was becoming quite strong again, and the money Marjorie was earning, and which she had been able to send home at the end of her first three months at Grantley Castle, had enabled her mother to buy many much-needed things for the household, and had considerably relieved the strain consequent upon the loss of the insurance money.

  Marjorie searched the home letters carefully for any mention of Captain Fortescue -- she still called him that to herself -- but there was no mention whatever of him.

  Marjorie knew that Lady Violet often received letters from her fiancé, and she wrote to him in pencil from her couch, but this was in the afternoon after luncheon when Marjorie had gone out for her daily walk and when Collins was in attendance. This meant that the letter had been carried down to the post-bag before her return.

  But one wet day in the beginning of June, when Collins was lying down in her room with a swollen face, Lady Violet said, "Marjorie, will you get me my writing case? I want to write to Lord Kenmore."

  That was his name, then -- Lord Kenmore. She would have thought that the missing word in the letter was a longer word than that, but she remembered that old Mr. Fortescue's writing was most uncertain and irregular, and he would probably spread out this name more than the rest of his writing, in order to make it clearer and more distinct.

  Lord Kenmore. Could she ever think of Captain Fortescue by that name? It seemed so strange, so difficult to understand. But why was she letting these thoughts come into her mind? She had resolved never to think of him in that way again, never to recall that walk from Deepfields to Daisy Bank, or the grasp of his hand when he had said goodbye to her. She had been a girl with foolish dreams in the past; she would be a wise one in the future.

  Lady Violet Kenmore. What a pretty name it would be when Lady Violet married Captain Fortescue. "Thank you for all you have done for me today." Of course, she could see now that the captain was thinking of Lady Violet when he said those words of thanks after she brought the letter to his dismal room in Lime Street. He knew that Lady Violet had not been able to accept him because of the loss of his money; but all that time he had loved her, even though it had appeared hopeless. But if the letter had been found, enabling him to prove his noble birth and recover his rightful possessions, he would feel that Lady Violet might still be his.

  No wonder then that he had said his thanks so earnestly. No wonder that he had pressed her hand in gratitude when she had been the means of bringing him hope. Marjorie saw it all now, and she marvelled at her former folly.

  But all that was in the past, and she took the letter from Lady Violet when it was finished -- the letter to him -- and carried it down to the bag.

  LORD KENMORE,

  ROCKCLIFFE CASTLE.

  That, then, was his address. She saw that, but she saw no more. What right had she to look at the letter to see his address? She would put it in the letterbox at once. It was nothing to her where he lived.

  It was about a week after this when one morning, as Marjorie was going out, Lady Earlswood asked her to go into the village to take five shillings which she had promised to an old man living in a cottage near the church, and who had once been a gardener at the Castle. Marjorie called at the cottage, had a chat with the old man, and then returned through the lodge gates and began to climb the long ascent to the Castle.

  The beech trees looked lovely that morning in their pale spring dress, the moss by the side of the road being covered by the pale brown covering of the buds which had fallen off as the leaves opened. The colouring was perfect, and Marjorie was thoroughly enjoying her walk.

  But suddenly, as she turned a corner of the long avenue, ahead of her she saw something which took all the brightness out of her face. She saw Captain Fortescue walking rapidly towards Grantley Castle. Yes, she was sure it was he. She could not see his face of course, but he was the same height, he had the same figure and hair, and he walked in the same erect way. All the feelings which she had been repressing and keeping down for so long flooded back.

  It was hard work to walk on towards the house. She felt unsteady, and turned off the road and sat down on the gnarled roots of a giant beech tree. But she prayed for strength and courage, and soon walked on again to the Castle. The road was empty now. She could see the great pillars of the portico and the closed door between them. He had evidently gone inside.

  Once a wild hope darted across her mind that after all she had jumped to a wrong conclusion. Perhaps Captain Fortescue and Lord Kenmore were after all not the same. If so, could it be that the captain had found out where she was, and had come to see whether she was happy at Grantley Castle, just as once before he had come to Daisy Bank?

  But this faint hope was dispelled as she went upstairs, for Collins the maid met her as she was going to her room, and said, "Miss Douglas, perhaps you had better not go to my lady just now. Lord Kenmore has come to see her unexpectedly. His motor broke down just outside the village, and he had to walk the last part of the way."

  Marjorie went into her room determined to be busy and give herself no time to think. She hoped, fervently hoped, that she would not see him. Perhaps he would not be able to stay long, and he would probably go downstairs for luncheon, and then afterwards she could go out in the garden or take a long walk on the hills. Meanwhile she would remain in her room, change her dress, and write home.

  Marjorie found, however, that writing was an impossibility. Her thoughts would wander to the next room. How well she could picture him sitting in her usual place by Lady Violet's couch. How good he would be to her; how much he would feel for her in her suffering. What a comfort his sympathy and tender care would be to her.

  And so more than an hour went by, and then came the sound of the bell in Lady Violet's sitting-room. This bell rang upstairs in Collins' room, so that her mistress could summon her whenever she required her. She heard Collins come down and go into the next room, and soon afterwards there came a knock at her bedroom door.

  "Come in, Collins."

  "If you please, Miss Douglas, my lady would like you to go to her."

  Marjorie's heart died within her. He was still there, and now she would have to meet him. She wondered whether he knew that she was at Grantley Castle, or would he be surprised to see her here? Probably Lady Violet had told him, and hearing that he knew her, had sent for her to come and see him.

  With a prayer in her heart for help, Marjorie crossed the landing and went into the next room.

  "Marjorie," said Lady Violet, "come here. I want to introduce Lord Kenmore to you."

  Almost tremblingly, Marjorie went forward, but to her utter astonishment a perfect stranger stood before her. His face was as unlike that of Captain Fortescue as it was possible for two faces to be. The figure, the build and the color of the hair were exactly similar, so that Marjorie was not surprised that as he walked ahead of her in the drive she had imagined that he was Captain Fortescue. But the features, the eyes, and above all the expression of his face, were totally different.

  Lord Kenmore was an exceedingly plain man, with the palest of blue eyes which seemed wholly devoid of expression, with thin lips, a pallid, unhealthy-looking face, and a most cynical and unpleasant expression. How could she think for a moment that this was Captain Fortescue? He bowed stiffly when Lady Violet introduced him to her companion, and sat down again in the low chair beside the couch.

  "Marjorie, I have been telling Lord Kenmore about the kind of paper I print my photos on. He is a photographer too. Would you mind getting those books you looked through the other day?"

  Marjorie brought the albums from their place on the shelf, and handed them to Lord Kenmore. She was going to leave the room when Lady Violet called her back.

  "Don't run away, Marjorie. Lord Kenmore is going down to lunch in a few minutes, and I shall want you then."

  Marjorie took her work bag from the table, and sat down in the window, busy with
a table-centre which she was working for her mother. She felt as if a great weight had been lifted off her heart. She had never realized how crushing the weight had been until she felt the relief she experienced now that it had gone. Captain Fortescue was not Lord Kenmore. It seemed too good to be true. He had not been thinking of Lady Violet when he said goodbye at Daisy Bank.

  Meanwhile Lord Kenmore was turning over the photos, commenting on them as he did so. He was opening the Riviera book now.

  "These are good." she heard him say.

  "Yes, we had a lovely time there two years ago."

  "Hello, who's this?"

  He had come to the photo which had made Marjorie's face flush as she looked at it.

  "Oh, that's a friend of my brother Berington. They were at Sandhurst together, and we met him out there."

  "I can't think who he reminds me of," said Lord Kenmore. "He's like someone. Dear me, who is it? "

  "That is just what Marjorie said when she looked at that photo," said Lady Violet, laughing. "He is just like some friend of hers. He seems to be like a good many people!"

  "What's his name?"

  "Captain Fortescue. Perhaps you knew him at Sandhurst."

  "No, I was at Woolwich. I can't think whom he reminds me of."

  "There's another of him on the next page."

  "Yes," he said, turning over the leaves, "he seems to have been fond of being photographed with you, Vi."

  "Yes, we saw a good deal of him there. He is very good-looking, isn't he?"

  "Well, yes, I suppose he is. I don't care for that kind of face, though. Why, there he is again. A conceited sort of fellow, I should think."

  Was he jealous? Marjorie wondered.

  "No, he wasn't at all conceited," Lady Violet replied. "You would have liked him, I'm sure."

  "Have you seen him lately?"

  "No, not for ages. He has lost all his money, poor fellow, and is as poor as a church mouse. I don't know what has become of him."

  Lord Kenmore seemed relieved to hear this, and there followed a long discussion on the relative merits of various makes of photographic printing papers, which lasted until the gong summoned Lord Kenmore to the dining-room.

  "Will you put these books away, Marjorie?" said Lady Violet when he had gone. "It was too bad of him to run down poor Captain Fortescue."

  Marjorie saw no more of Lord Kenmore, for he had gone when she returned from her afternoon walk. Lady Violet seemed tired and out of spirits, she thought. Perhaps she had felt the parting with him, for it was only natural that she should.

  Marjorie devoted herself to Lady Violet more than ever that evening, and was determined to do all that she could to cheer her. She had such a light heart herself that it was not a difficult task to be bright and cheerful. And all the time she found herself wondering what had become of Captain Fortescue.

  Chapter 23

  Mr. Northcourt's Opinion

  WHEN Kenneth Fortescue had left Marjorie at the door of Colwyn House in Daisy Bank, he blamed himself that for even a single moment he had allowed his feelings to be seen by her. Perhaps she had not noticed. He hoped not. For what right had he, a practically homeless and penniless man, to allow any girl to see that he loved her, or to attempt, in however small a degree, to win her love in return? It was cruel, utterly heartless and unworthy of a man, he told himself.

  What hope of future happiness could such love ever bring? As long as he was so heavily in debt to Marjorie's mother -- for he refused to allow that the letter she had found had in any way cancelled that obligation -- every penny of his salary, beyond what he actually required for food and clothing and the other small necessities of life, must be sent to Mrs. Douglas at Rosthwaite. He intended to send it in future at the end of each year, and as his salary was a fairly good one, he hoped to be able to remit a substantial sum the following Christmas.

  Four thousand pounds was a considerable amount to reach, and he realized that it would take many years before he could return it all, if indeed his life was spared long enough for him to do so. Meanwhile the thought of a home of his own was one of the many things denied to him, one of the indulgences which he had told Mrs. Douglas that he should renounce.

  Moreover, as he travelled back from Daisy Bank to his room in Lime Street in Birmingham, while he could not help a feeling of satisfaction that his origin was not so humble as he had imagined, yet at the same time he reflected that his real father, whether he was a lord or not, was by no means a father of whom he could be proud. His foster father, poor common miner though he was, had shown far more feeling than his real father, and had behaved in a manner which was vastly superior to that of the heartless man who had deserted his own helpless baby in South Africa, and had left him to the care of complete strangers so that he could marry a wealthy woman back in England. Still, if only that name had not been blotted out in the letter, he might have been able to prove his claim on his real father's consideration, and might have compelled him to reinstate him in the position which was his by birth.

  For certain, he would then be able to make good his promise to repay the insurance money to Mrs. Douglas that his foster father had lost in a reckless gamble.

  As it was, he knew not what steps to take. He decided at length to go to Sheffield to see Mr. Northcourt, his father's lawyer, and take his advice in the matter.

  Accordingly, the following week Kenneth Fortescue travelled northward, and reaching Sheffield went at once to Mr. Northcourt's office.

  The lawyer was interested in the information laid before him. He read and re-read the letter several times. He took a magnifying glass and tried to discover the word covered by the ink, but at last he was obliged to confess that it was hopeless to attempt to decipher it. He was, however, strongly of opinion that the missing word or words had undoubtedly been the correct name. Watson and the printer Josiah Makepeace would not have made that name illegible, had they not known beyond all doubt that it was the name of his lost father.

  What use the pair had made of that knowledge, Mr. Northcourt said it was impossible to tell. Probably the story that Miss Douglas had heard from the old woman in the cottage at Daisy Bank, and which Kenneth Fortescue had just told him, was perfectly true. They had found this name mentioned in the letter as the possible name of Kenneth Fortescue's father. They had then sought out and discovered the man named, and by threatening to disclose what they knew of his past history they had extracted large sums of money from him, money which they were now spending abroad, or which, quite possibly, lay with them at the bottom of the Atlantic.

  Mr. Northcourt asked Kenneth Fortescue to leave the letter in his charge, as it would prove most valuable evidence should the case ever come to trial, and he promised meanwhile to make all inquiries that were possible. At the same time he was obliged to tell Kenneth Fortescue that he much feared that no solution of the mystery would be forthcoming. The two guilty persons had evidently made good their escape, and he was therefore sorry to say that in his opinion Kenneth Fortescue had not yet found the clue which would lead him to the discovery of his family.

  After his interview with the lawyer in Sheffield, Kenneth came away feeling downcast and disappointed. He was walking towards the station, hoping to be in time to catch the Birmingham express. He wanted to get back that night, as he had work that must be done the following day, when he heard a well-known voice behind him.

  "Captain Fortescue, sir."

  He looked round and saw old Elkington, panting with the exertion of hurrying after him.

  "Excuse me, sir, for stopping you, but I was so pleased to see you again."

  He shook hands warmly with his father's old butler. "How are you, Elkington?"

  "Fairly well, sir. I'm living with my daughter now. I'm too old to take another situation. Have you found it, sir?"

  "Found what, Elkington?"

  "The letter you lost, sir."

  "Yes, I found it three days ago. At least, a friend of mine found it in the cottage of an old woman not far fro
m Birmingham."

  "Then it wasn't Watson who took it, sir?"

  "Yes, it was Watson. She and that bookseller Josiah Makepeace between them. He was her half-brother, Elkington."

  "Was he, indeed, sir? Well, I never knew that. I always suspected her, sir."

  "I knew you did, Elkington."

  "She didn't like you, sir. She thought you kept her in her place."

  "She needed to be, Elkington."

  "She did, sir, but she didn't like it for all that. It was a bit of revenge, I should say, sir."

  "Perhaps. But Watson and her brother raised money on it, too."

  He then told Elkington a little of what he had heard, in which the old man was deeply interested.

  "Was the letter what you wanted, sir? I mean was it worth having?"

  "To a certain extent, Elkington, but those two rogues had blotted out the most important word, lest I should ever see it."

  "The rascals," Elkington exclaimed. "Well, well, I'm not surprised at anything that woman did."

  The old man insisted on going with the captain, as he called him, to the station, and stood respectfully on the platform with his hat in his hand as the train moved off.

  Sitting back in his third-class seat, Kenneth Fortescue did not see that he could do anything further in the matter at present, nor indeed had he either time or opportunity to make any other attempt to solve the mystery of his birth.

  He was now at the head of a large and important branch of a great fire insurance company, and had much business to transact. How could he neglect his only means of livelihood, in order to attempt to investigate a matter which baffled the legal mind of Mr. Northcourt?

  * * *

  As the months went by, and brought with them a continuous stream of business engagements that filled up the moments of a busy life, there was left little time for thought or for brooding over the past. It was only when he returned to his drab little sitting-room in Lime Street, and was resting by the fire for a short time before beginning his evening's work, that his thoughts would wander, in spite of himself, to Daisy Bank and Marjorie.

  One evening, his eyes dwelt on the photograph of Honister Crag which was hanging over his mantelpiece. He looked back on that walk with such happy remembrance. How much he had enjoyed it, and how far away it seemed now. He seemed to have lived a lifetime since then. Again he wondered how Marjorie was getting on. Was the hard work in Daisy Bank telling on her? Could she keep her bright cheery spirit after so long a time spent in such grim surroundings? He checked himself. He must not make contact with her again. It would be cruel and selfish to raise the young lady's hopes of a deep friendship. Indeed, it was perfectly possible that by this time such a lovely young woman was being courted by another more worthy of her affection.