The House 'Round the Corner

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER IV

  SHOWING HOW EXPLANATIONS DO NOT ALWAYS EXPLAIN

  Though weary and distrait, Marguerite Garth was of too frank adisposition to allow such an extraordinary incident to pass withoutcomment. She halted in the porch by Armathwaite's side, and gazedblankly at the silent cottage.

  "You spoke of a ghost," she murmured brokenly. "I'm beginning to thinkmyself that I am bewitched. What can have happened? Why won't Betty orher mother let me in?"

  "I'll have much pleasure in clearing up that trivial mystery about eighto'clock in the morning," he said with due gravity, fearing lest anyattempt to relieve the situation by a joke might have the disastrouseffect often achieved by a would-be humorist when a perplexed woman onthe verge of tears is the subject of his wit. "Now, if you'll wait inthe dining-room till I collect my garments, you'll be in bed and asleepwithin five minutes."

  He gave her no further opportunity for argument or protestation. Closingand locking the door, he left the key in the lock, whereas, by virtue ofthe arrangement with Betty Jackson, it had reposed previously on thehall-table. In a few seconds he bustled in with an armful of clothes anda pair of boots. Handing over the torch, he said cheerfully:

  "Now, leave everything to me, and you'll be astonished to find how allyour woes will vanish by daylight. Good-night, and sleep well!"

  Then the girl did a strange thing. She held the torch close to his face,and looked at him unflinchingly.

  "I am very fortunate in having met a man like you," she said, and,without another word, turned and mounted the stairs. He waited until thebedroom door closed, and listened for the click of a lock, but listenedin vain.

  "It would appear that I'm still able to win the confidence of childrenand dogs," he muttered, smiling grimly. Then he made a pillow of hisclothes on a couch beneath the window, and, such was the force of habit,was asleep quite soon. A glint of sunlight reflected from the glass in apicture woke him at four o'clock. After glancing at his watch, he sleptagain, and was aroused the next time by the crunch of feet on thegraveled path outside. He was at the door while Betty Jackson was yettrying to insert the key which she had withdrawn and pocketed overnight.

  He admitted her, and said good-humoredly:

  "I came downstairs when you ran away from a goblin gong, leaving thedoor unlocked. I don't suppose we are in danger of burglary in Elmdale,but it is customary to take reasonable precautions."

  Betty, who was carrying a jug of milk, flushed till her cheeks resembleda ripe russet apple. Denial was useless, but she tried to wriggle.

  "I didn't mean any harm, sir," she said. "I only wanted to have a lookaround. The house is so upset."

  "Put that milk on the dining-room table," he said.

  She obeyed, glad that a dreaded ordeal seemed to have ended ere it hadwell begun. Armathwaite followed, and closed the dining-room door. Whathe really feared was that she might drop the jug, and that the resultantcrash would awaken his guest before Betty and he had engaged in aheart-to-heart talk.

  "Now," he said, raising the blind, and flooding the room with clearmorning light, "I take you for a sensible girl, Betty."

  "I hope I am, sir," she answered shyly.

  "Have you quite recovered from your fright?"

  "Yes, sir."

  She reddened again, thinking she knew what was coming. She could havedealt with Walker, but glib pertness would not avail when this tallstranger's eyes were piercing her very soul. Nevertheless, his tone wasgentle and reassuring--at first.

  "I was ignorant of the real facts, you see, so I had to defend myself,"he said. "I know the truth now. Miss Garth is upstairs and asleep. Sheheard the commotion caused by the gong, and could not endure the strainand loneliness of that dark garret any longer--"

  "Was Miss Meg there--in the loft?" cried Betty, blurting out the firstvague thought that occurred to her bemused brain, because those words,"Miss Garth is upstairs and asleep," swamped her understanding with averitable torrent of significance.

  "Yes. She hid there when Mr. Walker and I entered the house, and, by themerest chance, she was fastened in. She remained there twelve hours."

  "Oh, poor thing! She'd be nearly clemmed to death."

  In Yorkshire, "clemmed" means "starved," and "starved" means "perishedwith cold." Armathwaite could follow many of the vernacular phrases, andthis one did not bother him.

  "She was hungry, without doubt," he said, "but I did not send hersupperless to bed. Now, I have various questions to put before you go toher room, and I want straightforward, honest answers. If I am told thetruth, I shall know how to act for the best in Miss Garth's interests;and that is what _you_ wish, I suppose?"

  "Oh, yes, sir! I'm sure none of us had any notion of doing wrong."

  "Don't speak so loudly. I want no explanations of your behavioryesterday. It would have been wise had you trusted in me at once, butthat was hardly to be expected, seeing that I was a man fallen from themoon.... Why didn't you let Miss Garth enter when she knocked at yourwindow and the door last night?"

  The girl's eyes opened wide in sheer distress.

  "Oh, sir!" she almost whispered; "what time did she come?"

  "About midnight."

  "There now! I half fancied that such a thing might happen. When I ranhome, sir, I was fair scairt, because there _has_ been talk of a ghost,and I wasn't too keen about coming in here in the dark. But mother wasworried, and wouldn't go to bed. She would have it that Miss Meg had gotclear of the house, and was hiding in a shed at the top of the lane. So,after a lot of talk, mother and I went there together. There was a lightin the dining-room as we passed, but it had gone out when we came back."

  "Solvitur ambulando," muttered the man, smiling at the simple solutionof an occurrence which had puzzled him greatly at the time.

  "What's that, sir?" demanded Betty.

  "Sorry. I was thinking aloud--a bad habit. Those two Latin words meanthat your walk to the shed disposes of a difficulty. Now for the nextitem, Betty. Miss Meg, as you call her, is the young lady who lived herea good many years?"

  "She was born here, sir. She and I are nearly of an age--twenty-two,each of us."

  "And her father was Mr. Stephen Garth?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "But isn't he dead?"

  "Oh, yes, sir! Dead and buried two years this very month."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, sir. Mother was the first who saw his dead body. She was nearlyfrightened into a fit."

  "Tell me the exact facts."

  "Well, sir, Mrs. Garth and Miss Meg went away, all of a sudden. Therewas no quarrel that we know of, and Mr. Garth himself helped a man tocarry out their boxes. They kissed on parting at the gate. I myselfheard him saying that he would join them as soon as he had finished somebook he was busy with. He was a great man for writing and studying, andhe'd walk ten miles to get some granny's tale about dales ways, and thethings people used to do in the old times. But no sooner had they lefthim than he changed. We all noticed it. He paid off the gardener, anddismissed two maids, and lived here alone. That didn't last long. I usedto bring eggs and milk and things, and he'd take them in at the door.He'd talk pleasantly enough, but he looked awful worried. Then, onemorning, I couldn't make anybody hear, and I thought he had gone outearly. About seven o'clock that evening mother went and knocked, butthere was no answer. Next morning it was the same; but when mother and Itried again in the evening, we noticed that the curtain, which can bedrawn across the glass top of the door, had been pulled aside. At theinquest they wanted to know if it had been in the same position when wewere there before, but we couldn't be certain, though we thought it musthave been drawn. Anyhow, mother looked in, and ran away screaming, and Iran after her, not knowing why. In a minute or two she was able tospeak, and said she had seen Mr. Garth hanging near the clock. Some menwent, and they saw him clearly, and one of them, Mr. Benson, rode toBellerby for the policeman. He came in about an hour, and broke open thedoor, and cut poor Mr. Garth down. He had been dead a long time, thedoctor said,
and the worst thing was that nobody could find Mrs. Garthand Miss Meg. Not that any blame could be laid to them, because Mr.Garth himself said so in a letter addressed 'To the Coroner,' which waslaid at the foot of the clock. We have a weekly paper in the cottage,sir, and you can see the whole account there."

  "Get that paper, and give it to me privately sometime to-day," saidArmathwaite. "Meanwhile, your story is ample for my present purpose.Were you surprised at seeing Miss Garth yesterday?"

  "Sir, you could have knocked me down with a feather. And she in a man'sclothes, and all. She came over the moor about ten o'clock--"

  "Never mind the details now. Did she speak of her father?"

  "In a sort of a way, sir."

  "Did she give you the impression that he was still living?"

  "Now that you mention it, sir, she did, but I couldn't quite understandwhat she said, and thought, for sure, I was mistaken. It wasn't the kindof thing one might ask questions about--was it, sir?"

  "No, indeed. Knowing he had committed suicide, you didn't like to hurther feelings?"

  "That's it, sir, exactly."

  "You hadn't much talk, I take it?"

  "No, sir. She was all of a shake with excitement, and wanted to be letinto the house before anyone else in the village could see her. I was toleave her alone till one o'clock, she said. Then I was to bring hersomething to eat, and we'd have a long chat. And that's the last I'veseen of her, sir."

  It has been noted that Armathwaite was no lover of the middle way indealing with the hazards of existence. In fact, strength of will andinflexibility of purpose had already driven him from place and power tothe haven of retirement, which he imagined he would find in Elmdale. Hehad made up his mind overnight as to the handling of the problem set byMarguerite Garth's presence in her father's house, and he saw no reasonnow why he should depart from the decision reached then.

  "You've been very candid, Betty Jackson," he said, looking steadily intothe girl's wondering eyes, "and I mean to be equally outspoken with you.For some cause, which I cannot fathom, and may never inquire into, MissGarth is not only unaware of any recent death in her family, but isconvinced that her father is alive and well. There is a flaw in theargument somewhere, but it is hardly my business, nor yours, to discoverthe weak spot. Now, I propose that we let the young lady leave Elmdaleas happy in her belief, or her ignorance, as she entered it. In plainEnglish, I suggest that neither you, nor I, nor your mother, say onesyllable about the suicide of Mr. Stephen Garth. If his daughterbelieves he is living, we should be hard put to it to convince her thathe is dead."

  "He _is_ dead, sir. I saw him in his coffin," said Betty earnestly.

  "I am not disputing your statement. My sole consideration, at thismoment, is the happiness of the girl now lying asleep upstairs. Suppose,within the next hour or two, she says something about the surprise herfather will receive when he sees some of the books and other articlesshe means to send to her present home, are you going to tell her thatshe is utterly mistaken--that Mr. Garth has been dead and buried--thatshe is talking like a lunatic?"

  "Oh, no, sir! I wouldn't dream of speaking that way to Miss Meg."

  "But don't you see, it has to be either one thing or the other. Eitheryou accept her view that her father is alive, or you are constantlyacting in a way that must arouse her suspicions. And, if once she beginsto question you, what will happen then? You'll be in a ten times moredifficult position than if you convince yourself, for the time being,that you were dreaming when you saw some man in a coffin."

  "But I wasn't," persisted Betty. "Why, sir, the whole village knows----"

  "I'm not doubting your word in the least. The point at issue is this--doyou mean to perplex and worry Miss Meg by informing her that her fatherhanged himself in the hall of this very house two years ago?"

  "No, sir. That I don't."

  "You promise that?"

  "Oh, yes, sir."

  "I'm glad you've come to my way of thinking. Miss Garth will leave hereto-day, or to-morrow, at the latest. Till then, you must keep guard overyour tongue. Go now, and tell your mother what I have told you. Makeher understand the facts most clearly. If she agrees to help you and mein this matter, she is to come here and take up a housekeeper's duties.I'll pay her and you well for your services, but my instructions must becarried out to the letter. If she refuses, or feels unable, to obey mywishes in this matter, she is not to cross the threshold. Do youunderstand that fully?"

  Armathwaite could be tersely emphatic in speech and manner when hechose. He had taken Betty Jackson into his confidence, but he had alsoexpressed his intentions in a way that left her in no doubt as to theresult if any lack of discretion on her part, or her mother's, led to acrisis. He had gauged the situation to a nicety. Mrs. Jackson and herdaughter were well disposed towards Marguerite Garth, but there was noharm in stilling their tongues through the forceful medium ofself-interest.

  When the two came back together within a few minutes he knew that he hadswept immediate obstacles from the path. Mrs. Jackson was a shrewdYorkshire woman, and needed no blare of trumpets to inform her on whichside her bread was buttered.

  "Good morning, sir," she cried cheerfully. "Betty has told me what yousaid, and I think you're quite right. What time do you want breakfast,and what'll you have cooked?"

  Armathwaite nodded his satisfaction.

  "We three will get along famously," he laughed. "Now, Betty, put somewater in one of the bedrooms, and, when you call Miss Garth, get mydressing-case, which is on the table, and bring it to me. She willanswer your mother's questions about breakfast. Any hour that suits herwill suit me. And let us all look as pleasant as though there wasn'tsuch a thing as a ghost within a thousand miles of Elmdale."

  The chance phrase reminded him of the elder Walker's words: "Elmdale iseight miles from Nuttonby, and thousands from every other town." Yet,remote as was this moor-edge hamlet, a sordid tragedy had been enactedthere. Someone had died in that house under circumstances which calledimperatively for a most searching inquiry. A daylight phantom hadreplaced the grim specter which credulous villagers were wont to see ona summer's eve. Was it his business to exorcise the evil spirit? He didnot know. He closed his eyes resolutely to that side of the difficulty.Marguerite Garth must be sent on her way first; then he would make aguarded investigation into the history of the man whom Mrs. Jackson hadseen "hanging near the clock."

  When summoned to the dining-room he received a shock. Man-like, he hadpictured his unbidden guest as he had seen her the previous night. Nowhe was greeted by a smiling and prepossessed young lady, who hadextracted a muslin gown from the stock in the wardrobe, and whosepiquant face was crowned by a wealth of brown hair. The presence ofwoman's chief adornment naturally enhanced the girl's remarkable beauty.In defiance, too, of certain modern laws of hygiene--or perhaps becauseshe couldn't help it, being built that way--she had a very slim waist.Last night she would have passed in a crowd for a boy of slenderphysique; this morning she was adorably feminine. During fifteen yearsof strenuous work in the East, Armathwaite had never given a thought tothe opposite sex. He had seen little of his country-women, for theIndian frontier is not a haven for married officers, and he personallywould have regarded a wife as a positive hindrance to his work; so itwas a singular fact that his first reflection now should be that acertain Percy Whittaker, whom, in all probability, he would never seteyes on, was a person to be envied. He almost scowled at the absurdityof the notion, and the girl, extending her hand, caught the fleetingexpression.

  "Aren't you pleased to see me?" she cried. "I made sure you were achingfor my appearance. Betty tells me you were up and about before shearrived, and I have been an unconscionable time dressing; you must bepining for breakfast."

  "You shall not rob me of a chance of saying that I am glad to see you bythat unnecessary tag about breakfast," he said.

  "But isn't it an awful bore to find you have a girl lodger? Poor man!You hire a house in the country for a fishing holiday, and fate condemnsyou to pla
y host!"

  "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some haveentertained angels unawares," he quoted.

  "Is that from Proverbs?"

  "No. It occurs in a certain epistle to the Hebrews."

  She knitted her brows.

  "I thought so," she said. "I'm rather good at Proverbs, and I don'tremember that one. If you meant to give me a nasty knock you might havereminded me that it is better to dwell in a corner of the house-top thanwith a brawling woman in a wide house.... Do you like coffee, or tea?"

  "Both."

  "Mixed? Mrs. Jackson didn't know your tastes, so I told her to beextravagant."

  "I'll try the coffee, please."

  It was an odd sensation to find himself seated at table with such avivacious companion. Marguerite Garth had evidently banished herovernight experiences into the limbo of yesterday's seven thousandyears. She could not have smiled more gayly, or been more at ease with afriend of long standing.

  "Betty and I have been exchanging impressions about you," she rattledon. "We agree that you're not half so severe as you look. But I'm notsuch a marvelous guesser as you are, so, will you tell me what I'm tocall you?"

  "Bob."

  "Mr. Bob?"

  "I don't mean that my name rhymes with Lobb, or Dobb or Hobb. Bob is adiminutive of Robert."

  "But Robert what?"

  "No, just Bob."

  "Don't be silly. You must have another name."

  "The name on Mr. Walker's register is such a mouthful--Armathwaite, ifyou _will_ have it."

  "What a queer way to put it! 'On Mr. Walker's register.' Isn't it yourreal name?"

  "There! I was sure you would say that. Why not be content with blunt andhonest-sounding Bob?"

  "Shall we establish a sort of cousinship? You're Bob and I'm Meg."

  "That would be a most excellent beginning, Meg."

  She laughed delightedly.

  "We're having quite an adventure!" she cried. "It sounds like a chapterout of an exciting novel. I hope you didn't think I was rude about yourother name--the long one--Bob! You see, I used to be Meg Garth, but nowI'm Meg Ogilvey. I'm hardly accustomed to the Ogilvey yet, but I ratherlike it. Don't you?"

  Armathwaite's face darkened, and he swallowed a piece of bacon withoutgiving it even one of the twenty-nine bites recommended by dietists as aminimum.

  "Why, that makes you look at me black as thunder," she vowed. "It's aquite simple matter. My people came into some money when we leftElmdale, and the Ogilvey was part of the legacy. It reaches us from thematernal side of the family, and the change was easy enough for dad,because he always wrote under the pen-name of Stephen Ogilvey."

  "Stephen Ogilvey--the man who is an authority on folk-lore?"

  The genuine surprise in his voice evidently pleased his hearer.

  "Yes. How thrilling that you should recognize him! That is real fame,isn't it?--to be regarded as top-dog in your particular line. But youseemed to be angry when I told you about it."

  "I thought you were married," he said, secretly quaking at his owntemerity.

  Again she knitted her brows in a rather fascinating effort to appearsagacious.

  "I don't quite see----" she began. Then she stopped suddenly.

  "You think that if I were married I wouldn't be quite such a tom-boy--isthat it?" she went on.

  "No. You've failed so badly in your interpretation of my thought that Idare hardly tell you its true meaning."

  "Please do. I hate to misunderstand people."

  "Well, I'll try and explain. You have not forgotten, I hope, that I havealready described you as an angel?"

  "Your quotation wasn't a bit more applicable than mine."

  "Be that as it may, I cannot imagine an angel married. Can you?"

  "Good gracious! Am I to remain single all my life?"

  "Who am I that I should choose between an angel and Meg Ogilvey?"

  "I wouldn't limit your choice so narrowly," she said, eluding his pointwith ease. "Besides, I've been expecting every minute to hear thatthere is a Mrs. Armathwaite."

  "There isn't!"

  "I'm sorry. I wish there was, and that she was here now. Then, if shewas nice, and you wouldn't have married her if she wasn't, she would askme to stay a few days. And I would say 'Yes, please.' As it is, I musthurry over my packing, and take myself back to Cheshire."

  "Yes," said he, compelling the words. "There is no doubt about that. Youcannot remain here."

  "Well, you needn't hammer in the fact that you'll be glad to be rid ofme. Have some more coffee?"

  A heavy step sounded on the path without. The girl, who was seated withher back to the window, turned and looked out.

  "Here's Tom Bland, the Nuttonby carrier," she cried excitedly, smilingand nodding at some person visible only to herself. "Dear old Tom! Won'the be surprised at seeing me!"

  Armathwaite's wandering wits were suddenly and sharply recalled to theextraordinary situation confronting him.

  "You don't mean that some local man has recognized you?" he growled, andthe note of real annoyance in his voice brought a wondering glance fromthe girl.

  "We gazed straight at one another, at any rate," she said, with aperceptible stiffening of manner. "Considering that Tom knows me as wellas I know him, it would be stupid to pretend that neither of us knowsthe other. It would be useless where Tom is concerned, at any rate. Hegrinned all over his face, so I may as well go to the door and have aword with him."

  "You'll do nothing of the sort," said Armathwaite, springing to hisfeet, and upsetting a plate in his hurry. "If Tom Bland says he has seenyou here, I'll tell him he's several varieties of a liar. At this momentMarguerite Garth simply doesn't exist. She's a myth. The lady in thisroom is Meg Ogilvey, whom Tom Bland has never heard of before. Now,understand, that I forbid you to move or show your face again at thewindow."

  "Oh, my!" pouted the girl, making believe to be very much afraid of him.That was the hardest part of the task confronting the Grange's latesttenant. He could awe and keep in check ten thousand turbulent andfanatical Pathans for many a year, but a clear-eyed English girl oftwenty-two refused to be either awe-stricken or kept in restraint for asmany minutes. Yet he must bend her to his will, for her own sake. Hemust force her away from Elmdale, from the hourly possibility of someghastly revelation which would darken and embitter her life. Theundertaking would go against the grain, but he dared not shirk it, and,once his mind was made up, he was not one whose resolution faltered.