by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER VIII
THE WITCH-WIFE
The interview between the engaged lovers had been a strange one, and notthe least strange part was the termination. Apparently, after hearingthe description of the mysterious double given by Bella, her lover couldhave explained much--at least, she gathered this from the hints hisbroken conversation gave. After his departure, she sat weeping, until itstruck her sensible nature how very foolish she was to waste time inidle regrets. Whether Cyril felt so mortally offended by her doubts asto regard the engagement at an end, she could not say. But after somethought she believed that her remarks had given him a clue which he hadleft thus abruptly to follow up. Sooner or later he would return toexplain, and then all would be well between them.
And in spite of his odd behaviour, she had one great consolation inknowing that he was innocent. His denial of guilt had been so strong;the _alibi_ he set forth was so easy of proof, and so impossible ofinvention, that she blamed herself sincerely for ever having doubted theyoung man. Nevertheless, considering the weird circumstances, and thefact of the likeness of the double--whomsoever he might be--to herlover, she could scarcely regard herself as having been foolish. Ninepeople out of ten would have made the same mistake, and would haveharboured similar doubts. Certainly, seeing that she loved Cyrildevotedly, she should have been the tenth; but in the hour of trial herfaith had proved very weak. She tried to remind herself that she hadnever really believed him to be guilty. All the same, recalling the lateconversation, she had to recognise that her words could have left verylittle doubt in Lister's mind as to the fact that she believed him to bea robber and an assassin. Well, if she had, surely she had been severelypunished, as was only fair.
Mrs. Coppersley returned from the funeral in a very chastened frame ofmind, and in the company of Henry Vand, whom she had bidden to tea. Thetable was furnished forth with funeral baked meats, after the fashion ofHamlet's mother's wedding, and Mr. Vand did full justice tothem--wonderful justice, considering his apparently delicateconstitution. He was not very tall, and remarkably handsome, with hisyoung, clean-shaven face, his large, blue eyes, and his curly, goldenhair. His body was well-shaped all save the right foot, which wastwisted and the leg of which was shorter than the other. Like Talleyrandand Lord Byron, the young man was club-footed, but otherwise had a veryattractive personality. From his delicate fingers, it could be seen thathe was a musician, and he had an air of refinement astonishing in one ofhis breeding and birth. Bella did not like him much. Not that she hadany fault to find with him; but his eyes were shallow, like those of abird, and his conversation was dull, to say the least of it. The soleway in which he could converse was through his violin, and as he had notthat with him on this occasion, Bella preferred to remain absent fromthe lavish tea-table. Mrs. Coppersley did not object, as she wanted herdarling all to herself.
However, Mrs. Coppersley was very severe on her niece for not attendingthe funeral, and had many sweet things to say regarding virtues of thedeceased which she had just discovered after his death. "He meant well,did poor, dear Jabez," sighed Mrs. Coppersley, over a cup of tea; "andif he did swear it was his calling that made him profane. Bella!"--herniece was standing at the door as she spoke--"to-morrow I'm going up tosee the lawyer about the property."
"Oh, don't trouble about that," said Bella wearily; "no, thank you, Mr.Vand, I don't care to eat. I feel too miserable."
"Not trouble about the property!" cried Mrs. Coppersley, paying noattention to the latter part of this speech; "but I do care. Things mustbe settled somehow. I must arrange my future life," and she cast atender glance on the handsome musician. "Your future must be settledalso."
"I shall look after that," said Bella, not liking her aunt's tone.
"You had better be sharp, then," said Mrs. Coppersley, in a dictatorialmanner, "for the sooner things are settled the better. I'm not young,and"--she cast a second tender glance on her swain, who was eatinglargely--"ah, well, its useless to talk of weddings when funerals are inthe air. To-morrow evening, Bella, after I have seen the lawyer--and helives in Cade Lane, London--I'll tell you what I have arranged."
Bella looked in astonishment at her aunt, who suddenly seemed to haveacquired the late captain's tyrannical manner. Apparently Mrs.Coppersley forgot--as Bella thought--that she would not inherit thesolitary farm, and needed to be reminded of the fact that her niece wasthe mistress of Bleacres. In fact, Bella was on the point of saying asmuch, when she remembered that Vand was present. Not being anxious todiscuss family matters in his presence--even though he was about toenter the family as Mrs. Coppersley's husband--she abruptly left theroom. Mrs. Coppersley poured herself out a second cup of tea, andremarked in a high tone of satisfaction, that some people's noses wereabout to be brought to the grindstone.
Bella heard the remark as she put on her hat and walked out of the frontdoor. It accentuated her lonely feeling, for she saw plainly now whatshe had long guessed,--that Aunt Rosamund had very little affection forher. The late captain also had never cared much for his daughter, andnow that Cyril had vanished in an enigmatic manner, the poor girl feltmore wretched than ever. Listlessly she walked down the narrow path asfar as the boundary channel, and wondered how it would all end. Had shebeen a religious girl she might have sought comfort in prayer, but sheknew very little about true religion, and did not care for the sortpreached by Mr. Silas Pence in the Little Bethel at Marshely. As hisname flashed into her mind, she looked up and saw him standing on theopposite side of the channel, so it was apparent--although she knewnothing about such things--that some telepathic communication had madeher think of him. The preacher was in his usual dismal garb, and hadaccentuated the same by wearing black gloves and a black tie in place ofhis usual white one. Patience on a monument might have been taken as atype of Mr. Pence on this occasion, but he was not smiling on grief inthe person of Miss Huxham. In fact he did not smile at all, beingshocked to see her out of doors.
"Why are you not weeping in your chamber?" reproved Silas, in his mostclerical manner; "the loss of so good a father----"
"You have doubtless said all you had to say on that subject at thefuneral, Mr. Pence," retorted Bella, whose nerves were worn thin withworry; "spare me a repetition of such stale remarks."
It was a horribly rude speech, as she well knew. But Pence had a way ofirritating her beyond all endurance, and the mere sight of him wassufficient to set her teeth on edge for the day. It was intolerable thathe should intrude on her privacy now, when she particularly wished to bealone. She intimated as much by turning away with a displeased air, andwalked for a short distance along the bank path leading to Mrs. Tunks'hut. But Silas, absolutely ignorant of the feminine nature, and entirelydevoid of diplomacy, persisted in thrusting his company upon her. Bellaturned sharply, when she heard Silas breathing hard behind her, andspoke with marked indignation.
"I wish to be alone, if you please," she declared, flushing.
"Ah, no; ah, no," remonstrated Pence, stupidly. "Allow me to comfortyou."
"You cannot," she retorted, marvelling at his density.
"Allow me to try. I was on the point of calling at the house to----"
Bella interrupted him cruelly. "You can call there still, Mr. Pence, andmy aunt will be glad to see you. She has Mr. Vand to tea, so you willfind yourself in congenial company."
"Your company is congenial enough for me."
"That is very flattering, but I prefer to be alone."
Silas, however, declined to be shaken off, and his reproachful looks soexasperated Bella that she felt inclined to thrust him into the water.And his speech was even more irritating than his manner. "Let me sootheyou, my dear, broken-hearted sister," he pleaded in a sheep-like bleat.
"I don't want soothing. I am not broken-hearted, and I am not yoursister."
Pence sighed. "This is very, very painful."
"It is," Bella admitted readily, "to me. Surely you are man enough, Mr.Pence, to take a plain telling if you won't accept a hint. I want you toleave me at
once, as I am not disposed to talk."
"If I had my way I would never, never leave you again."
"Perhaps; but, so far as I am concerned, you will not get your way."
"Why do you dislike me, Miss Huxham?"
"I neither like nor dislike you," she retorted, suppressing a violentinclination to scream, so annoying was this persecution. "You arenothing to me."
"I want to be something. I wish you to be my sealed fountain. Your latelamented father desired you to be my spouse."
"I am aware of that, Mr. Pence. But perhaps you will remember that Irefused to marry you, the other day."
"You broke my heart then."
"Go and mend it then," cried Bella, furiously angry, and only tooanxious to drive him away by behaving with aggressive rudeness.
"You alone can mend it." Pence dropped on his knees. "Oh, I implore youto mend it, my Hephzibah! You are to me a Rose of Sharon, a Lily of theVale."
"Get up, sir, and don't make a fool of yourself."
"Oh, angel of my life, listen to me. Lately I was poor in this world'sgoods, but now I have gold. Marry me, and let us fly to far lands,and----"
"I thought you were desperately poor," said Bella, suspiciously; "wheredid you get the money?"
"An aged and God-fearing Christian aunt left it to me," said Pence,dropping his eyes. "It is a small sum, but----"
"One hundred pounds in gold, perhaps?"
Pence rose, as though moved by springs, and his thin white cheeksflushed a deep scarlet. "What do you mean?"
Bella could not have told herself what she meant at the moment. But ithad suddenly occurred to her to try and rid herself of this burr byhinting that he had something to do with the robbery, if not with themurder. Under ordinary circumstances she would never have ventured to dothis, being a kind-hearted girl; but Pence exasperated her so greatlythat she was, on the impulse of the moment, prepared to go to any lengthto see the last of him. "I mean," she said, in reply to his lastquestion, "that my father had one hundred pounds in gold in his safe."
"You accuse me of----"
"I accuse you of nothing," cried Bella, cutting him short and flaming upinto a royal rage. "I am tired of your company and of your silly talk. Ionly wish that Mr. Lister would come along and throw you into thechannel."
The red faded from Pence's face, and he looked wickedly white. His eyesflashed with sinister lights. "I dare say you do," he said venomously,"but Mr. Lister had better keep out of my way, and out of the way of thepolice."
The girl felt her heart almost stop beating. "Now it is my turn to askyou what you mean?" she said slowly and preserving her coolness.
But the preacher saw that she was shaken, and followed up his advantage."I think you had better make terms with me. Accept me as your husband,or----"
"Or what?"
"I shall tell the police what I saw," he finished spitefully.
"What did you see?" she asked in a shaking voice.
"On the evening of the murder I came here at a quarter to eight," saidSilas slowly, his glittering eyes on her pale face. "I wished to adorethe shrine wherein was my jewel; that is, I desired to gaze on thehouse, beneath whose roof you slept."
"Oh, stop talking like this, and speak plainly," she interruptedwearily.
"I shall speak plainly enough now," said the young man calmly. "Whilewatching by the entrance through the bushes, on the other side of thechannel, I was suddenly brushed aside by that Lister person. It wasgrowing dark, but I recognised his figure, his insolent face, his lordlyair of prosperity. He walked up to the house and I turned away, sick atheart, knowing that he had gone to see you. When I looked again, on myway back to Marshely, he had disappeared. So you see----" He paused.
"I see what?" she questioned nervously.
"That the Lister person must know somewhat of this crime, if, indeed, hedid not strike the blow himself."
"How can you say that, when you lately intimated that Mr. Lister--if it_was_ Mr. Lister, which I doubt--had come to see me?"
"I remember the evidence given by yourself and your aunt at theinquest," retorted Pence sharply. "You were locked in your room, and werein a drugged sleep. Mrs. Coppersley had gone to my lodgings to deliverthe note from your late father, which I found on my return. That Listerperson must have seen your father, and, as they were not on goodterms--"
"How do you know that they were not?"
"Because your late father hated the very name of Lister, and said thathe would rather see you dead than married to him. Also in the note leftat my lodgings, your father said that he had quarrelled seriously withthis Lister person, and had locked you in your room. Now, if I showedthat note to the police, and related how the Lister person had brushedme aside so that he could cross the channel, he would be arrested."
"No, he would not," said Bella doggedly, but her heart sank.
"Yes, he would. He hated your late father; he was alone in the housewith him, and I believe that he killed him so that he might marry you."
"As if I would marry any man who murdered my father," said Bellaangrily. "You are talking a lot of nonsense, Mr. Pence. Mr. Lister wasin London on that evening, and afterwards went to Paris."
"I don't believe it. Who told you?"
"He told me so himself."
"Naturally he has to make the best of things. But I know the Listerperson well by sight, and I am prepared to take my oath that he enteredthe Manor-house about eight o'clock on the night of the murder."
"Mr. Lister has a good _alibi_," said Bella, with a carelessness whichshe was far from feeling, and gathering up her skirts to go. "You cantell the police what you like, Mr. Pence. I am not afraid for Mr.Lister's good name."
"You will make no terms?" demanded Pence, annoyed by her feignedcoolness.
"No," she said abruptly; "do what you like."
"I'll give you three days to think over the matter," cried Pence as sheturned away; "if by that time you do not agree to become my wife, Ishall denounce that Lister person to the police."
Bella took no notice of the threat, but walked swiftly away in thedirection of Mrs. Tunks' hut. Hearing no footsteps she concluded thatMr. Pence had not followed, and a cautious look round revealed himcrossing the planks on his way home. Bella felt sick with apprehension,and when she reached the hut had to lean against the door for support.But she had no time to consider matters, for unexpectedly the dooropened and she fell into the bony arms of Mrs. Tunks.
"I knew you were coming, dearie," croaked the old creature; "the crystaltold me."
"A glance along the path told you," retorted Bella, recovering herbalance and entering the hut. "Why do you talk to me of the crystal,Mrs. Tunks? You know I don't believe in such things."
"Well I know your blind eyes and stubborn heart, lovey. Only troublewill make you see truths, and you ain't had enough yet. There's morecoming."
"How do you know?" asked Bella, sitting down on a broken-backed chairwith a sudden sinking of the heart.
"I know, I know," mumbled Mrs. Tunks, squatting on a stool near thefire. "Who should know but I, who am of the gentle Romany? Hold yourpeace, dearie and let me think," and she lighted a dingy black claypipe. "Luke ain't here," added Mrs. Tunks, blowing a cloud of smoke, "sowe've the whole place to ourselves, lovey, and the crystal's ready."
She nodded towards a bright spark of light, and Bella saw a roundcrystal the size of an apple, standing in a cheap china egg-cup. Therewas no light in the bare room, but the ruddy flare of the smoulderingfire, and what with the semi-darkness, the fumes of Mrs. Tunks' pipe,and that bright unwinking spot, Bella felt as though she were beinghypnotised.
The hut, built of turf, was square, and was divided by a woodenpartition into two equal parts. One of these parts was again sub-dividedinto two sleeping dens--they could not be called bedrooms--for Mrs.Tunks and her grandson. The day apartment, which did for sitting-room,dining-room, drawing-room, and general living-room, was small, anddirty, and dingy. The ceiling of rough thatch, black with smoke, couldalmost be touched
by Bella without rising. The floor was of beatenearth, the chimney a wide gaping hollow of turf, and there was one smallwindow, usually tightly closed, beside the crazy door. The furnitureconsisted of a deal table, of home manufacture, with its legs sunken inthe earthen floor, and a few stools together with the broken-backedchair on which the visitor sat. There also was a rough wooden dresser,on which were ranged a few platters of wood and some china. The wholeabode was miserable in the extreme, and in wet weather must have beenextremely uncomfortable. Granny Tunks, as she was usually called, housedlike an Early Briton or a Saxon serf; but she seemed to be happy enoughin her den, perhaps because it was better than the rough life of theroad, which had been her lot in life before she had married a Gorgio.
She was a lean, grim old creature with very bright black eyes andplentiful white hair escaping from under a red handkerchief. Her dresswas of a brown colour, but tagged with bright patches of yellow and blueand crimson, and she wore also various coins and beads and charms, whichkept up a continuous jingle. On the whole Granny Tunks was a picturesquefigure of the Oriental type, and this, added to her sinister reputationas one acquainted with the unseen world, gained her considerablerespect. The marsh folk, still superstitious in spite of steam andelectricity, called her "The Wise Woman," but Granny dubbed herself "AWitch-Wife," quite like a Norse warrior would have done.
Bella stared at the crystal until she felt quite dreamy, while Grannywatched her with a bright and cunning eye. Suddenly she rose and tookthe gleaming globe in her skinny hand. "You've put your life-power intoit," mumbled the witch-wife; "now I'll read what's coming."
"No, no!" cried Bella, suddenly startled into wakefulness. "I don't wantto know anything, Mrs. Tunks."
Granny took no notice, but peered into the crystal by the red light ofthe fire. "You've trouble yet, before you, dearie," she said in asing-song voice, "but peace in the end. You'll marry the gentleman youlove, when a black man comes to aid your fortunes."
"A black man! What do you mean?"
"There's no more," said Mrs. Tunks; "the vision has faded. A black man,remember."