RUTH'S DIPLOMACY.
Whatever might have been Neil Webster's intentions as to saving his
mother by proving himself guilty, they were frustrated by a severe
illness. His body could no longer bear the strain of constant worry and
mental torture, and he was seized with an attack of brain fever. Then
it was that Heron proved himself indeed a friend; he attended to the
sick man and procured for him the very best advice. No brother could
have done more for the poor fellow than did Geoffrey. Putting entirely
aside his desire to be near Ruth and to prosecute his courtship, he
devoted himself to restoring Neil to health.
Furthermore, at his friend's special request in the early stages of
his illness, Geoffrey took all measures to prevent Mr. Cass hearing
of the precarious state in which he lay. For Neil considered that the
merchant had done quite enough for him and did not wish to give him any
more trouble; so Geoffrey informed Mr. Cass that the young violinist
had gone abroad for a rest by the advice of his doctor. Then he had him
removed to Bognor and placed under the charge of Mrs. Jent, impressing
upon her the necessity for secrecy. Thus it came about that for nearly
two months he lay ill in bed at Bognor without any suspicion being
aroused in Mr. Cass's mind.
To Ruth young Heron wrote and explained that Neil had given her up, but
that he refused to say why he had done so. He added that he himself was
going to Paris for a month or so, but that if she wanted him back he
would return at the end of that time. Having thus sacrificed himself
on the shrine of friendship, he went down to watch Neil through his
dangerous illness. For he was quite determined that he should not die
if human means could save him. So, with Mrs. Jent, he nursed his friend
with the greatest tenderness.
Another friendly act he performed. He visited Mrs. Jenner and learned
from her all the particulars of the case. At first she sternly refused
to tell him anything, but when he informed her that her son was ill
and that his only chance of recovery--this was a little embroidery of
his own--lay in the hope of her innocence being established, she gave
way. He had already succeeded in impressing upon her the fact that Neil
could not have killed his father, notwithstanding all appearances to
the contrary.
"From what you say, Mrs. Jenner," he remarked, "your husband was a
strong man. Neil--I must still call him Neil--was a puny child. It is
impossible that he could have struck such a blow. At best his strength
could not have been equal to it, and Jenner could have brushed him
aside as easily as he could a fly."
"That is true," said the woman, thoughtfully. "I found him with a knife
in his hand standing beside the body."
"He might have entered the room and picked up the knife."
"But if this is go-and I begin to see things from your point of
view--who killed my husband? I can swear that I did not, and if my
child is innocent, who is guilty?"
"That is just what we must find out, both to release you from an unjust
imprisonment and to set his mind at rest. Now tell me the whole story
and especially the events of that night. Then I may be in a position to
account for the crime."
Cheered somewhat by the view he took, Mrs. Jenner told him all she knew
with full details. Two points struck Mr. Heron--one that the window had
been open and that Mrs. Jenner had left her husband standing near it;
the other that he had had in his possession a red pocket-book which had
afterwards disappeared. Beyond this he gathered that her account of the
boasts her husband had made on that night that he had had somebody in
his power, somebody from whom he intended to extort money.
"And I quite believe that is true," finished the unhappy woman,
bitterly. "He had the instincts of a blackmailer."
"Well, said Geoffrey, preparing to take his departure. I think the
motive for the crime will be found in that pocket-book. Whoever took
it murdered your husband. The window was open, the book, as you say,
on the table, and near the window your husband was standing. Also,"
he added with emphasis, "you say the knife was lying beside the
pocket-book. Now, if your son had used it he would have had to pass
his father to get it and so would have put him on his guard, even if
he had not been prevented from taking it. No, Mrs. Jenner, your son
is innocent, as innocent as yourself. The assassin seized that knife
through the open window and struck the blow in order to get possession
of that pocket-book, which contained--of that I am sure--some document
which would have been used as a lever to extort money. That is my
theory, and I will make it my business to prove that it is the right
one. Meanwhile, I must nurse Neil."
"You are a good man," said Mrs. Jenner shewing emotion for the first
time, "and what you say seems feasible enough. Go, and do the best you
can. Heaven will reward you. But my son, my darling boy--he may die!"
"Not if I can help it. I'll pull him round somehow. Keep up your
spirits. You have had a long night, but I believe the dawn is at hand."
"Heaven bless you!" she said. Then Geoffrey took his leave, to return
to the bedside of Neil Webster.
While all this was taking place Ruth had not been idle. She had been
annoyed by Heron's letter, and much alarmed at his determination to
stay away. She was beginning to find out that her feeling for him was
stronger than anything the young violinist had inspired in her; but a
streak of obstinacy, inherited from her Spanish grandmother, kept her,
in a manner, true to the man for whom she cared least. Besides this she
was possessed of more than her share of feminine curiosity, and never
faltered in her determination to learn the real cause of Webster's
mysterious departure. She was well aware that her love for him was
not genuine, that it had been founded--as Jennie had very truly told
her--on admiration for the artist, not on love for the man and she was
equally certain that she would never marry him. But all the same she
was resolved to learn his secret, and for many a weary week she plotted
for the achievement of her ends. As far as she knew, both Neil and
Geoffrey were abroad, so she had a fair field.
After much thought she concluded that her best plan was to make the
attempt through Mrs. Jent, who had been her nurse, and who had always
retained an affection, almost motherly, for her. And the old woman was
a trustful soul, easy enough to manage by the exercise of a little
diplomacy. Ruth's plan was to act as she had done with her father--to
assume that she knew more than she would admit. In this way, taking
into account the simplicity of Mrs. Jent, it was likely that the old
woman would let something slip which would put her on the track. And
Ruth considered that if she had succeeded with a man like her father
she would certainly have no difficulty with a person of Mrs. Jent's
calibre. So she made up her mind as to her best course of action.
To see Mrs. Jent without arousing suspicion it was necessary that she
should go down to Bognor without her father's knowledge. He would think
it odd that she should, at this juncture, wish to see one who was so
closely connected with her former lover. To avert suspicion, the girl
wrote to an old schoolfellow at Brighton asking her for an invitation.
"I am tired of a dull country life," wrote Miss Cass, "and I should be
so glad of a little amusement. Do ask me down for a week or so."
Mrs. Prosser fell into the trap. It seemed natural enough to her that
Ruth should want a little gaiety, and she was glad to have a pretty
girl in her house. The presence of beauty would attract a good many men
and, being not averse to an occasional flirtation herself. Mrs. Prosser
judged that she would share in the pleasure to be derived from the
visit. So the desired invitation was promptly despatched, and Mr. Cass,
quite unsuspicious, permitted his daughter's acceptance of it.
"Perhaps it will put this nonsense about Webster out of your head," he
said as he bade her good-bye. To which remark he received no answer.
For quite a week Ruth enjoyed herself thoroughly. Mrs. Prosser's house
was a bright one. She entertained a great deal, more especially now
that she had such a charming friend to amuse and to amuse her. That
young lady made amends for Neil's desertion of her, and for Geoffrey's
absence, by flirting to her heart's content, and consigning many youths
to various stages of despair at what they were pleased to call her
fickleness. But she never lost sight of her main object, which was to
drop down on Mrs. Jent without giving that old lady warning of her
coming. She would take her entirely by surprise.
Accordingly, on the plea that she was going to see her old nurse, Ruth
took the train to _Bognor_, and Mrs. Jent welcomed her visitor with
open arms. Nor indeed--not having been warned--did she conceal the fact
that Mr. Webster was ill in the house and that Geoffrey was nursing him.
"My dear, how pleased I am to see you!" she cried, settling her
spectacles on her nose. "And quite the young lady, too! How good of
you, my lovey, not to forget your old nurse."
"As if I ever could," Ruth said, graciously. "And tell me what you are
doing with yourself?"
"Just living, my dear, just living. What with a boarder or two and the
money your dear papa allows me I rub along."
"Have you any boarders now?" asked the girl, more for the sake of saying
something than because she felt any interest in the subject.
"Well, not what you would call boarders, perhaps," said the old lady,
rubbing one withered hand over the other. "At least, one of them isn't,
he is my dear boy Neil."
"Neil!" with unbounded astonishment, "Neil Webster! Why, he is abroad."
"No such thing. He is here, my lovey, and has been for two months.
Abroad? Why, the poor darling has been at death's door! Aye, and he
would have entered it, too, if Mr. Heron had not----"
"Heron? Geoffrey Heron?"
"Yes, dear, that is him, Heaven bless him. Do you----"
"Geoffrey Heron here?" interrupted the girl rather to herself than to
the old woman. "Why, he wrote to tell me that he was on the Continent.
What does all this mean, I wonder?"
"It's not hard to tell the meaning," said Mrs. Jent. "My boy Neil fell
ill, had brain fever, poor lad, and Mr. Heron brought him here from
London that I might nurse him, and he stayed with me. He is almost as
fond of my dear boy as I am."
"Is he?" said Ruth, blankly. Considering that the two men were, or had
been, rivals for her hand, she could not quite take all this in.
"Of course he is," said the old woman, with great energy. "A better
gentleman I never wish to see."
"And is Mr. Webster here?"
"In the next room, in the most beautiful sleep. I daresay you would
like to see him, my dear, for he has often talked of you. But I daren't
wake him, it would be dangerous. Mr. Heron has gone to Worthing. Will
you wait till he comes back?"
"I might," replied Ruth, thinking that she would like to prove to Heron
that she was no fool. "Has he also spoken of me?"
"Often and often, my dear. Why, he loves you; he has told me so a dozen
times."
The girl stuck her pretty chin in the air and looked supercilious.
"Well, he is nothing to me," she said, crossly. "I don't like deceitful
people. Oh, now, don't defend him," she added, seeing that Mrs. Jent
was about to deliver herself of an indignant speech. "I know more than
you do. As to Mr. Webster, well, he was good enough to say that he
cared for me too."
"I know. He has often spoken of you to me; but he has got over his
fancy."
"Oh, indeed!" cried Ruth, more angry than ever. "He calls his love for
me a fancy, does he? Just like a man." Then she suddenly recollected
her errand and resolved to make the best use of her time before
Geoffrey could come back and interfere. "Poor Mr. Webster! No doubt he
is grieving for his parents."
The old lady started. "What do you know of them?" she asked, sternly.
"All that he could tell me," was the reply. "He was engaged to me, and
he told me all about himself and his people."
"How foolish of him," Mrs. Jent said under her breath. "But I hope
you don't think any the less of him, my dear. After all, he is not
responsible for the wickedness of his father and mother."
Ruth nearly jumped out of her seat. So Neil's father and mother had
been what this old woman called "wicked people." And, moreover, he was
suffering for what they had done in not being allowed to marry her;
that was the way she put it. But she said nothing, and Mrs. Jent went
on talking in the firm belief that her listener knew all the facts of
the case.
"Of course, it was a long time before he knew anything about his
parents neither Mr. Cass nor I would tell him, you know. But last
Christmas, when he was staying with you, my dear, he found it all out."
"It was at Christmas that he told me about them," put in Ruth.
But she did not add that it was of the American parents he had spoken.
Indeed, she could not make out whether Mrs. Jent was alluding to them
or to some other persons of whom she knew nothing. She felt confused.
"Ah, well," went on the old lady, with a sigh, "I suppose the discovery
was too much for him and he had to tell someone. And why not you?
But, my dear," she laid a withered hand on the girl's arm, "if he had
loved you he would never have told you about that nasty Turnpike House
murder. Did he tell you his name was Jenner, my dear?"
"No," said the girl, faintly. She knew the truth now. "Only that his
parents--oh, I can't speak of it!"
"It is terrible." The old lady shook her head. "To think of his mother
having murdered her husband and being in gaol."
"He never told me that!" shrieked Ruth, for she could play her part no
longer. "Oh, great Heavens, what a horrible thing! No wonder my father
would not let the marriage take place."
"The marriage!" stammered Mrs. Jent, rising with an expression of alarm
on her face.
"Yes, I was engaged to him and suddenly he gave me up. My father said
he would never allow me to marry him. I could not make out the reason.
Now I know it, and, oh, how horrible it is!"
"Then you did not know the truth?"
"No, no. Neil told me about his American parents----"
"That was the story we made up to keep him quiet," put in the old
woman. "Yes, Mr. Cass and I thought it best he should not know. He
found out the truth for himself, and--now--I have told it to you."
"I am glad you have," said Ruth, taking her hand. "Dear nurse, I have
behaved so badly. I wanted to find out why Neil had given me up, and as
father would not tell me I came to you. But I have been punished for my
curiosity. Still, I'm glad--I'm glad. I must give him up now."
"Indeed, miss," said Mrs. Jent, bristling with indignation. "I think
you ought to stand by the poor boy more than ever. Oh, miss, how could
you play me such a trick? I do hope you'll keep all this to yourself."
"Of course I will. All the effect it will have upon me is that I shall
think no more of Neil."
"Ah!" Mrs. Jent shook her head. "I thought I better of you."
"Good gracious! How can you expect me to marry a man whose mother is in
gaol?"
"That is not his fault. But take your own way, miss. I think you have
behaved badly in tricking me into speaking secrets. I shall tell your
father at once."
"I shall tell him myself; you shan't be blamed, nurse. I am a wicked
girl to have done what I have done. There, don't cry, I'm not worth
it. I'll go away and not bother you." And before Mrs. Jent could say
another word Ruth was out of the house and walking swiftly along the
parade.
Then the unexpected happened, for the first person she met was Geoffrey
Heron!