JOB, THE SAPENGRO.
In another week Ruth took leave of the delights of Brighton, much to
the regret of Mrs. Presser. A letter from Hollyoaks had advised her
that Mrs. Chisel and her three children were down on a visit, and that
Jennie Brawn, in the capacity of governess, was with them. Mr. Cass,
it appeared, had gone to Bordeaux on business, so Ruth was wanted to
represent him at the paternal mansion. And anxious to start hunting
for evidence likely to reveal the truth about the Jenner case, she
willingly returned.
Mrs. Chisel was a tall and somewhat stout woman of the Junoesque
type, with a high opinion of herself, her children, her position, her
money, and, indeed, of everything which belonged to her, with the one
exception of her husband. When Mrs. Marshall heard that Amy Chisel was
at Hollyoaks she sent word that she would not enter her brother's house
until it was purged of the presence of his elder daughter. In reply to
this amiable message Mrs. Chisel hoped her aunt Inez would not spoil
her visit by coming over. Upon which Mrs. Marshall made a point of
calling every other day and remarking openly and unfavourably upon her
niece's management of her children.
These comments were really quite undeserved; for the three children
whom Mrs. Chisel--on sufficiently obvious authority--called "her
jewels" were nice little people, pretty and well-behaved. The two
girls, aged respectively seven and ten, were demure and even a trifle
prim. They were always smartly dressed and never made a mess of their
clothes. And, moreover, they stood in great awe of their mother, who,
as she frequently told them, was a woman in a thousand. It was as well,
perhaps, for the peace of the world that such was the case.
Needless to say, Ruth did not present Neil's gift to her little nephew.
Mrs. Garvey must see it; and meanwhile she kept it stowed away; for had
her sister known that it was intended for George, she would have had it
out of her at all costs.
It was on the morning after her arrival that Ruth and Amy had their
first little encounter; the subject of it being Mr. Geoffrey Heron.
"What a fool you have made of yourself falling in love with that violin
creature!" cried Mrs. Chisel in her high rasping voice. "He is no fit
husband for you!"
"He would, after all, make a more sensible husband than Julian,"
retorted Ruth, who shared her sister's opinion of the unhappy Chisel.
"And, thank you, Amy, I have a right to choose a husband for myself.
"You are not fit to do so," remarked Mrs. Chisel, with her customary
tact. "If you were a sensible girl you would marry Geoffrey Heron, and
take a good position in the county."
"I would not marry Mr. Heron if there were not another man in the
world" cried the girl, mendaciously. "Why are you so disagreeable, Amy?"
"Disagreeable?" echoed the matron. "I am the most agreeable woman in
existence when I am properly treated. No one but my own family thinks
me disagreeable."
"Ah! they know you so well," said Ruth.
"That's just it; you none of you know me. If I were like Aunt Inez,
now, you might talk; she is disagreeable, if you like."
"Well, Amy," said Ruth, who had more important things to discuss, "do
not let us quarrel."
"Do I ever quarrel? I ask you that!"
"No; you never do," replied the girl, knowing well what answer was
expected. "But do leave my marriage prospects alone, my dear!"
"I'm the last person in the world to interfere," cried Mrs. Chisel. "I
think a girl should settle those things for herself. But I must say I
should be happy if I saw you married to Geoffrey Heron."
"In that case you'll live for many a long day yet." And Ruth made a
hurried exit.
This was one of many tiffs they had. In spite of Ruth's diplomacy, Amy
would make trouble; so, in despair, Miss Cass asked Aunt Inez to come
as often as possible--and the amiable lady, knowing Amy did not want
her, took good care to come. So Ruth was left in peace; for when the
battles were raging, she generally took refuge with Jennie.
One of the first things she did on meeting Miss Brawn was to tell
her all about Neil's troubles; that she had promised Geoffrey to say
nothing about them did not matter to her. For she was a woman, and
found it difficult enough to keep a secret; besides which, she knew
that Jennie could be trusted, being a girl who could hold her tongue
when necessary. And Ruth wanted someone with whom she could discuss the
case, and any new facts which came to light. So there and then she told
Jennie everything.
"Isn't it terrible, dear?" she said when Miss Brawn was in possession
of the whole sad story. "What do you think of it?"
"I think Mrs. Jenner would be the last person in the world to kill her
husband, from what you say of her. But, oh, the poor Master! How he
must suffer! Ruth, was it because of this you gave him up?" And she
looked volumes of reproach.
"No, my dear, it was not. If I had really loved him this would only
have made me cling closer; but I merely admired him--as you said. And I
find that I like Geoffrey Heron better."
"But you told your sister----"
"I know what I told her!" snapped Ruth. "I am not going to give her the
satisfaction of thinking she has biassed my judgment in any way. You
must keep my secret, Jennie, until I have told my father. When he has
consented, which I know he will do very willingly, Geoffrey and I can
arrange our future. But I do not want our engagement to be known until
this mystery has been cleared up.
"It may never be cleared up."
"Oh yes, it will. I have taken the matter in hand," said the girl,
grandly. "If the truth is to be found out, I shall be the one to find
it. And I am going to the Turnpike House to make a search."
"What do you expect to find?"
"I don't know," she said, vaguely. "I may discover something--I don't
exactly know what; but, at all events," she broke off, "it will do no
harm to make a search on the very scene of the tragedy. As to Neil--now
that he won't marry me--you can make love to him, Jennie dear!"
Miss Brawn coloured. "I shall do nothing of the sort," she declared. "I
love him, it is true; but I am not going to hunt after him, or after
any man, for that matter."
"My dear," Ruth said, and there was a world of pity in her voice, "you
can't live with Amy all your life--she will wear you out!"
Jennie laughed in her quiet way. "I am not so easily worn out," she
said; "and, indeed, I am very comfortable with Mrs. Chisel; she is most
kind. I daresay some people would think her trying, but, after all, her
heart is in the right place."
"Ah, that is always said about people who have nothing else to
recommend them," Ruth said, with a grimace. "Well, I am going out now
to make my grand discovery at the Turnpike House--and you, Jennie?"
"Oh, I have my teaching. Mildred and Ethel must have their lessons."
"It is not as nice as writing poetry."
"No, of course not. But we can't have all we want in this world."
"You shall have Neil, if I can get him for you."
"Don't--don't! I should die of shame it you said a word to him. Now,
promise me, Ruth, that you will not interfere."
"Not without telling you. Oh, you stupid dear, there are ways of
managing a man without speaking. But have no fear," she added, "Neil is
far enough away just now, and won't be well, poor fellow, for many a
long day. You are safe from my match-making for a time, Jennie."
"I'm glad of that. You are so impetuous, you know."
Miss Cass laughed, and, with a nod, took her departure. Mrs. Chisel
saw her from the drawing-room window and frowned. "There she goes all
alone, to walk by herself," she said, tautologically. "It is positively
indecent to see a young girl without a chaperon. But, then, Ruth is so
headstrong." And Mrs. Chisel sighed to think how foolish the girl was
not to take her for a model.
But Ruth's beauty was well protected by Ruth's temper; and she would
have travelled through Thibet as fearlessly as she now walked through
the lonely country towards the old Turnpike House.
With her usual perversity Miss Cass did not keep to the high road as
an ordinary young lady should and would have done; she made a bee-line
for her destination right across country, She passed through fields,
and clambered over hedges; she slipped along by paths, until in a
remarkably short space of time she saw the dilapidated house nested in
its green jungle. It looked haggard and evil even in the cheerful light
of the morning sun.
"Well, here I am!" she said, tempting Fate with her usual bold speech.
"What is going to happen next?"
As if in answer to her call, a face suddenly appeared at the
window--the very window, as she believed through which the assassin
had struck at his unhappy victim. It was a swarthy, cunning face with
coal-black eyes, having over them the kind of film which veils the
eyes of birds. The tangled black hair crowned a sallow, lean, Oriental
countenance; and the un-English look of the man--for it was a man--was
accentuated by a red scarf twisted round a sinewy throat. It was not
his foreign appearance that startled Ruth, but the look of death on the
face. He was far gone in consumption. Seeing a pretty girl he leered,
and cast a sly glance of admiration at her.
"Duvel! My beauty," he croaked, hoarsely. "What's to do here?"
"Nothing that can possibly matter to you," retorted Miss Cass, who was
not to be daunted by a gypsy. "Are you living here?"
"I live here at times," said the man, evidently surprised at the
boldness of her address, "but mostly I'm on the road and in the tent of
the Romany. I'm no Gorgio to care for a roof-tree; but it's cruel work
in this England."
"I see the climate is killing you," replied Ruth, for she was sorry to
see so fine a man suffering from an incurable disease. "You should get
a doctor to see you."
"Oh, my gorgeous angel, what things you say!" whined the man. "Where am
I to get the tizzy to pay? Give me a shilling, Miss."
The girl took a half-crown from her pocket and gave it to him. He
disappeared from the window and came outside. Man and girl surveyed
each other in silence.
"What is your name?" Ruth asked coolly.
"Job," he said. "I belong to the Lovels, I do. And I'm a Sapengro, I
am."
"What's that?"
Job slipped his hand into his breast and brought out a small viper with
gleaming eyes, and a yellow body which glittered like gold. "This is a
sap," he said, and held the reptile towards Ruth.
"Oh, I see. You are the master of the snake."
"Duvel!" The gypsy stared at her in astonishment, and the film seemed
to peel off his eyes. "Do you know the black language?"
"I know that 'engro' means a 'master,'" the girl said, carelessly, "and
you tell me that 'sap' is 'snake' so I put the two together. Master of
the Snake, Job Lovel--that's what you are."
"Hang me if I ever heard a Gentile lady so bold!" cried the man, with
another stare, slipping the hissing viper back into his breast. "But I
say, lady, have you more coin--a mere sovereign now?"
"I have not; and if I had, you would not get it."
"But if I were to make you!" Job took a step forward.
"I would run this through you!" And the gypsy found a shining steel
weapon at his breast. He started back with an oath. Ruth laughed; and
there was a merciless ring in her mirth which did more to terrify the
man than the sight of the weapon itself. "You are a brave Sapengro,
brother, to try and terrify a woman!" she said, in the Romany tongue.
"Duvel!" cried Job again, and his expression changed to one of
friendliness and admiration. "Why didn't you say you were a Romany?"
"Because I am a Gentile, brother," Ruth said, still in the calo jib. "I
took a fancy to learn your tongue, and I learnt it from a gypsy. I knew
Lurien, Dukkeripen, Hakkeripen, and all the rest. Well, can I put up my
dagger?"
"You are a sacred sister to me," said Job, with deep respect; and she
saw from his manner that she had nothing further to fear. Indeed, he
offered her the half-a-crown which she had already given him. "Take it,
sister," he said. "You are a true gypsy to me, and I take nothing from
you."
She laughed, and slipped her dagger into its sheath. "Keep it, Job,"
she said, reverting to the English tongue. "I see you are poor and ill."
"I am dying," replied the man in a sombre tone, still looking at her.
"Ah, soon I shall be in the earth with my sap--my only friend."
"You had better go to Hollyoaks and get some food.
"Hollyoaks?" he repeated, fixing his shining eyes on this--to him--very
extraordinary Gentile lady. "Do you live there? Is your name Cass?"
"Yes; I am the daughter of Mr. Cass, of Hollyoaks."
"Duvel! and you come here!" he said, under his breath, and casting a
glance at the cottage behind him.
"Why shouldn't I come here?" she asked, sharply. She fancied she saw an
uneasy look on his face.
"Oh, nothing, my sister--nothing. You have an aunt--she is not Romany?"
"Mrs. Marshall? No. She knows nothing of the calo jib. Why do you ask?"
Job burst out laughing, and nodded. "I go to her house for food
sometimes. She won't see me die for want of a crust. But you are her
niece," there was a puzzled look in his eyes. "Can I help you?"
"No. I only came to look at the place. There was a murder committed
here."
"Yes; but that was before I came into this part of the country. Well,
sister, what of that?"
"Nothing. You can go; I want to look round here for a time.
"I go, sister," he said, significantly. He held out the viper. "Will
you take the sap, my gorgeous Gentile lady?"
"Ugh! No." She recoiled with a shriek from the wriggling reptile. "Take
the nasty thing away!"
He stared and thrust it again into his bosom.
"Ho!" he said. "You are a queer Gentile, you--like a man for boldness;
yet you fear a sap! Oh, rare." And he slapped his knee with a chuckle.
"Go away," repeated Ruth. "Go to Hollyoaks and get some food."
"Duvel!" he cried, quickly. "I'm for the road. My hunger is great.
Farewell, sister, I shall see you again," and he swung off with a
hacking cough tearing him, and smiling his careless smile.
His tall form passed into the sunlight and vanished round a curve
of the road. Ruth watched him till he was out of sight, then took
her cane and began poking about the rubbish under the window where,
as Geoffrey surmised, the murderer had stood watching his intended
victim. On bending down to examine the ground more carefully, she saw
something glittering dimly. Almost without thinking she picked it up,
and found to her surprise and joy that it was an oval piece of gold
with a champagne bottle enamelled thereon with exquisite art. On the
other side was a catch which proved that the oval had formed part of a
cuff-link. Holding it in her small pink palm, Ruth looked now on this
treasure with the greatest delight.
"This was dropped by the murderer," she said to herself. "It was torn
from his shirt cuff as he struck the blow, or there might have been a
quick struggle. Fancying my finding it after all these years! The rain
from the eaves has laid it bare. Ah! then the assassin was a gentleman.
Well, I ought to be satisfied with my day's work, but I shall come
again. What good fortune to have found this the very first time."
She was so excited that she almost danced along the road as she took
her way home. But after a while she sobered down somewhat and glanced
suspiciously around for there had come upon her an undefinable feeling
of being watched.