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KITTY ALONE
MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH
KITTY ALONE
A STORY OF THREE FIRES
BY
S. BARING GOULD
AUTHOR OF
“IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA” “THE QUEEN OF LOVE”
“MEHALAH” “CHEAP JACK ZITA” ETC. ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. III
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.
LONDON
1894
CONTENTS OF VOL. II
----------
CHAP. PAGE
XXXVII. THE ANSWER OF CAIN 7
XXXVIII. WANTED AT LAST 16
XXXIX. ONE FOR THEE AND TWO FOR ME 25
XL. A GREAT FEAR 35
XLI. TAKING SHAPE 45
XLII. AN UGLY HINT 54
XLIII. MUCH CRY AND A LITTLE WOOL 64
XLIV. PUDDICOMBE IN F 74
XLV. DAYLIGHT 82
XLVI. A TRIUMPH 91
XLVII. PARTED 100
XLVIII. A SHADOW-SHAPE 110
XLIX. FLAGRANTE DELICTO 118
L. THE THIRD FIRE 128
LI. THE PASS’N’S PRESCRIPTION 137
LII. IN COURT 145
LIII. JASON’S STORY 156
LIV. CON AFFETTUOSO CAPRIZIO 165
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KITTY ALONE
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE ANSWER OF CAIN
The accommodation of the little inn was not extensive, so Pasco had to
be put into the same room with the lawyer, and Kitty slept with the
innkeeper’s daughter.
Pasco would have greatly preferred a room to himself. He was in a
condition of unrest. As it was not possible for him to return to Coombe
Cellars that night, he was in ferment of mind, uncertain whether it were
advisable that he should return there that week, whether he should not
go with Mr. Squire to Tavistock to make provision for the burial of his
uncle, and to see after his estate. He had added crime to crime to save
his credit as a man of substance, and all had been in vain. The
succession to his uncle’s estate supplied him with what he required. Why
had not the old man died a day earlier? Why, but that fate had impelled
him into crime only then to mock him. If fate could play such malicious
tricks with him, might it not pursue its grim joke further, lift the
veil, disclose what he had done, and just as the property of his
relative came to him, just as the money from the insurance company was
due–strike him down, drive him into penal servitude, if not send him to
the gallows? He tossed on his bed; he could not sleep.
At one moment he resolved to go with the solicitor to Tavistock, and
remain there till the funeral, or till he received news of what had
taken place at home. But a devouring desire to know what had happened,
what was the extent of his crime, to know whether Jason had escaped,
whether the fire had been put out, what his wife thought, what was the
general opinion relative to the fire,–all this drew him homewards.
Moreover, his sprained ankle and arm were painful, and he could lie on
one side only. In the night he put out his hand for his coat, drew it to
him, and groped for the box of lucifer matches. He desired to light a
candle, rise, and bind a wet towel round his foot.
But the box was missing.
Alarmed, he started from bed and explored the pockets of his trousers
and of his waistcoat, and then again went through all those of his coat,
but in vain. He had lost the box.
Here was fresh cause for uneasiness. Where had he lost it? Surely not at
Coombe Cellars. With a sigh of relief, he recalled having struck a light
in the linhay in Miller Ash’s field, and that it had excited the
interest of Kate. He had then slipped it back into his pocket, as he
believed. In all likelihood it had fallen out when he was thrown from
the cart on the moor.
Towards morning he dropped into broken sleep, from which he started
every few moments in terror, imagining that a constable was laying hold
of him, or that he saw Jason Quarm leaping upon him enveloped in flames.
When he woke, he saw the lawyer dressing himself and shaving. His face
was lathered about chin and neck and upper lip. He turned towards
Pepperill and said, “You are a nice fellow to have as a comrade in a
bedroom.”
“Am I? Well, I daresay I am,” answered Pasco, always prepared for a
recognition of his merits.
“I was speaking ironically, man,” said Mr. Squire. “By George! how you
did toss and tumble in the night. If I had had an uneasy conscience, you
would have kept me awake. What was the matter with you?”
“With me? Nothing. I never slept sounder.”
“Then you must give your wife bad nights at home. I thought it might
have been your spill.”
“Oh yes, to be sure it was that. I suffered in my arm and foot; and
look, I’m all black and yellow this morning. I shall go back at once to
Coombe Cellars.”
“You will? Why, man alive, we want you at Tavistock. There is your poor
uncle’s funeral, you know, to see to. I say, if we are to travel
together, you won’t cry over-much, will you? I love tears, but in
moderation.”
“I must return to the Cellars, if only for an hour. I wish to tell
Zerah’that’s my wife’our piece of good fortune’I mean, our sad
bereavement. And I must put together my black clothes and get my hat.”
“If it must be, it must. I wish you had been communicated with earlier.”
“Earlier? Was that possible?”
“Of course it was; the old gentleman died two days ago.”
“Two days ago? Why, to-day is Wednesday.”
“Well, his decease took place at five in the morning of Monday.”
“Why did you not tell me at once?” almost shrieked Pasco, swinging from
his bed, and then collapsing on his crippled foot.
“Bless you, man, it was not my place to do so. I knew nothing of you;
the housekeeper was the person he trusted. I came to know of it, as I
managed your uncle’s affairs. When I inquired about relatives, then I
heard of you, or rather got your address, and came off. You see, as he
died on Monday, it won’t do for you to be away long. The housekeeper has
instructions, and is a sensible woman, but you are the proper person to
be on the spot.”
“Is she honest? Will she make away with things?”
Mr. Squire shrugged his shoulders.
“I will run to Coombe; we will go in the chaise, and return to Tavistock
directly I have been there. Kitty shall be driven by the boy to Brimpts
in my trap.”
Pasco would not have his niece at Coombe for some time if he could help
it.
As soon as he was dressed he was impatient to be off. He hurried
breakfast, and hardly ate anything himself. He gave instructions that
Kate was to be sent on at once, and was not content till he had seen her
off. He had not deemed it prudent to warn her again not to speak of his
return to the Cellars after leaving Coombe. To do so might excite her
suspicions. Besides, she would be at Brimpts, where there was no one
interested in the affairs of Coombe’no one who belonged to it. It would
suffice to caution her when she came back to the Cellars, and that
return he would delay on one excuse or another.
When Pasco seated himself in the chaise beside the solicitor, an
expression of satisfaction came over his face. He was returning to
Coombe as a man of consequence, and in good society. How the villagers
would stare to see him in a carriage drawn by post-horses. An April
weather reigned in his heart, now darkening with apprehension, then
brightening with pride and self-satisfaction.
Ever and anon the ghastly figure of his brother-in-law in the sack,
burning, rose before his mind’s eye, but he put it from him.
As the chaise entered Ashburton, Pepperill said to his companion’“Will
you accommodate me with a sum of money till I come in for my
inheritance?”
“With the greatest pleasure, but I have not much loose cash about me.”
“You have your cheque-book. The circumstances are these’I owe money for
wool to a fellow named Coaker, and gave him a bill’unfortunately, I
could not meet it, the bank returned it, only a few days ago, and this
has made me very angry. I should like to show the bank and Coaker that I
am not the moneyless chap that they choose to consider me.”
“I shall be happy to assist you. Let us go to the bank at once; I’ll
settle that little matter with them. Shall I do it for you?”
“I shall be obliged, but I think I must go also.”
It was possible that the tidings of what had taken place might have
reached Ashburton’possible, though hardly probable.
His uneasiness was relieved when he entered the bank. No allusion was
made to any fire. The banker was profuse in his apologies. He could not
help himself. There were certain rules in his affairs that he was bound
to follow. He had no doubt it was an oversight of Mr. Pepperill not to
pay in the sum required, but a man so full of business as he was reputed
to be was liable to such slips of memory. The banker knew Mr. Squire by
reputation, was quite sure all was as it should be. He would at once
communicate with Coaker’indeed, Coaker was sure to be in Ashburton that
day, and let him have the money of the bill.
For some distance Pasco held up his head, and talked boastfully. He had
taught that banker what he really was. Everyone else knew he was a man
of his word and a man of substance. The solicitor was glad of this
change in his companion’s mood, and talked chirpily.
But the change in Pepperill’s manner did not last long. As he neared
Newton, he leaned back in the carriage. He did not desire to be
recognised and saluted with the news of the fire. The chaise drew up for
the horses to be watered at the inn which had been rebuilt after a fire.
“Will you have a drop of something?” asked the solicitor. “I shall
descend for a minute. I suppose we have not got far to go now?”
He left the chaise, and left the door open. Pasco closed it, and being
affected with sneezing, opened his pocket-handkerchief and buried his
face in the napkin, as the landlord came to the door.
He did not lower the kerchief, he listened from behind it to the host
conversing with Mr. Squire.
“Fine morning, sir’come from far?”
“No, nothing very great to-day. Off the moor and through Ashburton.”
“Going on to Teignmouth, sir?”
“No, only to a place called Coombe.”
“Coombe-in-Teignhead? You haven’t many miles more. Nice place. Just
heard there has been a fire there.”
“Indeed. Insured?”
“Can’t say, sir. My little place was burnt down. A tramp slept in the
tallat over the pigs and set it ablaze with his pipe. Happily, I was
insured, and now I have a very respectable house over my head. What will
you please to take, sir?”
“Some rum and milk, I think.”
Then Mr. Squire and the landlord went within, and Pasco lowered his
kerchief. He wished he had heard more’that the man had entered into
particulars, and yet he dared not inquire.
Presently the lawyer stepped into the carriage. The host attended him,
and in shutting the door, caught sight of Pasco.
“Halloo!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Pepperill, have you heard the news?”
“News’what news?”
“Why, rather bad for you. There’s been a terrible fire at your place.”
“The house?”
“I really don’t know particulars. They say it’s been dreadful. I’m sorry
to have to say it, but I hope there’s no lives lost, and that you are
insured.”
“Drive on!” shouted Pasco to the postilion. “Drive on’lose no time.
There is a fire at my house.”
The horses whirled away, and Pasco no longer disguised his nervousness.
It was natural that he should be uneasy.
“You needn’t trouble yourself,” said Mr. Squire. “If lives had been lost
you would have heard, and if you are insured to full value, well”’
On reaching the summit of the hill whence Coombe was visible, a sickly
scented smoke was wafted into the carriage windows.
“By George, I can smell it!” exclaimed the solicitor. “It is a sort of
concentrated essence of burnt wool.”
“Then my stores are gone!” cried Pepperill. “And all the fleeces for
which I have just borrowed two hundred pounds of you to pay’all lost.
I’m a ruined man.”
“Not a bit,” answered the lawyer. “You are insured.”
The postilion needed no urging; he cracked his whip, and the horses flew
down hill, the chaise rattled through the village, past the church and
the inn, whence the host came out to see whether a distinguished guest
was coming, and drew up at the entrance to the paddock before the
Cellars.
A crowd of villagers, men, women, and children, was assembled round the
wreck of the storehouse, from which volumes of smoke still ascended.
Every now and then stones and bricks exploded, and the children shouted
or screamed if a hot cinder flew out and fell near them.
Pasco burst out of the carriage and rushed towards his house, pushed his
way through the assembled crowd, and ran to his door.
There stood Zerah, ghastly in her pallor, her usually well-ordered hair
dishevelled, with clenched hands held to her breast, a look of despair
in her face. Directly she saw her husband, she shrank from him, and when
he put out his hands to her, she thrust him away, with an expression of
horror.
“I will not be touched by you,” she said hoarsely. “Where is Jason?”
“Jason? Am I his keeper?”
“The answer of Cain,” retorted Zerah. “This is your doing. I knew it
would come, when you insured. And you have destroyed my brother also. O
my God! my God! Would that I had never seen this day!”