A FATAL SILENCE
BY FLORENCE MARRYAT
AUTHOR OF ‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘VÉRONIQUE,’ ETC., ETC., ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES_
VOL. I.
LONDON
GRIFFITH FARRAN OKEDEN & WELSH
NEWBERY HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD
AND SYDNEY.
D.: G. C. & CO.: 30.91. _The Rights of Translation and of Reproduction
are reserved._
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
AN UNWELCOME MEETING, 1
CHAPTER II.
MR GRIBBLE’S DISCOVERY, 21
CHAPTER III.
A GOOD BROAD HINT, 37
CHAPTER IV.
THE CROSS-EXAMINATION, 52
CHAPTER V.
THE CONFESSION, 70
CHAPTER VI.
HIGHBRIDGE FARM, 91
CHAPTER VII.
PAULA LEAVES DEEPDALE, 112
CHAPTER VIII.
AT GRASSDENE, 136
CHAPTER IX.
ALL DOUBT DISPELLED, 158
CHAPTER X.
A SOLEMN PROMISE, 186
CHAPTER XI.
HAL BREAKS THE NEWS TO DEEPDALE, 211
CHAPTER XII.
MRS GRIBBLE’S TEA-PARTY, 235
A FATAL SILENCE.
CHAPTER I.
AN UNWELCOME MEETING.
Market day at Haltham, and the primitive little town in an uproar.
Huge oxen, with shaggy coats and wide-spreading horns, were being
driven along the road, and floundering in their dismay against any
luckless passenger that crossed their path. Meek sheep, with their
lambs trotting by their side and all baa-ing in concert, followed
after, whilst ducks and geese quacked and hissed, and the ploughboys
and farming maidens shouted at each other with scarcely less discordant
noise.
Miss Stafford was glad to be above it all.
She stood on the rustic pathway, which was raised several feet above
the road, and was protected by stout green posts connected by iron
chains, on which the country children loved to swing. Lottie and Carrie
Gribble, who had been left in her charge, had run into the very midst
of the excitement, and she looked as concerned as a hen whose foster
ducklings have taken to the water as she drew her dainty cambric skirts
closely around her, to prevent contact with the dirty crowd, and called
to them to return to her side. Market day was the one great event of
the week to the inhabitants of Haltham, but Miss Stafford came from the
neighbouring village of Deepdale, seven miles off, and was not used
to so much bustle. She looked annoyed as she was elbowed and pushed
by farming men and market women eager to reach their stalls, or to
inspect the tempting array of articles exhibited in the shop windows
for their benefit. There was only one shop of each kind in Haltham,
so that the spirit of competition did not run high. Mr Spring, the
stationer, was standing at his door, rubbing his hands and smiling, as
Miss Stafford called to the Gribble girls. He knew her well. She was
the certificated schoolmistress of Deepdale, and all the slates and
copy books and pens and ink for the use of the school were bought at
his shop.
‘Ah, Miss Stafford,’ he exclaimed, ‘anything in my line to-day? I have
just received the choicest selection of hymn books. Won’t you step in
and look at them?’
‘In a moment, Mr Spring--indeed, I have a long list for you. But I must
wait for Lottie and Carrie Gribble. They are very naughty. They have
run right across the road. And you know how very particular Mrs Gribble
is.’
Mr Spring lifted his hands and eyes as though to intimate that no one
knew it better than himself, but at that moment quite a little crowd
entered his shop, where he sold all sorts of fancy articles, and he
was compelled to go and attend to them. Presently, Miss Stafford,
having recaptured the children, two ugly little animals of eight and
ten, followed in his wake, and took her stand by the counter till he
could attend to her. She looked singularly interesting as she did
so, and very different in appearance from those around her. Indeed,
she was more than interesting, she was a very handsome young woman
of about five-and-twenty, but she seemed to have taken great pains
to conceal her beauty. She could not hide her soft, white skin, nor
her long-fringed, dark-blue eyes, but her mass of reddish-brown hair
was strained off her face in a most unbecoming manner, and tucked
away at the back of her head, and she wore a coarse straw bonnet
which almost concealed her features. Her slight figure was plainly
draped in a lilac cambric gown, covered with a summer shawl; but
there was an unmistakable air of refinement about her--to those who
knew how to read the signs--that her dowdy attire had no power to
take away, and which made it difficult to believe that she was only
a village schoolmistress. _Some_ people in Deepdale (but they were
mostly women) thought that Mr Gribble and Mr Axworthy (who were the
churchwardens of the place) had not acted with their usual discretion
in engaging Miss Stafford to superintend the education of the rising
generation. They considered she was too young, and--well, certainly
not too _pretty_, for they saw nothing at all in her--but too flighty
and ‘wool-gathering’ to hold so responsible a position, and they
prophesied that no good would come of it. So far the flightiness had
not been apparent, but Miss Stafford’s thoughts certainly seemed to be
oftener away from her work than interested in it. She toiled through
the monotonous routine day after day with unswerving fidelity, but
she had a dreamy and abstracted air that looked as if her heart and
head did not go hand in hand. Her beautiful eyes were very sad too,
and there was an unaccountably pathetic droop at the corners of her
mouth--unaccountable, that is, to the matrons who were set over her and
watched her so closely. What, indeed, could anyone wish for more than
Miss Stafford possessed? A most excellent and responsible position,
mistress of Deepdale school, with three rooms all to herself under
the same roof, gas and water free, and sixty pounds a year. Why, it
was a little fortune in itself, and many excellent _Christian_ women
would be thankful for it. And when the married ladies of Deepdale said
‘Christian,’ they emphasised the word to such a degree that anyone
would have thought that Miss Stafford was a heathen. However, she had
obtained the appointment, and held it, and here she was at Mr Spring’s
counter with a list of school necessaries in her hand.
‘And what may be your pleasure, miss?’ asked Mr Spring as she
approached him.
‘Oh, I want so many things, Mr Spring, I think I had better wait till
you have served your other customers. There is no hurry. I will look
over some of these picture books till you are more at leisure.’
‘Teacher! teacher!’ cried Carrie Gribble, tugging at her sleeve, ‘get
us some of them ciphering books with red and blue covers--will yer?’
‘_Those_ ciphering books, my dear,’ corrected Miss Stafford in a low
voice. ‘No; we don’t require any to-day. You must wait till another
time.’
‘Teacher,’ exclaimed the other torment, in a nasal twang, ‘buy me a
ball. I want that big ’un in the corner. Tell ’im to reach it down.’
‘Hush, Lottie, you must not be so rude. Your papa has given me no
permission to buy you anything. Who is to pay for the ball?’
‘Why can’t _you_?’ replied the child rudely.
‘Because I do not choose to do so,’ said Miss Stafford firmly. ‘Sit
down at once, and be good; or I shall inform your papa of your
behaviour.’
The two children obeyed, for there was something in the teacher’s
manner which they dared not dispute; but they sat together sulkily,
and watched with the keenest attention everything that took place.
As Miss Stafford turned from them to examine a pile of illustrated
children’s books, something touched her elbow. A farmer’s wife,
in pressing forward to ask for a bottle of ink and a penholder,
had squeezed the baby she carried--a bouncing boy of a twelvemonth
old--against the teacher. The child chuckled and cooed. Miss Stafford
turned to look at it, and a wonderful transformation seemed to take
place in the expression of her features. The stern look, almost of
disgust, certainly of impatience, with which she had spoken to the
little Gribbles faded away, and a sad but heavenly smile beamed on her
face instead. She stretched out her hand and laid it on the infant’s
uncovered head. The boy chuckled again good-temperedly. Miss Stafford
stooped and kissed him silently.
‘Lor!’ said Lottie to Carrie, under her breath, ‘just look at teacher
kissing that baby! She never kissed one of _us_. I’ll tell ma of that
as soon as we get home.’
At that moment a burly man, dressed in a suit of blue serge, beneath
the open jacket of which might be seen a knitted woollen vest, rolled
into the little shop, and being unable to approach the counter, bawled
at the top of his voice,--
‘Here, mister. Hand us over a couple o’ sheets of paper and some
_an_velopes, will you? I only came into the town to-day, and can’t get
at my togs. Why!’--he continued as he caught sight of Miss Stafford’s
face, which had turned deadly white upon his entrance--‘God bless us
and save us! It’s madame.’
‘No, no!’ cried Miss Stafford, shrinking backward as the stranger
extended his hand, ‘you are mistaken. You must mean someone else.’
‘_Mistaken!_’ repeated the man, who was evidently a seaman,
‘_mistaken_, madame! Why, I’d know you in a thousand.’
The teacher threw a hurried glance towards the corner where the Gribble
girls sat with open eyes and ears, and seemed suddenly to think better
of her first intention.
‘Of course,’ she said, with a nervous laugh, ‘I know you
now--perfectly--and--and--I should like to speak to you. Come this way;
we can finish our shopping afterwards,’ and she slipped out of the door
and stood upon the pathway.
‘Where have you come from?’ she asked with trembling lips as soon as
they were alone.
‘Well, madame--’ he commenced.
‘Oh, pray don’t call me by that name,’ she rejoined. ‘I am known here
only as Miss Stafford. I am a schoolmistress at Deepdale, and I want to
forget everything else.’
‘I see,’ replied the sailor. ‘And you’re doing well, I hope, and pretty
comfortable.’
‘Oh, yes, I have _peace_, and that is all I strive for. Brunt, you must
not tell anyone you saw me here.’
‘Well, I don’t know as I’m likely to be put in the way of it. It was
quite an accident my coming across you. I’m just home from China, and I
thought I’d take a look at my old mother afore I started again. When I
came to Haltham I found I couldn’t get a train on to Bonnysett (that’s
our place) till six to-morrow morning, so I thought I’d have a walk
round the market. And to think I should have come acrost you--and bless
you!--not looking a day older for all that’s happened.’
‘Yes, yes; but I cannot stop. I came over with some friends, and they
may call for me at any moment.’
‘And you’re a school teacher. Well, to think of it. It wasn’t much in
our thoughts aboard the _Lily of Christiansand_, was it now?’
Miss Stafford shuddered visibly.
‘Oh, don’t speak of them--those terrible days! Thank God that they are
over for ever. Good-bye, Brunt. I wish you all prosperity, but I must
go.’
‘I should like to have had a word or two with you, though,’ said Seth
Brunt, stroking his enormous beard. ‘Now that we’ve come acrost each
other again, I’ve got one or two things to tell you that I think you
ought to know.’
‘Not about _him_!’ she ejaculated, with scared eyes.
‘Yes, madame--I beg your pardon, I means Miss Stafford--about _him_. It
won’t poison you to hear it, you know, and I was always his friend, and
always shall be. Now, where can I see you this evening?’
Her face blanched, but she stood her ground.
‘Nowhere. It is impossible. I live miles away from here. You could not
come. It is too far.’
‘Oh, no, it is not. I will walk over this evening.’ Then, noticing her
perturbation, he added: ‘Of what are you afraid?’
‘Of nothing,’ she answered proudly. ‘Nothing can harm me now.’
‘You are right, madame. Do you live alone?’
‘Yes, quite alone. Even my little maid goes home at night to her
mother. If you _must_ speak to me, you will find me, after seven
o’clock, in the schoolhouse at Deepdale. Only, say nothing of this to
anybody, if you ever cared for me.’
‘You know that I did care--that I _do_ care,’ replied Brunt roughly as
she went back into the shop.
Her first fearful glance was directed towards the odious Gribble
children, whispering and grinning to each other.
‘Now, Mr Spring,’ she said as she held out a paper to him with a
trembling hand, ‘these are the articles I require. Will you have them
packed at once to go home in Mr Gribble’s phaeton?’
‘Teacher,’ cried Lottie, catching at her skirt, ‘who’s the man with the
long beard?’
‘No one whom you know, my dear,’ replied Miss Stafford quietly,
although her face flushed with annoyance.
‘Oh, you _are_ red!’ exclaimed the other little wretch. ‘I expect he’s
been scolding you. Is he your cousin, teacher? Lottie and me never
let Cousin Tom scold us. If he tries it on, we thump him till he runs
away. Don’t we, Lottie? Oh, I say, here’s pa and the phaeton. Come
on, teacher, we are going home,’ and away the two creatures ran, and
climbed into the vehicle that had drawn up before the door.
Mr Gribble sat in it pompously. He was a little man, with a ferrety
face and weak eyes, and he was obliged to make up by his manner for the
dignity with which nature had not seen fit to endow him. He had married
late in life, and his two daughters were the only produce of his
union. It was a pity they were daughters, for they had inherited their
father’s prematurely aged appearance and general want of comeliness,
joined to unpleasant dispositions. Still, three Mr Gribbles might have
been too much for this world. He was a retired corn-chandler, but still
held some interest in the shop at Haltham, which he visited each market
day. Generally, Mrs Gribble, in a wonderful velvet bonnet, which she
wore all the year round, sat in state by his side, but she had been
unable to come on the present occasion, and so he had offered the
vacant place to Miss Stafford. He professed to be laying her under an
immense obligation by driving her into Haltham, but he had only asked
her in order that she might look after his unruly children. It was not
the only offer of an escort that she had received that day, although
she considered it the most discreet for acceptance. But she hated Mr
Gribble, and, as she issued from the stationer’s shop to join him, her
eyes almost said so.
‘Come, now, Miss Stafford,’ he exclaimed snappishly, ‘jump in at once,
and don’t keep the mare waiting. She has had several stoppages this
morning, and it has made her fidgety.’
He did not move from his place, nor offer to assist her in any way,
and the parcel from the stationer’s being stowed under the seat, she
prepared to step into the rickety old phaeton, for which purpose she
had to descend by some rugged steps cut at intervals in the raised
pathway to the road.
‘Let me help you, Miss Stafford,’ cried a young, cheerful voice.
Mr Gribble glanced up quickly at the newcomer, and the school teacher
blushed. He was a man of perhaps seven-and-twenty, dressed in a brown
velveteen coat and knickerbockers. His worsted stockings showed off a
well-covered and well-made leg, and the white silk handkerchief knotted
loosely round his throat, and the rose in his buttonhole, proved he was
somewhat of a provincial dandy. He had a frank, open countenance, a
clear eye and complexion, and a genial smile--taken altogether, indeed,
he was a model of a fresh, good-looking young farmer, with a fair
amount of intellect added to his personal characteristics.
‘Mr Rushton,’ said Mr Gribble formally.
‘At your service,’ cried the other, as he held out his hand to help
Miss Stafford down the broken steps, and then he continued: ‘Ah, Miss
Stafford, what a traitor you are. You refused to drive into Haltham
with _me_ this afternoon, yet here I find you philandering with
Gribble.’
‘Mr Rushton, be good enough to remember that _my daughters_ are
present,’ said Mr Gribble in a grandiloquent tone.
‘Pretty dears! So they are,’ returned Hal Rushton carelessly. ‘You’ve
missed something, Miss Stafford, I can assure you. The new horse is
simply perfect. I was here in forty minutes. You would have enjoyed it
much better than jogging along in a phaeton.’
‘_You_ proposed to drive Miss Stafford into Haltham in your
_dog-cart_?’ interposed Mr Gribble, with uplifted eyebrows.
‘Certainly. Just as _you_ proposed to drive her in your phaeton.
Where’s the difference, Mr Gribble?’
‘All the difference in the world, sir. _I_ am a married man!’
Hal Rushton burst into a prolonged peal of laughter. ‘Oh, you married
men!’ he commenced. But Mr Gribble would not stay to hear the
conclusion of his speech. Miss Stafford was settled in her seat, and
touching up the old mare, he drove quickly from the spot. As soon,
however, as they were clear of the town, he alluded to the subject.
‘I trust, Miss Stafford,’ he said, ‘that you will not encourage an
intimacy with Mr Rushton. He is not a desirable acquaintance for any
young woman, in my opinion, and is a source of great disquietude to his
excellent stepmother and his afflicted young brother, Mr Edward Snaley.’
‘I think he is exceedingly generous and kind to both of them,’ replied
Miss Stafford warmly; for although she had accepted a dependent
position, she was not to be sat upon by anybody. ‘Mr Snaley is no
relation whatever to Mr Rushton, and yet he enjoys all the privileges
of a brother at Highbridge Farm. Few young men would do as much for
him; and when Mr Rushton marries, I expect Mr Snaley will find his
position considerably altered.’
Mr Gribble turned round and stared her in the face. ‘Hoity toity!’
he exclaimed. ‘The young man appears to have gained an able advocate
in you, Miss Stafford. At the same time I must beg you will cease to
cultivate his acquaintance.’
‘I am not aware,’ she replied coldly, ‘that I am answerable to anybody
for the selection of my friends, Mr Gribble.’
‘Oh, yes, you are, ma’am. The position you fill in Deepdale is a very
responsible one, and it is the business of myself and my brother
churchwardens, to say nothing of our pastor, Mr Measures, and his
excellent lady, to see that the souls of the young people under your
charge are not tampered with. They must not be permitted to come in
contact with anybody likely to contaminate or unsettle them. Mr Rushton
is not a pious man, Miss Stafford, and no fit friend for you.’
‘My pupils are not likely to come in contact with him, or anybody
else,’ returned Miss Stafford. ‘You know that no one (except such as
have a right to do so) ever enters the schoolroom.’
‘Of course not. I should be sure to hear of it if they did,’ said Mr
Gribble, looking at his wizened-faced offspring, who were eagerly
listening to what passed between him and ‘teacher.’ ‘But Mr Rushton’s
views and ideas may unsettle _you_, and through you the innocents
committed to your care. It must not be, Miss Stafford--it must not be.’
The young woman disdained to make any further reply, but sat silent and
indignant by his side for the remainder of the drive, only addressing
an occasional remark to one of the little girls. She dreaded every
minute to hear them burst out something about the man with the long
beard, but they were too cunning to moot the subject in her presence.
She wished now she had not given Seth Brunt permission to visit her,
but she had hardly known how to refuse an old acquaintance. Life
proved sometimes too hard a puzzle to the poor girl, and she had not
solved the secret to go through it comfortably. The petty tyranny of
Mr Gribble and Mr Axworthy, and the matrons of Deepdale, often ground
into her soul, and made her wish she had never accepted the appointment
she held; but it was bread and meat to her, and she had sorely wanted
both. Deepdale, as its name denoted, lay in a valley, and when once
the old mare began to go down hill, she scented her stable, and it
was difficult to stop her. The schoolroom stood near the church and
quite half a mile away from the brand-new villa to which Mr Gribble had
retired from business. He drew up sharply before the door.
‘Now, Miss Stafford, be quick please,’ he exclaimed, just as he had
done when she was about to enter it. ‘Jennie won’t wait a second when
she’s so near home. Jump out. Lottie, throw your teacher the parcel.
That’s right,’ and loosening the reins, he was off again before she had
time to say ‘thank you.’
She picked up the heavy parcel of stationery and walked slowly into the
deserted schoolhouse. It was a half-holiday, of course, or else she
could not have gone to Haltham. As she passed through the Gothic porch
of grey stone she unlocked a door on her left and entered her own room.
Even this was empty. The little maiden who waited on her had received
permission to return home early that day and leave her evening duties
to her employer. Miss Stafford placed her parcel on the table, and
laying aside her bonnet and shawl, busied herself in preparing a cup of
tea.