The ponies and pet stag on the lawn at Llangorren wonder what it is all
about. So different from the garden parties and archery-meetings, of
which they have witnessed many a one! Unlike the latter in their quiet
stateliness is the excited crowd at the Court this day; still more, from
its being chiefly composed of men. There are a few women, also, but not
the slender-waisted creatures, in silks and gossamer muslins, who make
up an out-door assemblage of the aristocracy. The sturdy dames and
robust damsels now rambling over its grounds and gravelled walks are the
dwellers in roadside cottages, who at the words "Murdered or Missing,"
drop brooms upon half-swept floors, leave babies uncared-for in their
cradles, and are off to the indicated spot.
And such words have gone abroad from Llangorren Court, coupled with the
name of its young mistress. Gwen Wynn is missing, if she be not also
murdered.
It is the second day after her disappearance, as known to the household;
and now it is known throughout the neighbourhood, near and far. The
slight scandal dreaded by Miss Linton no longer has influence with her.
The continued absence of her niece, with the certainty at length reached
that she is not in the house of any neighbouring friend, would make
concealment of the matter a grave scandal in itself. Besides, since the
half-hearted search of yesterday new facts have come to light; for one,
the finding of that ring on the floor of the pavilion. It has been
identified not only by the finder, but by Eleanor Lees and Miss Linton
herself. A rare cluster of brilliants, besides of value, it has more
than once received the inspection of these ladies--both knowing the
giver, as the nature of the gift.
How comes it to have been there in the summer-house? Dropped, of
course; but under what circumstances?
Questions perplexing, while the thing itself seriously heightens the
alarm. No one, however rich or regardless, would fling such precious
stones away; above all, gems so bestowed, and, as Miss Lees has reason
to know, prized and fondly treasured.
The discovery of the engagement ring deepens the mystery instead of
doing aught towards its elucidation. But it also strengthens a
suspicion, fast becoming belief, that Miss Wynn went not away of her own
accord; instead, has been taken.
Robbed, too, before being earned off. There were other rings upon her
fingers--diamonds, emeralds, and the like. Possibly in the scramble, on
the robbers first seizing hold and hastily stripping her, this
particular one had slipped through their fingers, fallen to the floor,
and so escaped observation. At night and in the darkness, all likely
enough.
So for a time run the surmises, despite the horrible suggestion
attaching to them, almost as a consequence. For if Gwen Wynn had been
robbed she may also be murdered. The costly jewels she wore, in rings,
bracelets, and chains, worth many hundreds of pounds, may have been the
temptation to plunder her; but the plunderers identified, and fearing
punishment, would also make away with her person. It may be abduction,
but it has now more the look of murder.
By midday the alarm has reached its height--the hue and cry is at its
loudest. No longer confined to the family and domestics--no more the
relatives and intimate friends--people of all classes and kinds take
part in it. The pleasure grounds of Llangorren, erst private and sacred
as the Garden of the Hesperides, are now trampled by heavy, hobnailed
shoes; while men in smocks, slops, and sheepskin gaiters, stride
excitedly to and fro, or stand in groups, all wearing the same
expression on their features--that of a sincere, honest anxiety, with a
fear some sinister mischance has overtaken Miss Wynn. Many a young
farmer is there who has ridden beside her in the hunting-field, often
behind her no-ways nettled by her giving him the "lead;" instead,
admiring her courage and style of taking fences over which, on his cart
nag, he dares not follow--enthusiastically proclaiming her "pluck" at
markets, race meetings, and other gatherings wherever came up talk of
"Tally-ho."
Besides those on the ground drawn thither by sympathetic friendship, and
others the idly curious, still others are there in the exercise of
official duty. Several magistrates have arrived at Llangorren, among
them Sir George Shenstone, chairman of the district bench; the police
superintendent also, with several of his blue-coated subordinates.
There is a man present about whom remark is made, and who attracts more
attention than either justice of the peace or policeman. It is a
circumstance unprecedented--a strange sight, indeed--Lewin Murdock at
the Court! He is there, nevertheless, taking an active part in the
proceedings.
It seems natural enough to those who but know him to be the cousin of
the missing lady, ignorant of the long family estrangement. Only to
intimate friends is there aught singular in his behaving as he now does.
But to these, on reflection, his behaviour is quite comprehensible.
They construe it differently from the others--the outside spectators.
More than one of them, observing the anxious expression upon his face,
believe it but a semblance--a mask to hide the satisfaction within his
heart--to become joy if Gwen Wynn be found--dead.
It is not a thing to be spoken of openly, and no one so speaks of it.
The construction put upon Lewin Murdock's motives is confined to the
few; for only a few know how much he is interested in the upshot of that
search.
Again it is set on foot, but not as on the day preceding. Now no mad
rushing to and fro of mere physical demonstration. This day there is
due deliberation; a council held, composed of the magistrates and other
gentlemen of the neighbourhood, aided by a lawyer or two, and the
talents of an experienced detective.
As on the day before, the premises are inspected, the grounds gone over,
the fields traversed, the woods as well, while parties proceed up and
down the river, and along both sides of the backwash. The eyot also is
quartered, and carefully explored from end to end.
As yet the drag has not been called into requisition; the deep flood,
with a swift, strong current preventing it. Partly that, but as much
because the searchers do not as yet believe--cannot realise the fact--
that Gwendoline Wynn is dead, and her body at the bottom of the Wye!
Robbed and drowned! Surely it cannot be?
Equally incredible that she has drowned herself. Suicide is not thought
of--incredible under the circumstances.
A third supposition, that she has been the victim of revenge--of a
jealous lover's spite--seems alike untenable. She, the heiress, owner
of the vast Llangorren estates, to be so dealt with--pitched into the
river like some poor cottage girl, who has quarrelled with a brutal
sweetheart! The thing is preposterous!
And yet this very thing begins to receive credence in the minds of
many--of more, as new facts are developed by the magisterial enquiry,
carried on inside the house. There a strange chapter of evidence comes
out, or rather is elicited. Miss Linton's maid, Clarisse, is the author
of it. This sportive creature confesses to having been out on the
grounds as the ball was breaking up; and, lingering there till after the
latest guest had taken departure, heard high voices, speaking as in
anger. They came from the direction of the summer-house, and she
recognised them as those of Mademoiselle and Le Capitaine--by the latter
meaning Captain Ryecroft.
Startling testimony this, when taken in connection with the strayed
ring: collateral to the ugly suspicion the latter had already conjured
up.
Nor is the _femme de chambre_ telling any untruth. She was in the
grounds at that same hour, and heard the voices as affirmed. She had
gone down to the boat-dock in the hope of having a word with the
handsome waterman; and returned from it reluctantly, finding he had
betaken himself to his boat.
She does not thus state her reason for so being abroad, but gives a
different one. She was merely out to have a look at the illumination--
the lamps and transparencies, still unextinguished--all natural enough.
And questioned as to why she said nothing of it on the day before, her
answer is equally evasive. Partly that she did not suppose the thing
worth speaking of, and partly because she did not like to let people
know that Mademoiselle had been behaving in that way--quarrelling with a
gentleman.
In the flood of light just let in, no one any longer thinks that Miss
Wynn has been robbed; though it may be that she has suffered something
worse. What for could have been the angry words? And the quarrel; how
did it end?
And now the name Ryecroft is on every tongue, no longer in cautious
whisperings, but loudly pronounced. Why is he not here?
His absence is strange, unaccountable, under the circumstances. To none
seeming more so than to those holding counsel inside, who have been made
acquainted with the character of that waif--the gift ring--told he was
the giver. He cannot be ignorant of what is passing at Llangorren.
True, the hotel where he sojourns is in a town five miles off; but the
affair has long since found its way thither, and the streets are full of
it.
"I think we had better send for him," observes Sir George Shenstone to
his brother justices. "What say you, gentlemen?"
"Certainly; of course," is the unanimous rejoinder.
"And the waterman, too?" queries another. "It appears that Captain
Ryecroft came to the ball in a boat. Does anyone know who was his
boatman?"
"A fellow named Wingate" is the answer given by young Shenstone. "He
lives by the roadside, up the river, near Bugg's Ferry."
"Possibly he may be here, outside," says Sir George. "Go see!" This to
one of the policemen at the door, who hurries off. Almost immediately
to return--told by the people that Jack Wingate is not among them.
"That's strange, too!" remarks one of the magistrates. "Both should be
brought hither at once--if they don't choose to come willingly."
"Oh!" exclaims Sir George, "they'll come willingly," no doubt. Let a
policeman be despatched for "Wingate. As for Captain Ryecroft, don't
you think gentlemen, it would be only politeness to summon him in a
different way. Suppose I write a note requesting his presence, with
explanations?"
"That will be better," say several assenting.
This note is written, and a groom gallops off with it; while a policeman
on foot makes his way to the cottage of the Widow Wingate.
Nothing new transpires in their absence; but on their return--both
arriving about the same time--the agitation is intense. For both come
back unaccompanied; the groom bringing the report that Captain Ryecroft
is no longer at the hotel--had left it on the day before by the first
train for London!
The policeman's tale is, that Jack Wingate went off on the same day, and
about the same early hour; not by rail to London, but in his boat, down
the river to the Bristol Channel!
Within less than a hour after a police officer is despatched to
Chepstow, and further if need be; while the detective, with one of the
gentlemen accompanying, takes the next train for the metropolis.
Volume Two, Chapter XXI.