"This must be about the place where we heard it."
Although not a word has been said of what the "it" is, and the remark
seems made in soliloquy rather than as an interrogation, Wingate well
knows what is meant, as shown by his rejoinder:--
"It's the very spot, Captain."
"Ah! you know it?"
"I do--am sure. You see that big poplar standing on the bank there?"
"Yes; well?"
"We wor just abreast o' it when ye bid me hold way. In course we must a
heard the screech just then."
"Hold way now! Pull back a length or two. Steady her. Keep opposite
the tree!"
The boatman obeys; first pulling the back stroke, then staying his craft
against the current.
Once more relapsing into silence, Ryecroft sends his gaze down stream,
as though noting the distance to Llangorren Court, whose chimneys are
visible in the moonlight now on. Then, as if satisfied with some mental
observation, he directs the other to row off. But as the kiosk-like
structure comes within sight, he orders another pause, while making a
minute survey of the summer-house, and the stretch of water between.
Part of this is the main channel of the river, the other portion being
the narrow way behind the eyot; on approaching which the pavilion is
again lost to view, hidden by a tope of tall trees. But once within the
bye-way it can be again sighted; and when near the entrance to this the
waterman gets the word to pull into it.
He is somewhat surprised at receiving this direction. It is the way to
Llangorren Court, by the boat-stair, and he knows the people now living
there are not friends of his fare--not even acquaintances, so far as he
has heard. Surely the Captain is not going to call on Mr Lewin
Murdock--in amicable intercourse?
So queries Jack Wingate, but only of himself, and without receiving
answer. One way or other he will soon get it; and thus consoling
himself, he rows on into the narrower channel.
Not much farther before getting convinced that the Captain has no
intention of making a call at the Court, nor is the _Mary_ to enter that
little dock, where more than once she has lain moored beside the
_Gwendoline_. When opposite the summer-house he is once more commanded
to bring to, with the intimation added:
"I'm not going any farther, Jack."
Jack ceases stroke, and again holds the skiff so as to hinder it from
drifting.
Ryecroft sits with eyes turned towards the cliff, taking in its facade
from base to summit, as though engaged in a geological study, or
trigonometrical calculation.
The waterman, for a while wondering what it is all about, soon begins to
have a glimmer of comprehension. It is clearer when he is directed to
scull the boat up into the little cove where the body was found. Soon
as he has her steadied inside it, close up against the cliff's base,
Ryecroft draws out a small lamp, and lights it. He then rises to his
feet, and leaning forward, lays hold of a projecting point of rock. On
that resting his hand, he continues for some time regarding the
scratches on its surface, supposed to have been made by the feet of the
drowned lady in her downward descent. Where he stands they are close to
his eyes, and he can trace them from commencement to termination. And
so doing, a shadow of doubt is seen to steal over his face, as though he
doubted the finding of the Coroner's jury, and the belief of every one
that Gwendoline Wynn had there fallen over.
Bending lower, and examining the broken branches of the juniper, he
doubts no more, but is sure--convinced of the contrary!
Jack Wingate sees him start back with a strange surprised look, at the
same time exclaiming,--
"I thought as much! No accident!--no suicide--murdered!"
Still wondering, the waterman asks no questions. Whatever it may mean,
he expects to be told in time, and is therefore patient.
His patience is not tried by having to stay much longer there. Only a
few moments more, during which Ryecroft bends over the boat's side,
takes the juniper twigs in his hand, one after the other, raises them up
as they were before being broken, then lets them gently down again!
To his companion he says nothing to explain this apparently eccentric
manipulation, leaving Jack to guesses. Only when it is over, and he is
apparently satisfied, or with observation exhausted, giving the order,--
"Way, Wingate! Row back--up the river!"
With alacrity the waterman obeys; but too glad to get out of that
shadowy passage. For a weird feeling is upon him, as he remembers how
there the screech owls mournfully cried, as if to make him sadder when
thinking of his own lost love.
Moving out into the main channel and on up stream, Ryecroft is once more
silent and musing. But on reaching the place from which the pavilion
can be again sighted, he turns round on the thwart and looks back. It
startles him to see a form under the shadow of its roof--a woman!--how
different from that he last saw there! The ex-cocotte of Paris--faded
flower of the Jardin Mabille--has replaced the fresh beautiful blossom
of Wyeside--blighted in its bloom!
Volume Three, Chapter II.