A NEW LIFE
Nothing new was discovered after the inquest, although all inquiries
were made. Butsey had vanished. He was traced to Westhaven after his
interview with Wasp, and from that place had taken the train to
London. But after landing at Liverpool Street Station, he
disappeared into the world of humanity, and not even the efforts of
the London police could bring him to light. No weapon had been found
near the Red Deeps spring, nor could any foot-marks be discerned
likely to lead to a detection of the assassin. Mr. Strode had been
shot by some unknown person, and it seemed as though the affair
would have to be relegated to the list of mysterious crimes. Perhaps
the absence of a reward had something to do with the inactivity
displayed by Garrit and Wasp.
But how could a reward be offered when Eva had no money? After the
funeral, and when the dead man had been bestowed in the Strode vault
under St. Peter's Church, the lawyer called to see the girl. He told
her coldly, and without displaying any sympathy, that her father had
left no money in his hands, and that he could do nothing for her. Eva,
having been brought up in idleness, was alarmed at the prospect before
her. She did not know what to do.
"I must earn my bread in some way," she said to Mrs. Merry a week
later, when consulting about ways and means. "I can't be a burden on
you, Nanny."
"Deary," said the old woman, taking the girl's hand within her
withered claws, "you ain't no burden, whatever you may say. You stay
along with your old nurse, who loves you, an' who has fifty pound a
year, to say nothing of the castle and the land."
"But, Nanny, I can't stay on here for ever."
"And you won't, with that beauty," said Mrs. Merry sturdily,
"bless you, deary, Mr. Allen will marry you straight off if you'll
only say the word; I saw him in the village this very day, his
foot being nearly well. To be sure he was with his jelly-fish of a
pa; but I took it kind of him that he stopped and spoke to me. He
wants to marry you out of hand, Miss Eva."
"I know," said the girl flushing; "I never doubted Allen's love. He has
asked me several times since the funeral to become his wife. But my
poor father----"
"Poor father!" echoed Mrs. Merry in tones of contempt; "well, as he was
your pa after all, there ain't nothing to be said, whatever you may
think, Miss Eva. But he was a bad lot."
"Mrs. Merry, he's dead," said Eva rebukingly. The old woman
rubbed her hands and tucked them under her apron. "I know that,"
said she with bright eyes, "and put 'longside that suffering
saint your dear ma: but their souls won't be together whatever
you may say, deary. Well, I'll say no more. Bad he was, and a
bad end he come to. I don't weep for him," added Mrs. Merry
viciously; "no more nor I'd weep for Giles if he was laid out,
and a nasty corp he'd make."
Eva shuddered. "Don't speak like that."
"Well then, deary, I won't, me not being wishful to make your young
blood run cold. But as to what you'll do, I'll just tell you what
I've thought of, lying awake. There's the empty room across the
passage waiting for a lodger; then the cow's milk can be sold, and
there's garden stuff by the bushel for sale. I might let out the
meadow as a grazing ground, too," said Mrs. Merry, rubbing her nose
thoughtfully, "but that the cow's as greedy a cow as I ever set eyes
on, an' I've had to do with 'em all my born days, Miss Eva. All
this, rent free, my dear, and fifty pounds in cash. You'll be as
happy as a queen living here, singing like a bee. And then when the
year's mourning is over--not as he deserves it--you'll marry Mr.
Allen and all will be gay."
"Dear Nanny," said the girl, throwing her arms round the old woman's
neck, "how good you are. But, indeed I can't."
"Then you must marry Mr. Allen straight away."
"I can't do that either. I must earn my bread."
"What," screeched Mrs. Merry, "and you a born lady! Never; that
saint would turn in her grave--and I wonder she don't, seeing she's
laid 'longside him as tortured her when alive. There's your titles,
of course, Lord Ipsen and his son."
"I wouldn't take a penny from them," said Eva colouring. "They
never took any notice of me when my father was alive, and----"
"He didn't get on well with 'em," cried Mrs. Merry; "and who did he
get on with, I ask you, deary? There's Lady Ipsen--she would have
made much of you, but for him."
"I don't like Lady Ipsen, Nanny. She called here, if you remember,
when my mother was alive. I'm not going to be patronised by her."
"Ah, Miss Eva," said the old dame admiringly, "it's a fine, bright,
hardy spirit of your own as you've got. Lady Ipsen is as old as I
am, and makes herself up young with paint and them things. But she
has a heart. When she learned of your poverty----"
Eva sprang to her feet. "No! no! no!" she cried vehemently, "never
mention her to me again. I would not go to my mother's family for
bread if I was starving. What I eat, I'll earn."
"Tell Mr. Allen so," said Mrs. Merry, peering out of the window;
"here he comes. His foot 'ull get worse, if he walk so fast," she
added, with her usual pessimism.
Allen did not wait to enter in by the door, but paused at the open
window before which Eva was standing. He looked ill and white and
worried, but his foot was better, though even now, he had to use a
stick, and walked slowly. "You should not have come out to-day,"
said Eva, shaking her finger at him.
"As Mrs. Mountain would not go to Mr. Mahomet," said Allen, trying to
smile, "Mr. Mahomet had to come to Mrs. Mountain. Wait till I come in,
Eva," and he disappeared.
The girl busied herself in arranging an arm-chair with cushions, and
made her lover sit down when he was in the room. "There! you're more
comfortable." She sat down beside him. "I'll get you a cup of tea."
"Don't bother," murmured Allen, closing his eyes.
"It's no bother. In any case tea will have to be brought in. Mrs.
Palmer is coming to see me soon. She wants to talk to me."
"What about?"
"I can't say; but she asked me particularly to be at home to-day. We
can have our talk first, though. Do smoke, Allen."
"No. I don't feel inclined to smoke."
"Will you have some fruit?"
"No, thank you," he said, so listlessly that Eva looked at him in
alarm. She noted how thin his face was, and how he had lost his
colour.
"You do look ill, Allen."
He smiled faintly. "The foot has pulled me down."
"Are you sure it's only the foot?" she inquired, puzzled.
"What else should it be?" asked Allen quietly; "you see I'm so used
to being in the open air, that a few days within doors, soon takes my
colour away. But my foot is nearly well. I'll soon be myself again.
But, Eva," he took her hand, "do you know why I come."
"Yes," she said looking away, "to ask me again to be your wife."
"You have guessed it the first time," replied Allen, trying to be
jocular; "this is the third time of asking. Come, Eva," he added
coaxingly, "have you considered what I said?"
"You want me to marry you at once," she murmured.
"Next week, if possible. Then I can take you with me to South
America, and we can start a new life, far away from these old
vexations. Come, Eva. Near the mine, where I and Parkins are
working, there's a sleepy old Spanish town where I can buy the most
delightful house. The climate is glorious, and we would be so happy.
You'll soon pick up the language."
"But why do you want me to leave England, Allen?"
Hill turned away his head as he answered. "I haven't enough money to
keep you here in a proper position," he said quietly. "My father
allows me nothing, and will allow me nothing. I have to earn my own
bread, Eva, and to do so, have to live for the time being in South
America. I used to think it exile, but with you by my side, dearest,
it will be paradise. I want to marry you: my mother is eager to
welcome you as her daughter, and----"
"And your father," said Eva, seeing he halted. Allen made a
gesture of indifference. "My father doesn't care one way or the
other, darling. You should know my father by this time. He is
wrapped up in himself. Egotism is a disease with him." Eva twisted
her hands together and frowned. "Allen, I really can't marry you,"
she said decisively; "think how my father was murdered!"
"What has that to do with it?" demanded Allen almost fiercely.
"Dear, how you frighten me. There's no need to scowl in that way.
You have a temper, Allen, I can see."
"It shall never be shown to you," he said fondly. "Come, Eva."
But she still shook her head. "Allen, I had small cause to love my
father, as you know. Still, he has been foully murdered: I have made
up my mind to find out who killed him before I marry."
Allen rose in spite of his weak ankle and flung away her hand. "Oh,
Eva," he said roughly, "is that all you care for me? My happiness is
to be settled in this vague way----"
"Vague way----?"
"Certainly!" cried Hill excitedly; "you may never learn who killed
your father. There's not a scrap of evidence to show who shot him."
"I may find Butsey," said Eva, looking obstinate.
"You'll never find him; and even if you do, how do we know that he can
tell?"
"I am certain that he can tell much," said Miss Strode determinedly.
"Think, Allen. He sent the telegram probably by order of my father's
enemy. He came suddenly on those men at midnight when they were
carrying the body. What was a child like that doing out so late, if
he wasn't put up to mischief by some other person? And he knocked as
happened in my dream, remember," she said, sinking her voice; "and
then he came here with a lying message on the very day my father's
wooden hand was stolen."
"Do you think he stole it?"
"Yes, I do; though why he should behave so I can't say. But I am quite
sure that Butsey is acting on behalf of some other person--probably
the man who killed my father."
Allen shrugged his shoulders frowningly. "Perhaps Butsey killed Mr.
Strode himself," he said; "he has all the precocity of a criminal."
"We might even learn that," replied Eva, annoyed by Allen's tone; "but
I am quite bent on searching for this boy and of learning who killed
my father and why he was killed."
"How will you set about it?" asked Allen sullenly.
"I don't know. I have no money and no influence, and I am only a
girl. But I'll learn the truth somehow."
Hill walked up and down the little room with a slight limp, though
his foot was much better and gave him no pain. He was annoyed that
Eva should be so bent on avenging the murder of her father, for he
quite agreed with Mrs. Merry that the man was not worth it. But he
knew that Eva had a mulish vein in her nature, and from the look
on her face and from the hard tones of her voice, he was sure she
would not be easily turned from her design. For a few minutes he
thought in silence, Eva watching him intently. Then he turned
suddenly: "Eva, my dear," he said, holding out his hands, "since
you are so bent upon learning the truth leave it in my hands. I'll
be better able to see about the matter than you. And if I find out
who killed your father----"
"I'll marry you at once!" she cried, and threw herself into his arms.
"I hope so," said Allen in a choked voice. "I'll do my best, Eva;
no man can do more. But if I fail, you must marry me. Here, I'll
make a bargain with you. If I can't find the assassin within a
year, will you give over this idea and become my wife?"
"Yes," said Eva frankly; "but I am certain that the man will be
found through that boy Butsey."
"He has to be found first," said Allen with a sigh, "and that is
no easy task. Well, Eva, I'll settle my affairs and start on this
search."
"Your affairs!" said Eva in a tone of surprise.
"Ah," said the young man smiling, "you have seen me idle for so
long that you think I have nothing to do. But I have to get back
soon to Bolivia. My friend Parkins and I are working an old silver
mine for a Spanish Don. But we discovered another and richer mine
shown to me by an Indian. I believe it was worked hundreds of
years ago by the Inca kings. Parkins and I can buy it, but we have
not the money. I came home to see if my father would help me. But
I might have spared myself the trouble: he refused at once. Since
then I have been trying all these months to find a capitalist, but
as yet I have not been successful. But I'll get him soon, and then
Parkins and I will buy the mine, and make our fortunes. I wish
you'd give up this wild goose chase after your father's murderer,
and let us go to Bolivia."
"No," said Eva, "I must learn the truth. I would never be happy if
I died without knowing who killed my father, and why he was
killed."
"Well, then, I'll do my best. I have written to Parkins asking
him to give me another six months to find a capitalist, and I
shall have to take rooms in London. While there I'll look at the
same time for Butsey, and perhaps may learn the truth. But if I
don't----"
"I'll marry you, if you don't find the assassin in a year," said
Eva embracing him. "Ah, Allen, don't look so angry. I don't want
you to search all your life: but one year--twelve months----"
"Then it's a bargain," said Allen kissing her: "and, by the way, I
shall have the assistance of Parkins's brother."
"Who is he?" asked Eva; "I don't want every one to----"
"Oh, that's all right. Parkins tells me his brother is shrewd and
clever. I may as well have his assistance. Besides, I got a letter
from Horace Parkins--that's the brother, for my man is called
Mark--and he is in town now. He has just come from South Africa, so
he may know of your father's doings there."
"Oh," Eva looked excited, "and he may be able to say who killed him!"
Allen shrugged his shoulders. "I don't say that. Your father may
have had enemies in England as well as in Africa. But we'll see. I
have never met Horace Parkins, but if he's as good a fellow as his
brother Mark, my chum and partner, he'll do all he can to help me."
"I am sure you will succeed, Allen," cried Eva joyfully; "look how
things are fitting in. Mr. Parkins, coming from Africa, is just the
person to know about my father."
Young Hill said nothing. He fancied that Horace Parkins might know
more about Mr. Strode than Eva would like to hear, for if the man
was so great a scamp in England, he certainly would not settle
down to a respectable life in the wilds. However he said nothing
on this point, but merely reiterated his promise to find out who
murdered Robert Strode, and then drew Eva down beside him. "What
about yourself?" he asked anxiously.
"I don't know. Mrs. Merry wants me to stop here."
"I should think that is the best thing to do."
"But I can't," replied Eva, shaking her head; "Mrs. Merry is poor. I
can't live on her."
"I admire your spirit, Eva, but I don't think Mrs. Merry would think
you were doing her anything but honour."
"All the more reason I should not take advantage of her kindness."
Allen laughed. "You argue well," he said indulgently. "But see here,
dearest. My mother is fond of you, and knows your position. She wants
you to come to her."
"Oh, Allen, if she were alone I would love to. I am very
devoted to your mother. But your father----"
"He won't mind."
"But I do," said Eva, her colour rising. "I don't like to say so to
you, Allen, but I must."
"Say what?"
"That I don't like your father very much."
"That means you don't like him at all," said the son coolly. "Dear
me, Eva, what unpleasant parents you and I have. Your father and
mine--neither very popular. But you won't come?"
"I can't, Allen."
"You know my father is your dead father's dearest friend."
"All the same I can't come."
"What will you do, then?" asked Allen vexed.
"Go out as a governess."
"No; you must not do that. Why not----"
Before Allen could propose anything the door opened and Mrs. Merry,
with a sour face, ushered in Mrs. Palmer. The widow looked prettier
and brighter than ever, though rather commonplace. With a
disdainful sniff Mrs. Merry banged the door.
"Eva, dear," said Mrs. Palmer. "Mr. Hill, how are you? I've come on
business."
"Business?" said Eva surprised.
"Yes. Pardon my being so abrupt, but if I don't ask you now I'll lose
courage. I want you to come and be my companion."