MRS. HILL EXPLAINS
An hour later Allen was conversing with his mother. Mr. Hill, carried
into the house by Allen, had been revived; but he steadfastly refused
to speak as to the cause of his fainting; and put it down to the heat
of the weather and to his having taken too long a walk. These excuses
were so feeble that the son could not help his lip curling at their
manifest untruth. Hill saw this and told Allen he would lie down for
an hour or so. "When I rise I may tell you something," he said feebly.
"I think we may as well understand one another," said Allen coldly.
"Bring in here those things which came in the parcel," said Hill.
"Only one thing came," replied his son--"a rough cross----"
"Yes--yes--I know. Bring it in--paper and box and all. Where did you
get it?"
Allen explained how Jane Wasp received it from Cain at Colchester, and
Mr. Hill listened attentively. "I understand now," he said at length.
"Put the things in my study. I'll see you later--say in two hours."
The young man, wondering what it all meant, departed and left his
father to take--on the face of it--a much needed sleep. He went
outside and picked up the cross, the box, and the paper, which
still remained on the grassy bank near the gate. These he brought
into the study, and examined them. But nothing was revealed to his
intelligence. The box was an ordinary cardboard one; he did not
recognise the ill-formed writing, and the cross was simply two
sticks tied together by a wisp of dry grass. Why the contents of
the box should have terrified his father Allen could not say. And
that the sight of the symbol did terrify him, he was well assured,
since Mr. Hill was not a man given to fainting. The box came from
some one who knew Mr. Hill well, as the name Lawrence was on it,
and this was his father's second name rarely used. Mr. Hill
usually called himself Harold, and suppressed the Lawrence. But
Allen had seen the middle name inscribed in an old book, which had
been given by Strode to Hill in their college days. This
coincidence made Allen wonder if the sending of the cross and the
use of the rarely used name had anything to do with the murder.
While he thus thought, with his face growing darker and darker,
the door opened and Mrs. Hill entered. She had been working in her
own room, and knew nothing of the affair. But some instinct made
her aware that Allen was in the house, and she never failed to be
with him when he was at home. Indeed, she was hardly able to bear
him out of her sight, and seized every opportunity to be in his
presence. With this love it was strange that Mrs. Hill should be
content that Allen should remain in South America for so long, and
pay only flying visits to the paternal roof.
"You are back, Allen," she said softly, and came forward to lay
her hand on his wrinkled forehead. "My dear boy, why that frown?
Has Eva been unkind?"
"Oh no," said Allen, taking his mother's hand and kissing it, "she
will not marry me yet."
"Foolish girl. What does she intend to do--stop with Mrs. Merry, I
suppose, which is a dull life for her? Far better if she came to
me, even if she will not marry you at once."
"She has accepted the position of companion to Mrs. Palmer."
"Indeed," said Mrs. Hill, looking surprised; "I should have thought
her pride would have prevented her placing herself under an
obligation."
Allen shrugged his shoulders. "There is no obligation," he said; "Eva
is to be paid a salary. Besides, she likes Mrs. Palmer, and so do I."
"She is not a lady," said Mrs. Hill, pursing up her lips.
"Nevertheless she has a kind heart, and will make Eva very happy.
I think, mother, it is the best that can be done. Eva doesn't want
to come here, and she will not marry me until the murderer of her
father is discovered."
"Why won't she come to me?" asked Mrs. Hill sharply.
Allen looked down. "She doesn't like my father," he said.
"Very rude of her to tell you that. But I know my poor Harold is
not popular."
"He is whimsical," said Allen, "and, somehow, Eva can't get on with
him. She was not rude, mother, but simply stated a fact. She likes
my father well enough to meet him occasionally, but she would not
care to live with him. And if it comes to that," added Allen
frowning, "no more should I. He is too eccentric for me, mother, and
I should think for you, mother."
"I am fond of your father in my own way," said Mrs. Hill, looking down
and speaking in a low voice, as though she made an effort to confess
as much. "But does Eva expect to find out who murdered Mr. Strode?"
"Yes. She refuses to marry me until the assassin is found and
punished. As she was bent on searching for the man herself, I offered
to search for her."
Mrs. Hill frowned. "Why did you do that?" she asked sharply; "Strode
is nothing to you, and you have to return to America. Far better
find that capitalist you want, than waste your time in avenging the
death of that man."
"You don't seem to like Mr. Strode, mother."
"I hate him," said the woman harshly and clenching her fist: "I have
cause to hate him."
"Had my father cause also?" asked Allen pointedly.
She looked away. "I don't know," she answered gloomily. "Strode and
your father were very intimate all their lives, till both married.
Then we saw very little of him. He was not a good man--Strode, I mean,
Allen. If my word has any weight with you, stop this search."
The young man rose and began to pace the library. "Mother, I must take
up the search," he said in an agitated voice, "for my father's sake.
No one but myself must search for the assassin."
"What do you mean by that?" questioned Mrs. Hill, sitting very
upright and frowning darker than ever.
Allen replied by asking a question. "Who knows that my father is called
Lawrence, mother?"
Mrs. Hill uttered an ejaculation of surprise and grew pale. "Who
told you he was called so?"
"I found the name in an old book of Cowper's poems given by Mr.
Strode to my father in their college days. It was presented to
Harold Lawrence Hill."
"I remember the book," said Mrs. Hill, recovering her composure. "But
what is odd about your father having two names? He certainly has
dropped the Lawrence and calls himself simply, Harold Hill--but that
is for the sake of convenience. Only those who knew him in his young
days would know the name of Lawrence."
"Ah!" said Allen, thoughtfully turning over the brown paper, "then this
was sent by some one who knew him in his young days."
Mrs. Hill looked at the brown paper covering, at the box, and at the
roughly-formed cross. "What are these?" she asked carelessly.
"That is what I should like to know," said her son; "at least I should
like to know why the sight of this cross made my father faint."
Mrs. Hill gasped, and laid her hand on her heart as though she felt
a sudden pain. "Did he faint?" she asked--"did Lawrence faint?" The
young man noticed the slip. Usually his mother called his father Mr.
Hill or Harold, but never till this moment had he heard her call him
Lawrence. Apparently the memory of old events was working in her
breast. But she seemed genuinely perplexed as to the reason of Hill's
behaviour at the sight of the cross. "Where did he faint?"
"Outside the gate," said Allen quickly, and explained how he had
received the parcel from Jane Wasp, and the circumstance of its
delivery, ending with the query: "Why did he faint?"
"I can't say," said Mrs. Hill, pushing back the cross and box
pettishly; "there is no reason so far as I know. We'll ask your father
when he awakens."
"He said he would explain," said Allen sadly; "and between you and me,
mother, we must have an explanation."
"Your father won't like the use of the word 'must,' Allen."
"I can't help that," said the young man doggedly, and went to the
door of the library. He opened it, looked out, and then closed it
again. His mother saw all this with surprise, and was still more
surprised when Allen spoke again. "Do you know, mother, why I say I
must undertake this investigation?"
"No," said Mrs. Hill calmly; "I don't know."
"It is because I wish to save my father's good name."
"Is it in danger?" asked the woman, turning pale again.
"It might be--if any one knew he met Mr. Strode at the Red Deeps on
the night of the murder."
Mrs. Hill leaped to her feet and clutched her son's arm. "Allen,"
she gasped, and the ashen colour of her face alarmed him, "how dare
you say that--it is not possible--it cannot--cannot--"
"It is possible," said Allen firmly. "Sit down, mother, and let me
explain. I held my tongue as long as I could, but now my father and I
must have an explanation. The fact of his fainting at the sight of
this cross makes me suspicious, and the fact that Eva wants to
investigate the case makes me afraid of what may come out."
"Has the cross anything to do with the affair?"
"Heaven, whose symbol it is, only knows," said the young man gloomily.
Mother, "I am moving in the darkness, and I dread to come into the
light. If I undertake this search I may be able to save my father."
"From what--from--from----"
Allen nodded and sank his voice. "It may even come to that.
Listen, mother, I'll tell you what I know. On that night I went to
the Red Deeps to prove the falsity of Eva's dream, I found it only
too true."
"But you never got to the Red Deeps," said Mrs. Hill, looking
steadily into her son's face, "you sprained your ankle."
"So I did, but that was _after_ I knew the truth."
"What truth?"
"That Eva's dream was true; that her father was lying dead by the
spring of the Red Deeps."
Mrs. Hill looked still more searchingly at him. "You saw that?"
"I did--in the twilight. I reached there before it grew very
dark. I found the body, and, as in Eva's dream, I recognised it
by the gloved right hand----"
"The wooden hand," moaned Mrs. Hill, rocking herself. "Oh,
heavens!"
"Yes! The whiteness of the glove caught my eyes. From what Eva had
told me, I had no need to guess who was the dead man. The wooden
hand explained all. The corpse was that of Strode, shot through
the heart."
"But there was a slight flesh wound on the arm, remember," said Mrs.
Hill.
"I know, but I did not notice that at the time," said Allen quickly.
"At first, mother, I intended to give the alarm, and I was hurrying
back to Wargrove to tell Wasp and Jackson, when I caught sight of a
revolver lying in the mud. I took it up--there was a name on the
silver plate on the butt. It was----" Allen sank his voice still
lower. "It was my own name."
"The revolver was yours?"
"Yes. I brought it with me from South America, and kept it in my
portmanteau, since a weapon is not needed in England. But one day I
took it out to shoot some birds and left it in this library. I never
thought about it again, or I should have put it away. The next sight I
got of it was in the Red Deeps, and I thought----"
"That your father took it to shoot Strode!" burst out Mrs. Hill. "You
can't be certain of that--you can't be certain. No, no, Lawrence!"
again she used the unaccustomed name. "Lawrence would never commit a
murder--so good--so kind--no, no."
Allen looked surprised. He never expected his mother to stand up for
his father in this way. Hill, so far as the son had seen, was not kind
to any one, and he certainly was not good. Why Mrs. Hill, who seemed
to have no particular affection for him, should defend him in this way
puzzled the young man. She saw the effect her speech had produced and
beckoned Allen to sit down. "You must know all," she said--"you must
know how I came to marry your father; and then you will know why I
speak as I do, Allen." She laid a trembling hand on his shoulder. "You
never thought I was fond of your father?"
Allen looked embarrassed. "Well, no, mother. I thought you tolerated
him. You have strength to rule the house and the whole county if you
chose to exert it, but you let my father indulge in his whims and
fancies, and allow him to speak to you, as he certainly should not
do. Oftentimes I have been inclined to interfere when hearing how
disrespectfully he speaks, but you have always either touched me, or
have given me a look."
"I would let no one lay a finger on your father, Allen, no one--let
alone his son. I don't love your father, I never did, but"--she
drew herself up--"I respect him."
The young man looked aghast. "I don't see how any one can respect
him," he said. "Heaven only knows I should like to be proud of my
father, but with his eccentricities----"
"They cover a good heart."
"Well, mother, you know best," said Allen soothingly. He did not
think his father possessed a good heart by any manner of means. The
young fellow was affectionate, but he was also keen sighted, and Mr.
Hill had never commanded his respect in any way.
"I _do_ know best," said Mrs. Hill in a strong tone, and looked
quite commanding. "Allen, are you aware why I am so fond of Eva?"
"Because she is the most charming girl in the world," said the
lover fondly. "Who could help being fond of Eva?"
"Women are not usually fond of one another to that extent," said
Mrs. Hill drily; "and a mother does not always love the girl who
is likely to take her son away. No, Allen, I don't love Eva so
much for her own sake as because she is the daughter of Robert
Strode."
"I thought you disliked him--you said he was not a good man."
"Neither he was, Allen. He was the worst of men--but I loved him
all the same. I should have married him, but for a trouble that
came. I have never told any one what I am about to tell you, but
you must know. I don't believe your father killed Strode, and you
must do your best to keep him out of the investigation. With your
father's sensitive nature he would go mad if he were accused of
such a crime."
"But my revolver being found in----"
"That can be explained," said Mrs. Hill imperiously. "I shall ask
Harold"--she went back to the old name being calmer. "I shall ask
him myself to explain. He is innocent. He is whimsical and
strange, but he would not kill a fly. He is too good-hearted."
Allen wondered more and more that his mother should be so blind. "I
am waiting to hear," he said resignedly.
"You will not repeat what I say to Eva?"
"To no one, mother. Great heavens, do you think I would?"
"If you took after your father, poor, babbling soul, you would."
"Ah," Allen kissed her hand, "but I am your own son, and know how to
hold my tongue. Come, mother, tell me all."
"Then don't interrupt till I end; then you can make your
comments, Allen." She settled herself and began to speak slowly.
"Both my parents died when I was a young girl, and like Eva Strode I
was left without a penny. I was taken into the house of Lord Ipsen as
a nursery governess----"
"What! Eva's mother----"
"I did not teach her, as she was my own age, but I taught her younger
brother, who afterwards died. You promised not to interrupt, Allen.
Well, I was comparatively happy there, but Lady Ipsen did not like
me. We got on badly. There was a large house-party at the family seat
in Buckinghamshire, and I was there with my charge. Amongst the
guests were Mr. Strode and your father. They were both in love with
Lady Jane Delham."
"What! my father also? I never knew----"
"You never shall know if you interrupt," said his mother imperiously;
"wait and listen. I loved Mr. Strode, but as he was favoured by Lady
Jane I saw there was no chance for me. Your father then had not come
in for his money, and his father, ambitious and rich, was anxious that
he should make an aristocratic match. That was why he asked Lady Jane
to be his wife. She refused, as she loved Robert Strode. I felt very
miserable, Allen, and as your father was miserable also, he used to
console me. He was much appreciated for his talents in the house, and
as he was a great friend of Mr. Strode's his lack of birth was
overlooked. Not that I think Lord Ipsen would have allowed him to
marry Lady Jane. But he never guessed that Harold lifted his eyes so
high. Well, things were in this position when the necklace was
lost--yes, the necklace belonging to Lady Ipsen, a family heirloom
valued at ten thousand pounds. It was taken out of the safe." Mrs.
Hill dropped her eyes and added in a low voice, "I was accused."
Allen could hardly believe his ears, and rose, filled with
indignation: "Do you mean to say that any one dared to accuse you?"
"Lady Ipsen did. She never liked me, and made the accusation. She
declared that she left the key of the safe in the school-room. As
I was very poor, she insisted that I had taken it. As it happened
I did go to London shortly after the robbery and before it was
found out. Lady Ispen said that I went to pawn the necklace. I
could not prove my innocence, but the Earl interfered and stood
by me. He insisted that the charge was ridiculous, and made the
detectives which Lady Ipsen had called in, drop the investigation.
I was considered innocent by all save Lady Ipsen. The necklace
was never found, and has not been to this day. I was discharged
with hardly a penny in my pocket and certainly with no friend.
In spite of people saying I was innocent I could not get another
situation. I should have starved, Allen, and was starving in
London when your father came like an angel of light and--married me."
"Married you? Did he love you?"
"No, he loved Lady Jane, but she married Mr. Strode. But your father
was so angered at what he considered an unjust charge being made
against me, that he risked his father's wrath and made me his wife."
"It was noble of him," said Allen, "but----"
"It was the act of a saint!" cried Mrs. Hill, rising. "His father
cut him off with a shilling for what he did. I was penniless,
deserted, alone. I would have died but for Lawrence. He came--I
did not love him, nor he me, but I respect him for having saved a
broken-hearted woman from a doom worse than death. Allen, Allen,
can I ever repay your father for his noble act? Can you wonder
that I tolerate his whims--that I let him do what he likes? He
saved me--he surrendered all for me."
"He did act well," admitted Allen, puzzled to think that his
whimsical, frivolous father should act so nobly, "but you made him
happy, mother. There is something to be said on your side."
"Nothing! nothing!" cried Mrs. Hill with the martyr instinct of a
noble woman; "he gave up all for me. His father relented after a
time, and he inherited a fortune, but for a year we almost starved
together. He married me when I was under a cloud. I can never repay
him; never, never, I tell you, Allen," she said, facing him with
clenched fists, "if I thought that he committed this crime, I would
take the blame on myself rather than let him suffer. He saved me.
Shall I not save him?"
"Was the person who stole the necklace ever discovered, mother?"
"No, the necklace vanished and has never been found to this day.
I met Lady Jane Strode when she came here. She did not believe me
to be guilty, and we were good friends. So you see, Allen, it is
small wonder that I let your father do what he likes. Why should
I cross the desires of a man who behaved so nobly? Sometimes I do
interfere, as you know, for at times Harold needs guidance--but
only rarely."
"Well, mother, I understand now, and can say nothing. But as to
how the revolver came to the Red Deeps----"
"Your father shall explain," said Mrs. Hill, moving to the door; "come
with me."
The two went to the room at the back of the house where Hill had lain
down. It was one of the Greek apartments where the little man
sometimes took his siesta. But the graceful couch upon which Allen had
left him lying an hour previous was empty, and the window was open on
to the Roman colonnade. There was no sign of Mr. Hill.
"He must have gone into the garden," said the wife, and stepped out.
But there was no sign of him there. The gardener was working in the
distance, and Mrs. Hill asked him where his master was.
"Gone to London, ma'am," was the unexpected answer; "Jacobs drove him
to the Westhaven Station."
Allen and his mother looked at one another with dread in their eyes.
This sudden departure was ominous in the extreme.