AT COVE CASTLE
Five miles from Hurseton the marshes began and did not end until they
touched the coast. There were acres of mud and reeds and succulent
grasses, interspersed with narrow waterways. In rainy weather this
low-lying land--if it could be called so--almost disappeared under
water, and in summer the poisonous morass exhaled white mists which
caused fever and ague. The people who dwelt on the border of the slough
of despond were rarely healthy, but they were attached to the dismal
neighborhood and refused to move to higher ground where they would have
enjoyed better health. What was good enough for their fathers was good
enough for them, was the argument upon which they based their refusal.
The road from Hurseton changed where the marshes began to a causeway and
ran solid and high across the treacherous bog towards the coast. Here it
took a sudden turn, and passed through several fishing villages on its
way to Market-on-Sea. And thence between hedges it passed onward to
London, a road once more. Some distance from the curve an arm of the
causeway ran for a quarter of a mile to Cove Castle, which was built on
a firm and elevated spot of ground, near a kind of estuary which
communicated with the sea. The sea itself was only distant half a mile,
and a fine view of it could be obtained from the castle. Why the
building should be called by so high-sounding a name, it is hard to say.
It was simply a large stone house of two story, with a kind of tower at
one end. Formerly, in the reign of Elizabeth, it had been a fort, and
afterwards, falling into decay, had been used by smugglers for the
storing of contraband goods. In the reign of George III., the then Lord
Conniston being disgusted with life, and anxious to isolate himself from
the gay world, in which he had glittered to the detriment of his purse
and health, had bought the property and there had lived and died. At
that time the family possessed several seats and a town house. But the
Georgian Conniston preferred this unhealthy neighborhood, as least
likely to attract his former friends. So no one visited him, and he
lived and died a recluse. Afterwards the castle was deserted again, the
successors of this lordly hermit preferring to live in more healthy
parts. But gradually the property had been sold bit by bit, until, when
Dick, the present lord, inherited, nothing remained to him but Cove
Castle and the few acres around. Also he possessed the family vault,
which was underneath the Church of St. Agnes at the village of Benstow,
three miles away. It was strange that the members of the family should
have decided to be buried in this lonely place, when they could have
rested in some green churchyard in the Midlands. But, seeing that Cove
Castle alone remained to their descendants, it was just as well that the
former holders of the title had entertained this odd idea. The present
Lord Conniston at least retained, out of the wreck of the property, the
vault wherein the remains of his forebears were laid.
When Conniston arrived at the castle he was met at the door by a
gigantic female of uncommon ugliness, who answered to the name of Selina
Moon. She was large enough to have earned an income by exhibiting
herself in a caravan, being considerably over six feet, and sufficiently
ugly to shame even the witches in Macbeth. Had Mrs. Moon lived in the
Middle Ages, she would assuredly have been put to death for sorcery, as
her looks seemed hardly human. She had the frame of a grenadier and the
voice of a drill sergeant. Her face was large and round and pallid, from
a long life in the midst of the marshes. A few grey hairs on her upper
lip gave her a still more masculine look, and, indeed, the least
observant would have taken her for a man in disguise. She wore a frilled
cap, which surrounded her face like the rays of a sunflower, and wore a
vivid red gown bound at the waist by a yellow scarf. Mrs. Moon loved
bright colors, and apparently, if one could judge from her black eyes
and beaked nose, had something of the gipsy in her. Not so far as
wandering was concerned, though, for she rarely left the castle. This
was because her great size, coupled with her love of finery, provoked
comment from adults and insults from children whenever she ventured
abroad.
This Amazonian female, from her height of six feet five, looked down on
Conniston with a submissive air. She was as timid as a rabbit, the most
harmless of her sex, and report went, that the late Mr. Moon, who had
been almost a dwarf, had frequently beaten her in spite of her superior
inches. However, the old man was dead, and for many a long day Mrs. Moon
had lorded it over the one servant in the castle. But she still wore her
submissive air, and when her master imperiously demanded a sight of the
gentleman who was expecting him, led the way at once to an upper room.
"But I wouldn't take everyone," said Mrs. Moon in a thin, high voice
like the midnight wind in a chimney. "He being wishful to keep hisself
quiet. What have he done, my lord?"
"Nothing," said Conniston, promptly. "He only came down here for a rest.
Do you think he has robbed the bank?"
"There's worse things than robbing banks," remarked Mrs. Moon, shaking
her frilled cap portentously, "and the worse things is what he's done.
And why shouldn't he tell me his name if he was a babe for innocence?"
"Didn't he do so when he arrived?" asked Conniston, halting on the
landing with an anxious look.
"No, my lord, bless your heart! he didn't," said the giantess; "and but
that he had your letter, which was as plain as print----"
"And _was_ print," interpolated Dick, remembering his caligraphy adapted
to the brains of Mrs. Moon.
"I shouldn't have let him in. But your lordship said he was to have the
best room, and the best room he has, to say nothing of your lordship's
clothes, he having arrived in tatters like a tramp, which he isn't from
the princely looks of him. No one knows as he is here, he having asked
me to say nothing. But Victoria----"
"What about her?" asked Conniston, rather sharply, for Victoria was a
small servant, preternaturally sharp and mighty curious.
"She's allays asking questions as to what he's doing here."
"Then, don't answer her questions."
"I don't," said Mrs. Moon, plaintively, "and but that she's so strong
I'd smack her hard. But only Jerry could manage her, and, bless me! your
dear lordship, he's earning his bread in London, though I haven't heard
of him for months."
"He's not in the place I obtained for him," said Conniston, stopping at
the door of the room indicated by the housekeeper. "He's robbed the till
and bolted."
Mrs. Moon was not all disturbed. "Just like his poor father, my second
son," said she, shaking the frilled cap again. "He was a wonderful boy
for money and never minded how he got it. Have they jailed Jerry?" she
asked, with great simplicity.
Conniston could hardly help smiling at the calm way in which she took
the report of her grandson's wickedness. "No, his master turned him out
and gave him another chance."
"Bless and preserve your dear lordship, Jerry won't take no chance, as I
always said, being advised by the cards. It's the gallers that boy will
come to, and may I not be here to see him dangling at the end of a rope,
much as he may deserve it. Jerry's a bad 'un, for sure, and takes after
my old man's side of the family, several having been choked by the lawr
for thieving and murdering and otherwise taking their enjoyment. Where
is he now?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Moon. But if he comes here, don't you let him into
the castle and don't you let him know that Mr.--Mr. Grant"--Dick gave
Bernard a new name for the sake of concealment--"is here."
"Grant!" echoed Mrs. Moon. "But he don't look Scotch."
"Never you mind what he is. You hold your tongue and make Victoria hold
hers."
"Only Jerry can manage her," said Mrs. Moon, firmly, "me not being
strong enough for such a tearing cat. If your lordship would speak
yourself----"
"I'll see to it," interrupted Conniston, quickly. "I'm stopping here for
the night, Mrs. Moon. Can you give me and Mr.--er--Grant a good dinner?"
"I'll cook it myself, Victoria being fond of burning things and her
pastery being lead for heaviness. The wine your lordship knows----"
"Is there any of that port left?"
"Plenty, save what Jerry drank, he being fond of his glass."
"What! a boy of thirteen, Mrs. Moon!" said Conniston, seriously. "If you
had stifled Jerry in the mud years ago it would have been better for him
and for you."
Mrs. Moon blew a gigantic sigh. "True enough, your lordship, seeing as
he'll occupy a place in the Chamber of Horrors in the exhibition me and
Moon saw in London. Ah, well, some of his grandfather's people were
hanged and----"
Conniston waited to hear no more of this domestic Newgate's Calendar,
but abruptly opened the door and entered the room.
It was a large, airy apartment, with two windows looking on to the
shining expanse of the sea, and well furnished in an old-fashioned way.
In a large grate a fire of logs was briskly burning, so that the
atmosphere was less damp than in the other rooms of the castle. The
furniture was all of black oak, and included a square table, a
comfortable sofa which was drawn up close to the fire, and several
arm-chairs. Also there was a sideboard and a bookcase well supplied with
volumes of works long since out of print. The hangings were of faded
brocade, and the carpet was patched and mended. Here and there was
valuable china and a few silver ornaments. The whole room looked
comfortable and home-like, and rather quaint in its faded and mellow
beauty.
"Where are you, Bernard?" asked Conniston, seeing the room was empty.
For answer a window curtain was drawn aside and Gore came out, holding
the heavy steel poker. "It's only you," he said, looking very pale. "I
heard voices and concealed myself behind the curtain. I expected you,
but didn't know but what someone else might come. That servant suspects
me."
"Not Mrs. Moon," said Conniston, pitying the haggard looks of his
friend.
"No, Victoria. She is as sharp as a needle and--"
"Don't distress yourself, old boy," said Dick, taking Gore's hand and
leading him to the sofa upon which he had been apparently lying until
startled by the sound of voices. "Mrs. Moon can be depended upon and
I'll speak to Victoria myself. You are safe here."
"Are you sure, Dick?"
"Perfectly sure. And even if you were discovered I could manage to
conceal you in the vaults below the castle."
"Are there vaults?" asked the fugitive, who was shivering and pale.
"Yes! The old smugglers used them to store goods and as hiding-places.
There is a passage and door communicating with the arm of the sea which
runs near the castle, and you could easily escape to foreign parts by
means of a boat. Cheer up, old boy," added Dick, clapping his friend on
the back, "you're not dead yet."
The poor, hunted young fellow threw his arm schoolboy fashion over
Conniston's shoulder. "What a good fellow you are, Dick!" he said. "I
fancied you might believe me guilty."
"I'd as soon believe myself guilty, you several kinds of ass."
"And Alice?" asked Bernard, under his breath.
"She believes you innocent, so does Aunt Berengaria and Durham. Yes! and
Miss Randolph also. She's a ripping girl that. I wish she wasn't engaged
to Beryl, the pig!"
"What does he say?" asked Gore, warming his hand and casting a look over
his shoulder.
"He says nothing, because he thinks you are drown-dead, as Mr. Peggotty
would say. And, by Jove! Bernard, I thought you really were dead. You
have no idea what a relief it was when I got your letter. How did you
escape?"
Bernard passed his hand through his hair and sighed wearily. The strain
through which he had passed, and from which he still suffered, showed
itself in his bloodless cheeks and his wild eyes. At every sound he
started and shook. His nerves, and small wonder, were quite unstrung,
and even while sitting safely beside his old school chum on the sofa
near the fire, he kept a tight hold of him, like a child by its mother's
knee. Seeing this, Conniston rose quickly. Bernard was on his feet in a
moment, startled by the suddenness of the movement.
"What's the matter?" he demanded, looking anxiously around, and eyeing
both door and window suspiciously.
"You are the matter," said Conniston, touching the bell. "I must get you
some wine. You look so awfully ill, old chap. This will never do. I tell
you, Bernard, you are all right. I'll stick to you through thick and
thin."
"But if I was arrested?"
"You won't be arrested. Everyone thinks you are dead. You'll stay here
until we sift this matter to the bottom, and then you can take your
place again in the world as Sir Bernard Gore."
"Sir Bernard!"
"Of course. You inherit the title and the money also."
"Not the money, Dick?"
"Yes! Durham told me to tell you, as he couldn't come himself. He is now
reading the will and Beryl will find himself left out in the cold. You
get everything."
Bernard threw up his hands. "And I'm a hunted fugitive."
"Steady, old boy. Bite on the bullet. You're a dead man, and will remain
one until we discover who killed your grandfather."
"And how can we----"
"Shut up, Bernard!" Conniston made an imperative sign as a knock came
to the door. Gore at once turned his face to the fire and began to
arrange the logs, while Lord Conniston spoke to a sharp, dark, wizen
child who entered the room. She was no more than fifteen, but had such
an old face and such a womanly appearance that she looked much older.
Her eyes were as black as sloes and her thin lips tightly closed. A
most unpleasant-looking creature with a waspish nature.
"Oh, Victoria," said Conniston, as this goblin dropped a curtsey, "I
want you to bring up some port wine.--Mrs. Moon will give it to you--and
some glasses also."
"Yes, m'lord!"
"Bring a plate of biscuits too."
"Yes, m'lord!"
"And, Victoria," said the young man, as she retreated, "there is no need
for you to mention that I have visitors at the castle."
"No, m'lord," said Victoria, and, with a glance full of suspicion at
Bernard's back, she withdrew as noiselessly as she entered, and with a
final curtsey, such as might have been made by a wooden doll. Indeed,
Victoria--a most inappropriate name--might well have been cut out of
wood, so stiff and angular and hard did she look. Conniston did not
wonder that placid Mrs. Moon could not control this embryo virago. A
combat between them would be like that between an elephant and a
mosquito, with the betting on the insect.
"That's a mistake, Dick," said Bernard, when the door closed.
"What is?" asked Conniston, staring.
"Telling that girl to hold her tongue. She has no reason to suspect me,
and quite as likely as not thought me merely your guest. Now she will
fancy all sorts of things."
"I hope not," said Conniston, uneasily, "but she's such a little devil
that I thought it best to give her one for herself. And if she chatters
she will lose her situation. I am so afraid lest she should be in
communication with Jerry."
"Jerry?"
"Judas. The grandson of Mrs. Moon who robbed Taberley. He and Victoria
were as thick as thieves, and are about equal in wickedness. If the girl
suspected anything she might ask Judas to help her to learn more of the
truth than we want known. Both would sell their nearest and dearest for
a pound. But don't bother, Bernard," said the easy-going Dick, again
crossing to the sofa, "everything is right."
"I hope so, I hope so," muttered Gore. "If I am arrested I cannot make
any defence."
"We'll talk of that later. Here comes Mrs. Moon with the wine, and so
speedily that I suspect she must have out a bottle for her private
drinking. I say, Mrs. Moon," said Conniston, as the giantess entered
with a silver tray and the wine, "don't let Victoria leave the castle on
any account."
"I should think not," said Mrs. Moon, setting down the tray. "She works
little enough as it is without trapesing about on holidays. I'd keep her
under lock and key on bread and water if I had my way, and if she wasn't
too strong for me, the besom that she is!--begging your dear lordship's
pardon. Anything else, my lord?"
"No. You can go."
"And glad I am to go," said Mrs. Moon, withdrawing with a ponderous
step, "being engaged in playing kings."
"Kings," said Conniston, when she vanished.
Bernard, in spite of his sadness, laughed and explained. "It's a game of
patience," he said. "I asked Mrs. Moon for a pack of cards to pass the
time, and was playing the game myself. She was curious; so, to keep her
in a good temper, I taught it to her. Ever since she has been playing it
unsuccessfully."
"Oh!" Conniston was not interested in his housekeeper's games. He opened
the bottle of port and carefully poured out a full glass, which he
passed to Bernard. "Drink that up, you sinner."
Gore sipped a little wine but finally drank the whole glass. Conniston
made him take another in spite of his protestations, and then the color
came back to his sunken cheeks. The poor fellow was thin with anxiety
and want of sleep. When Conniston saw he was better he made him light a
pipe and then sat down to hear an account of his escape. Bernard was
grateful for these attentions and began to look less cowed.
"You're a good friend, Dick," he said, smoking luxuriously. "This is the
first moment of peace I have known since that awful moment."
"How did you escape?" asked Conniston, lighting a cigarette.
"I threw myself into the river and swam across."
"In the fog?"
"Yes. I was guided by the piers of the Chelsea Bridge. On the opposite
side I took off my coat and hat and left them lying on the bank, so that
it might be thought I was drowned."
"Which is exactly what people do think," said Dick, complacently.
"Thank Heaven for that. Well, then I went into a public-house I found
open--it was not yet midnight--and made up a story about having been
robbed and thrown into the river."
"That was dangerous. The public-house people might have advised you to
see the police."
"I don't think the landlord had any love for the police," said Gore,
dryly. "He looked like an old convict himself and displayed a
fellow-sympathy. I don't know if he believed my story. However, for a
sovereign he gave me a coat and hat, and asked no questions. I walked
across Waterloo Bridge in the fog and escaped observation. But for the
fog I expect my military breeches and leggings would have betrayed me
and provoked questions. But I managed to escape."
"I didn't sleep at all. I walked the whole night, and by dawn I was out
of London. I lost myself several times in the fog and twice had a row
with a tramp or two. Then I took a train at a wayside station to
Gravesend, and crossed the river to Tilbury."
"Didn't anyone ask questions?"
Bernard shook his head. "The new Yeomanry uniform wasn't known in those
parts. I expect the gaiters made people think I was a farmer. I took the
train to Pitsea, and then came on here under cover of night. It was ten
o'clock by the time I got here."
"What did you do in the meantime?"
"I loafed about the taproom of a pub, and made out I was a horse-dealer
buying horses for the war. No one suspected me, and I managed to sustain
my part perfectly."
"Did Mrs. Moon admit you at once?"
"No. She was in bed. But when she came to the door she seemed
disinclined to admit me. I produced your letter, and after she read it,
which took about a quarter of an hour, she let me in. Then next morning
I wrote to you."
"What made you think of this place, Bernard?"
"I could think of nowhere to hide," said Gore, leaning back with a weary
sigh. "And after all," he added, with a glance round, "this is a very
good _caché_."
Conniston nodded. "You are quite safe here. I will show you the way to
the vaults, and should there be any chance of your being discovered you
can hide there."
"Does Victoria know about the vaults?"
"I can't say. Probably that Judas brat has told her. He was brought up
here, and knows every nook and cranny of the castle. And now, Bernard,
we must have a good dinner, and then you can tell me whom you suspect of
committing the crime."