MRS. GILROY'S PAST
After making Lucy the mistress of the Hall until the return of its legal
master, Mark Durham returned to town. Having regard to the fact that
Beryl had taken up his quarters at the Conniston Arms--for what purpose
the lawyer could not determine--he thought it wiser not to arouse the
crafty young man's suspicions by a visit to Cove Castle. Certainly this
was a somewhat over-strained sense of caution, since, being Conniston's
lawyer, he could easily have gone there without it being thought odd.
But Durham knew that Julius, driven to desperation by the loss of the
fortune, would stop at nothing to accomplish his wish to obtain it. Did
he learn that Bernard was still alive he would undoubtedly blackmail
him. And in the present position of the case, when the truth could not
be arrived at, Bernard, for his own safety, would be obliged to make
terms. And such terms as Beryl would demand could not be granted.
Durham therefore returned to his business, and at once set to work. So
far he had done all that he could to settle the government of the
property during Gore's absence, and it now remained to take such steps
as would unravel the intricacy of what appeared to be a plot to oust him
from his rights. That Julius was at the bottom of the whole affair
Durham was certain, and that Julius had his eye on him he conjectured.
Therefore it behooved him to move cautiously lest Beryl should
counterplot him. And as in this game, which dealt with the issues of
life and death, Durham's cards were all on the table and Beryl's were
concealed, the chances of victory lay with the latter. And if Julius
won, he would certainly have no mercy. Conniston had written a letter
directed to the London office stating in full the conversation which had
taken place between him and Sir Bernard. Durham was therefore in full
possession of all facts not known to Julius, and after turning over
these in his mind he concluded that it would be best to start with an
examination of Jane Riordan, the delinquent housemaid. She could not
possibly be in the plot, as he had seen how simple a woman she was when
at the inquest. Therefore she certainly, for some strange reason,
believed Bernard to be the young soldier who had courted her. She had
sworn to his photograph, and had addressed him in the hall of the Crimea
Square house by his name. Apparently--here Durham thought with
Conniston--some person had been impersonating Bernard, so the lawyer
sent a message to Miss Riordan asking her to call. Then he intended to
question her as to the personality and speech of the double.
The housemaid arrived dressed in her best and looking rather downcast.
She was evidently nervous, and could not think what the lawyer wanted
with her. Like all her class she had a wholesome horror of legal
procedure, and always kept out of the clutches of the law. But it
appeared that for her share in receiving a follower she had been
dismissed by her master, Mr. Jefferies. Being without a situation she
grasped at the chance afforded of seeing Durham, and hoped by working on
his sympathies to secure a new one. But for this want she would probably
have refused the invitation. As it was she duly appeared, and was
accommodated with a seat beside Durham's desk. He then proceeded to
question her, thinking a plain, straightforward examination would best
get at the truth.
"Now then," said Durham, wheeling round his chair so that he could look
her in the face. "You know I am the solicitor of Sir Bernard Gore, who
is accused of the murder of his grandfather. In spite of the evidence
given, I do not believe he is guilty."
"I don't think so either, sir," sobbed Jane, who had got out her
handkerchief at the mention of the name.
"You never knew him."
"Yes, I did. He courted me for nearly a month. And a sweet young man he
was, the very best I ever walked out with."
Durham eyed her keenly. Apparently she was speaking as she believed, and
he considered that the double must resemble Bernard in a marvellous
degree to make the housemaid thus sure of his identity with the accused
young baronet. "You misunderstand me," he said mildly. "However, I'll
come to the point presently. You must answer me as though you were in a
witness-box."
"Yes, sir," said Miss Riordan, timidly. "But, please, before I speak,
could you help me to a new situation? Mr. Jefferies dismissed me because
I walked out with Bernard and received him in the kitchen."
"Hum," said Durham, reflectively. He did not know very well what to say
at the outset as he was by no means prepared to promise to assist her
off-hand. But on consideration he saw the necessity of keeping so
valuable a witness under his own eye and away from Beryl, always
supposing Beryl to be mixed up in the matter. He therefore made up his
mind swiftly, and in his answer gained Jane's goodwill. "Yes, I can help
you," he said; "my housekeeper wants a housemaid. I will give you my
address and a letter to her. Go to Camden Hill and if your character is
satisfactory she will engage you."
"Oh, thank you, sir," said Jane, effusively. "I'm sure my character is
all that can be desired, save in this last trouble. But Bernard was such
an agreeable----"
"There! there!" interrupted Durham, cutting her short, "we won't talk of
that just now. This last episode of your career will not stand in the
way of my housekeeper engaging you. I'll make that clear to her in my
letter. Come now, will you answer my questions?"
"Yes, sir. Any you like to ask," said Jane, delighted at the granting of
her petition, and privately thinking Durham a sweet gentleman.
"Good!" said the lawyer in an official manner. "What is your name?"
"Jane Riordan."
Durham noted this and her other answers down.
"You were how long at Mr. Jefferies?"
"Six months, sir."
"When did you first see this soldier?"
"Bernard, sir. In the Park, about a month before Sir Simon came."
"How did he become acquainted with you?"
Jane giggled and looked down. "Well, sir," she said, blushing, "I am not
bad-looking and Bernard--"
"He called himself Bernard?"
"Yes, sir. He said he was a corporal in the Imperial Yeomanry. He had
seen me in Crimea Square."
"In this house?"
"No, sir. Leaving the house. He said he had come several times, being
taken with my looks, and that he always wanted to know me. As he was so
handsome, sir, and spoke so civil, we walked out. He treated me to tea
in the Park, and then I asked him to meet cook. He accepted at once,
sir, and most willingly."
"I daresay," muttered Durham, seeing in this meeting how the scamp had
forced his company on the girl so as to enter the house likely to be
occupied by Sir Simon. "And he came?"
"Many times, sir--oh! many times, and made himself so agreeable that
cook was quite jealous."
"Who did he say he was?"
"Well, sir, he did nothing but hint, saying he was a gentleman of high
rank, as could be seen from his manners, and that he had enlisted
because of a quarrel he had with his grandfather. But I never knew he
was Sir Simon's grandson until I lost him," sobbed Jane. "Oh, dear me,
and to think I would have been Lady Gore, with diamonds and fine
clothes, had he lived."
"Hum!" said Durham, digging the point of his pencil into the blotting
paper, "so he practically told you the story of Sir Bernard."
"Yes, sir, as I afterwards learned it. And wasn't that natural, sir,
seeing he was Sir Bernard?"
"Are you sure he was?"
Jane stared. "Why, sir, he was always frightened when Mrs. Gilroy came
down to the kitchen and said she was his enemy, and that if she saw him
he could never marry me. I didn't know what he meant at that time, but I
see now. She would have said who he was. I used to hide him in
cupboards, and once in the coal cellar. Cook and William never told,
being sympathetic like!"
"Did he speak in educated manner?"
"Like the gentleman he was, sir, having been educated at Eton."
"When you saw him in the grasp of the policeman did you recognize him?
Was he the same man who courted you?"
Jane stared again and looked puzzled. "There isn't two, sir, that I know
of," she said; "and now," with a fresh burst of tears, "there isn't one,
seeing he is drowned. Oh dear, dear me. Yes, sir, I knew him at once,
although the light was bad. And when I would have seen him plainer, Mrs.
Gilroy would not let him be brought under the lamp."
"Oh, indeed," said Durham, making a note of this. "Look here," and he
held out a large portrait of Bernard, different to that shown at the
inquest. "You recognize this, I suppose?"
"That's my Bernard, sir."
"Is it a good likeness?"
Jane examined the photograph closely. "Not what I'd call a very good
one, sir, neither was the other. There's a look wanting."
"What sort of a look?"
"Well, sir, you might call it a roguish look, of a gentleman who had
seen life and had been gay. This portrait is sad and horrid looking. I
should have been afraid to be courted by Bernard if he had looked like
this. But he was always bright and full of larks. Then he has not got a
spot on his chin as he has here. I suppose he cut himself shaving when
he had this done."
Durham started. Here was a means of identification. Bernard had a rather
large mole on the left of his chin. "Didn't the man who walked out with
you have this spot?" he said, purposely adopting the word she had used.
"No, sir. He had a chin like a new-born infant, smooth and white."
"Did he ever write you a letter?"
Jane blushed again. "Just a short note making an appointment, sir," she
said, feeling in her breast, "it being early for love letters, and me
being a most respectable young lady. I carry it next my heart."
Durham took the note she handed him without hesitation, and glanced
through it. The writing was not unlike that of Bernard's, yet he saw
very plainly that it lacked several characteristics which distinguished
that of Gore. The note simply asked Jane to meet the writer on Sunday at
the Marble Arch, and was signed "Bernard."
"I'll give you a sovereign for this," said Durham, quietly.
"Thank you, sir," said Jane, accepting without a moment's hesitation.
"Of course, Bernard's dead now, so there's no use keeping his letters,
but if he'd been alive I'd have kept them on the chance of his not
making me Lady Gore!"
"Did he wear any rings?" asked Durham, paying the money and putting the
letter away.
"Three, sir. Two gold and one silver."
This was another point of difference. Bernard hated rings and never by
any chance wore any, not even a signet ring. But by this time Jane's
information was exhausted, and Durham concluded her examination for the
moment. He would be able to resume it later when necessary, and
congratulated himself on the fact that he had secured Jane as his
housemaid. When brought face to face with the real Bernard she would be
able to see the difference between him and his double. And then she
might also be able to recognize the double should he be found. Just as
he was dismissing Jane with a letter to his housekeeper a clerk brought
in a name written on a piece of paper. "Mrs. Gilroy," said Durham to
himself, wondering greatly. "Tell her to come in," he said aloud, and
ushered Jane out quickly by another door. It would never have done to
have let Mrs. Gilroy meet her, seeing that the Hall housekeeper was
hostile to Bernard. So Jane departed rejoicing, and Durham went back to
his desk well satisfied.
"Bernard never wrote this note, as it is different in many ways to his
writing," he murmured. "Bernard never wears rings, and he has a mole on
his chin which this double apparently lacks. Without doubt the
impersonation has been very clever. But I wonder how I am to find the
double."
Before he could reply to this perplexing question, the clerk showed in
Mrs. Gilroy, as demure and sly-looking as ever. She was richly dressed
in black silk, much better dressed in fact than she had ever been during
the life of her master. Also Durham noted that there was an aggressive
air about her which he had not noticed before. Perhaps this was due to
her receipt of an annuity. She was not a lady, and yet she could not be
called common. Durham had never examined her carefully before, but now
that she was dangerous to Gore's interest he looked at her carefully. A
strange woman and a dangerous was his verdict. He proceeded to feel his
way cautiously, wondering what she had come about.
"It's to see me about your annuity?" he said, tentatively.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Gilroy, coldly, and took the seat which had been
vacated by Jane. "My beggarly annuity?"
The lawyer, who had taken up his position before the fire with his hands
under the tails of his frock coat, turned to look at her. The bitterness
of the tone startled him. "What do you mean?"
"Mean!" echoed Mrs. Gilroy, with a vindictive glitter in her pale eyes.
"That Sir Simon promised me five hundred a year for life."
"Oh, you must be mistaken," said Durham, quickly. "He never said you
were to have more than one hundred."
"He might not to you, but he did to me," said the housekeeper, doggedly.
"I have a right to five hundred."
"I think not," said the lawyer, calmly. "And let me tell you, Mrs.
Gilroy, that Sir Simon did not place your name at all in the second
will. Had it been executed, you would not have had even the one
hundred you despise. Therefore, you may congratulate yourself"--he
watched her face while speaking--"that Sir Simon changed his mind about
disinheriting his grandson."
The woman's eyes glittered still more maliciously and a color rose in
her bloodless cheeks. "Oh!" she said, with icy disdain, "so Sir Simon
would have deprived me of my rights, would he? It's lucky he's dead, or
he'd find himself on the wrong side of the hedge with me."
"Ah!" Durham resumed his seat and waited to hear what would come
forth. And something would come out not easily attainable at other
times, for Mrs. Gilroy was apparently losing her temper. This was most
extraordinary for her, as she was usually cautious. But since the death
of her master, who had kept her in check, she seemed to be a much more
reckless woman. The lawyer had always wondered what bond held Sir Simon
and the housekeeper together, and now there seemed some likelihood that
he would learn, if he held his tongue and allowed full play to that of
Mrs. Gilroy.
"I knew how it would be," she muttered. "I guessed he would play me
false. He never was worth a kekaubi."
"You are a gipsy," said Durham, looking up.
"What makes you say that?"
"Kekaubi is Romany for kettle. You wouldn't use it unless--"
"Who I am is nothing to you," interrupted Mrs. Gilroy, sharply.
"Yet you don't resemble the Romany!" said Durham, looking at her drab
appearance. "Your eyes are pale and your hair--"
"Let my appearance be, Mr. Durham. I am here for justice, not to hear my
looks discussed. Sir Simon left me one hundred a year. I want you as the
executor of the estate to make it the five hundred he promised me."
"I don't know that he promised you that sum," said the solicitor, "and
even if he did I cannot give it to you. The money now belongs to Sir
Bernard Gore."
"He is supposed to be dead."
"You put it rightly," replied the man. "He is supposed to be dead, but
until his dead body is found I will administer the estate on his behalf.
But I have no power to help you."
Mrs. Gilroy seemed struck by this view of the case. "Suppose Sir Bernard
isn't dead?" she asked.
Durham felt a qualm and suppressed a start with difficulty. Had this
dangerous woman discovered the fugitive at Cove Castle. "Do you know if
he is alive?" asked Durham, quietly looking at her.
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Gilroy, who seemed to be thinking. Then she rose.
"I don't know that I need bother you further," she said.
"Will you tell me why you demand this money?"
"Because Sir Simon promised it to me."
"On what grounds."
"On very good grounds."
"Will you tell me what they are?"
"Will you give me the five hundred a year if I do?" she countered.
"That is out of my power. When Sir Bernard appears I will speak to him
on the subject if your claim is a good one."
"My claim is an excellent one," she burst out, raising herself to her
full height. "It is the claim of a wronged woman!" She paused. "I want
to ask you about the will," she said. "Is it worded that the money is
left 'to my grandson.'"
"To my grandson Bernard Gore."
"The name is mentioned."
"It is. The money is clearly left to Sir Bernard."
"Sir Bernard," she sneered. "Why give him a title to which he has no
claim? The money may be his, else I would not tell you what I now do
tell you. My son is the baronet--my son Michael."
Durham stared at her, quite taken aback. "What on earth are you talking
about, Mrs. Gilroy?" he demanded.
"Mrs. Gilroy," she echoed with scorn. "I shall no longer use a false
name. I am Mrs. Walter Gore."
"Impossible. Walter Gore was married to Bianca Tolomeo!"
"He was married to me first," said Mrs. Gilroy, rapidly. "Yes, you may
stare, but I am the lawful wife of Walter Gore and my son Michael is the
heir. He is the image of his father. There's no trickery about the
matter."
"The image of his father," cried Durham, a sudden light breaking in upon
him. "And Walter Gore was tall, slim, the image of his son Bernard. Mrs.
Gore, or Mrs. Gilroy, or whatever you call yourself, was it your son who
murdered his grandfather?"
The woman became livid. "No, I swear he didn't. He is in America."
"He is in England, and he masqueraded as Bernard when courting Jane the
housemaid," said Durham, excitedly. "You say yourself he resembled
Walter Gore. Bernard is exactly like his father, so Michael must
resemble him sufficiently to pass as him."
"It is absolutely false!" cried Mrs. Gilroy, seeing she had fallen into
the trap of her own words. "My son is in America. You shall not prove
him guilty. I opened the door to Bernard."
"To Michael. You perhaps mistook him for Bernard."
"A mother can't mistake her own son. But Michael is the heir. I shall
write to America and bring him home. I can prove my marriage with Walter
Gore."
"Do so by all means," said Durham, recovering his wits. "I am acting for
Sir Bernard, and he shall not lose the title if I can help it. I see you
are playing a deep game, Mrs. Gilroy, but you have let out too much. I
shall now search for Michael, your son, and see if he was not in London
on the night of the twenty-third of October."
Mrs. Gilroy, pale and looking like a tigress at bay, drew back to the
door without a word. Before Durham knew of her intention she opened it
and slipped away. He did not seek to detain her.