John Seward Mervyn was seated within the same armchair in which we first
saw him gazing at the mysterious and shadowy door in the corner--but now
it was the middle of a brilliant winter forenoon--and he was occupied in
the reperusal of two letters, not bearing even date, for one was that of
Violet Clinock informing him of his niece's existence and illness, while
the other was from his niece herself.
Comparing this with the former epistle he smiled to himself. Violet's
glowing description of her friend, and her multifold attractions, both
physical and mental, amused him. He was gratified, too, that his niece
should prove neither unattractive nor a fool. Melian's missive, on the
other hand, struck him as rather strained and stiff as to style, but
then, she had been ill, and likewise was he not a perfect stranger to
her?
How would the experiment work, he was speculating? If satisfactorily,
why should she not make her home with him altogether? He was not so
young as he used to be, but there was plenty of "go" in him yet, and he
was not deficient in ideas; perhaps she might not find him quite such an
old bore as she probably expected to find. He gathered from her
friend's letter that she had gone through no particularly glowing times,
nor were there any likely to be in store for her; and life here,
quietly, and at any rate for a while, might be the very thing to make
the girl happy, dull under ordinary circumstances as such life might be.
There was one point, however, as to which he was not without secret
misgiving. By this time no doubt was left in his own mind as to there
being something about this house that was not about other houses; and
which, for want of a better word, he described to himself as an
"influence." He had experienced it himself, when sitting alone of an
evening, and even in broad daylight. Sounds, too, shadowy, vague, and
explicable by no natural or material cause--again as to such there could
be no two opinions. And this girl who was coming had been ill, and
naturally her nerves would not be at their best. It would be ghastly if
she were to undergo the shock of some sudden fright.
With this in view he himself occupied the room he had destined for her,
until she should arrive. But absolutely nothing untoward occurred to
disturb him, either waking or sleeping. Further, he got hold of old Joe
and his ancient spouse, and charged them by every consideration likely
to carry weight, that they were on no account--by word, nod or wink--to
let fall the slightest hint to the visitor as to there being any stories
afloat about Heath Hover at all.
"I'll not nabble, b'lieve me, Mus' Mervyn," old Judy had said, clicking
her Punch-like profile together, "I don't b'lieve in nabbling on things
like they. Folkses finds 'em out soon enough--"
"If there's anything to be found," supplied the master. "Here there
isn't, you understand, Judy?" And the old woman declared that she did,
and Joe emphasised the statement by a brace of emphatic nods.
The fact was that strict fealty to their employer came entirely within
this old couple's interests, for he remunerated them at rather more than
double the rate of earnings they could have obtained from any other
source or sources. John Seward Mervyn was shrewd, though poor. When he
had to lay out money he did so to the best of advantage, and in the
proper quarter.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The mysterious end of the mysterious stranger had been very much of a
nine days' wonder. It had puzzled the police, and, more important
still, perhaps, it had puzzled the doctors. There had been an inquest
of course, and a great deal of disagreement among doctors. Mervyn's
evidence was perfectly straight and to the point; given so
straightforwardly too, that none who heard entertained the slightest
doubt as to its thorough exhaustiveness; and his narrative of the rescue
of the stranger in the freezing midnight, only for the latter to meet
his death so mysteriously but a few hours later, created something of a
sensation. But the official mind listened to it all with some reserve
and the official mind, as represented by Inspector Nashby and the expert
from Scotland Yard, resolved to keep a continuous but furtive eye--and
that for sometime to come--upon the goings out and comings in of Mr
John Seward Mervyn.
Old Joe Sayers, too, gave his evidence with straightforwardness, but
that he was constantly harking back, with the suspicious persistency of
the countryman, to the fact that he had never seen the deceased when
alive. Likewise when he began to "feel his feet," he volunteered again
the opinion which we heard him enunciate to his master, that "folks as
gets on the ice, middle of Plane Pond, middle of the night, etc, bean't
up to no good;" a remark whose _naivete_ drew forth a great laugh, and
likewise an admonition from the coroner that the witness should not
volunteer opinions containing an imputation of motive until he was asked
for it--which admonition for the most part was sheer Sanscrit to old
Joe.
Not the least strange side of the investigation lay in the fact that no
amount of enquiry was able to elicit any information whatever as to the
previous movements of the stranger. The heavy snowfall which had
supervened upon the arrival of the doctor and the police inspector at
Heath Hover had lasted a couple of days, and had utterly obliterated all
and every trace. Further, none of the dwellers in the neighbourhood--
whether in village or scattered cottages--could be found to speak as to
having noticed any stranger at all, let alone one bearing the slightest
resemblance to the circulated descriptions. The man might have appeared
out of nowhere. So the verdict was an open one, and the man was buried
at the expense of Mervyn and a few more who came forward with
subscriptions toward that end--as we have said.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mervyn sat scanning the two letters, as though to make the utmost he
could out of every word and line of each. In his heart of hearts he
felt rather impatient. His was not such an eventful life but that the
impending arrival of a girl relative--and that an attractive one, he had
reason to believe--should not inspire some modicum of pleasurable
anticipation. What would she be like, all round, he found himself, for
the fiftieth time, wondering?
There was a slight movement beside him. The little black kitten had
leaped on to the table, and sat there purring softly, its green gold
eyes staring roundly out of a little ball of fluffiness. Then, with one
light, scarcely perceptible, movement it transferred itself to his
shoulder and sat there, purring louder and more contentedly than ever.
"Ah, poogie?" he said, pressing the little fluffy ball against his ear.
"You'll have some one else to love now. I wonder if she will though.
Yes, of course she must."
The light waggonette, which, with the cart, constituted the sole wheel
motive power at Heath Hover, swung easily over the hardened snow; but
once under way, Mervyn felt himself beset with misgivings. What on
earth had he been thinking about--or rather not been thinking about--to
bring an open conveyance to meet a girl who was just recovering from an
attack of "flu" and a fairly hard one at that? In the cloudless
sunniness of the day this was a side of things he had entirely
overlooked. Well, he would leave his own conveyance at Clancehurst and
charter a closed fly.
But when he reached the station, the 2:57 from Victoria was just
signalled. The station was busy and bustling as usual, and he did not
care to risk not being there when his niece arrived. So he left the
trap in charge of a hanger-on and went on to the platform.
Quite a number were getting out of the train as it drew up, nearly
punctual to time. For a moment he felt bewildered, and was moving
rapidly among the alighting passengers, scanning each face. But none
seemed to answer the description given by Violet Clinock's glowing pen,
as to her friend's outward appearance.
Then he became aware of being himself a centre of interest. A girl was
standing there, looking intently at him--a girl, plainly dressed, with a
pale face and golden hair framed in a wide black hat, and her straight
carriage and erectly held head made her look taller than she actually
was. As he turned, an exclamation escaped her, and the colour suffused
her cheeks, leaving them paler than before. And the look in her eyes
was positively a startled one. Small wonder that it was so, for,
standing there in the hurrying throng, Melian Seward almost thought she
was looking at her dead father.
The likeness was extraordinary. The same face, the same features, even
the cut of the grizzling, pointed beard; the same height, the same set
of the shoulders. Good Heavens! The farewell on the terminus platform,
the joke about the insurance ticket--small wonder that she should have
reeled unsteadily as though beneath a shock. Mervyn made a hasty step
forward, both hands extended.
"My dear child, there is no mistaking you," he said warmly. "You have
the regular Mervyn stamp. But you are not looking at all the thing,"
with a glance of very great concern. "Well, well, we'll soon put that
right here. Come along now. Porter, take this lady's things. Come and
show him what you've got in the van, dear."
He took her arm, and Melian, who had not expected anything like so
affectionate a welcome, felt in her present tottery state inclined to
break down utterly. This he saw, and kept her answering questions about
herself, and other things, the while the luggage was being got out and
taken across.
"You will have to get outside of a hot cup of tea, dear, while they are
loading up the things," he said, leading the way to the refreshment
room. "Oh, and by the by--" For the idea had come back to him, and now
he put it to her that she would not be up to a five mile drive in an
open trap, so it would only mean a little longer to wait while he went
across to the inn opposite and ordered a closed one. But opposition met
him at once.
"Why, Uncle Seward," she exclaimed, "that's the very thing I've been
looking forward to--a glorious open air drive through the lovely
country, and it's such a ripping afternoon. Do let's have it. Why,
it'll do me all the world of good. Fancy being shut up in a close,
fusty fly! And there's going to be such a ripping sunset too, I could
see there was coming along in the train. No. Do let's drive in the
open."
"Certainly, dear. I was only thinking that after a bad bout of `flu'
you have to be careful--very careful."
"Yes--yes. But this air--why, it has done me good already; it's doing
me good every minute. And I've plenty of wraps. The drive will be
ripping."
He looked at her admiringly. The colour had come back to her cheeks and
the blue eyes danced with delighted anticipation.
"Very well," he said. "Here's your tea. Is it all as you like it?
Yes? Well, I'll just go and see that all your things are aboard."
He went into the bar department, drank a glass of brandy and water, then
went out to the waggonette. Everything was stowed safe and snug. There
was certainly not a "mountain of luggage" he noticed, but it struck him
that Melian's "plenty of wraps" was a bit of imagination. He shed his
fur coat and threw a French cloak over his shoulders. Then he went back
to her.
She was ready, and the blue eyes had taken on quite a new light--very
different eyes now, to when their sole look out was bounded by a patch
of grey murk as a background to bizarre and hideous patterns in chimney
pots.
"Here's the shandradan, dear. Now are you absolutely dead cert you're
equal to a five mile open drive. Here--put on this."
"This" was the fur coat--and she objected.
"Tut-tut, I'm skipper of this ship, and I won't have opposition. So--in
you get."
He had hoisted it on to her, and now enveloped in it she climbed to the
front seat beside him. He arranged a corresponding thickness of double
rug over her knees.
"Thank you, sir," said the porter, catching what was thrown to him.
"Beg pardon, Mr Mervyn," he went on, sinking his voice, "but has
anything more been 'eard about--"
But Mervyn drew his whip across the pony's hind quarters with a
sharpness that that long suffering quadruped had certainly never
merited, and the vehicle sprang into lively motion, which was all the
answer the ill-advised querist obtained.
"Wasn't he asking you something?" said Melian, as they spun over the
railway bridge above the station. The town lay beneath and behind; an
old church tower just glimpsed above tall bare elms.
"I dare say. But if we are going to get home before you get chilly, we
can't stop to answer all sorts of idiotic questions."
Even then the reply struck Melian as odd, less so perhaps than the
change in her kinsman's manner while making it. But she said:
"Before I get chilly. Why I'm wrapped up like--Shackleton, or Peary, or
any of them. In your coat too. It was quite wrong of you to have
insisted upon my wearing it, and I had plenty of wraps."
"Had you? As a prologue to our time together child, I may as well tell
you I am a man of fads. One is that of being skipper in my own ship.
You obeyed orders, so there's no more to be said."
It was put so kindly, so pleasantly. The tone was everything, and again
the girl felt a lump rise to her throat, for it reminded her all of her
dead father. Just the sort of thing he would have said; just the sort
of tone in which he would have said it.