INVESTIGATION.
They did not wait for the next steamer, but hurried back to Melbourne
by train and coach, and reached Myrtle Street once more at a little
before midnight, the girls dazed with sleep and weariness and the
strain of so much excitement as they had passed through. They had sent
no message to Mrs. Duff-Scott at present, preferring to make their
investigations, in the first place, as privately as possible; and Mr.
Brion had merely telegraphed to his son that they were returning with
him on important business. Paul was at the house when they arrived,
but Mrs. M'Intyre had made hospitable preparations at No. 6 as well
as at No. 7; and the tired sisters found their rooms aired and their
beds arranged, a little fire lit, gas burning, kettle boiling, and
a tempting supper laid out for them when they dragged their weary
limbs upstairs. Mrs. M'Intyre herself was there to give them welcome,
and Dan, who had been reluctantly left behind when they went into the
country, was wild with rapture, almost tearing them to pieces in the
vehemence of his delight at seeing them again, long past the age of
gambols as he was. Mr. Brion was consoled for the upsetting of his
own arrangements, which had been to take his charges to an hotel for
the night, and there luxuriously entertain them; and he bade them
an affectionate good-night, and went off contentedly to No. 7 under
the wing of Paul's landlady, to doze in Paul's arm-chair until that
brilliant ornament of the press should be released from duty.
Cheered by their little fire--for, summer though it was, their fatigues
had made them chilly--and by Mrs. M'Intyre's ham and chicken and hot
coffee, the girls sat, talking and resting, for a full hour before they
went to bed; still dwelling on the strange discovery of the little
picture behind the mantelpiece, which Mr. Brion had taken possession
of, and wondering if it would really prove them to be the three Miss
Yelvertons instead of the three Miss Kings, and co-heiresses of one of
the largest properties in England.
As they passed the old bureau on their way to their rooms, Elizabeth
paused and laid her hand on it thoughtfully. "It hardly seems to me
possible," she said, "that father should have kept such a secret
all these years, and died without telling us of it. He must have
seen the advertisements--he must have known what difficulties he was
making for everybody. Perhaps he did not write those names on the
picture--handwriting is not much to go by, especially when it is so
old as that; you may see whole schools of boys or girls writing in one
style. Perhaps father was at school with Mr. Yelverton's uncle. Perhaps
mother knew Elizabeth Leigh. Perhaps she gave her the sketch--or
she might have come by it accidentally. One day she must have found
it--slipped in one of her old music-books, maybe--and taken it out to
show father; and she put it up on the mantelpiece, and it slipped down
behind, like Patty's opal. If it had been of so much consequence as it
seems to us--if they had desired to leave no trace of their connection
with the Yelverton family--surely they would have pulled the house down
but what they would have recovered it. And then we have hunted the
bureau over--we have turned it out again and again--and never found
anything."
"Mr. Brion thinks there are secret drawers," said Eleanor, who, of all
the three, was most anxious that their golden expectations should be
realised. "It is just the kind of cabinet work, he says, that is always
full of hidden nooks and corners, and he is blaming himself that he did
not search it more thoroughly in the first instance."
"And he thinks," continued Patty, "that father seemed like a man with
things on his mind, and believes he _would_ have told us had he had
more warning of his death. But you know he was seized so suddenly, and
could not speak afterwards."
"Poor father--poor father!" sighed Elizabeth, pitifully. They thought
of his sad life, in the light of this possible theory, with more tender
compassion than they had ever felt for him before; but the idea that
he might have murdered his brother, accidentally or otherwise--and for
that reason had effaced himself and done bitter penance for the rest of
his days--never for a moment occurred to them. "Well, we shall know by
to-morrow night," said the elder sister, gently. "If the bureau does
not yield fresh evidence, there is none that we can allow Mr. Brion, or
anyone else, to act upon. The more I think it over, the more I see how
easily the whole thing could be explained--to mean nothing so important
as Mr. Brion thinks. And, for myself, I should not be disappointed if
we found ourselves only Miss Kings, without fortune or pedigree, as we
have always been. We are very happy as we are."
"That is how I felt at first," said Patty. "But I must say I am growing
more and more in love with the idea of being rich. The delightful
things that you can do with plenty of money keep flashing into my mind,
one after the other, till I feel that I never understood what being
poor meant till now, and that I could not content myself with a hundred
a year and Mrs. Duff-Scott's benefactions any more. No; the wish may be
father to the thought, Elizabeth, but I _do_ think it, honestly, that
we shall turn out to be Mr. Yelverton's cousins--destined to supersede
him, to a certain extent."
"I think so, too," said Eleanor, anxiously. "I can't--I
_won't_--believe that Mr. Brion is mistaken."
So they went, severally affected by their strange circumstances, to
bed. And in the morning they were up early, and made great haste to get
their breakfast over, and their sitting-room in order, in readiness for
the lawyer's visit. They were very much agitated by their suspense and
anxiety, especially Patty, to whom the impending interview with Paul
had become of more pressing consequence, temporarily, than even the
investigations that he was to assist. She had had no communication
with him whatever since she cut him on the racecourse when he was
innocently disporting himself with Mrs. Aarons; and her nerves were
shaken by the prospect of seeing and speaking to him again, and by
the vehemence of her conflicting hopes and fears. She grew cold and
hot at the recollection of one or two accidental encounters that had
taken place _since_ Cup Day, and at the picture of his contemptuous,
unrecognising face that rose up vividly before her. Elizabeth noticed
her unusual pallor and restless movements, and how she hovered about
the window, straining her ears to catch a chance sound of the men's
voices next door, and made an effort to divert her thoughts. "Come and
help me, Patty," she said, putting her hand on her sister's shoulder.
"We have nothing more to do now, so we may as well turn out some of the
drawers before they come. We can look over dear mother's clothes, and
see if they have any marks on them that we have overlooked. Mr. Brion
will want to have everything examined."
So they began to work at the bureau with solemn diligence, and a fresh
set of emotions were evolved by that occupation, which counteracted,
without effacing, those others that were in Patty's mind. She became
absorbed and attentive. They took out all Mrs. King's gowns, and her
linen, and her little everyday personal belongings, searched them
carefully for indications of ownership, and, finding none, laid them
aside in the adjoining bedroom. Then they exhumed all those relics of
an olden time which had a new significance at the present juncture--the
fine laces, the faded brocades, the Indian shawl and Indian muslins,
the quaint fans and little bits of jewellery--and arranged them
carefully on the table for the lawyer's inspection.
"We know _now_," said Patty, "though we didn't know a few mouths ago,
that these are things that could only belong to a lady who had been
rich once."
"Yes," said Elizabeth. "But there is another point to be considered.
Elizabeth Leigh ran away with her husband secretly and in haste, and
under circumstances that make it seem _most_ unlikely that she should
have hampered herself and him with luggage, or bestowed a thought on
such trifles as fans and finery."
The younger sisters were a little daunted for a moment by this view of
the case. Then Eleanor spoke up. "How you do love to throw cold water
on everything!" she complained, pettishly. "Why shouldn't she think
of her pretty things? I'm sure if I were going to run away--no matter
under what circumstances--I should take all _mine_, if I had half
an hour to pack them up. So would you. At least, I don't know about
you--but Patty would. Wouldn't you, Patty?"
"Well," said Patty, thoughtfully, sitting back on her heels and folding
her hands in her lap, "I really think I should, Elizabeth. If you come
to think of it, it is the heroines of novels who do those things. They
throw away lovers, and husbands, and fortunes, and everything else, on
the slightest provocation; it is a matter of course--it is the correct
thing in novels. But in real life girls are fond of all nice things--at
least, that is my experience--and they don't feel like throwing them
away. Girls in novels would never let Mrs. Duff-Scott give them gowns
and bonnets, for instance--they would be too proud; and they would
burn a bureau any day rather than rummage in it for a title to money
that a nice man, whom they cared for, was in possession of. Don't tell
me. You are thinking of the heroines of fiction, Elizabeth, and not of
Elizabeth Leigh. _She_, I agree with Nelly--however much she might have
been troubled and bothered--did not leave her little treasures for the
servants to pawn. Either she took them with her, or someone able to
keep her destination a secret sent them after her."
"Well, well," said Elizabeth, who had got out her mother's jewellery
and was gazing fondly at the miniature in the pearl-edged locket, "we
shall soon know. Get out the books and music, dear."
They were turning over a vast pile of music, which required at least
half a day to examine properly, when the servant of the house tapped
at the door to ask, with Mr. Brion's compliments, when it would be
convenient to Miss King to receive that gentleman. In a few minutes
father and son were in the room, the former distributing hasty and
paternal greetings all around, and the latter quietly shaking hands
with an air of almost aggressive deliberation. Paul was quite polite,
and to a certain extent friendly, but he was terribly, uncompromisingly
business-like. Not a moment did he waste in mere social amenities,
after shaking hands with Patty--which he did as if he were a wooden
automaton, and without looking at her--but plunged at once into the
matter of the discovered picture, as if time were money and nothing
else of any consequence. Patty's heart sank, but her spirit rose;
she determined not to "let herself down" or in any way to "make an
exhibition of herself," if she could help it. She drew a little aside
from the bureau, and went on turning over the music--which presently
she was able to report valueless as evidence, except negative evidence,
the name, wherever it had been written at the head of a sheet, having
been cut out or erased; while Elizabeth took the remaining articles
from their drawers and pigeon-holes, and piled them on the table and in
Nelly's arms.
For some time they were all intent upon their search, and very silent;
and it still seemed that they were to find nothing in the shape of that
positive proof which Elizabeth, as the head of the family, demanded
before she would give permission for any action to be taken. There were
no names in the old volumes of music, and the fly-leaves had been torn
from the older books. Some pieces of ancient silver plate--a pair of
candlesticks, a pair of salt-cellars, a teapot and sugar basin (now
in daily use), a child's mug, some Queen Anne spoons and ladles--were
all unmarked by crest or monogram; and two ivory-painted miniatures
and three daguerreotypes, representing respectively one old lady in
high-crowned cap and modest kerchief, one young one with puffs all
over her head, and a classic absence of bodice to her gown, one little
fair-haired child, similarly scanty in attire, and one middle-aged
gentleman with a large shirt frill and a prodigious quantity of
neck-cloth--likewise failed to verify themselves by date or inscription
when carefully prised out of their frames and leather cases with Paul
Brion's pen-knife. These family portraits, understood by the girls to
belong to the maternal side of the house, were laid aside, however,
along with the pearl-rimmed locket and other jewels, and the picture
that was found behind the mantelpiece; and then, nothing else being
left, apparently, the two men began an inspection of the papers.
While this was going on, Patty, at a sign from Elizabeth, set up
the leaves of a little tea-table by the window, spread it with a
white cloth, and fetched in such a luncheon as the slender larder
afforded--the remains of Mrs. M'Intyre's chicken and ham, some bread
and butter, a plate of biscuits, and a decanter of sherry--for it was
past one o'clock, and Mr. Brion and Paul had evidently no intention
of going away until their investigations were complete. The room was
quite silent. Her soft steps and the brush of her gown as she passed
to and fro were distinctly audible to her lover, who would not so much
as glance at her, but remained sternly intent upon the manuscripts
before him. These were found to be very interesting, but to have no
more bearing upon the matter in hand than the rest of the relics that
had been overhauled; for the most part, they were studies in various
arts and sciences prepared by Mr. and Mrs. King for their daughters
during the process of their education, and such odds and ends of
literature as would be found in a clever woman's common-place books.
They had all been gone over at the time of Mr. King's death, in a vain
hunt for testamentary documents; and Elizabeth, looking into the now
bare shelves and apertures of the bureau, began to think how she could
console her sisters for the disappointment of their hopes.
"Come and have some lunch," she said to Paul (Mr. Brion was already at
the table, deprecating the trouble that his dear Patty was taking). "I
don't think you will find anything more."
The young man stood up with his brows knitted over his keen eyes,
and glanced askance at the group by the window. "We have not done
yet," he said decisively; "and we have learned quite enough, in what
we _haven't_ found, to justify us in consulting Mr. Yelverton's
solicitors."
"No," she said, "I'll have nothing said to Mr. Yelverton, unless the
whole thing is proved first."
Never thinking that the thing would be proved, first or last, she
advanced to the extemporised lunch table, and dispensed the modest
hospitalities of the establishment with her wonted simple grace. Mr.
Brion was accommodated with an arm-chair and a music-book to lay
across his knees, whereon Patty placed the tit-bits of the chicken
and the knobby top-crust of the loaf, waiting upon him with that
tender solicitude to which he had grown accustomed, but which was so
astonishing, and so interesting also, to his son.
"She has spoiled me altogether," said the old man fondly, laying his
hand on her bright head as she knelt before him to help him to mustard
and salt. "I don't know how I shall ever manage to get along without
her now."
"Has this sad fate overtaken you in one short week?" inquired Paul,
rather grimly. "Your sister should be labelled like an explosive
compound, Miss King--'dangerous,' in capital letters." Paul was sitting
in a low chair by Elizabeth, with his plate on his knee, and he thawed
a good deal, in spite of fierce intentions to the contrary, under the
influence of food and wine and the general conversation. He looked at
Patty now and then, and by-and-bye went so far as to address a remark
to her. "What did she think of the caves?" he asked, indifferently,
offering her at the same moment a glass of sherry, which, though
unaccustomed to fermented liquors, she had not the presence of mind
to refuse--and which she took with such a shaking hand that she
spilled some of it over her apron. And she plunged at once into rapid
and enthusiastic descriptions of the caves and the delights of their
expedition thereto, absurdly uplifted by this slight token of interest
in her proceedings.
When luncheon was over, Elizabeth culled Eleanor--who, too restless
to eat much herself, was hovering about the bureau, tapping it here
and there with a chisel--to take her turn to be useful by clearing
the table; and then, as if business were of no consequence, bade her
guests rest themselves for a little and smoke a cigarette if they felt
inclined.
"Smoke!" exclaimed Paul, with a little sarcastic laugh. "Oh, no, Miss
King, that would never do. What would Mrs. Duff-Scott say if she were
to smell tobacco in your sitting-room?"
"Well, what would she say?" returned Elizabeth, gently--she was very
gentle with Paul to-day. "Mrs. Duff-Scott, I believe, is rather fond of
the smell of tobacco, when it is good."
Mr. Brion having satisfied the demands of politeness with profuse
protestations, suffered himself to indulge in a mild cigarette; but
Paul would not be persuaded. He resumed his study of the manuscripts
with an air of determination, as of a man who had idled away precious
time. He conscientiously endeavoured to fix his attention on the
important business that he had undertaken, and to forget everything
else until he had finished it. For a little while Patty wandered up and
down in an aimless manner, making neat heaps of the various articles
scattered about the room and watching him furtively; then she softly
opened the piano, and began to play, just above a whisper, the "Sonata
Pathetique."