THE FOOT-BRIDGE
Collingwood's return to London was made on a Friday evening: next day he
began the final preparations for his departure to India on the following
Thursday. He was looking forward to his journey and his stay in India
with keen expectation. He would have the society of a particularly
clever and brilliant man; they were to break their journey in Italy and
in Egypt; he would enjoy exceptional facilities for seeing the native
life of India; he would gain valuable experience. It was a chance at
which any young man would have jumped, and Collingwood had been greatly
envied when it was known that Sir John Standridge had offered it to him.
And yet he was conscious that if he could have done precisely what he
desired, he would have stayed longer at Barford, in order to see more of
Nesta Mallathorpe. Already it seemed a long time to the coming spring,
when he would be back--and free to go North again.
But Collingwood was fated to go North once more much sooner than he had
dreamed of. As he sat at breakfast in his rooms on the Monday morning
after his departure from Barford, turning over his newspaper with no
particular aim or interest, his attention was suddenly and sharply
arrested by a headline. Even that headline might not have led him to
read what lay beneath. But in the same instant in which he saw it he
also saw a name--Mallathorpe. In the next he knew that heavy trouble had
fallen on Normandale Grange, the very day after he had left it.
This is what Collingwood read as he sat, coffee-cup in one hand,
newspaper in the other--staring at the lines of unleaded type:
TRAGIC FATE OF YOUNG YORKSHIRE SQUIRE
"A fatal accident, of a particularly sad and disturbing nature,
occurred near Barford, Yorkshire, on Saturday. About four
o'clock on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Linford Pratt, managing clerk
to Messrs. Eldrick & Pascoe, Solicitors, of Barford, who was
crossing the grounds of Normandale Grange on his way to a
business appointment, discovered the dead body of Mr. H. J.
Mallathorpe, the owner of the Normandale Estate, lying in a
roadway which at that point is spanned, forty feet above, by a
narrow foot-bridge. The latter is an ancient construction of
wood, and there is no doubt that it was in extremely bad repair,
and had given way when the unfortunate young gentleman, who was
out shooting in his park, stepped upon it. Mr. Mallathorpe, who
was only twenty-four years of age, succeeded to the Normandale
estates, one of the finest properties in the neighbourhood of
Barford, about two years ago, under somewhat romantic--and also
tragic--circumstances, their previous owner, his uncle, Mr. John
Mallathorpe, a well-known Barford manufacturer, meeting a sudden
death by the falling of his mill chimney--a catastrophe which
also caused the deaths of several of his employees. Mr. John
Mallathorpe died intestate, and the estate at Normandale passed
to the young gentleman who met such a sad fate on Saturday
afternoon. Mr. H.J. Mallathorpe was unmarried, and it is
understood that Normandale (which includes the village of that
name, the advowson of the living, and about four thousand acres
of land) now becomes the property of his sister, Miss Nesta
Mallathorpe."
Collingwood set down his cup, and dropped the newspaper. He was but half
way through his breakfast, but all his appetite had vanished. All that
he was conscious of was that here was trouble and grief for a girl in
whom--it was useless to deny it--he had already begun to take a warm
interest. And suddenly he started from his chair and snatched up a
railway guide. As he turned over its pages, he thought rapidly. The
preparations for his journey to India were almost finished--what was not
done he could do in a few hours. He had no further appointment with Sir
John Standridge until nine o'clock on Thursday morning, when he was to
meet him at the train for Dover and Paris. Monday--Tuesday--Wednesday--he
had three days--ample time to hurry down to Normandale, to do what he
could to help there, and to get back in time to make his own last
arrangements. He glanced at his watch--he had forty minutes in which to
catch an express from King's Cross to Barford. Without further delay he
picked up a suit-case which was already packed and set out for the
station.
He was in Barford soon after two o'clock--in Eldrick's office by
half-past two. Eldrick shook his head at sight of him.
"I can guess what's brought you down, Collingwood," he said. "Good of
you, of course--I don't think they've many friends out there."
"I can scarcely call myself that--yet," answered Collingwood. "But--I
thought I might be of some use. I'll drive out there presently. But
first--how was it?"
Eldrick shook his head.
"Don't know much more than what the papers say," he answered. "There's
an old foot-bridge there that spans a road in the park--road cut through
a ravine. They say it was absolutely rotten, and the poor chap's weight
was evidently too much for it. And there was a drop of forty feet into a
hard road. Extraordinary thing that nobody on the estate seems to have
known of the dangerous condition of that bridge!--but they say it was
little used--simply a link between one plantation and another.
However;--it's done, now. Our clerk--Pratt, you know--found the body.
Hadn't been dead five minutes, Pratt says."
"What was Pratt doing there?" asked Collingwood.
"Oh, business of his own," replied Eldrick. "Not ours. There was an
advertisement in Saturday's papers which set out that a steward was
wanted for the Normandale estate, and Pratt mentioned it to me in the
morning that he thought of applying for the job if we'd give him a good
testimonial. I suppose he'd gone out there to see about the
preliminaries. Anyway, he was walking through the park when he found
young Mallathorpe's body. I understand he made himself very useful, too,
and I've sent him out there again today, to do anything he can--smart
chap, Pratt!"
"Possibly, then, there is nothing I can do," remarked Collingwood.
"I should say you'll do a lot by merely going there," answered Eldrick.
"As I said just now, they've few friends, and no relations, and I hear
that Mrs. Mallathorpe is absolutely knocked over. Go, by all means--a
bit of sympathy goes a long way on these occasions. I say!--what a
regular transformation an affair of this sort produces. Do you know,
that young fellow, just like his uncle, had not made any will! Fact!--I
had it from Robson, their solicitor, this very morning. The whole of the
estate comes to the sister, of course--she and the mother will share the
personal property. By that lad's death, Nesta Mallathorpe becomes one of
the wealthiest young women in Yorkshire!"
Collingwood made no reply to this communication. But as he drove off to
Normandale Grange, it was fresh in his mind. And it was not very
pleasant to him. One of the wealthiest young women in Yorkshire!--and he
was already realizing that he would like to make Nesta Mallathorpe his
wife: it was because he felt what he did for her that he had rushed down
to do anything he could that would be of help. Supposing--only
supposing--that people--anybody--said that he was fortune-hunting!
Somewhat unduly sensitive, proud, almost to a fault, he felt his cheek
redden at the thought, and for a moment he wished that old John
Mallathorpe's wealth had never passed to his niece. But then he sneered
at himself for his presumption.
"Ass!" he said. "She's never even thought of me--in that way, most
likely! Anyway, I'm a stupid fool for thinking of these things at
present."
But he knew, within a few minutes of entering the big, desolate-looking
house, that Nesta had been thinking of him. She came to him in the room
where they had first met, and quietly gave him her hand.
"I was not surprised when they told me you were here," she said. "I was
thinking about you--or, rather, expecting to hear from you."
"I came at once," answered Collingwood, who had kept her hand in his.
"I--well, I couldn't stop away. I thought, perhaps, I could do
something--be of some use."
"It's a great deal of use to have just--come," she said. "Thank you!
But--I suppose you'll have to go?"
"Not for two days, anyway," he replied. "What can I do?"
"I don't know that you can actually do anything," she answered.
"Everything is being done. Mr. Eldrick sent his clerk, Mr. Pratt--who
found Harper--he's been most kind and useful. He--and our own
solicitor--are making all arrangements. There's got to be an inquest.
No--I don't know that you can do actual things. But--while you're
here--you can look in when you like. My mother is very ill--she has
scarcely spoken since Saturday."
"I'll tell you what I will do," said Collingwood determinedly. "I
noticed in coming through the village just now that there's quite a
decent inn there. I'll go down and arrange to stay there until Wednesday
evening--then I shall be close by--if you should need me."
He saw by her look of quick appreciation and relief that this suggestion
pleased her. She pressed his hand and withdrew her own. "Thank you
again!" she said. "Do you know--I can't quite explain--I should be glad
if you were close at hand? Everybody has been very kind--but I do feel
that there is nobody I can talk to. If you arrange this, will you come
in again this evening?"
"I shall arrange it," answered Collingwood. "I'll see to it now. Tell
your people I am to be brought in whenever I call. And--I'll be close by
whenever you want me."
It seemed little to say, little to do, but he left her feeling that he
was being of some use. And as he went off to make his arrangements at
the inn he encountered Pratt, who was talking to the butler in the outer
hall.
The clerk looked at Collingwood with an unconcern and a composure which
he was able to assume because he had already heard of his presence in
the house. Inwardly, he was malignantly angry that the young barrister
was there, but his voice was suave, and polite enough when he spoke.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Collingwood," he said quietly. "Very sad occasion
on which we meet again, sir. Come to offer your sympathy, Mr.
Collingwood, of course--very kind of you."
"I came," answered Collingwood, who was not inclined to bandy phrases
with Pratt, "to see if I could be of any practical use."
"Just so, sir," said Pratt. "Mr. Eldrick sent me here for the same
purpose. There's really not much to do--beyond the necessary
arrangements, which are already pretty forward. Going back to town,
sir?" he went on, following Collingwood out to his motor-car, which
stood waiting in the drive.
"No!" replied Collingwood. "I'm going to send this man to Barford to
fetch my bag to the inn down there in the village, where I'm going to
stay for a few days. Did you hear that?" he continued, turning to the
driver. "Go back to Barford--get my bag from the _Station Hotel_
there--bring it to the _Normandale Arms_--I'll meet you there on your
return."
The car went off, and Collingwood, with a nod to Pratt, was about to
turn down a side path towards the village. But Pratt stopped him.
"Would you care to see the place where the accident happened, Mr.
Collingwood?" he said. "It's close by--won't take five minutes."
Collingwood hesitated a moment; then he turned back. It might be well,
he reflected, if he made himself acquainted with all the circumstances
of this case, simple as they seemed.
"Thank you," he said. "If it's so near."
"This way, sir," responded Pratt. He led his companion along the front
of the house, through the shrubberies at the end of a wing, and into a
plantation by a path thickly covered with pine needles. Presently they
emerged upon a similar track, at right angles to that by which they had
come, and leading into a denser part of the woods. And at the end of a
hundred yards of it they came to a barricade, evidently of recent
construction, over which Pratt stretched a hand. "There!" he said.
"That's the bridge, sir." Collingwood looked over the barricade. He saw
that he and Pratt were standing at the edge of one thick plantation of
fir and pine; the edge of a similar plantation stretched before them
some ten yards away. But between the two lay a deep, dark ravine, which,
immediately in front of the temporary barricade, was spanned by a narrow
rustic bridge--a fragile-looking thing of planks, railed in by boughs of
trees. And in the middle was a jagged gap in both floor and side-rails,
showing where the rotten wood had given way.
"I'll explain, Mr. Collingwood," said the clerk presently. "I knew this
park, sir--I knew it well, before the late Mr. John Mallathorpe bought
the property. That path at the other end of the bridge makes a short cut
down to the station in the valley--through the woods and the lower part
of the park. I came up that path, from the station, on Saturday
afternoon, intending to cross this bridge and go on to the house, where
I had private business. When I got to the other end of the bridge,
there, I saw the gap in the middle. And then I looked down into the
cut--there's a road--a paved road--down there, and I saw--him! And so I
made shift to scramble down--stiff job it was!--to get to him. But he
was dead, Mr. Collingwood--stone dead, sir!--though I'm certain he
hadn't been dead five minutes. And----"
"Aye, an' he'd never ha' been dead at all, wouldn't young Squire, if
only his ma had listened to what I telled her!" interrupted a voice
behind them. "He'd ha' been alive at this minute, he would, if his ma
had done what I said owt to be done--now then!"
Collingwood turned sharply--to confront an old man, evidently one of the
woodmen on the estate who had come up behind them unheard on the thick
carpeting of pine needles. And Pratt turned, too--with a keen look and a
direct question.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"
"I know what I'm talking about, young gentleman," said the man doggedly.
"I ain't worked, lad and man, on this one estate nine-and-forty
years--and happen more--wi'out knowin' all about it. I tell'd Mrs.
Mallathorpe on Friday noon 'at that there owd brig 'ud fall in afore
long if it worn't mended. I met her here, at this very place where we're
standin', and I showed her 'at it worn't safe to cross it. I tell'd her
't she owt to have it fastened up theer an' then. It's been rottin' for
many a year, has this owd brig--why, I mind when it wor last repaired,
and that wor years afore owd Mestur Mallathorpe bowt this estate!"
"When do you say you told Mrs. Mallathorpe all that?" asked Pratt.
"Friday noon it were, sir," answered the woodman. "When I were on my way
home--dinner time. 'Cause I met the missis here, and I made bold to tell
her what I'd noticed. That there owd brig!--lor' bless yer, gentlemen!
it were black rotten i' the middle, theer where poor young maister he
fell through it. 'Ye mun hev' that seen to at once, missis,' I says.
'Sartin sure, 'tain't often as it's used,' I says, 'but surely sartin
'at if it ain't mended, or closed altogether,' I says, 'summun 'll be
going through and brekkin' their necks,' I says. An' reight, too,
gentlemen--forty feet it is down to that road. An' a mortal hard road,
an' all, paved wi' granite stone all t' way to t' stable-yard."
"You're sure it was Friday noon?" repeated Pratt.
"As sure as that I see you," answered the woodman. "An' Mrs. Mallathorpe
she said she'd hev it seen to. Dear-a-me!--it should ha' been closed!"
The old man shook his head and went off amongst the trees, and Pratt,
giving his vanishing figure a queer look, turned silently back along the
path, followed by Collingwood. At the point where the other path led to
the house, he glanced over his shoulder at the young barrister.
"If you keep straight on, Mr. Collingwood," he said, "you'll get
straight down to the village and the inn. I must go this way."
He went off rapidly, and Collingwood walked on through the plantation
towards the _Normandale Arms_--wondering, all the way, why Pratt was so
anxious to know exactly when it was that Mrs. Mallathorpe had been
warned about the old bridge.