A DEAD-LOCK.
The incident of the jewellery of Lady Knighton occasioned much talk.
On the evening of the ball it occupied the whole conversation, as the
sole topic on which tongues could run and brains work. I say tongues
run and brains work and not brains work and tongues run, for the
former is the natural order in chatter. It was a subject that was
thrashed by a hundred tongues of the dancers. Then it was turned over
and rethrashed. Then it was winnowed. The chaff of the tale was blown
into the kitchens and servants' halls, it drifted into tap-rooms,
where the coachmen and grooms congregated and drank; and there it was
rethrashed and rewinnowed.
On the day following the ball, the jewels were returned to Lady
Knighton, with a courteous letter from Captain Coppinger, to say that
he had obtained them through the well-known Willy Mann, a pedlar who
did commissions for the neighborhood, who travelled from Exeter along
the south coast of Devon and Cornwall, and returned along the north
coast of both counties.
Everyone had made use of this fellow to do commissions, and
trustworthy he had always proved. That was not a time when there was a
parcels' post, and few could afford the time and the money to run at
every requirement to the great cities, where were important shops when
they required what could not be obtained in small country towns. He
had been employed to match silks, to choose carpets, to bring
medicines, to select jewellery, to convey love-letters.
But Willy Mann had, unfortunately, died a month ago, having fallen off
a wagon and broken his neck.
Consequently it was not possible to follow up any further the traces
of the diamond butterflies. Willy Mann, as was well known, had been a
vehicle for conveying sundry valuables from ladies who had lost money
at cards, and wanted to recoup by parting with bracelets and
brooches. That he may have received stolen goods and valuables
obtained from wrecks was also probable.
So, after all the thrashing and winnowing, folks were no wiser than
before, and no nearer the solution of the mystery. Some thought that
Coppinger was guilty, others thought not, and others maintained a
neutral position. Some again thought one thing one day and the
opposite the next, and some always agreed with the last speaker's
views. Whereas others again always took a contrary opinion to those
who discussed the matter with them.
Moreover, the matter went through a course much like a fever. It
blazed out, was furious, then died away; languor ensued--and it gave
symptoms of disappearing.
The general mistrust against Coppinger was deepened, certainly, and
the men who had wine and spirits and tobacco through him, resolved to
have wine and spirits and tobacco from him, but nothing more. They
would deal with him as a trader, and not acknowledge him as their
social fellow. The ladies pitied Judith, they professed their respect
for her; but as beds are made so must they be lain on, and as is
cooked so must be eaten. She had married a man whom all mistrusted,
and must suffer accordingly; one who is associated with an infected
patient is certain to be shunned as much as the patient. Such is the
way of the world, and we cannot alter it, as the making of that way
has not been intrusted to us. On the day following the ball, Judith
did not appear at Polzeath, nor again on the day after that.
Oliver became restless. The cheerful humor, the merry mood that his
father had professed were his, had deserted him. He could not endure
the thought that one so innocent, so child-like as Judith, should have
her fortunes linked to those of a man of whom he knew the worst. He
could not, indeed, swear to his identity with the man on the wreck who
had attempted to rob the passengers, and who had fought with him. He
had no doubt whatever in his own mind that his adversary and assailant
had been Coppinger, but he was led to this identification by nothing
more tangible than the allusion made to Wyvill's death, and a certain
tone of voice which he believed he recognized. The evidence was
insufficient to convict him, of that Oliver was well aware. He was
confident, moreover, that Coppinger was the man who had taken the
jewels from Lady Knighton; but here again he was wholly unsupported by
any sound basis of fact on which his conviction could maintain itself.
Toward Coppinger he felt an implacable anger, and a keen desire for
revenge. He would like to punish him for that assault on the wreck,
but chiefly for the wrongs done to Judith. She had no champion, no
protector. His father, as he acknowledged to himself, was a broken
reed for one to lean on, a man of good intentions, but of a confused
mind, of weakness of purpose, and lack of energy. The situation of
Judith was a pitiful one, and if she was to be rescued from it, he
must rescue her. But when he came to consider the way and means, he
found himself beset with difficulties. She was married after a
fashion. It was very questionable whether the marriage was legal, but,
nevertheless, it was known through the county that a marriage had
taken place, Judith had gone to Coppinger's house, and had appeared at
the ball as his wife. If he established before the world that the
marriage was invalid, what would she do? How would the world regard
her? Was it possible for him to bring Coppinger to justice?
Oliver went about instituting inquiries. He endeavored to trace to
their source, the rumors that circulated relative to Coppinger, but
always without finding anything on which he could lay hold. It was
made plain to him that Captain Cruel was but the head of a great
association of men, all involved in illegal practices; men engaged in
smuggling, and ready to make their profit of a wreck, when a wreck
fell in their way. They hung together like bees. Touch one, and the
whole hive swarmed out. They screened one another, were ready to give
testimony before magistrates that would exculpate whoever of the gang
was accused. They evaded every attempt of the coast-guard to catch
them; they laughed at the constables and magistrates. Information was
passed from one to another with incredible rapidity; they had their
spies and their agents along the coast. The magistrates and country
gentry, though strongly reprobating wrecking, and bitterly opposed to
poaching, were of broad and generous views regarding smuggling, and
the preventive officer complained that he did not receive that
support from the squirearchy which he expected and had a right to
demand.
There were caves along the whole coast, from Land's End to Hartland,
and there were, unquestionably, stores of smuggled goods in a vast
number of places, centres whence they were distributed. When a vessel
engaged in the contraband trade appeared off the coast, and the guard
were on the alert in one place, she ran a few miles up or down,
signalled to shore, and landed her cargo before the coast-guard knew
where she was. They were being constantly deceived by false
information, and led away in one direction while the contraband goods
were being conveyed ashore in an opposite quarter.
Oliver learned much concerning this during the ensuing few days. He
made acquaintance with the officer in command of the nearest station,
and resolved to keep a close watch on Coppinger, and to do his utmost
to effect his arrest. When Captain Cruel was got out of the way, then
something could be done for Judith. An opportunity came in Oliver's
way of learning tidings of importance, and that when he least expected
it. As already said, he was wont to go about on the cliffs with Jamie,
and after Judith ceased to appear at Mr. Menaida's cottage, in his
unrest he took Jamie much with him, out of consideration for Judith,
who, as he was well aware, would be content to have her brother with
him, and kept thereby out of mischief.
On one of these occasions he found the boy lag behind, become uneasy,
and at last refuse to go farther. He inquired the reason, and Jamie,
in evident alarm, replied that he dare not--he had been forbidden.
"By whom?"
"He said he would throw me over, as he did my doggie, if I came here
again."
"Who did?"
"Captain Coppinger."
"But why?"
Jamie was frightened, and looked round.
"I mustn't say," he answered, in a whisper.
"Must not say what, Jamie?"
"I was to let no one know about it."
"About what?"
"I am afraid to say. He would throw me over. I found it out and
showed it to Ju. I have never been down there since."
"Captain Coppinger found you somewhere, and forbade your ever going to
that place again?"
"Yes," in a faltering voice.
"And threatened to fling you over the cliffs if you did!"
"Yes," again timidly.
Oliver said quietly, "Now run home and leave me here."
"I daren't go by myself. I did not mean to come here."
"Very well. No one has seen you. Let me see, this wall marks the spot.
I will go back with you."
Oliver was unusually silent as he walked to Polzeath with Jamie. He
was unwilling further to press the boy. He would probably confuse him,
by throwing him into a paroxysm of alarm. He had gained sufficient
information for his purpose from the few words he let drop. "I have
never been down there since," Jamie had said. There was, then,
something that Coppinger desired should not be generally known
concealed between the point on the cliff where the "new-take" wall
ended and the beach immediately beneath.
He took Jamie to his father, and got the old man to give him some
setting up of birds to amuse and occupy him, and then returned to the
cliff. It did not take him long to discover the entrance to the cave
beneath, behind the curtain of slate reef, and as he penetrated this
to the farthest point, he was placed in possession of one of the
secrets of Coppinger and his band.
He did not tarry there, but returned home another way, musing over
what he had learned, and considering what advantage he was to take of
it. A very little thought satisfied him that his wisest course was to
say nothing about what he had learned, and to await the turns of
fortune, and the incautiousness of the smugglers.
From this time, moreover, he discontinued his visits to the
coast-guard station, which was on the farther side of the estuary of
the Camel, and which could not well be crossed without attracting
attention. There was no trusting anyone, Oliver felt--the boatman who
put him across was very possibly in league with the smugglers, and was
a spy on those who were in communication with the officers of the
revenue.
Another reason for his cessation of visits was that, on his return to
his father's house, after having explored the cave, and the track in
the face of the cliff leading to it, he heard that Jamie had been
taken away by Coppinger. The Captain had been there during his
absence, and had told Mr. Menaida that Judith was distressed at being
separated from her brother, and that, as there were reasons which made
him desire that she should forego her walks to Polzeath, he, Captain
Coppinger, deemed it advisable to bring Jamie back to Pentyre.
Oliver asked himself, when he heard this, with some unease, whether
this was due to his having been observed with the boy on the downs
near the place from which access to the cave was had. Also, whether
the boy would be frightened at the appearance of Captain Cruel so soon
after he had approached the forbidden spot, and, in his fear, reveal
that he had been there with Oliver and had partially betrayed the
secret.
There was another question he was also constrained to ask himself, and
it was one that made the color flash into his cheek. What was the
particular reason why Captain Coppinger objected to the visits of his
wife to Polzeath at that time? Was he jealous? He recalled the flare
in his eyes at the ball, when Judith turned to him, held out her hand,
and called him by his Christian name.
From this time all communication with Pentyre Glaze was cut off;
tidings relative to Judith and Jamie were not to be had. Judith was
not seen, Aunt Dionysia rarely, and from her nothing was to be
learned. It would hardly comport with discretion for inquiries to be
made by Oliver of the servants of the Glaze; but his father, moved by
Oliver and by his own anxiety, did venture to go to the house and ask
after Judith. He was coldly received by Miss Trevisa, who took the
opportunity to insult him by asking if he had come to have his bill
settled--there being a small account in his favor for Jamie. She paid
him, and sent the old fellow fuming, stamping, even swearing, home,
and as ignorant of the condition of Judith as when he went. He had not
seen Judith, nor had he met Captain Coppinger. He had caught a glimpse
of Jamie in the yard with his donkey, but the moment the boy saw him
he dived into the stable, and did not emerge from it till Uncle Zachie
was gone.
Then Mr. Menaida, still urged by his son and by his own feelings,
incapable of action unless goaded by these double spurs, went to the
rectory to ask Mr. Mules if he had seen Judith, and whether anything
had been done about the signatures in the register.
Mr. Desiderius was communicative.
He had been to Pentyre about the matter. He was, as he said, "in a
stew over it" himself. It was most awkward; he had filled in as much
as he could of the register, and all that lacked were the
signatures--he might say all but that of the bride and Mr. Menaida,
for there had been a scene. Mrs. Coppinger had come down, and, in the
presence of the Captain and her aunt, he had expostulated with her,
had pointed out to her the awkward position in which it placed
himself, the scruple he felt at retaining the fee, when the work was
only half done; how, that by appearing at the ball, she had shown to
the whole neighborhood that she was the wife of Captain Coppinger, and
that, having done this, she might as well append her name to the entry
in the register. Then Captain Coppinger and Miss Trevisa had made the
requisite entries, but Judith had again calmly, but resolutely,
refused.
Mr. Mules admitted there had been a scene. Mr. Coppinger became angry,
and used somewhat violent words. But nothing that he himself could
say, no representations made by her aunt, no urgency on the part of
her husband could move the resolution of Judith, "which was a bit of
arrant tomfoolery," said Mr. Desiderius, "and I told her so. Even
that--the knowledge that she went down a peg in my estimation--even
that did not move her."
"And how was she?" asked Mr. Menaida.
"Obstinate," answered the rector, "obstinate as a--I mean as a donkey,
that is the position of affairs. We are at a dead-lock."