A DISCOVERY
On that same night the weather changed with unexampled rapidity from
cold to warm. A thick mist descended on Crumel, and the snow began to
melt, as though under the influence of a summer sun. The long hours of
darkness were filled with the dripping of water, the melting of snow,
and the whole country was turned into a vast expanse of slush. The
expectations of a White Christmas, entertained by old-fashioned
people, vanished, and next day it seemed, from the warm humidity of
the foggy air, as though the season of Yule had given place to early
autumn.
Clarice looked out of her bedroom-window on to damp green lawns, from
which patches of snow were quickly disappearing, and experienced a
sense of discomfort, which she set down to the queer weather. Perhaps
the earthquakes in the earlier part of the year had disarranged the
English climate and altered the seasons, but assuredly the atmosphere
was decidedly unhealthy. Yet the vague fears of the girl may have been
less due to the sudden change of temperature than to the feeling of
apprehension she entertained, since her conversation with Mr. Clarke,
that money matters were not so satisfactory as she had thought them to
be.
Hitherto Clarice had implicitly trusted Mr. Barras in her innocence of
worldly ways. He had always been frank with her, so far as she could
see, and having been delegated by Horran to tell her of all things
connected with the estate, Clarice had believed that she knew
everything. Now, if the vicar were to be believed, it appeared that
Horran had lent him money, and was pressing for the payment of the
interest. Also, Dr. Jerce seemed to know of the private business of
the Baird orphans, and to be influencing Horran against the wretched
Mr. Clarke. Certainly, the vicar was not a very estimable character,
and his infatuation for his spendthrift son merited contempt rather
than approbation. Nevertheless, Horran had known Clarke all his life
and had been to college with him and with Jerce. He therefore,
assuredly, should not be hard on the parson, whose sole fault was
affection for an unworthy son. Also, if Jerce was influencing Horran,
as Clarke suggested, he might advise leniency instead of bearing hard
on the man, especially at Christmas time. Barras also appeared to be
anxious to force the vicar into discharging the interest at a time
when he could ill afford to pay three pounds, much less three hundred;
and, more than this, Barras wilfully concealed from Clarice the facts
of the case. If the lawyer withheld this item, he certainly withheld
others, and Clarice, staring out of her window at the thaw, began to
find herself doubting the honesty of Mr. Barras.
Added to these troubles were the facts of Horran's mysterious illness,
and the mystery of the purple fern. More than ever, Clarice was
determined not to speak to Jerce about the missive, which had sent
Horran into his second deep sleep. Putting aside the fact that Jerce
was in league with Barras--as it would appear--to bankrupt the vicar,
the doctor, being in love with her, assuredly was not a person to whom
she could talk freely. Then again, Ferdy's manner alarmed the girl.
After his first outburst of joy on becoming engaged to Prudence, he
had relapsed into moody silence, and seemed to be much worried over
something, which he refused to explain to his sister.
In vain, on the previous night, had Clarice implored him to be
entirely frank. Ferdy, declaring that there was nothing wrong, had
maintained his moody manner, and had drunk much more wine than was
good for a man with a weak brain. On the whole, Clarice, after
reflection, concluded that her uneasiness was due less to the
unexampled weather than to the domestic mysteries, by which she seemed
to be surrounded.
On leaving her room, she found that Ferdy had already breakfasted, and
had gone out. Presuming that he was haunting Prudence with the
impatience of a young lover, Clarice thought no more about his
absence, but breakfasted alone. Then she repaired to Mr. Horran's room
to speak to him of the many matters which were on her mind. It was
just as well, she thought, to go to the fountain head at once, and to
learn if Horran really desired to sell up the vicar.
"Is Uncle Henry awake?" she asked, when Chalks presented himself. "No,
Miss," was the prompt reply, "he is sound asleep, as usual."
"Dear me. And how long will he sleep?"
"Dr. Wentworth can't say, Miss. We tried to wake him, and can't, so
Dr. Wentworth said it would be better to let him sleep until he had a
consultation with Dr. Jerce."
Clarice cast a look at the French window, and saw that it was open
wide, in spite of the fog. "I see that Dr. Wentworth has been here,
Chalks," she said, remembering the whimsical explanation of the man
about the disagreement between the two physicians. "Yes, Miss," said
Chalks, casting a look at the window, "but when Dr. Jerce comes this
afternoon, he will have that closed."
"Oh is Dr. Jerce coming this afternoon?"
"Yes, Miss. Dr. Wentworth doesn't like this constant sleeping of the
master, and has sent for Dr. Jerce to consult."
"It is just as well," said Clarice, crossing to the bed and looking at
the pale, calm face of the still sleeping man. "I want to talk to Dr.
Jerce about some business."
This was hardly the term. She wished to ask Jerce why the grey man had
searched his pockets, and why he was influencing Barras and Horran to
be hard on the vicar. The matter of the purple fern, she intended to
relate to no one but Anthony. A memory of his name made her glance at
her watch, and she noted that he would soon make his appearance.
Horran seemed to be sleeping as placidly as an infant, so she felt
that there was no cause for alarm. Bending to kiss the placid face,
she turned slowly towards the door.
"By the way, Chalks, have you seen Mr. Ferdinand this morning?" she
asked, thinking that her brother might have paid a visit to the
invalid.
"Yes, Miss," said the valet, promptly. "I saw him out of this," he
waved his hand towards the open French window, "going to the Savoy
Hotel."
"Oh," ejaculated Clarice, and hastily left the room. It seemed strange
to her that Ferdy should seek out the mother of Sarah Dumps, just when
he became engaged. Surely he did not love the dancer, when he had only
lately proposed to Prudence. Remembering Dr. Jerce's remarks, and
recalling the conversation of Mrs. Rebson, the girl felt uneasy on
account of her brother. Ferdy seemed to have two strings to his bow.
Sarah Dumps was not at home, certainly, yet,--here Clarice stopped
and thought. A sudden idea struck her. She returned quickly to the
sick-room. "Chalks, you go sometimes to the Savoy Hotel," she
remarked, "were you there last night?"
"For half an hour, Miss," replied the valet, apologetically, "Mrs.
Rebson watched master while I was away. I hope I didn't do wrong, but
master seemed to be sleeping so quietly that I thought I might get a
breath of fresh air."
"No! no! that's all right, Chalks. But do you know if Mrs. Dumps'
daughter has returned for Christmas."
"Yes, Miss. She came back last night, and a very pretty girl she is,
Miss, quite a--"
"Yes, yes! I have seen her," interrupted Clarice, hurriedly, and went
away feeling more upset than ever. This, then, was the reason of
Ferdy's visit to the Savoy Hotel. Sarah Dumps was in the field, and
Ferdy was in her nets. Yet weak as the boy was, it seemed incredible
that he should propose to one woman and immediately seek the company
of another. Here, then, was another trouble for Clarice, and she did
not know very well what to do. It was impossible to speak to Ferdy, as
she had no proof that he loved Sarah Dumps, save from what Mrs. Rebson
had said. A simple denial on the part of Ferdy would take the wind out
of her sails, so to speak, and she would be helpless to do anything.
On the other hand, Clarice felt certain that in some way Ferdy was
playing a double game. She knew his weak character too well to give
him the benefit of the doubt. For all she knew he might be engaged to
both Sarah Dumps and Prudence at the same time. "Oh, dear me," cried
her heart, "I wish Anthony would marry me and take me away from all
these troubles;" but even as she thought, the wish seemed cowardly.
She would have to remain and fight Ferdy's battles and those of the
vicar. Also, if the purple fern meant any harm to Mr. Horran, she
would be forced to help him also. The sole thing she could do was to
seek Anthony's advice and aid.
Towards noon that young man arrived, having driven over from
Gattlinsands in his dog-cart. Usually he came over on a motor bicycle,
but as he explained to Clarice between kisses, the sudden thaw had
made the roads death-traps in the way of slipping. "I'm jolly well
splashed," said Ackworth, laughing, "but if Leander swam the
Hellespont to see Hero, why shouldn't I wade through acres of slush to
see you?"
"Of course," smiled Clarice, who felt much lighter-hearted, now that
this strong young lover was present, "only you were driving instead of
wading, my dear Anthony."
"Well, I dare say Leander would have taken a penny steamer had there
been one," said Anthony, throwing back his handsome head, "so that
makes my parallel the more perfect."
Clarice laughed again, and drew him silently to a sofa, whereon they
sat hand in hand, after the delightfully foolish manner of lovers.
Ackworth was certainly a Swain of whom any girl might have been proud.
He was not the desperately good-looking god of the Family Herald, but
was comely enough in his youth and strength to pass in a crowd. His
closely clipped hair was fair, as was his moustache. He had a bronzed
face and a pair of merry blue eyes, and was as well set up as military
training and constant out-of-door exercise could make him. Finally, he
had a well-groomed, clean look, and anyone could see that he was a
thoroughly wholesome, honourable gentleman. Clarice, of course, deemed
him to be perfection, which he was not; but he had more virtues than
faults, and assuredly was masterful enough to satisfy the most
exacting woman. As a Greek god, Anthony Ackworth was a failure; as a
man to trust and love he came off very well. That he was not
superlatively clever, did not lower Clarice's appreciation of his
character.
"Well?" asked Anthony, unoriginally, "how are things?"
"All wrong," replied Clarice, quickly. "I have been most anxious to
see you, dear. I want help."
"I should think you were clever enough to do without any help I could
give you," said Ackworth, admiringly, for he looked upon Miss Baird as
a Queen Elizabeth-cum-Catherine-George Eliot kind of woman. "Is Mr.
Horran any better?"
"No--that is, he's asleep."
"He was asleep last time I was here."
"Yes. He then slept for ten hours and woke up to drop asleep again for
a longer period."
"What a dormouse sort of existence. Is it that which worries you?"
"No. Uncle Henry is no better and no worse than he ever was. I have
several things to worry me. Ferdy is engaged to Prudence Clarke."
"Lucky man. She's a pretty girl," said Anthony; "that shouldn't worry
you, dearest. You wished to have her for a sister-in-law."
"Yes, but there's Sarah Dumps."
"What a name. Who is Sarah Dumps?"
"Butterfly."
"Butterfly what?"
"You know. She dances and sings under the name of--"
"Oh!" Anthony was suddenly enlightened. "I remember. I saw a dancer
called Butterfly at the Mascot Music-hall. She's pretty, but not the
kind of woman I admire."
"I am afraid Ferdy does," sighed Clarice.
"What. You don't mean to say--"
"Yes, I do. Listen to what Mrs. Rebson says." And Clarice related the
conversation with the old housekeeper. "And you see," ended Miss
Baird, anxiously, "if Sarah Dumps has come back, and Ferdy has gone to
see her so immediately, I am afraid he is entangled with her."
Ackworth shook his head. "No, my dear," he said, very decidedly,
"Ferdy is not clever, but, at least, he is a gentleman. No man would
propose to one woman, and then immediately visit another old flame. I
don't believe there is anything in the matter. Besides, Butterfly--to
give her the name she is best known by--is ambitious of a richer
husband than your brother, to say nothing of her wish for a title."
"But Mrs. Dumps--"
"Oh, the mother living here naturally thinks Ferdy a good match."
"Well, he is. He will have two thousand a year."
"Butterfly will want ten thousand. From all I have heard she has a
wonderful capacity for spending."
"Is she--is she--," Clarice hesitated, "quite respectable?"
"Oh, quite," assented Ackworth, decisively, "she's too clever a young
woman to play fast and loose with her reputation. She wants to marry
well, you see, and therefore keeps straight. But I don't think you
need be afraid of Ferdy, darling. He's only one of the many moths that
have fluttered round that candle. Now that he's engaged he'll forget
her. And, after all, it's mere talk. He may not be in love with
Butterfly at all."
"Why should he visit her, so--"
"He may have gone to see the mother, or to have a drink," said
Anthony, vaguely. "Ferdy's an ass, but he's all right."
"But Dr. Jerce says he drinks and gambles, and--"
"I'll have to talk to Ferdy, and see if I can lead him in the right
way," said Ackworth, with some impatience. "Don't trouble yourself
over your brother, dearest. Every young man of that age is more or
less of an ass. But it's only like a young colt kicking his heels in a
flowery meadow."
"Then I need not worry, Anthony?"
"No, I'll speak to Ferdy and take this especial worry off your
shoulders, my dear. Anything else?"
"This." Clarice held out the letter, without explanation, as she
wanted to know if the elusive memory would come more clearly to
Anthony. He opened the envelope in silence, then sprang up with a
shout when he saw the contents.
"The Purple Fern, by Jupiter!" said Ackworth, staring. "What does it
mean?" asked Clarice, vaguely terrified.
Ackworth looked anxious. "Nothing very pleasant," he muttered; "I
thought it had been stamped out."
"What had been stamped out?"
"This purple fern business. Don't you remember that the papers were
full of it a year ago, Clarry?"
Clarice put her hand to her head. The memory came back with a rush,
and she now knew why the pictorial representation of the fern had been
vaguely familiar to her. "Oh," she exclaimed, "does it mean death to
Uncle Henry?"
"What?" Anthony looked relieved. "Then _you_ did not get it?"
"No. Uncle Henry told me that he found it outside his bedroom window.
I expect he remembered about the murders, and received the shock he
talked about. Why do you look so relieved?"
"I thought that the warning might have been directed to you," muttered
Ackworth, turning over the envelope, "apparently it is not, and
perhaps not even to Mr. Horran, since there is no address."
"Tell me, Anthony, exactly what it means," said Clarice, anxiously. "I
remember reading a lot about those murders, but I almost forget."
"I wonder at that, considering how we talked them over," said
Ackworth, sitting down again, and slipping his arm round her as though
to protect her from harm. "Don't you remember, darling, that one
person after another was found murdered in houses and in streets, with
a purple fern stamped on the forehead. And in every case, a warning of
a stamped fern was sent beforehand. Then the police caught one man
red-handed. He was tried and hanged, but he would not give away his
associates. But the police gathered that he was one of a gang who
killed people to get money--since all the victims were wealthy--and in
every instance the sign of the association, a purple fern, was stamped
on the forehead of the victim. But with the hanging of the man that
was caught, the murders ceased. This is the first time I have heard of
a new warning being given. I should recommend Mr. Horran to take care
of himself."
"Oh, Anthony, how terrible. Do you really think that he is in danger
of his life?"
"Judging by the fact that seven people, men and women, were killed,
after such a warning had been sent, I do think it is dangerous. I
shall see the local police about this at once. The house must be
watched. I wonder why Horran is to be killed. Is he very rich?"
Recollecting what Clarke had said, Clarice could reply easily: "On the
contrary, he has nothing but what he earns by acting as our guardian.
I wish he could explain exactly how he picked up the letter; but he is
still asleep."
At this minute the wheels of a carriage were heard. Clarice, wondering
if the new arrival was Jerce, opened the French window and stepped out
on to the terrace, now sloppy with mixed snow and water and mud. She
strolled to the end, followed by Anthony, and saw that Dr. Jerce had
indeed arrived. He was stepping out of a hired fly, and had just
handed the man his fare, when he caught sight of Clarice. At once he
came towards her with outstretched hand. She took it unwillingly
enough. "I received a wire from Wentworth," he said, anxiously. "I
hope my old friend is not very ill again."
"No. He's in a sound sleep, and Dr. Wentworth is puzzled over the
length of his slumber. Come in this way." And she went along the
terrace.
"Thank you. Ah, Mr. Ackworth, how are you? Quite a change in the
weather, isn't it? And I--why, what's the matter?"
The ejaculation was caused by a cry from Clarice. She had picked up a
small object, which the thaw had revealed. It was a small gold box,
and on its face was set a curved fern in amethysts.
"The Purple Fern again!" exclaimed Ackworth, amazed.