THE VICAR'S TROUBLES
In the dingy study an eloquent silence prevailed. After making her
startling announcement, Prudence sat tearless, and with a drawn white
face, plucking at the damp handkerchief she carried in her hands. Poor
girl, she had wept until she could weep no more, and all she could do,
with worn-out emotions, was to hold her peace, until Clarice could
help her to continue the conversation. That young lady, as white-faced
as her hostess, sat tongue-tied and horrified. She looked at the sad
figure before her, at the grim line of theological books bound in
calf, at the unclean window with its ragged curtains, and at the grimy
carpet, worn and faded. It took her some time to collect her thoughts.
When she did recover her speech, it was to energetically deny the
truth of the girl's speech.
"I don't believe it," cried Clarice, decisively; "don't talk to me,
Prudence," she went on, as the girl was about to speak, "you know
perfectly well that Uncle Henry was murdered by that wretched Osip,
and that a verdict to that effect was brought in by the jury. Besides,
what possible object could your father have to commit murder?"
Prudence looked up with a scared look, and stealthily glanced at the
door, as she answered in a whisper. "The loan--the interest," said
Prudence, in the voice of a ghost, so thin and low was her speech.
Clarice started and reflected. There certainly was a motive here to
make Clarke commit a crime--that is, if Horran, grinding him to the
dust, had proposed to sell him up. But that is exactly what the dead
man never intended to do. "Uncle Henry would never have behaved like a
usurer," said Clarice.
"He charged father ten per cent.," said Prudence, scathingly.
"If he had been a Shylock, he would have charged him fifty per cent.,
my dear, and also he would not have allowed the interest to run on for
three years without claiming his own. And now I think of it," added
Clarice, recalling a late conversation with Mr. Barras, "Uncle Henry
knew very little about the matter. He instructed Mr. Barras to lend
your father one thousand pounds, and omitted to mention the interest.
Mr. Barras charged ten per cent. on his own. It is a large percentage,
but then Mr. Barras is not the most amiable of men. And, I suppose, he
thought he was doing right in getting as much as he could for the
money."
"Father owed Mr. Horran one thousand pounds and three hundred for
interest," said Prudence, "and----"
"One moment, dear. He owed this, and still owes this to the estate of
myself and Ferdy. Mr. Horran had a settled income for acting as our
guardian, but the money he lent was ours, and not his. I have taken
this debt upon myself, and when you marry Ferdy, I'll give your father
a discharge."
Prudence lifted up her hands with a low wail. "I can never marry
Ferdy," she said, in a broken voice.
"What nonsense; you shall marry him."
"And see my father stand in the dock as a felon."
"There is no chance of that, Prudence. What does your father say?"
"Clarice! Do you think that I have told him?" she said, vehemently.
"Oh, no. Poor father has enough troubles to bear, without my heaping
more on him. He knows nothing of my reason for refusing to marry."
"But he objects himself?" said Clarice, much perplexed.
"Yes, because of my brother. Frank has brought disgrace on us, and has
died in disgrace."
"When and where, Prudence?"
"I can't tell you anything," rejoined the girl; "all I know is that
just after the burial of your guardian, father received some bad news
about Frank. I have not seen Frank for years, nor have I heard
anything about him. He was always in trouble, and father was always
sending him money. He borrowed that thousand to help Frank and get him
out of some scrape. But this time the news must have been awful, for
father came to me, and, saying that Frank was dead, and that he never
wished to hear his name mentioned again, he wrote off to get another
clergyman, and arranged that we should go away for a time."
"But has he never told you what your brother did?"
"No. I have asked him three or four times; he will not say a word
about poor dead Frank. And then father told me that because Frank had
done something wicked, that I was to give up all thought of marrying
Ferdy."
"Did you agree to that?"
"No. I said that Frank's sins should never spoil my life, and father
was very angry with me."
"That was perfectly right," said Clarice, heartily, her common sense
coming to her aid; "if the sins of the father are visited on the
children, that is no reason that the additional burden of a brother's
faults should be heaped on a sister's shoulders. You were quite right
to stick to Ferdy, my dear. But what caused you to change your mind,
Prudence?"
"I was told that my father had murdered Mr. Horran," said the poor
girl again, and in the same terrified whisper; "and that if I married
Ferdy, information would be given to the police, which would lead to
his arrest."
"What a preposterous story," said Clarice, indignantly, "did you
believe it, Prudence?"
The girl glanced round again, and seemed to shrink into nothing as she
whispered, "Yes!"
Clarice stared at her. "You ought to stick up for your father," said
she, with some slang, but with great truth.
"God help me, I wish I could," wailed Prudence, clasping her hands.
Clarice caught one of her hands. "Be more explicit," she said,
quickly; "you have told me so much that you must tell me all."
"You won't let the police know about father's guilt?"
"No, because I don't believe that he is guilty. Why, the jury brought
in a verdict against Osip. The evidence was perfectly plain. Go on,
tell me all you know."
Prudence drew her chair close to that of her visitor's, and placed her
lips to Clarice's ear. "Father owed that money, as you know," she
explained, hurriedly; "and Mr. Barras wrote, saying that, unless the
interest was paid immediately after New Year, father would be sold up.
He was nearly frenzied, as he could not have stopped in the parish if
such a sale had taken place, and we are so poor that we had nowhere to
go to. Then, as father said, the Bishop might have interfered."
"Private matters of this sort have nothing to do with the Bishop."
"Father thought otherwise, and went about the house moaning that he
was in disgrace, and did not know what to do. Then you came on the day
Ferdy and I became engaged. Father was more cheerful after you had
gone, both on account of my engagement, and from something which you
said to him."
"I said that I would speak to Uncle Henry and settle the loan," said
Clarice, rapidly; "go on, dear, I want to know all before your father
returns."
"Afterwards father fell into low spirits again, and wanted to see Mr.
Horran for himself. He tried to, but was refused admittance."
"I know," nodded Clarice. "Dr. Jerce thought that such a visit would
irritate Uncle Henry. Now that I know Mr. Barras charged ten per
cent., and that Uncle Henry, who respected your father, was ignorant
of such extortion, I quite understand why Dr. Jerce did not want Uncle
Henry to be upset. He was quite right. But then, Prudence, your father
did see my guardian."
"Yes. He went in by the open French window, and----"
"I remember what he said at the inquest," interrupted Clarice, with a
musing air. "Ah!" She started as the memory came back to her; "he
stated that Uncle Henry denied giving Mr. Barras permission to lend
the money."
"No," said Prudence, quickly; "if you will refer to the newspaper
report, Clarice, he really said that Mr. Horran declared that he had
not given Mr. Barras permission to lend the money at ten per cent. So
that agrees with what you say. Mr. Barras was allowed to make the
loan, but charged ten per cent. on his own account, so to speak."
Clarice nodded. "Well, then, Uncle Henry told your father not to
worry, and said that he would write to Mr. Barras."
Prudence nodded. "Yes, I remember."
There was a pause. Then Clarice said, impatiently: "Well, then, my
dear girl, if matters were thus adjusted by my Uncle Henry and your
father, I don't see what motive Mr. Clarke had to kill my guardian."
Prudence thought for a few moments. "Clarice, it may be that my father
did not tell the exact truth about the interview at the inquest. You
see, he wished to avert suspicion from himself."
"But he was never suspected."
"Wait, Clarice. My father was very much agitated after the interview
with Mr. Horran, although he said very little about it to me. I heard
no more about the matter until the inquest, when father gave his
evidence. I thought that he spoke truly, until----"
"Until what?"
"Until that woman called to see me, while everyone was at the
funeral."
Clarice started. "Woman--what woman?"
"Mrs. Dumps' daughter."
"Zara Dumps--Butterfly?"
"Yes. You know her as well as I do, Clarice. Sarah Dumps is her name,
although she chooses to call herself Zara. She was always a most
disagreeable girl, as I knew when I had anything to do with her in the
Sunday School. That was before she went away to appear on the stage as
Butterfly."
"I never did think much of her," said Clarice, contemptuously, "and,
indeed, I never thought about her at all, until I learned accidentally
that Ferdy admired her."
"And she admires Ferdy," said Prudence, panting, and with her dark
eyes flashing. "I hate her! Oh, how I hate her! It is wonderful, all
the same, Clarice, how that dowdy little country girl has blossomed
into a well-dressed woman of the world."
"All superficial, Prudence. I dare say she's as ignorant as ever. I
know from what little I saw of her at Church festivals and school
treats, that she couldn't speak English."
"She speaks it very well now," said Prudence, bitterly; "well enough,
at all events to tell me that I must give up Ferdy."
"And you did--at that minx's bidding?" Clarice clenched her fist so
that the glove split. "I would have turned her out of the house--the
insolent creature. To dare to love Ferdy--to dare to address you in
such a way. What did you say?"
"At first I laughed at her, but when she spoke--"
"Well," asked Clarice, seeing that the girl hesitated, "what did she
say?"
"She told me that my father had murdered Mr. Horran, and that if I did
not refuse to marry Ferdy, she would tell the police."
Clarice laughed derisively. "And you believed this story--a story
which such a brazen girl had every inducement to tell."
"Not at first, but afterwards I found proof."
"Against your father? I can never believe that," said Miss Baird, very
decidedly. "What proof--no, tell me first, on what grounds this Dumps
woman based her accusation."
"She said that she was stopping at the Savoy Hotel, with her mother,
for a rest."
"Quite right. I know she was. Mrs. Rebson told me. Go on."
"Mrs. Dumps on that night----"
"What night?"
"The night when Mr. Horran was killed."
"He was murdered between one and two in the morning."
"Well, then, during the hours of darkness," said Prudence,
impatiently, "on that night, or morning, if you like, Mrs. Dumps was
taken ill, and Sarah was awakened to attend to her. Sal volatile was
needed, so Sarah put on her things, and went out to the chemist."
"I don't believe it; the chemist would not attend to anyone at that
hour. By the way, what do you say the hour was?"
"Two o'clock," said Prudence, softly. "And then the chemist is a
relative of Mrs. Dumps, Clarice, and would probably give Sarah what
she wanted."
"Sal volatile. Humph!" said Clarice, inelegantly. "Well?"
"Sarah said that she went along quietly, and passed your house----"
"She would have to if she came up the lane to go to the High Street,"
remarked Clarice, trying mentally to follow the wanderings of
Butterfly, so as to be certain of the truth of her evidence.
"It was a moonlight night, and Sarah kept in the shadow on the other
side of the lane, so that no one should see her going out so late."
"Why should she have done that? Did she expect to meet anyone?"
"She said something about the chances of meeting a policeman," was
Prudence's reply. "Do let me get on with the story, Clarice, or I'll
never get it finished."
"I am all attention."
"Well, then, Sarah says that she saw my father come quickly out of the
window of your uncle's bedroom, and run out of the garden and up the
lane. She was in the shadow, and he passed her rapidly, but she saw
for one second in the moonlight, his face, white and terrified. She
went and got the sal volatile, and told no one of what she had seen,
not even her mother, until she came to use her knowledge to part me
from Ferdy."
When Prudence paused, Clarice looked at her with an unmoved face.
"Well, my dear?"
"Well," said Prudence, "that is Sarah Dumps' story."
"A very weak one. I believe she made it up. She could not get your
father arrested on that evidence."
"But, Clarice," Prudence placed her lips at the girl's ear; "I laughed
at Sarah's wild story. But when she went I examined my father's
bedroom. I found a shirt thrown into the washing basket, which had not
been called for--the basket, I mean--owing to the holidays. I found
that the wrists were spotted with blood."
"Oh!" Clarice started. "Are you certain that it was blood?"
"Quite certain. I dipped one of the cuffs in water, and the spots
turned perfectly red. Clarice," she gripped her friend's hand tightly,
"do you think that my father really is guilty?"
"I can't think that, Prudence. He had no reason--everything was
arranged between him and Uncle Henry."
"Yes. Father said that at the inquest, but he may have told an untruth
to shield himself."
"Prudence, do you believe that your father is guilty?"
"Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't. Father has had so much worry
that he is not always accountable for his actions. He may have gone
out in a frenzy, and, finding the window open, he may have--oh!" The
poor girl broke off, weeping. "What am I to do?"
"Ask your father to prove his innocence."
"I dare not, Clarice. What with his own troubles and the death of
Frank, and this mysterious wickedness of which Frank has been guilty,
poor father is nearly crazy. Did he know that he was accused of murder
he would go out of his mind altogether."
"But if Sarah Dumps tells the police, he----"
"She will hold her tongue. I said that I would give up Ferdy. I wrote
and told Ferdy that I could not marry him, and said that my father did
not approve of the match."
"Ferdy said something about this," said Clarice. "Well, then,
Prudence, you leave everything to me. I'll speak to Anthony. He is
very clever and will be able to help me. Don't worry, and--hush! Your
father."
Clarke entered the room with a wild look, hurriedly, and frowned when
he saw the two girls together. "I thought you had gone, Clarice," he
said, fretfully. "I wish you would go. Prudence has much to do."
"I am going," said Clarice, pressing the girl's arm, so as to make her
humour the excited man. "I only waited to tell you, Mr. Clarke, that I
have seen Mr. Barras, and have assumed the rights of your loan. You
will have no further trouble about it."
"It is good of you," said Clarke, gloomily, "and a few days ago, I
should have hailed your news with joy. But it is now too late. I am an
outcast and accursed, and----"
"Father! Father!" said Prudence, placing her hand on his arm.
He shook it off. "I tell you, girl, we must leave this house, and hide
our shameful heads. The Angel of the Lord will pursue me--me, my
child, and not you--with a fiery brand."
"Mr. Clarke," said Clarice, in a firm way, and fastening her eyes very
steadily on the excited face of the poor parson, "you are talking
nonsense. Sit down and-----"
"No. You shall not direct me in my own house."
"It is for your good." Speaking softly, Clarice placed her hand on
Clarke's arm, and drew him gently towards the arm chair, with her eyes
fixed on his all the time. Prudence watched in awestricken silence, as
Miss Baird seemed to be quite mistress of the situation. "Sit down,
sit down," whispered Clarice, softly, and when the parson dropped
heavily into the chair, she placed a cool hand on his burning brow.
"You will sleep now, and wake feeling much better."
"I will not sleep," said Clarke, trying to remove his eyes from her as
the mesmeric influence was dominating him; "go away----"
"Yes, when you sleep. Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!" Clarice's voice took on a
kind of sing-song, and she drew her warm, firm hand gently across the
man's wrinkled brow. Gradually Clarke's muscles relaxed, and his eyes
grew calmer. Then they closed, and he began to breath gently. "Wake up
in an hour, feeling perfectly well," commanded Clarice, and then
beckoned the astonished Prudence from the room.
"I used to do that to Uncle Henry for his headaches," she laughed.