UNKNITTED THREADS
Everard Lisle stayed in Liverpool till Monday, on which day he took an
early train up to town. His object in going to London was to endeavour
by means of the address which Miss Matilda had given him to trace the
present whereabouts—if he were still alive—of the man Kirby Griggs.
Futile as the hope seemed that, even if he should succeed in finding
him, Griggs would be able to supply him with any information that would
further in the slightest degree the special purpose he had in view, he
yet felt that he could not rest satisfied till he had interviewed him
and heard from his own lips all that he had to tell.
The address supplied him was that of a firm of lawyers in Gray’s Inn
Square, in whose employ Kirby Griggs had been at the date of his
interview with Mr. Matthew Thursby.
Fortunately for Everard’s purpose, Griggs proved not only to be alive,
but still in the service of the same firm—a third-rate clerk on a very
limited salary. He was a thin, timid, nervous man, with an anxious,
hungry sort of look, as though he rarely had as much to eat as he could
have done with. When told the reason which had induced Everard to seek
him out, he at once expressed his willingness to give him all the
information that lay in his power; but as he was too busy to do so
during office hours, he requested Everard to call upon him between
seven and eight o’clock the same evening at an address in the suburbs
which he gave him.
There Lisle found himself at half-past seven and was at once ushered
into the clerk’s little parlour, in which sacred apartment—hardly ever
entered between one Sunday and another—a fire had this evening been
lighted in honour of his visit.
There proved to be no reticence on Griggs’ part in discussing in all
its bearings that strange episode of twenty years before, in which his
sister had played so inexplicable and, ultimately, so tragical a part.
It appeared that she had always been of a romantic and flighty turn of
mind, and an insatiable devourer of impossible romances and outrageous
love-stories of the very commonest type of penny fiction. She had gone
out to the States as maid to a wealthy elderly lady who had died there
shortly after her arrival. The next news from Martha had been to the
effect that she was on the eve of returning to England by the
clipper-ship Pandora, and her brother was requested to meet the vessel
on its arrival in dock. Why she had booked herself under the
fantastical name of Mrs. Montmorenci-Vane her brother could not
imagine, unless it were a name she had picked up in the course of her
reading, and had taken a fancy to. Just as little could he understand
why, in the presumed state of her finances, she should have chosen to
travel as a saloon passenger. As for whence and from whom his sister
had obtained the child which she had passed off on board ship as her
own, and what possible object she could have had in view in
perpetrating such a hoax—if hoax it could be called—was to Kirby Griggs
still as much an enigma as it had been at the time; nothing had
occurred in the interim to throw even the faintest ray of light on the
affair.
Everard’s heart sank within him. It was evident that the lawyer’s clerk
had nothing of consequence to relate beyond what was known to him
already.
After musing awhile, he said: “I presume that nothing was found among
your sister’s luggage—no letters, or papers, or anything else which, if
placed in the hands of anyone who was willing to devote both time and
patience to following it up, might ultimately furnish a clue to the
mystery we have just been discussing.”
“There was nothing—nothing whatever found of the kind you mention,”
replied Griggs with a shake of the head. Then, after a pause, he gave a
little deprecatory cough and added: “As I have no wish to hide anything
in connection with the affair, it may perhaps be as well to mention
that my sister’s boxes contained a quantity of wearing apparel such as
seemed, both to me and my wife, far above her station in life, and the
only conclusion we could come to was, that it had most likely been a
present to her from the lady who had died. After keeping it for three
or four years in case any inquiry should be made about it, my wife
gradually used it up in the manufacture of garments for our numerous
olive branches.”
Although Mrs. Griggs made a third at the interview, as yet she had not
spoken more than a dozen words, but in the pause that now ensued she
suddenly said: “The ring, Kirby—have you forgotten the ring? That might
perhaps supply the gentleman with the clue he is looking for.”
Griggs started, and his pale face took on an unwonted blush. “I had
indeed forgotten the ring,” he said, “but that it will in any way help
to clear up the affair, I don’t for one moment believe.” Then turning
to Everard, he added: “The ring to which my wife refers is a quite
plain hoop of gold, in fact, just like a wedding-ring, except that it
is about four times as massive. It was the only article of jewellery
found among my sister’s luggage, although she was said to have been
wearing a gold watch and chain and several dress rings at the time she
fell overboard. Unfortunately, about four years ago I was very much
pressed for money and was compelled to put the ring in pledge,
obtaining on it an advance of thirty shillings. I am sorry to say that
I have never since been in a position to redeem it, but it has not been
lost, because I have been careful to pay the interest as it fell due.”
“As you say,” replied Everard, “there is not much likelihood of a ring
such as you describe this one as being helping me in any way to
discover what I am in search of. Still, I should very much like to see
and examine it, and if you will allow me to pay the cost of taking it
out of pledge I shall be greatly obliged to you.”
“Truth to tell, sir,” answered Griggs with a shrug, “I haven’t money
enough of my own to spare to enable me to do so. But in any case,
nothing can be done in the matter till to-morrow.”
So Everard left money for the redemption of the ring and went his way.
At half-past seven the next evening he was again at the house of Kirby
Griggs. The ring had been redeemed in the interim. It was what the
lawyer’s clerk had described it as being, a plain massive hoop of gold,
but on the inner side Lisle’s keen eyes detected what seemed to him
like a faint tracery of some kind, but apparently so worn that without
the help of a magnifying glass it was impossible to make out what it
was intended to represent. Griggs, who admitted that he had noticed the
marks, but without attaching any value to them, volunteered to obtain
the loan of a lens from a working watchmaker who lived close by, and
accordingly did so. With the aid of the lens and the exercise of some
patience, Everard was enabled to make out that what to the naked eye
had looked like so many meaningless scratches was in reality an
engraved inscription which ran thus: “J. A. C. to G. R. _Pour tout
temps_.”
Scarcely had he succeeded in deciphering the inscription before it
flashed across him that the words, “_Pour tout temps_” formed the
somewhat arrogant motto of the Clares of Withington Chase, as also that
the letters J. A. C. were the initials of John Alexander Clare.
By the time he got away from the house, taking the ring with him, it
was too late to think of going down to the Chase before next morning.
So he wandered about some of the quieter streets till a late hour,
turning over and over in his mind his discovery in connection with the
ring, but nowhere finding an adequate solution of the singular problem
which was thus put before him. From whichever point of view he looked
at the matter, it still remained as much a tangle as at first. Out of a
dozen questions which he asked himself, there was not one he could
answer. He turned into his hotel a little before midnight and went to
bed, but sleep came to him only by fits and starts, and all through the
dark hours the same series of questions kept ringing their changes in
his brain.
After an early breakfast he caught the eight-thirty train for
Mapleford. A fly took him and his luggage from the station to Elm
Lodge, from whence, a few minutes later, he walked across the park to
the Chase.
Sir Gilbert had lingered over breakfast, talking to his son, and in the
corridor Everard met him face to face, looking a dozen years younger
than when he had seen him last. The change in him was indeed
marvellous.
“What! back already?” he said beamingly. “I thought you were going to
take a few days’ holiday in London. Why didn’t you, eh? Why didn’t you?
But we’ll have no work to-day, that’s certain. The best thing you can
do will be to have the dog-cart out after luncheon and take your
sweetheart for a drive—lucky dog that you are, to have won the love of
such a girl!” Then his voice took on a deeper tone. “What a happy
chance for me was that which brought you and my son together at
Liverpool and so gave Alec back to me weeks before I should otherwise
have had him! I cannot help feeling as if I somehow owe it all to you.
Well, well”—laying a kindly hand on his shoulder—“when your wedding-day
is here you will find that I have not forgotten you.” And with a smile
and a nod he passed on.
Everard’s most pressing object was to secure a private interview with
Mr. John Clare—as he was henceforward to be known to the world,
although to his father he would never be anything but Alec. Not till he
should have recounted to the latter the history of the ring and put it
into his hands, would he go in search of Ethel and surprise her by his
unexpected return.
Presently he found John alone in the library, hunting up some of the
favourite authors of his youth, from whom he felt that he had been too
long parted. Sir Gilbert was closeted with one of his tenants in the
study.
John Clare greeted Everard with a smile and a cordial grip of the hand.
The liking he had conceived for him during the few hours they had spent
together in Liverpool had not been, in any degree lessened by what he
had heard about him since, both from his father and Lady Pell.
“I thought you were about to give yourself a holiday,” he said, “and
that we need not look to see you at the Chase for some days to come.”
He had already had his grizzled beard and heavy moustache carefully
trimmed, and certainly he presented a much more civilised appearance
than before.
“I was able to finish the business which took me to London in much less
time than I expected,” replied Everard. “The affair, however, has taken
a turn wholly surprising and unexpected—one that seems to bring you,
Mr. Clare, into connection with it, although as to the mode in which
the connection in question originated I must confess that I am entirely
in the dark.”
“You excite my curiosity, Lisle. I hope you will not refuse to gratify
it.”
“Is there any place where we can secure half-an-hour to ourselves
without fear of interruption?”
“Perhaps we had better go upstairs to my own room. No one will intrude
upon us there.”
“May I take the liberty of asking whether you have ever seen this ring
before?” said Everard as soon as the two were seated opposite each
other in John’s dressing-room.
John took the ring and looked at it for a moment or two, as one in
doubt. Then all at once a flash of recognition leapt into his eyes and
every nerve in his body responded with a thrill. “Yes, I have seen this
ring before—many years ago,” he said slowly. “Have you any objection to
telling me by what strange chance it came into your possession?”
“It was with that purpose I sought this interview. But the story is a
long one, and at the beginning will doubtless seem irrelevant to the
question you have just put to me.”
“You shall tell it in your way. So long as the end of it furnishes me
with an answer to my question I shall be satisfied.”
“Some nineteen years ago,” began Everard presently, “a certain clipper
ship named the _Pandora_ left New York for London having on board a
number of passengers, among them being a certain Mrs. Montmorenci-Vane
(that being the name by which she had booked herself), who, although
she was dressed as a lady and wore a quantity of jewellery, had neither
the manners nor the appearance of one. With her she had a child, a
little girl only a few months old, to attend upon whom during the
voyage, her own nursemaid having deserted her in New York—so her story
ran—she engaged a woman from among the steerage passengers.
Unfortunately, one dark night, Mrs. Montmorenci-Vane fell overboard and
was lost.
“Among other passengers on the _Pandora_ were two maiden ladies,
sisters, of the name of Thursby, who, together with their brother, an
elderly bachelor, were returning home after a brief visit to the
States. The forlorn condition of the lost woman’s infant touched the
kind hearts of the sisters, and they made it their business to look
after the child’s welfare during the remainder of the voyage, naturally
expecting that some relations of its mother would be there to meet the
ship on its arrival in dock. However, there proved to be no one there
to inquire for Mrs. Montmorenci-Vane, but, instead, a lawyer’s clerk of
the name of Griggs, who had come to meet his sister, the latter having
written to inform him that she would take passage by the _Pandora_.
Well, in a photograph of the so-called Mrs. Vane the clerk at once
recognised his unmarried sister Martha, who had gone out to the States
a few months before in the position of lady’s-maid. There could be no
possible mistake about the photograph. The captain and the whole of the
cabin passengers were prepared to affirm that it was a likeness of Mrs.
Vane, who had fallen overboard, while Griggs was prepared to swear an
affidavit that it was the likeness of his sister. The poor man was
terribly puzzled, as well he might be. He could not in the least
comprehend why his sister had chosen to call herself Mrs. Vane—whence
she had obtained the fine clothes and the jewellery in which she had
flaunted on board ship—and, above all, what possible object she could
have had in passing off the child of some one else as her own
offspring. In the result, he declined to have anything whatever to do
with the child, whom he left on the hands of Mr. Matthew Thursby and
his sisters to be dealt with in whatever way they might choose.
“What the Miss Thursbys chose to do, was to adopt the child and bring
her up as their niece. As such she grew up, never suspecting that the
sisters were other than her aunts in reality, and not till her
nineteenth birthday, when a letter was put into her hands addressed to
her by Mr. Matthew Thursby, who had died many years before, with
instructions that it should be read by her on that day—were the facts
of her early history, so far as they were known, revealed to her. That
the revelation was a great shock to her cannot be doubted, but it made
no difference whatever in the relations which had subsisted for so long
a time between herself and the sisters. The secret was still kept to
themselves, and to this day, the waif of the _Pandora_ passes as the
niece of the two Miss Thursbys. A little later she became companion,
_pro tem_., to Lady Pell, and accompanied the latter on her visit to
Withington Chase. Doubtless you have already met Miss Thursby at
luncheon and dinner, and so on, Mr. Clare.”
“I have both met and noticed the young lady; indeed, when she and I are
at table I find it difficult to take my eyes off her. She affects me in
quite a singular way, the like of which I never experienced before. But
that is not to the point just now. Pray proceed.”
“The next fact needful for me to mention as bearing on my narrative—in
what way you will presently understand—is, that Miss Ethel Thursby and
I are engaged to be married.” He spoke with a heightened colour and an
added sparkle in his eyes.
“Ah! is that indeed so? I congratulate you with all my heart, Lisle.”
“When, a few days ago,” resumed Everard, “Sir Gilbert Clare placed in
my hands a letter addressed to you at Pineapple City, with a request
that I would at once proceed to America, search you out and give it
into your hands, finding myself with a day to spare prior to the
sailing of the steamer, I journeyed down to St. Oswyth’s, where the
Misses Thursby reside, with the object of putting certain questions to
them. It seemed to me that there was just a faint chance that, while in
the United States, I might be able, as a consequence of the inquiries I
intended to set on foot there, to find the clue to the mystery
surrounding the birth and parentage of her whom I hope shortly to call
my wife; but I was desirous, first of all, to make myself thoroughly
acquainted with every feature of the affair that had come under the
cognisance of the sisters. As it fell out, however, they had nothing of
any consequence to tell me which I did not know already. The only scrap
of fresh evidence I brought away with me was the address of the man
Griggs, who, in the portrait of Mrs. Vane, had recognised his sister.
You know already, why I never got any farther than Liverpool on my way
to the States. After parting from you, I went to London and was
fortunate enough to find Griggs without difficulty; but, as in the case
of the sisters, he had nothing to tell me which would in the least help
to further the end I had in view. I was on the point of giving up the
whole business in despair, when Mrs. Griggs happened to mention that
among the luggage which had been claimed by the lawyer’s clerk as his
sister’s property, there had been found a plain gold ring of very
massive make. On expressing my desire to see the ring, I was told that
circumstances had compelled Griggs to pledge it. But the following day
saw it redeemed and placed in my hands. Perceiving that the inner side
bore an inscription of some kind, I procured a lens and by its means
was enabled to make out that part of the lettering represented the
motto of the Clares of Withington Chase, and another part your own
initials. Hence my reason for bringing the ring to you.”
“I am glad, Lisle—very glad indeed that you have done so. For the
present I will ask you to say nothing to anyone about what has passed
between us this morning. You know, of course, that the Mrs. Clare who
occupied Maylings for a short time was my wife?”
“She was known to everyone in the neighbourhood as Sir Gilbert’s
daughter-in-law.”
“Can you tell me where to find her? It is requisite that I should see
her with as little delay as possible.”
“I have no knowledge of Mrs. Clare’s movements; but her nephew, Luigi
Rispani, left me an address at which a letter or message would at any
time find him. It would be no trouble to me to run up to town by the
next train, hunt up Rispani, and obtain from him the address of Mrs.
Clare, with which he is pretty sure to be acquainted.”
“If you will do that for me, Lisle, I shall be infinitely obliged to
you.”
“I will start at once. There is a train at twelve-thirty. If I have
good luck, I ought to be back by seven o’clock.”
John Clare held out his hand. “Bring me the address at any cost,” he
said.
The ring thus strangely recovered had been a present from him to
Giovanna Rispani during the period of their brief courtship.