There was no newspaper in Dumford, only those which came from Ramford
and Lindum, but news flew quite fast enough without, and by
breakfast-time on the morning of the day following the events spoken of
in the past chapter, it was known that Daisy Banks had not been home all
night.
Joe Banks himself spread the news by going and making inquiries in all
directions directly he was up.
For, on waking about half-past five, according to his regular custom,
and jumping out of bed to dress and go into his garden, as he had no
work, he found to his astonishment that his wife had not been to bed;
and she now came to him, crying bitterly, to say that she had been
sitting up all night waiting for Daisy.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he roared.
"I wanted to screen her, Joe," moaned Mrs Banks. "I thought you'd be
so popped with the poor girl; and though I didn't like her goings on, I
didn't want her to be scolded."
"What time did she go out?" said Joe, trying to recall the past night.
"About eight, and I expected her back every minute after ten."
"Here, give me my hat," cried Joe; and he was off to the main street,
where, in answer to inquiries, he found that Daisy had been seen in the
High Street soon after eight.
"What's wrong?" said Tom Podmore, coming out of his house.
"Daisy! hev you seen my Daisy?" said Joe, furiously.
"Yes, I see her go up the street last night at about eight," said Tom,
"as if going up the hill by the chalk pit."
"Did you folly her?"
"No," said Tom, sadly; "I never folly her now. But what's it mean--
isn't she at home?"
"No," said Joe, sharply. "She's not been at home all night. Wheer can
she be?"
"Better ask Master Dick Glaire," said Tom, uttering a groan. "He can
tell ye."
"Howd thee tongue, thee silly fool," cried Joe, angrily. "How should he
know owt about where she is? Here, come along. I'll soon show thee
thou'rt wrong."
He led the way to the Big House, where one of the maids was just opening
the shutters; and, on being beckoned to, she came to the door.
"Where's Master Richard?" said Joe.
"Fast asleep in bed," said the girl.
"Art sure?" said Joe.
"Yes, certain," said the girl.
"Was he out last night?"
"Yes," said the girl; "but he came home early, and then went out for a
bit; but he was in very soon, and sat up to let missus in, while I went
to bed."
"What time will he be up?" said Joe.
"Not before nine," said the girl. "Shall I tell him you want him?"
"No," said Joe. "I'll come on again soon."
Tom seemed surprised and troubled, for he had fully expected to find
that Richard Glaire was from home.
"Thou'rt wrong, lad," said Joe, drawing his breath through his teeth.
"Some ill has fallen to the poor lass."
"What's up, Joe Banks?" said Harry, the big hammerman, straddling slowly
up.
"Did'st see owt o' my Daisy last night?" said Joe.
Harry pulled off his cap, and gave his head a rub before answering.
"Yes, I see her go up ta hill, 'bout eight it weer."
"Did you see her come back?" asked Tom, eagerly.
"No, lad, no. I see Master Richard Glaire come along though," said the
big fellow, under the impression that that might act as a clue.
"Yes," said Tom, bitterly. "I saw him, and again at about ten, talking
to Sim Slee, and then the lads followed him up street, and he ran into
the house."
"Sim Slee!" said Joe, thinking. "We'll ask him; but let's go to the
police."
At the station no news could be heard, and as time went on, plenty of
neighbours could be found to say that they had seen Daisy Banks go up
the hill; and amongst these was the chattering old woman at the
public-house. But no one had seen her return.
"Come along o' me, lad," said Joe Banks; and they strode up the hill, a
heavy sense of dread gathering over each of the men, as they thought of
the chalk pit, and the possibility of Daisy having fallen in, to lie
there dead or dying, on the rough, hard blocks at the bottom.
The morning was bright and beautiful, and the sun made the dew-sprinkled
strands and twigs glitter like gems; but to those who sought Daisy
Banks, all seemed gloomy, and in spite of all his bitter feelings, Tom
Podmore's heart was terribly stirred within him, so that he uttered a
wild cry when just at the top, and ran ahead to pick up something soaked
and wet with the night dew.
"It's her basket," he cried.
Joe staggered, and seemed to turn sick; but recovering himself, he ran
up to the younger man.
"Yes, it's her basket," he said, huskily. "Tom, lad, look over the
rail--I--I can't."
Joe Banks sank down on his knees, and covered his face with his rough
hands, while Tom shuddered, and then calling up his fortitude, looked
over the rail down the steep-sided pit, and uttered a cry as he drew
back, ran down the lane to the end of the slope, leaped the gate across
the track where the carts descended, and running over the scattered
lumps of chalk, made his way down into the deepest part of the pit,
where to him it had seemed that Daisy was lying at the bottom of the
wall of grey rock.
But, no, it was only her dew-soaked shawl; and though he looked in all
directions, he found nothing else but a glove.
"She must have been here," he said to himself, and in an agitated way he
clambered about over the blocks of chalk, and the _debris_ fallen from
above; but nothing was visible, and he stood at last looking round.
There was the face of the chalk before him, and he was shut in by it
right and left, the walls gradually falling lower as he turned back and
passed the extinct lime-kiln, till they sloped down to the level of the
track--the pit having been gradually dug in the side of the hill, every
load taken out cutting farther into the side, and making the principal
wall of chalk more precipitous and high.
Still, not satisfied, Tom Podmore ran back and hunted in all directions;
but as far as he could see nothing was visible, and he turned once more
to find the father coming to join him, trembling, and looking ashy pale.
"Hev you found her, Tom? hev you found her?" he gasped, and on Tom
shaking his head, he caught him by the arm. "Yes," he exclaimed, in a
piteous voice, "that's her shawl. Where is she gone?"
"I heven't found her," said the young man, hoarsely. "She's not there."
"Not there? Not fallen in? Thank God, thank God! But are ye sure,
lad? are ye sure?"
"I've hunted the place all over," said Tom, sadly; and then Joe Banks
clutched his arm tightly, and they went straight back to the town, where
Joe stopped at the Big House and was admitted, Tom Podmore following.
"Wheer's the master?" said Joe, hastily.
"Just come down and gone out," said the girl. "Shall I tell missus?"
"Yes," said Joe. "No;" and then to himself, "I can't meet her now."
He hurried out and down the street, head after head being thrust out,
while the people outside their doors gave him looks of condolence, and
shook their heads by way of sympathy.
"Tom, lad," said Joe, "I can't kinder understand this; it's amairzin.
But look here, lad; go and ask the boys to come and help you, and mebbe
you'll get a hundred of 'em ready to search for my bairn. Get the
police, too. I'm off to find the young master."
Tom started off on his recruiting expedition, while Daisy's father
hurried down the street to try and find Richard Glaire, though not with
the most remote idea of coupling him with the girl's disappearance.
He had nearly reached the vicarage, and was passing one of the side
lanes, when he heard voices in altercation, and on glancing round it was
to see the man he sought holding Sim Slee by the throat, and shaking him
violently.
"You treacherous hound!" he was saying, "and after the way I've trusted
you."
"Joe Banks, here, Joe Banks, help!" yelled Sim; but before Daisy's
father could reach the couple, Richard Glaire threw the democrat off, so
that he staggered against the wall.
"You dog!" cried Richard, grinding his teeth.
"All right," whimpered Sim. "All right, Mr Richard Glaire, Esquire.
I've stood up for you enew lately; now tak' care of yoursen."
"I'll break your head, you scoundrel, if you don't go," roared Richard.
Sim rubbed the dust from his person and shook himself straight, looking
side-wise the while at his assailant before sidling off, shaking his
fist; and then, when about fifty yards away, turning round and shouting:
"I'll be even with you for this, Dick Glaire."
Richard made a rush at him, when Sim took to his heels and ran, while
the young man turned back to where Joe Banks stood holding poor Daisy's
basket and shawl.
"Master Dick," said the old man sternly, "I want to ask thee a question,
and I want yow, as your father's son, to give me a straightforward
answer."
"But what does this all mean, Joe? what's this about Daisy?"
"Answer my question," said the old man, sternly; and then he paused for
a moment, as he fixed his clear eyes on the young man's shifty face,
before saying hoarsely:
"Were you out walking wi' my lass, Daisy, last night?"
"No," said Richard, firmly; "certainly not."
"And thee didn't see her last night at all?"
"Yes, oh yes," said Richard, eagerly. "I did see her, and said, `How
d'ye do.'"
"Wheer?" said Joe Banks, without moving a muscle.
"Up by the chalk pit, at the top of the hill. I'd been having a round."
"What time?" said Joe, shortly.
"Well, let me see," said Richard, hesitating. "I came straight down
home, and it was about half-past eight when I got in."
Joe stood thinking: the servant-girl had said that her master had come
in early.
"And you didn't see my bairn after?" said Joe, gazing full in the young
man's eyes.
"Certainly not," said Richard.
"Will yow swear it?" said Joe.
Richard hesitated for a moment, and then, with a half-laugh, said:
"Oh, yes, if you like."
"Perhaps I shall like, my lad; but I don't ask you to sweer now. You've
heerd, I s'pose?"
"I've heard something, Joe, but can't quite make it out," said the young
man.
"It's easy," said Joe, hoarsely. "My poor bairn came up town last
night, and she hasn't been back. We foun' these here up by the chalk
pit."
"But she hadn't fallen in?"
"No, my lad, no," said the old man, quietly, for he was thinking deeply.
"But thankye, thankye. They wanted to make me believe as you meant
harm to the lass--all on 'em; but I knew you, lad, well, as your poor
owd father's son."
"Mr Banks!"
"Aw raight, my lad, aw raight. I never thowt it of you, never; but the
tongues would wag; and I said if thee loved the bairn thee should'st hev
her. You do her harm! Not you, lad; you cared too much for her. But
harm's come to her some way. Let's find her."
"But how could they say such things of me?" said Richard, with virtuous
indignation shining out of his eyes.
"Oh, they're a chithering lot," exclaimed Joe. "They'd seen thee talk
to the bairn, or mebbe seen thee heving a walk wi' her, and that weer
enew to set their tongues clacking. But we must be going, mun, for
we're losing time; and if any one's done wrong by my bairn--"
Richard shrank away, startled at the lurid flash from the old man's
eyes, as setting his teeth, and clenching his massive fist, he shook it
at vacancy, and then, without another word, strode on, accompanied by
Richard, who was trembling now like a leaf.
"Let me go in here for a moment or two," said Richard, as they came
abreast of the House; and as the door was thrown open, it was to show
Mrs Glaire and Eve both standing dressed in the hall.
"Oh, Mr Banks," exclaimed the latter, running to the old foreman, "this
is very dreadful," and she caught one of his hands in hers.
"Thanky'e, dear bairn, thanky'e," he said, smiling upon her with
quivering lip.
"But I saw her last night," cried Eve.
"Ay? What time, miss, what time?" said Joe, eagerly.
"About eight," said Eve, quickly. "She said, I think, that she was
going to meet Richard."
"She said that?" said the old man, starting, while Richard turned pale.
"No, I remember," said Eve, piteously; "I told her she was going to meet
him."
"Yes, yes," said Joe, thoughtfully. "You were jealous of the poor
bairn."
Eve started back, blushing crimson.
"But are you sure she has not been home, Joe Banks?" said Mrs Glaire,
looking at him wistfully.
"Sure, ay, quite sure," said Joe, sternly. "Here is the poor bairn's
shawl, and her basket too. I'll leave 'em here, if you'll let me."
He laid them down in the hall, and stepped out to where there was quite
a crowd of workmen now, waiting to help in the search; but as they
caught sight of Richard Glaire, who now came forward, there was a savage
groan.
"Ask him where he's put thee bairn, Joe Banks; he knows," cried a shrill
voice, that of some woman; and another groan arose, making Richard draw
back shivering.
"Look at the white-faced coward," shouted a man. "Ask him, Joe Banks,
ask him."
"Nay, nay, lads," said the foreman, sternly. "Ye're aw wrong. I hev
asked him, and he's told me. He knows nowt about the poor bairn."
A murmur arose at this, but Joe Banks turned round to where Richard
stood.
"You come along o' me, Master Richard, and no one 'll lay a finger on
thee whiles thou'rt by my side. He was at home aw night, lads, and it's
not him as would do her harm."
The little crowd seemed only half satisfied; but they gave place as,
making an effort, the young man stepped out, and then in a purposeless
way the search was about to begin, when there was a cheer given, for the
vicar came hurrying up the street.
He looked hot and flushed, and his eyes met those of Richard Glaire so
sternly that, for the moment, the young man blushed, but he recovered
himself directly, to give an insolent stare in return.
"Mr Banks," exclaimed the vicar, "this is grievous news indeed;" and
ignoring the foreman's half-distant manner, he shook his hand warmly.
"Thanky, parson," said Joe, hoarsely.
"You are about to make a general search, of course," he said; "but where
are the police?"
"One's gone across to station, and the other's up at the chalk pit,"
said a voice.
"First of all," said the vicar, "did any one here see Daisy Banks after
she went up the road?"
There was silence for a few moments, and then Richard said firmly:
"I saw her for a few moments up by the pit."
"And not after?" said the vicar, fixing his eyes on the young man.
"I object to this cross-examination," said Richard, hotly. "This is not
a magistrate."
"Parson asked thee a plain question, lad; give him a plain answer," said
Joe, quietly. "Thou'st nowt to fear."
"No, then," said Richard, loudly. "I was at home."
"Mr Banks, then, you had better take twenty men; you go with these
twenty, Podmore; and--"
He hesitated a moment, when Joe Banks said:
"Master Richard will take another twenty."
"And another score will perhaps go with me," said the vicar. "Then
we'll each take one road; and mind, my men, every ditch, copse, and pond
must be well searched; and, above all, mind and ask at every cottage on
the road, who has passed, and what carts or carriages have gone along
since last night."
The parties were soon told off, when the vicar exclaimed:
"But stop! There were two strangers here yesterday."
"Yes," chorused several. "Two ill-looking chaps from one of the big
towns."
"Ay," cried big Harry; "and I sin 'em go up towards the chalk pit."
"So did I," said another.
There was silence for a moment or two, and Tom Podmore seemed to feel
the place go round, but he roused himself directly as he heard the
vicar's clear ringing voice:
"Then if some treacherous, unmanly scoundrel has not carried off, or
persuaded this poor girl to leave father, mother, and home, for his own
bad ends, we have found the clue. But mind this, my lads, we are going
to run down those two men, but no violence. Let's take them, but we
must prove that they have been guilty."
"Aw raight, parson;" and the whole party were for a rush up the road
towards the chalk pit; but the vicar kept them to their separate tasks;
and, glancing upwards, he caught a glimpse of two pale faces at the Big
House, and the faces were those of Eve Pelly and Mrs Glaire.
Then each party started, and the search began.
Volume 2, Chapter X.