WHAT SILAS PENCE KNEW
On that same evening, when Cyril was interviewing the strange negro,
there was a concert in the Marshely school-house in aid of the prize
fund. Dora had arranged the programme, and had asked Bella to be
present. The girl would much rather have remained absent owing to the
recent death of her father; besides, she did not feel able to enjoy
music and frivolity and laughter. But to please her friend, who had been
so kind to her, she came dressed in black and deeply veiled to the
festival. For obvious reasons she took a seat at the lower end of the
room, and near the door, so that she could easily slip out when the end
came.
But Mrs. Vand was less retiring. In spite of her brother's tragic death
she appeared dressed in all the colours of the rainbow, posing more as a
bride than as a mourner. In fact, she displayed very little grief for
the death of Jabez, and those who knew the late Captain Huxham were not
surprised, as he had never been a man to inspire affection. Moreover,
the secret marriage of Mrs. Coppersley to Henry Vand had created quite a
sensation, and bride and bridegroom were much talked about and pointed
at. Vand himself was one of the performers, as he played two violin
solos. Some folk thought that both he and his wife would have displayed
better taste by remaining away, but Mrs. Vand laughed at this opinion
and flaunted her newly-found happiness in the face of all her
acquaintances.
Luckily few people noticed Bella in her obscure corner, so she was not
troubled with questions. Those who guessed who she was, felt that she
had been very badly treated since the money had been left to Mrs. Vand,
and indeed the sympathies of the entire neighbourhood were with the
disinherited girl. Mrs. Vand, as everyone said, should have been ashamed
of herself; but in spite of the indecent way in which she thrust her
good fortune on everyone's notice, no one was bold enough to tell her
what was the general opinion of her conduct. As for Bella, she sat in
her corner feeling ill and miserable. She had every right to be so
considering the position in which she and her lover were placed. It was
to ween her thoughts from this dismal state of affairs that the
kind-hearted school-mistress had induced her to come to the concert.
Hitherto the cure had not worked.
The programme was the usual village one. There were several sentimental
ballads of the purely English drawing-room type; two or three
recitations, the violin solos of Henry Vand, who really played with rare
skill, and a reading by Silas Pence, who was the chairman. Pence looked
leaner and more delicate than ever, and read the "Dream of Eugene Aram"
as a cheerful contribution to the evening's entertainment. His
sepulchral tones and dismal appearance cast quite a gloom over the close
of the evening, which was only dispelled by the singing of a glee by the
Marshely Choral Society. But some time before this point was reached
Bella had slipped out of the room and had taken her way back to the
cottage. She went early, as her aunt had noticed her, and it was just
possible that Mrs. Vand, who dearly loved to make trouble, might start a
quarrel if it came to a conversation between the two. Mrs. Vand had not
forgiven her enforced payment of one hundred pounds.
Bella did not enter the cottage, as it was very hot within, and the
night was simply glorious. She took off her hat and veil and seated
herself in the tiny garden to enjoy the soft breeze. There was not a
cloud in the darkly-blue sky, and a serene moon moved majestically
across the starry heavens. The cottage, with the lamp light shining
behind the pink blinds, looked pretty and picturesque, so Bella resolved
to wait for Dora's return in the open air. She had ample to think about,
for the concert had failed to inspire her with cheerful thoughts. How
could it when the clouds which environed her were so densely black? Poor
Bella was not religious, and had small faith in the goodness of God.
This was natural as God's name had rarely been mentioned by Captain
Huxham and his sister, who were perfect heathens of the animal sort. So
Bella, having no hope to cling to and seeing no ray of light piercing
the darkness around her, began to conceive a cheerless future in which
the figure of Cyril did not appear. The fact that his father had
murdered hers ended the chance of marriage once and for all. He would
doubtless go abroad and try to forget her, while she, bereft of love,
home, money, and father, would seek some humble situation as a nursery
governess: and it must be confessed that, as things were, Bella Huxham
had good reason to despair. Any chance of happiness seemed to be as far
removed from her as was the moon in the heaven above her.
The seat upon which she was resting stood close to the white palings of
the garden, and under a leafy chestnut, now in the full glory of its
summer foliage. Occasionally a person would pass, or a child singing
would run home, but for the most part the road was deserted. Nearly all
the village people were at the concert, and it would not end for at
least another half hour. Only then would the roadway be full, but in the
meantime, save for occasional interruptions, Bella had solitude and
peace. She was therefore extremely ill-pleased when a dark figure halted
at the palings and, leaning over, removed its hat to reveal the delicate
features of Silas Pence.
"I give you good-evening, Miss Huxham," said the preacher, in his
refined but somewhat shrill voice.
"Good evening," said Bella coldly. "Had you not better return to the
concert, Mr. Pence? As the chairman you cannot leave the platform."
"I have presided most of the evening and have recited my piece," said
Pence eagerly. "Now, on the plea of feeling faint I have left that hot
room, and I am here to commune with you in the glory of the night. Is it
not beautiful, Miss Huxham?" and he recited the well-known lines of
Addison:--
_Soon as the shades of night prevail_,
_The moon takes up the wondrous tale_,
_And nightly to the listening earth_
_Repeats the story of her birth._
"Did you come here to recite, Mr. Pence?" said Bella disagreeably. "If
so I must go indoors. I have been entertained enough this evening."
"You should not have been at the concert at all," said the preacher
rebukingly, "seeing that your dear father is scarcely cold in his
grave."
"That is my business, Mr. Pence," said Bella in icy tones. "If you
rebuke any one it should be my aunt, who is flaunting the property of
which she robbed me in the face of everyone."
"I shall rebuke Sister Vand at a proper time," said Silas
authoritatively. "In the meantime----"
"You rebuke me," said Bella, who had risen to her feet, weary of the
conversation. "I decline to permit your interference."
"I don't want to rebuke you," cried Pence eagerly. "I wish to make you
smile on me. Become my spouse, or fair lily of the valley, and you will
have me always at your feet."
"I have told you before, Mr. Pence, that I cannot marry you."
"Then you still intend to wed that son of Belial, overflowing with
insolence and wine?" questioned the preacher bitterly; "your father's
murderer."
"Mr. Lister is perfectly innocent, as I happen to know."
"Can you prove his innocence?"
"Can you prove his guilt?" retorted the girl spiritedly.
"I saw him enter the Manor on that night."
"You saw a man who resembled him. Mr. Lister was in London and can prove
that he was there. It is useless your using threats, Mr. Pence, for had
you been able to carry them out you would long since have seen the
police."
Pence frowned. "Who is this other man?" he asked.
"You can find out!" said Bella impatiently, "and I am going indoors."
"There is no other man," cried Pence angrily. "Why, I saw Mr. Lister
quite clearly. I could not mistake him."
"You did, however."
"The police shall decide that."
"Go to the police. You threatened to do so before. Why don't you do what
you say instead of trying to frighten me with stage thunder?"
Silas stamped and raged. "You will find the thunder real enough before I
have done with you. This Lister man is guilty, and shall hang. You shall
become my wife, my----"
"Never! never! never!" and Bella stamped in her turn.
"You will. As you have no name of your own you should be glad to take
that of an honest man."
The girl started and stared. "My name is Huxham," she said angrily.
"It is nothing of the sort. When I wished to marry you, Captain Huxham,
your supposed father, told me that you were a nameless waif whom he had
adopted out of charity."
"It is wholly false."
"It is true! it is true!" Pence leaped the fence before she knew what
was his intention, and caught her in his arms, "and you must become my
wife."
"You beast! you villain!" cried the girl, struggling. "How dare----"
She got no further. Even while the words were on her lips a pair of very
strong hands caught Pence by the shoulders, and wrenching him from the
girl flung him over the fence. The next moment Cyril held Bella in his
arms.
"Oh, my dear! my dear!" she sobbed, utterly broken down, "how glad I am
that you arrived to punish him."
"I shall punish him more!" cried Cyril, striding towards the gate.
"No, no!" said Bella, stopping him. "Think of my good name. It is
useless making a scandal. But ask him if what he says is true."
"What does he say?" questioned Cyril, with a note of savagery in his
voice.
"Oh hush! hush!" implored Bella, clinging to him. "Speak lower. I don't
wish everyone to hear what Mr. Pence declares."
"But what is it? what is it?"
"Ask him. After all, he may be wrong, and--"
Still holding the girl, Lister, mindful of her wish, spoke in a loud
whisper to the dusty figure on the other side of the fence. Pence had
just risen, sorely bruised, but, unable to leave his rival with the girl
he loved, yet lingered in the roadway.
"Here, you," said Lister sharply, "what have you been saying to Miss
Huxham? Speak out, you dog, or I'll thrash you thoroughly. Let me go,
Bella; let me go, I say."
"No, no! We must avoid all scandal. Think of what might be--be--" she
gasped, and without ending her sentence fell half fainting into Cyril's
arms.
Then came Pence's chance to discharge the vials of his wrath, for he saw
that Lister, hampered by the fainting girl, could not touch him.
Stepping up to the palings with his face distorted with anger, he spoke
in low tones of hate. "I say now to you what I shall soon say to all.
Captain Huxham adopted the girl, whom you falsely say that you love. She
has no position and no name and no money, so if you marry her----"
"Stop," said Cyril imperiously. "Can you swear to the truth of this wild
statement? Miss Huxham always passed as the captain's daughter."
"She is not Miss Huxham," said Silas, insistently. "She is Miss--I don't
know what. I can prove what I say, if necessary. And I shall,
unless----"
"Unless what?"
"Unless you renounce her so that she can become my wife."
Bella heard the words and stood unexpectedly erect with fresh energy,
wrathful at Pence's persistency. "Nothing will ever induce me to become
your wife. And if what you say is true my aunt would have told me."
"Mrs. Vand is not your aunt and Captain Huxham was not your father,"
said the preacher sullenly. "If needs be I can prove it."
"Then do so," cried Cyril quickly, "for by doing so you will remove the
sole barrier to our marriage."
"What do you mean?" asked Silas, recoiling in sheer surprise.
"Let me speak," said Bella, guessing what her lover meant. "We mean that
had you held your tongue Cyril and I might have been forced to part. Now
that I know I am not Captain Huxham's daughter I can marry him."
Pence looked from one face to the other in the chill moonlight and drew
his own conclusions with swift intuition, sharpened by hate. "Then this
Lister man is the murderer of Huxham?"
"You have to prove that," said Cyril cheerfully. "I am not bound to
incriminate myself, you know."
Silas raised his hands to the heavens in mute appeal, for he saw that in
some way, not entirely clear to him, he had brought about the very thing
he had been trying to avert. Enraged at his blunder and despairing of
gaining his ends, the man, timid as he usually was, would have sprung
over the fence to renew the struggle with his rival, but that many dark
figures were seen coming along the road. Apparently the concert was
over.
In spite of his anger, Pence retained sufficient sense to decide
immediately on a sensible course. He mechanically brushed his clothes,
and bent over the palings to speak with Cyril. "To-morrow," he said, in
a tense whisper, "you will be arrested, on my evidence, and she"--he
pointed a trembling finger at Bella--"will be known as a nameless
outcast."
The girl uttered a faint cry at the insult, and Cyril would have struck
the man who spoke. But Pence was prepared, and swerved away from the
fence with a taunting laugh, to retreat rapidly down the road towards
the advancing throng.
"Come inside; come inside," said Bella, plucking at Cyril's sleeve; "you
must not be seen here with me at this hour. Mr. Pence will say nothing
for his own sake. Come inside until Dora returns."
This was wise counsel, so the pair hastily retreated and closed the
door, before they could be seen by the sharp eyes of the village
gossips. Bella ran into the dining-room, where supper was laid, and
sinking into a chair, mutely pointed to the water jug. Lister, seeing
how pale she was, poured out a glass, and held it to her lips. Shortly
she was more her old self, as the colour returned to her cheeks and the
brightness to her eyes. It was then that she asked a leading question:
"Do you think that what Mr. Pence says is true?"
"I hope so. I fervently hope so," replied Cyril, sitting down to discuss
the matter, "for then we can marry, and----" he started and stopped. It
occurred to him that Pence's statement might be the cause of Granny
Tunks' queer remark, an explanation of which had been prevented by
Durgo. Then again, from the negro's action, and from the facts that Mrs.
Tunks had seen--so she said--his coming in the crystal, and obeyed him
so implicitly, it might be that Durgo knew much that he would only
disclose at the proper time. Of one thing Cyril was certain--namely,
that Durgo was his friend, and would do his best to put things right, if
Lister assisted him to recover traces of his father and the jewels,
which Edwin Lister was supposed to possess.
"I shouldn't wonder if Pence's statement was true," said Cyril,
musingly, as he reflected on the present position of affairs. "It did
seem strange to me that such a rough sea-dog as Huxham undoubtedly was,
should have so refined a daughter as you."
"I thought it was my education, and----"
"No," said Cyril, looking at her searchingly in the light of the small
lamp. "Your feet and hands are too delicate, and your features too
clearly cut, and your whole bearing too well bred, to be the child of
such a man. Huxham and his sister are plebeians: you are an aristocrat.
I am quite sure."
Bella coloured at his praise of her beauty. "Perhaps what Mr. Pence says
may explain why the money was not left to me."
Cyril nodded. "If you are not Huxham's daughter, of course he would not
leave you the money. But it was strange that he should tell Pence--why,
what is the matter?"
Bella had started to her feet, and was looking at him strangely. "I am
unwilling to suspect Mr. Pence, seeing that it seems almost certain your
father is guilty, but I don't believe that my father--I mean that
Captain Huxham told him."
"Why not?"
"It was not Captain Huxham's way to confide in anyone, and if he had
kept silent for so long he certainly would not have told anyone later,
especially Silas Pence. If anyone knew the truth it would be my aunt--I
mean Mrs. Vand--and she hated me quite sufficiently to tell me that I
was no kith or kin of hers. This she did not do."
"Well, and what do you make of the business?"
"This," said Bella, slowly. "I believe that Mr. Pence _does_ know
something of the murder, although he may not have struck the blow. Your
father may have been disturbed by Mr. Pence, and may have taken the
hundred pounds. But I am certain that Mr. Pence found some papers
telling that I was not Captain Huxham's daughter, and has them in his
possession now."
Cyril shook his head. "You have no proofs of this wild charge."
"No, I have not. All the same, I believe----"
"Belief is one thing, and certainty another," said Lister, decisively,
"and, again, I must tell you that my father--if indeed he is guilty--got
much more than one hundred pounds"; and he related all that had taken
place in Durgo's rooms. Bella listened in silence, and was particularly
struck with the use made by the negro of Mrs. Tunks.
"I believe that Granny and this black man are in league," she declared;
"you know she foretold his coming by the crystal. And that is all
rubbish."
"In this instance she foretold truly," said Cyril drily.
"Because she knew beforehand, and simply made use of the crystal to
impress me," retorted the girl. "Do you think Durgo himself is guilty?"
"No, I do not," replied Cyril very decidedly. "He bewailed the fact that
my father had not asked him to get Huxham out of the way. No, Bella, in
some way, my father managed the matter himself. He might have killed the
old sailor during a quarrel, and have secured the jewels and have gone
into hiding either here or on the Continent. We can only wait until we
hear from him. Then the mystery may be solved."
"I am not so sure that your father got the jewels," said Bella, after a
pause. "After all, they were in the chest in the attic by Durgo's
showing."
"The papers were, but Durgo was not certain if Huxham left the jewels
there, my dear. You see, the old skipper might, and probably did, keep
the jewels in his study for safety. But the jewels were in the house I
am sure, for Huxham feared lest they should be stolen, and so planted
the corn and used the search-light. By the way, I saw that used the
other night."
"Henry Vand knows how to use it," said Bella indifferently; "my father
showed him how to work it on one occasion. But what is to be done?"
"I must wait and see what Durgo intends to do. He knows much that we are
ignorant of, and for my father's sake I think he will help us both."
"And Mr. Pence's statement?"
Cyril took her in his arms. "I believe it," he said, kissing her fondly,
"so the barrier between us is removed."
"Thank God for that," said Bella reverently, and being unstrung wept
bitterly.