THE PAPERS
Next morning the news was all over the village, that Silas Pence had
been seized with epilepsy, and in falling had cut his head open against
the old-fashioned fender. He had just time--said the gossips--to ring
the bell before the catastrophe, and the landlady being, fortunately,
awake, had rushed into the room to his assistance. In an hour he had
become conscious, and had been put to bed, after giving the explanation
of how he came by the wound in his head. As Silas was fairly popular,
everyone was more or less sorry, and many were the callers at the
cottage on the common.
Dora heard the news from one of her scholars, and retailed it to her
friend when she came home to luncheon. Bella turned pale when she heard
of the affair. She guessed that this was the work of Durgo, and
reproached herself for having enlisted his services. But then, she
argued, that if Durgo really was responsible for the preacher's
sickness, he would have appeared in Miss Ankers' cottage in the morning,
to explain what had taken place, and possibly--supposing he had been
successful--to show the papers. Then again, if this was Durgo's work,
Bella wondered why the preacher had not denounced him. It seemed to her,
on this assumption, that Pence feared to say too much, lest he should be
questioned too closely. Dora certainly had no more suspicions than had
anyone else, but what the story of the young man was absolutely true.
"He never _did_ look healthy," said Dora, when the meal was ended, "so I
am not surprised to hear that he has these epileptic fits."
"Perhaps he'll get over them," hinted Bella feebly, and not looking at
her friend, lest she should betray herself.
"My dear, people with epilepsy never recover," rebuked Dora seriously,
"and I wonder that the man dared to ask you to marry him, seeing what he
suffered from. What a terrible thing to have a husband with fits."
"Are you sure that it was a fit?" asked Bella, trying to salve her
conscience with the idea that Durgo had nothing to do with the matter--a
vain attempt.
"My dear, am I sure that the hair grows on my head? Of course, I am
sure. The man himself explained how he fell, just as he clutched at the
bell. He hit his poor head against the iron fender--you know, dear, one
of those old-fashioned kitchen fenders, now out of date. It's a mercy
there was no fire in the grate, or he would have been burnt to death.
Why, a cousin of mine once"--and Dora went off into a long and wearisome
tale of a member of her family who had suffered in the same way.
When the little old school-mistress returned to her duties, Bella sat
down to consider things. On the face of it, Durgo had done nothing, and
Silas really might suffer from fits. But as he had never fallen before,
and as Bella knew that Durgo would stop at nothing to get the papers,
which she believed existed, she began to believe that the fall was by
design and not by accident. This belief taking full possession of her,
she longed feverishly to see the negro, and to ask questions. But,
although she watched for quite two hours at the window, he never
appeared. Then--as her nerves were strung up nearly to snapping
pitch--she determined to call round at Cyril's lodgings and tell him of
her interview with the black man. For the moment, she was unwilling to
do this, as she guessed that Cyril would be angry. Still, as it was more
or less certain that Durgo himself would tell her lover--always
supposing the papers existed and had been obtained--Bella thought it
would be wiser to be first in the field with her story. Besides, in any
case, she would have to confess to Cyril, so why not now? The only
chance of getting at the truth of the matter of the murder lay in
herself and Durgo and Cyril working amicably together, and in keeping
nothing back from one another.
There was a certain amount of risk in going to Cyril's lodgings, as his
landlady, Mrs. Block, was one of the most notorious gossips in the
village. She would be certain to talk of the visit, and to make unkind
comments on the fact of a young lady choosing to visit a bachelor
without a chaperon. And a chaperon Bella could not have, since she
wished no one else to be present during her conversation with Cyril. A
third party would mean that she would be unable to speak plainly and all
knowledge of the case--inner knowledge that is--must be confined to
herself, her lover, and to the negro. It would never do to let the
outside world know of the means they were taking to arrive at the truth,
and a chaperon might easily play the part of a she-Judas.
And after all--as Bella reflected, when hurrying along the road--she had
no one to consider but herself, since it mattered very little what was
said about her, so long as Cyril was true. She was at war with her
aunt--if, indeed, Mrs. Vand was her aunt--she had no friend but Dora,
and there was really no person whom she desired to conciliate. Under
these circumstances, she took her courage in both hands and with a calm
face, but with her heart in her mouth, she rapped at the door of
Lister's lodgings. Luckily he had observed her from the window, and
opened the door himself.
"I am so glad to see you Bella," he said, shaking hands in a
conventional manner, as the stout form of Mrs. Block appeared at the end
of the passage, "for I was just coming round to propose a walk on the
common."
"It is a beautiful day," said Bella, likewise conventional.
"Very. Wait until I get my hat and stick. Mrs. Block, if anyone calls, I
am going to the common with Miss Huxham."
"And a very lovely sweet walk it is," said Mrs. Block, coming nearer to
see if Bella was dressed in sufficiently deep mourning for her presumed
father, "as I said to Block, if he'd only make the money a man like him
ought to make, I'd be strolling on that there common, dressed up as fine
as nine-pence. But there, you never get what you want in this world, and
ain't it dreadful, Miss Huxham, about poor Mr. Pence?"
"Very dreadful!" assented Bella politely, then as Cyril was ready, she
went with him out of the gate, leaving Mrs. Block looking after them.
Luckily for the couple, Mrs. Block had nothing to say against the visit.
Indeed it was in her heavy mind that Cyril, having failed to take Bella
out as promised, had been called upon by a young lady weary of waiting.
"So like a man," soliloquised Mrs. Block, standing on her door-step,
broom in hand, "they never thinks, never, never! And if this Mr. Lister
commences neglect afore marriage, what will it be when the honeymoon's
over. Ah, poor Miss Huxham! what with her pa dying, and her aunt
robbing, and him as should love her neglecting--it's a miserable life
she'll have. Ah, well, there's always the grave to look forward to," and
ending her soliloquy thus cheerfully, Mrs. Block entered the house and
shut the door with a bang.
Meanwhile the lovers, quite ignorant of Mrs. Block's opinion, walked
along the village street, and soon emerged on to the common. They passed
the cottage wherein Silas Pence lodged, and this recalled the episode of
the so-called fit to Cyril, as he had heard all particulars from his
garrulous landlady. "I'm sorry for Pence," said Cyril, glancing at the
cottage.
"Why?" asked Bella nervously.
"It's such an awful thing for a person to have fits. If I'd known that I
should not have pitched him over the fence last night. Of course, he's a
rotter, and a blighter, and a nuisance; but he's weak, and I shouldn't
have treated him so roughly. I only hope," said Cyril gloomily, "that it
wasn't the fall I gave him which brought about this beastly fit."
"You can be quite sure of that," said Bella sharply; "in fact," she
hesitated, then spoke out boldly, "I don't believe he had a fit."
"My dearest girl, he said so himself, according to Mrs. Block."
"I know he did, as Dora told me. And that makes me the more certain of
his connection with the murder of my father. I suppose I must call
Captain Huxham my father until I am certain of the truth of what Mr.
Pence said."
"I don't know what you are talking about," said Cyril, stopping to stare
at the down-cast, flushed face under the black hat. "Why should Pence
tell a lie about his fall?"
"Because he didn't want anyone to know that Durgo had thrown him down."
Cyril stared harder. "Would you mind explaining?" he said politely, "I
still cannot understand your meaning."
"I don't know that I understand myself," she replied nervously. "The
fact is, Cyril, I believe that Durgo threw Mr. Pence down when he
refused to give up those papers."
"What papers?" asked Lister, still bewildered.
"The papers which tell the truth about me."
"But, my dear girl, that is all supposition. We don't know if any papers
exist, after all. Pence may have spoken at random."
"You believed that he spoke the truth."
"I did. I want to believe, as only by learning that you are not Captain
Huxham's daughter can we marry," said Cyril dismally; "but the wish is
father to the thought, in my case."
"Well," said Bella, plunging into her confession, "you had better ask
Durgo if he assaulted Mr. Pence last night."
"Why should he?"
"I asked him to."
Cyril, who had walked on, stopped once more and stared. "You asked him
to?"
"Yes." Bella was less nervous now. "I told him all that Mr. Pence said,
and suggested that he should get the papers."
Cyril's face grew stern, as she knew it would. "Tell me everything that
passed between you and that nigger."
"I have not said that I saw him," said Bella evasively.
"You could scarcely have asked him to assault Pence, unless you had seen
him," retorted Cyril, who looked displeased, "come, be frank. Tell me
all."
Bella did so, omitting nothing, although she every now and then stole a
glance at Cyril's compressed lips and corrugated brow. At the end of her
explanation he looked up, and his eyes were hard. "You have acted very
wrongly," he said sternly.
"I know I have: I admit as much," said the girl penitently, "but, after
all, I only asked him to get the papers. I did not tell him to hurt Mr.
Pence."
Cyril shook his head impatiently. "You should not have seen this
infernal nigger. I don't like any white woman to talk to niggers."
"I don't like them myself," said Bella quietly, "and you may be sure,
had I not been anxious to learn the truth, I should not have spoken to
Durgo."
"You could have asked me to speak."
"Would you have done so, seeing that you did not believe that the papers
existed?"
"Nor do I believe now," replied Cyril, walking on quickly. "It is all
guess work on your part."
"No, no, no!" insisted the girl, as they arrived at their favourite spot
under a giant gorse bush; "the mere fact that Mr. Pence told a lie about
his injury shows me that I am right."
"We don't know for certain that he met with his injury at Durgo's
hands."
"Then I have done no wrong," said Bella promptly.
"Indeed you have," said Cyril in vexed tones, as they sat down. "You
spurred on that infernal nigger to do what was wrong."
"I understood that you liked Durgo, and thought him a well-educated
man."
"So I do like him; so I do consider him wonderfully well educated. He is
an Oxford M.A., you know. But I daresay if you scratched him you would
find that he is a common nigger after all."
"The son of a king?"
"An African king. Pooh! what's that? You must promise me, Bella, not to
have anything more to do with him."
"But I have promised to seek for the jewels in the Manor-house," and
Bella went on to state how she could enter Bleacres by the secret door.
Cyril nodded and approved of the idea.
"But you must come to me and tell me what you find out. I don't want you
to speak to Durgo more than you can help."
"That is racial instinct and injustice."
"Racial instinct is never unjust. I don't care if Durgo was a black
Homer and Bismark and Napoleon rolled into one. He is a man of colour,
and I detest the breed. Promise not to have anything to do with him--at
all events unless I am present."
"I promise if you will not scold so much," said Bella wilfully.
"I am not scolding. If I did you would cry."
The girl slipped her arm within that of her lover's, pleased to have
escaped so easily. "I begin to think that I am marrying a tyrant."
"You are marrying a man who loves you, and who wants to protect you from
all dangers. Oh, Bella, Bella! I wish we could go away to London and get
married quietly. Then we could go to Australia and leave this bad past
behind. Will you come? I have money enough for a year, and by that time
I'll be able to get something to do in Melbourne or Sydney."
Bella shook her head. "Dear, I love you dearly, but I can't marry you
until I am quite sure that I am not Captain Huxham's daughter."
"In any case," said Cyril bitterly. "You will marry the son of a man who
has committed a murder."
"I am not so sure of that. Now that Mr. Pence has told a lie I think
that he may have something to do with the matter. He may be guilty."
Cyril groaned. "I have no ill-will towards Pence, in spite of his
insolence to you, but for the sake of my name I wish I could think so."
There was silence for a few moments, and then Bella, who was looking
along the path, spoke to her lover in a frightened whisper. "Here is
Durgo!"
And indeed it was. The negro swung along bluff, heavy and ponderous. He
was in dark clothes, and these, with his black face, made him look like
a blot on the sunshiny beauty of the summer world. At once, with his
keen eyesight, he caught a glimpse of the lovers and strode towards
them, smiling and bland. Cyril nodded coldly. He could not forgive the
black man's impertinence in speaking to Bella, quite forgetting that
Bella was to blame and had sought the interview. Bella herself,
remembering Cyril's warning and her own promise, did not dare to welcome
the man.
"I went to see you," said Durgo, addressing Cyril, "and your landlady
told me that you had gone to the common with Miss Huxham. I followed. I
am glad to find you both together. I have much to say."
Bella could not contain her curiosity. "Did you----"
"Yes," said Durgo coolly, "I did. He would have made a noise, so I had
to dash him to the ground. He hit his head against the fender. Mrs.
Giles," he added with a grim laugh, "tells me that he accounts for the
knock on his head by saying that he had a fit."
"What do you make out of that?" asked Cyril, casting a glance at Bella
warning her to hold her tongue.
"Oh"--Durgo glanced from one to the other--"so Miss Huxham has told
you?"
"About her interview? Yes! I am sorry you took her advice and saw Pence,
for I knew that ill would come of it."
Durgo leisurely took a bundle of papers from his pocket. "Much good has
come of it, as I am here to explain," said he quietly. "You were right,
Miss Huxham. Pence had certain papers stolen from Captain Huxham's
safe."
"Then he is guilty of the----"
"I can't be certain of that," interrupted the negro sharply. "I had no
time to question Pence. As soon as I got the papers which he carried in
his breast-coat pocket I slipped through the window. Lucky that I did
so, for his landlady came in almost immediately in answer to the ring of
the handbell. If he hadn't sounded it I should not have rendered him
insensible, but I had to do so for my own safety."
"Well, well, well!" said Cyril impatiently, and looking at the papers,
"we can talk of this later. You say that Miss Huxham's guess is
correct?"
"It is. And I congratulate Miss Huxham on her clever brain. Pence was
certainly a fool to say as much as he did, and especially to so talented
a lady who guessed----"
"There! there! No more compliments. Tell us both at once. Did he speak
truly when he stated that Miss Huxham was not the captain's daughter?"
"He spoke absolutely truly, as you will find when you read this," and
Durgo placed a bulky roll of paper in Bella's hands.
"Oh!" she said, flushing a bright pink, "how glad I am. But whose
daughter am I?" and she made to open the paper.
Cyril laid his hand on the bundle. "We haven't time to read all that
now," he said gruffly. "Tell us shortly what you have discovered,
Durgo?"
The negro nodded, and addressed himself to the girl. "Your name is
Isabella Faith," he stated, "and you are the daughter of Maxwell Faith,
who was my father Kawal's firm friend."
The lovers looked at one another. "But how did I come to pass as Captain
Huxham's daughter?" she asked breathlessly.
Durgo shrugged his shoulders. "So far as I can read the story, which
Captain Huxham has set down in that bundle you hold, he was smitten with
compunction for having murdered your father and so adopted you."
Bella shuddered. "How terrible to have lived with such a wicked old
man," she said. "I never liked Captain Huxham, but thinking him my
father I tried my best to do my duty. No wonder he would not leave the
property to me!"
"I think he intended to leave you the jewels, though," said Durgo,
thoughtfully. "He mentions in those papers that he intended to make a
will leaving them to you, since his sister, Mrs. Vand, claimed Bleacres
and his income. It's my opinion that Mrs. Vand learned how her brother
had murdered Maxwell Faith, and so forced him to make that will."
"Then the jewels really belong to you, Bella?"
"Yes," said Durgo, rising and making a courteous bow. "And when we find
Edwin Lister, my master, he shall restore the jewels."
"But your expedition?" asked Bella in surprise.
The negro looked at the lovers humorously. "I fear that there will be no
expedition," he said seriously. "I cannot rob you of your fortune, Miss
Faith. Marry our friend here and be happy."
"But what will you do?" asked Cyril, touched by this self-abnegation.
Durgo shrugged his shoulders again. "I shall search out Edwin Lister and
return to Africa. In one way or another I daresay we can manage to get
back to my tribe. Then I shall measure my strength and education against
my cousin, who is wrongfully chief. For the rest, there is no more to be
said. The papers you have, Miss Faith, will prove your birth and reveal
all the doings of Huxham. There is no more for me to do, so I shall bid
you both good-day and wish you all good luck."
The lovers stared to one another and then at the retreating form of
Durgo, who had so delicately left them together. It was Cyril who spoke
first.
"He is a good fellow, after all," he said. "That black skin covers a
white heart. Oh! Bella, how strange it all is."
"Take me home," said the girl faintly, and with white cheeks. "I can
bear no more at present. Isabella Faith is my name now----"
"Until you change it to that of Isabella Lister," said Cyril, kissing
her.
But she only wept the more, broken down by the unexpected revelation.