RUN TO EARTH
The quiet village of Marshely, in Essex, was getting to be as well-known
through the length and breadth of England as Westminster Abbey. The
murder of Captain Huxham had caused a sensation, the death of Durgo and
Vand had created another one, but the discovery of the ghastly scarecrow
which had warned the birds from the corn-fields of Bleacres, startled
everyone greatly. The news flew like wild fire through the village, and
in less than an hour the inhabitants were surveying the terrible object.
Shortly the constable of the village who had superseded Dutton--in
disgrace for his share in the escape of Mrs. Vand--appeared, and, armed
with the authority of the law and assisted by willing hands, removed the
poor relic of humanity from the pole whereupon it had hung for so long.
The explanation of its being there was easy. Undoubtedly Captain Huxham,
after he had committed the crime, and while Tunks and Pence were away,
the one through horror and the other through sheer worry, had carried
out the dead body to fasten it to the pole. He undressed the
straw-stuffed figure, with which everyone was familiar, and having
destroyed it arrayed the corpse of Edwin Lister in its military clothes.
Then he pulled the tattered grey felt cap well over the face so that it
should not be suspected as being that of a human being, and bound the
dead to the pole. Of course, no one, not even the Vands, suspected that
the figure was other than what it had always been, and it said much for
the cruel ingenuity of Captain Jabez Huxham that he had selected so
clever a mode of disposing of the body. Had he thrown it into the
boundary channel it might have been fished out; had he concealed it in
the house, it would probably have been discovered; and had he buried it
in the garden near the house, it might have been dug up. But no one ever
dreamed that the scarlet-coated scarecrow was the man who was wanted.
Huxham had been struck down almost immediately after he had put his
scheme into execution, and it was doubtful if he had intended to leave
the body there. Probably he did, as it was isolated by the corn, and
when the field was reaped he doubtless intended to get rid of the corpse
in some equally ingenious way. The removal of the scarecrow would have
excited no comment when the fields were reaped, as its career of
usefulness would then be at an end. The dead man's clothes still clothed
his corpse under the scarecrow's ragged garments.
One result of the discovery was that everyone decided not to buy the
corn which had flourished under so terrible a guardian. Far and wide the
newspapers spread the report of the discovery, and Timson became aware
that a prejudice existed against making bread of the wheat grown on the
Bleacres ground. Not wishing to spend more money, since he would have to
account for everything he did to Mrs. Vand, he withdrew the labourers.
The Solitary Farm now became solitary indeed, for no one would go near
it, especially after night-fall. The golden fields of wheat spread round
it like a sea, and the ancient house stood up greyly and lonely like a
thing accursed. And indeed it was looked upon as damned by the
villagers.
An inquest was held, and, going by the evidence of Luke Tunks, it was
decided that Edwin Lister came by his end at the hands of Jabez Huxham.
Cyril was compelled to attend and give evidence, but said as little as
he could, not wishing to make his father's shady career too public. He
simply stated that his father was a trader in Nigeria, and being the
friend of Durgo, the dispossessed chief of a friendly tribe in the far
Hinterland, had come home to see Huxham and get from him certain jewels.
Of course he could not suppress the fact that these jewels had been
given by Kawal to Maxwell Faith, and had been stolen from the dead body
of the man by his murderer, Captain Huxham: nor could he fail to state
that Bella was the daughter of Maxwell Faith, since had he not done so
the jewels might have been taken from her. But Cyril spoke as clearly
and carefully as he could, quite aware of the delicate position he
occupied. There was no doubt that Huxham, dreading lest the murder of
Faith should be brought home to him, and anxious to retain the jewels
which were the price of blood, had murdered Lister; afterwards he had
disposed of the body in the ingenious manner explained. But Lister was
dead; Huxham was dead; Vand and Durgo were dead, so the papers suggested
that there should be an end to the succession of terrible events which
made Marshely so notorious.
"And I think this is the last," said Cyril, when he returned to Miss
Ankers' cottage from his father's funeral. "Bella, we can't stay here."
"I'm sure I don't want to," replied the harassed girl, who looked worn
and thin. "The place is getting on my nerves. I'll marry you as soon as
you like, dear, and then we can go away. But this morning"--she
hesitated--"I received a letter from my father's relatives. They ask me
to come to them."
"What will you do?" asked Cyril gravely.
"Write and say that I am marrying you and intend to go abroad."
"But, Bella, if you reside with your relatives you may be able to make a
much better match."
"Yes," said Bella with a grimace. "I might marry a Quaker. No, dear, I
intend to stay with you and marry you. I have done without my relatives
for all this time, and I hope to continue doing without them."
"Bella! Bella! I have nothing to offer you."
"Yourself, dear. That is all I want."
"A stupid gift on my part," said Cyril, looking ruefully in a near
mirror at his face, which was now lean and haggard. "You have the money,
and also the sympathy of the public. I can offer you nothing but a
dishonoured name."
"Oh, nonsense!" she said vigorously. "I won't have you talk in that way.
Why, one of the newspapers referred to your father as a pioneer of
Empire."
Sad as he was Cyril could not help smiling. "That is just like my
father's good luck," he exclaimed; "alive or dead, everything comes to
him. I expect his shady doings will be overlooked, and----"
"No one knows of his shady doings, dear."
"Well, then, he will be looked upon as a hero. It's just as well he is
buried in Marshely churchyard, for some fanatic might propose to bury
him in Westminster Abbey."
"You will be congratulated on having such a father."
"No!" cried Cyril violently. "I won't stand that, Bella. We shall go to
London next week and get married in a registry office. Miss Ankers can
come with you to play propriety."
Bella laughed. "I rather think Dora is so busy nursing poor Mr. Pence
back to health that she has no time."
"Why, you don't mean to say that she loves Pence?"
"Yes and no. I won't say what may happen. She pities him for his
weakness, and pity, as you know, is akin to love. Besides, only
ourselves and Inspector Inglis know of the temptation to which Mr. Pence
was submitted."
"Why, Bella, everyone knows he saw the corpse of Huxham and held his
tongue."
"Yes, but everyone doesn't know that he took the one hundred pounds
which he restored to me. He is looked upon as somewhat weak for not
having informed the police of the crime, but on the whole people are
sorry for him."
"I shall be sorry, too, if a nice little woman like Miss Ankers marries
such a backboneless creature."
"Cyril! Cyril! have not our late troubles shown you that we must judge
no one? After what we have undergone I shall never, never give an
opinion about anyone again. I am sorry now that I did not behave better
to poor Mrs. Vand. When my supposed father was alive I did treat her
haughtily. No wonder she disliked me."
"My dear," said Lister, taking her hand, "don't be too hard on yourself.
You and your so-called aunt would never have got on well together."
"But I might have been kinder," said Bella, almost crying; "now that she
is dead and gone I feel that I might have been kinder."
"How do you know that she is dead and gone?" asked Cyril, in so strange
a tone that Bella, dashing the tears from her eyes, looked at him
inquiringly. "She is alive," he replied to that mute interrogation.
"Oh, Cyril, I am so glad! Tell me all about it."
"I don't know that I am glad, poor soul," said Lister sadly. "The police
are on her track. I didn't want to tell you, Bella, but for the last two
days the papers have been full of the hunt after Mrs. Vand."
"Why didn't Dora tell me?"
"I asked her not to. You have had quite enough to bear."
"Well, now that you have told me some, tell me all."
"There isn't much to tell. Some too clever landlady in Bloomsbury
suspected a quiet lady lodger. It certainly was Mrs. Vand, but she
became suspicious of her landlady and cleared out. Then she was seen at
Putney, and afterwards someone noticed her in Hampstead. The papers
having been taunting the police about the matter, they'll catch her in
the end."
"Poor Mrs. Vand! poor Mrs. Vand!" The girl's eyes again filled with
tears.
"We can't help her, Bella. I wish Timson could get hold of her and
induce her to stand her trial. I don't think either judge or jury would
be hard on her; more, I fancy that her brain must be turned with all
this misery."
"And she has lost her husband, too," sighed Bella; "she loved him so.
Oh, dear Cyril, what should I do if I lost you?"
Before Lister could reply with the usual lover-like attentions there was
a noise in the road, and looking through the window they saw many people
hurrying along. Dora came in at the moment from the other room, whither
she always discreetly withdrew when not nursing Pence.
"It is only some policeman they are running after. He declares that Mrs.
Vand is in the neighbourhood. If she is I hope she will escape."
"By Jove! I must go out and see," said Cyril, seizing his hat.
"I shall come also," cried Bella, and in a few minutes the two were on
the road. But by this time the people were not tearing along as they had
been, and one villager told Lister that it had been a false alarm.
"The old vixen won't come back to her first hole," said the villager
with a coarse laugh, and Bella frowned at him for his inhumanity.
As there really was nothing to hurry for the lovers strolled easily
along the road talking of their future. "Bella, you haven't many boxes?"
asked Cyril.
"Only two. Why do you ask?"
"Will you be ready to come with me to London to-morrow?"
"Yes; I shall be glad to get out of Marshely, where I have been so
miserable. Only I wish I knew where Mrs. Vand is, poor soul."
Cyril passed over the reference to Mrs. Vand, as he was weary of
discussing that unfortunate woman. "There's a chum of mine got a motor,"
said the young man. "I wrote and asked him for the loan of it. He
brought it down last night, and it is safely bestowed in the stables of
'The Chequers.' To-morrow at nine o'clock let us start off with your
boxes----"
"And Dora?"
"No," said Cyril, very decidedly. "Dora can remain with Pence, whom she
probably will marry. We will go to London and get married at a registry
office in the afternoon, and then cross to Paris for our honeymoon. I
haven't much money, Miss Rothschild, but I have enough for that. In our
own happiness let us forget all our troubles."
"I'll come," said Bella with a sigh. "After all, we can do nothing. By
the way, Cyril, what about Durgo's things?"
"Well it's odd you should mention that. He evidently thought that
something might happen to him on that night, for he left a note behind
him saying that if he did not return they were to be given to me. So I
have shifted them long since to my lodgings. There they lie packed up,
and ready to be taken away in our motor to-morrow."
"Cyril, you have been arranging this for some time?"
"Well, I have. It's the only way of getting you to leave this place, and
you will always be miserable while you remain here."
"I only stayed in the hope that poor Mrs. Vand might return, and then I
would be able to comfort her. Oh! how I wish Durgo with his occult
powers was here to help us."
"I don't; Durgo's occult powers brought him little happiness, and didn't
solve the mystery of my father's death. One would have thought that
Granny Tunks, in her trances, would have told Durgo that the scarecrow
which he saw daily was his dearly-beloved master's dead body."
"It is strange," said Bella thoughtfully; "but then, as Durgo said about
something else, perhaps it was not permitted. What's become of Granny
Tunks, Cyril? Is she still at the hut?"
"Yes; but I heard to-day that she is going on the road again with her
old tribe of the Lovels. I daresay Granny will be at all the fairs and
race meetings, swindling people for many a long day."
"And her son Luke?"
"He'll get off with a light sentence. He certainly had no hand in the
murders, and there is no one to prosecute him for blackmail. Granny and
Luke will soon be together again. I hope never to hear more of them, for
my part. Bella! Bella! don't let us talk of such things. We have had
enough of these tragedies. Let us be selfish for once in our lives and
consider ourselves. Hullo, what's this?"
The question was provoked by the sight of Inglis with three constables,
who whirled past in a fly which they had evidently obtained from the
station. As they dashed onward in a cloud of dust the inspector,
recognising the two, shouted out something indistinctly, with his hand
to his mouth.
"What does he say, Cyril?" asked Bella anxiously.
"Something about fire. I wonder where they are going? Oh!"--Cyril
suddenly stopped short--"I wonder if they are after poor Mrs. Vand.
Come, Bella, let us see where they go to."
"But where are you going?" asked Bella, as he rushed along the road
dragging her after him swiftly. "Oh!" she cried out with horror, "look!"
At the far end of the village and in the direction of the Solitary Farm,
a vast cloud of smoke was mounting menacingly into the soft radiance of
the twilight sky. "No wonder Inglis said fire!" cried Lister excitedly,
"I believe, Bella, that the Manor-house is blazing."
"No," cried Bella in reply, "it is impossible."
But it was not. As they rounded the corner of the crooked village street
in the midst of a crowd of people who had sprung as by magic from
nowhere, they saw the great bulk of the Manor-house enveloped in thick
black smoke, and even at the distance they were could catch sight of
fiery tongues of flame. The sky was rapidly darkening to night, and the
smoke-cloud, laced with red serpents, looked lurid and livid and
sinister.
"Come, Bella, come!" cried Cyril to the panting girl, and took her arm
within his own, "we must see who set it on fire."
Bella got her second wind and ran like Atalanta. They speedily
outstripped the crowd, and were almost the first to cross the planks
over the boundary channel. Inglis and his policemen were already running
up the corn-path. Why they should run, or why the villagers should run,
Cyril did not know, as there was no water and no fire brigade, hose, or
engine, and no chance of saving the ancient mansion. He and Bella ran
because they wished to see the last of the old home.
"Who can have set it on fire?" Cyril kept asking.
"Perhaps a tramp," suggested Bella breathlessly, but in her heart she
felt that something more serious was in the wind. A strange dread
gripped her heart, and the name of Mrs. Vand was on the tip of her
tongue, although she never uttered it.
As the weather was warm and the ground dry--for there had been no rain
since the electric storm which raged when Vand and Durgo had gone down
into the muddy waters of the boundary channel--the old house flamed
furiously. The dry wood caught like tinder, and when Cyril and the girl
arrived the whole place was hidden weirdly by dense black smoke, amidst
which flashed sinister points of fire. Inglis and his men attempted to
enter the house, but were driven back by the fierce flames which burst
from the cracking windows; also the great door was closed and could not
be forced open. They were forced to retreat, and the inspector nearly
tumbled over Miss Faith, as Bella was now called.
"Can't you get her out?" asked Inglis breathlessly.
"Get her out!" cried the girl, terrified, and half grasping his meaning.
"Mrs. Vand; she is in there," and he pointed to the furnace of flame.
Bella screamed and Cyril turned pale. "You must be mistaken," he said.
"No, no," replied the inspector, who was greatly agitated, for even his
official phlegm was not proof against the terror of the position. "The
London police wired to me at Pierside that Mrs. Vand had gone down to
Marshely. We waited at the station to arrest her, but she got off at a
previous station and was seen by your village policeman to run across
the marshes. He wired to my Pierside office, and the wire was repeated
to the station we waited at. We got a fly and hurried here only to see
the smoke. I cried out 'Fire!' to you as we passed. Great heavens, what
a blaze!"
"Can't you get her out?" cried Bella, who was white with despair. Little
as she had liked Mrs. Vand, the position was a dreadful one to
contemplate.
"What can we do?" said the officer, with a gesture of despair. "There is
no water and no buckets: and if there were, what bucket of water would
put out that conflagration. You might as well try and extinguish hell
with a squirt."
Bella paid no attention to the vehemence of his expression, but turned
to Cyril. "What can we do?" she wailed. "Oh, what can we do?"
"Nothing, nothing. Look at the police, look at the villagers. We can do
nothing. If Mrs. Vand is in that blazing house God help her."
There was now a great crowd of men, women and children all gathered some
distance away from the burning mansion, trampling down the tall corn in
their efforts to see. Bella, with the police and her lover, stood the
nearest to the house. "Please God she is not there!" breathed the girl,
clasping her hands in agony.
At that moment, as if to give the lie to her kindly prayer, a window on
the first storey was flung open and Mrs. Vand's head was poked out. Even
at this distance Bella could see that her hair was in disorder, her face
haggard, and her whole mien wild. Breaking away desperately from Cyril
she rushed right up almost under the window, despite the fierce heat.
"Aunt, oh aunt," she cried, stretching up her hands, "come down and save
yourself!"
"No! No. They shall not catch me! I shall not be hanged! I am innocent!
I am innocent!" shrieked Mrs. Vand, and Bella could almost see the mad
flash in her eyes.
"Bella! Bella! come back," shouted Cyril, and dashing forward he caught
the girl in his arms and carried her away as the front door fell
outward. A long tongue of flame shot out and licked the grass where
Bella had stood a moment since.
By this time the house was blazing furiously, and every window save that
out of which Mrs. Vand's head was thrust, vomited flame. The sky was now
very dark, and the vivid redness of the flame in the gloom made a
terrible and lovely spectacle. Bella, in her despair, would have rushed
again to implore her aunt to escape, but that Cyril and Inglis held her
firmly. "It is useless," they said, and the girl could not but admit
that they were right.
Mrs. Vand apparently was quite mad. She kept flinging up her arms, and
shouting out taunts to the police for having failed to catch her. Then
she was seized with a fit of frenzy and began to throw things out of the
window. Chairs, and looking-glasses, and rugs, and table ornaments did
she fling out. Suddenly a devilish thought occurred to her crazed brain.
She noted that a tongue of uncut corn stretched from the main body of
wheat almost under the window. Darting back she plucked a flaming brand
from the crackling door, and, regardless how it burnt the flesh of her
hand, she ran to the window. "Off! off! off with you!" cried Mrs. Vand,
and carefully dropping the brand on to the tongue of corn.
In one moment, as it seemed, the thread of fire ran along to the main
body of the corn, and in an inconceivably short space of time, the acres
of golden grain were a sheet of flame. The villagers, the police, both
Cyril and Bella, ran for their lives, and it took them all their speed
to escape the eager flames which licked their very heels. Pell-mell down
to the boundary channel ran everyone. The plank bridge was broken, and
many tumbled into the muddy water. Mrs. Vand stood at the window
yelling, and clapping her hands like a fiend, and the whole vast fields
of wheat flared like a gigantic bonfire.
Half swimming, half holding on to the broken bridge planks, Cyril, with
Bella on his other arm, managed to scramble through that muddy ditch.
Beside him shrieked women and cursed men and screamed children. The
police having safely reached the other side stretched out arms to those
in the water. Cyril and Bella were soon on dry land, and shortly
everyone else was saved. Not a single life was lost, either by fire or
water. And when safe on the hither side of this Jordan, the excited,
smoke-begrimed throng looked at the flaming fields and the roaring
furnace of the Manor house. The smoke and flame of the burning ascended
to heaven and reddened the evening sky. Mrs. Vand, in setting fire to
her last refuge, had indeed provided herself with a noble pyre and a
dramatic end. Before those who watched could draw breath after their
last exertions, the roof of the mansion fell in with a crash. Mrs. Vand
gave one wild cry and fell backward. Then fierce, red flames enwrapped
the whole structure, while far and wide the raging fire swept over the
fields of the Solitary Farm.
"May God have mercy on her soul!" said Cyril removing his cap.
"Ah!" said Inglis, "if I had caught her, I wonder if the judge would
have said as much."
"No," replied Bella, "she is dead, and she was innocent. God help her
poor soul!" and everyone around echoed the wish.
* * * * *
Bella and Cyril did not go to London the next morning as they had
arranged, but three days later. In the meanwhile search had been made
amongst the ruins of the Manor-house for the body of Mrs. Vand. But
nothing could be found. In that fierce furnace of flame she had been
burnt to a cinder, and not even calcined bones could be gathered
together. In a whirlwind of flame the unhappy woman had vanished, and
her end affected Bella deeply. Indeed, Cyril feared lest the much-tried
girl should fall ill, and on the third day he brought round the
motor-car to Miss Ankers' cottage, to insist that she should come with
him to London.
"But if we marry so soon it seems like a disrespect to Mrs. Vand,"
argued Bella, "and she has left me her money, remember."
"My dear, don't be morbid," advised Dora; "you will be ill if you stay.
Get married, and go to Paris, and try to forget all these terrible
things."
"What do you say, Pence?" asked Cyril, who in the meantime had carried
out Bella's boxes.
Pence, looking lean and haggard after his recent illness, but with a
much calmer light in his eyes, nodded. "I say, go, Miss Faith, and get
married as soon as you can."
"You wouldn't have given that advice once," said Bella, with a faint
smile, as Dora assisted her to adjust her cloak.
"No. But I have grown wiser."
"What a compliment!"
"You have forgiven me, have you not?"
"Yes, I have." She held out her hand, "and the best thing I can wish you
is the best wife in the world."
As if by chance, her eyes rested on Dora, who blushed, and then on
Pence, who grew red. Afterwards, with half a smile and half a sigh, she
got into the car beside Cyril. Dora hopped like a bird on to the step to
kiss her.
Lister raised his cap, and the car went humming down the road on the way
to peace and happiness.
"That's the end of her solitary life," said Pence, thankfully.
"On the Solitary Farm," rejoined Dora; "come and have some breakfast."
THE END.
THE BEST NOVELS BY FERGUS HUME
The Mystery of a Hansom Cab
The Sealed Message
The Sacred Herb
Claude Duval of Ninety-five
The Rainbow Feather
The Pagan's Cup
A Coin of Edward VII
The Yellow Holly
The Red Window
The Mandarin's Fan
The Secret Passage
The Opal Serpent
Lady Jim of Curzon Street