"THE CHANGELING"
While the tower at "The Pines" was being pulled down, Stephen paid
frequent visits to Saxham. Sometimes Dr. Herrick went with him, and
together they would go through that wonderful house. Marsh had never
before been inside it, and he was amazed at the luxury. His life had
been so simple, so deprived of all beauty, that his artistic
temperament had been starved from lack of nutriment. Highly gifted
with the imaginative faculty, possessed of a keen perception of
loveliness, Stephen revelled in the beautiful things which filled
every corner of the house.
"You will have to get a wife to share it all," said Herrick one day
after his conversation with Mrs. Marsh. He looked keenly at the young
man as he spoke.
Stephen however betrayed no emotion. "I suppose I shall have to marry
some day," he said coolly. "If I were to die without children my
cousin would get the property."
"I did not know you had a cousin?" said Herrick, rather astonished.
"I believe so. A distant cousin, although I have never seen him. My
mother can tell you all about him. It seems that Colonel Carr's father
had a younger brother who was turned out by his father. He went to
America and married there. Then he died leaving a widow and a
daughter. The widow died and the daughter married some one in the
States. I do not know the name but my mother may. I believe there is a
son, but whether he is in America or in England I cannot say."
"Humph!" said Jim, "very interesting. I must ask your mother about
this. If you secure the property by complying with the conditions of
the will, it will be yours entirely. Even if you do not marry, you
will be able to leave it to whomsoever you please."
"I should leave it to my cousin, whatever his name is," said Stephen
in a careless tone. "It seems to me that he has the right to enjoy it
after me, since he is of the Carr blood."
"Always provided you do not marry and have children!"
"Of course. But there is time enough to think of marriage. I want my
mother to be sole mistress of this beautiful place for a time. She has
had such a dose of poverty that I should like her to taste luxury."
"You are not in love then?" asked Herrick in a jocular tone.
"I don't know!" this time Stephen flushed. "I'll tell you when I am.
Meantime let me enjoy the present. I'll soon have this tower down and
the house put to rights. Then my mother can come. I hope you will stay
also Herrick," he added rather anxiously. "I don't want to lose my
friend you know."
"It all depends," replied Jim with a flush. He was thinking of Ida. "I
will remain until your mother is quite well. You may be sure of that."
Nothing more was said at the time. Herrick could not be certain that
Stephen was in love with Ida or that the girl had set her heart on
Marsh. They were excellent friends, but in spite of Herrick's lynx eye
he could not learn if they understood one another. As a matter of fact
they did; but neither of them wished to hurry matters. Both felt that
Mrs. Marsh would have to be consulted before anything was settled, and
therefore waited until she recovered her health and was established at
"The Pines."
Mrs. Marsh slowly regained her strength, and almost dispensed with
Herrick's attendance. She never recurred to the subject of Ida or of
Frisco after that one interview, although Herrick several times tried
to make her speak. Evidently she knew something about the man--perhaps
had heard the Colonel speak of him. But whatever it was she kept her
own counsel. There was no need that she should do otherwise. Perhaps
if Frisco had made his appearance she might have been induced to speak
out, but the ex-sailor (as Herrick learned he was) had vanished
completely. He was traced to Paddington station, and after that all
sign of the trail was lost. Like a rain drop he had disappeared into
the mighty sea of London life, and in spite of all offers of reward
not a hint could be gained of his whereabouts.
It was generally considered that he was the criminal, most people
holding that he had shot the Colonel unawares. Napper's evidence went
to prove that the two men were on bad terms with one another, and
probably Frisco excited by rum and a sense of his wrongs, whatever
these might be, had returned to "The Pines" with the intention of
righting himself. No one entertained the idea of a duel having been
fought. Only Mrs. Marsh gave Frisco that grace. Herrick considered her
theory a feasible one, and felt that it was confirmed by the fact of
the revolver found in the dead man's hand being loaded. If Frisco had
fired first, the Colonel would have fallen with his weapon
undischarged, and this would account for the six chambers being
filled. But what it would not account for was the fact of one bullet
being different to the remaining three. That was a puzzle, and Dr. Jim
could in nowise arrive at the solution of the problem, although he
thought over it a great deal.
Bess Endicotte was the only person who insisted on Frisco's innocence.
She declared that the man was too devoted to his master to kill him,
and that there could be no reason for the crime. This she explained to
Herrick a week after the interview with Mrs. Marsh. Both Herrick and
Marsh had come over to Biffstead to spend the afternoon, intending to
return to Beorminster by the last bus, somewhere about ten o'clock. It
was characteristic of Stephen's simple habits that he still went to
and fro by the public vehicle, although he could now have afforded a
cart, a horse, a bicycle, or even (had he so chosen) a motor-car. But
before taking full advantage of his new position and of his wealth, he
wanted his mother to be well enough to direct matters. She had held
him in subjection for so many years, that he hesitated to do anything
without her approval. So Herrick and Stephen came to Saxham by the
bus, or used their legs. For the sake of his health Herrick made Marsh
walk as much as possible. The man was visionary and it was necessary
to shake him into something like practical life by exercise.
On arriving at the Grange, the two young men, found the whole family
at home. There was Ida tall and beautiful who welcomed the visitors in
her usual placid way. She was of the Junoesque type, stately and
maternal, moving like a large goddess amongst minor mortals. Bess, who
was all alert and vivacious, was accustomed to make fun of Ida's
stately ways. "The Sacred White Cow," said Bess folding her hands, and
when Ida remonstrated pointed out that the term meant no disrespect.
"Juno was called ox-eyed, and I'm sure the cow is a most beautiful
animal," said she inconsequently. "Why should a comparison to a useful
animal be taken as an insult? If I said you were like a fawn, or a
stag, or a swan, you would be quite pleased. But because I call you a
lovely snowy cow--you _are_ a beautiful cow," broke off Bess with a
shrug, "the sacred white cow. There!"
"Really Bess, you are getting more dreadful every day," cried Ida
helplessly, "please don't call me this horrid name when Stephen and
Dr. Herrick come."
"Dr. Herrick would understand; he is a scholar. However I won't call
you anything but Juno--will that do?"
"I should prefer to be called by my proper name!"
Bess made a mouth but yielded the point. She was devotedly fond of
Ida, and always said that her beauty would raise the family into
affluence once more. "My _brains_ may do something," she said, "but
Ida's looks will attract all the men of wealth and position."
"I do not want any of them," protested Ida with a blush. "Do let me
see after my own future, Bess darling."
Undeniably Bess was the cleverest of the family. She was so bright and
quick, and possessed of such indomitable perseverance, that she easily
exercised a despotic sway over the weaker vessels. Ida looked after
the house, but Bess was the real head who paid the bills, and bullied
the tradesmen, and saw that everything was in order. Even Frank gave
way before her. But Frank was rather like Ida in the matter of bovine
simplicity. He was a big handsome fellow, never out of temper. When he
was not looking after the farm he strolled in the fields, and searched
into the secret workings of Nature. Sometimes he wrote articles for
the papers and magazines. A Gilbert White of the Parish of Saxham,
that is what Frank Endicotte was. Some of his articles had even been
accepted in London, and when he could be induced to write, he usually
made a few guineas. But Frank was lazy, and it needed all the scolding
of Bess to make him do his duty in the way of literary work. So far as
the farm went he was never idle, as he loved an open air-life, and
took a genuine interest in stock, top drainage and crops.
Florence, who was now home on her weekly holiday, bounced out on Dr.
Jim and Stephen as they came up the avenue. She was a girl in her
teens, more like Bess than any of the rest, and bubbled over with
animal spirits. This was her last quarter at school, and now her hair
was turned up and she had arrived at the dignity of long frocks. But
at heart she was still a schoolgirl, and on this especial day had let
down her long hair much to the dismay of Ida who was nothing if not
conventional.
"Oh, Stephen!" she cried clasping him by the arm. "I am so glad you
have come. Frank is writing, Bess is typing, and Ida is making a new
dress. I have no one to amuse me."
"Where is the Changeling?" asked Stephen laughing.
"Sidney! Oh, he has a holiday, and has gone over to see 'The Pines.'
You know how fond he is of going there. He was the only one of us that
was not afraid of the Colonel."
"I don't think Bess was."
"No. It would take an army to frighten Bess. How are you Dr. Herrick?
I am rude not to have spoken to you before. Come inside, and wake us
all up. I am sure this place is like the palace of the Sleeping
Beauty."
"Suppose we go over to 'The Pines' and have afternoon tea in one of
the rooms," suggested Stephen. "There is no food there, but we can
take what we want from here, and have a picnic."
"Jolly!" cried Flo the schoolgirl, "there are kettles and tea-pots
and all the rest of the things we want at 'The Pines' I suppose?"
"The house is remarkably well furnished," said Herrick laughing. "It
is a good idea; three o'clock. We had better go at once."
The others entered into the scheme with avidity, and thus it was that
Herrick found himself walking beside Bess to "The Pines." Not without
a pang had he relinquished Ida to his friend; but bearing in mind the
confidence reposed in him by Mrs. Marsh, he desired to act as fairly
as possible. Besides he was growing fond of Bess. She was such a
bright companion, and so clever. At first she was disinclined to speak
of the Colonel and Frisco, but gradually became more outspoken. In his
quiet way Herrick had a wonderful gift of making people talk. "I
wouldn't say it to any one but you Dr. Jim," said Bess--for so she now
called him, "but there is something about you that makes me believe in
you. I think you must have a kind of daemonic influence like Goethe."
"I am sympathetic if that is what you mean," said Jim. "I took to you
immediately I saw you in the inn parlour."
Bess blushed a little through her tanned skin, and cast a keen look at
the big man. Somehow Herrick was conscious of that look, and wondered
what it was for. Perhaps with a woman's quickness Bess divined that he
admired Ida and did not approve of it. However she was too clever to
say anything if such was the case, but went on to talk of Colonel Carr
and Frisco.
"I liked Frisco," she said in her quick decisive way, "he was a bad
man and some of the things he told me he had done were really
dreadful; but somehow he was attractive. Much better than the
Colonel."
"I thought you liked the Colonel," said Jim with a side glance.
"Well you see it was this way," replied the girl laughing. "I was
rather bold in introducing myself to him, and he was so kind that I
forgave him his bad reputation."
"How was it you met him?"
"I wanted some copy for the Chronicle and did not know what to write
about. Something had to be done, so I kept my ears open for an idea.
Ida happened to mention something about 'The Pines,' so I thought it
would be nice to see all the wonderful furniture that was in the
house. Would you believe it," she added lightly, "I went straight to
'The Pines' and asked to see Colonel Carr? At first he refused, but I
was so persistent that he let me come in. I told him frankly what I
wanted and how hard up I was for an article. He was so taken back by
my assurance that he said I could describe 'The Pines,' provided I did
so under a fictitious name. Then he took me all over the house
himself; gave me tea in the big drawing-room and sent me off. I got a
good article out of what he showed me, but of course I said that it
was a description of a millionaire's palace in Park Lane. Nobody
believed that. I think the Colonel guessed they wouldn't. He just let
me write the article to make the people's mouths water with telling
about things he would not let them see."
"A nice Christian spirit!" remarked Jim grimly. "Ah! but you must
remember that he was treated very badly by the country people when he
came back from America."
"Oh! Then America was the place of his exile?"
"So Frisco said; Mexico and Peru. The two had many adventures and used
to tell me about them. I made up several stories out of the material I
got from them."
"You called to see the Colonel again then?"
"Why not! He was always polite, and I wasn't a bit afraid of him. Oh,
I know he had a dreadful reputation, but he was never rude to me. Poor
man," said Bess letting her eyes rest pensively on the house which
they were now approaching, "I think he was very weary of living
alone."
"Were the Colonel and Frisco good friends?"
"The very best. Frisco adored the Colonel, who had saved his life.
Both of them seem rather afraid of---" here Bess was silent.
"Of what?"
"I hardly know. But they hinted at some enemy who would kill the pair
of them if he discovered their whereabouts. That was what Frisco meant
at the public-house, when he hinted about his master not living long.
If Frisco had given information, the enemy would have killed the
Colonel."
"I wonder if Frisco did, and then went away to escape the
consequences?"
"No!" said Bess thoughtfully. "Frisco would have been killed also. I
think myself that the enemy found out the Colonel and murdered him;
then Frisco ran away to save his own life."
"Humph! That is one way of looking at the matter. Did you hear if any
stranger was seen in the neighbourhood on the night of the murder?"
Bess looked quickly at her companion. "No," she said with some
hesitation. "I never heard of anyone. Besides it would have come out
in the evidence."
"You have no idea who killed the man?"
"Certainly not. If I knew I should tell. There was something--I'll
tell you that later."
"Tell it to me now!"
"I can't do that until I get my facts together," said Bess firmly,
"Look here Dr. Jim, I intend to find out the truth about this mystery.
From something the Colonel let drop, I believe it is concerned with
the money he came back with."
"From South America?"
"Or from North America," replied Miss Endicotte musingly, "I am not
quite clear. But I'll ask you to help me when I get my facts
together."
"You rouse my curiosity. Tell me now what you----"
"I said no and I mean no," retorted Bess setting her mouth firmly.
"You will be here for some time yet. If you go away I shall write to
you. I am sure we shall find out who killed the Colonel, and I am
equally sure that Frisco is not the man."
"Well. Have it your own way. Tell me one thing. How is it the Colonel
was so anxious about the preservation of his body?"
"Ah! Now you are asking more than I can tell you."
"You know though," said Jim looking at her sharply.
"I think--I am not sure. Wait, Dr. Jim. In good time you shall know
all that I know. This is a romance in real life."
"A tragedy rather," said Herrick grimly, "mind you keep your promise."
"You can be sure I shall keep it," said Bess nodding and for the time
being the matter ended. But Jim was considerably puzzled. How she
could have got hold of information of which the police knew nothing
was difficult to say. All the same he had more confidence in the
brains of Bess than in those of Inspector Bridge.
As it was Saturday afternoon, the workmen had knocked off for the day.
By this time the tower was half demolished, and curious it looked in
its dilapidated state, with the pile of débris round about its base.
The visitors looked at it for some time, then went into the house. In
the kitchen off the dining-room they found an old woman who agreed to
boil the kettle for them. After some deliberation they fixed on the
library as the best place for the meal. On entering they found a boy
reading in the corner under the window.
"You here Sidney?" said Ida amazed. "How can you come here without
asking Stephen's permission?"
"Stephen doesn't mind I'm sure," replied Sidney with a smile, and
Stephen assured him that he was welcome. While the others were talking
and admiring the place Dr. Jim stood looking at the boy who was
leaning back on the sofa taken up with his own thoughts. There was
something peculiar about Sidney Endicotte, which procured him the name
of the Changeling. This was given to him in fun by Bess; but many
people in the village really believed that he was half a fairy if not
a whole one. This reputation rose from the fact that the lad possessed
that gift which in Scotland is called the second sight. No one in
Saxham who saw Master Sidney's large blue eyes fixed upon him or her
but turned pale. In Italy he would have been credited with the Evil
eye, and indeed old Petronella always crossed herself when she chanced
to meet him. Once or twice Sidney had foretold the death of those who
had afterwards died. Thus he had an uncanny reputation.
He was a small thin boy looking much older than his years. Although
he was but sixteen, yet on occasions he looked quite twenty. Pale,
thin-faced, with large blue eyes, and a curious insistent gaze, he
sometimes made even his own family feel uncomfortable. Then he had
such peculiar habits. At night he was generally wakeful, and he slept
much in the day-time particularly in cold weather. Sometimes he would
slip out of his bedroom by the window and remain away for hours. When
questioned where he had been he used vaguely to answer "In the wood."
The doctors who had seen him could make nothing of him. He was healthy
in his own way, his head was clear, and Corn reported that he learned
rapidly. But about him hung a glamour not of this world. He might have
been a male Kilmeny who had returned from fairy-land. Bess sometimes
called him Thomas the Rhymer. When she did so Sidney would nod and
laugh in so strange a way, that Bess herself grew frightened, and
dropped the name.
"How do you feel to-day Sidney?" asked Jim sitting down beside the
boy.
"Not very well," he replied vaguely. "I feel that I am not myself. I
came here to read myself to sleep."
"Why did you want to do that?"
"Because I could go away then. I always do when I feel like this."
"Like what?" Jim was puzzled. The boy was by no means mad, yet he
talked in a manner quite beyond the comprehension of a sane person.
Jim had never met anyone like him before and was much taken up with
the oddity of the case from a medical point of view.
"I can't explain; you would not understand," said Sidney. "Please
leave me alone, Dr. Herrick."
At this moment Bess called to Jim from the other side of the room and
he hurried across to her. Sidney remained vaguely staring into
nothingness. After a time his eyes closed and he looked as though he
were fast asleep. The others gathered round the tea table, and
prepared to eat. Bess would not allow her brother to be awakened.
"It makes him ill if he is roused suddenly," she said. "He will wake
up himself and be all right."
"It doesn't look to me like a natural sleep," said Jim anxiously. "How
pale he is! Don't you think----"
"No," said Ida sharply, "I agree with Bess. Sidney had better be left
alone. He gets into these states at times. Let us have tea. I am so
hungry, and it's past five."
"A quarter past," said Stephen glancing at his watch.
They began to eat and drink, laughing and enjoying themselves. No one
took any notice of Sidney, and even Jim's attention was distracted.
The boy remained on the sofa, leaning back, white as snow, and drawing
long deep breaths. He looked like a dead person.
After a time the conversation languished. The tea was done, the food
was finished, and they talked about packing up to go. "Poor Sidney's
tea is quite cold," said Ida. "I really think we might wake him now.
Oh, he is coming to himself. Wake up Sidney, and have some tea. It is
nearly six and we must be getting home."
The boy's face had now a delicate pink tinge on it, and he seemed more
himself than he had been when he fell asleep. For a moment he was
silent. Then he looked slowly round at those who were present, until
his blue eyes fixed themselves calmly on Stephen.
"Mr. Marsh!" he said quietly, "you had better go home. Your mother is
dead."
Ida gave a cry and Stephen turned pale. Bess alone retained sufficient
presence of mind to cross over to the boy and shake him, "Sidney, what
do you mean by saying such a horrible thing."
"It is true," replied the boy quietly, "Mrs. Marsh is dead. I have
just seen her. She died at half-past five. Go home Stephen."
Without a word Marsh rushed from the room. He knew of Sidney's
prophecies, and dreaded lest this one should be true. He made for
Beorminster as fast as he could go, and was met by Petronella.
"My padrona is dead!" said the old woman.