MRS. LILLY'S STORY
The funeral was over, and Jarvis Alpenny was buried beside the
wife whom--according to rumour--he had so cruelly neglected. The
excitement about his mysterious death was apparently buried with him,
and Hurstable again became a somnolent hamlet, devoid of news and
intelligence. In spite of every effort, the police were unable to trace
the man with the black patch. No one seemed to know anything about him,
and he had vanished as completely as though the earth had swallowed
him up. The local and London papers made their usual crass remarks
about the inactivity and uselessness of the police, and, save in a rare
paragraph, ceased to notice the matter. The murder was only a nine
hours' wonder after all.
Lady Watson went away from the Rectory without calling upon Beatrice,
as she had promised. Perhaps this was because she had unpleasant
recollections of Convent Grange, or perhaps on account of a short
conversation she had with Durban after Beatrice left The Camp. But
whatever might be her reason, she did not again ask Miss Hedge to
become her companion, nor did she call or even write. With her twenty
thousand a year she returned to London, and left The Camp in charge of
Durban, who still continued to inhabit his old quarters. Sometimes he
came over to see Beatrice, and appeared to be more devoted than ever
to the girl. But he said nothing about the various mysteries he had
hinted at, nor did Beatrice inquire very closely what they might be.
She saw very plainly that both Durban and Vivian were determined that
she should know as little as possible--for what reason she could not
imagine--and therefore, in pursuance of her determination, she cast
about to find some path which might lead to a discovery of the truth,
whatever that might be. She wished to learn who had killed Alpenny, and
thought that, by examining into his past life, she might be able to
learn something of his enemies. Once she discovered who disliked him,
and the reason of such dislike, she fancied that she might lay her hand
on the assassin. But there was no one to tell her of Alpenny's past, as
both Durban and Vivian kept silent. But as, according to Mrs. Snow, the
murderer of Colonel Hall was the assassin of Jarvis Alpenny, Beatrice
determined to learn all she could about the earlier crime, in the hope
that her discoveries in that direction might enable her to elucidate
the mystery of the later murder.
Mrs. Lilly was the best person to apply to for a history of Colonel
Hall's untimely fate, as she had been housekeeper to the Paslows for
many, many years. Beatrice, during the first fortnight of her stay,
hinted that she would like to hear about the tragedy, and Mrs. Lilly,
after some hesitation, promised to tell her what she knew. Accordingly,
Beatrice, two weeks after the burial of her stepfather, was seated in
the Grange garden waiting for the housekeeper. Mrs. Lilly had first
to attend to her work, but promised that as soon as it was ended she
would come out and chat. As Dinah had gone over to the Rectory to see
Mrs. Snow, Beatrice was quite alone. She did not count Vivian, as he
scarcely stopped an entire day at the Grange, and very rarely a night.
Some business took him constantly to London, but what it might be the
girl could not guess. After that abrupt conversation in The Camp, the
two said very little to one another. It was a strange wooing, and
extremely unsatisfactory.
The garden of Convent Grange was delightful, as was the house, although
both were somewhat dilapidated. The ancient red brick mansion had
been--as Mrs. Snow had informed Beatrice--a convent in the reign of
that arch-iconoclast, Henry VIII. When his greedy hand was laid upon
ecclesiastical property, he had bestowed the convent on Amyas Paslow,
who promptly turned out the nuns, to house himself and his family.
But there was some curse on the place and on the race, for the family
never prospered overmuch, and when the property came to Vivian Paslow,
he was as poor as an English gentleman of long descent well can be.
Nevertheless, he still clung to the old mansion, although he could
have sold it at an advantageous price to an American millionaire. In
some wonderful way he managed to scrape enough money together to pay
the interest on the mortgage to Alpenny, and thus had kept a roof over
his head and that of Dinah. Lately, as he had told Beatrice under the
oak, he had inherited a small sum of money from an aunt, and thus
things were easier with him. The girl fancied that it must be business
connected with the paying-off of the mortgage that took him so often to
London; but on this point he gave her no information.
The day was hot and drowsy, and Beatrice, clothed in black--for she
paid her stepfather the compliment of wearing mourning--sat on an
old stone seat, between two yew trees cut in the shape of peacocks.
Before her, on a slight rise, rose the mellow brick walls of the
Grange, covered with ivy. A terrace ran along the front of the house,
and over the door was the mouldering escutcheon of the Paslow family.
What with the queer pointed roofs, the twisted stacks of chimneys,
the diamond-paned casements, and the prim gardens, the place looked
particularly delightful. A poet could have dreamed away his days in
this rustic paradise, and Beatrice felt as though she were in the land
of the Lotus-eaters. But even as she slipped into vague dreams, she
pulled herself up, and shunned the enchanted ground. There was sterner
work to do than dreaming. Before she could become the mistress of this
castle of indolence, and wife of its master, it was necessary to lift
the cloud which rested on the place. To do so, she would have to begin
by questioning Mrs. Lilly, and impatiently awaited the arrival of that
worthy soul.
Towards noon Mrs. Lilly appeared on the terrace, and sailed down the
broad garden-path between the lines of brilliant flowers. She was stout
and comely, with white hair and a winter-apple face. A very honest,
pleasant old woman was Mrs. Lilly, but behind the times. It was her
boast that she had never been away from the Weald of Sussex for one
solitary day out of a long length of years; and she had no patience--as
she frequently stated--with the new-fangled notions of modern life (of
which, it may be remarked incidentally, she knew no more than a child
unborn!). Beatrice looked at the housekeeper's worn black silk dress,
at her lace cap and voluminous apron, and acknowledged that Mrs. Lilly
was a picturesque figure, who might have stepped out of the pages of a
Christmas Number. The very model of a pompous, narrow-minded, honest,
kindly old English servant.
"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Lilly, who looked on the three young people
as children and addressed them accordingly, "I've got through my work.
And a wonder it is, seeing that Polly and Molly"--these were the two
servants--"are so lazy. But I have had the rooms brushed, and the
dinner is ordered, and everything is in apple-pie order; so here I
am ready for a rest." And she sat down beside Beatrice with a groan,
remarking on the stiffness of her joints.
"You won't have much rest with me, Mrs. Lilly," laughed Beatrice, who,
knowing the old lady well for some years, was quite familiar with her.
"Have you got your knitting?" Mrs. Lilly was always knitting when off
domestic duty. "Oh! here it is. Now make yourself comfortable, you dear
old thing, and talk."
"What about?" asked Mrs. Lilly, mounting her spectacles, and beginning
to click the needles.
"Colonel Hall's death."
"Oh! my dear," said the housekeeper with dismay; "do you really wish me
to tell you about that horrid thing?"
"Of course; and you promised to do so."
"But wouldn't you rather hear about the ghost?" said Mrs. Lilly in
coaxing tones; "that's an old family legend, and ever so much nicer."
"No. Colonel Hall's death, or nothing."
"Why do you wish to know?"
Beatrice evaded this question dexterously, not thinking it wise to
admit Mrs. Lilly into her confidence too largely. "Oh! Mrs. Snow talked
a lot about it at the inquest."
"I heard about that, my dear. Strange that your stepfather should have
been murdered by a man with a black patch over his left eye!"
"You agree with Mrs. Snow, then?"
"That the same man committed the other murder?" queried Mrs. Lilly
musingly. "I can hardly say that. Certainly a black patch, that could
have been worn over an eye, was found on the grass under Colonel Hall's
window the morning after his murder, but----"
"The man was not seen, then?" interrupted Beatrice.
"No. Only from the presence of the black patch, the detective who
had charge of the case thought it had been worn for the purpose of
disguise. There was a great stir about the matter, as Colonel Hall was
well known as a Government official. He came from some West Indian
island, I believe, where he was Administrator or something," ended Mrs.
Lilly vaguely.
"Well, then, tell me all from the beginning. Mrs. Snow has very little
to go on, if that is all about the black patch. I saw Mr. Alpenny's
murderer wearing it, you know; but neither Mrs. Snow nor any one else
saw Colonel Hall's assassin with it on."
Mrs. Lilly nodded. "I heard of your experience. My dear, you should not
run about the woods at night: it isn't ladylike. I wonder you didn't
faint with horror when you saw the man!"
"I should have, had I known of this theory about Colonel Hall having
been killed by such a man. As it was, I felt too worn-out to be
startled by anything. Where ignorance is bliss. Go on, Mrs. Lilly; tell
me all Mrs. Snow does not know."
"I think she knows a very great deal," remarked the housekeeper
viciously. "I never could bear that lady--a sour, bad-tempered woman
if ever there was one. She was a governess, you know. Yes; she and
Mrs. Hall were at school together, and Mrs. Hall made her a kind of
companion. After the murder, and when Mrs. Hall went back to the West
Indies, Mrs. Snow--a Miss Duncan she was then--stopped on and married
the rector, who was a fool. I am quite sure he has regretted ever since
that he made her his wife."
"I don't like Mrs. Snow myself," said Beatrice thoughtfully. "And who
is this Lady Watson who knew my mother?"
"I cannot tell you. I have never set eyes on her. Some school friend
of Mrs. Snow's, I dare say. Mrs. Snow always said everybody had been
to school with her. I believe she told lies," finished Mrs. Lilly with
great contempt.
"Tell me about Mrs. Hall and the Colonel?"
"He was a tall, handsome man, very kind, and stately in his bearing, my
dear. Mr. Paslow--the father of Master Vivian--knew him very well, and
asked him to stop here."
"With Mrs. Hall?"
"Yes. But Mrs. Hall only came for one night, and that was the night of
the murder. I don't think she got on well with her husband."
"What was she like to look at?"
"A small dark woman, very grave, and sparing of words. I think she
had something on her mind. She seemed to be very much afraid of her
husband, and rarely spoke to him. She came down with a one-year-old
baby, and a nurse--a delicate-looking woman, far gone in consumption,
poor soul."
"Just like my mother," said Beatrice; "she died of consumption, you
know, Mrs. Lilly. At least Mr. Alpenny said so."
"I never saw your mother, my dear. Mr. Alpenny married a few weeks
after the murder, and took Mrs. Hedge, as I understand she was called,
to The Camp. She never came out, and no one ever saw her. When she
was buried, everyone was quite amazed to hear that Mr. Alpenny had a
wife--though, of course, it was hinted that he had married. He was
deeply in love with Mrs. Hall, you know."
"Lady Watson says he was deeply in love with her."
"I don't believe the man was deeply in love with any one save himself,"
declared Mrs. Lilly sharply. "I detested him, and say so, even though
he is dead and your father."
"My stepfather," corrected Miss Hedge. "I did not like him myself, Mrs.
Lilly. He was a cruel man."
"He was, and had far too much influence with the old master. It was
then that he got the mortgage on the Grange, which is such a trouble to
Master Vivian. But perhaps Lady Watson will not be so hard to satisfy
as Mr. Alpenny, and Master Vivian may be able to arrange, as he has
inherited this little sum of money from his aunt. I wish he was clear
of all these difficulties," ended Mrs. Lilly, with a sigh.
"Go on. You have not said a thing about the murder."
"I wonder Durban did not tell you about the matter. He was Colonel
Hall's servant, you know."
Beatrice started to her feet, quite amazed by this intelligence. "Do
you mean to say that Durban was Colonel Hall's servant?" she asked.
"Didn't you hear me say so?" said Mrs. Lilly tartly.
"Yes; but he never explained that to me."
"There was no need to. Besides, Durban doesn't like to speak of the
murder of his master. He was the Colonel's servant, and came with him
from the West Indies. Any one can see that Durban has black blood in
him."
"It is all very strange," murmured the girl, sitting down again.
"Well, I thought so myself, as Durban never liked Mr. Alpenny. However,
when the Colonel was buried, and Mrs. Hall went back to the West Indies
with the baby, Durban stopped on, and when Mr. Alpenny married Mrs.
Hedge, went to serve at The Camp."
"He has been a good friend to me," said Beatrice ponderingly. "I wonder
why?"
"He was a good friend to your mother also, I heard. I asked Durban
about your mother's marriage, and about your real father, Mr. Hedge,
but he never would tell me anything."
"It is strange,--strange," mused Beatrice, quite perplexed over this
tangled story. "And the murder?"
Mrs. Lilly wasted no more time, but plunged at once into the middle of
the story, which Beatrice heard to the end without interrupting her
more than was absolutely necessary. "Colonel Hall came down here to
stop, as I said," resumed the old lady, "being a dear friend of my late
master. Durban was with him, and Mr. Alpenny was in the house at the
time. Later on, Mrs. Hall came down with the baby and the nurse, and
with Mrs. Snow, who was then Miss Duncan; but that was not for a week.
Colonel Hall had a necklace of diamonds that he had brought from the
West Indies; it was valued at ten thousand pounds, and was called the
Obi necklace, as there was some legend attached to it."
"Obi is African witchcraft," said Beatrice.
"Like enough," said Mrs. Lilly indifferently. "Colonel Hall had a lot
to do with the black people. My master, Mr. Paslow, warned the Colonel
that he might have the necklace stolen; but the Colonel laughed at him.
It was in a green box which he kept beside his bed. The box contained
official papers, and also the Obi necklace. I understand that Colonel
Hall intended to give it to his wife; but as there was some difference
between them, he did not give it to her. But when she came down, she
asked him for it. He refused, and was sharp with her, so she went
to bed in tears. Colonel Hall also retired at ten o'clock. The next
morning he was found dead in his bed with his throat cut, and the Obi
necklace was gone."
"What happened, then?" asked Beatrice, breathlessly.
"The police were called in. Mrs. Hall was in a fright, and grew so
ill that she had to be taken up to town and put in some hospital. I
know that she went from one fainting fit into another, and the doctor
said that she would die unless she was taken out of the house. So she
and the baby and the nurse were bundled off to town. Mrs. Snow--Miss
Duncan, that is--stopped on with Durban. The police could find nothing."
"They found the black patch?"
"Yes; and there were rumours of a man wearing such a patch having been
seen in the neighbourhood. Colonel Hall always slept with his window
open, as he was mad on the subject of fresh air. His bedroom was on the
first floor of the west wing, and the ivy offered a foothold to any
one who wanted to climb up. As the black patch was found on the grass
below the window, it was believed that the assassin climbed up the ivy
and tried to steal the necklace. Colonel Hall must have awakened: but
before he could give the alarm, he was stunned in some way."
"Just like Mr. Alpenny," murmured Beatrice.
"When he was stunned, the assassin cut the poor man's throat,"
continued Mrs. Lilly, shuddering. "Ugh! it was a sight. Then the
murderer went off with the necklace. The police tried to trace him by
that, but could not do so. I expect the necklace was broken up and the
stones were sold separately."
"The assassin was never caught?"
"Never. And it is nearly five-and-twenty years ago, so I don't expect
he ever will be caught."
"He may be, now that he has committed a second crime."
Mrs. Lilly laid down her knitting and removed her spectacles. "Do you
believe it is the same man?"
"The crimes are so similar, that I believe it is," said the girl
earnestly. "Colonel Hall was stunned, and then his throat was cut;
Mr. Alpenny was treated in the same way. Colonel Hall was robbed of
this necklace; Mr. Alpenny was robbed also. And yet," added Beatrice,
looking at Mrs. Lilly, "I don't believe that in either case robbery was
the motive for the crime."
"What other motive could there be?" asked Mrs. Lilly, amazed.
"Revenge of some sort, in both cases. Both the victims were stunned,
and so the plunder could have been easily carried off safely. But in
each case the assassin cut the throats of his victims. That looks like
revenge."
Mrs. Lilly resumed her knitting and shook her head. "I can tell you
nothing more," she said, after a pause. "Orchard might know a lot--I
always thought that he did."
"Who is Orchard?"
"He was our butler at the time, and afterwards went to be a shepherd
on the Downs yonder," and Mrs. Lilly nodded towards the high range of
hills spreading fair and green in the sunlight.
Beatrice started. "Mrs. Snow said something about that," she observed,
thoughtfully. "Why did the man become a shepherd? So odd!"
"It is odd--I always thought it was odd," said Mrs. Lilly; "but, you
see, the sight of the body--Colonel Hall's body--gave poor Orchard a
kind of fit, and the doctor said he would have to live in the open air.
At all events he left the house, and when we next heard of him he was a
shepherd on the Downs. He is well known, I believe, and is alive still.
I have never seen him from that day to this, but I daresay if you went
up yonder and inquired, you would see him. He may know something more
than I do."
"I shall certainly see him," said Beatrice. "I want to learn all I can
about this case."
Before Mrs. Lilly could reply, a shadow fell on the sward before them.
They looked up to see a small, dirty, red-haired man leering at them in
an affable way.
"Morning, lydies," said this creature; "I'm Waterloo!"