The covered cart, in which the police had come, had now disappeared.
Beside Barnabas Ugthorpe’s cart was a gig, with John Thurley standing
at the horse’s head.
“This way,” said Thurley in a peremptory tone, as Barnabas was
carrying the girl to his own cart, “I’m going back to the Abbey and
can take Miss Mulgrave with me.”
Freda shuddered. The farmer said a soothing word in her ear, and
without heeding Mr. Thurley’s directions, placed her on the seat on
which she had come.
“If it’s t’ seame to you, sir, Ah’ll tak’ t’ leady mysen.”
“Pray, are you the young lady’s guardian?”
“Ah’ve as mooch reght to t’ neame as you, sir,” answered Barnabas
surlily. And without waiting for further parley, the farmer got up in
his seat and drove away.
Freda and her driver made their way back to the Abbey almost in
silence. All that he would tell her about the capture of the murderer
was that “t’ poor fellow was caught in a field at back o’ t’ house.”
Mrs. Bean was waiting at the lodge-gates for her, and Freda saw by the
housekeeper’s white face that she had heard the result of the
expedition.
“Oh, Mrs. Bean, it is too horrible; I can’t bear it!” sobbed the girl,
throwing her arms round Nell’s neck.
But the housekeeper pushed her off with a “Sh!” and a frightened look
round, and Freda saw that John Thurley was standing in the deep shadow
under the gateway. With a sudden cry the girl stepped back, and would
have run away to Barnabas, whose cart was just moving off, if Thurley
had not started forward, led her within the gates with a strong but
gentle hand, and closed them behind her. He would not let her go until
they had reached the dining-room; then he apologised rather brusquely,
and asked her to sit down.
“I can hear what you have to say standing,” she said in a low,
breathless voice.
“Why are you so changed to me? Why did you run away from me just now?”
asked Thurley, distressed and irritated. “It is by your invitation I
am here; you have only to say you are tired of my presence, and late
as it is I will go out and try to find some other lodging.”
The instincts of a gentlewoman were too strong in Freda for her not to
be shocked at the idea of showing incivility to a guest, however ill
he might have requited her hospitality. She overcame the abhorrence
she felt at his conduct sufficiently to say:
“You are very welcome to stay here as long as you please, Mr. Thurley.
If my conduct towards you has changed, I hope you will own that it was
not without reason.”
“But I think it is,” said he stoutly. “It’s all to your interest that
this nest of smugglers should be cleared out; and as for a certain
cowardly criminal whom we have had to take up for something worse,
why, _you_ have no reason, beyond your natural kindness of heart, to
be sorry he has met his deserts.”
Without answering him, and with much dignity, Freda turned to leave
the room. But the words he hastened to add arrested her attention.
“To-morrow I have to return to London. Now as there may be scenes in
this place not fit for a lady to witness, in the course of breaking up
this gang, I intend to take you away with me, and to put you under
proper care.”
“Will you send me back to the convent?” asked Freda eagerly.
John Thurley, who had a strong dislike to “popery” frowned.
“No,” he said decidedly, “I can’t do that. But I will undertake to
have you well cared for.”
Freda paused one moment at the door, looking very thoughtful.
“Thank you,” she then said simply, as, with her eyes on the floor, she
turned the handle; “good-night!”
There was something in her manner which made John Thurley,
inexperienced as he was in women’s ways, suspect that she meant to
trick him. Therefore, from the moment she left her room on the
following morning, she felt that she was watched. Mrs. Bean had
evidently gone over to the enemy, being indeed convinced that John
Thurley’s plan was a good and kind one. When Freda announced her
intention of going to church, the housekeeper said she would go with
her. Freda made no objection, though as Mrs. Bean never went to
church, her intention was evident. Old Mrs. Staynes was delighted to
see the girl, and thanked her for coming.
“Why,” said Freda in surprise, “I should have come long ago, only I
didn’t know you, and I was afraid.”
“Two blessings in one day!” whispered the little woman ingenuously.
And she glanced towards one of the free pews, where Freda, with a
throb of delight, saw Dick’s curly head bending over his hat.
Only once, throughout the entire service, did Freda dare to meet his
eyes, although they were, as she knew, fixed upon her all the time.
When she did so, she was so much shocked that the tears rushed into
her eyes. Pale, haggard, deathly, he scarcely looked like a living
man; while the great yearning that burned in his blue eyes seemed to
pierce straight to her own heart. She had to bite her lips to keep
back the cry that rose to them: “Dick, Dick!”
When the service was over, he disappeared before the rest of the
congregation had moved from their seats. Poor Freda tottered as she
went out, and had to lean for support on Mrs. Bean. She had forgotten
that the story of her father’s crime and capture would be likely to be
in every one’s mouth that morning; the whispering groups gathering in
the churchyard suddenly woke her to this fact, and stung her to put
forth all her strength to reach the Abbey quickly. John Thurley met
her at the gates.
“You will have to make haste with your packing,” he said abruptly but
not unkindly, “our train goes at four.”
“I will see to that,” said Nell.
Freda said nothing at all. She passed the other two, and went into the
house, and appeared, in due time, quiet and composed, at the
dinner-table.
When the meal was over, Thurley told her to go and put on her things.
She rose obediently and left the room; but instead of going to her own
apartment, she went to the library, and finding the secret door as she
had left it, closed, but not locked, had little difficulty in opening
it, and in securing it behind her. Now Thurley knew of this door,
since he had seen Dick come through it; so to secure herself from
pursuit in case he should guess where she had gone, Freda closed the
trap-door at the head of the narrow staircase, and bolted it securely.
Then, running down the second staircase, she locked herself into the
room where her father had made himself known to her, and as a last
precautionary measure, let herself down the rope ladder into the
cellar beneath.
He must go to London without her now!
The triumphant thought had scarcely flashed through her mind when,
with a start, she became aware that she was not alone. A man was
creeping stealthily from the opposite side of the room towards her.