During breakfast next morning at the Castle the two Conseltines, father
and son, who were usually punctual in their appearance at meal hours,
descended late. They were pale and quiet; and Richard, who had his
nerves very much less under control than had his astute and resolute
parent, was so obviously ill at ease as to bring down upon himself
the notice and comments of his lordship. The old nobleman, sick of the
seclusion of his solitary chamber, had appeared at the breakfast table,
in hopes that a little cheerful society might aid in dissipating the
unwelcome reflections which, since Desmond’s departure from the Castle,
had beset his waking hours and broken his nightly rest. At no time
gifted with the most equable temper in the world, he was particularly
snappish and irritable that morning.
‘Your lordship will no’ hae heard the news, I’m thinking,’ said Peebles,
standing at the sideboard and breaking in upon the uneasy silence. His
eyes dwelt, as if by accident, upon Richard Consel-tine’s face as he
spoke, and the young man’s pale complexion assumed a greenish hue.
‘What news are you talking about?’ asked Kilpatrick.
‘There was a fire last night,’ answered Peebles.
Richard, conscious of his father’s coldly threatening eye, spilled
half the contents of the glass of brandy-and-soda by which he had
that morning replaced the soberer beverages usually in demand at the
breakfast table, and conveyed the remainder to his lips with a shaking
hand.
‘A fire! Where?’ asked Kilpatrick.
‘At the old mill up by the burn,’ said Peebles. ‘’Twas burned to
the ground, I’m told, and there’s some talk of an old peasant woman, a
gangrel strange body that they had gien shelter to, having been burned
wi’ it.’
‘God bless my soul!’ murmured his lordship. ‘Has the body been found?’
Richard emitted an involuntary gasp, and clung with his feet to the leg
of the table.
‘No,’ returned Peebles, ‘not yet. There’s just the chance it never
may be. A good part o’ the blazing timbers fell into the burn and were
carried awa’, and it’s like eneuch the body went wi’ them--or maybe
they’ll come upon it digging among the ruins.’
‘Who was the woman?’ asked Dulcie,
‘Does anybody know her?’
‘Nobody that I ken o’,’ returned Peebles, with an immovable face. ‘A bit
tramp body.’
‘Deuced odd,’ said Kilpatrick. ‘How could a place like that, miles away
from anywhere, catch fire? Is there any suspicion of arson?’
‘’Deed,’ said Peebles, ‘I don’t know why there should be. Who is there
that wad do siccan mischief? To be sure,’ he added, with a reflective
air, ‘the woman might have enemies. Those tramps are a waesome lot to
deal wi’--but it’s most likely that she did it hersel’ by accident, poor
thing. We’ll just hope so, for the sake o’ human charity--till we get
further information, anyway.’ He looked at Richard again as he spoke the
last words, and had some difficulty in repressing any sign of the angry
scorn he felt at sight of the young man’s livid face. ‘It’s hard on
Larry, dacent lad,’ he continued.
‘I’m thinking that your lordship might do worse than start a
subscription for him.’
‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Kilpatrick.
‘I’ll give five pounds. You have my leave, Peebles, to say so, and to
ask for subscriptions in my name.’
‘I’ll give five,’ said Dulcie.
‘I shall be glad to follow so good an example,’ said Conseltine. He
strove hard to speak in his usual smooth fashion, but his voice sounded
harsh and unsteady to his own ears. He gave Richard an angrily prompting
look, and the boy tried to speak, but his tongue rattled against the
roof of his mouth. ‘I thought you would,’ said Conseltine, quickly
interpreting the inarticulate sound issuing from his son’s throat as an
expression of charitable sympathy. ‘Put Richard and myself down for ten
pounds, if you please, Mr. Peebles.’
‘I thank ye, Lady Dulcie and gentlemen,’ said Peebles. ‘It’s good to hae
feeling hearts, and the means of proving that ye hae them. I’ll let ye
know any later news--if the body’s found, or anything o’ that kind.’
‘What the devil’s the matter with you?’ his lordship asked of Richard,
with sudden acerbity. Richard was as white as death, and shivering like
a leaf.
‘It’s the heat, or--or something,’ he managed to stammer out.
‘Let me help you to your room, my boy,’ said his father.
He rose, and supported Richard from the table, hiding as well as he
could his pitiable condition.
‘You cowardly fool!’ he hissed in his ear, when he had got him to his
own chamber and locked the door. ‘Do you want to ruin us? What are ye
afraid of, ye shaking poltroon?’
‘He knows!’ gasped Richard; ‘I could see it in his eye; he knows.’
‘Knows!’ echoed Conseltine scornfully.
‘What does he know?’
‘He knows that the woman at the mill was Moya Macartney.’
‘And if he does,’ said Conseltine, ‘what then? What can he prove?’
‘He knows more than that, I’ll swear!’ cried Richard. ‘I saw him look at
me. He knows enough to hang us.’
‘Hang us!’ repeated the elder. ‘By the saints, I’ve a mind to save the
hangman half his work, you white-livered, croaking coward!’
‘If _he_ doesn’t know, Blake does,’ said Richard.
‘Leave Blake to me,’ said his father.
‘I’ll look after Blake. ’Twill be a question of money; he’ll bleed us
pretty freely, I expect; but if he opens his mouth too wide I’ll bluff
him, and swear he dreamt it. ’Tis two against one, any way; two men of
good position and unblemished record against one drunken vagabond.
They can prove nothing, let them talk as they may. Feagus will hold his
tongue for his own sake, for if the case comes before the court there
are three to swear that he suggested the business. There’s no danger
at all, except from your cursed cowardice. Pull yourself together, and
trust to me. They can prove no motive. Why should you and I go burning
mills and killing old peasant women? Feagus is the only creature alive
who knows that we were aware of Moya’s identity. Keep a cool head, and
you’ll be Lord Kilpatrick before long.’
The task which Peebles had undertaken was no easy one, and the more he
contemplated it, the more difficult it seemed to grow. He racked his
brains over the problem of how to make known to one in so precarious a
condition of health as Lord Kilpatrick the secret of Moya’s continued
existence, and of her presence in the neighbourhood. The difficulty
was complicated by the cowardly and criminal attempt on her life by two
members of his lordship’s family, for the honour of which the faithful
old servant was deeply concerned. That two such scoundrels should
still be permitted to prey on the kindness of his master, and diminish
Desmond’s patrimony, was intolerable; that they should be publicly
charged with their crime was impossible. Feagus, too, was in the same
boat, and must also be permitted to escape, for it was impossible to
denounce him without bringing the crime of the Conseltines to light.
But, then, there was the chance--the strong chance--of the gossip of
the countryside bringing to their ears the knowledge of Moya’s continued
existence, and what three such scoundrels might do to cover their
unsuccessful attempt, and to secure their endangered booty, it was hard
to say.
The need for decisive action was pressing, but in what direction was
that action to be taken? One course, and one course only, seemed to
Peebles clear for the moment. It was in his power to secure Moya’s
safety from any further attempt. That could be done by simply telling
the two villains now in the house that their nefarious proceeding of the
night before was known. Once resolved, Peebles was as bold a man as any
that ever trod shoe-leather; and with such a weapon as was furnished
by his hold over the two Conseltines he would have faced an army. His
resolution taken, he walked with an assured foot upstairs to Richard’s
bedroom, and knocked at the door; it was opened by the elder man.
‘I’d like a word with you, if you please, Mr. Conseltine,’ he said.
‘Presently, Mr. Peebles, presently,’ said the other, who did not care to
expose his son and confederate to the old man’s keen eye in his present
pitiful condition of nervous excitement. ‘We have business of importance
together.’
‘It must be business o’ very great importance,’ said Peebles, ‘if it
can’t wait till mine is finished.’
Conseltine’s hard eye dwelt on the old man’s face, and his lips twitched
in a hopeless attempt to maintain their impassivity.
‘You are importunate, my old friend,’ he said.
‘Ye’d better listen to me,’ returned the grim old servitor.
Conseltine stood aside to allow him to enter, and closed and locked the
door behind him. Richard was seated on the bed. He made a terrible and
clumsy effort to seem at ease as Peebles’ gaze passed lightly over him
before it settled again on his father.
‘Well, sir?’ said Conseltine as calmly as he could.
‘Before making the communication I hae to make,’ said Peebles, his usual
slow and deliberate drawl more slow and deliberate than ever, ‘I hae to
tell ye that, but for the honour o’ the house I’ve served man and boy
for five-and-forty years, I should have conseedered it my duty as a good
citizen to hand you and your son, Mr. Richard Conseltine, here present,
into the hands o’ justice.’
Neither of the persons he addressed making any reply to this preamble,
Peebles continued:
‘When Larry’s mill was burned down last night, the woman once known
as Moya Macartney, best known to you and me, Mr. Conseltine, as Lady
Kilpatrick, was leeving there.’
That Conseltine knew of Moya’s claim to the title Peebles gave her was
only a shrewd guess of the latter’s, but the start and pallor with which
Conseltine heard the words showed the old man that the shaft had struck
home.
‘The mill,’ continued Peebles, ‘was fired by you and your son there, in
complicity wi’ one Feagus, the lawyer, wi’ the object of destroying the
unfortunate lady, your brother’s wife.’
Richard gave a sort of feeble gulp at this, and cowered terror-stricken
on the bed.
‘It’s by no virtue o’ yours, Mr. Conseltine, that your wicked will was
not worked. Moya Macartney, Lady Kilpatrick, is alive and safe. She
was rescued from death by her son, Desmond Conseltine, sole lawfully
begotten son and heir of my master, Lord Kilpatrick.’
‘Damn you!’ cried Richard, leaping from the bed at these words with a
flash of hysteric anger conquering his fears.
‘You come and tell us this! Father----!’
‘Hold your tongue!’ said the elder man quietly. ‘Don’t play the fool,
Richard Conseltine.’
Peebles looked at him with a kind of loathing admiration of his courage
and coolness.
‘If you’ve any more to say, Mr. Peebles,’ Conseltine continued, ‘you’d
better get it over.’
‘Just this,’ said the old man: ‘ye’ll hold your tongue about the
business till I see fit to speak. Ye’ll cease to trade on his lordship’s
generosity, and rob the poor lad ye’ve kept out of his rights all these
years, and the poor woman ye’ve tried to murder. And if in a day or two
ye can manage to find some business o’ sufficient importance to tak’ ye
awa’ oot o’ this place, and to keep ye awa’ oot o’t for the rest o’
your natural lives, so much the better. I don’t think,’ he added
reflectively, as he scraped his lean jaws thoughtfully with his long
fingers--‘I don’t think there’s any ither thing to be arranged. Ye’d
better keep clear o’ Blake, perhaps.’
‘One word, Mr. Peebles,’ said Conseltine, as the old man turned to go.
‘When do you intend to break to my brother the news of--of that woman
being alive?’
‘I canna preceesely tell ye,’ returned Peebles. ‘As soon’s I think he’s
strong enough to hear it. In the mean time, Mr. Conseltine, ye’d best
ca’ cannie. I’m secret in the game till ye try another move; but if ye
do, I’ll split on ye, as sure as God’s in heaven!’