"What are you going to do, James, dear?" said Mrs Wilton.
"Eh?"
"What are you going to do, dear? Oh, you don't know what a relief it is
to me. I was going to beg you to have the pike pond dragged."
James Wilton's strong desire was to do nothing, and give his son plenty
of time; but there was a Mrs Grundy even at Northwood, and she had to
be studied.
"Do? Errum!" He cleared his throat with a long imposing, rolling
sound. "Well, search must be made for them directly, and they must be
brought back. It is disgraceful I did mean to sit down and do nothing,
but it will not do. I am very angry and indignant with them both, for
Kate is as bad as Claud. It must not be said that we connived at the--
the--the--what's the word?--escapade."
"Of course not, my dear; and it is such a pity. Such a nice wedding as
she might have had, and made it a regular `at home,' to pay off all the
people round I'd quite made up my mind about my dress."
"Oh, I'm glad of that," said Wilton, with a grim smile. "Nothing like
being well prepared for the future. Have you quite made up your mind
about your dress when I pop off? Crape, of course?"
"James, my darling, you shouldn't. How can you say such dreadful
things?"
"You make me--being such a fool."
"James!"
"Hold your tongue, do. Yes, I must have inquiries made."
"But do you feel quite sure that they have eloped like that?"
"Oh, yes," he said, thoughtfully; "there's no doubt about it."
"I don't know, my dear," said Mrs Wilton, plaintively. "It seems so
strange, when she was so ill and in such trouble."
"Bah! Sham! Like all women, kicking up a row about the first kiss, and
wanting it all the time."
"James, my dear, you shouldn't say such things. It was no sham. She
was in dreadful trouble, I'm sure, and I cannot help thinking about the
pike pond. It haunts me--it does indeed. Don't you think that in her
agony she may have gone and drowned herself?"
"Yes, that's it," said Wilton, with a scowl at his wife.
"Oh! Horrible! I was having dreadful dreams all last night. You do
think so, then?"
"Yes, you've hit it now, old lady. She must have jumped down from her
window on to the soft flower-bed, and then gone and fetched the ladder,
and put it up there, and afterwards gone and called Claud to come down
and go hand in hand with her, so as to have company."
"Jumped down--the ladder--what did she want a ladder for, James, dear?"
"What do people want ladders for? Why, to come down by."
"But she was down, dear. I--I really don't know what you mean. You
confuse me so. But, oh, James, dear, you don't mean that about Claud?"
"Why not? Depend upon it, they're at the bottom of that hole where the
pig was drowned, and the pike are eating bits out of them."
"James!--Oh, what a shame! You're laughing at me."
"Laughing at you? You'd make a horse laugh at you. Such idiocy. Be
quiet if you can. Don't you see how worried and busy I am? And look
here--if anyone calls out of curiosity, you don't know anything. Refer
'em to me."
"Yes, my dear. But really it is very shocking of the young people.
It's almost immoral. But you think they will get married directly?"
"Trust Claud for that. Fancy the jade going off in that way. Ah,
they're all alike."
"No, James; I would sooner have died than consented to such a
proceeding."
"Not you. Now be quiet."
"Going out, dear?"
"Only round the house for a few minutes. By the way, have you examined
Eliza--asked her what Kate has taken with her?"
"Yes, dear. Nothing at all but her hat, scarf, and cloak. Such a
shabby way of getting married."
"Never mind that," said Wilton; and he went into the hall, through the
porch and on to the place where the ladder had been found.
There was little to find there but the deep impressions made by the
heels, except that a man's footprints were plainly to be seen; and
Wilton returned to his wife, rang the bell, and assuming his most
judicial air waited.
"Send Miss Kate's maid here," he said, sternly.
"Yes, sir."
"Stop. Look here, Samuel, you are my servant, and I call upon you to
speak the whole truth to me about this matter, one which, on further
thought, I feel it to be my duty to investigate. Now, tell me, did you
know anything about this proceeding on Mr Claud's part?"
"No, sir; 'strue as goodness, I didn't."
"Mr Claud did not speak to you about it?"
"No, sir."
"Didn't you see him last night?"
"No, sir; I went up to his room to fetch his boots to bring down and
dry, but the door was locked, but when I knocked and asked for them he
did say something then."
"Yes, what did he say?"
Samuel glanced at his mistress and hesitated.
"Don't look at me, Samuel," said Mrs Wilton; "speak the whole truth."
"Yes; what did he say?" cried Wilton, sternly.
"Well, sir, he told me to go to the devil."
Wilton coughed.
"That will do. Go and fetch Miss Wilton's maid."
Eliza came, looking red-eyed and pale, but she could give no
information, only assure them that she did not understand it, but was
certain something must be wrong, for Miss Kate would never have taken
such a step without consulting her.
And so on, and so on. A regular examination of the servants remaining
followed in quite a judicial manner, and once more Kate's aunt and uncle
were alone.
"There," he said; "I think I have done my duty, my dear. Perhaps,
though, I ought to drive over to the station and make inquiries there;
but I don't see what good it would do. I could only at the most find
out that they had gone to London."
"Don't you think, dear, that you ought to communicate with the police?"
"No; what for?"
"To trace them, dear. The police are so clever; they would be sure to
find them out."
Wilton coughed.
"Perhaps we had better wait, my dear. I fully anticipate that they will
come back to-night--or to-morrow morning, full of repentance to ask our
forgiveness; and er--I suppose we shall have to look over it."
"Well, yes, my dear," said Mrs Wilton. "What's done can't be undone;
but I'm sure I don't know what people will say."
"I shall be very stern with Claud, though, for it is a most disgraceful
act. I wonder at Kate."
"Well, I did, my dear, till I began to think, and then I did not; for
Claud has such a masterful way with him. He was always too much for
me."
"Yes," said Wilton dryly; "always. Well, we had better wait and see if
they come back."
"I am terribly disappointed, though, my dear, for we could have had such
a grand wedding. To go off like that and get married, just like a
footman and housemaid. Don't you remember James and Sarah?"
"Bah! No, I don't remember James and Sarah," said Wilton irascibly.
"Yes, you do, my dear. It's just ten years ago, and you must remember
about them both wanting a holiday on the same day, and coming back at
night, and Sarah saying so demurely: `Please, ma'am, we've been
married.'"
Wilton twisted his chair round and kicked a piece of coal on the top of
the fire which required breaking.
"James, my dear, you shouldn't do that," said his wife, reprovingly.
"You're as bad as Claud, only he always does it with his heel. There is
a poker, my dear."
"I thought you always wanted it kept bright."
"Well, it does look better so, dear. But I do hope going off in the
night like that won't give Kate a cold."
Wilton ground his teeth and was about to burst into a furious fit of
anger against his wife's tongue, but matters seemed to have taken so
satisfactory a turn since the previous day that the bite was wanting,
and he planted his heels on the great hob, warmed himself, and started
involuntarily as he saw in the future mortgages, first, second and
third, paid off, and himself free from the meshes which he gave Garstang
the credit of having spun round him. As for Claud, he could, he felt,
mould him like wax. So long as he had some ready money to spend he
would be quiet enough, and, of course, it was all for his benefit, for
he would succeed to the unencumbered estates.
Altogether the future looked so rosy that Wilton chuckled at the glowing
fire and rubbed his hands, without noticing that the fire dogs were
grinning at him like a pair of malignant brazen imps; and just then Mrs
Wilton let her work fall into her lap and gave vent to a merry laugh.
"What now?" said Wilton, facing round sharply. "Don't do that. Suppose
one of the servants came in and saw you grinning. Just recollect that
we are in great trouble and anxiety about this--this--what you may call
it--escapade."
"Yes, dear; I forgot. But it does seem so funny."
"Didn't seem very funny last night."
"No, dear, of course not; and I never could have thought our troubles
would come right so soon. But only think of it; those two coming back
together, and Kate not having changed her name. There won't be a thing
in her linen that will want marking again."
"Bah!" growled Wilton. "Yes, what is it?" he cried, as the footman
appeared.
"Beg pardon, sir, but Tom Jonson had to go to the village shop for some
harness paste, and it's all over the place."
"Oh, is it?" growled Wilton. "Of course, if Mr Tom Jonson goes out on
purpose to spread it."
"I don't think he said a word, sir, but they were talking about it at
the shop, and young Barker saw 'em last."
"Barker--Barker? Not--"
"Yes, sir, him as you give a month to for stealing pheasants' eggs.
That loafing chap."
"He saw them last night? Here, go and tell Smith to fetch him here
before me."
Samuel smiled.
"Do you hear, sir? Don't stand grinning there."
"No, sir; certainly not, sir," said the man, "but Tom Jonson thought
you'd like to see him, sir, and he collared him at once and brought him
on."
"Quite right. Bring him in at once. Stop a moment. Put two or three
`Statutes at Large' and `Burns' Justice of the Peace' on the table."
The man hurriedly gave the side-table a magisterial look with four or
fire pie-crust coloured quartos and a couple of bulky manuals, while
Wilton turned to his wife.
"Here, Maria," he growled, in a low tone; "you'd better be off."
"Oh, don't send me away, please, dear," she whispered; "it isn't one of
those horrid cases you have sometimes, and I do so want to hear."
"Very well; only don't speak."
"No, my dear, not a word," whispered Mrs Wilton, and she half closed
her eyes and pinched her lips together, but her ears twitched as she sat
waiting anxiously for the return of the footman, followed by the groom,
who seemed to have had no little trouble in pushing and dragging a
rough-looking lout of about eighteen into the room, where he stood with
his smock frock raised on each side so as to allow his hands to be
thrust deeply into his trousers pockets.
"Take your hat off," said Samuel, in a sharp whisper.
"Sheeawn't!" said the fellow, defiantly. "I arn't done nothin'."
Samuel promptly knocked the hat off on to the floor, which necessitated
a hand being taken slowly from a pocket to pick it up.
"Here, don't you do that ag'in," cried the lad.
"Silence, sir. Stand up," cried Wilton.
"Mayn't I pick up my hat? I arn't done nothin'."
"Say `sir'," whispered the footman.
"Sheeawn't. I arn't done nothin', I tell yer. No business to bring me
here."
"Silence, sir," cried Wilton, taking up a pen and shaking it at the lad,
which acted upon him as if it were some terrible judicial wand which
might write a document consigning him to hard labour, skilly, and bread
and water in the county jail. The consequence being that he stood with
his head bent forward, brow one mass of wrinkles, and mouth partly open,
staring at the fierce-looking justice of the peace.
"Listen to me: you are not brought here for punishment."
"Well, I arn't done nothin'," said the lad.
"I am glad to hear it, and I hope you will improve, Barker. Now, what
you have to do is to answer a few questions, and if you do so truthfully
and well, you will be rewarded."
"Beer?" said the lout, with a grin.
"My servant will give you some beer as you go out, but first of all I
shall give you a shilling."
The fellow grinned.
"Shall I get the book and swear him, sir?" said Samuel, who was used to
the library being turned into a court for petty cases.
"There is no need," said Wilton austerely. "Now, my lad, answer me."
"Yes, I sin 'em both last night."
"Saw whom?"
"Young Squire and his gal."
"Young Squire" made Mrs Wilton smile; "his gal" seemed to set her teeth
on edge.
"Humph! Are you sure?" said Wilton.
"Sewer? Ay, I know young Squire well enough. Hit me many a time.
Haw-haw! Know young Squire--I should think I do!"
"Say `sir,'" whispered Samuel again.
"Sheeawn't," cried the fellow. "You mind your own business."
"Attend to me, sir," cried Wilton, in his sternest bench manner.
"Well, I am a-try'n' to, master, on'y he keeps on kedgin' me."
"Where did you see my son and--er--the lady?"
"Where did I sin 'em? Up road."
"Where were you?"
"Ahint the hedge."
"And what were you doing behind the hedge--wiring?"
"Naw. On'y got me bat-fowling nets."
"But you were hiding, sir?"
"Well, what o' that? 'Bliged to hide. Can't go out anywhere o' nights
now wi'out summun watching yer. Can't go for a few sparrers but some on
'em says its pardridges."
"What time was it?"
"Hey?"
"What time was it?"
"I d'know; nine or ten, or 'leven. Twelve, may-be."
"Well?"
"Hey?"
"What then?"
"What then? Nothin' as I knows on. Yes, there weer; he puts his arm
round her waist, and she give him a dowse in the faace."
"Humph! Which way did they go then?"
"Up road."
"Did you follow them?"
"What'd I got to follow 'em for? Shouldn't want nobody to follow me
when I went out wi' a gal."
Wilton frowned.
"Did you see any carriage about, waiting?"
"Naw."
"What did you do then?"
"Waited till they was out o' sight."
"Yes, and what then?"
"Ketched sparrers, and they arn't game."
The lout looked round, grinning at all present, as if he had posed the
magistrate in whose presence he was standing, till his eyes lit on Mrs
Wilton, who was listening to him intently, and to her he raised his
hand, passing the open palm upward past his face till it was as high as
he could reach, and then descending the arc of a circle, a movement
supposed in rustic schools to represent a most respectful bow.
"Ah, Barker, Barker!" said the recipient, shaking her head at him; "you
never come to the Sunday school now."
"Grow'd too big, missus," said the lad, grinning, and then noisily using
his cuff for the pocket-handkerchief he lacked.
"We are never too big to learn to be good, Barker," continued Mrs
Wilton, "and I'm afraid you are growing a bad boy now."
"Oh, I don't know, missus; I shouldn't be a bad 'un if there was no
game."
"That will do, that will do," said the Squire, impatiently. "That's all
you know, then, sir?"
"Oh, no; I knows a lot more than that," said the lad, grinning.
"Then why the deuce don't you speak?"
"What say?"
"Tell me what more you know about Mr Claud and the lady, and I'll give
you another shilling."
"Will yer?" cried the lad, eagerly. "Well, I've seed'd 'em five or six
times afore going along by the copse and down the narrow lane, and I sin
him put his arm round her oncet, and I was close by, lying clost to a
rabbud hole; and she says, `How dare you, sir! how dare you!' just like
that I dunno any more, and that makes two shillin'."
"There; be off. Take him away, Samuel, and give him a horn of beer."
"Yes sir--Now, then, come on."
But the lad stood and grinned, first at the Squire and then at Mrs
Wilton, rubbing his hands down his sides the while.
"D'yer hear?" whispered the footman, as the groom opened the door.
"Come on."
"Sheeawn't."
"Come on. Beer."
"But he arn't give me the two shillings yet."
"Eh? Oh, forgot," said the Squire.
"Gahn. None o' your games. Couldn't ha' forgetted it so soon."
"There--Take him away."
Wilton held out a couple of shillings, and the fellow snatched them, bit
both between his big white teeth, stuffed one in each pocket, made Mrs
Wilton another bow, and turned to go; but his wardrobe had been sadly
neglected, and at the first step one of the shillings trickled down the
leg of his trousers, escaped the opening into his ill-laced boot,
rattled on the polished oaken floor, and then ran along, after the
fashion of coins, to hide itself in the darkest corner of the room. But
Barker was too sharp for it, and forgetting entirely the lessons he had
learned at school about ordering "himself lowly and reverently to all
his betters," he shouted: "Loo, loo, loo!" pounced upon it like a cat
does upon a mouse, picked it up, and thrust it where it could join its
fellow, and turned to Mrs Wilton.
"Hole in the pocket," he said, confidentially, and went off to get the
beer.
"Bah! Savage!" growled Wilton, as the door closed. "There, Maria, no
doubt about it now."
"No, my dear, and we can sleep in peace."
But Mrs Wilton was wrong save and except the little nap she had after
dinner while her husband was smoking his pipe; for that night, just
before the last light was out--that last light being in the Squire's
room where certain arrangements connected with hair and pieces of paper
had detained Mrs Wilton nearly half an hour after her husband had
announced in regular cadence that he was fast asleep--there came a long
ringing at the hall door bell.
It was so utterly unexpected in the silence and solitude of the country
place that Mrs Wilton sprang from her seat in front of the
dressing-glass, jarring the table so that a scent-bottle fell with a
crash, and injuring her knees.
"James--James!" she cried.
"Eh, what's the matter?" came from the bed, as the Squire sat up
suddenly.
"Fire! Fire! Another stack burning, I'm sure."
Wilton sprang out of bed, ran to the window, tore aside the blind, flung
open the casement, and looked down.
"Where is it?" he shouted, for he had more than once been summoned from
his bed to rick fires.
"Where's what?" came in a familiar voice.
Wilton darted back, letting fall the blind.
"Slip on your dressing gown," he said, hastily, "and pull out those
confounded things from your hair. They've come back."
"Oh, my dear, and me this figure!" cried the lady, and for the next ten
minutes there was a hurried sound of dressing going on.
"Look sharp," said Wilton. "I'll go down and let them in. You'd better
rouse up Cook and Samuel; they'll want something to eat."
"I won't be two minutes, my dear. Take them in the library; the wood
ashes will soon glow up again. My own darlings! I am glad."
Mrs Wilton was less, for by the time the heavy bolts, lock, and bar had
been undone, she was out of her room, and hurried to the balustrade to
look down into the hall, paying no heed to the cool puff of wind that
rushed upward and nearly extinguished the candle her husband had set
down upon the marble table.
"My own boy!" she sighed, as she saw Claud enter, and heard his words.
"Thankye," he said. "Gone to bed soon."
"The usual time, my boy," said Wilton, in very different tones to those
he had used at their last meeting. "But haven't you brought her?"
"Brought her?"
"Yes; where's Kate?"
"Fast asleep in bed by now, I suppose," said the young man sulkily.
"Oh, but you should have brought her. Where have you come from?"
"Fast train down. London. Didn't suppose I was going to stop here, did
you, to be kicked?"
"Don't say any more about that, my boy. It's all over now; but why
didn't you bring her down?"
"Oh, Claud, my boy, you shouldn't have left her like that."
"Brought her down--Kate--shouldn't have left," said the young man,
excitedly. "Here, what do you both mean?"
"There, nonsense; what is the use of dissimulation now, my boy," said
Wilton. "Of course we know, and--there--it's of no use to cry over
spilt milk. We did not like it, and you shouldn't have both tried to
throw dust in our eyes."
"Look here, guv'nor, have you been to a dinner anywhere to-night?"
"Absurd, sir. Stop this fooling. Where did you leave Kate?"
"In bed and asleep, I suppose."
"But--but where have you been, then?"
"London, I tell you. Shouldn't have been back now, only I couldn't find
Harry Dasent. He's off somewhere, so I thought I'd better come back. I
say, is she all right again?"
"I knew it! I knew it!" shrieked Mrs Wilton. "I said it from the
first. Oh, James, James!--The pond--the pond! She's gone--she's gone!"
"Who's gone?" stammered Claud, looking from father to mother, and back
again.
"Kate, dear; drowned--drowned," wailed Mrs Wilton.
"What!" shouted Claud.
"Look here, sir," said his father, catching him by the arm in a
tremendous grip, as he raised the candle to gaze searchingly in his
son's face; "let's have the truth at once. You're playing some game of
your own to hide this--this escapade."
"Guv'nor!" cried the young man, catching his father by the arm in turn;
"put down that cursed candle; you'll burn my face. You don't mean to
say the little thing has cut?"