Kate Wilton looked at the woman in horror.
"Yes, ma'am," Sarah continued, "there it was, and when I opened the door
I could only get it a little way, for something was just inside, and as
I stood there trembling, there came out a nasty wet smell of gunpowder,
just as if water had been upset on the hob.
"I didn't want any telling, ma'am; I knew, and poor Becky knew, that
master had shot himself with something and was lying there.
"I waited for just about a minute, ma'am, for my senses seemed to be
quite gone, and I was as bad as poor Becky; but I got to be a little
sensible soon, and began to feel that I must do something. I called to
Becky to come and help me, but it was no use; she was just as if she was
stunned, and could only stare at me, shivering all the while. So I felt
that I must do what there was to do myself, and I went back to the door,
and pushed and pushed till I could just squeeze myself through the
narrow slit I made; and then I dursen't look round, but stood with my
back to it for ever so long before I could feel that he might be alive,
and that I ought to go for the doctor.
"I looked round then, feeling as I turned that I should be obliged to
shriek out, but I didn't. Poor master, he was lying on his side, with
his hand under his head, just quiet and calm, as if he had only gone to
sleep. It made me wonder what I had been frightened at, and I went down
on one knee and took the hand which was by his side, touching a pistol."
"Yes?" said Kate, breathlessly, for the woman paused.
"Yes, ma'am, it was quite cold. He must have shot himself early in the
night, and I knew it was no good to go to fetch a doctor then.
Leastwise I think that's what I felt, for I didn't _go_, but crept out
very softly and shut the door; and then I took hold of poor Becky's arm
and led her down to the kitchen, where she went off into a dead faint,
and came to, and fainted over again--fit after fit, so that I was busy
for hours and didn't know how time went, till all at once there was a
double knock at the door, which I knew was Mr Garstang come.
"I went up and let him in, and he looked at me so strange.
"`What is it?' he said; `your master?'
"`Yes, sir,' I says, `and I was to show you in as soon as you came.'
"He nodded, and went up at once, neither of us saying another word.
Then he went in through the door gently, and came out again, looking
horribly shocked.
"`When did you find him?' he says; and I told him. `Poor fellow!' he
says, `I am not surprised. Sarah Plant, you must go and tell the
police;' and I did, and there was an inquest, and at last the poor old
master was to be buried, with only Mr Garstang to follow him, for he
had no relations or friends.
"I sat in my bit of noo black, and Becky just opposite me, waiting while
they'd gone to the cemetery, for no one asked me to go, and I sat there
looking at Becky, who began crying as she heard them carrying the coffin
downstairs and never stopped all that time. And I thought to myself,
`We two will have to go out into the world, and nobody won't take us
with poor Becky like that;' and my heart was so full, miss--ma'am, that
I began to cry, too; but I'm afraid it was for myself, not for poor
master. Last of all, the carriage came back, and I let Mr Garstang in,
looking terribly cut up.
"`Bring me a little tea, Sarah,' he says, and I went and got it, and had
a cup, too, wanting it as I did badly, and by-and-by he rung for me to
fetch the tray.
"I got to the door with it, when he calls me back.
"`Sarah,' he says, `your poor master has no relations left, and by the
papers I hold, everything comes to me.'
"`Yes, sir; so I s'posed,' I says to him, `and you want me and Becky to
go at once.'
"He looked at me with that nice soft smile of his, and he says, `Why
should you think that? No,' he says, `I want everything to stay just as
it is; I won't have a thing moved, and I should be very glad if you and
Becky would stay and keep the house for me.'
"I couldn't answer him, ma'am, for I was crying bitterly; but I knew
him, what a good man he was, and that me and Becky had found a friend.
Seven years ago, ma'am, and never an unkind word from him when he came,
which wasn't often. He only told me not to gossip about the place, and
I said I wouldn't, and never did till I talked to you, ma'am, and as for
poor Becky, she never speaks to no one. Perhaps, ma'am, you'd like to
come upstairs, and see the marks."
"See the marks?" stammered Kate.
"Yes, ma'am, where old master lay. You've never been in the little
lib'ry, but if you like I'll show you now. There's only a little rug to
move, and there it is, quite plain."
"No, no, I do not wish to see," said Kate, shuddering. "So there has
been a terrible tragedy here?"
"Yes, ma'am, and that's what makes the place so dull and still. I often
fancy I can see poor old master gliding about the staircase and
passages; but it's all fancy, of course."
"All fancy, of course," said Kate, softly. "But it is very terrible for
such a thing to have happened here."
"Yes, ma'am, that's what I often think; and there's been times when I'm
low-spirited; and you know there are times when one does get like that
Becky's enough to make anyone dumpy, at the best of times, 'specially
towards night, when she's sitting there with her face tied up and her
eyes staring and looking toward the door, as if she fancied she was
going to see master come in; for she will believe in ghosts, and it's no
use to try to stop her. Ah, she's a great trial, ma'am."
"Poor girl!" said Kate.
"Thankye, ma'am. It's very good of you to say so," sighed the woman;
"and it is nice to have a lady here to talk to. It's quite altered the
place. There have been times, and many of them, when I felt that I must
take poor Becky away and get another situation, but it would be
ungrateful to new master, who's a dear good man, and never an unkind
word since with him I've been. It isn't everyone who'd keep a servant
with a girl like Becky about the house. But he never seems to mind,
being a busy man, and I s'pose he must see that the only way in which
Becky's happy is in cleaning and polishing things. I believe if she
woke up in the middle of the night and remembered that she hadn't dusted
something she'd want to get up and do it; and she would, too, if she
dared. But go about the house in the middle of the night without me,
ma'am? No; wild horses wouldn't drag her."
Sarah Plant ceased speaking, for she suddenly woke to the fact that Kate
was gazing at the fire, with her thoughts evidently far away; and the
woman stole softly from the room. But as the door clicked faintly Kate
started and looked about her, half disposed to call her back, for the
narrative she had heard made her position seem terribly lonely.
She restrained herself, though, and sat trying to think and turn the
current of her thoughts, telling herself that she had no cause for
anxiety save on Eliza's account. For Garstang could not have been more
fatherly and considerate to her. His words, too, were wise and right.
To let her uncle know where she was must result in scenes that would be
stormy and violent; and she determined at last to let herself be guided
entirely by her self-constituted guardian.
"Yes, he is right. He is all that is kind and fatherly in his way, and
I, too, should be ungrateful if I murmured against my position. It will
not be for long. In less than two years I shall be of age, and fully my
own mistress."
She paused to think, for a doubt arose.
Would she be her own mistress? She had heard her father's will read,
but it was at a time when she was distracted with grief, and save that
she grasped that she was heiress to a large fortune, which was to remain
invested in her father's old bank, she knew comparatively nothing as to
the control her uncle possessed. Yes; she recalled that he was sole
executor and guardian until she married.
"And I shall never marry," she sighed; but as the words were breathed,
scenes at the old Manor came back; the pleasant little intimacy with
Jenny Leigh, her praise of her brother, and that brother's manly, kindly
attentions to his patient, his skill having achieved so much in bringing
her back to health.
Yes, he had always been the attentive, courteous physician, and neither
word nor look had intimated that he was anything else; but these things
are a mystery beyond human control, and as Kate Wilton sat and thought,
it was with Pierce Leigh present with her in spirit, and she felt
startled; for the tell-tale blood was mantling her cheeks, and she
hurriedly rose to do something to change the current of her thoughts.
"Poor Mr Garstang," she said, softly; "he shall not find me ungrateful.
He, too, has suffered. If he had had a daughter like this!"
She recalled his words, evidently not intended for her ears. Wifeless--
childless--wealthy, and yet solitary.
Her heart warmed towards him, and she was ready to call herself selfish
for intruding her wishes upon one whose sole thought seemed to be to
protect her and make her life peaceful.
"He shall not find me selfish," she said to herself, "and I will be
guided by him and do what he thinks right."
She went out into the solemn-looking hall and began to ascend the great
staircase, taking a fresh interest in the place, which seemed now as if
it would be her home perhaps for months. The pictures and statues
interested her, and she paused before a cabinet of curious old china,
partly to try and admire, partly to think of how ignorant she was of all
these matters, and a few minutes after, found herself close to the heavy
curtain, beyond which was the door leading into the little library.
A strange thrill ran through her, and she turned to hurry into her own
room, with her cheeks growing pale. But the blood flowed back, and with
a feeling of self-contempt she walked straight to the curtain, drew it
aside, passed through an archway, and turned the handle of a door. This
opened upon a passage, whose walls were covered with venerable looking
books, a dim skylight above showing the faded leather and worn gilding
upon their backs. There was another door at the end, and as the woman's
narrative forced itself back to her attention there was a fresh thrill
which chilled her; but she went on firmly, opened the door, and passed
through to find herself in the first of two rooms connected by a broad
opening dimly lit by a stained-glass window, and completely covered with
books, all old and evidently treasures of a collector.
Once more she shuddered, for she was standing upon one of several small
Persian rugs dotted about the dark polished floor, and from the woman's
description she knew that she must be where the former owner of the
house had lain dead.
But the sensation of dread was momentary, and the warm flush of life
came back to her cheeks as she said softly:
"What is there to fear?" and then found herself repeating:
"`There is no Death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian
Whose portal we call Death.'
"Oh, father--father!" she moaned softly; "but I am so lonely without
you;" and she sank into a chair, to weep bitterly.
The tears brought relief and firmness, and drying her eyes, she went
slowly from room to room, thinking of him who had once trod those
boards--a sad and solitary man.
Somehow her thoughts brought her back to Garstang, who seemed so noble
and chivalrous in his conduct to her, and how that he, too, was a sad
and solitary man, for she had heard in the past that his marriage had
proved unhappy.
A few minutes later, when she let the curtain drop behind her, and stood
once more on the staircase, a change had come over her, and in spite of
the slight redness and moisture remaining in her eyes, she looked
brighter and more at rest, till she caught a glimpse of a strangely wild
pair of staring eyes gazing at her from one of the dark doorways in
horror and wonder, till their owner grasped the fact that she was
observed, and fled.
"Poor Becky!" thought Kate, as she smiled sadly? "I must try and make
friends with her now."