THE THIRTEENTH MAN
On the day of the picnic Philip Barrimore hired a horse and rode
over to Gissing. He had arranged for the bulk of his furniture to be
delivered at the bungalow that evening, and had sent on his manservant,
Davis, with a load of provisions, and to see a supply of coal got in.
Philip went first to the farm where his horse was to be stabled, and
was met by Pickett, who had come from the hayfield to get some tea,
which he hospitably asked Mr. Barrimore to share. Philip accepted the
invitation gladly enough. He was hot and thirsty.
Mrs. Pickett--a comely matron with a jolly, red face--and Minnie, her
buxom daughter, were already at table when Philip came in. They rose at
once and bade him welcome, the mother placing a chair for him, while
Minnie went to the big dresser for another cup and saucer.
Philip glanced round the big “house-place” with keen interest. It was
the kind of fascinating room he had read of but never seen before. The
floor was flagged, the windows small, with leaded panes, and rows of
geraniums on the sills. Hams and flitches of bacon hung from the heavy
oak beams in company with herbs and strings of onions. Bright copper
utensils hung on the walls, where also was an old warming-pan. There
was a tall grandfather clock--much older and handsomer than the one
Philip had purchased that morning in High Street. The dresser! How
Philip would have liked that dresser, and all the array of earthenware
upon it!
All the furniture was of oak, and had, Mr. Pickett told Philip, been
there for two hundred years.
“I wish you would let me bring an artist friend of mine to look at this
place,” Philip said with enthusiasm.
“Glad to see him any time you like, sir,” replied the farmer. “That
painter-chap that built the bungalow went wild about our things. He
wanted to buy that old chest over against the far window, but we
can’t part, sir! Those bits of things are part of the family--my
great-grandfather put them here.”
“I quite understand your feeling, Pickett,” agreed Barrimore, taking
the cup of tea Mrs. Pickett handed to him, and pouring rich cream into
it.
“By the way, sir,” Pickett next remarked, “do you remember a queer
sound we heard? You thought it singing.”
“Yes, have you found out anything about it?” inquired Philip, with
sudden interest.
“I think the man owning the White House (I forget his name) must keep
wild animals, for he has had the little wood, which you may have
noticed is close to the house, wired in, ten feet high. I never saw
such a thing in my life. It is small mesh wire-netting he has used, and
barbed wire is put on it in rows fairly close together. My cowman says
this man is building something in the wood, for loads of brick have
been delivered.”
“A private menagerie, I expect,” said Philip. “Who and what is the man?
He will be my nearest neighbor.”
“I don’t know,” answered Pickett, “though I did hear his name. He is
rich, I should think, for he bought the White House and the wood at a
big price, and he does nothing, so far as I know, for a living. There
is a woman and her daughter with him, but they never seem to go out.
They are very close sort of people, and the servants they brought with
them from Canada are as close as the master.”
“Canada? Did they come from Canada?” exclaimed Philip.
“I heard so, sir.”
Mrs. Pickett here spoke.
“I heard this morning, sir, that the poor young lady is not quite right
in her head, and that is why they keep to themselves. It was the agent
who sold the house to them told me that.”
“Good God!” cried Philip. “I believe I know who these people are. Is
the name Alvin?”
“That’s it, right enough, sir,” said the farmer; “and I remember now
that the lady is called Brittain, or some such name.”
“Le Breton,” corrected Philip.
“Yes, sir, it was that. How queer that you should know about them.”
Philip’s face had paled, and they all observed the fact, though no one
commented upon it.
“I knew relatives of theirs who are now dead,” said Philip. “I shall
call on them.”
It was as much as Philip could do to sit till the meal finished. He
wanted to start there and then to look on this living image of his lost
Eweretta.
He excused himself as soon as he could and set out across the fields to
the White House dazzling now in the light of the sun.
As he walked, he reproached himself for having so readily credited the
evil he had heard spoken of “The Thirteenth Man.”
He had come into poor Eweretta’s money, and he had tried to undo the
injustice of his brother regarding Mrs. Le Breton and her ill-fated
child. He had brought them to his new English home to share the
fortune. He had condemned himself for their sake to this solitary life.
Strange, indeed, that he, Philip, should have come to their very gates
to live! From the bungalow he could see the White House lights at
night. Curiously enough, as he remembered this he took a sorrowful
pleasure in the fact.
Aimée Le Breton--poor, afflicted Aimée Le Breton--was, as it seemed to
him, the last bit left to him of the one he had so adored.
To show this girl some kindness would be like putting flowers on that
grave far away at Qu’Appelle.
But Philip was not prepared for the shock he was to receive when he
beheld the appalling likeness of Aimée to Eweretta.
The gardens of the White House were large and well kept.
Philip, who loved this type of old-world garden, paused at the gate to
feast his eyes upon it.
It was there he saw her.
She was wandering, a drooping and infinitely sad figure, between the
rows of high flox.
Her head was bent, and her slim hands--brown as Eweretta’s had
been--were clasped together.
Suddenly she looked up, saw him, and uttered a wild cry, falling prone
upon the ground.
Philip grasped the iron gate, shook it violently in a vain effort to
open it.
It was locked.
He saw a woman come out and carry off the girl in her arms like an
infant.
It was then that Thomas Alvin came down the garden path, a key in his
hand.
He apologized for the locked gate, explaining that his poor niece was
afflicted, and it was necessary to secure her within the grounds.
“I fear I alarmed her,” said Philip in troubled tones, as Mr. Alvin
unlocked the gate.
“She is always afraid on seeing a stranger,” said Alvin. “You are Mr.
Bruce, I suppose, from Herrickers?”
“No, I am Philip Barrimore,” replied the young man.
Alvin started and paled, but soon recovering himself said: “I have
heard of you, of course. You were to have married my poor niece
Eweretta. Come in.”
Alvin unlocked the gate and led Philip into the house. The room they
entered was a well-appointed dining-room.
“I have been trying hard to find you, Mr. Alvin,” said Philip, as he
seated himself. “And now chance has brought me to you.”
“I don’t think I can tell you any more than I wrote you, Mr. Barrimore,
about Eweretta. It was heart-disease she died of. No one suspected her
to have it. Aimée, as I told you, had a fit while Eweretta was near
her. The doctor put down her death to fright.”
“We will not speak of that, Mr. Alvin,” said Philip from behind closed
teeth. “I am anxious to do something for Aimée Le Breton for her
sister’s sake. It is for that I have searched for her in Canada.”
Mr. Alvin answered with extreme coldness.
“You apparently overlook the fact, Mr. Barrimore, that I have given
a home--a good home, too”--(with a wave of his hand round the
apartment)--“to both Aimée and her mother. Aimée needs nothing. She was
poor enough before I took her. Her mother mended shoes for a living.”
“I don’t mean that kind of help,” Philip hastened to explain. “I want
to brighten her life. Couldn’t I take her for a drive sometimes with
her mother. I could easily arrange it.”
“I have plenty of money for drives if the women desire it,” replied
Alvin rather rudely.
Yes, he had come into Eweretta’s money!
“It is a novel sensation for me,” went on Alvin. “I was a thirteenth
son, and born unlucky. I was known in Canada as ‘The Thirteenth Man,’
and many refused to work with me because of my ill-luck--which they
said was catching! Well, my luck has changed at last, and, by gad! I
mean to keep what I’ve got!”
Philip stared. He could not in the least understand this outburst. It
was almost as if the man fancied he, Philip, wanted to rob him.
“I thank you for this call, Mr. Barrimore--which, all the same, I think
rather interfering--but I must ask you not to repeat it. We have come
here to be quiet and to ourselves.”
“And can’t I see Miss Le Breton?” asked Philip, deeply disappointed.
“It could only make you wretched,” replied the other. “Aimée is, as you
know, exactly like her sister. Moreover, ever since Eweretta’s sudden
death she has got a delusion that she _is_ Eweretta, and engaged to
marry _you_. She is always raving about you.”
“She has never seen me till this morning,” said Philip.
“You are mistaken; she has seen you when you were in Canada, though you
never saw her.”
“That is strange,” said Philip unbelievingly.
“A good many things are strange in this world, young man,” said Alvin
with a queer laugh. “And now I think we have no more to say to each
other, and I will let you out.”
This was dismissal.
As Philip skirted the garden wall he glanced at an upper window and
caught sight of a woman’s face. It was one of the most miserable faces
he had ever seen.