THE SPREADING OF THE NEWS
There are still young women who do not read newspapers; and of these
Frances Vernon was one. Her father and mother belonged to that
lessening section of society to whom the crudities of the modern press
do not appeal. Mr Vernon held that even to the pure some things are
impure; and that it was not necessary that everyone should become
acquainted with all the vice and sin that is in the world. He admitted
that this point of view was perhaps old-fashioned; but he was an
old-fashioned man and--it was his. He did not like to read the records
of the police and the divorce courts; he hoped those who were near and
dear to him would not like them either. So not only did he not
encourage his children, and especially his daughter, to read the daily
papers; but, also, he took care that such journals as he admitted to
his house were not those which made a feature of topics of the kind.
So it came about that the only journal of that day's issue which Miss
Vernon could discover was _The Times_.
_The Times_ is an excellent paper; it does not make a feature of
"dreadful tragedies"; but, unless one is acquainted with its methods,
it is not a paper in which one can put one's finger on any particular
item of news after an instant's search--even with the aid of the
index. So far as Miss Vernon was concerned, it never occurred to her
to glance at the "Contents of this Day's Paper"; and, possibly, she
would have been little benefited if she had. She turned over page
after page, advertisements and all, and went up and down column after
column, without seeing anything about Dorothy Gilbert of Newcaster; as
a result, she jumped at some very hasty, and very unfair, conclusions
on the subject of the value of _The Times_.
"Silly old paper! I've heard lots of people say there never is
anything in it--and there isn't!"
However, so anxious was she to find what she sought, that she
travelled up and down the columns a second time; and, before she had
got to the end, was forced to admit that there did seem to be
something in _The Times_; even though there might be nothing which
would throw light on the subject she had at heart.
"I wonder what paper he saw it in?" The reference was to the youth,
Denman. "He said 'papers'; and as Mrs Purchas saw it too, whatever it
was, I suppose it was in more than one; but there doesn't seem to be
anything about it here. Silly old paper! I wonder what Mrs Purchas
meant by talking about Dorothy Gilbert of Newcaster--and why Dorothy
looked as if she were going to have a fit when she did." Thus
wondering, holding the paper in front of her, her eye was caught by
something which she had not observed before--"Racing at Newcaster."
"Why, of course, that's where the races are. I thought I'd heard the
name before;--how stupid I am! But what can Dorothy have had to
do----"
She stopped, her eye caught by something else--a name in a sentence.
"Few men were better known on Newcaster Heath than George Emmett. His
tragic fate, on the eve of the meeting at which he had been such a
prominent figure for so many years, was the theme of general
conversation." Then the writer proceeded to give some facts about
George Emmett. Miss Vernon took them in with her eye without at all
appreciating their meaning. One fact she did grasp--that the man
seemed dead.
"George Emmett?--I am sure her guardian's name was Emmett; but
Strathmoira told mother that he'd brought her here because her
guardian wasn't very well; but this Emmett's dead, according to the
paper--it talks about his 'tragic fate'--I wonder in what way his fate
was tragic. It can't be the same man; why did Mrs Purchas associate
Dorothy with Newcaster?"
Miss Vernon's glance passed down the racing columns, to be arrested by
a paragraph at the foot.
"The historic inn, 'The Bolton Arms,' at Newcaster," it began, "was on
Monday night the scene of an occurrence which will probably hold a
prominent place in the future annals of the house." Then it proceeded
to give, in brief outline, and in the baldest possible language, the
story with which we already are familiar. It said that suspicion
pointed at the lady by whom Mr Emmett had been accompanied; that her
mysterious disappearance was certainly difficult to reconcile with
entire innocence; concluding with the pregnant sentence--"The police
are offering a reward for Dorothy Gilbert's apprehension." It was on
those words that Frances Vernon's eyes fastened. She read the
paragraph again and again, reading into it a deeper meaning with each
perusal; each time, the part of it which held her, whether she would
or would not, was the sentence at the end.
When at last she lowered the paper, such understanding as had come to
her had brought bewilderment; although she had the printed words
nearly by heart, they were beyond her comprehension. Mr Emmett had
been murdered, and Dorothy--her Dorothy!--was suspected of having
killed him; was that what it meant? It was impossible--out of the
question--absurd. Yet--there were those last words--"The police are
offering a reward for Dorothy Gilbert's apprehension." Was that what
Mrs Purchas had meant by her reference to Dorothy Gilbert of
Newcaster? Was it why Dorothy had behaved so strangely?
As she put to herself these questions, which she dared not answer, it
seemed to Frances Vernon that the world had changed all at once; as
if, as a child would have put it, something had gone wrong with the
works, so that it had suddenly got jarred, and was no longer just as
it was a few moments ago. For the first time in her short life she was
brought into contact with the tragedy of crime; so that, as it seemed,
she had to inhale its atmosphere into her lungs. It is a result of
such a training as she had received that, when crime did come to have
a personal application, the revelation of the existence of the thing,
from the knowledge of which she had been carefully screened, stunned
as it never would have done had she been brought up with her eyes wide
open. Murder? All she knew of murder she had learnt from the
commandments. Her guardian? Dorothy? She could have screamed aloud
because of the agony which came to her with the thought that there
could be any association between Dorothy's guardian, and Dorothy, and
murder.
She stayed there, in a sort of stupor, longer than she knew; and was
only roused from it by her mother's coming into the room through the
open French window.
"Frances! Where have you been? Do you know that all the people have
gone? If Dorothy has been keeping you, you ought not to have let her;
you ought to have been there to say good-bye." She perceived that
there was something unusual in her daughter's attitude. "Frances! What
is the matter with you? Why are you staring at me like that? What is
that you have in your hand? _The Times!_ Do you mean to say that you
have been reading the newspaper and forgetting what you owe to your
friends? What will your father say? Frances, speak to me! What is the
matter with the girl?"
Frances did speak; or, rather, she tried to speak; seeming to find as
much difficulty in producing articulate sounds as Dorothy Gilbert had
done a little time before.
"Mother, look--look at the paper!"
She held it out stiffly, as some lay figure might have done. Not
unnaturally her mother observed her with surprise.
"Frances, I insist upon your telling me what is the matter with you;
why should I look at the paper? You know very well that your father
doesn't like you to read newspapers."
Frances said her four words over again:
"Look at the paper!"
"Why do you wish me to do so? What am I to look at?" She took the
paper from her daughter's outstretched hand. Frances pointed to a part
of it. Mrs Vernon began to read aloud: "'The historic inn, "The Bolton
Arms," at Newcaster, was on Monday night----' What stuff is this?"
"Go on!"
Mrs Vernon did read on; but to herself. Presently there broke from her
what seemed to be an involuntary exclamation; then another; then she
lowered the paper, with a face which was almost as white as her
daughter's.
"Frances! It's--it's not true!" The girl said nothing; she went on:
"Emmett? Wasn't that the name of Dorothy's guardian? Frances! You--you
don't think that--that this--means Dorothy?"
"How can I tell? You heard what Mrs Purchas said about Dorothy Gilbert
of Newcaster?"
"Did she--do you think--she referred to this? If she did, then--others
may have known."
"I believe they did--I believe Mr Denman knew--Jim's friend."
"That boy! Do--do you think--Strathmoira knew?" The girl said nothing.
Mother and daughter were still staring at each other, in silence, when
Mr Vernon entered by the same route as his wife had come. Mrs Vernon
turned towards him. "Harold, read this in _The Times_; tell me what it
means."
Mr Vernon put on his glasses with an air of deliberation for which his
wife, in her new state of nervous tension, could almost have shaken
him. By the time he had got the glasses to his liking he had lost the
place.
"What is it I'm to read? Is it anything remarkable? Show me where it
is." She showed him again. "Races? What have I to do with races? Oh,
there!--I see!" He read the paragraph conscientiously through; then
looked over the top of the paper at his womenfolk. "Well? It's a
commonplace and disagreeable story; what special interest is it
supposed to have for me? You know I don't care to read about such
things. What is there about this that you should thrust it on my
attention?"
His mental processes never were of the quickest. On occasions his
family had a feeling that his wits needed oiling; they seemed to be
moving slower than ever just then. His wife exclaimed:
"Don't you see the names?"
"Names? Emmett?--Emmett? I seem to have heard the name before; now in
what connection have I heard it?"
"It's the name of Dorothy's guardian. Harold, read that paragraph
again, and then say if nothing about it strikes you as being of
interest to you."
Mr Vernon did as he was told. On a second reading it dawned on him
what his wife alluded to--dawned on him with a sense of shock.
"God bless my soul! You--you don't mean to say that you for one moment
imagine that anything about this painful story refers to Miss
Gilbert?--to our Miss Gilbert?--to Frances' Miss Gilbert?"
Before his wife could answer, there came rushing into the room, with
that unceremonious haste with which some young men will rush into
rooms, his son--excitement writ large all over him; and a paper--which
was not _The Times_--in his hand.
"I say, mater!--and dad!--this is a jolly pretty state of things! Have
you heard about it?--everybody else has!--it seems we're the only
people who haven't! I don't know what Strathmoira's thinking about! I
call it pretty thick!"
Agitation made his meaning less clear than he appeared to think.
"James," observed his father, "if you will cease bounding about the
room as if you were possessed; and will not bawl; and will be a little
less idiomatic, it is possible that your mother and I will get some
idea of what it is you are talking about."
"But, dad, Dorothy Gilbert--Miss Gilbert's wanted for murder!"
His meaning was clear enough then.
"Jim!"
His name came from his mother and sister in practically the same
instant.
"It's no good you two looking at me like that! there's no getting away
from the truth!--look at this!" He pointed to a staring headline which
ran across two columns of the paper which he held in front of them:
"Where Is Dorothy Gilbert?" "That's a nice thing for me to find
glaring at me when I buy an evening paper to look at the cricket! I
never felt anything like what I felt when I saw that! Yes, where is
she? I can tell you this, there's scarcely a person who was here this
afternoon who doesn't know! I expect it's all over the place by
now!--at any moment you may have half-a-dozen policemen coming up the
drive!"
"Jim, if--if you don't take care what you are saying I'll never speak
to you again."
"Now, Frances, it's no use your putting on frills!--you simply don't
know what you're talking about. Here's her description--read it for
yourself; no one can read it and possibly mistake her. You told me
yourself her guardian's name was Emmett; well, he was murdered the
night before last--murdered, mind!--read about it yourself! the
story's a curdler!--and they say she did it!--I don't say she
did it----"
"You'd better not!"
"But they do; and they'll lock her up for it as sure as we are
standing here! Anyway you look at it. We've nothing to thank
Strathmoira for for getting us mixed up with a thing like this. My
hat! I'd like to talk to him!"
"You talk to him! You don't know what you are talking about now!
You've not the slightest right to take it for granted that--that my
Dorothy has anything to do with the person in the papers."
"Don't talk stuff and nonsense!--it's you who're talking through your
hat!--the whole thing's as plain as a pikestaff; do you suppose I
don't wish it wasn't?--that I want us to be dragged into a mess of
this sort? Oh yes, it's just the sort of thing I would like! Why, it
tells you here how Strathmoira came across her; and how it is that she
only knew him as Eric Frazer. He's been cruising about in that van of
his--you know, mater, that rotten old caravan of his?"
"It's a rotten old caravan, is it, now? You were anxious enough to
'cruise about' with him in it!"
"I daresay!--never again!--no thank you! When she--or someone--had
done for that poor beggar, Emmett, she bolted; she came on him in his
van on Newcaster Heath; he gave her shelter for the night."
"Why shouldn't he? He's the most chivalrous of men!"
"All right; who said he wasn't? He seems to have been more chivalrous
still next day, when he seems to have nearly killed a chap on his own
account."
"My son, you let your tongue run away with you!"
"My dear mater, here it is in black and white! The chap, who seems to
be something in the gipsy line, and rejoices in the name of Benjamin
Hitchings, overheard her--that's Miss Gilbert--telling him the whole
jolly tale--giving herself completely away in fact. Strathmoira--whom
the paper calls Frazer--caught him listening, and seems to have as
nearly as possible broken his neck for him--you know what a dab he is
at those ju-jitsu tricks; I expect he played one of those pretty
little capers off on Mr Hitchings. Anyhow, the police are after him as
well as her; warrants are out for both of them. No wonder he preferred
the middle of the night to dump her at our front door; goodness knows
I don't set up to be a prophet, but I should like to know what the
betting is that it's a good long time before we see or hear anything
more of the Earl of Strathmoira."
"James, are you forgetting that the Earl of Strathmoira is a relative
of mine and of your own?"
"That's what makes it too utterly too-too!--and Miss Gilbert is
Frances' particular friend! Oh, we're quite in the thick of it!"
"Will you let me see the paper which you say contains that dreadful
story?"
"Here it is, mater; you'll find it cheerful reading; there's a lot
more to it than I've told you. There's one thing I haven't told you,
and that is that unless we're uncommonly careful before very long
there'll be warrants out for us."
"James, are you insane?"
"For aiding and abetting, which is what harbouring amounts to! People
have been sent to penal servitude for covering a murderer."
A modest tapping was heard; the room door was opened; Parkes, the
butler, entering, closed it softly behind him; there was perturbation
on his face and in his bearing.
"Excuse me, sir; excuse me, madam; but there's a dreadful kettle of
fish in the servants' hall. I felt I had to come to you. Taylor
brought in an evening paper to look at the cricket; and in it there's
all about the Newcaster murder; and the servants will have it that,
from the description in the paper, Miss Gilbert upstairs is the young
woman who did it; and I must say myself that the description is
surprisingly like. I am very sorry, sir, and madam, and Miss Frances,
but they are going on so, and there's even some talk of some of them
not staying in the house. According to the paper there's a reward of a
hundred pounds offered for her capture; and West, who's talking of
getting married, says that if she had the hundred pounds she might get
married at once, and that she doesn't see, if anyone is to have it,
why it shouldn't be her; and, sir, and madam, and Miss Frances, I
don't know what will happen if something isn't done to stop her."