MR SIM TELLS A LIE
Though Daniel had expressly asked Minnie to tell his friend Titus Sim
that he was not at the bottom of Wall Shaft Gully but far away in present
safety, the wanderer’s wife did no such thing. She would not trust
herself to associate Sim with her husband’s tragic misfortune; for she
could not yet feel certainty that the footman was all he pretended and
declared. His conduct after Sweetland’s disappearance proved exemplary.
He fulfilled the mission left behind by Daniel with all possible tact and
judgment. Alone he visited Minnie, and broke the news to her that she was
a widow. But she surprised him more than he dismayed her.
“I pray that you an’ everybody be mistaken, Mr Sim,” she said. “I hope
my Daniel’s not at the bottom of that awful place. But whether his days
are over an’ he lies there, or whether he’s safe an’ beyond the reach of
those who want to take him, my part is the same. I’ll never rest till
I’ve done all a faithful wife can do to clear his memory of this wicked
thing. You know so well as I do that he was an innocent man.”
“Yes, and trust me to prove him so, if wit and hard work can do it.”
“Those who loved him must labour to clear him. Let them who want my good
word an’ good-will right Daniel. ’Tis the only way to my heart, an’ I
don’t care who knows it.”
Perhaps those words were the cleverest that Minnie had ever uttered.
At any rate, they produced a profound effect on Titus Sim. He pondered
deeply before replying; then he nodded thoughtfully to himself more than
once.
“’Tis the great task before us all; to make his memory sweet. Rest sure
enough that I’ll do my share,” he promised.
But Minnie Sweetland found her dislike of Sim not lessened by his correct
attitude during these dark and troubled days. She avoided him when
possible. She kept the secret of her husband’s flight very close. Indeed,
two living souls alone knew it beside Minnie, and they were her husband’s
parents. Dan need have been in small concern for his mother, because on
the morning after the poacher’s flight Minnie had private speech with
the Sweetlands, and made them understand the truth. The woman was wise,
and perceiving that her son’s salvation probably hung upon this secret,
she kept it. Matthew Sweetland also preserved silence. His melancholy
was profound, and only Minnie had any power to lift him out of it. Her
energy and determination deeply impressed him; her absolute belief and
trust in her husband’s honour put life into him. He told her all that he
knew concerning the death of Adam Thorpe, and promised to take her to the
scene of the outrage that she might study it for herself.
“If only we can prove that he had no hand in it,” said Matthew. “But
there, ’tis vain to hope so--look which way you will. If he was innocent,
why for did he run?”
“Innocent men have done so for nought but terror,” she answered.
“Maybe; but not Daniel. He was never afeared. No--no; he’s gone with
blood on his hands. ’Twill never be known till Judgment Day. Then the
record will be cried from the Book.”
“Why for shouldn’t us believe him?” she asked. “He never told me a lie in
his life. Can you call home that you ever catched him in one?”
But the father refused to argue.
“He may have throwed himself down Wall Shaft Gully for all he told you
he would not. And no man would have taken on that dreadful death if he
wasn’t in fear of a dreadfuller. However, you can come to the place an’
welcome. I’ll show you where one rogue got me down an’ nearly hammered
the life out of me; an’ I’ll show you where the other man let moonlight
into poor Thorpe. The detectives have tramped every yard of the ground,
but they found nothing good or bad. The man or woman as can prove my son
innocent will have my blessing, I promise you, though too well I know
he’s guilty. I’ve heard him threaten Thorpe myself.”
In process of time, therefore, Minnie visited the coverts of Middlecott
Court and traversed the exact ground where Daniel was supposed to have
destroyed Adam Thorpe. Many other more highly trained observers had done
the like; but public interest in the affair perished with Sweetland’s
supposed suicide; and even the police when the events of Furnum Regis
and Wall Shaft Gully came to their ears, pursued their operations at
Middlecott Lower Hundred and elsewhere with less ardour. Their labours
threw no light upon the past; nor could they find Daniel’s accomplice.
Mr Sweetland swore to a second poacher; for one man fought with him and
broke his finger, while the other fired on Thorpe; but both rascals had
worn masks, and no trace of either appeared after the affray, excepting
only the gun--Henry Vivian’s gift to Daniel.
Proceedings presently terminated tamely enough, and it was not until a
fortnight after the last detective had left Middlecott that Minnie with
her father-in-law visited the theatre of Thorpe’s death.
But they took a detour, for Sweetland had fresh troubles upon his hands.
“We’ll go by Flint Stone Quarry in the east woods,” he said, “for there
it was that more birds were killed last night. You’d think the anointed
ruffians had done enough; but they be at it still. ’Twas a great
roosting-place--very thick and warm, with snug shelter from north and
east. They might have killed scores o’ dozens for all me an’ the new
keeper could do. For all I know, they did. Of course when us got there
all was silent as the grave; but Thomas went again first thing this
morning and found one dead bird an’ one lamed but living, stuck in a tree
fork. An’ there was feathers everywhere an’ marks of feet. Ten pounds
worth of birds at least they took.”
The girl listened quietly.
“Maybe ’tis the old hands, father?”
“Or new ones, as have larned their wicked tricks from my dead son.”
“I shall never love you while you say these things against Daniel.”
The keeper did not answer. He was surveying the glaring evidence of
another poaching raid. A stone quarry stood in the centre of heavy woods
here, and gleamed white with flint and yellow with gravel where it had
been gouged out of the hillside. All round it there crowded trees, and an
undergrowth of juniper and rhododendron grew to the forehead of the cleft.
“Look!” said Matthew Sweetland. “The scamps comed down there; an’ one
slipped, I reckon. See how the soil be tored away. I lay he fell pretty
heavy. ’Twas this here more[1] catched his foot an’ over he comed. Here’s
feathers an’ blood where he fell.”
[1] _More_: a tree root.
Minnie stood by her father-in-law and examined the marks he indicated. It
was clear that some heavy body had crashed over the edge of the quarry
and fallen six feet into a bed of fern beneath. While the man examined
the ground, Minnie picked up a feather or two, regarded the clotted blood
beneath, and wondered whether it came from a dead pheasant or a living
poacher. She peeped about among the fern, then started, bent down, picked
up a small object and put it into her pocket quickly. When the keeper
returned she was looking listlessly at the wound on the quarry.
“The man must have fallen heavy, if ’twas a man,” she said.
“The Dowl looks arter his own,” answered Mr Sweetland. “’Twould have
broke the neck of any honest chap, no doubt.”
They proceeded a mile into the sweet recesses of the woods. Then Minnie
stood on the scene of the murder and regarded, not without emotion, the
spot where her husband was declared to have killed Adam Thorpe.
His father gloomily pointed out the place where Daniel’s gun had been
discovered by Titus Sim.
“It have aged the poor wretch twenty year,” he said. “Sim be a hang-dog
creature now, an’ slinks past me as though he was to blame for Dan’s
downfall. But I won’t have that. He only done his duty. There was the
gun, an’ he had to show it. ’Tis all summed up in that. How did it come
to be there, if my son was not? An’ why for did he run away or else kill
himself, if he had the power to prove himself guiltless? Who can answer
those questions?”
“’Tis for me to do it,” replied Minnie. “An’ right’s my side, father. If
he was dead, ’tis for me to live to right his memory; but he be living,
’tis for me to clear him more than ever, so that he may come back an’
stand afore your face again like an honest man.”
“Never--never,” he answered. “That’s where us picked up Thorpe; an’
that’s where the gun was; an’ there, alongside that fallen tree in the
brambles, was the spot where t’other blackguard got me down an’ nearly
beat the life out of me.”
The girl looked round about her and nodded.
“Now you go about your business, for I lay this not a pleasant place to
you,” she said. “I’ll just peep around, if you please.”
“There’s no eyes of all them that have searched here was so bright as
yours, my dear; but think twice afore you waste your time here. ’Tis not
likely you’ll find aught; an’ if you find anything more than others have
found, ’tis most certain to be sorrow.”
“I don’t think it. My heart tells me as there be that hid here as will
pay for finding. I’ve felt it all along, an’ never more than to-day.”
“Seek then, an’ if you can find my son’s innocence, me an’ his mother
will bless you for evermore, when us wakes and when us lies down. You’ve
my leave to come here as often as you will, an’ I’ll tell Thomas an’
t’others that you’m free of the woods. Your way home along is by the path
yonder. ’Twill fetch ’e out ’pon the side of Hameldon; then to the high
road ban’t above a mile.”
The old man left her, and Minnie, sitting down upon the fallen tree
which he had pointed out, made a quiet and systematic plan of search.
But her thoughts were divided between this present site and that whereon
she had stood half-an-hour earlier. Now she mapped out the region of
the fray, and began her work where Daniel’s gun had been discovered by
Titus Sim. She took a reel of stout white thread from her pocket and
with sticks marked out a space of three square yards. Then yard by yard
she went over the ground, lifting every leaf and examining every inch
of grass and soil. Not an atom of ground escaped this most laborious
scrutiny. With immense patience and care she pursued the task, and at the
end of three hours, in the silent heart of the woods, she had inspected
six square yards. Nothing rewarded the examination: but only a very
trifling tract out of that involved was yet inspected, and Minnie, having
carefully marked the portion investigated, left Middlecott Lower Hundred
and prepared to return home.
She still lived at Hangman’s Hut, and the fifty pounds with which Daniel
had started life promised to keep her there until time should pass and
news of her husband reach her. Already the wonder waned and folks began
to talk of the “widow Sweetland” and ask each other how long she must in
decency remain alone before taking another husband. That Titus Sim would
be the man few doubted. He often visited her, and he strove valiantly in
many directions to discover the secret of Thorpe’s death. Sometimes he
grew elated at the shadow of a clue; then, again, he became cast down as
the hope of explanation vanished and the problem evaded him.
Three nights after Minnie’s first great search, Mr Sim called upon her.
Of late he had seen her not seldom, because the family at Middlecott was
away and the servants consequently enjoyed unusual leisure.
Titus found Mrs Beer with her neighbour, for the innkeeper’s wife often
spent an evening hour at the lonely girl’s cottage, and Mr Beer also
would occasionally run over if business was quiet. But his motives were
selfish, for Minnie proved a good listener, and though she did not praise
the fat man’s poetry, she was always prepared to give it respectful
hearing.
The footman knocked and entered, according to his custom; then he sat by
the fire and stretched his gaitered legs to the blaze.
“A rough night,” he said. “I had a regular fight with the wind coming up
over the heath; but you’m snug enough seemingly. I do welcome these days
when our people are away; for they give me a chance to be in the air.
Sometimes I’m sore tempted to throw up this life and get out-of-door work
again.”
“You wasn’t meant for a flunkey, I’m sure,” declared Mrs Beer. “I never
can think ’tis a very dignified calling for a grown man, though of course
the quality must have ’em.”
“You are almost so fond of the woods and the wild things as my Daniel
is,” declared Minnie.
“True for you,” he answered. “True for you, Mrs Sweetland.”
“I dare say you get a breath of the woods now an’ again while the folks
are away?”
“All I can. These stirring times make me long to be a gamekeeper--just
like when the country goes to war, we men all want to be soldiers. I’m
afraid poor old Sweetland gets beyond his work. There’s been more trouble
in the preserves since Sir Reginald went to Scotland.”
This information apparently reminded the mistress of Hangman’s Hut that
she had offered Titus no hospitality.
“I’ll draw some cider for ’e. ’Tis all I’ve got. Dan promised never to
drink nought else after we was married. An’ if you want for to smoke,
please do it.”
The footman pulled out a pouch of tobacco and a pipe from his pocket; as
he did so he groaned.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Mrs Beer. “That’s the noise my old man
makes in his sleep when the rheumatics be at him.”
“My side. I had a cruel dig in the ribs two days agone. Slipped and fell
on the cellar stairs with a scuttle o’ coals. I thought I’d broke every
bone in my body. And a pang shoots through an’ through my side yet when I
move my right arm. But ’tis better than ’twas.”
Minnie expressed active regret and brought Mr Sim a cushion for his back.
His bright eyes looked round the little comfortable kitchen hungrily.
He already pictured the time when he might fill a dead man’s shoes, for
he was among the many who believed that Daniel Sweetland had in reality
perished and would be heard of no more. Minnie never undeceived him.
Now the mistress of Hangman’s Hut poured her visitor out his drink, then
sat and watched the tobacco smoke curl from his lips. Presently she spoke.
“Do you still use that wooden pipe what my Dan gived ’e? ’Twas cut very
cunning in the shape of a fox’s mask wi’ li’l black beads for eyes. I
should like to think as you smoke it sometimes an’ remember him as gived
it to you.”
“And so I do. ’Tis my best pipe--for great occasions only. There’s nought
belongs to me I treasure more. I had it betwixt my teeth only this
morning.”
The woman looked at him and nodded gravely. There was nothing in her face
that showed his speech particularly interested her. And yet, in wide
ignorance of facts, Sim had spoken words that might some day lead to his
discomfiture and ruin. For he had lied, and Mrs Sweetland knew it.
He drank, talked on and suggested in his speech and ideas a man of simple
rectitude and honourable mind. His admiration for Minnie he made no
attempt to conceal. It presently fired Mrs Beer into a rather personal
remark.
“Lord! what a couple you’d make!” she said, eying them. “I do hope, to
say it without rudeness, as you’ll see your way, my dear; for Titus here
be cut out for you; an’ everybody be of the same opinion. When a man’s
saved enough to open a publichouse, that man’s a right to look high for
his partner, and he has a right to the respect of us females. Take the
case of my Beer. He waited, so patient as Job, till the critical cash
was to his name in the Bank at Moreton. Then he flinged over service as
gardener up to Archerton and lifted his eyes to me; but not afore he’d
got three figures to his name. An’ we all know that Mr Sim be a very snug
man.”
“I won’t deny it,” said Titus. “’Twould be idle to do so. I am a snug
man as young men go. The guests at Middlecott are generous, and five
pound notes soon mount up. But we mustn’t talk of that. Mrs Sweetland
hopes that my poor friend and her dear husband be still in the land of
the living. And, though it cuts the ground from beneath me, I hope so
too. Have ’e heard ’bout drunkard Parkinson? They say he’s not likely to
get over his last bout. Now there’s a man famed for poaching since his
childhood, and as clever at it as any chap ever I heard of. It strikes me
that he knows a lot more than his fellow creatures have heard him speak.
Anyway, I’m going to see him to-morrow, if he’s well enough to see me.
He’s not above a bit of sport by night still, though I guess he’s shot
his last bird now, poor chap! Put a gun in that man’s hand, and he is
sober in a minute. ’Tis an instinct with him.”
Minnie listened and said nothing. She appeared to be working on a piece
of red flannel, but in reality her mind and attention were elsewhere. She
had private reasons for a close personal scrutiny of Titus, and now,
from under veiled lids, observed his every action, his dress, his speech.
The man clearly endured physical pain from time to time. He moved his
right shoulder gingerly and occasionally, forgetting it, puckered his
mouth into the expressions of suffering, when a twinge reminded him of
his accident. He was clad in an old shooting jacket and breeches, the
gift of one of his master’s guests at the end of a shooting season. One
leg was torn and the rent had been carefully drawn together. His gaiters
were fastened with yellow horn buttons; but upon the right leg a button
was missing. It had, however, been replaced with a black one.
Sim smoked and finished his cider; then he loaded his pipe again, talked
ten minutes longer and prepared to depart.
“I was forgetting,” he said. “Mrs Sweetland, at the lodge, sent a special
message by me. She wants for you to come down and take supper along with
her to-morrow. And she was so kind as to ask me also. And I said as I
would do it and be proud to see you home after, if agreeable to you.”
“I’ll come gladly. I shall be at Moreton to-morrow. My fowls have
beginned to lay finely, an’ I hope to have a dozen eggs for market.”
“And may I see you home after?”
“If you’ve a mind to, though there’s no need--a married woman like me.”
“You’m so brave. Good-night--good-night. See how the moon is shining on
the fog-banks. There’ll come rain before morning, for the wind’s fallen a
lot already.”
He departed, and soon afterwards Mrs Beer also returned to her home.
Then Minnie tidied up the kitchen, brought in from his kennel her sole
companion--a great yellow mongrel dog, loved of Daniel--and then locked
the door.
Next she turned out from a drawer in the kitchen table a piece of brown
wood and examined it very closely. It was the bowl of a pipe broken
roughly from the stem. The fragment had been carved to represent a fox’s
mask, and upon the bottom of it were cut in small letters “T.S. from
D.S.” Minnie Sweetland collected some of the shreds of Mr Sim’s tobacco
and compared it with that still pressed into the broken pipe. Thus, while
the footman walked home well satisfied with the progress of events, and
full of dreams for his future prosperity, she upon whom it rested had
made a remarkable discovery. That Titus Sim was involved in the murder
of Thorpe, Minnie could not guess or prove; but that he was implicated
in the recent raid--that it was, in fact, Sim who had fallen in the
quarry--it seemed impossible to doubt.
The young woman’s first thought was to tell her father-in-law upon the
following day. But she abandoned the idea. “I’ll go on alone,” she said
to herself. “My Dan shall have none to thank but me. I’ll prove afore all
the world that he told the truth; an’ maybe I’ll live to bring the truth
to light. An’ if there’s danger in it, let the danger fall on me. I never
was afeared of a human an’ never will be, please God.”