Leaving the Earl's presence, I refused old Stanford's invitation to take
some refreshment, and, walking along the corridor on my way out, came
face to face with Frayling, who was being conducted to the library.
"Going?" he inquired.
"Yes," I answered, and passing on, engrossed in bitter thoughts that
overwhelmed me, strode out into the park, wandering aimlessly across the
grass to where a well-kept footpath wound away among the trees. Taking
it, heedless of my destination, I walked on mechanically, regardless of
the brilliant sunshine and the songs of the birds, thinking only of the
unjust accusation against me, and of my inability to clear myself. I
saw that the stigma upon me meant ruin, both social and financial.
Branded as a spy, I should be spurned by Ella, sneered at by Mrs Laing,
and avoided by Beck. Friends who had trusted me would no longer place
any confidence in a man who had, according to their belief, sold his
country into the hands of her enemies, while it was apparent from the
Earl's words that he had no further faith in my actions.
Yet the only man who could have cleared me, who could have corroborated
my statement as to how I spent my time during my absence at lunch, and
shown plainly that I had never entered the Strand nor visited the branch
post-office next to Exeter Hall, was dead. His lips were for ever
sealed.
I went forward, plunged deeply in thought, until passing a small gate I
left the park, and found myself in Warnham Churchyard. For a moment I
stood on the peaceful spot where I had often stood before, admiring the
quaint old church, with its square, squat, ivy-covered tower, its gilded
clock face, and its ancient doors that, standing open, admitted air and
sunshine. Before me were the plain, white tombs of the departed earls,
the most recent being that in memory of the Countess, one of the leaders
of London society, who had died during her husband's absence on his
official duties; while across the well-kept lawn stood a quaint old
sun-dial that had in silence marked the time for a century or so. From
within the church the organ sounded softly, and I could see the Vicar's
daughter, a pretty girl still in her teens, seated at the instrument
practising.
Warnham was a quiet Sussex village unknown to the world outside,
unspoiled by modern progress, untouched by the hand of the vandal. As
presently I passed the lych-gate and entered its peaceful street, it
wore a distinctly old-world air. At the end of the churchyard wall
stood the typical village blacksmith, brown-faced and brawny, swinging
his hammer with musical clang upon his anvil set beneath a great
chestnut tree in full bloom; further along stood the schools, from the
playground of which came the joyous sound of children's voices; and
across the road was the only inn--the Sussex Arms--where, on more than
one occasion, I had spent an hour in the bare and beery taproom,
chatting with the garrulous village gossips, the burly landlord and his
pleasant spouse. The air was heavy with the scent of June roses and the
old-fashioned flowers growing in cottage gardens, whilst the lilacs sent
forth a perfume that in my perturbed state of mind brought me back to a
realisation of my bitterness. Lilac was Ella's favourite scent, and it
stirred within me thoughts of her. How, I wondered, had she borne the
news of Dudley's tragic and mysterious end? How, I wondered, would she
greet me when next we met?
Yet somehow I distrusted her, and as I walked on through the village
towards the Ockley road, nodding mechanically to a man I knew, I was
seriously contemplating the advisability of never again seeing her. But
I loved her, and though I strove to reason with myself that some secret
tie existed between her and Beck, I found myself unable to break off my
engagement, for I was held in her toils by the fascination of her eyes.
For fully an hour I walked on, ascending the hill swept by the fresh
breeze from the Channel, only turning back on finding myself at the
little hamlet at Kingsfold. In that walk I tried to form resolutions--
to devise some means to regain the confidence of the Earl, and to
conjecture the cause of Dudley's death--but all to no purpose. The
blows which had fallen in such swift succession had paralysed me. I
could not think, neither could I act.
Re-passing the Sussex Arms, I turned in, dusty and thirsty. In the bare
taproom, deserted at that hour, old Denman, a tall, tight-trousered,
splay-footed, grey-haired man, who drove the village fly, and acted as
ostler and handy man about the hostelry, was busy cleaning some pewters,
and as I entered, looked up and touched his hat.
"Well, Denman," I said, "you don't seem to grow very much older, eh?"
The man, whose hair and beard were closely-cropped, and whose furrowed
face had a habit of twitching when he spoke, grinned as he answered,--
"No, sir. People tells me I bear my age wonderful well. But won't you
come into the parlour, sir?"
Declining, I told him to get me something to drink, and when he brought
it questioned him as to the latest news in the village. Denman was an
inveterate gossip, and in his constant drives in the rickety and
antiquated vehicle known as "the fly," to villages and towns in the
vicinity, had a knack of picking up all the news and scandal, which he
retailed at night for the delectation of customers at the Sussex Arms.
"I dunno as anything very startling has happened lately in Warnham. The
jumble sale came off at the schools last Tuesday fortnight, and there's
a cricket match up at the Lodge next Saturday. Some gentlemen are
coming down from London to play."
"Anything else?"
Denman removed his hat and scratched his head.
"Oh, yes," he said suddenly. "You knows Mr Macandrew what's steward for
Mr Thornbury? Well, last Monday week an old gentleman called at his
house up street and asked to see him. His wife asked him into the
parlour, and Mr Macandrew went in. `Are you Mr Macandrew?' says the old
gent. `I am,' says Mr Macandrew. `Well, I shouldn't 'ave known you,'
says the old man. And it turned out afterwards that this old man was
actually Mr Macandrew's father, who's lived ever so many years in
America, and hasn't seen Mr Macandrew since he wor a boy. I did laugh
when I heard it."
"Extraordinary. Have you had any visitors down from London?" I
inquired, for sometimes people took the houses of the better-class
villagers, furnished for the season.
"We had a lively young gent staying here in the inn for four days last
week. He was a friend of somebody up at the Hall, I think, for he was
there a good deal. He came from London. I wonder whether you'd know
him."
"What was his name?"
"Funny name," Denman said, grinning. "Ogle, Mr Ogle."
"Ogle!" I gasped. "What was his Christian name?"
"Dudley, I fancy it was."
"Dudley Ogle," I repeated, remembering that he had been absent from
Shepperton for four days, and had told me he had been in Ipswich
visiting some friends. "And he has been here?"
"Yes, sir. We made him as comfortable as we could, and I think he
enjoyed hisself."
"But what did he do--why was he down here?" I inquired eagerly.
"Do you know him, sir? Jolly gentleman, isn't he? Up to all manners o'
tricks, and always chaffing the girls."
"Yes, I knew him, Denman," I answered gravely. "Tell me, as far as you
know, his object in coming to Warnham. I'm very interested in his
doings."
"As far as I know, sir, he came to see somebody up at the Hall. I drove
him about a good deal, over to Ockley, to Cowfold, and out to Handcross;
and I took him into Horsham every day."
"Do you know who was his friend at the Hall?"
"No, I don't, sir. He never spoke about it; but I did have my
suspicions," he answered, smiling.
"Oh! what were they?" I asked.
"I fancy he came to see Lucy Bryden, the housekeeper's daughter. She's
a good-looking girl, you know," and the old man winked knowingly.
"What made you think that, eh?"
"Well, from something I was told," he replied mysteriously. "He was
seen walking with a young lady across the park one night, and I 'eard as
'ow it was Mrs Bryden's daughter. But next day I 'ad a surprise. A
young lady called here for him, and she was dressed exactly as the young
woman who had been in the park with him was. But it wasn't Mrs Bryden's
daughter."
"Then who was it?"
"I heard him call her Ella. She came from London."
"Ella?" I gasped. "What the deuce do you mean, Denman? What sort of a
girl was she? A lady?"
"Yes, sir, quite a lady. She was dressed in brown, and one thing I
noticed was that she had on a splendid diamond bracelet. It was a
beauty."
"A diamond bracelet!" I echoed. There was no doubt that Ella had
actually been to Warnham without my knowledge, for the bracelet that the
old ostler, in reply to my eager questions, described accurately, was
the one I had given her.
"What time in the day did she call? Where did they go?" I demanded, in
surprise.
"She came about mid-day, and they both went for a walk towards
Broadbridge Heath. They were gone, I should reckon, about three hours,
and when they returned, it was evident from her eyes that she'd been
crying."
"Crying! Had Ogle been talking to her angrily, do you think?"
"No. I don't believe so. They remained here and had some tea together
in the parlour, and then I drove 'em to Horsham, and they caught the
6:25 to London."