BALMAYNE'S WARNING
In the market-place of Caryngston Dr. Balmayne met the vicar, a sturdy,
rosy-faced man with a face like a jocund choir-boy.
"Hallo!" was the clerical greeting. "How have you been keeping all this
awful weather? Going to thaw, though, now."
"Pretty well," replied Balmayne, who had stopped his car to purchase a
keg of petrol at the local store. "Get in and I'll put you down at the
vicarage."
Nothing loth, Mr. Lomas took his seat beside him. He was a sociable
person, always eager for news, and with the exception of his vicarage
full of nurslings, the doctor was his only associate, at least during
the winter months.
One of the best and most simple-minded of men, he had nevertheless a
curious taste for horrors, and found his keenest enjoyment in perusing
the detailed reports of murder cases in the daily papers, or unravelling
the tales of Arsene Lupin, Sherlock Holmes, and so on. A collection of
true stories of celebrated _crimes passionels_ related by a well-known
author had lately delighted him, and he began to talk of it almost
immediately.
"You know, Balmayne, it is positively unsettling to read a book like
that," he said. "The thing it brings home to you is that people are
hardly ever what they seem. Picture to yourself a young girl, living in
her father's house, simple, dutiful, giving up an undesirable lover at a
word of parental entreaty, engaging herself most suitably, universally
esteemed among even the strict Presbyterian circle she moved in, and she
turns out to be----"
"Well, what does she turn out to be?"
"To have been secretly the mistress of the man she professed to have
given up, and, furthermore, to be his murderess."
"It was never proved against her, was it?" asked the doctor.
"It was not; and there were many at the time in Edinburgh who believed
her innocent; but she was convicted of enough, even without the murder.
She was shown to have been without moral sense. Fancy a young girl who
could engage herself to a good man, while all the time concealing that
engagement from her paramour to whom she was continuing to send
passionate letters! Isn't it inconceivable?"
"I should have thought to a priest, as to a doctor, there is very little
that is inconceivable. This world is an odd place, and there are odd
people in it."
"You're right there, and talking of odd people, Mrs. Askwith has just
told me quite an exciting piece of news, though I expect you have heard
it. She says that the Guyses have at last engaged another girl to go as
companion up at the Pele!"
"Yes, your news is no news to me, Vicar. I was up there two days back,
and am going again to-day, as Mrs. Guyse is not quite the thing."
"And you have seen the young lady?"
"And I have seen the young lady."
"Indeed! Indeed! And how does she impress you?"
"Very favourably. She seems all right so far. They have told her
nothing about Miss Martin."
"Ah, um!" The vicar made little ruminating sounds as he turned this
over in his mind. "Talk of mysteries," he remarked at length; "there,
my dear Balmayne, is a thing to puzzle you! As queer as anything in
this book, staggering though some of these undoubted facts are. Will
that affair ever be explained, do you suppose?"
"I don't think there is much mystery there. What is it that strikes you
as so mysterious?"
"My good fellow, we have discussed it a hundred times! The girl's
departure, the way the thing was hushed up----"
"It seems fairly clear to me, as I have always told you. Young Guyse
pays the girl to keep quiet."
"But why? Why should he do so?"
"Because he didn't want her to talk, of course."
"Then you really think----"
"Mrs. Baxter told me that all the time she was delirious she kept on
repeating to herself, 'Lily Guyse, Mrs. Guyse.' There is no doubt that
he had promised her marriage, there was a wedding-ring round her neck.
All that story of the ayah's about her getting letters from London was
concocted. They said she burnt the letters, and I never saw one, or
heard of anybody except the ayah who saw one. If the thing had come
into court the postman would have been called, and it would have been
exposed, but, you see, it did not come into court. Of course, Sunia
would swear that black was white in order to screen Guyse; an utterly
untrustworthy witness. His mother knew, I am convinced of that."
"His mother knew?"
"Undoubtedly. She never liked Ninian, but she has hated him since then.
I fancy she would have taken the girl back on her own terms--even as
Ninian's acknowledged wife. She liked her well enough, and her life
since she was alone has been anything but amusing. Guyse has the
impudence to declare that he does not know where the girl is, and has
never heard of her since she left. But that is a bit too thin. No, in
my opinion it was a lucky thing for that young man that poor Miss Martin
didn't succeed in her attempt; an inquest would have been embarrassing.
But the hush money is evidently a drain upon him. He ought not to be so
frightfully hard up as he evidently is. He makes a clear profit on his
farming, and they are not without means, though they lost a big amount.
Well, his dismal experience may have taught him wisdom. He will be the
less likely to start philandering with Miss Innes."
"It seems to me an imprudent arrangement," remarked the vicar in a
troubled voice. "Here is a man who can't afford to marry at all unless
he marries a fortune. They import into that lonely house a girl, young
and presumably attractive, but so poor that she must work for her
living. What else is there for Guyse to do but flirt? Shut up with her
day after day, it must be hard to help it!"
"But what can one do?" said Balmayne musingly. "Would it be possible to
warn her? I think she is a girl of character--quite a different type
from that other. If she knew what sort Guyse is, she would be safe
enough."
"Then I am inclined to think you ought to give her a hint. I don't like
it, Balmayne."
"It's so hard to say anything at all without saying too much."
"It is. I see that--and you are a young man yourself. If Wilfrid were
at home I could speak to him, but Ninian is the kind of chap who thinks
it clever to be rude if you say anything he doesn't like."
"Wilfrid was a good deal cut up by that Lily Martin episode."
"No wonder! A nice thing to come back from Klondyke--where he had
really been risking his life to mend the family fortunes--and to find
out what had been going on in his absence. Of course, they hoped that,
as the girl got well and departed, nothing would come out. But it
did--it did!"
"Inevitably, I suppose," replied Balmayne; "but I can honestly say it
didn't get about through me."
"Who told the Kendalls?" said the little vicar shrewdly. "My wife is
certain that Rose Kendall meant to marry Ninian. It was practically a
settled thing, and Metcalfe told me she has thirty thousand pounds."
"I suppose Wolf is not likely to be coming home just yet?"
"Can't possibly come as long as Parliament is sitting. He took a few
days' leave at Christmas, you know."
"Now if it were he with whom a girl was thrown every day and all day
long, warnings would be fruitless," remarked Balmayne smiling. "Any
girl alive would fall in love with Wolf if she got the chance."
"If I were to write to him," suggested the vicar tentatively. "Of
course, I don't mean ostensibly. I do write to him from time to time.
Say I am sending back the book he lent me, and am interested to hear
that his mother has a new companion--that her presence will do much to
wipe out unpleasant rumours or memories, eh?"
"Do you think that he doesn't know of the new arrangement, then?"
"I can't say."
"It was by his advice that they tried the plan before," said Balmayne
thoughtfully. "He may have urged it afresh when he came home at
Christmas and saw how depressed and unwell his mother was. A pity he
didn't insist upon its being somebody middle-aged. But I suppose he
thought that might be more depressing than nobody at all."
"Well, if you get a chance," concluded the vicar, as the car stopped at
his gate, "I should put in a word; but be careful. The Guyses are a
very old family, and this old blood does curious things. Generally a
bit mad, these high-bred, thin-blooded chaps."
"You surely don't call Mrs. Guyse blue-blooded? She ought to have
imported a good sane middle-class strain to replenish the old stock."
"Ah, true. Will you come in and see Ada?"
"No, thanks, I've got a pneumonia case, and I want to get up to the Pele
this afternoon. Mrs. Lomas all right, I hope?"
"Yes, yes, capital. When I've finished 'Celebrated Murder Mysteries'
I'll lend it to you," went on Mr. Lomas in a burst of friendship, "but I
haven't read it all yet. However, bear in mind that nothing is really
improbable. The young lady at the Pele can't be too careful. I don't
know why exactly, but I shouldn't care for a daughter of mine to be
there. I've heard it said that Mrs. Guyse is a bit queer in the head
since their financial crash; and the foreign woman is almost the only
servant they have. Safe or not, it can't be comfortable there for a
young lady, it really can't."
"Miss Innes seemed all right when I saw her last. However, I will make
particular inquiry to-day. When the weather breaks, you must make an
effort and take Mrs. Lomas to call at the Pele. I'll motor you up.
Poor old Reed (the vicar of Guysedale) won't be able to get there for
months."
"A broken Reed, eh?" said Mr. Lomas, and the doctor glided away leaving
him chuckling at his own joke. Like most people with no sense of
humour, the vicar dearly loved a joke.
Upon reaching the Pele that afternoon the doctor was shown into the
banqueting-hall.
The master of the house sat smoking by a good fire, and the furniture of
the room was in some disorder, as if in process of rearranging. The
greeting Balmayne received was less hostile than usual, though it could
not be described as cordial.
"Thanks, my mother seems much better. Convalescent, in fact; I'll let
Miss Innes know that you are here." He went to the door, opened it and
clapped his hands. Then he was heard telling the ayah who had answered
the summons to say that the doctor had arrived.
Miss Innes appeared at once and invited Balmayne to Madam's room. He
was altogether satisfied with his patient, and quite willing that she
should be brought downstairs if it could be managed.
When they had left the sick chamber and were passing through the
adjoining sitting-room, he said to the girl, "I should like a few
minutes talk with you."
She stopped. "It had better be here, then," said she in a low voice,
"for on the stairs or in the hall we shall be overheard. The Hindu
woman cannot be cured of listening behind the arras; I think she looks
upon it as part of her duties. However, she can hear nothing through
this door."
He hesitated. What he had to say would need some adroitness, in order
that it might sound not too serious, yet important enough to be heeded.
He felt it impossible to begin.
He smiled. "To blurt out what I want to say in cold blood is not easy,
yet I think I may be sorry afterwards if I have failed to give you a
hint----"
"Yes?" Her heart throbbed apprehensively.
"Have you heard anything--I think you told me that you had not--about
Miss Martin?"
She flushed, but her answer came swiftly. "Thanks, Dr. Balmayne, but
since I last saw you I have heard what I suppose to be the whole story;
and--and shall you think me wrong if I say that I feel it a subject
which does not concern me, and which I ought not to discuss?"
"I shall certainly think you wrong in the sense of being mistaken," he
answered quietly. "In my opinion the matter does concern you. What
young Guyse did once he may do again. Of course, that sad affair may
have taught him caution; but it does not seem to me fair that you should
not be put on your guard."
"You think Mr. Guyse was to blame?" she asked as indifferently as she
could; but by the glance the doctor gave her she knew that he was
disagreeably surprised.
"So you are already a partisan?" he asked with a smile, taking up his
hat.
Olwen coloured, surprised herself at the desire to champion Nin of which
she could not but be conscious. "You jump very swiftly to conclusions,"
said she steadily. "My point of view is, that as I do not mean to remain
here, there is no need for me to pry too closely into the Guyse family
records." She added with a smile, "Mr. Guyse recommended me to hear
your side of the story. He said I was to put yours and his together and
see what they came to. But, please, I think I would rather not. The
knowledge of what befell my predecessor is enough warning, it seems to
me----"
She broke off, for a sharp tapping at the door announced that Nin was
outside. With a shrug of her shoulders and a backward glance of
amusement she went and admitted him.
"Well, what's the verdict? May I bring her down? he demanded, entering.
"Oh!" Balmayne pulled himself together. "Mrs. Guyse? Yes, certainly I
think so."
"Wait a minute, just let me give the finishing touches," cried Olwen,
hastening back into the sick-room.
Mrs. Guyse was sitting well wrapped up in an armchair. Her eyes rested
curiously upon the girl. "Been having a talk to the doctor?" she asked
expressionlessly.
"Yes, but Mr. Guyse is inconsiderate enough to interrupt! He is so
impatient to get you downstairs that he has come up to fetch you! Now
the comb for a minute! Your hair has got rumpled! There, now you are
quite beautiful! If I just put on your shawl----"
Mrs. Guyse's features twisted themselves curiously. She was like one
overcome by an access of remorse. "Don't let yourself be taken in," she
mumbled under her breath; "what do you suppose Nin cares if I am up or
down, alive or dead?"
Olwen paused. She was not certain of many things concerning Ninian, but
she was convinced that he had a real affection for his mother, an
affection daily wounded by her dislike of him.
"He doesn't like me to be upstairs because it takes you away from him,"
continued Madam with a spiteful smile. "You see, you take a different
view of your duty from what Lily Martin did."
"Don't talk nonsense," laughed Olwen. She was so sure that Ninian was
in no danger from her own attractions that she could afford to make
light of the invalid's malice. "Now, Mr. Guyse," she went on, throwing
open the door, "Madam is quite ready."
Ninian went in, lifted his mother carefully and brought her into the
sitting-room where Dr. Balmayne was still standing. Some unamiable
impulse caused the lady to give the doctor a cordial invitation to
remain to tea. He accepted very readily, and Olwen saw Ninian's brows
contract as he carefully edged out of the narrow doorway in such a way
as not to inconvenience his burden.
Madam complained a little as he moved slowly and steadily down the
spiral stair. He made no reply, but went on as though she had not
spoken, finally setting her down, in the glow of the firelight, upon the
couch which he had brought into the house not two hours previously, and
which Olwen had just covered with mattress cushions from the
dining-room, supplemented with pillows, of which Sunia had an unlimited
supply.
"Now," said Olwen quite eagerly as they laid Madam down, "you must tell
us just how you like to be; the back lets down or can be raised as you
wish." Between them it was adjusted to her complete satisfaction,
Ninian raising her in his arms while Olwen slipped the back rail into
its appropriate niche. Balmayne stood watching the domestic intimacy of
the scene, and his thoughts were grave.
Mrs. Guyse was evidently pleased with the new arrangement. As they had
placed her, she could not see the oriel window at all. The high back of
the settle screened it from her, and a little table stood conveniently
beside her for her endless knitting.
Sunia now brought up tea, and Olwen poured it out.
"Fancy," said Madam to Balmayne, "Miss Innes reads aloud so well that I
quite enjoy it. I always hated to be read to, but the story she is
reading is so amusing that I am quite longing to hear the rest. I have
been thinking about it all day, and it cheers me up."
"That's the very thing you want," said the doctor heartily. "Miss Innes
will do you more good than my medicine."
"Yes, but I am afraid she is not going to stay," replied Madam with a
wrinkle of her brows.
"Rubbish!" broke in Ninian; "she only said that because I ragged her and
she got a bit riled. However, I'm a reformed character now, and I run
her errands like Mary's lamb. Been to Raefell station and back to-day
already for my lady."
"That's right, boast!" said Olwen scornfully. "Shall I put an extra
lump of sugar in your tea, a reward for a good boy?"
"Put it in my mouth instead--a reward for a good dog," he answered,
grinning till the whole of his splendid row of sharp white teeth were
displayed.
The demon of coquetry which sleeps in every woman prompted the girl to
fall in with his mood just because of the presence of Dr. Balmayne. She
laid the sugar on his sleek black head, her finger upheld. "Trust,"
said she absurdly. He sat immovable, his eyes long and eloquent under
half-closed lids fixed steadily upon hers. "Paid for," she cried in a
hurry, and he jerked his head, caught the sugar in his hands and ate it.
"The finger flavour," he remarked, "is excellent and very noticeable.
What is that stuff which Sunia uses in her ministrations? Subtle but
quite perceptible."
"You're atrocious," she said with a spurt of anger, swiftly neutralised
as she caught his merry eye. "That is, I suppose you are behaving as
well as you can, so we must make allowances."
He turned to the doctor. "Miss Innes is beginning my education," he
said. "I feel sure it'll take longer than a month; don't you agree?"