PREPARING THE GROUND.
When Dora returned to the Red House, she made up her mind. Since Allen
refused to tell her his secret, she would discover it herself, and
judge if it were as serious a bar to their marriage as he asserted.
She did not think for a moment that Allen knew who had killed
Edermont, but she could not help concluding that he was aware of
something likely to lead to the identification of the assassin.
Perhaps he knew the story of Edermont's life, set forth in the
manuscript which had been stolen from the bureau by the murderer. But
whatever knowledge he was possessed of, Dora saw plainly enough that
he was resolved to hold his peace. The truth is, she was afraid to
admit his motive for silence even to herself. She half guessed the
reason of his determination, but she neither spoke nor thought about
it.
There were two ways in which she could go to work; either begin from
the arrival of Lady Burville at Hernwood Hall, and progress onward to
the committal of the crime, or begin from the fact of the murder, and
trace back its motive to Lady Burville. After some consideration, she
decided on the latter of these two courses. But Lady Burville had
departed, and Dora was ignorant of her present address. Even if she
did learn it, there was no excuse whereby she could gain an interview
with the lady. She had no proof that this stranger was implicated in
the crime, and if she were--a fact which Dora fully believed--there
would be little chance of forcing her into confession. This course was
therefore out of the question, but there remained the other. Starting
with the evidence which had gathered round the crime itself, the
theories, the suppositions, the beliefs, Dora thought she might piece
together scattered hints and facts, which might be woven into a rope
strong enough to hang the assassin. But the difficulty, in the absence
of all absolute knowledge, was to discover the criminal.
And there was yet another thing to be remembered. The reward of fifty
thousand pounds had brought into competition hundreds of men, bent
upon gaining the prize. From far and near they came to Canterbury, and
haunted the environs of the Red House. But not one of them entered the
gates, for these were kept locked, and the famous postern through
which the assassin had passed had been bricked up, by Dora's order.
Every labourer and tramp and shopkeeper in the neighbourhood was
questioned and cross-questioned by these pests, but none gained any
information likely to solve the mystery. No trace could be found of
Edermont's past life. He had appeared in the place twenty years
before; he had bought the Red House, and a few farms; he had lived in
retirement since that time. Beyond this nothing could be learned, and,
notwithstanding the magnitude of the reward, no one was fortunate
enough to make a step forward. Out of the night the assassin had come,
into the night he had gone; and neither Inspector Jedd nor the many
amateur detectives could trace him to his hiding-place. Hemmed in by
these difficulties on all sides, with no information to go upon, with
obstinate people like Joad, Allen, and Mrs. Tice to deal with, it can
be easily seen how difficult was the problem which Dora wished to
solve. On surveying the situation her heart failed her; she felt
helpless.
One chance she had of making a beginning, and that was by questioning
Joad as to the motive of the crime. That this motive was to be found
in Edermont's past life Dora was certain; and as Joad was more likely
than anyone else to know that past, he would be the proper person to
apply to for information. From conversations which she had overheard,
Dora was satisfied that the secret of the horror which had
overshadowed Edermont's life--which had sent him to church and to the
consolation of the Litany--was known to Joad. And as Joad evinced a
decided admiration for her, she resolved to use such admiration for
the purpose of discovering the truth. When she learned the secret of
Edermont's past, she would learn the name of the person he dreaded;
that name would identify the assassin, and if she found the assassin
she might be able to learn and do away with the unknown obstacle to
her marriage with Allen. She would gain also the fortune of the dead
man; but that, in Dora's opinion, was a side issue.
In the meantime, and before she had time to formulate her
plans--which, indeed, were but in their inception--Mrs. Tice came
over, bag and baggage, to play the part of dragon at the Red House.
Dora was glad to welcome her within its walls; not only because she
promised to stand a bulwark of respectability against Joad, but also
because Mrs. Tice might reveal by accident something of Edermont's
past. The conversation at Canterbury had shown Dora very plainly that
some time or another Mrs. Tice had been acquainted with the recluse;
and that such acquaintance must have been prior to his purchase of the
Red House. At that period had been engendered the terror which had
haunted the poor creature, and Mrs. Tice might have some inkling of
its nature.
The old housekeeper, however, was not to be cajoled into reminiscences
of the past. She kept a guard over her tongue, and resolutely avoided
all Dora's hints and significant remarks. It was quite a week before
Dora could induce her to converse on the subject at all, and then she
spoke in an ambiguous fashion. Life at that moment seemed to Dora to
resemble a theatre with the curtain down. If she could induce Mrs.
Tice to raise the curtain, what shadowy drama of the past might not be
performed! Seven days after the arrival of Mrs. Tice she lifted the
curtain a little--a very little--but revealed enough to excite the
liveliest curiosity in the girl.
It was after nine o'clock, and as usual Joad had been turned out to
have his supper, and talk classics with Mr. Pride, the schoolmaster.
The gates were locked, the shutters of the windows were closed, and
Mrs. Tice was seated in Dora's own sitting-room, with a basket of work
before her. Dora sat by the one window, which had not yet been shut,
and the pale light of the evening floated into the room, to mingle
with the dim radiance of the solitary candle which illuminated the
busy fingers of the housekeeper. Meg Gance was in her kitchen, resting
after the labours of the day, so the two women were quite alone.
Suddenly Dora yawned, and stretched out her hands.
"Heigh-ho!" said she in a wearied tone. "How long is this going on, I
wonder?"
"What are you referring to, Miss Carew?" asked the housekeeper in her
pleasant voice--"to your life here?"
"Yes; to my lonely and miserable life. I feel simply wretched."
"Do not say that, my dear young lady. You have health, and youth, and
many blessings."
"No doubt," replied Dora scornfully; "but I have lost the chief of my
blessings."
"You mean Mr. Allen?" said the old lady in an embarrassed tone.
"Yes, I do, Mrs. Tice. And since he has left me, I do not see why I
should not accept the attentions of Mr. Lambert Joad. The wretched old
man worships the ground I walk on."
"Of course you are jesting?" said Mrs. Tice, with an uneasy smile;
"but I see that Mr. Joad admires you. More's the pity."
"Why 'more's the pity'?"
"Well, you see, miss, he will not relish your rebuffing him for his
impertinence; and he is likely to prove a dangerous enemy."
"Pshaw! He can do me no harm."
"I am not so sure of that, miss. He knows a good deal about Mr.
Edermont's past life."
Dora turned round and looked sharply at the comely, withered face.
"Is there anything in the past life of Mr. Edermont likely to be
harmful to me?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Tice deliberately, "there is."
"And do you know what it is?"
"Yes, miss; I know what it is, and so does Mr. Allen. It was a
knowledge of that past which sent him up to London. Since he returned
we have talked over the matter, and we have both concluded that it is
best to hold our tongues. But if Mr. Joad knows the secret, and you
rebuff him, he may not be wise enough to keep silent."
"I am glad to hear you say so!" cried Dora with animation. "Since I
can learn the secret from no one else, I'll see if a rebuff cannot
loosen Mr. Joad's tongue."
"If you are wise, you will let well alone," warned Mrs. Tice, feeling
that she had said too much.
Dora crossed the room, and stood with her hands behind her back,
looking indignantly at the old woman.
"Upon my word, it is a shame!" she said in a low voice. "I am
apparently surrounded by pitfalls on all sides, yet no one will tell
me how to avoid them."
"If you remain quiet, you won't fall into them," replied Mrs. Tice
with a nod.
"Quiet!" cried Dora, frowning. "Good heavens! how can I remain quiet
when I see my life falling into ruins? No, no, no!" She stamped her
foot defiantly. "I must act, I must inquire, I must know what all
these mysteries mean!"
"You will never arrive at that knowledge, Miss Carew."
"I'm not so sure of that, Mrs. Tice. Remember your hint about that
Joad creature. I'll wring it out of him, if I can't out of anyone
else. Mrs. Tice"--Dora flung herself on her knees before the
housekeeper--"did you know Mr. Edermont before he came to the Red
House?"
"Yes, Miss Carew, I can admit that much: I knew Mr. Edermont."
"Was that when you were Allen's nurse?"
"Yes, Miss Carew."
"In the service of Allen's parents?"
"I was in the service of Dr. and Mrs. Scott," replied Mrs. Tice
composedly. "Pray don't ask me any more questions, Miss Carew, for I
cannot answer them."
"You will not, you mean," said Dora, rising. "Never mind, I have found
out something from the little you have told me."
Mrs. Tice looked up quickly.
"Impossible," she said anxiously. "I have revealed nothing."
"Oh, I can put two and two together, Mrs. Tice," said Dora quietly.
"Allen told me that his parents lived in Christchurch, Hants--that his
father and mother are buried there. Now, if you knew Mr. Edermont
while you were nursing Allen, Mr. Edermont must have lived, or have
been on a visit, at Christchurch. Consequently, if I go down to
Christchurch I shall learn something of Mr. Edermont's past life."
Mrs. Tice fell into the skilfully-laid trap.
"You won't find that the name of Edermont is known in those parts,"
she said, without thinking.
"Precisely," said Dora coolly. "Edermont is a false name. I have
suspected that for some time. Thank you, Mrs. Tice, for admitting it.
I have learnt so much from you. Mr. Joad will tell me the rest."
"Mr. Joad may or may not," said Mrs. Tice doubtfully. "Do not go too
much by what I am saying, Miss Carew. You have a skilful and crafty
person to deal with."
"Are you talking of yourself?"
"By no means. I am neither skilful nor crafty. I allude to Mr. Joad."
"You seem to be well acquainted with his character, Mrs. Tice. Did you
know him at Christchurch?"
"No, my dear. I never saw the man until I came here--to this house.
But I have eyes in my head, and I can see that he is singularly
deceitful."
"Perhaps, but harmless."
Mrs. Tice shook her head with pursed-up lips.
"I disagree with you. The adder is harmless so long as it isn't
trodden upon. Tread upon Mr. Joad, my dear young lady, and he
will--bite."
To emphasize the last word Mrs. Tice snapped off a piece of thread,
and looked up at Dora with a sharp nod. Evidently Joad had failed to
impress her favourably.
"I have no doubt you are right," said Dora, after reflection. "He
would be dangerous if he got the chance, but I don't see where his
opportunity for mischief comes in."
"Neither do I, Miss Carew; but he'll watch for one, you mark my
words."
Dora did not reply to this remark, as she was of the same opinion
herself. She was thinking about Carver's remark touching a past
romance of Edermont's, and of her own statement to Allen that Mrs.
Tice might have been the woman who had to do with the same. It was now
her desire to find out if there was any grain of truth in her
supposition, but she did not know exactly how to put it to Mrs. Tice.
At last she thought the best method to approach so delicate a subject
was by a side issue.
"Your husband is dead, isn't he, Mrs. Tice?" she asked with apparent
carelessness.
"Yes, Miss Carew," replied the housekeeper; "he died more than
twenty-five years ago, and his body is buried in the graveyard of
Christchurch Priory."
"Were you much in love with him?"
"We respected and liked one another," said Mrs. Tice judiciously: "but
we were not madly in love."
"Were you ever madly in love with anyone, Mrs. Tice?"
"No, my dear young lady," was the laughing reply, "never! I am not a
romantic person."
Dora thought for a moment.
"Was Mr. Edermont handsome when you knew him first?"
"He was passable, Miss Carew--a little, womanish man. Even in his
youth his hair was white--the effect of nerves, I believe. He was
always nervous, poor soul!"
"He had reason to be, evidently."
"Yes," said Mrs. Tice sharply, "good reason. I never liked him, but I
was sorry for him."
Determined to know the exact truth, Dora put her question plainly:
"Were you in love with him?"
"What!" said Mrs. Tice, laughing, "with that rat of a man? No, my
dear: I had better taste."
This was conclusive, and Dora was satisfied that, whoever had played
the part of heroine in her guardian's romance, it was not Mrs. Tice.