ROBIN'S VOW.
The revelation at the inquest had affected Mr. Verner in no measured
degree, greatly increasing, for the time, his bodily ailments. He gave
orders to be denied to all callers; he could not bear the comments that
would be made. An angry, feverish desire to find out who had played the
traitor grew strong within him. Innocent, pretty, child-like Rachel! who
was it that had set himself, in his wickedness, deliberately to destroy
her? Mr. Verner now deemed it more than likely that she had been the
author of her own death. It was of course impossible to tell: but he
dwelt on that part of the tragedy less than on the other. The one injury
was uncertain; the other was a fact.
What rendered it all the more obscure was the absence of any previous
grounds of suspicion. Rachel had never been observed to be on terms of
intimacy with any one. Luke Roy had been anxious to court her, as
Verner's Pride knew; but Rachel had utterly repudiated the wish. Luke it
was not. And who else was there?
The suspicions of Mr. Verner veered, almost against his will, towards
those of his own household. Not to Lionel; he honestly believed Lionel
to be too high-principled: but towards his step-sons. He had no
particular cause to suspect either of them, unless the testimony of Mrs.
Duff's son about the tall gentleman could furnish it; and it may be said
that his suspicion strayed to them only from the total absence of any
other quarter to fix it upon. Of the two, he could rather fix upon John,
than Frederick. No scandal, touching Frederick, had ever reached his
ears: plenty of it touching John. In fact, Mr. Verner was rather glad to
help in shipping John off to some faraway place, for he considered him
no credit to Verner's Pride, or benefit to the neighbourhood. Venial
sins sat lightly on the conscience of John Massingbird.
But this was no venial sin, no case of passing scandal; and Mr. Verner
declared to that gentleman that if he found him guilty, he would discard
him from Verner's Pride without a shilling of help. John Massingbird
protested, in the strongest terms, that he was innocent as Mr. Verner
himself.
A trifling addition was destined to be brought to the suspicion already
directed by Mr. Verner towards Verner's Pride. On the night of the
inquest Mr. Verner had his dinner served in his study--the wing of a
fowl, of which he ate about a fourth part. Mrs. Tynn attended on him: he
liked her to do so when he was worse than usual. He was used to her, and
he would talk to her when he would not to others. He spoke about what
had happened, saying that he felt as if it would shorten his life. He
would give anything, he added, half in self-soliloquy, to have the
point cleared up of who it was young Duff had seen in the lane. Mrs.
Tynn answered this, lowering her voice.
"It was one of our young gentlemen, sir; there's, no doubt of it. Dolly
saw one of them come in."
"Dolly did!" echoed Mr. Verner.
Mrs. Tynn proceeded to explain. Dolly, the dairymaid at Verner's Pride,
was ill-conducted enough (as Mrs. Tynn would tell her, for the fact did
not give that ruling matron pleasure) to have a sweetheart. Worse still,
Dolly was in the habit of stealing out to meet him when he left work,
which was at eight o'clock. On the evening of the accident, Dolly,
abandoning her dairy, and braving the wrath of Mrs. Tynn, should she be
discovered, stole out to a sheltered spot in the rear of the house, the
usual meeting-place. Scarcely was she ensconced here when the swain
arrived; who, it may be remarked, _en passant_, filled the important
post of waggoner to Mr. Bitterworth. The spot was close to the small
green gate which led to the lane already spoken of; it led to that only;
and, while he and Dolly were talking and making love, after their own
rustic fashion, they saw Dan Duff come from the direction of the house,
and pass through the gate, whistling. A short while subsequently the
gate was heard to open again. Dolly looked out, and saw what she took to
be one of the gentlemen come in, _from_ the lane, walking very fast.
Dolly looked but casually, the moonlight was obscured there, and she did
not particularly notice _which_ of them it was; whether Mr. Lionel, or
either of Mrs. Verner's sons. But the impression received into her mind
was that it was one of the three; and Dolly could not be persuaded out
of that to this very day.
"Hush--sh--sh!" cried she to her sweetheart, "it's one o' the young
masters."
The quick steps passed on: but whether they turned into the yard, or
took the side path which would conduct round to the front entrance, or
bore right across, and so went out into the public road, Dolly did not
notice. Very shortly after this--time passes swiftly when people are
courting, of which fact the Italians have a proverb--Dan Duff came
bursting back again, calling, and crying, and telling the tidings of
Rachel Frost. This was the substance of what Mrs. Tynn told Mr. Verner.
"Dolly said nothing of this before!" he exclaimed.
"Not she, sir. She didn't dare confess that she'd been off all that
while from her dairy. She let drop a word, and I have got it out of her
piecemeal. I have threatened her, sir, that if ever she mentions it
again, I'll get her turned off."
"Why did you threaten her?" he hastily asked.
Mrs. Tynn dropped her voice. "I thought it might not be pleasant to have
it talked of, sir. She thinks I'm only afraid of the neglect of work
getting to the ears of Mrs. Verner."
This was the trifling addition. Not very much in itself, but it served
to bear out the doubts Mr. Verner already entertained. Was it John or
was it Frederick who had come in? Or was it--Lionel? There appeared to
be no more certainty that it was one than another. Mr. Verner had
minutely inquired into the proceedings of John and Frederick Massingbird
that night, and he had come to the conclusion that both could have been
in the lane at that particular hour. Frederick, previously to entering
the house for his dinner, after he had left the veterinary surgeon's,
Poynton; John, before he paid his visit to the Royal Oak. John appeared
to have called in at several places, and his account was not
particularly clear. Lionel, Mr. Verner had not thought it necessary to
question. He sent for him as soon as his dinner-tray was cleared away:
it was as well to be indisputably sure of him before fastening the
charge on either of the others.
"Sit down, Lionel," said Mr. Verner. "I want to talk to you. Had you
finished your dinner?"
"Quite, thank you. You look very ill to-night," Lionel added, as he drew
a chair to the fire; and his tone insensibly became gentle, as he gazed
on his uncle's pale face.
"How can I look otherwise? This trouble is worrying me to death. Lionel,
I have discovered, beyond doubt, that it was one of you young men who
was in the lane that night."
Lionel, who was then leaning over the fire, turned his head with a
quick, surprised gesture towards Mr. Verner. The latter proceeded to
tell Lionel the substance of the communication made to him by Mrs. Tynn.
Lionel sat, bending forward, his elbow on his knee, and his fingers
unconsciously running amidst the curls of his dark chestnut hair, as he
listened to it. He did not interrupt the narrative, or speak at its
conclusion.
"You see, Lionel, it appears certain to have been some one belonging to
this house."
"Yes, sir. Unless Dolly was mistaken."
"Mistaken as to what?" sharply asked Mr. Verner, who, when he made up
his own mind that a thing was so-and-so, could not bear to be opposed.
"Mistaken that some one came in at the gate?"
"I do not see how she could be mistaken in that," replied Lionel. "I
meant mistaken as to its being any one belonging to the house."
_"Is_ it likely that any one would come in at that gate at night, unless
they belonged to the house, or were coming to the house?" retorted Mr.
Verner. "Would a stranger drop from the clouds to come in at it? Or was
it Di Roy's 'ghost,' think you?" he sarcastically added.
Lionel did not answer. He vacantly ran his fingers through his hair,
apparently in deep thought.
"I have abstained from asking you the explicit details of your movements
on that evening," continued Mr. Verner, "but I must demand them of you
now."
Lionel started up, his cheek on fire. "Sir," he uttered, with emotion,
"you cannot suspect _me_ of having had act or part in it! I declare,
before Heaven, that Rachel was as sacred for me--"
"Softly, Lionel," interrupted Mr. Verner, "there's no cause for you to
break your head against a wheel. It is not you whom I suspect--thank
God! But I wish to be sure of your movements--to be able to speak of
them as sure, you understand--before I accuse another."
"I will willingly tell you every movement of mine that evening, so far
as I remember," said Lionel, resuming his calmness. "I came home when
dinner was half over. I had been detained--but you know all that," he
broke off. "When you left the dining-room, I went on to the terrace, and
sat there smoking a cigar. I should think I stayed there an hour, or
more; and then I went upstairs, changed my coat, and proceeded to Mr.
Bitterworth's."
"What took you to Mr. Bitterworth's that evening, Lionel?"
Lionel hesitated. He did not choose to say, "Because I knew Sibylla West
was to be there;" but that would have been the true answer. "I had
nothing particular to do with my evening, so I went up," he said aloud.
"Mr. Bitterworth was out. Mrs. Bitterworth thought he had gone into
Deerham."
"Yes. He was at Deerham when the alarm was given, and hastened on here.
Sibylla West was there, was she not?"
"She was there," said Lionel. "She had promised to be home early; and,
as no one came for her, I saw her home. It was after I left her that I
heard what had occurred."
"About what time did you get there--I mean to Bitterworth's?" questioned
Mr. Verner, who appeared to have his thoughts filled with other things
at that moment than with Sibylla West.
"I cannot be sure," replied Lionel. "I think it must have been nine
o'clock. I went into Deerham to the post-office, and then came back to
Bitterworth's."
Mr. Verner mused.
"Lionel," he observed, "it is a curious thing, but there's not one of
you but might have been the party to the quarrel that night; so, far as
that your time cannot be positively accounted for by minutes and by
hours. I mean, were the accusation brought publicly against you, you
would, none of you, be able to prove a distinct _alibi_, as it seems to
me. For instance, who is to prove that you did not, when you were
sitting on the terrace, steal across to a rendezvous at the Willow Pond,
or cut across to it when you were at the post-office at Deerham?"
"I certainly did _not_," said Lionel quietly, taking the remarks only as
they were meant--for an illustration. "It might, sir, as you observe, be
difficult to prove a decided _alibi_. But"--he rose and bent to Mr.
Verner, with a bright smile, a clear, truthful eye--"I do not think you
need one to believe me."
"No, Lionel, I do not. Is John Massingbird in the dining-room?"
"He was when I left it."
"Then go and send him to me."
John Massingbird was found and despatched to Mr. Verner, without any
reluctance on his own part. He had been bestowing hard words upon Lionel
for "taking up the time of the old man" just on the evening when he
wanted to take it up himself. The truth was, John Massingbird was
intending to depart the following morning, the Fates and Mr. Verner
permitting him.
Their interview was a long one. Two hours, full, had they been closeted
together when Robin Frost made his appearance again at Verner's Pride,
and craved once more an interview with Mr. Verner. "If it was only for a
minute--only for a minute!" he implored.
Remembering the overwhelming sorrow which had fallen on the man, Lionel
did not like again to deny him without first asking Mr. Verner. He went
himself to the study.
"Come in," called out Mr. Verner, in answer to the knock.
He was sitting in his chair as usual; John Massingbird was standing up,
his elbow on the mantle-piece. That their conversation must have been of
an exciting nature was evident, and Lionel could not help noticing the
signs. John Massingbird had a scarlet streak on his sallow cheek, never
seen there above once or twice in his life, and then caused by deep
emotion. Mr. Verner, on his part, looked livid. Robin Frost might come
in.
Lionel called him, and he came in with Frederick Massingbird.
The man could hardly speak for agitation. He believed the verdict could
not be set aside, he said; others had told him so besides Mr. Lionel. He
had come to ask if Mr. Verner would offer a reward.
"A reward!" repeated Mr. Verner mechanically, with the air of a man
whose mind is far away.
"If you'd please to offer it, sir, I'd work the flesh off my bones to
pay it back again," he urged. "I'll live upon a crust myself, and I'll
keep my home upon a crust, but what I'll get it up. If there's a reward
pasted up, sir, we might come upon the villain."
Mr. Verner appeared, then, to awake to the question before him, and to
awake to it in terrible excitement.
"He'll never be found, Robin--the villain will never be found, so long
as you and I and the world shall last!"
They looked at him in consternation--Lionel, Frederick Massingbird, and
Robin Frost. Mr. Verner recollected himself, and calmed his spirit down.
"I mean, Robin," he more quietly said, "that a reward will be useless.
The villain has been too cunning, rely upon it, to--to--leave his traces
behind him."
"It might be tried, sir," respectfully urged Robin. "I'd work--"
"You can come up to-morrow, Robin, and I'll talk with you," interrupted
Mr. Verner. "I am too ill--too much upset to-night. Come at any hour you
please, after twelve, and I will see you."
"I'll come, sir. I've registered a vow afore my old father," went on
Robin, lifting his right arm, "and I register it again afore you,
sir--afore our future master, Mr. Lionel--that I'll never leave a stone
unturned by night nor by day, that I'll make it my first and foremost
business in life to find that man. And when I've found him--let him be
who he will--either him or me shall die. So help me--"
"Be still, Robin!" passionately interposed Mr. Verner, in a voice that
startled the man. "Vows are bad things. I have found them so."
"It was registered afore, sir," significantly answered Robin, as he
turned away. "I'll be up here to-morrow."
The morrow brought forth two departures from Verner's Pride. John
Massingbird started for London in pursuit of his journey, Mr. Verner
having behaved to him liberally. And Lionel Verner was summoned in hot
haste to Paris, where his brother had just met with an accident, and was
supposed to be lying between life and death.