THE STEP IN THE WRONG DIRECTION.
It was a curious fact that everyone who spoke of Mr. Freeman, wound up
their description of him by saying that he had something on his
mind;--but what that something was, or by what means they had
ascertained the fact, or why they had come to that conclusion, they
could not tell. There was, certainly, some mystery about him, inasmuch
as he kept a good deal to himself, and generally appeared thoughtful and
taciturn. He had come to St. Just from some distant part of England,
many years before, and had bought the house in which he resided, and
lived there alone for some time. Then Miss Freeman came. He called her
his sister;--some said she was his wife; but, as neither of them cared
much what was said about them, gossips got tired at last, and allowed
them to be what they were--brother and sister.
Years rolled on; and Mr. and Miss Freeman continued to reside at St.
Just, and to mix occasionally with the people, but no one seemed really
to know them a bit better than they did at first. Their motto seemed to
be, "to hear, see, and be silent."
One hot summer, an epidemic broke out in the parish. There was no doctor
nearer at that time than Penzance. It was too expensive for the poor to
send for him at such a distance, and many of them died for want of
medical assistance.
Mr. Freeman did not, at first, take much notice of it,--he kept aloof.
At length, a boy who went errands for him, and did other jobs, caught
the infection. Mr. Freeman went to see him, and gave him some medicine
which cured him. This got abroad, and Mr. Freeman was sought after, and
he cured many others.
When the epidemic among the human beings was over, there came one among
the cattle and pigs. It was rumoured that the evil eye was upon them,
and that they were ill-wished. Mr. Freeman was applied to again. He had
been reading the minds of the people, and getting at their secrets while
he was attending them. And, storing up in his memory the petty strifes
and bickerings among them, he could tell pretty nearly how they were
affected towards each other; and the little boy he had cured of the
fever, and who was now his factotum, assisted him; so that, by a few
lucky cures of their cattle, and a very slight hint at someone with whom
the ill-wished party was at variance, the ill-wisher was sufficiently
indicated to procure "The Maister"--as he was now beginning to be
designated--a brilliant reputation, which he profited by considerably;
and the people feared him and honoured him, for his wonderful knowledge
and ability;--but, notwithstanding all his skill, everyone thought that
"The Maister" had something upon his mind. The brother and sister were
an odd pair,--no one could understand them,--and so they ceased to be
much talked about after a time. Their movements were very uncertain.
They would lock up the house and go away, and stay away for weeks,
sometimes. Some of their neighbours wished they would stay away
altogether; but they would not venture to say so, even to themselves;
for they believed that "The Maister" could read their very thoughts
almost.
Years rolled on; and one day, Miss Freeman, having been absent longer
than usual, brought home a beautiful young lady with her. Here was food
for another gossip. Who was she? She was not like Miss Freeman, nor was
she much like "The Maister;" but they were told she was his daughter. He
had been left a widower when Alrina was very young, Miss Freeman said,
and so she had been at school ever since, agreeably to her mother's
dying request. Gossip wore itself out in this instance also; and Alrina
was allowed to settle down as Mr. Freeman's daughter,--indeed, there was
no one to dispute it; why should they?
The idle gossip of a country village may suggest and insinuate many
things; but the proof is generally wanting when they come to the test.
Miss Freeman went to fetch the young lady, certainly;--and why not?
Gossip was at fault, and Alrina resided quietly with her father and
aunt.
Whether Mr. Freeman intended to prevent his daughter from having any
intercourse at all with young men of about her own age, or whether he
had any objection to Frederick Morley individually, certain it is, that,
as soon as he discovered their meetings, he contrived to confine his
daughter to the house, by giving her some powerful narcotic. And,
leaving her in the care of his sister, he went to Portagnes, to make
arrangements for their removal to the house of Capt. Cooper, which was
more calculated for seclusion and confinement than his own.
The two men were well suited to each other, and played a good game.
Capt. Cooper was bold, rough, and daring, and was the captain of a nice
little vessel in which Mr. Freeman held a large share. And in this he
would go across the water for contraband goods, and Mr. Freeman assisted
him in disposing of them in some of the large towns where he had
friends;--and many a daring adventure had Capt. Cooper been engaged in,
and many a clever run had he made, and evaded the officers of the
customs, and effected landings almost under their very eyes. His house
was a very large one; and underneath, there were commodious cellars,
which were of great use in concealing the contraband goods.
Why Frederick Morley's appearance at the Land's-End had made these men
so uneasy, it is difficult to say. He was a soldier, and was on intimate
terms of friendship with Lieut. Fowler, the avowed enemy of smuggling;
and, if allowed to meet Alrina as a lover, secrets might be told which
she could not help knowing, they thought. This was one reason, perhaps,
why they wished to get rid of him. But they hadn't succeeded yet. Mr.
Freeman tried the ride on the mare to the Land's-End point, but the
rider was preserved. Now he was completely in their power, but they were
puzzled what to do with him. Alrina had been removed out of his way
again, and the secret of his being there had been kept from her, but the
boy knew it. He was the first who discovered him, when he was lying
insensible under the garden wall. The boy was useful to them, but they
feared him; for he knew too much, and, with all their shrewdness, they
could not fathom him. He might betray them any day. He knew enough of
their secrets; and, although he knew nothing criminal against them, he
was a check upon them,--otherwise Cooper would not have hesitated to get
rid of their troublesome visitor very quickly. Mr. Freeman, too, might
have got rid of him by allowing him to perish when they found him
outside the garden wall, wounded; but both the woman and the boy would
have procured medical aid, if he had not used his utmost skill in
restoring him,--and this would not have suited Mr. Freeman at all just
at that time and in that place; so he used his utmost skill, and cured
him, and there he lay a prisoner still.
That unfortunate girl, before mentioned, had been a source of profit to
them all, notwithstanding her infirmity. Cooper and his wife had had her
in their keeping from her infancy. The neighbours thought she was their
own child; but they always called her their niece, and the poor girl was
pitied for her dreadful calamity, and for the unkindness with which most
people knew she was treated.
At stated periods, Miss Freeman would go to Ashley Hall, or wherever
Mrs. Courland happened to be, and work upon her fears, as she best knew
how; for Miss Freeman was a shrewd and cunning woman, and the best
suited of the party for an expedition of this kind. And the dread of her
husband's knowing her secret, generally induced Mrs. Courland to comply
with the exorbitant demands made upon her. She had been applied to for a
large sum, but without effect, for she candidly told them that she had
not the money. This did not satisfy them. They wanted a large sum for a
particular purpose, and they might not be able to come again for some
time. They did not believe Mrs. Courland's statement, that she had not
the money; and, in order to terrify her into compliance, the girl was
brought and left on her hands, as we have seen.
A tender chord was struck in the heart of Mrs. Courland by that look of
penitence and sorrow which the poor afflicted girl put on, when she
found that she had injured one who bore the pain without resentment.
When the poor girl dropped on her knees, and gave vent, to her feelings
by a gush of tears, the lady yearned towards her, and, looking at her
with compassion, she said, "Yes, it may be so;"--and, from that moment,
she made up her mind to keep the poor creature with her, and teach her
all she was capable of learning. She would, by this, be preserving the
girl from the ill-treatment which she saw by her countenance and manner
whilst the woman was in the room she had evidently been subject to, and
she would also, by this act, save herself from the continual annoyance
of this woman's visits and importunity. She might keep this poor girl as
a dependant, and account for her presence there, by saying that she came
into the garden through the little private door from the lane, and fell
on her knees in a supplicating attitude, which she (Mrs. Courland)
understood to mean, "Take care of me,"--and she had taken care of her,
out of compassion. This was, in fact, true, as far as it went; and of
course the girl herself could not betray her. So, instead of concealing
the girl in the little inner room, as she had intended, she sent for her
niece and told her the tale.
It seemed so romantic, that Miss Morley was delighted, and amused
herself by trying to talk to the girl by signs, which she soon found she
understood with remarkable quickness; for, in all but the power of
speech and hearing, she was shrewd and intelligent. This was a new
occupation for Mrs. Courland; it opened out a new life to her; it
relieved her mind from the anxieties which had almost overwhelmed her
before.
Her husband might come now,--she was not afraid of the tales of her
persecutors. She knew the worst, and was no longer harassed by suspense.
She could tell him as much or as little as she pleased,--her silent
protége could not enlighten him further; and the people she so much
dreaded before, she would not admit to her presence again.
A suitable wardrobe was procured for the delighted girl; and Julia,
assisted by Mrs. Courland's own attendant, succeeded in making her look
quite presentable in a short time. They were very much amused at her
utter astonishment, when she looked at herself in the glass, after they
had dressed her and arranged her hair, according to the "mode,"--she
could not make it out at all. She looked into the glass and smiled, as
if pleased with the change, and then looked round, as if trying to find
her former self. They then proceeded to teach her how to conduct herself
in keeping with her dress, especially in the etiquette of eating and
drinking among well-bred people; and it was astonishing, how soon she
learned all they wished to teach her. The next puzzle was to find a name
for her; and, as she seemed remarkably fond of flowers, they called her
"Flora;"--not that it made any difference to her, poor girl, whether she
had a name or not; but it enabled her kind friends to designate her the
better when speaking of her.
Mr. Morley and Josiah, in the meantime, had effected an entrance into
the deserted house, through the window in the end, which entered into
the bedroom on the ground floor. One glance sufficed to convince Mr.
Morley that this was the house,--he had heard it described so often by
his father. There were dark marks on the floor still, and the bed was
blood-stained, although time had softened it down into a faint tinge
only.
That bed appeared never to have been touched since that fatal night,
except to remove the dead body of the murdered man from it; and the
other rooms also seemed as if they had been lately occupied, except that
everything was covered with dust and cobwebs, and the rats and mice had
made sad inroads into the bed-curtains and everything that they could
convert into food, or make an impression on with their sharp teeth. An
old rat came out of one of the bedrooms to meet them as they mounted the
stairs, and seemed astonished and indignant at the intrusion; but when
he saw that the intruders were not to be daunted by looks of defiance,
he turned and scampered back again to his old quarters between the
blankets. The beds had remained as they were when the fugitives left;
and on turning down the covering of the bed to which the rat had
directed its course, Josiah discovered a nest of young rats comfortably
settled. They soon scampered off, however, and, in their retreat, roused
others; and there was a precious noise through the house, as the inmates
rattled downstairs. No wonder that the house had the name of being
haunted. These noises had been heard before, no doubt, when some daring
thief had attempted to get in to rob it; and their superstitious fears
preserved the house and its contents from invasion. It was very easy to
account for the last occupiers having left all things as they were; for
they were, no doubt, glad to get away as soon as possible, after they
had thrown the scent off from themselves by accusing another; and Mr.
Morley's money, which they must have taken with them, was amply
sufficient to compensate them for the loss of the house and furniture,
and to provide them with all they would require for a very long time.
The rooms were all in the same state. Some of the drawers and cupboards
were partially open, while others were locked, but the keys had been
left in them. Everything betokened a hasty flight. In some of the
drawers were found a few articles of clothing, both male and female; but
these were moth-eaten and discoloured. There were no papers of any kind
to serve as a clue to the discovery of the parties.
In searching one of the drawers in what appeared to have been the
bedroom of a female, Josiah found a gold earring, of a peculiar pattern,
with a small diamond in the drop end of it. This he put into his pocket,
with the intention of giving it to the dumb girl, to amuse her; for all
the household, at Ashley Hall, had already begun to take an interest in
her, and she was getting quite at home with them, and familiar with
every part of the house, and she could now make herself understood,
without much difficulty. Mr. Morley thought it was very strange that
such a valuable ornament should be found in such a house. Those
earrings, however, might have been a present from some rich lady for
services performed. The other earring might have been lost; or this may
have been a stray one, taken in a hurry, among other trinkets, which the
owners of that house might have appropriated to themselves from time to
time, when they found an opportunity; for it was evident, from the
circumstances that had occurred in connection with that murder, that
plunder was their principal object.
When Josiah gave Flora the ornament in the evening, she looked at it at
first with pleasure, and thanked the donor in her way. She then took it
into another part of the room, and examined it more minutely, and
admired every part of it. At last she gave a start, and her countenance
became overclouded with an expression of terror and pain. This was in
the servants' hall. And, running up to Josiah, she became quite
outrageous, pointing to the ornament as if in anger; and then, making a
sign, as if she thought it had come from a long way off, she threw it on
the floor, and would have stamped on it, had not Josiah snatched it up.
They could not at all understand what she meant. Josiah was about to put
the earring into his pocket again, when she snatched it out of his hand,
and ran out of the room. Nothing more was heard or seen of the ornament;
and so they supposed she had thrown it away or destroyed it.
Mr. Morley was now beginning to feel uneasy about his brother; for he
had heard from his friend Fowler twice, and in both letters he said he
had seen nothing of Frederick. So Mr. Morley determined to return to
Cornwall again without delay.