IT seemed strange, at first, to the good people of Harleyford to see
young Lord Hardcastle and the rector’s son daily in close and friendly
intercourse, accustomed, as they were, to see each politely ignored by
the other, or else spoken of in terms of supercilious contempt. It was
certainly a strange sight to see the young men constantly walking side
by side in earnest conversation, or else riding to and from each
other’s houses. Lord Hardcastle’s weakness had hitherto been
near-sightedness whenever Varley had happened to cross his path.
“Who was that you recognized just now?” he would say to a companion, if
he happened to have one at the time, and on being informed it was the
rector’s son, would remark, carelessly—
“Oh, the young giant whose brains have run into muscle; let us talk of
something interesting.”
Frank Varley, in his turn, would speak in no measured terms of “that
kid-gloved dandy—that embodiment of priggishness and polite
literature.”
But now all was changed. A common sorrow had drawn them to each other,
and their intense and true love for, and devotion to poor Amy, had
rendered them so far unselfish as to enable them to work together with
determination and courage.
Mr. Warden’s reply to their letter had been a brief, “Come and see me;
we will talk the matter over.” And arm in arm the young men had
responded to his invitation.
“I am very grateful to you both,” was Mr. Warden’s greeting, “I know
not how to express my thanks; but what can any one do that has not been
already done?”
“See here, Mr. Warden,” broke in Frank, impetuously, “I don’t care what
other people have or have not done, I must do something. I shall go mad
if I sit here idle any longer. I have no doubt that detective fellow
you had from London did his work superlatively well, but still it is
possible he may have left something undone. Let me ride through your
plantations once more; let me have men down here, and drag over again
that cursed water, yonder.” He pointed through the window to a silvery
little stream which flowed at the bottom of Mr. Warden’s lawn and
flower garden. Deep water it was here and there, and here and there
clogged with long grasses and rushes; but on and on it went, until at
length it fell into the noble river upon which the town of Dunwich is
built.
“My poor fellow, do it if you will,” is Mr. Warden’s reply, “do it a
hundred times over, if it is any gratification to you; I fear the
result will be the same to your efforts as to mine. But tell me in your
turn, have you nothing to suggest? You, Lord Hardcastle, have the
reputation of having more brains than most of us, tell me if you can
propose anything to lighten this terrible time of suspense? Have you
thought well over the possibilities and impossibilities of this
dreadful affair, and do you see any glimmer of hope anywhere for us?”
“Have I thought well over it?” repeats Hardcastle; “you might better
ask me, ‘do I ever think of anything else?’ for day and night no other
thought ever enters my mind; hour after hour do I sit thinking over,
and weighing in turn, each circumstance, however slight, which has
occurred in connection with the loss of your daughter. I have looked at
the matter, not only from my own point of view, and worked out my own
theories threadbare, but have endeavoured to put myself, as it were, in
other people’s bodies, to hear the matter with their ears, and see it
with their eyes! and then have I exhausted every possible or impossible
theory which they might have. Nowhere, alas, can I see any clue to the
mystery. Indeed, each day that passes renders it more terrible and
difficult. It is impossible she can be dead”—
He pauses abruptly; large drops of perspiration stand out upon his
forehead, and his outstretched hand trembles with suppressed emotion.
“Had she been lying dead anywhere in the whole land, her body would by
this time have been brought to you, or at any rate news of how and
where she died.”
“Hush, hush!” breaks in Mr. Warden pitifully, as, pale and tottering,
he catches hold of Lord Hardcastle’s arm; “don’t speak to me in this
way, Hardcastle, or you will kill me outright; this last month has made
an old man of me, and a feather’s weight would knock me over now. If
you can see more clearly than any of us what lies in the future, for
mercy’s sake hold back the blow as long as possible.”
There is a pause of some minutes; at last, Varley jumps to his feet,
impatiently—
“For Heaven’s sake, my dear fellow,” he exclaims, “don’t croak any more
than you can help, but help us a little with your wisdom and advice. I
have Mr. Warden’s permission to travel over the old ground again, and
we are to commence this very hour; tell us what you purpose doing?”
“I shall wait and watch,” replies Hardcastle, unconsciously repeating
Mr. Hill’s own words, “the clue will discover itself somewhere,
somehow, when we least expect it; here, more likely, than anywhere
else; and it needs a hearing ear and a seeing eye to seize and follow
it up. You may wander hither and thither, if you will, I shall remain
here, and wait and watch.”
“Strange,” said Mr. Warden, musingly, “your words are the echo of what
was said to me yesterday, by the professional detective I employed.”
Then he related to them in detail the examination of the servants by
Mr. Hill, and his parting advice.
“Have the girl, Williams, in at once, Mr. Warden,” exclaims Frank,
“question her as to what she has, or has not done; let me,” he adds,
eagerly, “ask her one or two questions; depend upon it, they will be to
the point.”
But to this the two other gentlemen object, Mr. Warden considering it
an unjust thing to attach suspicion to the girl on account of the
misdeeds of her brother; and Lord Hardcastle alleging that by so doing
they would defeat their own object by putting the girl on her guard.
“Let us wait and watch,” once more he implores. But Frank shakes his
head, “Waiting and watching may suit some men,” he says, “but for me it
is an impossibility. I must do something, and at once, or I shall blow
my brains out; that is, if I have any,” he adds, with a grim smile, and
a shrug of his shoulders.
Forthwith he departs to organize a body of volunteers once more to
scour the whole county—to search commons and through woods—to cut fern
and furze from shady hollows and dark corners, where, by any chance, a
secret might be hidden. Once more to drag rivers and streams, and
search under hedges, and in reed-grown ditches; and finally to question
and re-question every man, woman, and child far or near, as to their
recollection of the day’s occurrences of the 14th of August.
This was the plan of action Frank had sketched out for himself, and
bravely indeed, did he carry it out. Volunteers by the score came
forward, for the sympathy expressed for Mr. Warden was heartfelt, and
Amy’s loss had cast a gloom over the whole county. Not a man or woman
in the country side but what would have gone to the other end of the
world to have lifted from the sorrowing father and mother this dark
cloud of suspense. As for the young lady herself, they would have laid
down their lives for her; for her kindly, pleasant ways and pretty
queenly airs, had won all hearts. And thus, high and low, rich and
poor joined hands with Frank Varley, and searched with a will, working
early, and working late—earnest men, at earnest work.