Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [epub ebook reader .TXT] 📗
- Author: Mary Elizabeth Braddon
- Performer: -
Book online «Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [epub ebook reader .TXT] 📗». Author Mary Elizabeth Braddon
suspicions concerning Black Milsom to the test of proof. Unwearied
search had been made for the old man who had played the part of
grandfather to the beautiful ballad-singer; but it had been wholly
ineffectual. All that could be ascertained concerning him was, that he
had died in a hospital, in a country town on the great northern road,
and that the girl had wandered away from there, and never more been
heard of. Of Black Milsom, Joyce Harker had never lost sight, until his
career received a temporary check by the sentence of transportation,
which had sent the ruffian out of the country. But all efforts of the
faithful watcher had failed to discover the missing link in the
evidence which connected Black Milsom with Valentine Jernam’s death.
All his watching and questioning—all his silent noting of the idle
talk around him—all his eager endeavour to take Dennis Wayman
unawares, failed to enable him to obtain evidence of that one fact of
which he was convinced—the fact that Valentine Jernam had been at the
public-house in Ratcliff Highway on the day of his death.
When the inutility of his endeavours became clear to Joyce Harker, he
gave up his lodging in Wayman’s house, and located himself in modest
apartments at Poplar, where he transacted a great deal of business for
George Jernam, and maintained a constant, though unprofitable,
communication with the detective officer to whom he had confided the
task of investigation, and who was no other than Mr. Andrew Larkspur.
In one of the earliest of the numerous letters which George Jernam
addressed to Harker, after the death of Valentine, the merchant-captain
had given his zealous friend and assistant certain instructions
concerning the old aunt to whom the two desolate boys had owed so much
in their ill-treated childhood, and whom they had so well and
constantly requited in their prosperous manhood. These instructions
included a request that Joyce Harker would visit Susan Jernam in
person, and furnish George with details relative to that venerable
lady’s requirements, looks, health, and general circumstances.
“I should have seen the good old soul, you know,” wrote George, “when I
was to have seen poor Val; but it didn’t please God that the one thing
should come off any more than the other, and it can’t be helped. But I
should like you to run down to Allanbay and look her up, and let her
know that she is neither neglected nor forgotten by her vagabond
nephew.”
So Joyce Harker went down to the Devonshire village, and introduced
himself to George Jernam’s aunt. The old lady was much altered since
she had last welcomed a visitor to her pretty, cheerful cottage, and
had listened with simple surprise and pleasure to her nephew
Valentine’s tales of the sea, and they had talked together over the
troublous days of his unhappy childhood. The untimely and tragic death
of the merchant-captain had afflicted her deeply, and had filled her
mind with sentiments which, though they differed in degree, closely
resembled in their nature those of Joyce Harker. The determination to
be revenged upon the murderers of “her boy” which Harker expressed,
found a ready echo in the breast of his hearer, and she thanked him
warmly for his devotion to the master he had lost. Strong mutual liking
grew up between these two, and when her visitor left her—after having
carried out all George’s wishes in respect to her, on the scale of
liberality which the grateful nephew had dictated—Susan Jernam gave
him a cordial invitation to pass any leisure time he might have at the
cottage, though, as she remarked—
“I am not very lively company, Mr. Harker, for you or anybody, for I
can’t talk of anything but George and poor Valentine.”
“And I don’t care to talk of much else either, Mrs. Jernam,” said
Harker, in reply; “so, you see, we couldn’t possibly be better company
for each other.”
Thus it happened that a second tie between George Jernam and Joyce
Harker arose, in the person of the sole surviving relative of the
former, and that Joyce had made three visits to the pretty sea-side
village in which the childhood of his dead friend and his living patron
had been passed, before he and George Jernam met again on English
ground.
When at length that long-deferred meeting took place, Valentine
Jernam’s murder was a mystery rather more than five years old, and Mr.
Andrew Larkspur had made no progress towards its solution. He had been
obliged to acknowledge to Joyce Harker that he had not struck the right
trail, and to confess that he had begun to despond. The disappearance
of Black Milsom from among the congenial society of thieves and
ruffians which he frequented was, of course, easily accounted for by
Mr. Larkspur, and the absence of any, even the slightest, additional
clue to the fate of Jernam, confirmed that astute person in the
conviction, which he had reached early in the course of his
confabulations with Harker, that the convict was the guilty man. There
was, on this hypothesis, nothing for it but to wait until the worthy
exile should have worked out his time and once more returned to grace
his mother-country, and then to resume the close watch which, though
hitherto ineffectual, might in time bring some of his former deeds to
light.
Such was the state of affairs when Captain Duncombe bought the deserted
house which had had such undesirable tenants, first in the person of
old Screwton, the miser, and, secondly, of Black Milsom. Joyce Harker
was aware of the transaction, and had watched with some interest the
transformation of the dreary, dismal, doomed place, into the cheery,
comfortable, middle-class residence it had now become. If he had known
that the last hours of Valentine Jernam’s life had been passed on that
spot, that there his beloved master had met with a violent and cruel
death, with what different feelings he would have watched the work! But
though, as the former dwelling of Black Milsom, the cottage had a
dreary attraction for him, he was far from imagining that within its
walls lay hidden one infallible clue to the secret for which he had
sought so long and so vainly.
The new occupant of River View Cottage was acquainted with Joyce
Harker, and held the solitary old man in some esteem. Captain Joe
Duncombe and the prot�g� of the Jernams had nothing whatever in
common in character, disposition, or manners, and the distance in the
social scale which divided the prosperous merchant-captain from the
poor, though clever, dependent, was considerable, even according to the
not very strict standard of manners observed by persons of their
respective classes. But Joe Duncombe knew and heartily liked George
Jernam. He had been in England at the time of Valentine’s murder, and
he had then learned the faithful and active part played by Harker. He
had lost sight of the man for some time, but when he had bought the
cottage, and during the progress of the changes and improvements he had
made in that unprepossessing dwelling, accident had thrown Harker in
his way, and they had found much to discuss in George Jernam’s
prosperity, in his generous treatment of Harker, in the general
condition of the merchant service, which the two men declared to be
going to the dogs, after the manner of all professions, trades, and
institutions of every age and every clime, when contemplated from a
conversational point of view; and in the honest captain’s plans, hopes,
and prospects concerning his daughter.
Joyce Harker had seen Rosamond Duncombe occasionally, but had not taken
much notice of her. Nor had Miss Duncombe been much impressed by that
gentleman. Joyce was not a lady’s man, and Rosamond, who entertained a
rather disrespectful notion of her father’s acquaintances in general,
classing them collectively as “old fogies,” contented herself with
distinguishing Mr. Harker as the ugliest and grimmest of the lot. Joyce
came and went, not very often indeed, but very freely to River View
Cottage, and there was much confidence and good-fellowship between the
bluff old seaman and the more acute, but not less honest, adventurer.
There was, however, one circumstance which Captain Duncombe never
mentioned to Harker. That circumstance was the apparition of old
Screwton’s ghost. Joe Duncombe was, to tell the truth, a little ashamed
of his credulity on that occasion. He entertained no doubt that he had
been victimized by a clever practical joke, and while he chuckled over
the recollection that it had been an expensive jest to the perpetrator,
who had lost a valuable gold coin by the transaction, he had no fancy
for exposing himself to any further ridicule on the occasion. So the
bluff, imperious, soft-hearted captain issued an ukase commanding
silence on the subject; and silence was observed, not in the least
because Rosamond Duncombe or Susan Trott were afraid of him, but
because Rosamond loved her father, and Susan Trott respected her master
too much to disobey his lightest wish.
There was also one circumstance which Joyce Harker never mentioned to
Captain Duncombe. This circumstance was the identity of the former
occupant of the cottage with the man whom he believed to be the
murderer of Valentine Jernam.
“It is bad enough to live in a place that’s said to be haunted,” said
Harker to himself, when he visited the cottage for the first time;
“without my telling him that he comes after a man who is certainly a
convict, and probably a murderer.”
*
CHAPTER XVII.
DOUBTFUL SOCIETY.
Victor Carrington still lived in the little cottage on the outskirts of
London. Here, with his mother for his only companion, he led a simple,
studious life, which, to any one ignorant of his character, would have
seemed the life of a good and honourable man.
The few neighbours who passed to and fro beneath the wall which
surrounded the cottage, knew nothing of the inner life of its
occupants. They knew only that of all the houses in the neighbourhood
this was the quietest. Yet those who happened to pass the house late at
night always saw a glimmer of light in an upper chamber, and the blue
vapour of smoke rising from one particular chimney.
Those who had occasion to pass the house frequently after dark
perceived that the smoke from this chimney was different from the
common smoke of common chimneys. Sometimes vivid sparks glittered and
flashed upon the darkness. At other times a semi-luminous, green vapour
was seen to issue from the mouth of the chimney.
These facts were spoken about by the neighbours; and by and by people
discovered that the smoke issued from the chimney of Victor
Carrington’s laboratory, where the surgeon was frequently employed,
long after midnight, making experiments in the science of chemistry.
The nature of these experiments was known to no one. The few neighbours
who had ever conversed with the French surgeon had heard him declare
that he was a student of the mysteries of electricity. It was,
therefore, supposed that all his experiments were in some manner
connected with that wondrous science.
No one for a moment suspected evil of a young man whose life was sober,
respectable, and laborious, and who went to the little Catholic chapel
every Sunday, with his mother leaning on his arm.
Those who really knew Victor Carrington knew that he was without one
ray of belief in a Divine Ruler, and that he laughed to scorn those
terrors of heavenly vengeance which will sometimes restrain the hand of
the most hardened criminal. He was a wretch who seemed to have been
created without those natural qualities which, in some degree, redeem
the worst
Comments (0)