Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [epub ebook reader .TXT] 📗

>one inside had a hand in it. I wouldn’t mind staking a twelvemonth’s

wages on that, Matthew and you musn’t be offended if I seem to go

against your fellow-servants.”

 

“I ain’t offended, and I ain’t pleased,” answered Matthew, testily;

“all I can say is, as I don’t like so much cross-questioning. There’s a

sort of a lawyer chap has come down to-day with my lady, I hear, though

I ain’t set eyes on him yet; and I suppose he’ll find out all about

it.”

 

No more was said upon the subject of the lost heiress, or the landlord

of the “Cat and Fiddle.”

 

The subject was evidently, for some reason or other, unpleasant to Mr.

Brook, the coachman; and as Matthew Brook was a general favourite, the

subject was dropped. Mr. Larkspur devoted the next morning to a

careful examination of all possible entrances to the castle. When he

saw the half-glass door opening from the quadrangle into the little

bedchamber occupied by Stephen Plumpton, the footman, he gave a long,

low whistle, and smiled to himself, with the triumphant smile of a man

who has found a clue to the mystery he wishes to solve.

 

Mrs. Smithson, the housekeeper, conducted Andrew Larkspur from room to

room during this careful investigation of the premises; and she and

Stephen Plumpton alone were present when he examined this half-glass

door.

 

“Do you always bolt your door of a night?” Mr. Larkspur asked of the

footman.

 

“A ways, sir.”

 

The tone of the man’s voice and the man’s face combined to betray him

to the skilled police-officer.

 

Andrew Larkspur knew that the man had told him a deliberate falsehood.

 

“Are you certain you bolted this door on that particular night?”

 

“Oh, quite certain, sir.”

 

The police-officer examined the bolt. It was a very strong one; but it

moved so stiffly as to betray the fact that it was very rarely used.

 

Mrs. Smithson did not notice this fact; but Mr. Larkspur did. It was

his business to take note of small facts.

 

“Can you remember what you were doing on that particular night?” he

asked, presently, turning again to the embarrassed Stephen.

 

“No, sir; I can’t say I do remember exactly,” faltered the footman.

 

“Were you at home that night?”

 

“Well, yes, sir, I think I was.”

 

“You are not certain?”

 

“Well, yes, sir; perhaps I might venture to say as I’m certain,”

answered the miserable young man, who in his desire to screen his

fellow-servant, found himself led on from one falsehood to another.

 

He knew that he could rely on the honourable silence of the servants;

and that none among them would betray the secret of the party at the

“Cat and Fiddle.”

 

After completing the examination of the premises, Mr. Larkspur dined

comfortably in the housekeeper’s room, and then once more sallied forth

to the village to finish his afternoon. But on this occasion it was to

the “Cat and Fiddle,” and not the “Hen and Chickens,” that the police-officer betook himself. Here he found only a few bargemen and

villagers, carousing upon the wooden benches of a tap-room, drinking

their beer out of yellow earthenware mugs, and enjoying themselves in

an atmosphere that was almost suffocating from the fumes of strong

tobacco.

 

Mr. Larkspur did not trouble himself to listen to the conversation of

these men; he looked into the room for a few minutes and then returned

to the bar, where he ordered a glass of brandy-and-water from the girl

who served Mr. Maunders’s customers in the absence of that gentleman.

 

“So your master is away from home, my lass,” he said, in his most

insinuating tone, as he slowly stirred his brandy-and-water.

 

“Yes, he be, sir.”

 

“Do you know when he’s coming back?” inquired Larkspur.

 

“Lawks, no, sir.”

 

“Or where he’s gone?”

 

“No, sir, I don’t know that neither. My master’s a good one to hold his

tongue, he is. He never tells nobody nothing, in a manner of speaking.”

 

“When did he go away?”

 

The girl named the morning on which had been discovered the

disappearance of Sir Oswald’s daughter.

 

“He went away pretty early, I suppose?” said Mr. Larkspur, with assumed

indifference.

 

“I should rather think he did,” answered the girl. “I was up at six

that morning, but my master had gone clean off when I came down stairs.

There weren’t a sign of him.”

 

“He must have gone very early.”

 

“That he must; and the strangest part of it is that he was up very late

the night before,” added the girl, who was one of those people who ask

nothing better than the privilege of telling all they know about

anything or anybody.

 

“Oh,” said Mr. Larkspur; “he was up late the night before, was he?”

 

“Yes. It was eleven when he sent me to bed, ordering me off as sharp as

you please, which is just his way. And he couldn’t have gone to bed for

above an hour after that, for I lay awake, on the listen, as you may

say, wondering what he was up to downstairs. But though I lay awake

above an hour, I didn’t hear him come up stairs at all; so goodness

knows what time he went to bed. You see he had a party that night.”

 

“Oh, he had a party, had he?” remarked the police-officer, who saw that

he had no occasion to question this young lady, so well-inclined was

she to tell him all she knew.

 

“Yes, sir. His friends came to have a hand at cards and a hot supper;

and didn’t it give me plenty of trouble to get it all ready, that’s

all. You see, master’s friends are some of the gentlemen up at the

castle; and they live so uncommon well up there, that they’re very

particular what they eat. It must be all of the best, and done to a

turn, master says to me; and so it was. I’m sure the steak was a

perfect picture when I laid it on the dish, and the onions were fried a

beautiful golden brown, as would have done credit to the Queen of

England’s head-cook, though I says it as shouldn’t perhaps,” added the

damsel, modestly.

 

“And which of the gentlemen from the castle came to supper with your

master that night?” Mr. Larkspur asked, presently.

 

“Well, sir, you see there was three of them. Mr. Brook, the coachman, a

good-natured, civil-spoken man as you’d wish to meet, but a little

given to drink, folks say; and there was James Harwood, the under-groom; and Stephen Plumpton, the footman, a good-looking, fresh-coloured young man, which is, perhaps, beknown to you.”

 

“Oh, yes,” answered Mr. Larkspur, “I know Stephen, the footman.”

 

Mr. Larkspur and the damsel conversed a good deal after this; but

nothing of particular interest transpired in this conversation. The

gentleman departed from the “Cat and Fiddle” very well satisfied with

his evening’s work, and returned to the castle in time to take a

comfortable cup of tea in the housekeeper’s room.

 

He was quite satisfied in his own mind as to the identity of the

delinquent who had stolen the child.

 

The next thing to be discovered was the manner in which the landlord of

the “Cat and Fiddle” had left Raynham. It must have been almost

impossible for him to leave in any public vehicle, carrying the stolen

child with him, as he must have done, without attracting the attention

of his fellow-passengers. Andrew Larkspur had taken care to ascertain

all possible details of the man’s habits from the communicative

barmaid, and knew that he had no vehicle or horse of his own. He must,

therefore, have either gone in a public vehicle, or on foot.

 

If he had left the village on foot, under cover of darkness, he might

have left unseen; but he must have entered some other village at

daybreak; he must sooner or later have procured some kind of

conveyance; and wherever he went, carrying with him that stolen child,

it was more than probable his appearance would attract attention.

 

After a little trouble, the astute Andrew ascertained that Mr. Maunders

had certainly not left the village by any public conveyance.

 

It was late when Mr. Larkspur returned to the castle, after having

mastered this fact. He found that Lady Eversleigh had been inquiring

for him; and he was told that she had requested he might be sent to her

apartments at whatever time he returned.

 

In obedience to this summons, he followed a servant to the room

occupied by the mistress of Raynham Castle.

 

“Well, Mr. Larkspur,” Honoria asked, eagerly, “do you bring many hope?”

 

“I don’t exactly know about that, my lady,” answered the ever-cautious

Andrew; “but I think I may venture to say that things are going on

pretty smoothly. I ain’t wasting time, depend upon it; and I hope in a

day or two I may have something encouraging to tell you.”

 

“But you will tell me nothing yet?” murmured Honoria, with a despairing

sigh.

 

“Not yet, my lady.”

 

No more was said. Lady Eversleigh was obliged to be content with this

small comfort.

 

Early the next morning Mr. Larkspur set out on his voyage of discovery

to the villages within two, three, four, and five hours’ walk of

Raynham.

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.

 

ON THE TRACK.

 

The next day Mr. Larkspur spent in the same manner, and returned to the

castle late at night, and very much out of sorts. He had of late been

spoiled by tolerably easy triumphs, and the experience of failure was

very disagreeable to him.

 

On both evenings he was summoned to Lady Eversleigh’s apartments, and

on each occasion declined going. He sent a respectful message, to the

effect that he had nothing to communicate to her ladyship, and would

not therefore intrude upon her.

 

But early on the morning after the second day’s wasted labour, the post

brought Mr. Larkspur a communication which quite restored him to his

accustomed good humour.

 

It was neither more nor less than a brief epistle from one of the

officials of the police-staff at Murford Haven, informing Mr. Larkspur

that an old woman had produced the silken coverlet advertised for, and

claimed the offered reward.

 

Mr. Larkspur sent a servant to inquire if Lady Eversleigh would be

pleased to favour him with a few minutes’ conversation that morning.

The man came back almost immediately with a ready affirmative.

 

“My lady will be very happy to see Mr. Larkspur.”

 

“Oh, Mr. Larkspur!” exclaimed Honoria, as the police-officer entered

the room, “I am certain you bring me good news; I can see it in your

face.”

 

“Well, yes, my lady; certainly I’ve got a little bit of good news this

morning.”

 

“You have found a clue to my child?”

 

“I have found out something about the coverlet,” answered Andrew; “and

that’s the next best thing, to my mind. That has turned up at Murford

Haven, thirty miles from here; though how the man who stole Miss

Eversleigh can have got there without leaving a single trace behind him

is more than I can understand.”

 

“At Murford Haven!—my darling has been taken to Murford Haven!” cried

Honoria.

 

“So I conclude, my lady, by the coverlet turning up there,” replied Mr.

Larkspur. “I told you the handbills would do the trick. Murford Haven

is a large manufacturing town, and the sort of place a man who wanted

to keep himself out of sight of the police might be likely enough to

choose. Now, with your leave, my lady, I’ll be off to Murford