Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [classic literature books txt] 📗

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 Haven as soon as I can have a post-chaise got ready for me."

"And I will go with you," exclaimed Lady Eversleigh; "I shall feel as if I were nearer my child if I go to the town where you hope to find the clue to her hiding-place."

"I, too, will accompany you," said Captain Copplestone.

"Begging you pardon, sir," remonstrated Mr. Larkspur, "if three of us go, and one of those three a lady, we might attract attention, even in such a busy place as Murford Haven. And if those that have got little missy should hear of it, they'd smell a rat. No, my lady, you let me go alone. I'm used to this sort of work, and you ain't, and the captain ain't either. I can slip about on the quiet anywhere like an eel; and I've got the eye to see whatever is to be seen, and the ear to pick up every syllable that's to be heard.