Digby Heathcote Part 18

He was going out, he scarcely knew where, when Alesbury came into the hall, and handed him his hat.

"You will put on your coat, sir; the evening is cold. We don't know where Master Digby is," he said in a tone which showed that he also was much agitated.

Meantime Mrs Heathcote, who had not exactly understood the footman's announcement, was very much alarmed.

"Has Digby been thrown? is he hurt? where is he?" she asked, hurriedly, trying to go out into the hall, but her elder daughters and Miss Apsley held her back, thinking that it was much better to keep her quiet till they could ascertain what had really happened.

Kate had followed her father out of the room; she thought that she would at once set off to find Digby; she flew up into her room to put on her walking things.

Into the hall speedily hurried Mrs Carter, and nurse, and all the servants. Everybody was asking questions which no one was able to answer. Neither John Pratt nor any of the other men had yet come back.

Mr Heathcote, telling Thomas the footman to attend on him, seized a thick stick, and set out in the direction he understood Digby had gone with the pony. He had no definite plan; he forgot that it would have been wiser had he remained at home to have directed the search, and heard the reports of those sent to look for his son.

Kate came down prepared for her expedition soon after her father had gone out and disappeared in the darkness. She wanted to follow, but she did not know which way he had gone, and Alesbury, who thought that she ought not to go out, would not tell her.

"I will go," she exclaimed vehemently; "I have as good eyes as anybody, and I am as likely to see him."

Eleanor and Mary came out several times to make inquiries, and then Alesbury and Mrs Carter were summoned into the drawing-room to state all they knew and had heard. All anybody could say was, that Master Digby galloped off on his new pony, and that when John Pratt and the other men found that he did not come back, they set off to look for him.

They must have missed his pony, because the pony came back by itself.

As soon as Kate saw that she was not watched, she opened the hall-door, and slipping out, closed it behind her unperceived. Then down the steps she went, and away she ran as fast as her light feet could carry her along the path she had seen Digby go. She could not bear to think that any very serious injury had happened to him, but she fancied that he had been thrown from his pony and stunned; or, perhaps, that his ankle might have been sprained or broken, and that he was, in consequence, unable to walk home.

The sky had become overcast and the night was very dark. Poor little Kate ran on, looking anxiously on every side and calling out Digby's name.--Snow, too, began to fall, and came down in large flakes on hat face. For herself she did not care, she did not feel the cold, but she thought of dear Digby, lying on the bare ground; and, perhaps, unable to move or to call out. Perhaps he might have attempted to leap, and got thrown, or his pony might have stumbled. Still it appeared so sure-footed and sagacious a beast, that that could scarcely have happened.

"Oh Digby, Digby, where are you?" she every now and then cried out in a piteous tone.

Not a ditch nor a recess in the road of any sort, escaped her scrutinising glance. But no Digby replied, no sign of him could she discover. On she went, it appeared that she had got a long way from home. The road, and the country seemed strange to her; she had scarcely ever been out at night during her life; she did not like to turn back, but she began to fear that she might be looking for him in one direction, while he might have gone another. She had just begun to think this, when a snow-flake fell on something s.h.i.+ning on the ground, she stooped down, and she found that it was Digby's whip. She had no doubt about it.

"He must be near! he must be near!" she exclaimed. "Digby, Digby, answer, where are you? it is Kate calls you. Digby, dear. Brother, brother, speak to me. Oh do! do speak, Digby, just one word that I may know where to look for you. It is so dark that I cannot see you.

Digby, Digby, brother, brother, speak!" she screamed out almost frantically.

No answer came to her repeated calls.

"He must have dropped his whip as the pony was galloping on," she thought; "he may have gone further than this before he fell; and yet Digby was not likely to be thrown off; no boy of his age rides better."

So again the brave little girl ran on, crying out his name as before.

Oh, what a loving affectionate sister was Kate, well worthy to be cherished. I fully believe that there are many such who would do the same, if occasion required, for their brothers' sakes. She did not feel faint, or fatigued, or cold; she did not think of herself, all her thoughts were for Digby, as she pictured him lying maimed on the cold ground. The snow fell thickly, the north wind blew keenly, she did not feel it herself, but she thought he did. She would have run on crying out Digby's name till daylight, or till nature had given way and she had sunk on the ground. She heard footsteps coming along the road.

"Oh, can you tell me anything of my brother Digby?" she cried out, "Mr Heathcote's son, he is lost. He rode away and has not come back."

"Mercy on me, my sweet Miss Kate, is this you?" exclaimed a voice near her. It was that of John Pratt.

"Dear, oh dear, we mustn't be a losing two on you in one day. We cannot find him, Miss Kate; but bear up, dear. It will break my heart, that it will; but that's no matter. We be a going back to get lanterns and torches, and more people, to help in the search. The Squire will be for sending out all the men and boys from the village to look for him. He must be somewhere, and not far off, that's my opinion. But come along back, Miss Kate; you'll be catching your death of cold, and they'll be wondering what has become of you next at the Hall."

John Pratt spoke so rapidly that Kate had not been able to put in a word. She at last told him that she had found Digby's whip not far from where they were, and that she should know the spot by some high trees of peculiar form, which were near it. Many people would have picked up the whip, and afterwards would have been unable to tell where they had found it, but her natural sagacity at once showed her the importance of being able to return to the exact spot. John wanted to carry Kate, but she would not hear of it; she consented only to hang on his arm as he hurried along. He tried to keep up her spirits in his somewhat uncouth, though not rough way.

"He'll come back, Miss Kate, no fear. It's not likely any great harm could have happened to him. Mayhap he has got into some cottage, and the pony ran away. When we gets lights we'll find him. He'll be late for dinner. It can't be that any great harm can have happened to the heir of Bloxholme; it's impossible, Miss Kate, I am sure it is."

Thus rambling on in his talk, John, with poor Kate, reached the Hall.

Everybody there was in a state of consternation. In the first place, Kate had been missed, and it was supposed that she had been spirited away, as had been Digby. Then, not far from the Hall, the Squire and Thomas had been set upon by half a dozen men or more, whose aim seemed to be to inflict a severe injury on them. The Squire cried out who he was, but they only seemed the more eager to conquer him. Fortunately his thick stick stood him in good stead; and Thomas being armed in a similar manner, they had for some time kept their a.s.sailants at bay; but the Squire was at length brought on his knees, being very severely handled, and almost overpowered, when some of the men who had gone out to look for Digby, came up, and his a.s.sailants fled. He called on his people to pursue, but, much injured as he was, he stumbled and fell before he got far, and the ruffians escaped. His condition was deplorable. He was brought back to the Hall, his mind racked with anxiety at the disappearance of his son, and indignant at the way he himself had been treated. He was puzzled to ascertain whether the two circ.u.mstances were in any way connected. As soon as he was a little recovered, and had been able to collect his thoughts, he sent off to the village to demand the services of most of the male population, as John Pratt had suspected he would do. He also sent off in every direction to borrow lanterns, and anything that would serve as torches.

John Pratt, on his return with poor little Kate, was heartily welcomed.

The Square was too ill to direct the search, so he desired John to make all the arrangements he thought necessary, and to carry them out without delay. He wished to go out again himself, and would have done so had not Mrs Heathcote and his daughters entreated him to remain within.

The attack on the Squire had naturally created a new cause for alarm about Digby. It seemed more than probable that the same ruffians who had attacked him had got hold of his son. Still it was not supposed that they had killed him; the very idea was too dreadful.

Through the active measures taken by John Pratt, the inhabitants of every cottage and house for miles round were aware of what had occurred; but John's hopes that he might have got into some cottage were disappointed; not a trace of him could be found.

A sleepless night was pa.s.sed by all the inmates of the Hall; no one thought even of going to bed. Everybody sat up expecting to receive information about Digby; but though people continued constantly to return, no satisfactory information was brought. The place where Kate had found her brother's whip was carefully searched by men with torches and lanterns, but nothing else belonging to him could be discovered in the neighbourhood. It became evident, at last, that they must wait for daylight to make a more satisfactory search.

Never had the inmates of Bloxholme Hall pa.s.sed a more anxious and miserable night. The morning brought no news of the lost one; not a trace of him could be discovered. The snow lay thickly on the ground, and must completely have covered up all marks of every description, if any had been left.

Poor Kate wandered about the house more like a ghost than a thing of this world, watching anxiously for every person who came in, and trembling at every footstep she heard.

Early in the day, cousin Giles--or rather Mr Woodc.o.c.k, for that was his proper designation--arrived with Arthur Haviland. They, of course, were very much shocked at what had occurred. Arthur was eager to go out at once to a.s.sist in the search.

Mr Giles Woodc.o.c.k had seen a great deal of the world, and had profited by what he had seen. He was an acute, sensible, energetic man, full of life and spirits, and fun too, which he was always ready to exercise in its proper time and place. He was more, also, than all that--he was a devout, serious-minded Christian, and never ashamed of acknowledging the motives of his conduct. His arrival at the moment was most opportune.

The Squire, although up and dressed, was, both in mind and body, so prostrate that he could not take that active superintendence of all the arrangements which were necessary.

Cousin Giles saw the state of things, and at once set to work. He called everybody in, and made them give their reports, of which he made notes. He called for a map of the district; he inquired whether anybody in the neighbourhood could have a motive for attacking Digby and the Squire. He strongly suspected that the men who had a.s.saulted Mr Heathcote were in some way concerned in the disappearance of his son.

How to find out who they were, and to get hold of them, was the difficulty. Although, however, he suspected one thing, he did not, as is often the case, exert himself to prove his suspicions correct to the neglect of all other points, but he directed the search to be continued and inquiries to be made in every possible direction and way.

At last John Pratt returned after another prolonged search over the country.

"Well, John," said cousin Giles, "this is a sad matter. We won't waste words, though. Have you a suspicion who has got hold of the lad? Had anybody any reason for attacking the Squire? Can you suggest any means of finding this out?"

John thought a little. "Old Dame Marlow may tell us something about it, zur," he said, after scratching his head vehemently. "She knows zomething of everything; and if she don't know, n.o.body does."

Cousin Giles, having made further inquiries as to the dame's character, was about to dispatch John to bring her to the Hall, when Mr Bowdler arrived.

He had been absent from home, and immediately on his return, hearing what had occurred, set off for the Hall.

Cousin Giles told him what he was about to do.

"She may know something about the matter, but not by supernatural means, as these poor ignorant people suppose," he remarked. "A magistrate's warrant, in the hands of a constable, will have the best effect in eliciting the truth from her. The Squire can issue it; a constable is in attendance; we will send it off at once. A grandson of her's was lately apprehended and transported through the Squire's means, and it is probable that she has instigated some of her friends to this act, to revenge herself."

In less than an hour the wretched old woman was brought up to the Hall.

Mr Bowdler first endeavoured by gentle persuasion to induce her to confess all she knew; but she was deaf to all his exhortations. Though she put on a stolid, dull look, and answered only in monosyllables, there was a cunning twinkle in her eye, which showed that she fully understood what was said to her, and was evidently not ignorant of the matter.

Cousin Giles next tried to draw some information out of her by threats.

She looked up several times with an inquiring look to ascertain whether he had the power of doing what he threatened. When brought before the Squire, she scowled fiercely at him, and not a word could be drawn from her. She was sent under charge of the constable to remain in the servants' hall.

"Give her food and treat her kindly," said the Squire; "she is an old woman, and feels the loss of her grandson."

The old woman heard what was said, but made no remark.

"At all events I am convinced she can, if she will, give us some of the information we require," remarked cousin Giles; "she completely betrayed herself by her looks and gestures. I remarked particularly her fear of me, not knowing who I was, and her hatred of the Squire, while she had made up her mind to turn a deaf ear to your exhortations, Mr Bowdler."