Starvecrow Farm Part 29

It was only when she was nearly ready to descend that she noticed how large was the crowd collected before the inn. She could hardly believe that her escapade--much as it might interest the police officer--was the cause of this. And a chill of apprehension, a thrill of antic.i.p.ation of she knew not what, kept her for a moment standing before the window. She had done, she told herself, no harm. She had no real reason to fear. And yet she was beginning to fear. Anger was beginning to give place to dismay. For it was clear that something out of the common had happened; besides the group in the road, three or four persons were inspecting the boats drawn up on the foresh.o.r.e. And on the lake was a stir unusual at this season. Half a mile from the sh.o.r.e a boat under sail was approaching the landing-place from the direction of Wray Woods. It was running fast before the bitter lash of the November wind that here and there flecked the grey and melancholy expanse with breakers. And round the point from the direction of Ambleside a second boat was reaching, with the wind on her quarter.

She fancied that the men in these boats made signs to those on the sh.o.r.e; and that the excitement grew with their report. While she gazed two or three of the people in the road walked down to the water. And with a puckered brow, and a face a shade paler than usual, she hesitated; wis.h.i.+ng that she knew what had happened and was sure that the stir had not to do with her.

She would have preferred to wait upstairs until the boats arrived. But she remembered Mrs. Gilson's warning. Moreover, she was beginning to comprehend--as men do, and women seldom do--that there is a force which it is futile to resist--that of the law. Sooner or later she must go down. So taking her courage in both hands she opened her door, and striving to maintain a dignified air she descended the stairs, and made her way past the pa.s.sage window to Mr. Rogers's room.

It was empty, and first appearances were rea.s.suring. Her breakfast was laid and waiting, the fire was cheerful, the room tended to encouragement. But the murmur of excited voices still rose from the highway below, and kept her uneasy: and when she went to the side-window to view the scene of last night's evasion, she stamped her foot with vexation. For where the tracks of feet were clearest they had been covered with old boxes to protect them from the frosty suns.h.i.+ne which the day promised; and the precaution smacked so strongly of the law and its methods that it had an ill look. Not Robinson Crusoe on his desert island had made a more ridiculous fuss about a foot-print or two!

She was still knitting her brows over the device when there came a knock at the door. She turned and confronted Bishop. The man's manner as he entered was respectful enough, but he had not waited for leave to come in. And she had a sickening feeling that he was taking possession of her, that he would not leave her again, that from this time she was not her own. The gravity of the bluff red face did not lessen this feeling. And though she would fain have asked him his business and challenged his intrusion she could not find a word.

"I take it, you'd as soon see me alone, miss," he said. And he closed the door behind him, and stood with his hat in his hand. "You'd best go on with your breakfast, for you look a bit peaky--you're a bit shaken, I expect, by what has happened. But don't you be afraid," with something like a wink, "there's no harm will happen to you if you are sensible. Meanwhile I'll talk to you, by your leave, while you eat. It will save time, and time's much. I suppose," he continued, as she forced herself to take her seat and pour out her tea, "there's no need to tell you, miss, what has happened?"

She would have given much to prevent her hand shaking, and something to be able to look him in the face. She did succeed in maintaining outward composure; for agitation is more clearly felt than perceived.

But she could not force the colour to her cheeks, nor compel her tongue to utterance. And he let her swallow some tea before he repeated his question.

"I suppose there is no need, miss, to tell you what has happened?"

"I do not know"--she murmured--"to what you refer. You must speak more plainly."

"It's a serious matter," he said. He appeared to be looking into his hat, but he was really watching her over its edge, "A serious matter, miss, and I hope you'll take it as it should be taken. For if it goes beyond a point the Lord only can stop it. So if you know, miss, and have no need to be told, it's best for you to be frank. We know a good deal."

The warm tea had given her command of herself.

"If you mean," she said, "that I was out last night, I was."

"We know that, of course."

"You have my shoes," with a little shrug of contempt.

"Yes, miss, and your footprints!" he answered. "The point on which we want information--and the sooner we have it the better--is, where did you leave him?"

"Where did I leave--whom?" sharply.

"The person you met."

"I met no one."

The runner shook his head gently. And his face grew longer.

"For G.o.d's sake, miss," he said earnestly, "don't fence with me. Don't take that line! Believe me, if you do you'll be sorry. Time's the thing. Tell us now and it may avail. Tell us to-morrow and it may be of no use. The harm may be done."

She stared at him. "But I met no one," she said.

"There are the footprints, coming and going," he answered with severity. "It is no use to deny them."

"A man's--with mine?"

"For certain."

She looked at him with a startled expression. But gradually her face cleared, she smiled.

"Ah," she said. "Just so. You have the man's tracks coming and going?

And mine?"

He nodded.

"But are not his tracks as well as mine more faint as they go from the house? More clear as they come back to the house? Because snow was falling while I was out as well as before I started. So that he as well as I went from the house and returned to the house!"

He frowned. "I noticed that," he said.

"Then," with a faint ring of amus.e.m.e.nt in her tone, "you had better search the house for him."

The difficulty had occurred to Mr. Bishop before he entered. But it did not fall in with his theory, and like many modern discoverers he had set it on one side as a detail which events would explain. Put to him crudely it vexed him.

"See here, miss, you're playing with us," he said. "And it won't do.

Tell us frankly----"

"I will tell you frankly," she answered, cutting him short with spirit, "whose tracks they are. They are Mr. Sutton's. Now you know.

And Mr. Sutton is the only person I saw last night. Now you know that too. And perhaps you will leave me." She rose as she finished.

"Mr. Sutton was with you?"

"I have said so. You have my shoes. Get his. What I say is easily tested and easily proved."

She had the pleasure of a little triumph. The runner looked taken aback and ashamed of himself. But after the first flush of astonishment he did not waste a minute. He turned, opened the door, and disappeared.

Henrietta listened to his departing steps, then with a sigh of relief she returned to her breakfast. Her spirits rose. She felt that she had exaggerated her troubles; that she had allowed herself to be alarmed without cause. The landlady's rudeness, rather than any real perplexity or peril, had imposed on her. Another time she would not be so lightly frightened. For, after all, she had done nothing of which even Mr. Sutton, if he told the truth, could make much. They might suspect that she had stolen out to meet Walterson; but as she had not met him, they could prove nothing. They might conclude from it, that he was in the neighbourhood; but as Bishop already held that belief, things were left where they were before. Except, to be sure, that for some reason she had lost the landlady's favour.

The girl had arrived at this comfortable stage in her reasoning when the shuffling of feet along the pa.s.sage informed her that Bishop was returning. Nor Bishop only. He brought with him others, it was clear, and among them one heavy man in boots--she caught the harsh ring of a spur. Who were they? Why were they coming? Involuntarily she rose to her feet, and waited with a quickened heart for their appearance.

The sounds that reached her were not encouraging. One of the men stumbled, and growled an oath; and one laughed a vulgar common laugh as at some jest in doubtful taste. Then the door opened wide, and with little ceremony they followed one another into the room, one, two, three.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ... he touched his brow with his whip handle]

Bishop first, with his bluff, square face. Then a stranger, a tall bulky man, heavy-visaged and bull-dog jawed, with harsh, over-bearing eyes. He wore an open horseman's coat, and under it a broad leather belt with pistols; and he touched his brow with his whip-handle in a half familiar, half insolent way. After him came the pale, peaky face of Mr. Sutton, who looked chap-fallen and ashamed of himself.

The moment all had entered,

"Mr. Chaplain, close the door," said the stranger in a broad Lancas.h.i.+re accent, and with an air of authority. "Now, Bishop, suppose you tell the young lady--damme, what's that?" turning sharply, "Who is it?"

CHAPTER XVIII

MR. JOSEPH NADIN

The words were addressed to Mr. Sutton, who did not seem able to shut the door. But the answer came from the other side of the door.