The Solitary Farm Part 33

"From your father's--I mean from Captain Huxham's safe."

"Then you were in the room on that night?"

"Yes. I saw the body."

"And you said nothing."

"No. Had I done so, I should have incriminated myself. When I entered the study Captain Huxham was lying dead under the desk."

"Did you see anyone about?"

"I saw no one, not even Mr. Lister, whom I had followed into the house."

"Just explain precisely what you did see," said Bella, anxiously.

Pence thought for a few moments. "I was watching the house as usual on that night because I loved you," he said, in a slow, feeble way, for he was still weak from loss of blood. "I beheld Mr. Lister coming towards me. He brushed past me, and entered the Manor by the front door. I watched for his return, intending to speak to him. But he never came out."

Bella sat up alertly. "He never came out?"

"No. I don't know how long I watched; but finally I grew tired, and stole up to the house. The front door was ajar. I saw that the study door was also open, so I went in. Then I saw Captain Huxham lying dead and bleeding, with the safe open and the papers in disorder. In the safe, or, rather, tumbled on the floor before the safe was a bundle of bank-notes. The Accuser of the Brethren tempted me," said Silas, with the perspiration beading his high forehead, "and I s.n.a.t.c.hed up the notes, for I thought that if I had money I could marry you. I then saw that bundle which the black man took from me, and thinking there might be more notes in the bundle, I s.n.a.t.c.hed that up also and fled."

"Why did you fly?" asked Bella, following this story with great interest.

"I thought I heard a noise, and feared lest I should be accused of killing Captain Huxham. I ran out of the study, and out of the house, and down the path between the standing corn, as though the devil was after me. But he was not after me," wailed Pence, standing up, "he was in my heart. Here is the money for which I sold my precious soul," and he threw a packet of bank-notes on the table with feverish eagerness.

"It was all for your sake!"

Bella took up the notes. "The man you mistook for Mr. Lister was his father," she said quietly; "did you not see him in the room?"

"I saw no one. Did Lister's father kill Captain Huxham?"

"Can't you tell?" asked the girl, looking at him straightly.

"I have told everything," said Pence, with an air of fatigue; "now I die," and before she could help him he fell full length on the floor quite insensible. The interview had proved too much for him in his weak state.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE GHOST

The corn on Bleacres was rapidly ripening under the beams of the powerful sun. The Manor-house was islanded amidst a golden sea of grain, the waves of which rolled up even to its ancient walls. The winding path to the boundary channel was still the sole means of approach, but few people came up this to the house, as the Vands were not popular. Henry certainly was approved of, on account of his manners, his affliction, and his violin-playing; but the neighbours, ignorant of the truth, could not forgive his wife for robbing Bella of her inheritance. Now that she was rich and re-married, it was Mrs. Vand's intention to become the great lady of the district, but hitherto she had not met with much success in her bid for popularity.

But, in spite of cold looks and significant speeches, Mrs. Vand went from house to house, talking of a Harvest Home fete, which she proposed to give as soon as the grain was reaped. Her husband would not accompany her on these social visits, as he was shrewd enough to see that only time would ameliorate the bad impression which Mrs. Vand's callous conduct had created. In vain he tried to show his wife that it would be wise to retire for a short period. Mrs. Vand scorned such Fabian tactics, and did her best to take by storm the position she felt that her wealth and personality deserved. The more she was snubbed, the more she persisted, and there was no doubt but what, in the end, she would gain what she wanted, by wearing down those who resented her conduct.

Mrs. Vand paid a visit even to Dora Ankers, choosing a Sat.u.r.day afternoon, when she knew that Bella was walking on the common with her lover. The little school-mistress received her coldly, as she had never liked the woman from the first day she had set eyes on her. But Mrs.

Vand, in the most flamboyant of costumes, was all smiles and small talk, refusing to see for one moment the chilly reception she was receiving.

"You really must come to our Harvest Home, Miss Ankers," she babbled; "what with Henry's taste and my money, it will be wonderfully gay and bright and artistic. Everyone will help to reap the corn, and in the evening we will have a ball, at which Henry will play old English tunes, to which we shall dance. You must come. I shall take no refusal."

"How can I?" asked Dora tartly, "seeing that your niece whom you have treated so badly, is stopping with me."

Mrs. Vand drew up her stout figure with great dignity. "That Bella Huxham left her home and my guardians.h.i.+p is purely her own fault," she replied. "I promised to look after her, at poor Jabez's request. But she chose to behave in a way of which I did not approve, and to engage herself to a man, who is not the husband I should have picked for her."

"Bella has every right to choose a husband for herself," retorted Miss Ankers.

"Girls are not clever enough to choose the right man. And Mr.

Lister----"

"You know nothing about him, Mrs. Vand."

"That is exactly what I complain of," said the other woman triumphantly, "he may be a rogue and a scamp."

"He may be, but he is not. Mr. Lister is a gentleman."

"That doesn't prevent his being a bad character."

"Well," said Dora, rising to terminate the visit, "I don't care about discussing my friends."

Mrs. Vand rose also. "Let us shelve the subject," she said grandly, "and you can tell Bella that I am willing to forgive and forget. If she likes to come to our Harvest Home, she can do so. I am not the one to bear malice. It is the last Harvest Home we shall have," prattled Mrs. Vand, as her hostess skilfully edged her towards the door. "Henry does not intend to sow wheat again, and the grounds of Bleacres will be thrown open to the public."

"People are not fond of wandering in marshes," said Dora dryly. "If you want to please us, throw open the Manor-house. That is interesting, if you like."

"And haunted," said the visitor in a thrilling whisper; "do you know of any sad legend connected with the Manor-house, Miss Ankers?"

"No!" snapped Dora, tartly; then her curiosity got the better of her dislike for Mrs. Vand. "Is it really haunted?"

"There are footsteps, and whisperings, and rappings in the twilight. I told Henry that if this sort of thing continued, I should leave the place."

Privately, Dora wished that she would, and thus rid the neighbourhood of a most undesirable presence, but aloud she merely remarked that the noises might be due to rats, a suggestion which Mrs. Vand scouted.

"It's a ghost, a ghost!" she insisted--"all old families have a ghost.

But do not let us talk of it," she continued, looking round with a shudder; "already the thing has got on my nerves. To go to a more pleasant subject: let me invite you for a row on the water."

"A row on the water?" echoed Dora, who knew of no lake in the neighbourhood.

"On the channel at the end of my grounds," explained Mrs. Vand. "Henry has bought a rowing-boat, and takes me far into the country. You can almost reach the railway line before you get to the swamps. Do come."

"I'll think about it," said Miss Ankers, only anxious to get her visitor out of the house before Bella came back.

"Do, dear, and come to our Harvest Home. It will be quite artistic: you have no idea of Henry's perfect taste, and if Bella comes I shall be glad to see her, in spite of her nasty behaviour, and--and----" Mrs.

Vand could think of nothing more to say, so took herself off, with a gracious smile, quite sure that she had played the part of a great lady to perfection.

"Ugh!" said Dora, looking after the stout, gaudily-clothed figure, "you're a spiteful cat, if ever there was one. I shouldn't be surprised to hear that you had killed your brother yourself, in order to get the money."

Unaware of this amiable speech, Mrs. Vand sailed grandly through the village, dispensing smiles and patronage. Fortunately for herself, she was not a thought-reader, or her self-satisfaction might have received a severe reproof. She was considered to be considerably worse than Jezebel, and in her stoutness was compared to the late Mrs. Manning, a notable murderess. To her face many were agreeable, but usually she was not received with the best grace. Finally, towards the evening, she returned to the Manor-house to report on her triumphs.