The Solitary Farm Part 38

"Can't I come also to see her?"

"Yes, if you like. Perhaps I shall be able to dispel your disbelief regarding these occult powers which she and I possess."

"Is that why Mrs. Tunks calls you master?"

"Yes. She recognised that I had higher powers than she, when we first met, and so I was enabled to make her get those papers. Do you think she would have done so unless I had controlled her? No. Not even for the fifty pounds which I am taking to her to-day. She can make a better market out of Vand and his wife. She knows their guilt."

"But cannot prove their guilt."

"Perhaps," said the negro indifferently. "Good-day", and he departed in his usual abrupt style, after bidding Cyril meet him at three o'clock at the hut of the so-called witch. The lovers looked at one another.

"What do you think of it all, Cyril?" asked Bella timidly.

"I really don't know. We seem to be involved in a web through which we cannot break? Durgo certainly seems to be a very strange being, and in spite of my disbelief in the existence of occult powers I am inclined to think that he knows some strange things. He looks like a negro, and talks and acts like a white man. Indeed, no white man would be so unselfish as to surrender those jewels to you as Durgo has done."

"He puzzles me," said Bella thoughtfully.

"And me also. However, the best thing to be done will be to leave matters in his hands. In one way or another he will learn the truth, and then we can get back the jewels and marry."

"Do you think your father has the jewels, Cyril?"

"My dear," he said frowning, "I can't be sure now that my father is alive. I begin to believe that there may be something in Granny's trances, after all, since she hinted at my father's death at Huxham's hands. And terrible as it may seem," added Lister, turning slightly pale with emotion, "I would rather think that he was dead than live to be called the murderer of Jabez Huxham. I would like to come to you," he said, folding Bella in his strong young arms, "as the son of a man whose hands are free from blood. Better for my father to be dead than a criminal."

The two talked on this matter for some time, until their confidences were ended by the entrance of Dora, hungry for her dinner. Then Cyril took his leave, promising to return and tell Bella all that took place in Mrs. Tunks' hut. Being anxious, the girl made a very poor meal, and was scolded by Dora, who little knew what was at stake. But Dora supplied one unconscious piece of information which surprised her friend.

"I think Mr. and Mrs. Vand are going away for a trip," she said carelessly.

"What do you mean?" asked Bella, starting so violently that she upset the water-jug.

Dora looked surprised. "My dear, you are not so fond of your aunt as to display such emotion. I merely say that the Vands are going away."

"When? Where? How do you know?"

"Very soon, I believe, as they are packing, but where they are going I don't know. Sarah Jope, the servant, whose sister is at the school, came flying home last night to her mother with a c.o.c.k and bull story about a ghost at the Manor. This morning she went to get her belongings, as she insists upon leaving the house. She found Mrs. Vand and her husband packing for immediate departure and was bundled out by her indignant mistress, boxes and all, with a flea in her ear. Sarah Jope's sister told me this just before I came home to dinner."

"The Vands going away!" said Bella in dismay. This seemed to prove that they were guilty, and wished to escape. "I thought they were going to wait for the harvest home."

"I daresay they will be back in a month, and the Bleacres corn won't be reaped until then. I only wish they would remain away altogether. Your aunt is a horrid woman, Bella, though her husband is a dear."

Bella did not echo the compliment, for, after what she had seen on the previous night, she was inclined to think that Henry Vand was the worse of the two, evil as his wife might be. At all events, he was the stronger, and Rosamund Vand was a mere tool in his hands. She was on the point of going to Cyril's lodgings to warn him and Durgo of this projected departure of the Manor-house inhabitants, but on reflection she concluded to wait until he returned from Mrs. Tunks' hut. After all, the Vands could not leave Marshely before night-fall, and would have to pa.s.s through the village on their way to the far-distant railway station. If necessary they could thus be intercepted at the eleventh hour.

Mrs. Tunks was seated by the fire in her dingy hut, absorbed in her own thoughts, which she a.s.sisted by smoking a dirty black pipe. In the next room her grandson still turned and tossed, watched by a bright-eyed gipsy girl, whom the old woman had engaged from a pa.s.sing family of her kinsfolk. But the man no longer raved, as the worst of the delirium had pa.s.sed. He was sensible enough, but weak, and looked the mere shadow of his former stalwart self. Mrs. Tunks feared lest he should die, and was much disturbed in consequence, as he was her sole support. Without her grandson's earnings she could not hope to keep a roof above her head, as her fees for consultations as a wise woman were woefully small. She did not dare to make them larger in case her visitors should warn the police of her doings. And Mrs. Tunks, for obvious reasons, did not wish for an interview with Dutton, the village constable.

Smoking her pipe, crouching over the smouldering fire, and wondering how she could obtain money, the old woman did not hear the door open and shut. Not until a black hand was laid on her shoulder did she turn, to see that Durgo was in the hut with Cyril behind him. Paying no attention to the white man, she rose and fawned like a dog on the black.

"He's ill, master," she whimpered, clawing Durgo's rough tweed sleeve, "and if he goes there's no one to help me. Give him something to make him well; set him on his legs again."

"Do you think I can do so?" asked Durgo, with a grave smile.

Mrs. Tunks peered at him with her bleared eyes and struck her skinny hands together. "I can swear to it, master. You know much I don't know, and I know heaps as the Gorgios--my curse on them!--would give their ears to learn. Come, lovey--I mean master--help me in this and I'll help you in other ways."

"Such as by telling us who murdered Huxham," put in Cyril injudiciously.

"Me, deary! Lor', I don't know who killed the poor gentleman," and Mrs.

Tunk's face became perfectly vacant of all expression.

Durgo turned frowning on the white man. "I said that I would let you come if you did not speak," he remarked in a firm whisper; "you have broken your promise already."

Cyril apologised in low tones. "I won't say another word," he said, and took a seat on a broken chair near the window.

Mrs. Tunks cringed and bent before Durgo, evidently regarding him with awe, as might her sister-witches the Evil One, when he appeared at festivals. The negro glanced towards the closed door of the other room.

"Who is watching your grandson?" he asked sharply.

"A Romany gal, as I found----"

"That will do. I want no listeners. Call her out and turn her out."

The old woman entered the other room, and soon returned driving before her a black-eyed slip of a child about thirteen years of age. This brat protested that Tunks was restless and could not be left.

"I shall quieten him," said the negro quickly; "get out, you!" and he fixed so fierce a glance on the small girl that she fled rapidly. And Cyril saw that the girl was not one easily frightened.

"Now to put your grandson to sleep," said Durgo, pa.s.sing into the next room, and Cyril saw his great hands hover over the restless man on the bed. He made strange pa.s.ses and spoke strange words, while Mrs. Tunks looked on, shaking and trembling. In two minutes the sick man lay perfectly still, and to all appearances was sound asleep. Durgo returned to the outer room.

"You'll cure him, master, won't you?" coaxed Mrs. Tunks.

"Yes. I'll cure him if you tell me what you know of this murder."

"I don't know anything, master."

Mrs. Tunks looked obstinate yet terrified. Durgo stared at her in a mesmeric sort of way, and threw out his hand. The woman crouched and writhed in evident agony. "Oh, deary me, I'm all burnt up and aching, and shrivelled cruel. Don't--oh, don't! I'll be good. I'll be good;" and she wriggled.

"Will you speak?" said the negro sternly.

"Yes, yes! only take the spell off me, deary--master, I mean."

"You feel no pain now," said Durgo quickly, and at once an air of relief pa.s.sed over Mrs. Tunks' withered face. She sat down on a stool and folded her claw-like hands on her lap. Durgo leaned against the fire-place. "What do you know of this murder?" he asked.

"I don't know much, save what he"--she nodded towards the room wherein lay her sleeping grandson--"what he said when he was mad with the drink.

Get him to speak, master, and you'll learn everything."

"In good time I'll make him speak," said Durgo with impressive quietness. "Now I ask your questions. Answer! Do you hear?"

"Yes, master; yes, I hear. I answer," said the trembling old creature.

"Did you tell the truth in your trance last night?"

Mrs. Tunks looked up with awe. "He knows everything, does the master,"

she breathed softly, then replied with haste, "Yes. I spoke of what I saw."