The Living Link Part 3

She spoke so firmly and decisively that Miss Plympton forbore to press her further just then.

"At any rate, my darling," said she, "you need not think of Dalton Hall.

I can find you other places which will be far more suitable to you in every way. If it distresses you to stay here, I can find a happy home for you, where you can stay till you feel able to return to us again."

"There is no place," said Edith, "where I can stay. I do not want to go among strangers, or to strange places. I have a home, and that is the only place that I can go to now. That home is familiar to me. I remember it well. It is where I was born. Dear mamma's room is there, where I used to sit with her and hear her voice. My dear papa and mamma were happy there; and she died there. It has its own a.s.sociations; and now since this great sorrow has come, I long to go there. It seems the fittest place for me."

"But, my child," said Miss Plympton, anxiously, "there is one thing that you do not consider. Far be it from me to stand in the way of any of your wishes, especially at a time like this, but is seems to me that a return to Dalton Hall just now is hardly safe."

"Safe!"

Edith spoke in a tone of surprise, and looked inquiringly at Miss Plympton.

"I don't like this John Wiggins," said Miss Plympton, uneasily; I am afraid of him."

"But what possible cause can there be of fear?" asked Edith.

"Oh, I don't know," said Miss Plympton, with a sigh; "no one can tell.

If my suspicions are at all correct, he is a man who might be very dangerous. He has control of all the estates, and--"

"But for that very reason I would go home," said Edith, "if there were no stronger inducement, to do what I can to put an end to his management."

"How could you do any thing with him?" asked Miss Plympton; "you so young and inexperienced."

"I don't know," said Edith, simply; "but the estates are mine, and not his; and Dalton Hall is mine; and if I am the owner, surely I ought to have some power. There are other agents in the world, and other lawyers.

They can help me, if I wish help. We are not living in the Middle Ages when some one could seize one's property by the strong hand and keep it.

There is law in the country, and Wiggins is subject to it."

"Oh, my child," said Miss Plympton, anxiously, "I am terrified at the very thought of your being in that man's power. You can not tell what things are possible; and though there is law, as you say, yet it does not always happen that one can get justice."

"That I know, or ought to know," said Edith, in a mournful voice; "I have learned that this past night only too well."

"It seems to me," said Miss Plympton, with the same anxiety in her voice, "that to return to Dalton Hall will be to put yourself in some way into his power. If he is really the unscrupulous, crafty, and scheming man that I have suspected him to be, he will not find it difficult to weave some plot around you which may endanger your whole life. There is no safety in being bear that man. Be mistress of Dalton Hall, but do not go there till you have driven him away. It seems by his last letters as though he is living there now, and if you go there you will find yourself in some sense under his control."

"Well," said Edith, "I do not doubt his willingness to injure me if he can, or to weave a plot which shall ruin me; but, after all, such a thing takes time. He can not ruin me in one day, or in one week, and so I think I can return to Dalton Hall in safety, and be secure for a few days at least."

Miss Plympton made some further objections, but the vague fears to which she gave expression met with no response from Edith, who looked upon her journey home in a very sober and commonplace light, and refused to let her imagination terrify her. Her argument that Wiggins would require some time to injure her was not easy to answer, and gradually Miss Plympton found herself forced to yield to Edith's determination. In fact, there was much in that resolve which was highly natural. Edith, in the first place, could not bear to resume her intimacy with her school-mates, for reasons which she had stated already; and, in addition to this, she had a strong and irresistible longing to go to the only place that was now her home. There she hoped to find peace, and gain consolation in the midst of the scenes of her childhood and the memories of her parents. These were her chief motives for action now; but in addition to these she had others. The chief was a strong desire to dismiss Wiggins from his post of agent.

The detestation which she had already conceived for this man has been noticed in a previous chapter. It had grown during past years out of a habit of her mind to a.s.sociate with him the apparent alienation of her father. But now, since her father's past life was explained, this John Wiggins appeared in a new light. The dark suggestions of Miss Plympton, her suspicions as to his character and motives, had sunk deep into the soul of Edith, and taken root there. She had not yet been able to bring herself to think that this John Wiggins was himself the treacherous friend, but she was on the high-road to that belief, and already had advanced far enough to feel convinced that Wiggins could have at least saved her father if he had chosen. One thing, however, was evident to all the world, and that was what Miss Plympton laid so much stress on, the fact that he had profited by her father's ruin, and had won gold and influence and position out of her father's tears and agonies and death.

And so, while she longed to go home for her own consolation, there also arose within her another motive to draw her there--the desire to see this Wiggins, to confront him, to talk to him face to face, to drive him out from the Dalton estates, and if she could not vindicate her father's memory, at least put an end to the triumph of one of his false friends.

The result of this interview was, then, that Edith should return to Dalton Hall; and as she was unwilling to wait, she decided to leave in two days. Miss Plympton was to go with her.

"And now," said Miss Plympton, "we must write at once and give notice of your coming."

"Write?" said Edith, coldly, "to whom?"

"Why, to--to Wiggins, I suppose," said Miss Plympton, with some hesitation.

"I refuse to recognize Wiggins," said Edith. "I will not communicate with him in any way. My first act shall be to dismiss him."

"But you must send some notice to some one; you must have some preparations made."

"Oh, I shall not need any elaborate preparations; a room will be sufficient. I should not wish to encounter the greetings of this man, or see him complacently take credit to himself for his attentions to me--and his preparations. No; I shall go and take things as I find them, and I should prefer to go without notice."

At this Miss Plympton seemed a little more uneasy than before, and made further efforts to change Edith's decision, but in vain. She was, in fact, more perplexed at Edith herself than at any other thing; for this one who but a day before had been a gentle, tractable, docile, gay, light-hearted girl had suddenly started up into a stern, self-willed woman, with a dauntless spirit and inflexible resolve.

"There is only one more thing that I have to mention," said Edith, as Miss Plympton rose to go. "It is a favor that I have to ask of you. It is this;" and she laid her hand on the papers of the report, which were lying rolled up in a parcel on the table. "Have you any further use for this? Will you let me keep it?"

"The need that I had for it," said Miss Plympton, "was over when I gave it to you. I prepared it for you, and preserved it for you, and now that you have it, its work is accomplished. It is yours, dearest, for you to do as you choose with it."

To this Edith murmured some words of thanks, and taking up the parcel, proceeded to tie it up more carefully.

CHAPTER IV

THE WELCOME HOME.

Dalton Hall was one of the most magnificent country-seats in Somersets.h.i.+re. The village of Dalton, which bears the same name as the old family seat, is situated on the banks of a little river which winds through a pleasant plain on its course to the Bristol Channel, and at this place is crossed by a fine old rustic bridge with two arches. The village church, a heavy edifice, with an enormous ivy-grown tower, stands on the further side; and beyond that the gables and chimneys of Dalton Hall may be seen rising, about a mile away, out of the midst of a sea of foliage. The porter's lodge is about half a mile distant from the church, and the ma.s.sive wall which incloses Dalton Park runs along the road for some miles.

There was a railway station about four miles away from the village, and it was at this station that Edith arrived on her way home. Miss Plympton had come with her, with the intention of remaining long enough to see Edith comfortably installed in her new abode, and with the hope of persuading her to go back if circ.u.mstances did not seem favorable. A footman and a maid also accompanied them.

On reaching the station they found themselves at first at a loss how to proceed, for there were no carriages in waiting. Of course, as no notice had been sent of her journey, Edith could not expect to find any carriage from Dalton Hall; nor did she think much about this circ.u.mstance. Dressed in deep mourning, with her pale face and dark, thoughtful eyes, she seemed to be given up to her own mournful reflections; and on finding that they would have to wait, she seated herself on a bench, and looked with an abstracted gaze upon the surrounding scene. Miss Plympton gave some directions to the footman, who at once went off to seek a carriage; after which she seated herself near Edith, while the maid sat on a trunk at a little distance. They had traveled all day long, and felt very much fatigued; so that nothing was said by any of them as they sat there waiting for the footman's return.

At length, after about half an hour, a hackney-coach drove up, which the footman had procured from an inn not far away, and in this undignified manner they prepared to complete their journey. A long drive of four or five miles now remained; and when at length they reached the park gate none of them had much strength left. Here the coach stopped, and the footman rang the bell loudly and impatiently.

There was no immediate answer to this summons, and the footman rang again and again; and finally, as the delay still continued, he gave the bell a dozen tremendous pulls in quick succession. This brought an answer, at any rate; for a man appeared, emerging from a neighboring grove, who walked toward the gate with a rapid pace. He was a short, bull-necked, thickset, broad-shouldered man, with coa.r.s.e black hair and heavy, matted beard. His nose was flat on his face, his chin was square, and he looked exactly like a prize-fighter. He had a red s.h.i.+rt, with a yellow spotted handkerchief flung about his neck, and his corduroy trowsers were tucked into a pair of muddy boots.

The moment he reached the gate he roared out a volley of the most fearful oaths: Who were they? What did they mean, _dash_ them? What the _dash dash_ did they mean by making such a _dash dash_ noise?

"You'll get your ugly head broken, you scoundrel!" roared the footman, who was beside himself with rage at this insult to his mistress, coming as it did at the close of so long and irritating a delay. "Hold your infernal tongue, and open the gate at once. Is this the way you dare to talk before your mistress?"

"Mistress! You _dashed_ fool," was the response, "what the _dash_ do I know about mistresses? I'll make a beginning with you, you sleek, fat powder-monkey, with your s.h.i.+ny beaver and stuffed calves!"

Edith heard all this, and her amazement was so great that it drove away all fatigue. Her heart beat high and her spirit rose at this insult.

Opening the carriage door, she sprang out, and, walking up to the gate, she confronted the porter as a G.o.ddess might confront a satyr. The calm, cold gaze which she gave his was one which the brute could not encounter. He could face any one of his own order; but the eye that now rested on him gave him pain, and his glance fell sulkily before that of his mistress.

"I am your mistress--Miss Dalton," said Edith. "Open that gate immediately."

"I don't know any thing about mistresses," said the fellow. "My orders are not to open them gates to n.o.body."

At this rebuff Edith was for a moment perplexed, but soon rallied. She reflected that this man was a servant under orders, and that it would be useless to talk to him. She must see the princ.i.p.al.

"Who gave those orders?" she asked.