BY THE AUTHOR OF "FILTHY LUCRE &c
LORDOR: «I & R. MAXWELfLr
A TANGLED SKEIN
%, |te.el
BY
ALBANY BE G. DE FONBLANQUE
author of
'the man of fortune,' 'hector mainwaring,' 'filthy lucre,*
•cut adrift,' 'pious frauds,' etc.
LONDON
JOHN AND ROBERT MAXWELL
MILTON HOUSE, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET
[All Rights reserved]
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
i. Coming Home i
ii. How Captain Frankland and Mr. Brandron
compared Notes . . . . -9
hi. Strangers at Westborough . . -23
iv. Shows how a near BeLxAtive of our Hero
' went to the Bad,' and what befell him
there ....... 46
v. Sir George Tremlett leaves Home on Busi-
ness 65
vi. Mr. Brandron keeps his Appointment . 71
vii. In which a Triumph is prepared for Captain
Frankland, V.C. 85
viii. Mr. Brandron's Legacy . . . .100
ix. Down amongst the Back Streets . . 117
x. The Inquest 127
xi. ' See the Conquering Hero comes' . .143
xii. Under his Nose 161
xiii. On the Track 174
xiv. Check ! 186
xv. Shows how Mr. Tremlett reassumed his
Sway, and how Grace Lee spoilt her
Bonnet-strings . . . .. . 202
xvi. A Discovery . . . . . .216
xvii. Mangerton Chase . . . , .229
IV CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
xviii. A Eat ! a Rat ! 241
xix. The old, old Story 254
xx. The Secret 265
xxi. Every Cloud has a Silver Lining . .272
xxii. How a Storm gathered over Tremlett
Towers 287
xxiii. The Secret 300
xxiv. What Mr. Lagger thought about the Let-
ters, and how he visited craigsleigh
Chapel 307
xxv. The Marriage Registers . . . .321
xxvi. Nancy . 330
xxvii. Deals with Puzzles, or at least One Sort
op them—Women 346
xxviii. In which poor Grace Lee's New-born Hopes
are shipwrecked 374-
xxix. A House divided against itself—by Settle-
ment ....... 383
xxx. The Hardest Knot of All . . -397
xxxi. Disentanglement 409
xxxii. Explanations 424.
xxxiii. Winding up on the Reel .... 442
xxxiv. Which ends this Strange Eventful His-
tory 455
A TANGLED SKEIN
CHAPTER I.
coming home.
In the Indian Ocean—out of sight of land. A blazing sun-
set, and a great steam-ship throbbing her resolute way in
solitary grandeur through the glittering waves that creamed
and darkened in her wake ! I think I can picture the
scene in my own mind, but I had rather not try to describe
it; for I was born within the sound of Bow bells, have never
been to India, and consequently never came back from
thence. I have to deal with very stern realities affecting
persons, most of whom I can lay my hands upon at a few
hours' notice, and associate them with scenes familiar to me
from my youth—all but this. I should not like to run the
risk of marring what I know, by attempting to detail what
I have only heard of. I have read—(who has not ?)—■
much print about the Overland Route. Shall I take down
from their shelves half-a-dozen of the books in which it is
described, hash up for you as many odds and ends of scenes
and sketches therein contained, and serve up the dish in a
sauce of my own composition? Will it possess the genuine
Indian flavour ? I am afraid not. It would taste of the
pot; and I should be sure to put in some ingredient which,
without being pleasing to the palate of the uninitiated,
would expose my poor rechauffe in its true character. No !
I will, if you please, describe that which I have seen—and
that only.
The vessel in question was the Peninsular and Oriental
steam-ship Ganges, Captain Stevenson, bound to Suez.
She had on board many sufferers by the Indian mutiny, and
B
2
A TANGLED SKEIN.
amongst them Captain Stephen Frankland, of the Bengal
Light Cavalry. You will be good enough to picture for
yourselves the good ship which is bearing him, the persons
of his fellow-voyagers (other than those to whom you will be
introduced), and the appearances of the sunset which he is
watching on the evening of the 8th of July 1858, when
first he is presented to your notice.
Brave honest Stephen Frankland ! If there ever was a
man who deserved to have a smooth and pleasant pilgrimage
through life, it was he ; but Fate—chance, a combination
of untoward circumstances, call it what you please—took
up the thread of his life and tangled it, as we shall see,
into a dark web, in which all hope and happiness seemed at
one time to be lost. It is his story that I am about to tell,
therefore let me photograph him at once, as it were, on the
title-page of my book.
He is incapable of resisting the indignity, for he has
been to death's door with jungle-fever combined with sun-'
stroke, and is still very, very weak—so weak that it has
taken him half an hour to totter from his cabin to the spot
where he now reclines, wrapped in his regimental cloak, and
gazing over the darkening sea westward, far westward!
towards the home he has not seen for years—that he may
never see again !
Did he stand upright, he would measure at least five
feet eleven, and his wasted limbs, that are now extended in
such lamentable helplessness upon the deck, were, a few
weeks ago, full of grace and strength. He has fought
under Havelock—he has marched with Chamberlayne—he
has borne the whole brunt of the mutiny. He is one of
that scant band of heroes who kept the tiger at bay—
hurling him back, in spite of all his frantic bounds, till
England arose in her might and strangled the bloody brute
in his lair! He has won the Victoria Cross, and by and
by, when the armies are amalgamated, will be made a
brevet major, if be has a friend at the Horse Guards to
remind the Authorities of his services. O, his country is
proud of him—and very grateful too, of course ! Though,
being a country of a naturally phlegmatic temperament, she
does not give way to her feelings very warmly.
COMING HOME.
3
The young soldier's face is very grave, and his fine
brown eyes, which are unnaturally bright just now, have
rather a hard expression. His brow is calm and massive;
but his mouth, though almost overshadowed by his tawny
moustache, gives a look to the lower part of his face which
is quite at variance with the sternness of its upper features.
Wait until he smiles, and the stern look will melt away,
and one of almost womanly softness take its place. To a
fresh acquaintance Stephen Frankland's manner is not plea-
sant: he is cold and haughty, especially with men. No
one values the good-will of companions and comrades more
than he does; and I think that his reserve springs more
from shyness than from pride, or any other feeling. He
values friendship so highly, that he cannot bear the idea of
forcing himself on that of any one, and will not lightly
admit any one to his own. But if he be slow in making
friends, he is slower still in losing them ; and many a raw
cornet, who has complained loudly, after the manner of the
tribe, ' that Frankland was so confoundedly bumptious,' has
been checked by the best men in the regiment, and told to
wait till he knew him better before he repeated such an
opinion. It is a great pity that people will go about mas-
querading in manners which do not belong to them; but
my hero is a mortal man, and subject to all the diseases,
mental and bodily, that flesh is heir to. So he will be in-
trodueed to you to-morrow. Bow stiffly, say half-a-dozen
chilly commonplaces; and if you go away disgusted with
his reserve and seek his society no more—if you are a good
sort of fellow, and worth cultivating—he will take to heart
your not liking him, and be doubly cold to the next man he
meets by way of mending matters. Not the sort of tern-
perament, this, with which to get on well in the world.
Too sensitive and self-accusing a great deal, as I am afraid
we shall find before long.
Have you ever met with a serious accident in a foreign
country, or felt some illness creeping over you when amongst
strangers 1 If you have, did not a wild yearning seize you
to hurry home, in spite of all assurances that you would be
safer and better tended where you were 1 If you have not,
believe me that it is no use arguing with the stricken one
4
A TANGLED SKEIN.
who has this feeling upon hitn. He craves for home—home,
no matter how humble it may be; and staggers thither-
ward with the unreasoning terror which makes a wounded
bird drag itself in torture from the hand that would
assuage its pain, to seek some well-known haunt wherein
to die.
Well, home is distant, and the blow has fallen before
it can be reached. The sufferer has to praise the All-
Merciful for a great escape, for the crisis is over and the
danger past. But will he admit that it is possible for him
to become quite well away from home ? Does he believe
that there can be any medicine so potent for his good as
the sight of old familiar scenes, the sound of old familiar
voices, the sympathy, above all, of those he loves ? I think
not. Happy are you if you have never known that weary
incurable disease—the home-sickness of the sick. I know
of poor people who have died in squalid cellars, because
they were their homes, rather than enter the hospitals, in
which they might have been cured in a week. I know of
men who have passed all their lives abroad, whose asso-
ciations, friends, and fame all belong to foreign scenes, but
who have tottered back in their old age to the home-land
that knows them not—merely because it is the home-land
—to enrich it with their hard-won wealth, and ask of it
nothing but a grave. Ay; we may philosophise, and scoff,
and make merry with these and other human softnesses.
Let us crown with bays the clever fellows who are so fond
of depicting the morbid anatomy of homes—who delight
in tearing down the gay hangings from the walls—who
smash through the gilding and the lath-and-plaster, and
disclose to us, with many a chuckle of triumph, the hidden
closet where the skeleton grins and clanks his horrid bones.
Ah, these are something like writers. Their pens are
lancets, their ink a fluid caustic, and every printed page a
cataplasm. How the great world smarts and simpers as
they ply their trade, each half of it enjoying the discom-
fiture of the other! I think, though, that there be pure
homes and home influences in the land, after all; but, bless
my soul ! it would be very insipid work to treat only of
these. Eau sucre is mawkish tipple at the best of times;
COMING HOME.
5
a squeeze of lemon and a dash of something out of the
garde de vin improves the flavour wonderfully.
The home-sickness was strong upon Stephen Frankland
as the sun went down upon this pleasant July evening, for
the home of his boyhood had been a very happy one—a
breezy, crag-bound, leafy, stream-girt home, snugly settled
half-way down a Derbyshire valley, with a great rugged
Tor, that was always ready to do battle with the north-east
wind on its behalf, standing up boldly behind it; and in
all other directions fat meadow-lands, and hills with dark
pine-woods hanging on their slopes; and fern-carpeted
dells and tangled coppices, with the restless Wye lacing
all the beauties of the landscape together with a silver
thread;—a home in which he had been a free and happy
country lad, revelling in field sports and the feats of strength
and daring, which had made him the ready and dashing
soldier that he was, before the fever struck him down. He
has closed his eyes now, in his painful weakness, and the
whole panorama floats across his mind's eye. There is the
field in which he made that famous double-shot of which
his father was so proud. Did he not have preserved and
stuffed the two unfortunate partridges who fell victims to
his boy's precocious skill 1 and are they not now hanging
up in a glass case in the hall 1 There is the quiet pool in
the bend of the river into which he used to plunge in the
summer-time, to the terror of his little brother Frank; and
the shady nook hard by, where afterwards he would loll,
half dressed, all the blazing mid-day, hidden by the tall
ferns, reading the lives of the great soldiers and sailors
who were his heroes, or half-terrifying, half-delighting his
childish companion with wondrous tales about giants and
fairies, and other inhabitants of the dear old realms of
fancy. There, far away to the right, over the grass-land,
is the fence at which he got that ugly fall out hunting,
when he mounted Lord Harkington's new chestnut mare,
merely because some one had said that he could not ride
her. The hot blundering brute bolted with her head in the
air, and crashed right into the middle of the double post
and rails without rising an inch, rolling over her rider, and
nearly killing him in her frantic struggles to rise. There
6
A TANGLED SKEIN.
again, close to the house, hanging from the sycamore-tree,
is the swing where he and Laura Coleman used to swing
each other when they were children together, and where
he wished her good-bye, and pressed into her reluctant
hand a little gold pencil-case as a parting gift the evening
before he left for India. There is Bill Grant's, the head
keeper's cottage. It was in the somewhat musty kitchen
of that tenement that he smoked his first pipe, procured
from Bill with much diplomacy, and not without a bribe.
Ah, will he ever forget that first pipe ? At a certain
period of its enjoyment what would he have given to Bill
not to have had it ? There, close by the privet hedge on
the lawn, is old Ponto's grave. Poor old Ponto ! Would
he have been a better dog, in his life, if he had known what
a grand funeral he was to have when all was over 1 There
is the wood—that on the hill yonder, near the bean-field—
where they had that tough tussle with the poachers on
Christmas-eve. And there—there—there ! far and near,
all around, is some spot full of old recollections for Stephen
Frankland, on which his memory loves to dwell. It dwells
on them, and those with whom they are associated, as they
were in the careless old times which are stamped on his
mind. He cannot realise them as they are. He has heard
that Bill Grant is not head-keeper now. The poor fellow
has had a paralytic stroke, and is a hopeless cripple; still
his pupil finds himself planning a long day's shooting,
which he intends to have in company with his old tutor in
woodcraft directly the season comes round agaiil. He can-
not think of Laura as a grown-up woman who has been
engaged to be married; she is ever, for him, the shy timid
child, who cried when she was swung too high. And
Prank, his little brother, the loved companion of all his
expeditions—poor, gentle, delicate little Frank—whom he
has carried for miles upon his shoulders, rather than he
should be disappointed of being present at some steeple-
chase, or cricket-match, or other sport that he wished to
see—Frank came of age a year ago ! He was but a boy,
and small and weak for his age, when Stephen sailed for
India. There was a wide gulf between them then; the one
was quite a man, the other still a child. Time had bridged it
COMING HOME.
7
over now, and the seven and a half years that separated their
ages was lost in their mutual manhood. A pleased smile
played round Stephen's lips and glistened in his eyes as he
tried to picture little Frank as the great country gentle-
man, and Justice of the Peace, Deputy-lieutenant, and High
Sheriff of the County, posts of dignity which letters from
home had informed him his brother was soon to fill. For,
as will presently appear more distinctly, Frank, though his
father's younger son, was sole heir to Tremlett Towers and
all its lands; whilst Stephen, the first-born, would inherit a
baronetcy, an honourable title, but attached to very few
possessions of any sort for its support.
The idea of envying Frank his good fortune never
entered his half-brother's mind; the possibility that Trem-
lett Towers might not be his home, to come and go in as
he pleased all the days of his life, never occurred to him for
a moment. How should it? Never by word or act or
look has he been reminded of his position under his father's
roof. He knew it well enough; his father had broken it
to him long before he left, and I think it reflected much
credit on his stepmother that he soon forgot what he was
told. Now, perhaps, you begin to see how matters stand.
He was his father's companion in all the sports of the field,
his alter ego with the tenantry and servants. He was his
mother's right hand in her garden, the distributor of her
bounty in the village, her representative in a dozen different
ways; for this lady was not given to exertion, and was
fond of doing what she did by deputy. His wishes were
always anticipated, his orders never questioned. He was
an universal favourite, the bright-eyed hearty lad ! Like
all brave men with a high sense of duty, he thought little
of what he had done, otherwise it might have occurred to
him that the news of deeds which had won him the highest
object of a soldier's ambition, the Cross for Yalour, would
quite dissipate the clouds with which absence sometimes
hides a vacant chair. But, as I said before, the idea from
which such a thought would spring never occurred to him.
He longed for home with a sick man's longing as the sun
went down that July evening. And so vividly did home
and home faces come back to him that it seemed as though
8
A TANGLED SKEIN.
lie had never really left them, and that the wonders of the
strange land in which his lot had been cast, and all its
recent horrors, were the baseless fabric of a vision which
was passing away.
He was aroused from such day-dreaming by a tap upon
the shoulder, and, turning round, saw that a square-built
man, with a jolly weather-beaten face, and dressed in the
handsome uniform of the Peninsular and Oriental Company,
had taken a seat by his side. ' Glad to see you on deck,
sir!' said the officer. ' I am Captain Stevenson, of this
ship, at your service. How do you feel yourself to-night ?—
picking up your crumbs, eh ? There now, don't move; I've
got plenty of room where I am, thank ye !' And the jolly
seaman kindly pressed Stephen Frankland back into the
reclining position from which he had started, and smoothed
the pillow that supported his head.
' Is there anything I can do for you ?' he added, when
this was done—' anything you want in your cabin ?
'Thank you very much!' Stephen replied; 'I have
everything I require, and I shall soon cease to be the
troublesome fellow that I am sure I must have been to you
all. I feel as though every breath of this cool sea-breeze
was putting new life into me.'
4 To be sure,' said the Captain; 4 so it does. Why,
I've had young fellows carried aboard further gone than
you were—and you hadn't much to spare on this side Davy
Jones's locker when we left Calcutta ; but, Lord bless you,
as soon as ever they can crawl on deck they sit gasping in
the fresh air like a shoal of blue-fish, and are on their pins
again calling out for bitter beer before we sight Perim !'
4 How long shall we be before we sight Perim ?' asked
the sick man after a pause.
4 How long will you be before you get to your bitter
beer, you mean,' said the Captain, with a jovial laugh. 4 But
you will get a chill if you stay out any longer. The wind
is freshening, and you have had quite as much of it as you
can bear for the first time; the doctor would tell you so
if he were here. You had better turn in, and—ha, just in
the nick of time !' he continued, as a tall figure moved
silently out of the shadow of the hatchway, and took its
HOW FRANKLAND AND BRANDRON COMPARED NOTES. 9
stand by Stephen's side. ' Here's your servant come to
help you in.'
' Hush !' exclaimed the invalid, in a quick whisper; ' he
is not my servant.'
Captain Stevenson opened his mouth and raised his
eyelids, and so made those expressive features reply—
4 Who the deuce, then, is he ?' as plainly as though he had
articulated the words. The question was lost upon the new-
comer, , so busily was he engaged in collecting the books,
cushions, and other articles which fell as the sick man rose
and prepared to pass below; but as he rose he laid his
finger on his lip with a meaning look, until the old man
had descended the companion-ladder, and then replied in a
whisper, ' You will think it very odd, but I know abso-
lutely nothing about him, beyond this—I owe my life to his
care. I will try and find out who he is to-night.'
CHAPTER II.
how captain frankland and mr. brandron compared
notes.
Arrived in his cabin, Stephen Frankland flung himself
heavily upon the cot with an impatient moan. He had
only descended some eight or ten steps, and walked as many
yards; but so feeble was his state that the exertion, slight
as it was, proved almost too much for him. His attendant,
who had followed, carefully measured out some tonic medi-
cine, and handed it, without a word. He then placed every-
thing that might be required within his reach, and silently
proceeded to set the cabin in order for the night. This
done, he was about to retire, when Frankland raised him-
self, and laid a hand upon his arm. ' Don't leave me,' he
said—' that is, I mean, if you do not want to go on deck
again.'
The person thus addressed paused, and held the cabin-
door half shut behind him as he turned towards the cot.
10
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' You see I am getting all right again,' Frankland con-
tinued, in a cheerful tone. ' Yesterday I could scarcely
stand, and to-night I have walked ever so far, all by myself.
In a very few days I shall be off the sick-list altogether.'
' I am glad to find you so hopeful,' was the grave reply;
4 take care, though, that you do not over-exert yourself. You
know what the doctor said, and if I stay here with you, you
must promise not to talk.'
1 That is exactly what I want to do. It's all bosh say-
ing I must not talk. Why, I haven't coughed once for I
don't know how long ! I am going to ask you to redeem the
promise that you made, I think, two days ago. My head is
getting clearer now, and it worries me awfully not to know
what has passed. I lay awake all last night trying in vain
to recall the past; and I am sure I shall not sleep to-night,
unless you help me. I do assure you that I am quite strong
enough now to hear all you like to tell—to ask what I so
much want to know.'
His attendant closed the door softly, and drawing a
trunk close to the cot, seated himself so that the wan detain-
ing hand still rested on his arm. ' Well V
The sick man was a little disconcerted by that monosyl-
labic reply to his anxiously urged request, but more so by
the sad searching gaze with which the speaker regarded him.
It was not easy to fix his exact age; his face and figure
were so wasted by the ravages of the Indian climate. He
looked sixty at least, but was probably some years younger.
He was unusually tall and gaunt, with a square massive
brow, and restless though earnest eyes. A few flowing
locks of iron-gray hair, thrown back from his temples and
passed behind each ear, would have given an air of benevo-
lence to almost any other face, but there was a fixed stern-
ness upon his pale features which never left them even whilst
he was performing acts of womanly tenderness for his patient
—a sternness which did not reflect anger or dislike, but
betokened the absence of all softer feelings from a heart
that had once been their home.
Frankland sank back again into a reclining posture as
the old man took his seat; and when the hand that had
been laid on his slipped downwards, and the arm swung
HOW FRANKLAND AND BRANDRON COMPARED NOTES. 11
heavily beside the cot, the patient attendant took it in both
his own, and, regarding it with a strange cynical smile,
pressed it almost tenderly and placed it softly on the cover-
let. There was no light in the cabin, and the shades of
evening were rapidly closing in. After waiting some mo-
ments to see if his companion would volunteer the informa-
tion which he so much desired, Stephen again broke the
silence which had become painful to him. ' I am afraid,' he
said, ' that I have lost all count of time. I am conscious
that I have been a long time ill, and that you have all along
tended me with a care and patience for which I cannot
account. I feel that I owe you my life, and do not even
know your name.'
'My name is Brandron—John Everett Brandron. I am
an uncovenanted servant of the East India Company, if it
still exists, and I am going ho— I am going to England
upon leave. I have done for you what any other man would
have done for any other man whom he found as I found
you.'
' But where did you find me ? That is what I want to
know,' Stephen said, in an excited tone, and starting up into
a sitting posture. ' When was it 1—and where 1 Why am
I not with my regiment 1 How is it that I am here ? All
this is a blank to me, in which my mind goes wandering till
it is lost in distraction.'
' This will never do ! Compose yourself, pray, or I
must leave you,' said Brandron; ' you shall know all you
require; but have patience. There now,' he added, as
Stephen sank into his former position; ' tell me, as quietly
as you can, what you can last remember, and I will recount
the rest—at least as far as I know of it.'
* You want to know how I was wounded ?'
' I want to know nothing,' the old man replied, with a
smile; ' but you must tell me where to begin, or I shall be
saying what you know already.'
Erankland closed his eyes, and paused for a moment to
collect his thoughts. ' You have heard,' he then said, ' of
that affair of ours at the Baptee V
< Where your regiment and the —th charged the rebel
Sowars in the middle of the river 1 Yes.'
12
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Well; no matter what we did,' said Frankland, ' or
how I got through; I managed to keep to my saddle, and
when poor old Cherry—(that's my charger, I wonder what
has become of him ?)—scrambled with me up the opposite
bank, I saw some score or so of the enemy forming on the
flat ground close by. I collected a few of our fellows, and
we rode straight at them—straight through them, by Jove !
too; and when they scattered right and left, I saw that
their leader was Lai Roogee—a villain whose life I had sworn
to have if ever I saw him again; and so— But I am wander-
ing on too quickly. I must tell you why I made this vow.
There was a young cornet of ours—a dashing, handsome
boy, a prime favourite with all of us, and a special chum of
mine. His name was Charley Treherne, the only son of a
clergyman down in Kent, near Westborough.' Brandron
started, and a crimson flush spread for an instant over his
pale face. 1 What makes you start ? Do you know the
family V
'Ko, nor heard of it. I know the country in which
they live, that is all—go on.'
' Well, Charley was on sick leave in the hills when the
mutiny broke out, and had only just rejoined us at the
time of which I am speaking. It was a few days, perhaps
a week, before the Raptee business, that he saw the enemy
for the first and last time. There was a fort to be taken;
one of those that our Government were fools enough to let
a set of rascally rajahs arm and occupy, to turn against
us at the very first opportunity. The infantry were, for a
wonder, led up to the right side of it—the rear; and we
were posted in the front, hidden in a little wood, to cut off
the scoundrels in their inevitable bolt. I had dismounted,
and was watching the fort through a field-glass, and so was
Charley, but he was on horseback. I had not to watch
long. Crack ! went half a dozen shells into the middle of
the place. Crash went the gate, blown into lucifer-matches
by a powder-bag fixed there by little Teddy Scott, of the
Engineers, as coolly as though he were hanging up a pic-
ture in the drawing-room. In went three companies of the
gallant —rd at one end, and out came about two hundred
Pandies at the other, who scattered themselves helter-skelter
HOW FRANKLAND AND BRANDRON COMPARED NOTES. IB
into the jungle. It was no use charging after them. But a
better enemy soon came in sight. An entire regiment of
horse, that had only mutinied a few days before, drew up
in good order, and, to our intense satisfaction, prepared to
march off our way. At their head was a man that I had
known by sight, and had heard too much of. " Charley," I
whispered, " do yon see that fellow on the white barb, with
a shirt of mail over his tunic? That's Lai Roogee." "And
what is the Roogee famous for?" asked poor Charley, in his
playful way. " Hush!" I said; " this is no joking matter.
That is the fiend who killed poor Clayton's young wife.
He set fire to her muslin dress, and the devils that were
with him hacked her to pieces with their swords, as she
ran shrieking through the compound."
' I shall never forget the expression on Charley's face
when he heard those words. The poor lady had been very
kind to him when he first came out, and there, proudly
riding at the head of the troop that her husband once com-
manded, was her murderer! It was as much as I could
do to hold the excited boy. By Jove, sir, he would have
ridden out, then and there, single-handed, to cut him down!
At last we got the word " Officers to the front!" The
charge was sounded, and away we went. It was a regular
race; but my charger stumbled over a fallen tree, and this
threw me back almost equal with the men. I then saw
that Charley was charging straight on Lai Roogee. I saw
his sabre glimmer in the air; I saw the rebel sowar rein
back his horse to avoid the stroke; I saw him wave his
sword, as it seemed to me, only towards Charley as he
whirled by, and then I was in the thick of it myself, doing
my duty, I hope, till the recall was sounded. Then my
sergeant came up, and, with a tear on his bronzed cheek,
told me what had really happened. The apparently idle
wave of that practised villain's sword had done deadly work.
The sharp curve of the blade had just touched poor Char-
ley's neck, and inflicted a deep wound, through which, long
before we reached the spot where he fell, he had bled to
death. We buried him in the wood that night; and I took
his sword, a lock of his hair, and a Bible with his mother's
name in it, that I found in his pack, to send to his home.
14
A TANGLED SKEIN.
I do not know what mas become of them. There was a
vulgar cant about in England, when I left, that, to be a
dashing soldier, one must be a roue and a scamp. A braver
and more promising officer than Charley Treherne never
drew steel, and he lived and died a Christian gentleman.'
' I think you will find the things you mention among
your baggage,' said Brandron; ' I especially noticed the
Bible in the palanquin with you when— But I, too, am wan-
dering; go on—what about Lai Boogee V
11 cannot say how he escaped that day. We met again,
as I have told you, on the banks of the Bap tee. By this
time we had heard more about the devil's work of his set.
I was nearly wild with excitement as it was, but the sight
of his black face nearly maddened me. I dqn't suppose that
what followed occupied more than two minutes from first
to last, but in this time a host of recollections flashed
through my mind. I saw poor Mary Clayton with her
little baby on her lap. I heard her putting in a kind word,
as she often had done, for the villains who afterwards took
away her life. I was at mess, and it was the first night
that Charley joined us. I was hunting, shooting, reading,
listening in the verandah of our Indian house to his merry
songs and ringing laugh. I was kneeling beside his grave;
I was vowing to avenge him—better than that, I was
plunging along upon a fresh horse, with only a few yards
of level ground between me and the man who had killed
him. What exultation I felt as I gained upon him! for
this time he did not stand at bay, as the nature of the ground
had forced him to do on the former occasion, but was riding
for his life. Bearer and nearer I came, till I could see the
whites ©f his evil eyes as he turned and fired one of his
long pistols at me. He missed, and the next moment I
was on him! My sword was in the air; I had risen in
my stirrups to give impetus to the stroke, when a sharp
pang, like the prick of a pin, ran through my body from
head to heel! Then came a dull crushing blow, as though
a truss of hay had fallen from a height upon my head, and
then darkness, a vague sensation of pain somewhere, and a
dreary unconsciousness of what was going on until I woke
up, as it were, a few days ago, and found myself in this
HOW FRANKLAND AND BRANDRON COMPARED NOTES. 15
cabin, and you seated there, as you are now, by my side.
I must have been cut down from behind.'
4 So you were,' said Brandron, when Frankland had thus
concluded his account, 4 but not by a mortal enemy. You
were unhorsed by a sunstroke. In addition to this, those
who had charge of you, whoever they were, managed to
let you be attacked by jungle fever.'
4 How do you know ?'
4 Because you were very bad with jungle fever when I
found you.'
4 But where did you find me, and when?'
4 On the grand trunk road, seven miles from Agra.'
4 Will you tell me under what circumstances V
4 In my own way, if you will not interrupt me. I am
a man of few words, and will not keep you long. I was
travelling by palqui. My bearers told me there was a pal-
qui on the road before us unattended, and that there was a
tiger prowling round and round, trying hard to overturn
it. I shot that tiger—I opened that palqui, and there
found you in delirium. Your bearers had fled at the sight
of the beast, whose skin I will show you one day. I got
other bearers, had you carried on to Agra, and gave you
over to the staff-surgeon. He told me that nothing but a
sea voyage would save your life; so I brought you to Cal-
cutta, shipped you on board this vessel, and here you are.'
4 But my leave—my papers—my debts— ?'
4 Were all settled by an officer of your own regiment,
who was at Calcutta, and helped me to get you off. You
have two years' leave,, and all your baggage is on board.
So you see that I have done very little for you. Your way
happened to be my way, and we travelled together—that is
all. As for your recovery—saving your life, as you call it
•—that is no business of mine. You have a good constitu-
tion, and were lucky enough to fall into the hands of a
doctor who left it alone. I have told you all I know. If
you want to learn what happened to you between the times
of your falling at the Baptee and my finding you near
Agra, you must apply to some one else. The probability
is that you were sent off about a fortnight after your fall.
The rest of the time had been taken up in the journey.'
16
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' I want to hear no more,' said Frankland; ' I have
heard enough to know that I owe you my life twice oyer.
Like you, I am a man of few words in these matters;
words are but poor agents to express the gratitude I feel.
I must find other means of paying the deep debt I have
incurred; and there are those in England, Mr. Brandron,
who will help me in its discharge. May I ask in what part
of England is your home ?'
' I have no home. I have been in India twenty
years.'
' I mean, where do your friends reside?'
' I have no friends. Have I not told you that I have
been away twenty years ? Before I had left twenty days
no one cared to inquire whether I was dead or alive. Yes,
there was one,' he added, in a low voice; ' but his anxiety
about me would have been best satisfied if he had heard
that I was dead.'
I You speak bitterly.'
II feel bitterly—that is, when I am fool enough to give
way to my feelings, but that is not often.'
' Pray, do not misjudge me,' said Frankland, touched
by the sadness of his tone, and the deepening of the settled
melancholy on his face, 1 or think that I am indulging idle
curiosity in pursuing a subject which I see is not a plea-
sant one; but I must naturally take a deep interest in one
to whom I owe so much. I am going to travel overland.
A dozen chances may part us any day. Will you not let
me know where I shall find you at home—I mean, where
you will stay when you arrive in England ?'
' That I cannot do.'
' You mean you will not,' said Frankland, somewhat
nettled at what he took for a rebuff. ' Be it so, then; I
will press you no further.'
' I mean,' replied Brandron, taking no notice of the im-
patient gesture with which Frankland had turned from
him, ' exactly what I say. I cannot tell you where I shall
stay when I land in England, because I shall be there so
short a time that I shall have no settled abode.'
' Where will you go then ?'
' Back to India.'
HOW FRANKLAND AND BRANDRON COMPARED NOTES. 17
' Back to India,' exclaimed Frankland, £ at your age !
I thought—'
' I have only six months' leave,' said Brandron, inter-
rupting him. ' My superiors imagine that I shall spend it
in the hills, and no one is aware that I intended to take
this voyage. Were my purpose known in certain quarters,
perhaps it might have been defeated. As it is, I take my
own course. Deducting the time which will be spent going
and returning to my post, I shall have about ten weeks in
England. I could do all I have to do in one, and shall
probably return as soon as I have done it.'
' Do you like India, then ? Do you not care to remain
in your own country as long as you can V
' All places are the same to me,' said Brandron gloomily.
' Then why this flying visit ]'
' Because,' replied Brandron, with vehemence, a strange
light flashing into his eyes as he spoke, ' I go to do an act
of justice.1
Frankland started up, astonished at this sudden change
in the manner of his companion, and for the first time he
eluded his gaze.
' You have struck a key-note, you see,' Brandron said,
turning his face aside; ' but pray do not dwell upon it.
Come, let us change the subject.'
' I am most unfortunate in my questions,' Frankland
rejoined; ' but you cannot think that I would intentionally
touch upon what would give you pain 1 I will not offend
again.'
' You cannot,' replied his companion, in a gayer manner
than he had as yet assumed. ' Avoid this one subject,
and the more questions you ask me the better I shall be
pleased. I have lived so long alone in out-of-the-way
places, where I have scarcely seen a white face from one
year's end to another, that I have become uncommunicative
and gloomy. I cannot change my nature all of a sudden.
I was a pleasant companion once, I believe, and may be so
again: meanwhile, bear with an old fellow's weakness,
and, with one restriction, ask me what you please. It is
quite new to meet with any one who takes an interest in
me, as you appear to do; and it is a pleasure to gratify it.'
c
18
A TANGLED SKEIN.
4There is one thing I should very much like to ask
you,' said Frankland, after a pause; ' but I am afraid it
approaches forbidden ground.'
' Never mind, if it does not touch it.'
'1 hope it will not; if it does, say so, and I will not
urge it.'
' Go on.'
' You tell me that you are going to England to do an
act of justice?' Brandron's brow grew dark. ' Hear me
out,' Frankland continued quickly, checking the gesture
intended to silence him. ' Hear me out first. In perform-
ing this, you will do one of two things—perhaps both.
You will punish some one who has committed an injustice,
or you will benefit some one who has been wronged. Which
is it?'
4 Both.'
'Then,' replied Frankland quickly, 'you will not be, as
you say, without a friend; for you will win the gratitude
and love of the person whose cause you uphold.'
' It is too late,' said Brandron sorrowfully; ' too late :
years ago it might have been as you say, but now it is too
late;' and pressing the hand which had fallen in sym-
pathy upon his own, he rose with a deep sigh and left the
cabin.
The young dragoon regained health and strength rapidly,
and soon began to mix with his fellow-passengers, and join
in the pursuits with which they beguiled the monotony of
the voyage. In these, the stern companion of his hours of
sickness could not take part, for certain mystic reasons,
better known to the skilled in Anglo-Indian etiquette than
to this ignoramus. He only knows that Mr. Brandron was
shunned by the ladies and gentlemen in the saloon—Stephen
Frankland alone excepted.
Frankland perceived what was going on a little too late
to take the sting out of it. Brandron had ceased those
attentions towards him which had led Captain Stevenson
to imagine that the grave old man was his servant. This,
however, he attributed to the fact that he was no longer in
a condition to require them, and did not notice the altered
manner of his friend; but when the latter hinted, in his
HOW FRANKLAND AND BRANDRON COMPARED NOTES. 19
cold cynical way, that seeking his society would lower the
young officer in the estimation of his new acquaintances,
and requested him to let their intimacy die out, all Frank-
land's warm nature revolted against such a policy and its
cause. ' Confound their exclusiveness !' he exclaimed:
' may I not choose my own friends f
' It is not always wise to do so,' said Brandron dryly.
' You do not want to be friends with me any longer,
then ?' rejoined Frankland, hurt at his coolness.
' I did not say so.'
' But you keep on hinting that we had better not be
seen together. I will force myself upon no man; but I
wonder you ever took an interest in me, and acted as you
did, if you intended to throw me off like this.'
Brandron smiled grimly. ' Did you ever fish a fly out
of your cream-pot V he asked.
' What nonsense!'
'And help him to rub his wings clean on the fable
cloth V
' What do you mean V
' And feel a sort of weakness towards him, as though
he belonged to you, whilst he was weak and crippled, till
he got all right again, and buzzed away to join the other
flies upon the window ?'
'Well,' said Frankland, with a smile, ' I might have
done such a thing.'
' I actually have,' Brandron replied; ' metaphorically
speaking, I have fished you out of the cream-pot; I have
watched you rub your wings clean; I have had a sort of
weakness towards you whilst you were weak and crippled;
but now you have buzzed away, and joined the other flies,
and there's an end of it.'
Frankland looked him hard in the face—looked through
the cynical grin, and saw that there was a covert smile of
kindness on the other side gleaming out like the sun from
behind a cloud. He merely said, very quietly, ' There is
not an end of it—at least so far as the fly is concerned.'
Brandron took a turn up and down the deck, and when
he came back to where Stephen stood, he laid his hand
upon his shoulder without saying a word, but Stephen knew,
20
A TANGLED SKEIN.
or thought he knew, what was meant. It was not till the
next day that he said apropos of nothing,4 Frankland, I do
believe that you are an honest man.' What could he have
been thinking about in the interim ?
4 I should be a worthless cur, sir, if I were not—to
you.'
4 As it is,' said Brandron, smiling, 1 you are only a fly.'
4 And still on the table-cloth V
1 Well, have it so if you like.'
And the subject was never returned to again. Nor was
any allusion made to the topic which had broken off their
first conversation in Frankland's cabin, when he had un-
wittingly touched the mainspring of his friend's melan-
choly; but he gleaned from subsequent talk that the
business that Brandron had in England would take him in
the first instance to the neighbourhood of Westborough;
and putting this and that together, he was able to account
for the start and change of manner which the mention of
that place, whilst telling Charley Treherne's sad story, had
caused in his auditor. This brought him to think that
Brandron might take charge of the relics of the poor boy,
and deliver them to his sorrowing parents; and Brandron
accepted the commission.
4 You see,' Frankland said,4 they'll have heard all about
it by the last mail, and will hardly be in a condition to see
anybody just yet. You can just leave the things, or send
them, that's all. I will go later, when they will be more
prepared to hear what I can tell them. It is a sad loss—
poor Charley ! But it would be a farce for a stranger like
me to offer consolation. Besides, my first duty is to my
own family; and every day that brings me nearer to my
home finds me more fidgety to get there.' And then he
began to tell Brandron of the happy life of his boyhood, and
to anticipate the pleasant days he should pass amongst the
well-loved faces and unforgotten scenes ; but was checked
in the midst of his enthusiasm by the cynical smile and
almost savage retort which it produced from his auditor.
He turned away, vexed with the want of consideration he
had displayed in parading his own domestic happiness before
one who had not a friend or a home, and never renewed
HOW FRANKLAND AND BRANDRON COMPARED NOTES. 21
the subject—but Brandron did, some ten days afterwards.
By this time they had crossed the desert, and were in sight
of Malta.
' You will go straight through France, I suppose V he
inquired.
' Yes, and cross to Folkestone : but, of course, I shall
send my heavy luggage round by Southampton.'
' And this brother ©f yours, of whom you were speak-
ing some time ago, of course he will be there to welcome
you?'
' Of course not. He does not expect me—no one ex-
pects me. How should they? Unless, indeed,' Frankland
added quickly, ' you wrote from India. I could not do so,
as you are well aware. Did you write ?'
11 did not,' replied Brandron; ' for at this moment I
do not know where your parents live.'
' I will show you,' said Frankland gleefully, ' before
many days are over. I shall give you just one week to
yourself; and then, if you do not come straight to Tremlett
Towers, I shall have you taken, and brought there in cus-
tody.'
A grim smile broke over Brandron's countenance ; but
he made no reply; and Frankland having quite made up
his own mind upon the point, considered it as settled, and
did not refer to it again.
One thing, however, perplexed him a little. In the
course of a conversation with Captain Stevenson, shortly
after their first interview, he recounted his narrow escape
from being devoured alive upon the Agra road, and when
he mentioned Brandron's name, ' Who's he ?' asked the
Captain. Stephen replied, that the person whom the Cap-
tain had taken to be his servant was so called. Whereupon
the Captain flushed up, and declared, that that certainly
was not the name under which his passage had been taken;
and begging Stephen to accompany him to his cabin, he
called for the ship's books, and there it was plainly entered
that the occupant of berth No. 36 had described himself as
Bobert Meynell, merchant, of Calcutta, and that there was
no such person as John Everett Brandron, of the uncove-
nanted civil service, on board. But when Stephen remem-
22
A TANGLED SKEIN.
bered that his friend's visit to England was a secret one,
he ceased to attribute any importance to this fact.
Time passed on pleasantly enough, and our travellers
were approaching their journey's end very nearly, when
Brandron broke a long pause by saying suddenly, ' Shall I
tell you what I am thinking of, Frankland ?'
'Yes; go on.'
1 I'm thinking that it would be much more considerate
if you were to go in person to Westborough and give old
Mr. Treherne his son's sword. It may be that the news of
the poor lad's death arrived by the last mail, and they will
be anxious to know many things that you alone can tell
them. Of course I will fulfil my promise if you hold me
to it; but it certainly seems to me that you had better
come yourself.'
' Does it really V
' It does indeed. It will not delay you more than a
day. Besides—and here comes the selfish part of it—as
the time for carrying out this business of mine approaches,
I feel strangely nervous and apprehensive; and though I
cannot see how you could possibly help me, I should not be
sorry to have a friend at hand. Will you come with me to
Westborough, and then I will go with you where you
please ?'
4 How do we get there V
1 The nearest station is Poundbridge, which is on the
direct line between Dover and London. We can start thence
—you to Treherne's house, I to my appointment. A few
hours will suffice to settle everything, if the man I expect
is to his time. At any rate we can resume our journey the
next day. Shall it be so V
Stephen readily assented. Could he do less for a man
who had saved his life twice over ?
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROTJGH.
28
CHAPTER III.
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROTJGH.
How dreadful a battle would be if those engaged in it
could see tbe course of every ball, and tell precisely when
to expect the cold steel amongst their vitals ! And what
an unsatisfactory life we should lead in this world of ours,
if we knew exactly what dangers and chances, what benefits
and disasters, would follow every step we take ! It is better
for us to move straight forward in the path of duty, and
take our chance amongst the hidden missiles. The same is
true in the Battle of Life. Here, too, it will be best, I
think, to take things as they come, and go about the ordi-
nary business of the hour without considering its fortuities.
So went Stephen Frankland. If he had known what would
have been the consequences of his visit to Westborough, he
certainly would have given that picturesque village the widest
berth, and probably would have b$en not much better off in
the long-run for his escape.
So Stephen went to Westborough, to hand over in person
to the sorrowing father the relics of poor Charley Treherne;
and, to his surprise, found his usually stern and composed
companion becoming painfully nervous and apprehensive as
he approached the spot. Twice only during the whole of
their voyage from India had Brandron alluded to the serious
business, the act of justice, as he had called it on board the
steamer, to perform which he was paying his flying visit to
England. Hitherto he had become very angry and silent
when Stephen appeared even to be approaching the subject,
but for the last few hours it was hardly ever off his tongue.
i Have you ever had a presentiment of evil, Frankland V
he asked, as they were about to land at Folkestone.
< No—yes—well, sometimes ; but I don't know that it
was ever fulfilled.'
* I have one at this moment, and it is, that as sure as I
put my foot on that land, I shall never leave it again.'
' Then I most heartily hope it may come true,' was
Stephen's reply. ' Why should you go out to be broiled to
death again ?'
24
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Frankland ! I am gomg to put myself in the hands of
a man whom I cannot trust—a man who has managed to
silence me for twenty years, and who would not scruple to
silence me for ever, if he could.'
' Tush ! my dear sir. Westborough is in the county of
Kent—not in the Himalaya mountains,' replied his friend
gaily. ' There's law in the land of England—and me:
why not let me assist you in this matter? You may depend
upon my discretion, and I'll take good care that you are
not wronged.'
1 No, no,' said Brandron, with a sigh that ended in a
shudder; 11 must go through it by myself—I must go
through it alone. I will do my duty, whatever may he the
result. When the time comes I shall he prepared for it;
it is only the coming that unsettles me a little.'
It was early hours when the train reached Poundbridge,
and our travellers found themselves in the inn at West-
borough by midday. Here Brandron engaged a pleasant
cool little room, overlooking the road ; and Stephen Frank-
land inquired his way to Mr. Treherne's house.
1 Well, sir,' said the landlord, ' it's about two mile from
here, out Fenbury way. I don't know if I'm intruding,
sir; but was you one of the family ?' Stephen replied that
he was not. ' Because,' resumed his host, ' I don't know
as he'll see you. He ain't seen anybody, not even the
Squire, since he heard of poor Master Charley's death.'
' Then he does know V said Frankland quickly.
' 0, yes ! The news came—let me see, now—the news
came—just a fortnight ago ; it came in a letter from them
as works things in India—I don't know justly what to call
'em; and it said as Master Charley was dead—nothing
more. The poor old gentleman does take on above a bit;
for he thinks—and it's only likely, too—that them devils
of Sepoys got the poor lad prisoner, and tortured him. Ah !
he was a nice lad, too, was Master Charley.'
This intelligence determined Frankland to go on at
once to the Rectory. He could, at least, give the stricken
father the slight consolation that his gallant son had died
a soldier's death. Imagining that the house would be near
at hand, he had dismissed the fly, and was rather posed for
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROUGH.
25
a conveyance; for the idea of walking to his destination,
be it far or near, is one which rarely occurs to a man who
has spent much time in India. However, the landlord, who
did a little farming, solved this difficulty by offering to lend
his pony ; and Captain Stephen rode out of the stable-yard
of the Eising Sun astride upon an animal the sight of which
would have spread consternation amongst the ranks of the
crack regiment to which he belonged. How, he had been told
to keep ' straight on,' and as each of three roads that he came
to diverged at a considerable angle, he pulled up, and was
puzzled which to follow. At last he proceeded down that
which seemed to lead in the right direction, and had not
gone far, when he saw a woman walking on in front. ' All
right,' he said to himself, 1 here's some one who will show
me the way,' and he cantered up towards her. As he ap-
proached, she sat down upon the roadside, and began pluck-
ing the grass, platting it up in a meaningless manner. She
was a full-grown woman, dressed in a common blue print,
heavy boots, and battered straw bonnet, like one who labours
in the fields ; but she had the face of a child.
' Please tell me which is the way to Kernden V asked
Stephen.
The woman looked up vaguely.
' Perhaps you don't live about here 1' he asked, thinking
he might be inquiring of a stranger.
The woman's countenance instantly lit up with a gleam,
of intelligence: ' I live at the third cottage opposite the
well, a mile and a bit from Westborough.' There was a
strange accuracy in the address, and it was spoken quickly,
as a child would repeat a lesson that she had been taught—■
galloping quickly over the beginning, that she might not
have time to forget the end.
' Then please show me the way to Kernden Eectory 1'
Erankland said.
The look of intelligence faded away, and an expres-
sion of blank wonder, not unmixed with fear, took its
place.
' Can't you tell me where the clergyman lives ? Don't
you know Mr. Treherne V
' Yes, yes !' she replied quickly. ' Kind Mr. Treherne !
26
A TANGLED SKEIN.
why has he not come V and she started up, and seized Ste-
.phen by his coat.
'1 do not know what you mean, my good woman,' he
answered, gently releasing himself from her grasp; ' but
if you know this gentleman, as you seem to do, surely you
can tell me whereabout he lives V
'It's no use your talking to her,' said a gruff voice
from behind. ' Don't you see she is daft V
Stephen, startled at the interruption, turned round,
and saw that he was addressed by a travelling knife-grinder,
who stood leaning on his machine on the opposite side of
the road. He was not a nice-looking person. Small black
eyes, set deep in his head under lowering brows—a nose
which had been smashed flat in some brawl, and a jaw
nearly as wide and as powerful as that of a bulldog, are not
prepossessing features. Moreover, when the new-comer
lifted off his fur cap to wipe his brow, it became apparent
that the last person who had cut his hair had followed the
style adopted in her Majesty's gaols and houses of correc-
tion, rather than that which Mr. Marsh of Piccadilly would
recommend. It was clear, too, that the operator's services
had recently been in requisition. Kagged and rough, and
brutal as he looked, he spoke very kindly, though, to the
woman. ' Get thee whoam, Nancy gal,' he said. ' It's
none reet for them to let ye be wandering about this gait.
Ye'll be run over and hurted if ye dusn't mind. Come
along a' me. I'll see thee whoam, lass ; come along a' me.'
'Is she quite imbecile?' asked Frankland, now inter-
ested in the poor creature.
' I don't know what ye mean be " imbecile." She's not
roight in her mind, and she never wor. She's no bisness
wi' you, nor you wi' her; and I'm a going to take her back
to where she lives.'
' Is that far from here ?'
' None so fur, but too fur for her to be abroad these
times. There's tramps about harvesting, as 'ud murder
her for her boots, poor thing !'
' I was asking her the way to Kernden Kectory,' said
Stephen, ' when you came up. Perhaps you can tell me V
' Ay, you mun folly us if you loike. We be goin' that
STBANGEBS AT WESTBOBOUGH.
27
road, and when you see old Treherne just tell him, will
you,' said the knife-grinder fiercely, 'that you met Jim
Riley, and say that I towd yer that the next time I wor
sent to gaol it should be for summut, not for nought as
last time—d'ye hear V
' I should try and get an honest living, and so keep out
of gaol altogether, if I were you,' said Frankland kindly,
as he rode along at a foot's pace with his guide.
' Would yer !' the man retorted, with a scoff. ' And
suppose, while you was gettin' an honest living, a police-
man should come to your master's shop, and say, " This
'ere fellow's bin convicted of felony, turn him out;" and you
was turned out according and not having brass enough to
pay for a night's lodgin', you went to sleep in a shed by the
roadside, and was took up for a rogue and a vagabond, and
sent to quod for fourteen days, and no one would trust you
with work again ? What would you do then, if you was
me, eh?'
' Is that your own case ?'
' Ay, it is; what do you think of it ?'
' That it is a hard one. See, my man, here's five
shillings for you. That will keep you out of trouble for a
day or two. Where are you going now ?'
' I've tramped from Maidstone to-day, and when I've
seen some one about here as I wants to see,' said the knife-
grinder, in a mollified tone as he pocketed the proffered
money, ' I'm off north, to Sheffield.'
' To Sheffield!' said Stephen. ' Do you know Durm-
stone V
< Ay.'
' Well, if you should be passing there and want work—
But what are you ?'
1 A cutler by trade; but I can put my hand to a'most
anything if I've a mind.'
' Then, if you should go near Durmstone, call at Trem-
lett Towers and ask for Captain Frankland. I will see
what can be done for you. Now which turning am I to
take V
They had by this time come to the cross-lanes where
Stephen had missed his way.
28
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Well, ye'll go down there over the brook, and go for-
ward till ye come to a plantation, when ye mun turn along
it to the roight; and as soon as ye get clear of the wood
yell see church-steeple, and when ye see church-steeple par-
son's house won't be far off. Good-day, master, and thank
ye ! Come along, Nancy lass, gee us yer hand !' saying
which he helped the imbecile over a stile into a pathway
that led across the fields to a row of cottages on the high-
road, while Stephen trotted on. Into the little garden in
front of the third of these cottages Jim Eiley led his charge,
and knocked at the door; but there was no response, lm-
patient at the delay, he knocked louder, and presently a
woman came running out of the next house. ' Lord bless
us !' she exclaimed, 'is that you, Jim? and Nancy too ! I'm
so glad. She ain't been in all the mornin', and we was
a'most afeerd she was lost.'
' Why don't the old 'un take better care on her, then ?'
said Eiley gruffly. ' She ought to be ashamed of hersel'—
she ought; lettin' a poor daft thing like her run loose about
the place.'
' Why, don't you know what has happened ?' asked the
neighbour, in a tone of astonishment.
c How should 1 ? I only came out this mornin'.'
'The old 'un's dead.'
' Dead ?'
' Died the day before yesterday. Overseer's going to
have her buried a Sunday, and they're a coming to take
Nancy there to the work'us to-morrow.'
Eiley staggered, and almost fell, as he reiterated the
word ' dead !' and it was some moments before he recovered
his old reckless bearing. ' I must go in. Who's got the
key V he muttered at last, in a husky voice.
The neighbour replied that it had been left in her charge,
and ran to get it. Eiley snatched it roughly from her hand,
and let himself into the darkened cottage. It was a humble
place enough, consisting of a kitchen with a tiled floor, and
a small sleeping-room above ; but everything about it was
wonderfully neat and clean, and there were indications of a
refined way of living, here and there, which you could not
expect to find under so poor a roof. The little garden in
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROUGH.
29
the front, too, was laid out with much good taste, and
flowers of a superior class flourished in the well-kept beds.
Riley was evidently no stranger in the little cottage. He
strode through the kitchen, opened the door which concealed
the narrow stair leading to the sleeping-room, and, though
it was quite dark, mounted it without pause or stumble, and
stood beside the bed. In a while he stood motionless, with
ashen lips and loudly-beating heart, gazing upon the form
which the white sheet covered but could not conceal. Then
he drew the covering aside and scanned the frigid features
closely. ' Dead,' he repeated, ' dead ! and with strangers
and parsons about her to the last, I'll be bound. Curse
them ! If I had been free, she'd have told me all; she
said she would before she died. Has she told aught to any
one else ?'
The sturdy tramp had passed most of his life upon the
road. He had visited many strange places, and seen many
strange things. There were few people who could enlighten
Jim Riley upon subjects connected with any one of his
multifarious callings. What, then, could it be that he
desired so much to hear from a lone woman who had not
quitted that quiet Kentish hamlet for nearly twenty years'?
What could she have known to interest him ] and why
should he look so black and fierce when struck by the
thought that her knowledge had been confided to another,
before Death laid his cold finger on her lips'? These
are knots in my Tangled Skein which we must not now
attempt to loosen. The tramp remained lost in thought by
the bedside, till poor Nancy, terrified at being left all alone
in the gathering darkness, plucked him by the skirt, and
told him, in her vague disjointed way, that it was no use,
mother would not wake: she had tried, had shaken her
hard, but she would not stir. They must get supper with-
out her.
They were about to do so, when the neighbour already
mentioned came in and told them that it was no use hunt-
ing about, all the victuals had been used up the day before;
but if Nancy would come into her place, the girl was wel-
come to what she and her old man had got. She also pro-
posed that Nancy should sleep with their children. 1 One
80
A TANGLED SKEIN.
more,' said the kind-hearted woman, ' won't make no such
great difference, and it 'ud scare the poor thing worse than
she is to be left alone up there,' pointing to the room which
Riley had just left. 'You, Jim,' she added, 'can make
yourself comfortable here in the armchair, and we'll send
you a bit of victuals and a drop o' cider presently.' Jim
Riley was evidently better known than trusted in that
locality.
He made no objection whatever to spend the night
where he was, and when he had discussed the supper pro-
vided by the next-door neighbour, he lit his pipe and smoked
away very contentedly in the dark, till all was quiet and
the neighbours on either side had retired to rest. Then he
rose, and from a drawer in his knife-grinding machine,
which he had drawn in after him when Nancy went out,
he took a lantern, and having lighted it, proceeded to search
every nook of the cottage. He made a clean sweep of every
shelf, carefully examining each crock and tin before he put
it up again; and when he came to any box or cupboard
that was locked he had recourse again to his machine, which
seemed to have the faculty of producing skeleton-keys,
jemmies, screwdrivers, files, and other instruments for open-
ing places of security at will.
He found very little of any interest or value until he
had opened one of those very palpable depositories called
' secret drawers' in the deceased woman's workbox. There
he found a letter, some silver money, a broken brooch, a
locket containing the miniature of a young and beautiful
girl, a curious old needle-book with covers made of gold
filigree-work, in the centre of which were what seemed to
be initials and a crest, but the little shield, upon which
they were engraved, was so worn, that more intelligent
eyes than Riley possessed could not have deciphered them.
The tramp eagerly seized these last-named articles before
he saw the letter, but, having perceived it, instantly laid
them down and opened it. It contained a five-pound Bank
of England note, but no other enclosure, was directed to the
owner of the workbox, and the postmark showed that it
had come from London, and that she had received it two
weeks before her death. Riley knotted up in his handker-
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROUGH.
81
chief the brooch, the locket, and the needle-book, left the
bank-note and the money in the drawer, and having care-
fully wrapped the envelope in some leaves which he tore
from an old Bible, proceeded with his search. He even
went so far as to examine the tiles which composed the
floor, to see if any one of them had been recently removed,
and daylight found him still searching.
In the mean time Frankland had found his way to the
Eectory, and as he expected, was denied to the Rector. The
young ladies were at home, the servants told him, and Mr.
Cuthbert; but ' Master could not see any visitors.' Fur-
ther inquiry proved that Mr. Cuthbert was the clergyman's
nephew, and to him Stephen sent in his card. Time to
deliver it had barely passed w^en a door was thrown open,
and a young man dressed in deep mourning bounced into
- the hall, and exclaimed, ' What! Steeve !'
Upon which Frankland started, grasped his extended
hand, and cried in the same tone, 1 What! Cuddy ! Who
on earth would have thought of seeing you here V
' Why, don't you know that Mr. Treherne is my uncle?
But what, in the name of wonder, brings you this way ?
I thought you were in—in— Ah, I see, poor Charley!
O Steeve, is it true V he asked eagerly.
' I am sorry to say it is; quite true.'
1 We had no hope; but I thought I saw something in
your face that roused one for a moment.'
' It was pleasure at meeting an old chum so unexpect-
edly; nothing more. I can relieve some of your fears re-
specting the manner of his death; that is all.'
' And you have come all this way to tell us ! Dear old
man ! But it is just like you. Don't let us stand here,
though. Come in, and I will introduce you to my cousins,
and they will break your arrival to my uncle.'
Stephen's name had gone before him to the drawing-
room. It was a well-known name there, for the lost bro-
ther's letters had been full of it. And, in their happier
hours, pretty Gertrude and Maud Treherne had often tried
to picture to each other what this stern, honest, tender, and
hearty Captain, whose praises Charley had never tired of
singing, could be like. In playful mood they had drawn
32
A TANGLED SKEIN.
fancy portraits of their brother's idol; in which Maud pic-
tured him with superhuman beauty, and represented him
in the act of performing prodigies of valour ■ whilst merry
Gertrude delighted to put him into all sorts of ridiculous
positions. Ah, they were pleasant days, those days never
to dawn again upon the peaceful. Rectory, when the absent
one's letters arrived, full of the wonders of the strange land
in which his lot was cast, to be thus travestied in ail love
by the spritely and winsome Gerty. Her younger sister
used to protest vehemently against such disparagement of
her hero, which interference caused Gerty to declare that
the barefaced manner in which that young woman—mean-
ing dear little timid Maud—was setting her cap at the
Captain was a disgrace to the family. It was with a wild
throb at their hearts that the sisters sprang forward to
meet the object of their former merriment. ' Had he good
news V Grave Stephen Frankland was at his gravest now,
and one glance at his face told the quick-witted girls to
banish the hope which, as with their cousin, had flashed
across their minds at the first mention of the well-known
name.
Cuthbert Lindsay began the common form of introduc-
tion ; but there was no need for that. The frank girls held
out their hands to their dead brother's friend before it was
well begun, and no one thought of ceremony at such a
meeting.
I should like to pass over all that took place when the
bereaved father came down to hear the sad story, and the
relics of his brave lad had to be produced and wept over in
the darkened room, and go on to the evening, when the
smart had somewhat died out of the reopened wounds, and
all concerned felt more resigned to their loss. Frankland
would have ridden back to Poundbridge, and remained there
fill it was time for him to rejoin Brandron, according to
arrangement; but this was not to be heard of. A bed was
prepared for him at the Rectory, and his rejection at first
of the proffered hospitality seemed to give so much disap-
pointment, that he withdrew it and remained.
He had quite mistaken the course best to be adopted
in such cases. He imagined that, the bare facts in his pos-
STRANGERS AT WESTBOEOUGH.
83
session once told, he ought carefully to avoid all topics
which could remind the mourners of their loss; but he
found that they loved to dwell upon the memory of the
dead, reminding each other of well-known tales of 4 dear
Charley' as child and boy and man, and constantly appeal-
ing to their guest if their darling had spoken thus and
thus in India, or had forgotten So-and-so amongst his
firm friends. When Stephen saw, thus, how their inclina-
tions tended, they had no reason to complain of him as un-
communicative. He recalled every act which reflected credit
upon his friend, and faithfully recounted it amidst smiles
and tears, till the hours wore away, and the girls reluctantly
rose to retire for the night. Then, in answer to some
question put by Cuthbert Lindsay, Tremlett Towers was
mentioned, and at the sound of those words Gertrude Tre-
herne paused, and, with a little puzzled look in her pretty
face, asked,
4 And what do you know of Tremlett Towers?'
4 Simply, that I was born there,' was Frankland's smil-
ing reply.
4 You don't say so ! How came that ?'
4 Because the estate belongs to my fa—to my family.'
4 How very odd ! Then Sir George Tremlett—'
4 Is my father.'
4 And Mr. Francis Tremlett ?' the inquirer continued,
casting a queer look at her sister.
4 Is my half-brother.'
4 Then you will know Mr. Coleman of Ruxton Court?'
4 Excellently well.'
4 And Grace?' interrupted Maud quickly.
4 No,' Frankland replied ; 41 can't say that I remember
any one of that name down there. The names of Mr. Cole-
man's daughters, if I recollect right, are—Laura, Emily
Lavinia, Constance, and Fanny.'
4 We do not mean any of the Misses Coleman,' said
Maud, in a disparaging tone; 4 we mean the dearest, the
cleverest, the prettiest, and—'
4 No, she's not pretty} interrupted Gertrude; 4 she's
beautiful.'
4 Well, then, the most beautiful.'
34
A TANGLED SKEIN.
1 And the best.'
1 0 yes, and—'
' And the queerest girl in the wide world,' continued
the elder sister, by way of finish.
'Indeed,' rejoined the Captain; ' and the name of this
wonder?'
' Is Grace Lee. She was a parlour-boarder at the
school we used to be at. She's much older than we are—
that is, she'll be two-and-twenty on the nineteenth of next
February,' replied Gertrude; ' and for the last two years
she has lived at Ruxton Court.'
' A relation of the Colemans, perhaps ?'
' Well, I don't think so,' Gertrude replied. ' She is
without father or mother, poor darling ! and I think her
relations have not used her as well as they ought. She was
here staying with us all last summer, and how we managed
to get on without her when she left I really do not know.
Everybody loved her. Even papa's dreadful old clerk.
But, 0 Captain Frankland! you can have no idea how
queer she is.'
' May I ask in what her " queerness" consists?' asked
the Captain, with one of his grave smiles.
' Well, I can't exactly tell you, if you put it in that way.
She likes what no one else cares about, and she pretends
not to care about what everybody likes. How, when you
see her, and say that you have been here, I daresay she'll
try and make you think that we are quite ordinary ac-
quaintances.'
' Thus pretending not to care about what everybody
likes ?' observed the Captain gallantly.
1 No, no—you must not catch me up so : you know I
did not mean that. Dear Grace ! I wish she were with
us now.' And the happy recollections associated with the
name of her friend, which for the moment had made her
forget her sorrow, died away, and repeating ,their ' good-
night!' the sisters left the room. Prayers had been read,
and Mr. Treherne and the servants had retired some time
before.
Then the young men adjourned to the deserted kitchen,
to smoke, and Frankland produced some exceedingly mus-
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROUGH.
35
cular cheroots, which Lindsay essayed with a solemnity
worthy the occasion. Cuthbert Lindsay and the Captain
had been schoolfellows at Rugby, and the system there pur-
sued made them honest manly fellows, whom everybody
liked—Stephen after some knowing, and Cuddy before
they knew him at all. It was impossible to be in the
fellow's company for ten minutes without taking a fancy to
him. A bright-eyed, wiry, spruce little fellow, with a warm
heart and a clear head—he was in the good books of every-
body who had good books for him to be in. A sparkling,
merry little fellow was Cuddy, who spoke the Queen's
English plainly upon occasion, and would stick up to
friend or foe without casting up the cost of word or blow.
For his soul and his body were not in proportion, and being
a small man, he was dangerously pugnacious at times. Of
course, we do not see him to advantage now as a jolly com-
panion; for although until the news of Charley's death he
had seen but little of his uncle and cousins, he was not the
man to be in the house with them for a fortnight without
feeling deeply for their misfortune. He bad been sent
there to try and bear them up in their trouble, and he
played his part well.
He had not met his old chum for so many years, that
it took some time to bring their comparison of notes up to
that present speaking; and then, in reply to Stephen's
inquiries'as to what he was doing and how the world was
treating him, he replied that he was a barrister—that is to
say, he had chambers in the Temple which were very com-
plete, and went the Southern circuit, which was very jolly,
but that as yet his briefs were confined to a peculiar order,
which he designated as ' soup but Stephen, knowing that
he had a little patrimony of his own which would keep up
the complete chambers in Sycamore-court, and provide for
the jollities of the Southern circuit, did not condole with
him thereat.
With so much to talk about, it was late hours, and
more than three or four of the muscular cheroots had
melted away into blue smoke before they separated for the
night. At breakfast the next morning, Stephen remem-
bered his rencontre with Jim Riley, and the message of
36
A TANGLED SKEIN.
that worthy to the Rector, which he delivered, with a view
of eliciting something of his history.
' Ah,' said Mr. Treherne, ' he's a bad one—a very bad
one, I am sorry to say.'
' There is no truth, then, in his story that he has been
unjustly condemned ?'
' I am afraid, none; a burglary was committed in a
farmhouse near here, and two days afterwards he was
found at Seven-Elms in possession of part of the stolen
property. It was found hidden in his knife-grinding ma-
chine, and the only account that he could give of it was,
that some one must have put it there.'
' A lame excuse, indeed.'
'And a very "common one,' observed Lindsay. 'The
generosity of thieves is unbounded. Go to the next county
sessions, and you will find that more than sixty per cent
of the prisoners will say that they have been presented
with the articles which incriminate them, by some utter
stranger, or else that they have picked them up in some
open and frequented thoroughfare. It may be my misfor-
tune,' Cuddy continued, ' or it may be my fault, but I
must confess that I never was presented with a leg of
mutton and a brass candlestick by an admiring costermonger
in Eleet-street, neither have I ever found somebody else's
gold watch secreted in my wig-box. Jim Riley is evidently
more lucky.'
' There can be no doubt that he was one of the gang,'
said the Rector; ' but as it could not be shown that he was
near the place on the night of the burglary, he was con-
victed only as a guilty receiver of the stolen property. I
was in hopes that his long imprisonment would have had a
better effect upon his mind. He seems, however, to be
incorrigible.'
' And I'm sure, papa, you have done all in your power
to keep him honest,' said Maud.
' I took an interest in him,' the Rector observed, ' for
his mother's sake. She, poor woman, was a very respect-
able person, and lived for many years in one of those cot-
tages that you might have seen to the right, before you
came to the three cross-roads.'
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROUGH.
37
4 And where has she gone now ?'
4 To her last account! She died last Wednesday; and
I was much grieved to find, when it was too late, that she
had sent an urgent message asking me to come to her and
receive a communication she wished to make. Some unex-
plained carelessness in her messenger or my servants pre-
vented my being made aware of this until I had heard of
her death.'
4 Do you know, papa,' observed Gertrude, as she handed
him his tea, 41 cannot help thinking that she wanted to
speak to you about that Nancy—the poor imbecile you
spoke to, Captain Frankland, when you lost your way.'
4 She certainly has been most unfortunate with her
children,' Frankland observed.
4 Most unfortunate,' replied the Eector; 4 I do not know
what is to "be done with the girl, unless she goes to the
County Asylum. It sounds hard to send her there, but
perhaps it would be the best thing, after all.'
4 Has not Mrs. Riley left any money, then, papa f asked
Maud.
The Rector shook his head. 4 She was a very careful
woman; but it is impossible with her earnings that she
could have put away anything considerable; the wonder
is how she lived as she did on her little stipend; however,
we shall see. The neighbours very properly locked up all
her drawers and sent me the keys to take care of, and I
shall go over either to-day or to-morrow and see how
matters stand.'
4 Pardon me for suggesting,' said Frankland, 4 that as
this fellow Riley is such a scoundrel, he might possibly be
tempted to make off with any little provision left for his
sister, and that it would be as well, as he is on the spot, for
some one to take possession of the place at once.'
4 Why, he's entitled by law to half of her property,' said
Lindsay, 4 if the old woman has not left a will leaving it to
some one else.'
4 Well, that's no reason why he should take it all, cousin
Cuthbert, is it ?' asked Gertrude. 41 am sure,' she added,
4 that Captain Frankland is quite right, and that some one
ought to go over directly and turn that bad fellow out, and
38
A TANGLED SKEIN.
give all the money and things they can find to whoever will
promise to take care of Nancy for the rest of her life.'
' Yes, and get made into an executor de son tort,' said
Cuthbert, glad of an opportunity of displaying the pro-
fundity of his legal acquirements to his pretty cousin.
' And who's an executor de son tort, in the name of
wonder V asked the younger, opening wide her great blue
eyes.
' Never you mind, Maud; something very dreadful, I can
tell you. A sort of cross between a mad bull and the
measles, which gets into the house, spoils the dinner, raises
the price of hops, upsets the oil bottle on your new dress,
makes you double up your perambulators and bruise your
oats. They tried to get Parliament to transport it for life,
and make a present of it to the Emperor of Austria in a
gold box; but Lord Derby wants to have a lark with it at
Knowsley, and so the Tories are going to move that the
Bill be read a second time—after goose—on Michaelmas-
day.'
' When you've quite done talking nonsense, Cuthbert,
perhaps you'll hand me the bread V said the Rector. ' Thank
you. I certainly agree with Captain Frankland, that im-
mediate steps should be taken to protect this poor girl, and
should be much obliged to you, Cuthbert, if you would go
over as soon as possible.'
' To beard the knife-grinder in his den—the Riley in his
hall ? Certainly, if you desire it.'
' And pray let them make you that thing with the hard
name, if it involves transportation,' said Gertrude; 'for
you're getting very troublesome—isn't he, Maud V
' O Gerty, how can you—when only last night you
said—'
But Gerty flew at her sister and gagged her fiercely with
a piece of worsted-work. So the sentence was not ended,
and the speaker all but smothered for commencing it.
' What time are you to call for your friend at West-
borough, Steeve ?' asked Cuthbert when order was restored.
' 0, about four, so as to be in time to catch the express,
if he has done his business.'
' And if he has not, shall you go on without him ?
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROUGH.
39
'That depends! I certainly am in rather a hurry to
get home, and— But I shall see when I get to the inn.'
' "Very well, then. Now listen to the orders of the day,
a breach of which will subject the offender to all the pains
and penalties of prcemunire, which are so awful that nobody
knows what they are. I go now instanter, to do battle with
the knife-grinder. Captain Frankland is to be permitted
to smoke one cheroot in the garden without molestation.
Then he is to be taken into custody by Sergeant Gertrude
and Constable Maud, and sent to hard labour in the church,
the schools, the conservatory, to view the pigsties and other
objects of local interest. When sufficiently punished, he is
to be brought in to luncheon, and orders given for his high-
mettled racer to be at the door at three o'clock, at which
hour he must be liberated, and told to make his way to
Riley's cottage. There he will find me installed as man in
possession, and I will go on to Westborough with him. If
he goes to London—he goes, and there's an end of him ; if
he stays, I'll bring him back here to Kernden, and we'll
make a friend of him ; which you will perceive to be poetry.
Are the arrangements thus elegantly enunciated agreeable
to the persons interested ? If so, you are requested to stand
in a semicircle, to raise your right hands towards the chan-
delier, and say " we are," in chorus.' The stage-direction
W£S not obeyed, but the proposed plans were acquiesced in
notwithstanding.
Before he left, Cuthbert drew Frankland on one side, and
said, ' You can't think, Steeve, what a lot of good you've
done the dear old governor. He's quite resigned, and com-
paratively happy, now that he knows ^vhat a good little
fellow Charley was, and how well he did his duty. It's
been an awful bore for you, of course; but we sha'n't forget
your kindness in a hurry—any of us—I can tell you.'
Frankland found the time pass very quickly, and parted
with the good Rector and his daughters with mutual
regret.
' There goes a fine fellow,' said Mr. Treherne, as he rode
away. ' Ah me ! my lad would have been such another—
brave and tender and true. The home that owns him may
well be a happy and a proud one, as mine might have been.
40
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done;' and he
bowed his head and went his way without a tear.
Cuthbert Lindsay was waiting at the cross-roads when
his friend rode up. 4 I've secured the Lares and Penates of
the deceased Riley,' he said, 'including the cat; and, by
Jove! we've all been too hard upon the illustrious Jim.
He was in the cottage all night, but has not touched any-
thing that was not his own. I found all the drawers and
places, and cupboards, locked up, just as the neighbours had
left them.'
'Then he is not so thorough a rascal, after all?'
' No; and the most extraordinary part of it is, that
although he has left the movables, he has removed the
incumbrances.'
' What do you mean ?'
' Simply this—that he has taken his mad sister away
with him, no one knows where. He knocked at the door
where she slept, called her out—they tell me she is always
the first up—and they have gone as the dewdrop is blown
from the bough.'
' Perhaps they have only left for the day ?'
'Perhaps; but it is not usual for people who go out
only for the day to pack up and take away every rag that
belongs to them, bundled up in a blue and a yellow striped
handkerchief.'
'You have traced them, then?'
' As far as the turnpike—no further. In reply to the
keeper's questions, Jim said that he was taking the girl to
Sheffield—where they lived before they came here—to her
grandmother. I believe there is such a place as Sheffield;
but the descriptions given me of Jim Riley fill me with the
strongest doubts that he ever could have had a grand-
mother.'
' Then you ought to give information to the police, and
have them followed and brought back.'
' What for ? To be obliged to let them go again ? Not
I. This fellow is the girl's nearest relation, and he has a
legal right to her custody, of which we cannot deprive
him, unless we can prove that he treats her badly; but the
evidence of the neighbours is all the other way. No, Steeve,
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROUGH.
41
they have gone from your gaze like a beautiful dream, and
you can mourn them in vain over valley and stream j only,
if you want to catch the express, look sharp, and get on
to Westborough before four o'clock.'
So on they went briskly, and soon arrived at the inn.
The landlord was at the door leaning against the post, and
gazing at nothing in particular with a contemplative frown,
after the manner of landlords. Of him Frankland instantly
inquired if any person had called to see Mr. Brandron; and
learned no one—leastwise, to the landlord's knowledge—
had been near the place since he (the inquirer) left, ' ex-
cepting, in course, Mr. Jawlings and the other gentlemen
who used the bar-parlour regular of a night. Mr. Brandron
had got up early, and had been a-writing all the day ; they
would find him in his room.' There Frankland sought him,
bidding Cuddy to wait a moment or two till he could tell
him what their movements would be, and knocked at the
door. There was no reply. He knocked louder; still no
answer came, and Stephen essayed to open the door. It
was locked. A cold tremor, which he could not suppress,
ran through him from head to foot, as the forebodings of
evil, expressed by his old friend, flashed through his mind.
1 Good God !' he exclaimed, ' can anything have happened
to him ?' and with one mighty rush he brought his now
sturdy shoulders against the panels, and crash went the door
into the middle of the apartment. Ho one was there !
Lindsay and the landlord, alarmed at the noise, came
rushing in, and Stephen had to account as well as he could
for his apparent unreasonable violence. ' But where was
Mr. Brandron f The landlord could only say that about
ten o'clock, as he passed the window to cut some vegetable
marrows for the market, he'd ' seed him with his eyes.' ' I
seed him,' he said, ' with my eyes a-sittin' at that there
table, a-writin' and a-foldin' and a-messin' about with them
there bits of paper'—indicating some old letters that the
wind had scattered about the floor. Stephen called for wax
and a taper, and instantly sealed them up in a packet, so
that their contents could not be pried into. But what had
become of their owner 1 His habits were precise and me-
thodical; and he was clearly not the sort of man to leave
42
A TANGLED SKEIN.
his desk open and his papers lying about in a room with an
open window, even though he had locked the door and put
the key in his pocket. The landlord was utterly unable to
account for Frankland's anxiety, and Lindsay could not
exactly make out what he feared. Brandron, he said, would
be sure to come back directly, as it would soon be time to
start for the station. They had better sit down and wait
patiently. Frankland did so—for seven minutes; then he
rose and strode out of the house to make inquiries in the
village.
The village was dozing in the bright sunshine, with not
even one eye open—a dreamy, leafless little place as you
could find in a day's march. It was so at the best of
times, when it was on the main road to the fashionable
watering-place which lay two or three miles farther on,
and was perched upon the top of a long chalky hill, toil-
ing up the which made horse and man thirsty, and not
disinclined to stop and take a long breath and something
short, when they reached its shade. I do not mean to
say that any one has levelled the hill—or taken up the
church and the inn, and the two beerhouses, and the
butcher's shop, and the baker's (where the post-office
was), and the row of thatched cottages with the old-
fashioned diamond panes in the windows, behind which four-
pennyworth of sugar-sticks were exhibited for sale in three
pickle-bottles, with a ball of string and a farthing battle-
dore—and the lawyer's house (what could they want with
a lawyer ?) and the seven gentlemen's villas, and the green,
the oak-tree, the stocks, and the pump—and carried them
away bodily from off that main road and the top of that
winding hill, and deposited them somewhere else. There
they were ! But a railroad had come and skirted the hill,
and bored a tunnel through its weakest point, and got on
the other side of it, and dashed into the favourite watering-
place round a sharp corner, in a manner that seemed to
say—' Holloa ! you're there, are you ?'—and thus seemed
to have scared the little village that it circumvented into a
state of despondency which could not be thrown off. It
was still on the high-road and the top of the hill; but what
is the use of being on a high-road that is superseded, and
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROUGH.
48
on the top of a chalky hill which nobody wants to climb ?
So the little village dozed in the sunshine when it shone;
got sulky when the leaves fell and the murky autumn came;
and sank into a state of torpor when the winter set in. It
had taken no notice of the arrival of the Captain and his
friend, and did not trouble itself about the departure of
either. It had no tidings to give of Mr. Brandron.
At last Frankland came to the little green just as some
boys were liberated from the village school, and from one
of the most intelligent of these he got a clue. He learned
that a tall gentleman in black had gone by in the forenoon
with another gentleman whilst they were playing under the
shade of the big oak.
' Did they know who the other gentleman was ?'
1 No, they did not. He was a stranger thereabouts, for
he had given young Jack Todd sixpence to show him the
way to the Rising Sun.'
'Did he go in there?'
'No; a gentleman who was there saw him through the
window as he was coming, and went out to meet him, and
then they walked away quickly together down there.'
1 Down there' was the road to the church.
1 What sort of a gentleman was the other gentle-
man?'
1 0, he was a very kind gentleman—had talked to them
about their game; asked why little William Thompson had
had his leg cut off, and gave him sixpence too. He was
quite a nice gentleman.'
Stephen Frankland went back to the Rising Sun, much
relieved by this information. It was no use trying to
catch the express now; besides, he could not leave until
he had seen Brandron, and learned from his own lips that
his presentiments were unfounded. He determined there-
fore not to go back to Kernden, and told Cuddy the reason
why.
' Well, old man,' he said, 1 you know best. The gover-
nor and the girls will be disappointed, that's all; and I
don't think you'll be quite as comfortable here as at the
Rectory. But if you will take to dry-nursing elderly Indians
with wandering propensities, you must accept all the in-
44
A TANGLED SKEIN.
conveniences of the situation. Give my love to the "baby
when he comes in, and get him, to give you a character as
being steady, honest, and obliging. Good-bye.'
Again Stephen Erankland sat down and tried to 1 wait
patiently.' He lit a cheroot, called for something to drink,
and drank it. He lit another cheroot when the first was
done, called for something to read, and read it. It was a
Maidstone journal, a week old; but that did not matter to
one only a day returned to England after ten years' ab-
sence. I say he read it, for his eyes followed the printed
words column after column; but if you had snatched the
paper from his hand and asked him what he was reading
about, he could not have told you. He was in the fidgets;
and a man who has the fidgets cannot give up his mind to
anything—not even to fidgeting. He took just trouble to
argue himself into the belief that there was no cause for
anxiety. Brandron, he thought, had taken it for granted
that he was stopping at the Bectory. Had not he (Bran-
dron) prophesied that poor Charley's family would be so
glad of his visit—have so much to ask him; and had not
his words proved true 1 Brandron had met the person he
expected, and they had walked on together—most probably
to the fashionable watering-place—where they would dine,
transact their business, and Brandron would be back at—
well, if he came in a fly, about half-past eight or nine.
It was quite ridiculous to anticipate any personal injury
from so kind a person as the stranger had been represented
to be; and as for money matters, or anything of that kind,
the old Indian was shrewd enough to take care of himself.
Having thus shown that he had no cause for fidgeting, he
was driven by the fidgets out of the house, and vainly
attempted to walk them off.
It was now half-past five o'clock. The sun had lost its
fiery strength, and the afternoon was a very pleasant one—
just the sort of afternoon upon which a walk through a
picturesque part of the country would be a very agreeable
relaxation to anybody who had not the fidgets. As it was,
Stephen did not find it to his taste, and had not proceeded
more than a mile when he turned back. Perhaps, after all,
Brandron would not stay away to dinner, and had returned.
STRANGERS AT WESTBOROUGH.
45
The thought made him quicken his pace; and coming to a
path by which he thought he could cut off a long bend in
the road, he diverged into the fields; and having taken the
wrong turning and wandered about vaguely, after the man-
ner of people who try to make short cuts in an unknown
country, came at last suddenly upon Riley's cottage.
' Now,' he said to himself, ' it's all right, I know my
way;' and he sprang over the stile, and began to walk
briskly up the lane, homewards. This lane curled about a
good deal, and at one of the twists he caught sight of some
one walking in front of him. He quickened his steps, and
perceived that it was a man—a well-dressed man, but too
short for Brandron—perhaps it was the person who had been
with him 1
Now, when you are walking in an unfrequented country
lane, and each turning that you come to brings you in sight
of an individual who is proceeding in the same direction
as yourself, till the next shuts him from your view, to be
again discovered plodding onward when you turn again, it
is excusable for you to be seized with a curiosity to see
what that individual is like. It is so provoking to watch
a person's back going on before you mile after mile, and
not to know what his face is like ! Stephen had a better
motive than mere inquisitiveness, so he hurried on; and
when the sound of his approaching footsteps came within
ear-shot of the man in front, he too quickened his pace.
He evidently did not wish to be overtaken, though he
never looked back to see who followed, and the walk bade
fair to end in a race if he had not stumbled and fallen over
some loose stones that, in his hurry, he did not observe on
the path. His pursuer was then close at hand. The man
rose and turned upon him angrily, as he came up,—and
Stephen and his father stood face to face!
46
A TANGLED SKEIN.
CHAPTER IV.
shows how a near relative of our hero £ went to the
rad,' and what befell him there.
There is much to be told concerning the early life of
George Frankland, the father of our hero, before you can
understand the position which he now holds. He was de-
scended from one of those steady-going old country families
who formed a class of themselves in the England of the last
century, but that have now lost much of their individuality in
these faster days. There is no country now, so how can
there be country gentlemen] The railway train, indeed,
carries you through woods and fields, and gives you glimpses
of cows and sheep, and a farmhouse here and there: but
all these things do not make country, as country used to be.
They make the places whereon they stand something that
is not exactly town—that is all! When Stephen Frank-
land's father was a boy, the village near to which he lived,
and thousands of others like it, were walled-in against the
advancement of new ideas, and defended against assaults
upon old ones, as completely as though a line of fortifications,
with rigid douaniers at every gate, had been established to
protect it from improvement from without; and this through
no fault of any one in particular, but merely because Town
was town, and Country, country. The time had not yet come
in which nimble engineers should escalade the old redoubts,
send screaming locomotives to batter down the old outworks,
and make into one community the people whom the diffi-
culties and dangers of travelling had tended to huddle up
into 'tribes and factions full of the mutual distrust and aver-
sion which it is in our nature to feel for what we have not
seen, and are not able to understand.
You who are accustomed to have all the news of the
world telegraphed to you every morning by breakfast-time,
and think nothing of travelling two hundred miles in the
day on business or pleasure, would find some difficulty in
realising the sort of existence that generation after genera-
tion of the Franklands passed in their quiet Derbyshire
valley, and the sort of people amongst whom their rough
HOW A NEAR RELATIVE WENT TO THE BAD. 47
but blameless lives were spent. Little did they know, or
care, about what was going on in the great world outside
the ring fence that enclosed their stony acres ; and within
that boundary they ruled supreme. They were not rich;
they were not courtly; they were not ambitious. They
were only thoroughbred Englishmen, brave and loyal,
tender and true. At home, they held to the King as long
as he held to the law; and abroad, they shed the last drop
of their blood in his cause, without stopping to consider
whether it was right or wrong. What was it to them what
the fighting was about, so that the King's general got the
best of it 1 When the Spaniard threatened our coasts, old
Guy Frankland melted down his silver and his gold, and,
with his seven sons to guard the treasure by the way, rode
up to London and laid it at the feet of the Queen, to buy
gunpowder for Howard and for Drake to singe the whiskers
of the Don withal. Half a century elapsed before another
Frankland went that journey, and then it was as Knight of
his Shire, to withstand the King in Parliament, and gather
together the element of that mighty storm which was to
sweep the Stuart blight from the land.
During less stirring times, these brave and loyal gentle-
men led eventless lives in their quiet home—seldom strayed
from it farther than the county town, and then only when
some great occasion called for their presence. Their sons
were born and their daughters married in the ancient
Grange; and such of the heads of the family as died in
their beds went to their last account in the quaint old
chamber where they had first seen the light. And so Time
passed on, and dealt kindly with a race that it had known
so long; and great were the rejoicings which in the earliest
years of the present century followed the birth of an heir to
its lands and honourable name. They were troubled times,
in the midst of which the long-expected youngster made his
appearance. He was born on the very day on which that
most rickety offspring of diplomacy, the Peace of Amiens,
was finally broken and the dogs of war once more let loose;
though the news only reached the old Grange in time to
throw a damper upon the merry-making at his christening.
I daresay he was often frightened into propriety and fits by
48
A TANGLED SKEIN.
the threat that the Corsican Ogre—as it was the fashion to
call the ' uncle of his nephew'—would have him if he were
naughty. The world, however, was put to rights, as every-
body knows, for ever and eyer, by the wise heads that were
laid together at Vienna; and old John Frankland was not
the only man who thought that the best way to keep clear
of the troubles which had produced such a shaking of
thrones all over Europe was resolutely to persist in the
causes which had produced them, and to see if the round
globe could not be made to stand still by Act of Parliament.
These doctrines he carefully instilled into the mind of his
only son; and that youth left school fully prepared to affirm,
if not to argue, in any society, that England's decline and
fall would date from the day on which her people were
taught to read, given a voice in parliamentary elections, and
allowed (without disability) to worship God according to
the dictates of their consciences.
It was an evil day for these fine old Tory sentiments,
and indeed for teaching of far greater value, when young
George Frankland received an invitation from a school-
chum to spend a few weeks at his father's house in London;
and see, amongst other sights, the coronation of the 1 first
gentleman in Europe' and (incidentally thereto) the doors
of Westminster Abbey slammed in the face of the 'first
gentleman's' wife. Long and earnest, you may be sure,
were the discussions upon this important project—London
was such a long way off, the road thither so infested with
peril to the goods and purse of the young traveller, and the
place itself so dangerous to his moral health. But then,
was he not named after the Regent ? and would it not be a
great thing for him to be able to tell his children that he
had seen the crown placed upon his anointed brow ? Be-
sides, the Prime Minister, or the Lord Chancellor, or the
Archbishop of Canterbury—ay, or perhaps the King him-
self—might catch sight of the handsome boy and take a
fancy to him. Can you see the simple old couple, sitting
at eve under the great oak, on the lawn, and weighing
these pros and cons 1 Can you picture them surrounded
by the scenes amongst which they had played as children,
wandered as lovers, and passed the quiet years of their
HOW A NEAR RELATIVE WENT TO THE BAD. 49
happy wedded life without a wish for change—contemplat-
ing with many misgivings the first departure of the child
of their old age from the parent nest ? Do you require to
be told which of these old birds it was who fancied that the
great ones of the State could not be under the same roof
with her one chick without singling him out for distinction ;
but who instantly added, that she could not hear of George
being made anything that would keep him away from
home ? In those good old days, you know, there was no
necessary connection between pocketing public money and
earning it.
Pass we over the advice and warnings bestowed by these
fond parents upon the elated youth, as though they were
intimate—good simple folks—with all the quicksands,
rocks, and shoals in the strange waters upon which he was
soon to sail; nor detail the stores of articles, of no earthly
use to him in the great metropolis, which were laboriously
devised and packed with care for his use. Many a midnight
found his mother's busy fingers at work upon brave apparel,
that was to make her boy the finest of the fine. Those gay
London beauoc should grow pale with envy! They should
know a Frankland when he came amongst them ! Woe is
me ! In the very first letter that arrived from the wanderer
was contained a long tailor's bill, as his host had said that
' really he could not take the boy abroad in the outlandish
clothes which he had brought from home.'
The boy was seventeen when he paid that memorable
visit—his companion some two years older; and under the
tutelage of this grave philosopher and friend he heard much
treason, as it seemed, talked in high places, and caught
glimpses of a life very different from the humdrum exist-
ence he had led in the old Derbyshire Grange. I do not
think that young Harcourt was a bad fellow, as young fel-
lows went, in those days. He too was an only son; and
his father—an idle man of fashion—let him do pretty much
as he pleased. He found the naivete of his guest delight-
ful, and lost no opportunity of astonishing him with the
wonders and the sins of the town, till he could astonish
him no longer ; so that, when the weeks of the original
leave of absence had been grudgingly extended to months,
E
50
A TANGLED SKEIN.
and at last a peremptory order, accompanied by a stoppage
of supplies, brought the truant home, stout old Erankland
could hardly recognise his own son in the fine gentleman
who sprang from the box-seat of the Manchester coach, and
began to give orders about his luggage, in which every
fourth word was an oath. He had been taught in London
that he was the ' young Squire,' the heir to a rapidly-im-
proving estate, and he 1 lorded it' accordingly.
It may readily be imagined that he did not find home-
life to his taste after the exciting scenes he had left.
Everything was bad and wrong, in the old Grange, from a
four-post bed to a tea-cup; and its occupants poor unedu-
cated savages, in the eyes of the young wiseacre who had
been six months in London. Great was the disturbance of
old ways, and the importation of new-fashioned ideas and
things, which followed his arrival; and loud and bitter the
complaints, on all sides, of what Master George had said
or done. Still, I think that in their heart of hearts his
parents were proud of their returned prodigal, with his
swagger and his strange oaths, his fine dress, and grand
talk about Sir Harry This and Lady Betty That, and the
great row which he and Lord Scampery had with the
watchmen in St. James's. There was, to be sure, rather a
long bill to be paid for the schooling by which these flatter-
ing results were produced; but then, coal had been dis-
covered, and successfully worked in several places, upon the
estate, and John Frankland had every prospect of dying a
rich man. When the young fellow recounted his experi-
ences of town life, a cold shudder ran through the old
folks ; and they thanked their stars that they had got their
boy back in safety from temptations which their fondest
fears had under-estimated. There was one thing, however,
that troubled them sorely. The conversations and cellar at
Mr. Harcourt's house had turned the young fellow against
his father's politics and his mother's currant wine. He ve-
hemently protested against the one, and spat a mouthful
of the other out of window, protesting that it was enough
to poison a horse, when that beverage was produced as a
special treat to revive him after the fatigues of his long
journey!
HOW A NEAR RELATIVE WENT TO THE BAD. 51
The simple pair expected that the young fellow would
settle down again into his old way of living, and were wo-
fully disappointed. He became moody and discontented
at home, and only seemed glad when he had found, or
made, an excuse for riding away from it—to Manchester,
Derby, Doncaster, or Sheffield, where he would stay for
days playing the young Squire amongst the horse-boys and
sharpers of a second-rate inn. It puzzled John Frankland
to conceive how his hopeful obtained funds for the ex-
penses of these' excursions. He knew little of the accom-
modating character of the tribes of Israel, but was soon to
learn how familiar they had become with him—at least by
name—as the person mentioned in the post-obit bonds of
his son.
So, Black Care entered the old Grange, and sat between
the good pair upon their now lonely hearth, mounted be-
hind the Squire upon his stout cob, and made the waving
cornfields look thin and blighted; changed the burly oxen
into thin kine; and filled the bright spring-time with dark
and gloomy days. It did not mend matters for the absent
object of all this care to be brought home intoxicated in a
chaise from Salford by a dilapidated gentleman, who claimed
fifty guineas as lost to him by the insensible young repro-
bate on a cock-fight!
In those days parental authority was wont to be rather
roughly enforced, especially by old-fashioned people like
John Frankland, who had been accustomed to stand un-
covered, when they were men of thirty, in the presence of
their fathers and mothers, and to take their word as law
from which no appeal existed. The idea that a youngster
of eighteen should go about as he pleased and do as he
liked, without asking ' with your leave, or by your leave,'
was a novelty to the worthy Squire. It rather amused
him at first—which was a pity, as Master George was
emboldened by the immunity which followed his first essays
as a profligate, and encouraged to advance still further
upon the downward road, from which it was subsequently
found impossible to turn him. Come, ladies and gentle-
men, draw round, press round, gather round and see the
show ! Here is a young gentleman going to the bad ; he
52
A TANGLED SKEIN.
has accidentally stumbled upon one of the devil's footpaths,
or has been taken just to see it, you know—nothing more—
by a friend. We say that we like other people to be as
lucky and as successful as ourselves, and we don't mean it;
but when we go to the Bad, we are glad of company on
the way! It is so consolatory to know that you are not
going to be alone in a scrape ! George Frankland fell in
with a merry caravan of kindred spirits in which Charley
Harcourt was a leader, and required very little pressing to
accompany them down that same pathway that we have
spoken off.
The measures which old John Frankland took to stop
his son in his downward course only urged him forward.
He tried to pull him up short all at once, and the youth
turned restive, took the bit between his teeth, and bolted.
The sturdy country gentleman spoke very plain English,
and was, I am afraid, too honest a man to be a diplomatist.
First, he commanded the rebel to return to his alle-
giance; then he entreated him, for his mother's sake, to
amend; then he swore at him; and then—he knocked
him down ! The last argument was a clencher. There was
no further dispute; and the next they heard of Master
George was, that he had started off for London.
The rest is the old story. His father disowned, and
determined to disinherit, him. His mother wept over him
in secret, and furtively sent off small sums of money,
pinched out of her savings, to young Harcourt for her pro-
digal, with prayers for his recovery—as is the fashion with
our English mothers, God bless them! when thus afflicted.
Wearily passed the days with the old couple, and about
once a month John Frankland swore that the lawyer should
be sent for ' to-morrow' to alter his will, and pass the
estate, for the first time for nine generations, out of the
direct line. But the morrow that was to do this act of
justice never came, until at last the sun dawned upon one
which found the good Squire sitting, as was his wont at
night, with his great Bible upon his knee, open at the 15 th
chapter of St. Luke, but quite dead and cold, with a placid
smile upon his lips. In his old-fashioned way he had been
wont to follow the lines as he read them with his forefinger.
HOW A NEAR RELATIVE WENT TO THE BAD. 53
and this had stiffened upon the words, ' But when he was
a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion,
and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him! The pro-
digal was forgiven !
George was at this time travelling on the Continent
with his zuife. He had run through everything that he could
borrow upon his inheritance, and, not having a shilling to
support himself—had married. If it be a creditable thing
to marry for love when you do not know but that you will
have to send the object of your affections to the workhouse
for support, let him have all the advantage which his con-
duct deserves. If there ever was a woman well calculated
to redeem a scamp and pull him through his difficulties, that
woman was Hester Frankland—born Grant—the eldest
daughter of Captain Trevor Grant, B.IST.; but her face was
her fortune, and circumstances—carefully concealed by the
ardent bridegroom, or the marriage never would have taken
place—made it necessary that his honeymoon-trip to Paris
should be lengthened into a residence in that capital, not-
withstanding that certain officers of the law were most
anxious that he should return to the land of his birth, and
the jurisdiction of the Chief Justice of the Court of Com-
mon Pleas. There were too many people, however, inter-
ested in the death of old John Frankland to allow of it being
long kept a secret from his heir. He came back to London
post-haste, was instantly arrested for debt, and, under his
wife's directions, put his affairs into the hands of an old
friend of her father's—a great family solicitor in Lincoln's-
inn-fields—a sharp man and a hearty, well accustomed to
wage war with the tribes of Israel on behalf of youthful
heirs, and to attend to the careful nursing of invalid estates.
It was good to see the honest lawyer dealing with the
harpies who had marked out Master George as their prey
for life, and sending them out of his office gnashing their
teeth with rage at being obliged to receive back their prin-
cipal with only forty-five per cent as profit on the loan.
Better still to observe the speechless agony of those who
had grasped at too much, and were forced to give up their
bonds for the price of the stamp to escape a prosecution for
usury. Best of all, to see the conscience-stricken debtor
54
A TANGLED SKEIN.
tended in the vile sponging-house by his true wife, and car-
ried by her from thence to the Derbyshire valley, where
another and happier life was to be commenced.
I think that, probably, the very worst thing that can
happen to a young fellow with a proclivity towards the Bad,
is for him to get lightly out of some scrape which he thinks
—and which ought to be—a bad one. His escape tempts
him to try his luck again—-just as winning a heavy stake
upon his first throw induces the embryo gambler to go on
with the game, although he knows all the odds are against
him. The estate had to be heavily encumbered before
George Frankland could be got out of the clutches of the
Sheriff's officer; but the income of those coal-fields of which
we have already heard, under the management of an engi-
neer whom Mr. Coleman the lawyer had sent down to work
them, went on increasing in such an absurd manner as to
give him a prospect of being able to pay off all the mort-
gages, and be a richer man than any of his family before
him, ere his eldest son was breeched. Gentle Hester was
good enough to delay as little as might be the coming of
this good time, and the usual ' finest child of his age,' &c.,
who subsequently became Captain Stephen Frankland, was
born on the 18th of July 1830. Now, long-suffering reader,
don't you find yourself emerging from the by-paths of this
long digression 1 Bear with me yet a little longer, and the
main road will soon be in view.
Old Mrs. Frankland lived just long enough to hear her
grandson's first prattle—and then she passed away, glad, I
think, to be at rest and to join the faithful partner of her
happier years. For a time Master George was busy enough
with his alterations and improvements; he dearly liked play-
ing the great man, and his life in the old Grange, with his
beautiful wife and child, was a blameless and a useful one.
It was not to last very long. Within a year of his mother's
death Hester found he was growing fidgety, and tired of his
new hobbies; so, with her usual good tact, she made no
opposition to what she saw was inevitable. Only when he
had determined to go to London, just for awhile, to talk
matters over with Coleman, she quietly made up her mind
to go with him—and she went.
HOW A NEAR RELATIVE WENT TO THE BAD. 55
First of all, much against her will, she had to be pre-
sented at Court, and to make the acquaintance of the Har-
courts, and all the grand people who had petted her hand-
some husband in his bachelor days. Then having accepted
their hospitality, it had, of course, to be returned; and, a
dissolution of Parliament having taken place, who so fit to
represent his native county in the coming struggle for
Reform as the dashing young Whig ? The coal-pits had to
be worked apace, I promise you, to keep full the purse that
had such drains upon it; and they were not lessened when
the Bill of 1832 passed, and Lord Grey fulfilled the darling
desire of his young supporter by making him a Baronet.
Long and earnestly did Hester struggle to win her husband
from a course of life that she detested. Political distinc-
tion was his ambition now; and this, he supposed, could be
gained through the instrumentality of his wine-merchant
and confectioner. It was all nonsense Hester's talking
about retrenchment, and paying off the mortgages. That
would keep for a year or two; it would all come right in
the end. The coal-mines would go on improving, and pay for
all; and so they did. There are no diamonds like the black
ones when all goes well in the getting; and Sir George con-
tinued his brilliant career until, one day, a collier struck his
pick in the wrong place, and a stream that no one had
dreamed of poured in, flooded the pit, burst its way into the
lower levels, chasing the panic-stricken miners to death along
the dark passages, and, utterly ignoring all attempts to
pump it out, made the richFrankland Colliery into a dismal
subterranean lake, from which no shilling of profit was ever
again to arise.
In the midst of this hopeless ruin came the heaviest
blow of all. George Frankland lost his good, patient, lov-
ing wife, and to his credit, be it spoken, he mourned for
her like a man. There was no doubt about the extent of
his ruin this time. It was the real unadulterated article;
and if it had not been for the allowance made to him by
the Court of Chancery for the support of his child, out of
the little patrimony that had been settled on the boy
through his mother, the new baronet must have begged or
stolen for a living—he had not the wit to work for one—for
56
A TANGLED SKEIN.
every stick and stone of his inheritance were eaten up by
encumbrances. So great, however, was his talent for get-
ting into scrapes, that neither grief nor poverty could keep
him out of hot water. Having nothing else to do, he in-
dulged about this time in an amour, the consequences of
which embittered the remainder of his life—as we shall see
before long.
How, old Mr. Coleman, the lawyer, had a son who,
about this time, began to manage the business; and this
son had a wife who, in all other matters, had long ago be-
gun to manage him; and as this lady will not be an unim-
portant personage in my story, I may as well present her
at once. She was a woman with a mission, and that mis-
sion was, to marry everybody. She had married her seven
sisters ; she had married most of her school-friends ; she
had married herself; and her first care, after taking a fancy
to bachelor or spinster, was to find out some one with whom
to entangle them in the noose matrimonial. At first this
mission was proceeded with upon sentimental grounds.
The poor things yearned towards each other, and it was
cruel not to bring them together! Later on, when her
own household cares—for the elder Coleman was a frugal
old fellow, and liked young people to try their experience
and work their way—convinced her that true love was,
after all, an imperfect substitute for legs of mutton, she
modified her views considerably; and, still bent as reso-
lutely as ever upon putting an end to celibacy amongst all
her friends and acquaintances, determined that they should not
make any marriages but good ones in the £ s. d. considera-
tion of the term. George Frankland was a prime favourite
with the busy lady ; and the grass was not green over poor
Hester's grave before she began to look out for a rich wife
for the interesting and insolvent mourner. 'How, my
dear,' she said one evening to her lord, ' do think if you
have not got some very rich client with an only daughter,
who would do for poor George !'
To this and similar requests her spouse had but one
reply, ' My love ! business /' By which it was meant that
clients, and all pertaining to them, were things upon which
no home influences were to be brought to bear. It was a
HOW A NEAR RELATIVE WENT TO THE BAD. 57
maxim in the Coleman family that husbands were to be
lodgers in their own houses, but autocrats in ' the office.'
No wives or daughters were allowed to enter the precincts
of this sacred, but somewhat musty, domain; and the trans-
actions therein conducted were preserved as secrets to which
the boldest did not presume to refer.
But though that one word ' business' was plainly under-
stood to mean an unconditional rejection of Mrs. Coleman's
petition, it was business which, after all, supplied the very
article for which she was in search.
In the spring which followed Hester's decease, Coleman,
Son, & Company had a great patent case for trial in
Westminster Hall, and ' Son' obtained permission to invite
one of the parties—a Staffordshire iron-master—to dine at
his house in Guildford-street. He came, and not alone.
He had taken the liberty, he said, to bring his little girl,
who had come up with him to see the town. This iron-
master was not the man to let his light shine under a bushel.
He would very soon let you know what he was ! He talked
money, thought money, clinked sovereigns at you in his
breeches pocket, and reckoned up you and yours by what
you were worth in pounds, shillings, and pence. Before the
cloth was off the table Mrs. Coleman had marked out that
little girl as the heiress who was to 1 do' for poor George.
When the gentlemen had discussed their wine and
entered the drawing-room, they found the pair with their
arms round each other's waists, as though they had been
bosom friends all their lives. The person whom Mr.
Tremlett, the iron man, had spoken of as his 1 little girl'
was his niece, a remarkably artificial young lady of eighteen,
full of accomplishments and utterly destitute of common
sense—afflicted, moreover, with that painful giggling and
affectation of superiority which, even in these later days, is
not unknown amongst young ladies who have been accus-
tomed to the homage of a small country town. Mrs. Cole-
man expressed herself as taking such an interest in the
sweet motherless child ; and would her uncle trust her with
them whilst he remained in town, and she (the disinterested
matron) would be so happy to take her to the Lady
Mayoress's Ball and the Botanical Fete, by way of show-
58
A TANGLED SKEIN.
ing her the lions ? Rough, purse-proud old Tremlett made
great fuss over the proffered hospitality, accepting it at last
quite as a favour to the Colemans. His lawyer winced as
he heard it urged, knowing full well towards what it tended;
but the Lady Mayoress's Ball and the Botanical Fete were
not to be considered as ' business' in any light, so he was
compelled to be silent. Tremlett chuckled in his sleeve at
getting so well rid of his ' little girl' for awhile, for he had
ideas of enjoying himself in London, with the carrying out
of which that young person's company seriously interfered.
No one knew him in the great metropolis, and he could do
as he pleased. So Rhoda, the heiress, took up her quarters
in Guildford-street. And who danced with her all night
at the Mansion House ? And who, by some curious coinci-
dence, was entering the gate at Chiswick just as Mrs. Cole-
man and her young charge drove up? and who found an
excuse for calling at the house about every other day, and
was invariably pressed to stay and spend the evening, just
to look at dear Rhoda's beautiful drawings—just to hear
dear Rhoda sing—just to be ready to escort 1 me and dear
Rhoda' in case a box at the Opera might be sent, as it
sometimes was, at the last moment ? Who but the pale
and interesting young Baronet, about whose virtues in the
midst of hardship and sorrows good Mrs. Coleman was so
eloquent! When the patent case was over, and judge and
jury had deliberately determined that the man who had
spent half his life, and all his fortune, in working out the
new process which was saving Mr. Tremlett so much money,
had not the slightest right to profit by the invention, and
it was time to get back to Staffordshire, Miss Rhoda begged
hard to be allowed to stay a little longer with her dear
friends, and, after a good deal of fuss as before, was allowed
to do so. Nothing would have induced Mrs. Coleman to
pry into her visitor's desk—but young ladies are so careless ;
and this one having written ' Rhoda Frankland, Lady
Frankland'—no doubt to see how it would look—upon a
scrap of paper which, somehow or other, fell into the posses-
sion of her hostess, that valuable manuscript was handed,
with many a nod and smile, to Sir George, who was not
slow to act upon the hint it contained.
HOW A NEAR RELATIVE WENT TO THE BAD. 59
The course of true love ran very smooth as far as the
principal parties were concerned ; but, in reply to the long
letter to Rhoda's uncle, in which Frank-land formally
demanded her in marriage, came the iron-master himself,
crimson with fury, in a yellow post-chaise, in which he
whisked off the weeping bride elect, without even allowing
her time to pack up her finery; and he never rested until
he had her safe once more amidst his furnaces. ' What!
his niece, who was wuth' (Coketown for ' worth') ' her fifty
thousand, married to a beggarly Baronet whom his foreman
could buy up 1 Not if he knew it!'
Know it he certainly did not—the contracting parties,
assisted by their ally in Guildford-street, took good care of
that! But married she determined to be, and to the
person thus slightingly indicated, as was foretold in a very
prettily-written pink note which was found upon her dress-
ing-table one morning about a fortnight after her forced
return. She was very sorry indeed to disobey her dear
uncle, but dearest George was waiting under the window to
take her to Scotland, and by the time this was read she
should be his wife.
Now Rhoda Tremlett had been made a ward in Chan-
eery upon the death of her parents, and there are inconve-
niences attached to an elopement with young ladies so
circumstanced, which, had Mr. Coleman made his wife a
little more acquainted with ' business,' she might not have
allowed her favourite to risk; or, having risked them,
would have warned him to keep out of the jurisdiction of
the Right Hon. Henry, Baron Brougham of Brougham,
in the county of Westmoreland, Lord High Chancellor of
England. As it was, no time was lost in acquainting
that high functionary with what had happened to a young
lady towards whom he stood in loco parentis ; and after a
short week's felicity, the radiant bridegroom, committed for
contempt of court, had to pass the remainder of his honey-
moon a prisoner in the King's Bench ! Rhoda opened wide
her languid eyes, and declared that it was really very hard
upon poor Georgey. What had he done 1 She had been
quite as naughty as he; would they lock her up in a dread-
ful prison too ? Was Georgey chained up very tight ? and
60
A TANGLED SKEIN.
please might she send him his slippers and a bottle of
smelling-salts to revive him, poor dear? Having vented
her grief in this heart-broken strain, my lady carefully
strapped a little coat on her Italian greyhound, and took
him out for an airing in an open carriage.
Dearest Georgey by no means relished his fate—which,
by the way, would have been shared by the good-natured
matchmaker, his ally, if the interesting condition in which
she annually appeared had not mollified the Chancellor,
and concentrated his wrath upon the principal delinquent.
For a man accustomed to change and excitement, who
has no internal resource of any kind, and to whom his own
company is the dullest in the world, a prison-room—furnish
it as you will—is a terribly gloomy place. ' Poor Georgey'
was very ready from the first to submit, and ' purge his
contemptbut the Court of Chancery has but little faith
in such sudden conversions, and gave its prisoner every
opportunity of ascertaining, by profound meditation, the
real state of his feelings. The case was indeed a bad one.
Here was a young man who had dissipated what was, in
fact, two fortunes, before he was four-and-twenty; who was
a gambler and a ne'er-do-well, and who had run away with
a ward of the Court—of course for her money—and mar-
ried her in defiance of her nearest relative and the law !
Six months' imprisonment was but a slight infliction for
such conduct; and at the end of that time it was intimated
that, when the delinquent had executed a post-nuptial settle-
ment that would be satisfactory to his wife's relations, he
might petition for his release from durance. It was not an
easy thing for him to satisfy his wife's relations—repre-
sented, of course, by her injured uncle. If the angry iron-
master had his will, 1 dearest George' would have left the
King's Bench in his coffin, but not otherwise. Fortunately
for the prisoner, however, he went a little too far in his
opposition, and the Chancellor took the matter into his own
hands. The whole of Lady Frankland's property was
settled upon herself for life, and after her death upon her
husband, until her eldest son came of age. When this was
done, the life interest in a sum of money which, with good
management, would produce about 150?. a year was, after
HOW A NEAR RELATIVE WENT TO THE BAD. G1
almost superhuman exertions on the part of Mr. Coleman,
bestowed upon the Baronet by his wife's trustees.
The old house in Derbyshire had been let for a short
time; but now the mortgagees had foreclosed, and the
estates, with the exception of two outlying farms which
were entailed, were in the market. Lady Frankland's
money had to be invested somehow, and she fancied exceed-
ingly the idea of going down to the old Grange, and playing
the grand lady among the simple Derbyshire folks. In
this she was ably backed up by Mrs. Coleman. ' Don't you
see, my dear, that you cannot possibly do better ? If you
settle in any other place, you will come as strangers—there
you take your place at once as an old county family.'
* Bother your old county families !' the sturdy iron-master
exclaimed, when this view was presented to him; ' many
of them ain't wutJi nought. I could buy up a dozen like
Franklands ! Beggarly lot !' However, as good luck
would have it for my lady's ambition, an eminent convey-
ancer, to whom the deeds had been submitted, discovered
that three hundred years ago somebody had done or
omitted something which made a flaw in the title, and con-
sequently the value of the land was seriously depreciated to
any one but a Frankland; and yet a Frankland could have
it at less than the market price, and hold it safely against
the world. So the waving cornfields, and the fat pastures,
the great rugged Tor and all it looked down upon—the
scenes, as we know, of Captain Stephen's day-dreaming—
were knocked down to Lady Frankland's trustees, certain
conditions having been arranged between them and the
Baronet before they would consent to bid for the property.
The conditions were by no means favourable to Sir George;
and in justice to him it must be stated, that the most
humiliating items were accepted by him whilst in durance
vile, and he was somewhat unfairly held to by them when,
through no favour of the proposers, he obtained his liberty.
He was so thoroughly cowed and broken down in body
and mind by that short imprisonment, that if his wife's rela-
tions had required him to sweep a crossing for five years,
as a penance for his sins, I believe he would have gladly
promised to do so. He was one of those people, you see,
62
A TANGLED SftEIN.
who never consider the future consequences of an act, pro-
vided its first-fruits give pleasure or cause a temporary
cessation of pain. The conditions actually made came
shortly to this: Frankland and the estate were to change
names. 4 If my gal's fortune buys the place,' said the iron-
master, 4 it shall be called after her. I'll have no mistake
about it. And if her young 'uns expect to get my brass
they must bear my name. I'll have no county-familying it.'
So Sir George Frankland became Sir George Tremlett,
and his lady's eldest son Francis of that ilk, and it was
held a high crime and misdemeanour' down on the Derby-
shire estate to call the old house—to which a modern front
had been added of the most florid Italian style—by any
other name than its new one of 4 Tremlett Towers.'
Sir George and Mr. Harcourt remained firm friends,
having many weaknesses in common; and it was through
the interest of the latter that Stephen obtained his cadet-
ship. His age, suggested in the first pages of this his-
tory, will show you what time has elapsed between the
changes above mentioned and the year in which our history
begins. The quiet Franklands have long been forgotten,
and the purse-proud and ostentatious Tremletts reigned in
their stead. Mr. Coleman, moderately enriched by the
railway mania of 1846, had retired from the active prac-
tice of his profession, and built himself a house near 4 The
Towersfor, having kept himself out of the quarrel be-
tween his wife and old Tremlett, he had been appointed to
manage the estates; and such was the confidence which
the iron-master had in his care and skill, that he transferred
to him by will the trusts in Lady Tremlett's marriage set-
tlement, and left him sole executor of the large property
which went to swell that lady's wealth. To console the
lawyer for forsaken associations, a room, into which no
one was allowed to penetrate, was fitted up in the new
house, and made as fusty as possible, in imitation of the
office in Lincoln's Inn, and 4 My love, business /' continued
to warn his wife off the subjects which pertained to this
sanctum.
I have intimated that the old Grange, which had seen
the first and the last of so many generations of Franklands,
HOW A NEAR RELATIVE WENT TO THE BAD. 63
had to be ' improved' to suit the tastes of the new family.
In vain was the obstinate iron-master told that it was one
of the best specimens of the genuine Tudor-Gothic style of
architecture in the kingdom. He would reply that he did
not care for Tudor nor for Gothic neither. Who were
they? Rubble & Square of Wolverhampton built his
house, he said, and they should build his niece's. They
were respectable tradesmen, they were; and so Tudor &
Gothic might be, for aught he knew, but they should not
have his money. He evidently thought that the style men-
tioned was one adopted by some existing firm of builders.
He would have nothing to do with their new-fangled fid-
fads. Give Mm a nice white wall, plenty of plate-glass in
the windows, and green Venetian blinds! He liked a house
to stand up square and handsome, right upon the road, so
that people could see it. That old place down in Derby-
shire might do very well for Franklands and suchlike;
but it was only fit to make servants' offices for his gal. So,
as I have said, a modern Italian front was added, of which
the walls were very white, and the plate-glass of the widest,
and the Venetian blinds behind it of the vividest green that
could be bought and laid on.
The ancient mansion faced east and west, looking
straight over the valley; the new portion partly turned its
back upon it and looked soutb, a drive having been made
to bring the visitors round to the new entrance. The prin-
cipal reception-rooms were all in the portion designed by
those eminent builders, Messrs. Rabble & Square, and of
the remainder only two apartments escaped the doom which
old Mr. Tremlett had pronounced. These were what once
had been the main hall, and a small chamber with an oriel
window at the westernmost extremity of the principal wing.
The oak carvings, which formed the wainscot of the hall
and ornamented its staircase, were recommended to the
admiration of the iron-master; and he is reported to have
said that they would look ' something like' if painted French
white and picked out with plenty of gilding. It was only
when told that they were worth from five to ten pounds the
square foot, to sell again in War dour-street, that he saw
their beauty, and, after this, was wont to brag amongst
64
A TANGLED SKEIN.
his chums of the carvings 1 all over heathen mythology and
that, you know,' which 'artist-chaps' came to see in his
gal's house.
The old hall was changed into a billiard-room, and my
lady appropriated, as her boudoir, the cozy little chamber
with the oriel window. It was such an accommodating
little room—so cool in summer, and snug when the cold
weather set in ! My lady could not bear the cold weather.
My lady had a rooted aversion to being warm. The room
with the oriel window was a quiet, sleepy, indolent place,
and suited Eihoda Lady Tremlett exactly. As a girl, she
had had her ears boxed for daring to do something for her-
self; and under her fond purse-proud uncle's tuition she soon
got over the weakness of self-dependence, and learned to do
nothing at all with infinite grace and assiduity.
A lady's age is a mystery which politeness forbids us to
fathom too nearly. We know, however, fhat Miss Bhoda
took that secret trip to Gretna Green when she was, in the
estimation of the law, ' an infant;' and a remarkably fasci-
nating and superbly-attired infant she was. We likewise
are aware that Lady Tremlett's eldest son is at least one-
and-twenty at the commencement of this story, which—
(bother take all these details !)—has hardly yet commenced.
We may gather, therefore, that she is no longer young.
She must be verging upon forty, and yet she looks quite
girlish of a morning, in her elegant morning wrapper of
clear muslin fastened round her waist with a blue sash, and
her fair hair gathered up into a coquettish knot of curls.
She is wonderfully well preserved—complexion, figure, and
all. It would be curious if she were not. What has she to
make her look old before her time ?
Now, Mr. Prompter, I think you may ring your bell;
for the scene is set, the actors are dressed and in their places;
and hark ! the big drum is thumping the final notes of the
overture. So now we may up with the curtain and begin.
SIR GEORGE LEAVES HOME ON BUSINESS.
65
CHAPTER V.
sir george tremlett leaves home on business.
It was breakfast-time at Tremlett Towers, and the let-
ters which had come by the morning post for the family
were laid out, with the cold beef and fowls, upon the glit-
tering sideboard. There were one or two feminine-looking
epistles for Lady Tremlett; some newspapers, several re-
ports of charitable institutions, pamphlets, and letters from
Oxford friends for Mr. Francis; and for Sir George a whole
pack of communications, which looked painfully like trades-
men's bills—all but one, which was rather peculiar. It was
a large sheet of common rough paper folded together in a
very inartistic manner, and sealed with the impression of
the top of a thimble. The direction, written in an illiterate
hand, was ' To Mr. Sir George Frankland, Care of Atorney
Coleman IAnkeens Inn London.' A pen had been struck
through the address, and ' Tremlett Towers, Derbyshire,'
substituted in a bold clerkly hand.
Now, it is two-and-twenty years since her Majesty per-
mitted the Baronet to take his wife's name; and although
the firm of Coleman, Son, & Co. exists to this day, the last
Coleman retired fourteen years ago. It was clear, therefore,
that the writer of this strange epistle had not been in com-
munication with Sir George during all this time; and if it
had not been that one of the partners in the present firm
remembered to have heard of the Baronet when he was
serving his clerkship, and hunted his direction out of an old
diary, it would probably never have reached its destination.
There, however, it was, in the hands of the stately butler at
Tremlett Towers, who, after careful examination of what
had been scratched out, the seal, and the folding—which
was effective, if not symmetrical—showed it to the second
footman, and pronounced it to be e a rum un.' The second
footman, who was young in the service, scanned it in turn,
and expected it was 1 a begging letter;' whereupon the but-
ler, who knew a thing or two, laughed, and observed that
' there ain't much good in sending begging letters to him,'
meaning by ' him' the Baronet, bis master.
f
66
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Lady Tremlett and her son made their appearance,
gathered up their correspondence, and were seated at table,
before Sir George came bustling in. As was his wont, he
hummed a tune, and began to collect his letters mechanically
—for their general purport was too well known to this man
of title and position, who has 150Z. a year independent of
his wife, and he found little pleasure in their perusal. But
when his eye fell on that dirty blotted scrawl, he* seized it,
shuffled it under some other letters, got very red in the face,
then very white, and cold all over, and finally managed to
infold the mysterious epistle in his handkerchief and thrust
both deep into his pocket. When he sat down to breakfast
he was more than usually cheerful, and anxious to know
' the news' from his wife and son; but his appetite was not
as good as usual this morning. The meal concluded, he
hurried away to a back room where he kept his boots and
fishing-tackle, and which he called his Study, and there,
after having carefully locked the door and drawn down the
window-blinds, he tore open the letter, and read it eagerly.
' My God !' he exclaimed, 'if I had been away, and she had
opened it!' Then he rent it into a score of fragments, and
threw them into the empty grate—for it was summer time
—and as they fluttered and fell, a word or part of a word
caught his eye ; so he knelt down, swept them all together
with trembling hand into a heap, and burnt them to ashes
with a cigar-light. If his nearest friend had seen the ghastly
face that the vesuvian lighted up, he could scarcely have
recognised it.
This done, he rose, wiped the perspiration from his fore-
head, then paced up and down the apartment moodily,
and at last sank into his easy-chair, and, burying his
face in his hands, moaned aloud. Two hours afterwards
he knocked at the door of my lady's boudoir, humming a
pleasant tune.
' Come in,' said my lady.
' How deliciously cool and comfortable we are this
abominably hot weather!' observed the Baronet, in a gay
tone, snuffing at some choice flowers which decorated this
charming sanctum.
' Bid you come to tell me so, my love?' was the languid
SIR GEORGE LEAVES HOME ON BUSINESS.
67
response. My lady was reclining, in white muslin, on a
couch by the well-screened window.
' Why, no—not exactly, my dear,' said her husband,
fidgeting with some ornament on the table ;• ' the fact is,
that I have received letters this morning which make it
necessary that I should go to London for a few days,—
about our new railway,' he added quickly.
'You know I have not the slightest wish to interfere
with your movements,' replied my lady, slightly opening
those lustrous blue eyes of hers, which, in the mother of a
lad of twenty-two, were still most beautiful,—' pray go to
London, or anywhere you like.'
' Then you don't mind being left V
' O dear, no !'
' And—and—Ha, ha! I—the fact is, that I—am rather
short of money just now' (this state had been for some time
chronic with Sir George), ' and if you could lend me ten
pounds until—Yes, I know. Thank you very much, my
love !' These last observations were made in consequence
of a lazy gesture made by my lady towards her canterbury,
directly her spouse mentioned the mystic word ' money.'
Sir George wheeled the canterbury to her side with a
quickness which showed that the performance had been well
rehearsed. ' Ha ! and this little fellow is the key,' he said,
selecting one from a tiny bunch suspended to my lady's
watch-chain, which she handed him. ' So it is. Shall I
open the drawer ? To be sure—this is it! And there they
are, piled up so neatly ! Two fives will be most convenient.
Thank you, again.' And he was about to pocket the money
■—to which his practised fingers had found their way thus
aptly—without further ceremony, when his second son Mr.
Tremlett entered the room, without knocking.
' 0, I have just lent your father ten pounds, Francis,'
said my lady; ' be good enough to enter them in the
accounts.'
' In notes or gold, mother ?'
' In notes.'
'Be good enough to let me see those notes, sir,' de-
manded his son.
' Fives, my boy—fives. Two of them—it's all right.'
68
A TANGLED SKEIN.
'Yes, Francis, two fives—your father is quite right.'
said my lady.
' I beg your pardon,' was the filial reply, ' it is not all
right. When I am intrusted with the keeping of accounts,
I choose to keep them in the most systematic and business-
like manner. To enter the mere gross sum of a loan is not
systematic or business-like, as I understand the terms. I
require to take down the date and number of those notes,
and therefore request that they may be shown to me for
that purpose.'
' Francis is quite correct,' observed my lady; ' pray
show them. Dear boy! his methodical habits are so nice.'
The Baronet bit his lip as he handed the notes to this
precise young gentleman. Borrowing is not pleasant work
under the best circumstances; but when you have to go
begging to your wife, with your son to note down the trans-
action 1 systematically,' it must go greatly against the grain.
Sir George Tremlett's necessity, however, was urgent,—and
the night mail took him up to London.
It will have appeared, from the conversation which pre-
ceded his departure, that ' poor delicate little Frank' had
grown up a remarkably self-sufficient young gentleman.
His course of education had been as follows: He had a
private tutor at home till he was fifteen, and then was
sent to a famous public school, at which the principle of
making the elder boys responsible for the well-doing of
their younger companions was carried out to a considerable
length. Mark me, that I have nothing whatever to say
against this principle. In theory, it is excellent; and in
practice, I know it has produced many estimable men. But
truth compels me to add, that it has also afflicted us with
some insufferable prigs, and I am afraid we must include
Mr. Francis Tremlett in this category.
Being a determined plodder, and not without ability, he
became head of the school, and held that high post for
nearly eighteen months. During this period he considered
that the temporal and spiritual welfare of some three hun-
dred of his species was placed under his care, and that there
was hope for no single one of them without his exertions.
In this state of mind he proceeded to Oxford, accompanied
SIR GEORGE LEAVES HOME ON BUSINESS. 69
by some half a dozen lads of a similar way of thinking, and
there encountered some half a dozen more, all earnest dis-
ciples of the same school. They were all very steady, all
very studious, all very High Church—and, withal, exceed-
ingly egotistical and full of ' responsibilities.' They kept
themselves by themselves, and would have nothing, to say
to persons with less elevated missions.
How, a little coterie like this, into which fresh ideas
are not allowed to enter, is apt to get as musty as a little
room from which fresh air is excluded; and the well-
intentioned exertions of these young gentlemen, guided by
no other rules than those which their own want of experi-
ence furnished, only escaped being very impertinent when
they became ridiculous. For example, there was, about
this time, at Brazenose, a sinner known to his intimates as
Jack Cutler—as handsome, dashing, and idle a dog as ever
lounged on the banks of Isis. He was the youngest son of
a physician at Derby, with whom Mr. Francis Tremlett had
a slight professional acquaintance, which seemed to him to
impose a 1 responsibility.' Upon the strength of this, and
as the delegate of his clique, he visited Jack in his rooms,
without an introduction, and informed him that he was
doing no good at the university; that the courses he was
pursuing would bring nothing but discredit upon his college;
that his father was by no means a rich man; and that in
throwing away the opportunities afforded him he (Jack, the
sinner) was behaving in a fraudulent and ungrateful manner.
Home-truths, all these, which Jack well deserved to hear.
They would have come with great force from his tutor, or
from the Vice-Chancellor, but from the mouth of a con-
temporary—nay, a junior—they were rather hard to put up
with. Jack, however, was a very good-natured fellow. He
heard his visitor out, and then told him to be good enough
to mind his own business, or, as he had come, to take a
weed and be cheerful.
Mr. Francis Tremlett indignantly declined so insulting
a proposition, and his little set shook their wise heads
solemnly over the depravity it evinced, and mourned the
fate that threatened all fast men, and Jack Cutler in par-
ticular. But the worst of it all was, that Jack took to
70
A TANGLED SKEIN.
reading in his last two terms, and was bracketed in honours
with his would-be mentor when they went in for their de-
gree ! It would have been less galling if the reprobate had
taken a first class. Then there would have been no com-
parisons. But for him to be written down as equal with
the studious Mr. F. Tremlett in the second; and for men
to say that if he had begun to grind a week or two sooner
he would have beaten that prig's head off—was gall and
wormwood to the person thus indicated and his set.
Having left the university, Frank retired to his home;
instructed the tenants how to manage their farms; called
the gray-haired rector of the neighbouring village of Durm-
stone roundly to account for the manner in which he con-
ducted his schools; gave his father, and other country
magistrates old enough to be his father, lessons in the art
of administering justice; and taught various persons old
enough to be his grandmother how 1 to suck eggs' of all
sorts and sizes. It will be easily understood, therefore,
how it came to pass that he made himself personally offen-
sive to almost everybody, gentle or simple, upon the estate.
But then, you see, he was the heir, and much had to be
excused and put up with in a young fellow who would be
so powerful in the days to come. He was quite as precise
in his dress as he was in his manner and opinions. He in-
clined to coats of a grave and sober cut, wore old-fashioned
neckties, complained about his digestion, and aped the
country gentleman. His father was the younger man of
the two in every respect but years. But then, you see, his
father had no responsibilities, and so could turn down his
collars, wear a shooting-coat in the morning, and drive the
dog-cart into Durmstone when he could get leave to take
out a horse. Mr. Francis descended not to such trifling.
His set at Oxford were distinguished by their stiff necks—
stiffened by more than starched linen. His set at Oxford
always wore long-skirted frock-coats, and left dog-carts
to be driven by sinners of the Jack Cutler tribe. So
Mr. Francis Tremlett, at one-and-twenty, dressed like a
Secretary of State, and when he went abroad was driven
in his brougham, with a footman to open the door, as be-
seemed his dignity.
MR. BRANDRON KEEPS IIIS APPOINTMENT.
71
Poor, delicate, affectionate little Frank ! Those who
expect him to have grown up in the promise of his gentle
childhood will be rather disappointed.
Now, how an author may be led astray ! A few pages
back I was crying out upon those who go skeleton-hunting in
gentlemen's houses, and here I have unearthed two out of
one covert in my fifth chapter ! It only shows that things
do not go on pleasantly in pleasant-looking places, as one
sometimes supposes they do. There are many, I daresay,
who quite envy Sir George Tremlett, and think that he
has not a care in that fine house ; and yet we know that
he is dependent upon his wife and son for his daily bread,
and that they take care he shall know it. I have to account
for some of the consequences which sprung from this
wretched and unnatural state of affairs, and so am bound
to disclose it.
Arrived in London, Sir George Tremlett put up at
an hotel near the station, and early the next morning hailed
a hansom cab and drove—not westwards, where the busi-
ness he had indicated to his wife is transacted, but over
London Bridge to the South-Eastern Railway terminus,
and took a first-class return ticket for Poundbridge.
It was about four hours after he had arrived there that
he met his son, face to face, in Westborough-lane, as al-
ready described.
CHAPTER YI.
mr. brandron keeps his appointment.
Supposing you had a son, and were so confident that
he was serving with his regiment in India that you would
stake your head against a sugar-plum upon the fact; or,
supposing that you had a father, whom for the last four
weeks you had been incessantly associating with a family
circle in Derbyshire; and thus positive as to your respective
whereabouts, you and this father, or you and this son, were
suddenly to come face to face in a secluded Kentish lane,
72
A TANGLED SKEIN.
•what would you say ?—What would you do 1 Shut this
hook for a moment, try and realise the situation, and see
what words will properly express the feelings of the actors.
If you can find them, you are more fortunate than your
author. Were he writing a melodrama now, there would
he no difficulty. The stage directions would send father
and son to opposite corners of the scene, where they would
strike attitudes; and the father, clasping his hands to the
right, would exclaim, ' Ha !' and the son clasping his hands
to the left, would ejaculate, 1 Heavens !' Whereupon the
father would shout, ' Can it be 1 Yes, it is ! No, it isn't!
Ha, ha, ha! 'Tis he ! my long-lost che-ild !' And then,
with a stamp, a gurgle, and a rush, they would fall into
each other's arms, to resume, as soon as the inevitable ap-
plause had ceased, the ordinary business of the play, as
though nothing particular had occurred. It is rather hard
upon us story-tellers that we are not allowed to make use
of fine old cut-and-dried conventionalities of this kind to
help us over our difficulties. The truth is so very common-
place ! But the truth must be told; and in telling it I
have an observation to make. It is not considered right, I
believe, to cut down your neighbour's window-curtains, and
to make up the material into a dressing-gown for your own
wearing ; but it is perfectly fair and proper, as things go,
to steal your neighbour's novel, and turn it into a play for
your own benefit. Should it occur to any of those gentle-
men 4 connected with the Drama,' who have been good
enough so to convert certain of my literary goods, that this
story is a good one to be 'done' for the stage, they will have
to find their own dialogue for this very striking situation;
and I warn them, that if the actor who is to undertake the
part of Sir George Tremlett should conduct himself towards
the actor who is cast for Captain Frankland—and vice
versa—after the manner in which those persons actually
behaved to each other in the Westborough-lane, those un-
fortunate performers will certainly be hissed off the stage;
for so completely crushed by the surprise were the senses
of father and son, that they stood stock-still, staring vaguely
in each other's faces, and said and did exactly—nothing.
During the short space in which Stephen could treat
MR. BRANDRON KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. 73
this rencontre as a good joke—before circumstances, yet to
be related, made it the starting-point of a dreadful mystery
—he used to confess that his first impulse was to run
away. 'My heart,' he said, 'gave a great jump up into
my throat—my blood ran boiling hot for a moment from
head to heel, and then seemed to flow away from me alto-
gether, leaving me weak and sick, with the hedge and the
road waltzing together round me.' As for Sir George, he
uttered a cry, and fell in a faint where he stood. There
was a little stream at hand, and Stephen got some water
as soon as he had collected his senses, and, after consider-
able trouble, succeeded in restoring his father to conscious-
ness. His first words, delivered in a tone of sorrow and
reproach, were, ' 0 Stevie, have you followed me V
Stephen assured him that there was no ' following,'
except for the last few hundred yards, and explained, as
"briefly as he could, what had brought him to Westborough.
The Baronet seemed to gain composure as the narrative
proceeded; and by the time his son had accounted for his
share in causing their meeting he had quite recovered, and
began to chatter with his usual vivacity. ' I never was so
surprised in my life—never! And so you have been ill in
India—dying ! Bless me, why didn't you write ? Dear,
dear, dear! But you are not looking any the worse, only
a little brown and thin; that's all. And what splendid
weather for the harvest, eh ?'
Stephen did not pay much attention to this last observa-
tion, or, indeed, to any of its predecessors. He was burning
to know what had brought his father so far from home into
that secluded spot, and he pressed his questions with per-
haps more force than discretion.
' Why am I here V replied the Baronet; ' why, for a
constitutional, of course. I cannot do without my consti-
tutional, you know. I am as great a walker as ever, my
boy—bless you !' he added, puffing out his chest and
striking it. ' I should never have been the man I am if I
did not take my constitutional regularly.'
' But you have not walked from Derbyshire this after-
noon, surely]' said Stephen, smiling.
' Ha, ha, ha ! What an idea ! "Very good—very good
74
A TANGLED SKEIN.
indeed! Walked from Derbyshire ! Capital! No, no. I
am staying at the Wells. I have been there—let me see
—I have been there—I have been there since—the morning.
Had business, you know. Finished it by luncheon-time,
rattled through it quickly, as usual; and here I am, de-
lighted to see you, my dear boy—delighted beyond measure,
I assure you.'
Stephen's brow darkened when he heard the word
'business.' 'May I ask,' he said, "'if your appointment
was with a gentleman from India, named Brandron V
' Brandron—Brandron ! O dear, no—not Brandron.
I came to see a particular friend, Mr.—er-— Mr.
Dear me, how stupid to forget his name ! Mr. '
' Never mind, as it was not the person I mentioned.
I had a reason for asking; but it does not matter. What
do you propose to do now V
' 0, anything—nothing. I'm my own master.'
' Then I'll tell you what we'll do. I am staying for the
present at the Rising Sun, at Westborough, with my friend
Mr. Brandron. I had arranged to go to London with
him this afternoon, but he had not returned when I came
back from Kernden. He must have arrived by this time.
Come with me; it's only a step from hence. If he is ready
to start we can all three go on together. I should like to
introduce you to him, for he saved my life. If he is not
ready, I will go home straight with you.'
' Excellent plan—excellent!' replied Sir George; ' but'
—and he consulted his watch in a very fussy and hurried
manner—' I really have not a moment to lose. I must run
away to the station at once; I expect a telegraphic mes-
sage. I must catch the train, or I don't know what I shall
do. I am late as it is. Very sorry to leave you so soon,
but time and train, you know—good gracious ! I shall be
late. Good-bye, my dear boy! Come home as soon as
possible. How delighted your mother will be, to be sure !
Good-bye!' And before Stephen could well master his
astonishment at these strange contradictions, his father
seized his hand, wrung it affectionately, and literally ran
away from him.
His own master! Ready to do anything or nothing !
MR. BRANDRON KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. 75
Expecting a telegraphic despatch! Obliged to catch the
train ! What train? The express was half way to London
by that time, and there was not another till eight o'clock.
The more Stephen mused over his father's behaviour the
less was he able to make it out. He knew, however, that
resolution was not amongst his parent's virtues, and that
he was given to rushing hither and thither, full of hurry
and importance, to do nothing at all, and, consequently,
was more amused than astonished by it.
In this frame of mind he reached the Rising Sun, and
made straight for Brandron's room, fully expecting that he
had returned and would there be found. The room was as
he had left it—empty. No one had seen or heard anything
of Mr. Brandron. It was now nearly seven o'clock, and he
had promised to meet him at four. ' O,' thought Stephen,
'it's perfectly clear he is dining at the Wells, and will not
be in for a couple of hours yet; and having thus made up
his mind that his friend could not be expected, he went out
into the road and watched for him anxiously.
Sir George Tremlett hurried away towards the Pound-
bridge railway-station, as though he really thought he was
going to catch a train, and arrived there very hot Ind tired
with his rapid walk—not out of humour, though, as it
seemed, with himself or anybody else; for he buzzed about
the place like a great moth, and had something to chatter
about with everybody. He had not been there twenty
minutes before he had told the booking-clerk, the station-
master, the newspaper-boy, the waitresses in the refresh-
ment-room, the man in charge of the electric telegraph, three
porters, the policeman, and half a dozen passengers in wait-
ing for the down train, that the arrangements of the line
were very inconvenient—very inconvenient indeed. The idea,
he said, of there not being a train till eight o'clock ! He
should have to spend another night in London, for it would
be impossible to catch the Northern mail. The carriage
would be waiting for him at his station—dear, dear!—and
one of the horses had a slight cold when he left. He really
hoped that William had not forgotten to bring the horse-
cloths with him. He was a good servant, William, but
very careless sometimes—very careless; and the train would
76
A TANGLED SKEIN.
not be there for more than an hour! Dear, dear! He
should certainly speak to his friend, Mr. Borham Davy.
Mr. Borham Davy had great railway influence. Did they
—the booking-clerk, the station-master, the newspaper-boy,
the waitresses in the refreshment-room, the man in charge
of the electric telegraph, the three porters, the policeman,
and the passengers waiting for the down-train—know his
friend, Mr. Borham Davy ? No, indeed! Well, he married
one of the Flintdens—the Wiltshire Flintdens—a charming
person; and he was a director of a great many lines. He
(Sir George) was almost sure that he was a director of this.
He should certainly speak to Mr. Borham Davy about mak-
ing the trains more convenient.
Into the refreshment-room there soon came some of the
boys from the school. With these he immediately entered
into conversation (he had a fatal habit of committing him-
self with boys)4; chaffed them about their trencher-caps;
asked if the head-master was a good hand at caning; felt
assured that they did not come for plum-cake; and indulged
in other such-like twaddle, which we all remember to have
despised when at school, but think it necessary to repeat to
schoolboys in our wiser years. Then he stood cherry-brandy
all round, which somewhat modified the opinion which the
lads—lads are quick in such cases—bad formed of the
garrulous gentleman, and then, struck apparently by a sud-
den thought, called for a sheet of paper and an envelope,
and wrote a letter to Stephen Frankland. It ran as follows:
1 My dearest Boy,—I was so charmed and surprised to
see you, that I quite forgot to mention that I am not expected
at home for a few days. Pray do not arrive in my absence.
Could you delay coming until Friday—or say Saturday?
Saturday would suit us all admirably.—Your affectionate
father, George Tremlett.
' P.S.—If you write, you need not tell your mother that
you met me here. I shall see her myself to-morrow. She
might think it unkind of me to stay away after I had com-
pleted my London business—that is all, my dear boy. Bless
you I G. T.'
MR. BRANDRON KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT.
77
The celebrated person -who is responsible for the author-
ship of the saying, < As easy as lying,' could have had little
experience in the practice he affected to consider so facile.
Easy as lying ! Why, to lie consistently is, I take it, about
as difficult a thing as a man can attempt. I only wish that
a second De Quincey would arise and write us an ' Essay
upon Lying, considered as one of the Fine Artswe should
know then what an important and abstruse science it is. We
think it is easy, because we are so tolerant of the bungling
efforts of fifth-rate practitioners. How some of us have
been called over the coals for presuming to throw discredit
upon accounts retailed to us from the very best authority !
With what an air of reproach have we been asked if we think
that Mrs. Grundy would tell a falsehood ! Of course not;
she has only given currency to a set of particulars which,
when reason casts a stone into the midst of them, fall to—
like the armed men which sprung of old from the dragon's
teeth—and knock each other about the head and ears till
there is not so much residuum as was left of the Kilkenny
cats, to be found of any of them. But it is vulgar, and
sometimes dangerous, to throw stones; and so the dragon's
progeny march off with fixed bayonets, to stab reputations,
to part old friends, and stand sentry at the doors of British
Banks and such-like shams, investing them with an appear-
ance of stability and grandeur that may not be lightly as-
persed. As easy as lying, forsooth ! It is easy to hide a
lighted candle from a blind man j but is it easy to hide a
lighted candle ?
The man who first said that liars should have good
memories was well up to his work. When Stephen's
father told his son that big fib about not being expected
home for a few days, he knew perfectly well he was going
to return forthwith; but he had forgotten all about it by the
time that the ink in which his signature was written had
dried, and he scribbled that postscript in which he wrote
himself down a fibber. Not expected home for a few days,
and yet to see his wife, who was at home, to-morrow! O
Sir George ! If Stephen had received such a contradictory
epistle when he had leisure to think over its contradictions,
they would have cost him no little trouble and annoyance.
78
A TANGLED SKEIN.
It came to hand, however, at a time when his mind was
full of one dreadful subject, and it merely impressed upon
him the wish that he was not to hurry home yet awhile.
Had it urged his immediate presence at Tremlett Towers
he could not have obeyed the call, and so no harm was
done.
The eight-o'clock train at last arrived, and Sir George
found a vacant place in a first-class carriage, and speedily
unburdened his mind to his fellow-passengers concerning
the inconvenient arrangements of the line, &c.; and his
chatter only ceased with the journey, when the chatterer
hailed a hansom and drove westward ho ! over London
Bridge.
****** *
Towards London Bridge, twelve hours afterwards,
journeyed two travellers, also from the county of Kent.
One was a rough-looking fellow, in a faded velveteen shoot-
ing-jacket and fur cap, and the other a woman dressed in a
common print gown. The man was travel-stained and
dreary, and his companion dead-beat. He dragged .her
almost from UDder the horses' feet, and as she stood scared
and motionless on the kerb-stone, said, not unkindly,' Come,
come, Nancy lass ! cheer up ! This is London : only a little
further and we shall be where we are going.' Whereupon
she reiterated vaguely the word ' London, London,' and
added, 11 live at the second cottage opposite the well, a
mile and a bit from Westborough; please take me home.'
Poor witless thing ! it was a formula she had been taught
to repeat by rote—like a parrot—in. case she should ever
wander away from her friends and lose herself.
Pardon the apparent brutality of the question, 0
respectable reader, but if ever you were to do anything for
which you might be 1 wanted' (you understand what I mean),
where would you fly to hide ? Will you go to Paris in
twelve hours, and remain there ? Alas, there are such
things as extradition treaties, and you are not safe from
Policeman X on the Boulevards ! Will you take ship for
Australia? The voyage is a long one, and it would be
unpleasant at the end of it to find a detective who had out-
stripped you in a fast steamer, waiting to take you back
MR. BRANDRON KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. 79
before you could land. Besides, it is so easy to watch the
ships in the river and the docks, and pounce upon the
' wanted' one as he comes on board. I fancy all travelling
must be dangerous to people who are 1 wanted.' Every
ship, every station, is a trap, and the railway train itself
a prison, with those uncomfortable tale-telling wires running
all along its course. Well, but surely a man may walk
away in the cool of the evening, and take up his quarters in
some quiet country village where nobody knows him, and
be in peace. Be in peace where nobody knows you 1 My
dear sir, you'd be the gossip of the place in four-and-twenty
hours. No ! when 1 get into trouble, I will go where no
one will notice me, or even seem to pay any attention to
what I am, or look like, or do. T shall take a first floor in
Begent-street, and dine every day at Simpson's, upon the
principle that the wise ones of the earth are always seriously
unconscious of what is going on directly under their noses.
There were those who were at some trouble to find out
where Jim Riley had gone with his idiotic sister. He cer-
tainly did not take lodgings in Regent-street, or dine eyery
day at the Divan in the Strand; but he tramped on, and
lost himself and Nancy amongst the busy, toiling, heaving,
and rattling city, where men had enough to do to attend to
their own business without troubling themselves with his.
Sir George Tremlett caught the night mail after all.
In the mean time, Stephen Frankland was watching and
waiting at Westborough for his friend Mr. Brandron ; and
as he watched and waited, the words of the absent man,
spoken in his cabin that night when they conversed for the
first time, and his strange manner, came vividly back upon
Stephen's memory. He could see again the flash which lit
up Brandon's usually cold gray eye as he spoke those
ominous words, ' I go to do an act of justice /' an act, as
he subsequently admitted, by which an old wrong would
be punished and a long-standing injury repaired. Whe
Stephen found that Brandron was not the name in which his
preserver's passage had been taken, he remembered what
had fallen from him respecting his secret departure from
India. ' No one,' he had said, ' is aware that I intended to
take this voyage. Were my purpose known in certain
80
A TANGLED SKEIN.
quarters, perhaps it might have been defeated.' Later on
he had acknowledged that he looked forward with nervous-
ness and apprehension to the coming interview—that it was
to be with a man whom he could not trust, a man who had
managed to silence him for two-and-twenty years, and who
would not scruple to silence him for ever, if he could. Those
were his very words! This dreaded interview had now
taken place. Who was it with ? and what had been the
result ?
Lost in such musing, Stephen Frankland sat under the
great oak upon the Green, twisting his tawny moustache
and puffing the inevitable cheroot, till the shadows of the
approaching night darkened over the quiet village, and the
night itself set in. The stars came out one by one, and the
moon rose over the little wood that lay behind the church.
Many a time, when a boy at Poundbridge School, have I
cut i hocky sticks' in that little wood, and been chased out
of it staggering under a load of plunder by indignant
' navvies,'—a name which the alumni on good Sir Thomas
Judd's foundation apply to all aboriginal mankind of the
lower orders unconnected with the school. A pleasant
leafy covert it was; thick with young ash-trees, verdant with
open moss-carpeted spaces spread here and there round
some giant tree, where the shy rabbits would come out to
bask in the sunshine, and, at the sound of a human foot,
dart back and be lost to sight in the masses of fern and
harebells, couch-grass and foxglove, wild-brier, ivy, and
woodbine, that divided them, like a tangled flowery fringe,
from the cool shade of the thicket. Stephen Frankland
knew nothing of this wood, but, whilst wandering round
the church, came upon it unawares. The moon was at the
full, and a nightingale, perched on the topmost spray of a
large elm, was filling the night with melody. Stephen was,
as we know, in a dreamy musing frame of mind, so he lazily
climbed the stile, and having sauntered into a secluded path,
he came to what had been once used as a saw-pit, sat him-
self down upon a pile of timber close at hand, and listened
to the nightingale long after the songster had flown away.
Meditating about his illness, his journey, and his home, and
trying to imagine what Brandron was doing at that moment,
ME. BKANDKON KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. 81
"wherever he was, why should he have noticed in the uncer-
tain light that the ground was cut up and trampled as
though by a struggle, and that the boards which covered up
the old saw-pit, had been recently moved ? He could only
have known this by kneeling down, and observing that their
ends were not quite replaced on the spots where the grass,
that had been hitherto covered by them, grew white and
crushed. Had he looked close enough he would have seen
some dark stains upon the herbage, and the print of a
hand upon the rotting planks that was not there in the
morning.
But he noticed nothing. His mind was not where he
sat, but at Tremlett Towers—in the camp at Jansi—in his
cabin on board the Ganges—at Tremlett Towers again—
and at 'the Wells,' wondering what Brandron could be
doing there.
Afterwards he began to reason with himself about
Brandron's disappearance. Disappearance ! Absurd ! The
idea of any person ' disappearing' in such a country as
England, and no one hearing of him again! The thing
was preposterous. Had we not police, and constabulary,
and railways, and electric telegraphs, and coroners, and
private-inquiry offices, and habeas corpus, and all the rest
of it? Of course we had ! And any one of her Majesty's
subjects who flattered himself that he could hide away
another, or conceal himself for any improper purpose from
the eye of the law and the sure grasp of its myrmidons,
would very soon find out his mistake.
So thought Stephen Frankland; and I know there are
thousands who share his confidence in the omniscience and
penetration of the powers that be. ' Murder will out,' says
the proverb; and it is consolatory to know that if you are
murdered some one is pretty sure to swing for it. I believe
that we are as quick and certain in the detection of criminals
as any of our neighbours, and by no means join with those
who, panic-stricken at some late failure of justice, cry out
that crime is getting the upperhand of the means for its
detection. Still, I am by no means sure that all things are
as safe and pleasant as we like to think them. Are all the
missing people who are the subjects of advertisements in
G
82
A TANGLED SKEIN.
the second column of the Times cheats, and runaways,
and ne'er-do-wells ? What is the meaning of those placards,
with the ghastly heading 1 Found Dead,' which glare at
us from the doors of police-stations and workhouses ? The
black river has cast up its dreadful burden, as though in
horror, on the sedges, and gone shuddering on its course
from the horrid spot. Are we quite sure that the grinning
corpse was clothed, when last it stood upright upon the
earth, in those wretched dripping rags ? Has it never
happened that hale men and fair women, whose life was an
annuity of love and hope to all around them, have left their
pleasant homes for daily avocations, and never returned
again? I think that we can reckon up, without much
difficulty, a grim category of murders that have not come
out, and—maybe—will not, to the judgment-day. Who
placed those bloody remains of mortality upon the coping-
stones of Waterloo Bridge ? and whose were they ? Let us
say that this and other similar mysteries are quite excep-
tional, and lay our heads upon our pillows with the com-
forting assurance that no bones lie mouldering in the dark
water, under the stone flags of gloomy courts and cellars,
or buried beneath the gay green carpeting of quiet woods,
unheard of and undiscovered. It is best not to think too
much of such things, if we value our night's rest. Stephen
Frankland, musing in the moonlight, seated by that old
saw-pit in Westborough Wood, had no such uncomfortable
doubts. He only thought that his old friend's conduct in
staying away so long was rather strange, and that if he
did not return that night he was sure to find him some-
where on the morrow. Somewhere !—certainly !
He was aroused from this reverie by the striking of
the church clock, and left the spot by the path along which
he had come; but paused on the stile to take a last look
into the wood. Nothing was stirring, but the night air
amidst the highest branches of the trees. There was no
sound but the faint flutter of the leaves. It was almost
as light as day, and the moonbeams fell full on the old
moss-grown saw-pit. They fell that night upon many
another spot as silent, and, to all outward sign, as peaceful.
They fell upon green mounds in village churchyards and
MR. BRANDRON KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT. 88
upon fields and moorland on which great battles had been
fought in times gone by, where the bones of victor and of
vanquished crumbled to dust together under the sod. They
lit up the old saw-pit, and Stephen Frankland hurried
away towards the inn to seek his friend once more. He
was not there! He had not yet come! There were no
tidings of him. Ten o'clock ! Midnight! One ! Two !
chimed forth—and still ho footstep, no sound, no tidings.
No sleep fell on Frankland's eyes that night.
In the morning he was at ' the Wells' before the hotels
had fairly opened, describing the person of Brandron, and
inquiring if he had been seen there. All was in vain. By
noon he had thoroughly exhausted the town, even to its
humblest tavern—and no result. Once, indeed, he hoped
that he had obtained a clue. The head-waiter at the
Kentish distinctly recognised the gentleman; he had come
in with another party yesterday afternoon, and had dined
and slept in the hotel. Was he not a tall party in black?
Yes ! Well, then, he had had two sodas-and-brandy, and
had gone off to the High Rocks about an hour ago. Stephen
drove off to the High Rocks as fast as a hack-fly could carry
him, and found a lanky hobble-de-hoy dressed in mourning,
smoking a huge cigar, which seemed to be disagreeing with
him, and who acknowledged to staying at the Kentish, and
having had two sodas-and-brandy for breakfast. Stephen,
therefore, had his drive for his pains. Thus occupied, the
prevailing impression amongst the natives seemed to be
that he was a detective officer from London, and that the
object of his search had committed a murder, or was a clerk
in some public company who had been driving mail-phaetons
and giving dinner-parties in the Regent's Park upon 150?.
a year. Popular feeling, therefore, was certianly not in his
favour.
Stephen Frankland rode back slowly, and with a heavy
heart. He had made up his mind to one of two things:
Either Brandron had met with some foul play at the hands
of the person with whom he had left Westborough in the
morning; or he had given him, Frankland, the slip, for
some purpose that he found it impossible to divine. By no
other cause could his prolonged absence be accounted for.
84
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Disappointed, and weary in body and mind, be tramped on
till he came to a bend in the road from which a little inn
was in sight, and was surprised to see a crowd round the
door. A conviction that it had something to do with the
disappearance of Brandron flashed across his mind, and he
quickened his steps. As he approached, and some of the
assembly recognised him, there arose a shout, and then a
murmur of 'Here he is! here he is!' And the people,
dividing right and left, made him a clear passage to the
door. This was kept by a couple of the county police; and
close at hand stood a well-appointed gig, the horse of which
was in a perfect lather of foam. The inn itself was in a
state of wild confusion. In the passage stood the landlady,
wringing her hands and weeping bitterly, surrounded by
half-a-dozen village gossips, who did their best to get in
everybody's way—each one telling the other to do what he
ought to have done himself.
' In God's name, what has happened f cried Stephen,
rushing into the passage.
The constable in charge recognised the voice and manner
of command, and touching his hat to the young soldier,
replied, ' The gentleman who was missing, sir, has been
found.'
Found ! Not returned—not brought back; but found !
There was a dark, fatal, passive sound in the word that
made Stephen's blood run cold. Mr. Brandron had left
that village full of health and vigour, was missing—and
had been found!
He entered the inn, and in a moment the poor homely
landlady blurted out the fatal truth. ' O sir!' she cried,
' 0 sir—the poor gentleman—the poor kind gentleman
that nursed my little Teddy ! 0 sir, they've robbed and
murdered him!'
' Murder I am afraid it will be,' said a grave-looking
gentleman, who at that moment descended the stairs, ' as his
case is, I fear, quite hopeless; but robbery has not been
the motive for the crime. He has a gold watch in his
pocket, and his purse with money in it has not been ab-
stracted. No common robber has done this.' Then, turn-
ing to Stephen, who stood almost paralysed with horror
A TRIUMPH IS PREPARED FOR FRANKLAND. 85
and surprise, he added, 'I presume you are the person
spoken of as this gentleman's friend; if so, I should like to
hare a word with you in private.'
1 Tell me one thing at once, and quickly,' said Stephen;
1 where did this happen—where was he found V
6 In an old saw-pit in Westborough Wood,' was the reply.
1 He must have lain there insensible all last night and the
greater part of yesterday.'
CHAPTEE VII.
in which a triumph is prepared for captain
frankland, v.c.
I must tell you that the fib which Sir George Tremlett
wrote to his son was not a gratuitous one. He had a mo-
tive that was, upon the whole, a good one. With all his
faults and foibles he had one redeeming point: he loved
his soldier-boy dearly, and was proud of him. He had
little else, poor fellow, to be proud of. The young dragoon
bore the good old name that he had weakly given up. If
all the iron-masters in Staffordshire could turn their ore
into gold, and place it in one glittering heap around the
Throne, they could not buy the little bit of bronze that
hung on Captain Stephen Frankland's breast. Mr. Francis
Tremlett was already a very influential person in his way,
and would he a rich man; but the Bayard of India had
not yet pressed his hand and said of him, ' If all our officers
had been like that young man, sir, the well of Cawnpore
would have been pure to this day.' Ho, no ! They had
taken away his house, his lands, and his name; but the
glory of his gallant son was still his own. Of that no one
could deprive him. So he resolved that Stephen should
have a public reception at Tremlett Towers—a grand one, if
possible; but at any rate a reception that would be talked
about. Therefore, having accounted with much circumlo-
86
A TANGLED SKEIN.
cution, and I am afraid a fib or two, for knowing that his
son had returned, he broached the subject to my lady, and
as usual Mr. Francis Tremlett managed to join in the con-
versation. It was a curious fact that the door of my lady's
boudoir never closed after Sir George but it opened in less
than five minutes afterwards to his second son.
Lady Tremlett opened her pretty blue eyes wider thaVi
they had been opened for many a day. ' Dear Stevie,' she
said, 1 I'm so glad ! It will be quite a treat to have him
home again. But how unkind to go to those Trehernes
instead of coming straight to us.'
' You see, my love, Kernden Bectory was all in his way,'
replied her lord, in an apologetic tone. ' Besides, it was so
good of him to take charge of his poor young friend's sword.'
' I really cannot see what clergymen should want with
swords,' observed my lady peevishly. 1 Was it a very
valuable one V
11 did not see it,' said Sir George; 1 but—'
11 daresay it was not,' interrupted his wife. 1 Of course
it was very good-natured of dear Stevie to take so much
trouble; but I daresay the carriage cost as much as it was
worth.'
' No doubt,' Mr. Francis Tremlett observed; 1 but you
see there is a sentiment about these sort of things which
some people think it right to indulge in. For my part, I
think it a very unwise practice to preserve such so-called
relics ; they only perpetuate feelings of regret, which as
Christians it is our duty to smother. Nay, sometimes they
cause weak-minded persons to murmur at the decrees of
Providence in a manner that is absolutely wicked.'
' Dear Francis,' said his mother, patting him affection-
ately on the arm with her jewelled fingers, 'how cleverly
you speak • you are so very sensible!'
Sir George did not appear to join in these commenda-
tions. He turned round rather sharply upon his second
son, and said, ' Suppose your brother had fallen instead of
young Treherne in that charge, would you have grudged
his stainless sword a place of honour in this house, or failed
to appreciate the kindness of a brother officer who would
bring it you V
A TRIUMPH IS PREPARED FOR FRANKLAND.
87
Mr. Francis flushed a little under this direct appeal, and
for a moment was a little disconcerted. His mother came
to his rescue; and by the time she had asked Sir George
how he could suppose anything so dreadful, and asserted
that neither she nor Francis could possibly recover from
the shock of losing dearest Stevie, he was quite ready with
a speech in reply.
' There is no argument,' he said, with more than his
usual sententiousness, 1 that I disapprove of so thoroughly
as the argumentum ad hominem. I was speaking, as I
generally do, upon principle. Perhaps, in the confusion
of mind which would naturally arise out of such an occur-
rence' (a capital word that, is it not, for the death of a
brother on the field of battle ?) ' as you have supposed, I
might perhaps give way to a weakness which in calmer mo-
ments I should overcome. But this is nothing to the pur-
pose. I have said, and I repeat, that I consider it foolish,
and, indeed, irreligious, to preserve things which may keep
aliye unavailing regrets. It is our duty, as I before inti-
mated, as Christians, not to murmur at the decrees of
Providence.'
Whilst this little sermon was being delivered, Lady
Tremlett shook her head in sorrowful assent, and declared
that she quite coincided in the opinions so nicely expressed
by dearest Francis. Sir George had good reasons for not
wishing to annoy that sage of one-and-twenty, and so let his
heartless twaddle go uncontested. 1 Well, well,' he said,
' it's no use arguing upon imaginary sorrows. Thank God
we are spared what poor Mr. Treherne has had to go
through. We have the wearer of the sword to welcome
home—and—er—yes—' he continued, bustling about the
room, and surveying the books upon the table,—' Has any
one run away with last week's Illustrated London News f
' Did you expect to find it here, my love 1 Do you not
know that ever since Francis returned from Oxford he has
always filed the back numbers in the library 1 Dear fellow,
he is so very neat!'
' There is nothing that offends me so much as to see a
room littered about with old newspapers,' the 'dear fellow'
remarked. ' You will find the number you require with
88
A TANGLED SKEIN.
the rest.' Another son would probably have offered to get
what his father asked for, or, better still, have brought it
without offering to do so. This 'dear fellow,' however,
made no sign. Perhaps he objected to the performance of
such little filial duties upon principle. Sir George did not
really want the paper. He only mentioned it to bring in,
in his roundabout fashion, the subject that was upon his
mind. 'It is no matter just now; pray do not trouble
yourself,' he said. But his son had thrown himself back
on a lounge, and reclined there gracefully, with the finger-
points of either hand brought lightly together in front of
his chest—a position common, as I have observed, to the
instructors of youth—and appeared to require no such as-
surance and request to enable him to take his ease.
' I merely mentioned that number of the Illustrated,1
Sir George continued, fidgeting about the room—peering
into this ornament and that, opening and shutting half-a-
dozen books, and examining with much apparent attention
things that he had seen fifty thousand times before, as was
his wont when he had something to say and had not the
heart to say it right out,—' I only mentioned that number
of the Illustrated, my love,' he said, ' to ask you if you had
observed one of the pictures, how very much woodcutting
has improved since I was a boy !'
' What picture V
' 0 !—er—Well, I think it was a—er—little fete at—at
—dear me—where was it ? 0, I remember—at Thornhill
Grange, by Sir Hector Mainwaring, to celebrate the return
of his wife's brother, Colonel Trevelyan, from foreign ser-
vice. Did you read the account ? It struck me as such a
very nice idea, to call the tenantry and servants together,
and give them a little treat to commemorate such an event.
It creates so much good feeling amongst the lower orders,
when they see a great county family so united and happy,
don't you think so, my dear f
Now do you see what he is driving at ?
My lady declared there was nothing she enjoyed more
than seeing people united and happy. How very foolish
people were to be anything else ! She remembered the en-
graving mentioned by Sir George very well; and there was
A TRIUMPH IS PREPARED FOR FRANKLAND.
89
a funny boy in the right-hand corner, who had a head like
an egg and no features.
' An accident in the printing, I daresay,' observed her
husband, ' but all the rest was beautifully clear. There was
the carriage-and-four in which Colonel Trevelyan had been
brought from the station, and the tenantry on horseback,
and the labourers waving their hats and shouting, and the
band playing, " See the Conquering Hero comes," and the
triumphant arch, with the inscription, "Welcome to our
brave Soldier"—was it not " welcome to our brave soldier,"
my love ? Thank you, yes ! I think you're right—inscribed
upon it in beautiful cut flowers. Dear me, yes; so it was,
and very nice it must have looked. " Welcome to our
brave Soldier" was so appropriate, don't you think so, my
dear Ehoda 1 You see, he had just returned from foreign
service, and that capital fellow, Sir Hector Mainwaring,
was glad to do him honour for his wife's sake.'
'Do not you think, sir,' simpered Mr. Francis (when
he did not preach he simpered, and was always freezingly
polite to his father),—' do you not think, sir, that it would
be as well if you were to ask my mother at once for what
you want V
1 For what I want, Francis V
1 My dear father, you must pray excuse me if I speak
plain and grammatical English. It is a weakness that my
intimacy with Paley and Trench has brought upon me. I
should have said, perhaps, what you wish. It has been
plain to me for the last ten minutes that you have intro-
duced the subject of that gathering at Thornhill Grange in
order that one of us might suggest the propriety of having
a similar affair here to commemorate my brother's return.'
1 My dearest Francis,' exclaimed Lady Tremlett, ' how
very quick you are; you must be a conjuror! And did
you' (this was to Sir George) ' really commence the conver-
sation with this view V
1 Well—er—my sweetest life, I—er—did not exactly ;
that is, I meant—er—that if you thought—I mean if you
liked—er—to set on foot such a thing, why, then, of course
er—it would be a great—no, hang it 1 it would be no more
than Stephen deserved;' and he ended with .a burst.
90
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Deserve ! "Why he deserves anything, dear boy. I'm
so glad you reminded us of this. I should never have
thought of it,' said Lady Tremlett. ' We will give him
really a very nice reception, and write to the editor of the
Illustrated London News to come and take a drawing of it
for his charming paper. Or perhaps Miss Lee would not
mind making a sketch; she is so clever ! And it might
put something in her pocket, poor thing ! What would
they give her, Francis—come, you know everything—for
making a sketch of Stephen's return 1 Seven-and-sixpence,
or ten guineas, or—what V
Francis gave some answer to this query which is not
very important, and I daresay was quite inaccurate, whilst
Sir George was bustling about the room, rubbing his hands
together, and giving vent to expressions of almost childish
delight at the success of his suggestion. Then he drew
his chair close up to my Lady's sofa, kissed her hand very
gallantly, and taking it in one of his own, patted and
stroked it as though it were a little bird that wanted to get
away.
11 was quite—quite sure you would be pleased with my
idea,' he said. (It was so like you to take the initiative—
and all of your own accord too ! Besides which, you have
arranged it so cleverly. So don't you think, my love—
Stephen will be home on Saturday, you know—that we
had better arrange what is to be done ? You have only to
say the word, my love, that's all. We will not trouble you
to exert yourself in any way—0 no ! Now' (with a pat at
every word) ' tell me, dearest, what—shall—we—do V
' Do V reiterated the languid Bhoda; ' why everything,
of course ! Won't we, Francis V
1 Much depends,' that moral philosopher replied, 1 upon
what you mean by " everything." I labour under a diffi-
culty with regard to this proposal, which I will shortly ex-
plain. My brother Stephen, you see, is coming from India.
Now, I am not prepared to sanction all that has been done
in that country. I have yet to learn that the natives have
been treated, during this so-called rebellion, in a proper
and consistent manner. It may be that the so-called rebel-
lion itself might have been put an end to by other means
A TRIUMPH IS PREPARED FOR FRANKLAND.
91
than those for which my brother Stephen has been employed.
I allude to the repressive military operations ! And I could
not think of allow 1 mean, I could not think of joining
in any celebration which would make it appear as though
they had my approval, and compromise me in any course I
may hereafter think it desirable to take.'
I Quite right,' said my lady. 1 Francis must on no ac-
count be compromised.' She spoke, and so did her son, as
though there was a probability of his being obliged some
day to put the Governor-General of India in the corner for
being a naughty boy !
II think Francis need be under no apprehension,' said
Sir George quietly. 11 daresay we can manage to do hon-
our to his brother without compromising him.'
A merciful Providence gives fellows like Francis Trem-
lett exceedingly thick skins. She knows that they lay
themselves open to cruel snubs, and hardens their vanity
round them like plate-armour or the scales of the hippopot-
amus to ward off the darts of the enemy. The complacency
with which young Tremlett took his snubbing, when he got
into company that was not afraid of him, was charming in
the extreme. Frequently he did not see what was meant,
and smiled with the others, as though it were a good joke;
but sometimes it dawned upon him, hours afterwards when
he got home, that he had been snubbed; and then he com-
posed a withering reply to deliver next time it happened,
and thought what a clever fellow he was to be so ready
with his tongue. In the present instance he saw no sar-
casm in his father's observation, and took it quite as a tri-
bute to his grave misgivings about the conduct of the In-
dian Government. Lady Tremlett, as usual, echoed the
sentiment last expressed, and was sure they could manage
to do honour to dear Stephen without compromising dear
Francis.
The philosopher softened under this incense, and ex-
plained that he was averse to a public demonstration, not
as a brother, but as a magistrate of the county (the Lord
Chancellor had been goose enough to put him into the
commission of the peace). Still, he would be bound to take
a leading part in it, and his conduct might be misrepre-
92
A TANGLED SKEIN.
sented when he stood for the county. He thought that if
they were to put up one of the tents that had been used
when he came of age, and gave the school-children a treat
of tea and buns therein, and intimated that there was no
objection to the tenants coming and calling out ' Huzza!' if
they liked, they would probably escape being compromised,
and do all that was necessary for the occasion.
* Necessary !' cried Sir George bitterly. ' O, pray un-
derstand me that nothing is necessary. Nothing that we
can do here will add to the honours of a man who has won
the Victoria Cross and the friendship of a Lawrence. In
trying to do honour to Stephen we honour ourselves, that's
all.'
1 You see, my dearest Francis, that Stephen is quite a
celebrated person now,' Lady Tremlett exclaimed. 1 Dear
me, I wonder how many of those creatures he has killed!
I wonder if he will look very cruel after it all! But about
this fete ! We must have everything very nice, particularly
as it will all be in the papers. Now, what shall we do V
' I am the worst person in the world to consult in such
matters, my dear mother,' Francis replied. ' The erection
of triumphant arches and similar trifling is, you know,
quite out of my line. Consult my father.'
' Will you leave it all to me, then V cried Sir George
eagerly.
' By all means !' said his wife. ' Of course, my dear
George, I always meant to leave it to you. Pray do as
you please, and let it be nice. Only do not tease me about
details. Stop ! there is one thing I must insist upon, and
this is, that the printer is more careful over the picture. I
will not have a boy with a head like an egg and no fea-
tures in the illustration of our receiving Stephen. I can-
not bear to see boys without features.'
' Do you mind me writing to Mrs. Coleman, to ask the
girls and Miss Lee to come and help me to make the ar-
rangements ?' said Sir George. ' Miss Lee has such capital
taste. Don't you remember how exquisitely she deco-
rated the church last Christmas 1 It was all her arrang-
ing.'
Lady Tremlett rose and looked her husband full in the
A TRIUMPH IS PREPARED FOR FRANKLAND.
93
face, and a flush of pain seemed to pass over her counte-
nance. It lasted but for an instant, and then she slowly
sank back into her reclining posture, and only said, ' Very
well; do so,' in a low voice, and with something like a
sigh.
The truth is that Sir George was one of those silly old
gentlemen who fancy they will be thought ungallant if they
do not begin to flirt with a lady the moment they are in-
troduced to her. In her early married life, Lady Trem-
lett had grave reasons for being offended at this light con-
duct on the part of her spouse. But all jealous feelings
had long ago worn out, with the passion of which jealousy
is born. Do you think that any woman who loved her hus-
band would let him feel that he was dependent upon her
bounty for his daily bread? No! not if she had taken him
from sweeping a crossing, and had all the gold in Australia
for her marriage portion.
The letter was written and despatched to Buxton Court,
where it found the family opportunely assembled at the
children's dinner. And a goodly assemblage it was ! The
schoolroom brigade, under command of Miss Spicer the
governess, consisted of Jane Coleman (16), Fanny (13),
Elizabeth (12), and Bobby, the only boy, a bright-eyed
young rascal of seven, who ran the best possible chance of
being utterly and irretrievably spoilt by everybody. The
drawing-room division, which was in reserve, only lunching,
was headed by Materfamilias in person, and was composed
of her three eldest daughters, who were ' out,' viz. Laura,
Emily Lavinia, and Constance. The age of the first-named
young lady was rather a sore subject with portly Mrs. Cole-
man, whose match-making propensities had been only
strengthened by time. Laura was marriageable when
Stephen Frankland left for India, and her mother had not
yet got her off her hands. Emily was eight years younger
than her eldest sister—three intermediate Colemans having
died early in life. Constance was the beauty of the family,
and was just turned eighteen. I do not exactly know how
she made out her claim to this distinction, unless it was
that she was the only one of the sisters who had dark hair.
Her eyes were not so good as little Fanny's, and her figure
94
A TANGLED SKEIN.
not to be compared with Laura's. Her complexion cer-
tainly was very beautiful, and this, with good teeth and a
haughty air, made her light up pretty well. It was a
superstition, however, in Buxton Court to suppose that she
was the lelle of the county, and was going to marry a duke
as soon as one could be got ready for her. Laura and
Emily were, it must be admitted, commonplace girls. They
had no coloured hair and no coloured faces, and eyes of a
hue that you could not exactly make out. But their flow-
ing locks were always braided in the most becoming way,
their countenances composed into the most proper expres-
sion, and their eyes kept under the most modest control.
They had nice hands and feet, and graceful figures. They
dressed in good taste, had a fair smattering of accomplish-
ments, knew nothing whatever of the business of life—being
taught that it came to an end the moment they had hooked
a husband; were neither 1 fast' nor ' serious were district
visitors, and looked upon a ballroom as the antechamber of
paradise; affected the society of curates, and believed in
officers. In short, they were just the sort of girls that are
as common in society as pebbles on the seashore.
The clever ones of the family were decidedly Jane and
Bobby; but if there was a question about the right of Con-
stance to be considered the beauty-daughter, there was
none that poor Jane was the ugly duckling. She was not
handsome, certainly. Sometimes her mother would sit
gazing intently at her whilst occupied with her drawing or
embroidery, or what not, and after long and serious con-
templation would exclaim, 'Dear, dear, Jane, how very
plain you are ! What shall I do with you ?' Whereupon
Jane—who knew very well what was passing in the mater-
nal mind—would smile, and reply gaily, ' Please don't do
anything with me, mamma darling; let me stay at home
and be housekeeper when they have all gone.'
It was good to see portly Mrs. Coleman at the chil-
dren's dinner, cutting up the big leg of mutton, and ladling
out the big pie for those happy hungry mouths. Ho Vaux-
hall style of carving hers, I promise you; and she stood
up and laboured away at it with a will, till she was fairly
out of breath. Mr. Coleman was permitted to preside at
A TRIUMPH IS PREPARED FOR FRANKLAND.
95
the late dinner ; but he was no one—inferior to Bobby—at
the children's repast.
The first course was just over when Sir George Trem-
lett's letter arrived.
4 Girls, girls!' exclaimed Mrs. Coleman, her jolly face
radiant with delight, 4 guess who's come home !'
The girls were generally addressed as an assemblage,
and the elder division always replied in chorus, led by Laura.
In this way they tried in vain the names of several of their
absent acquaintances, till their mother, who was burning
to disclose the good news, kept them no longer in suspense,
and declared that it was Stevie.
4 Not Stephen Frankland!' gasped Laura, turning deadly
pale.
4 Captain Stephen Frankland, and no other,' was the
triumphant reply.
4 The deuce !' exclaimed Mr. Coleman. 4 Well, I am
glad ! When did he land V
4 He landed three days ago, and is staying at present
with some friends in the South; Sir George does not say
where. He has left India on sick leave for two years, and
will be home on Saturday.
4 The deuce !' reiterated her husband.
41 alwath wanted to know,' said Bobby, 4 who is that
44 deuth" papa talks about so often, and mow I know—ith's
Captain Sthephen Faankland !'
4 Hold your tongue, sir!' cried his mother. 4 Coleman'
(this to her husband; she always called him by his surname,
as though he were a boy at school), 4 Coleman, if you vritt
use such disgraceful language before the children, you must
take the consequences. What your father said, Bobby,'
she continued, turning to the minor offender, 4 is an excla-
mation of surprise. Captain Frankland is a brave officer
who has been in a great many battles. He went out to
India before you were born.'
4 The deuth 1' exclaimed Bobby, proud of his new 4 ex-
clamation of surprise.'
Everybody roared; and when silence was restored, Mrs.
Coleman declared that that child would drive her mad.
4 How dare you, sir!' she cried, shaking her head at the
96
A TANGLED SKEIN.
delinquent, who sat grinning with delight at the ovation
his wit had received ; ' no pudding for you !' At this dread-
ful sentence poor Bobby's exultation fell from him like a
pinafore, and he began to blubber ; whereupon his mother,
who was his abject slave, relented, and filled his plate with
damson pie.
'Well, but I've not told you all yet,' said Mrs. Cole-
man, when she had helped round; ' Stevie is to have a grand
reception at "the Towers," and Sir George wants me to
bring the girls over to help him plan the decorations.
There is to be a triumphant arch, and all sorts of things to
arrange. Will you go, girls V
Chorus : ' Yes, yes, yes ! How nice it will be !'
' Will you go this afternoon V
Chorus : ' Yes, yes, yes ! we are quite ready.'
Solo (Laura) : ' May we have the carriage ?'
Chorus: ' 0 yes, dear mamma • may we have the car-
riage V
'You shall have the carriage,' Mrs. Coleman replied;
' but remember, it will only hold four, and I cannot let you
go without me. Laura, do you want to go V
' Yes, please, mamma.'
' Very well. Emily's cold is no better, so she must stop
at home. Constance can come ;—and, Jane, you'll be useful
I daresay. But, love ! I'm forgetting; there won't be room
for you.'
' Why, mamma, you've only counted three. Yourself,
Laura, and Con. I—'
' Hush, my love ! I forgot something. Sir George
particularly requests the assistance of Miss Lee. So, Grace
dear, you must come with us and make the fourth.'
This was addressed to a tall graceful girl, with soft,
lovable brown eyes and glorious auburn hair, who sat at the
end of the table, and had not spoken a word since Stephen's
name was mentioned.
' I tell you what it is,' said Bobby stoutly, ' you girls
may go in the carriage—carriages are only fit for girls ! I
shall ride.'
' I don't know, sir,' said Mrs. Coleman severely, ' that
I shall let you go at all.'
A TRIUMPH IS PREPARED FOR FRANKLAND.
97
' The d Bobby just stopped himself in time.
' Now, what were you going to say, you bad wicked
boy?'
' Please, mar, it was only an exthclamation of thurprise;
but I didn't thay it". I bit the end off just as it was coming
out. Mayn't I ride Spot ?'
Ride Spot, his pony ! Of course he might. He might
have jumped on his mother's back and ridden her over to
' the Towers,' if he had set his heart upon such a convey-
ance!
The Coleman girls, selected as decorators, left the room
in high spirits. When people lead quiet country lives it is
wonderful what a brightening effect the smallest unforeseen
event will have. They danced along the passage, and, ' 0,
come along and make haste, you dear slow old Grace !' they
cried, twining their arms round the waist of the silent girl
with the auburn hair, and trying to gallop with her through
the hall. They all ran up-stairs together to get dressed,
and Grace, who was ready the first, went into Jane's room
and said, in her quiet way, ' Get on your hat, dear; I am
not going!'
' Not going ! O, but you must go ! Sir George par-
ticularly asked you.'
'That is one reason why I decline to join the party.
What is Sir George to me, that I should wait upon him
because he particularly asks me ?'
' But mamma will be vexed.'
' No, dearie, she won't,' said Grace, with a queer little
smile.
' You darling !' Jane exclaimed, ' you're giving up your
place to please me.'
' I'm giving up my place to please myself. Why should
I go pricking my fingers with holly, and making my dress
in a mess, building triumphant arches, for a man whom I
never saw, and whom I rather dislike, from what I have
heard of him V
' 0 Grace, what have you heard against Captain Frank-
land ?'
' Simply this. That having been away for I don't know
how many years in India, the first thing he does on his re-
H
98
A TANGLED SKEIN.
turn is to go and visit some friends instead of coming home
to his father ! Ah, Janey,' she added, in a saddened voice,
' if my father were alive, do you think that all the friends
in the world would keep me from him for a moment after
such an absence1? But it is just like a Tremlett! Heaven
help us! We're going to be plagued with two of them now
instead of one.'
1 But, Grace, the Captain is not a Tremlett.'
' He is half one, just as his precious brother is half a
Frankland. I daresay there's not a pin to choose between
them.'
' O no, dear; Laura says—'
1 Well, never mind what Laura says. It's no use talk-
ing to me about it. I am sure that I shall hate this soldier,
Janey, and I won't go—there !'
It was not often that Grace Lee refused to do what she
was asked, but when she did, there was no moving her. So
Jane took her place in the carriage, which was soon at the
door; and to tell truth, good Mrs. Coleman was not sorry
for the change. She was a little jealous of Grace. If she
had known that the frightened little orphan child, whom she
had consented four years ago to adopt and educate with her
own girls, was going to turn out so much more beautiful
and clever than the best of them, I do not think that Grace
would ever have entered the doors of Ruxton Court. It
was hard upon a mother, with three marriageable daughters
in esse, and as many in posse, to have a ward who outshone
them in every respect.
' But, darling Grace,' said Laura, as she settled herself
and her flounces in the front seat of the carriage,' what are
you going to do whilst we are away V
' I shall go down to the village and see how Mrs. Kedger
is,' replied Grace.
' 0, that horrid old creature! How can you go near
her ? I believe she is a witch.'
' So do I, dear,' replied Grace demurely, ' and that is
the reason I like her so much. If I can only persuade her
to lend me her broomstick, I will fly after you, and build
your triumphant arch out of a cabbage-stalk. That will be
capital fun. Won't it, Doggie V
A TRIUMPH IS PREPARED FOR FRANKLAND.
99
The last observation was addressed to an apparition
which burst out of the stable-yard, and jumped upon Miss
Lee, with several yelps of delight; and as she stooped to
caress it, the carriage full of laughing girls drove off, ac-
companied by Bobby, mounted upon a shaggy Shetland
pony, as outrider.
The faithful historian is bound to admit that Doggie
was a dreadful cur. His body was too long, his legs were
too short, and he carried his tail in a dejected and apolo-
getic manner. His eyes were much too small for his head,
and his coat gave you the idea that he had casually swal-
lowed a well-used scrubbing-brush, which had taken root
and sprouted through the skin. He was, moreover, a con-
temptible coward. I doubt if he dared look a good-sized
bluebottle in the face; and as for a gun !—if you put a
steel pen up to your shoulder, in sporting fashion, he would
run a mile from it.
He was acquired in this wise : The first time Grace
Lee had passed through Durmstone, after her arrival at
Ruxton Court, she had called with Mrs. Coleman at a cot-
tage, on some charitable errand, and at an adjacent pond
saw two boys engaged in the very proper occupation of
drowning the blind pup which subsequently was developed
into Doggie. She rushed at them, boxed both their ears; and
plunging her arm, lace-sleeve and all, into the muddy water,
rescued the victim; and being made much fun of for her
championship of so ill-bred a specimen of dogdom, stuck to
him faithfully and reared him as a pet. Gerty Treherne
was quite right when she said that this young lady was
1 0, so queer!' Who ever heard of a dog being called
' Doggie' as a name ? The only redeeming point about the
beast was his affection for his mistress ; but this was not
much to his credit, for it was the easiest thing in the world
to love Grace Lee as soon as you knew her, although she
was ' so queer.' See her now, dancing along the meadows,
that Doggie may run after her and bark—a very child in
heart—full of life, and fun, and kindness ! It was all hum-
bug her refusing to go with the girls to Tremlett Towers
because she did not want to prick her fingers with holly,
and make herself into a mess, building the triumphant arch.
100
A TANGLED SKEIN.
She would have torn her pretty fingers to the bone to give
any one pleasure. In the first place she saw that Jane was
pained at being left out of the party; in the second, people
had given her all the credit for decorating the church, and
so she wanted the girls to have the opportunity now of dis-
tinguishing themselves; and in the third place she had
promised to visit a drunken old hag, and read the Book of
Books to her, and would not disappoint the poor conscience-
stricken wretch to be appointed designer-in-chief of trium-
phant arches to all the heroes in the British army.
So she spent that summer afternoon with her ugly cur
and still more repulsive penitent, whilst the Coleman girls
designed festoons of laurel and evergreens for the gay cere-
mony that was to take place at ' the Towers' when Stephen
Frankland came home.
CHAPTER VIII.
mr. brandron's legacy.
On the morning that Stephen Frankland sought Mr.
Brandron at ' the Wells,' and found him not, a farm-bailiff,
passing through Westborough Wood, missed his dog. He
called and whistled, but without effect. He turned back
towards where he had last seen the animal, and found him
in a state of fierce excitement, trying to force his way into
the old saw-pit. Concluding that a rat or rabbit was in
hiding beneath, and fond of a bit of sport, the man encou-
raged his terrier ; and having knocked aside one of the rot-
ting and moss-grown timbers, knelt down and looked into
the hole. It seemed to be about eight feet deep. The
bottom was covered with water; and crouched up in one
corner was something black, which the bailiff could not at
first make out—but the dog barked at it furiously. The
bailiff quickly stripped off the rest of the covering, and let
daylight into the pit. The black object which crouched in
the corner was then disclosed j and the man, thinking that it
ME. BEANDEON'S LEGACY.
101
was some one hiding there for an improper purpose, called
to him to come out; but there was no movement or reply.
The position of the body was precisely that which a beaten
child or disabled person would assume to escape further
maltreatment. There it lay, crouched in a corner, the limbs
all huddled up together, the head bent, face downwards,
and the arm thrown over the top, as though to ward off a
blow. A second glance showed the bailiff that the blow
had not been avoided. He jumped into the pit and tried
to raise the body. It was to him the body of a dead man
—the face and hands stone cold, no blood in the lips, and a
flutter at the heart so faint and fitful, that his kindly but
unskilled touch could detect no sign of life. Leaving the
wounded man as he had found him, he sprang out of the
pit, rushed to the village, and gave the alarm. A gate was
lifted from its hinges, and the mangled helpless lump of
human clay that once was John Everett Brandron they
laid thereon—rough fellows as they were—with no ungentle
hands, and carried him slowly to the inn. The police were
sent for, and a surgeon; the latter had arrived about half
an hour when Stephen Erankland came in from his fruitless
errand.
This practitioner had served in the army, and was a
shrewd quick-witted man; and what he had to say when
he drew Stephen aside was soon spoken. He looked him
full in the face, and asked where he had been all yesterday.
Stephen had not the faintest idea that suspicion had rested
upon him, and consequently gave a brief and unstudied ac-
count of his movements, which was so obviously truthful,
that the surgeon apologised for his abrupt question, and
saw at once that Stephen was his natural ally.
1 This is no common robber's work,' he said; ' and your
business and mine is, first of all, to try our best to save the
poor gentleman's life, and next to have a magistrate at hand
ready to hear anything he may have to say, if he should
ever regain consciousness. So, do you take my gig, drive
as hard as the mare will carry you to " the Wells," and ask
any one to direct you to Mr. Grove, the surgeon. See his
son—his son, mind, not the old man; tell him to pack up
everything necessary for raising a fracture of the skull, and
102
A TANGLED SKEIN.
bring him back here. On your way out tell one of those
useless gaping idiots in blue coats to go for the nearest
justice of the peace, and bid the others search about near
where the body was found for the weapon that has been
used, and foot-tracks, before half the village overrun the
place and obliterate all traces. Now, pray start at once,
without questioning. Question afterwards, when there is
nothing else to do.'
Stephen was not a man to disobey orders from one who
had a right to give them; and although still half dizzy
with astonishment, and burning with anxiety to ask a score
of things concerning the finding of the body—for the bare
fact that it had been found in the old saw-pit was all he
knew as yet—he lost not a moment in carrying out Mr.
Hillyard's instructions, and returned with young Mr. Grove
and the instruments some half hour sooner than expected.
He did not spare the flea-bitten gray, and that thorough-
bred screw had carried him along bravely.
Meanwhile Brandon lay, without sense or motion, on
the bed where they had placed him. His skull was beaten
in, his right arm was broken as by a heavy blow from a
club or bludgeon, he had bled profusely from his wounds,
and had now been twenty-four hours without food. The
operation of trepanning was performed, as it were, upon a
corpse; and about midnight—restoratives having been ad-
ministered every half hour—he slowly opened his eyes, and
cast a terrified glance at those who stood around. It fell,
last of all, on Stephen Frankland, who sat close to the
head of the couch; changed to a vague stare, rested upon
him for a while, and then flashed into a look of intelligence
and relief; upon which the heavy eyelids fell for another
long hour, when the wounded man stretched forth his sound
arm, and felt about towards the place where Stephen had
been sitting.
The surgeons, who had never both left the room, saw
the movement, and divined its motive. 4 Go to him—softly
now !' they whispered to Stephen, who was standing by the
window gazing out into the summer night; 4 he wants you.'
They had noticed the change of his expression when his
eyes fell on the young soldier, and knew that consciousness
MR. BRANDRON S LEGACY.
103
was now returning. Stephen sprang lightly to the bed-
side and took Brandron's hand. Instantly his eyes opened,
with the old look of confidence upon them; his grasp tight-
ened on Stephen's strong brown palm. Restoratives were
again administered, and his lips soon began to move as
though he were speaking. Stephen bent down his ear very
close to try and catch the sound, but the utterance was dis-
joined and thick. All he could make out was the word
' deceived,' repeated very often.
Shortly after daybreak the sounds became more articu-
late, although the words frequently began and ended in a
moan. 'Deceived!' he murmured again and again—'de-
ceived after twenty years ! We were suckled at the same
breast, but, thank God, no blood of mine moves in your
veins. Twenty years ! Did I not tell you how it would
end ? Did I not warn you that the truth could not be hid
—that it would grow, and grow, and grow, till it burst
through the network of lies and fraud and plotting in
which you thought to imprison it, and would hunt you like
a felon at the last ? And it is so ! Twenty years ! And
then the weakest of your dupes—the least trusted of them
all—conscience-smitten, gives the clue which brings me here
to ask—to demand—justice ! I say that justice shall be
done—mark me—shall / Deny it, obstruct it for another
month, and your title shall not save you from the hulks.
You will do justice ! Will you swear it? Well, I will not
be ungenerous and say that you cannot help it now; but
I cannot trust you. No, no, no! No trust between us.
No ! Twenty years, and all the time deceived—deceived.
No trust! Never, never any more—never, never !' And
then the voice of the sufferer fell, and died away into a
low incessant moaning, that made Stephen's heart bleed
to hear.
Towards morning a great change came over Brandron.
Unassisted, he turned half round on the bed towards Stephen,
and looked about him with a perfectly calm expression, and
said firmly, ' Lift me up.' They did so slightly, and raised
his wounded head with more pillows. 'Now some wine !'
The surgeons filled a glass with a drug, the powerful odour
of which I have learned to associate with death, and gave
104
A TANGLED SKEIN.
it to him at his lips. Then again he spoke with increased
firmness, and said, '1 wish to be alone with Captain Frank-
land. I wish no one to remain within hearing.'
Mr. Hillyard whispered a word or two in Stephen's
ear, and then left the room, accompanied by the younger
surgeon. Stephen then knelt on the floor beside the bed,
so that his lips should be on a level with the sufferer's ear,
and said,
' Can you hear what I say ?'
< Yes.'
1 Do you wish to speak respecting the mur—respecting
what has happened to you ?'
' Yes—listen.'
* One moment. You may not have strength to say what
you wish twice over. A magistrate is expected to be here
very shortly. "Will you wait till he comes ?'
' No, no, no; I will see no magistrate,' was the reply.
4 Then the ruffian who has assailed you may escape.'
4 Let him, for her sake, for her dear mother's sake; let
him,' said Brandron eagerly. ' I will have no pursuit, no
prosecution, no exposure, for her sake.'
4 Do you think it right to obstruct the course of justice?'
4 Bight or wrong, I will do so. I know that I have little
time to spare, and speaking pains me. Pray let this pass.
I tell you plainly, Stephen Frankland, that you shall not
get one word out of me to compromise that man—not for
his sake though. Now, listen. I have met the person
whom I expected.'
' And have fallen by his hand ?'
'I do not say so,' replied Brandron quickly. 'Mark
me well, and remember, through all that follows, I do not
say so—I accuse no one. I find I cannot speak to you as
I thought I could. Why trouble the mind of a dying man
with thoughts of vengeance? Vengeance is not mine.'
' But justice is,' said Stephen; 'and this fearful crime—'
' Seems to me,' Brandron interrupted, ' as the work of
Providence. I am as a crushed worm, writhing out my
last agony; but I think I see the finger of God in this.
I could not have done all that should be done. I could not
have made, and seen her, happy. Twenty years ago it might
MR. BRANDRON'S LEGACY.
105
have been; but now—No, no ! She would mistrust me to
the end. Stephen Frankland, you are young and honest;
brave and tender-hearted. You will take my place, will
you not, and do what I should have done f
' I will do anything and everything for you; only tell
me of whom do you speak V
' Of the only woman I ever loved, and of her child; but
before I say another word, swear to me, as you hope for
mercy when you are as I am, that you will not divulge one
word of what I say, neither will you let it be known that I
have said anything, or use what I do say, directly or in-
directly, for any other purpose than that for which it is
said. Why do you not reply 1 Why this hesitation V
4 Because,' Stephen replied, ' I hope you will think better
of this; because—let me be candid with you—I think you
are not well enough to be able to consider the full effect of
what you do. You may repent of having confided in me.
Wait a few days, until you are calmer and stronger, and in
the mean time—'
4 In a few days, Stephen Frankland, I shall be a dead
man,' said Brandron, in a solemn tone. 'Nay, it's no use
shaking your head and trying to smile. Did I not tell you
that I had a presentiment of what would happen ? And do
you think the work has been left incomplete 1 I am quite
calm, quite sensible, now. I see by the lighting up of your
honest face that you think this a good sign. You are mis-
taken, it is the calm which precedes the storm—the last flare
of the lamp before it is extinguished. Let us talk of hours,
my boy, not days. In a few hours I shall be delirious;
even now I fancy that things which should not move are
moving all about me; and that faces that no one on earth
can see are watching me from every darkened corner. In
a few hours more I shall be silent for ever; therefore, hear
me whilst you can. I have not been delirious yet, Stephen ?'
he added quickly, as though a thought had suddenly
struck him.
'You have been wandering a little—not much.'
4 But have I said anything—anything that you could
understand V
4 You have been speaking; and I tell you frankly that
106
A TANGLED SKEIN.
I paid great attention to your words, disjointed though they
were.'
Brandron groaned aloud—not with bodily pain.
' Did I mention names V
' No.'
' Thank God! Did I speak of the—of what had hap-
pened to me V
' You did.'
' 0 Frankland, tell me what I said—all—all—as you
are a true man !'
'1 will; your words were often repeated, and your sen-
tences confused. It will be best for me to tell you, not
what you said, but what I gathered from it.'
' Yes, yes; pray go on.'
' I gathered that you had been deceived by some one for
twenty years; that there was a secret between you which
was in part shared by another; that this person lately di-
vulged the truth, and I conclude that it is the discovery of
this that has brought you from India.'
' You are right, so far—go on.'
' I gather also,' Stephen continued, ' that you met this
man who had deceived you, here, in Westhorough. That
he is a person of rank and position, and your foster-brother.'
A deadly pallor spread over Brandron's face, and again
he moaned aloud.
'And finally, that the act of justice which you have
undertaken to perform was intended to redress an injury
which this man has done to one whom you loved long ago.'
' Did others hear all this ?'
' I cannot say. Mr. Hillyard and his young assistant
were within ear-shot the whole time you were speaking, and
the landlady during a part j but I do not think that they
paid much attention to what you said, treating it as mere
wandering talk. They had not the cause for listening that
I had.'
' You are sure that I mentioned no names?'
' Quite sure.'
' And you have told me all that I have divulged and
you suspect ?'
'I suspect—in short, I am convinced—that the man
MR. BRANDRON'S LEGACY.
107
who met you here by appointment is the villain who has
tried to murder you. I know nothing further. I would to
Heaven I did! It is monstrous that such a crime should
go unpunished. Your forbearance towards him is wonder-
ful i but, mark my words, the police are on his track, and
he will be discovered sooner or later.'
' If they ever discover him—and I pray God, Stephen
Frankland, they never may,' said Brandron solemnly—■
1 remember what I said just now. I make no accusation
against him. If you will obey my last request, you will not
attempt to find out who and what he is; but, mark me,
not one word shall pass my lips until you have sworn—no,
I will not ask you to swear—until you have promised as a
gentleman, a soldier, and a friend, to use the knowledge
you have already gained, and that which I shall impart
presently, for no other purpose than the one—to carry out
one act of justice.'
' Let me tell you one thing more,' said Stephen, ' before
you proceed any further. By sealing my lips, you by no
means prevent detection by others. In inquiring for you,
on my return from Kernden, I made it known that you had
met some one—indeed, you were seen to leave this house
with him. He spoke to some boys in the village, and
they will be able to describe and identify him.' Stephen
expected that this news would have a great effect upon
Brandron, and he communicated it slowly, and with caution.
Brandron only smiled.
' I am quite content,' he said 1 to take your promise of
secrecy, and leave all else to Providence. But this I do
authorise,' he continued after a pause, a flash of anger
lighting up his eyes : ' if—if this man of whom we have
been speaking refuse to do justice, or delays it, let my blood
be upon his head—let the dog swing—let the gallows have
its own ! But no shame, no exposure, upon her, no punish-
ment upon him, if he will do justice. Promise me that,
promise—'
But the excitement caused by the revival of old memo-
ries, and the exertion of speaking, proved too much for
the wounded man, and he sank back upon the pillow, and
soon began to moan and wander as before.
108
A TANGLED SKEIN.
1 Yes,' he murmured, 1 you will do justice at last. Why
did you ever delay it t I told you that the secret never
could be hid. Twenty years ! Poor child, poor little
child! You told me she was dead, and that was true.
What! You will do it to keep the old blood pure and
unstained 1 Is a felon's blood pure and unstained 1 Away
with such cursed pride! Here, down in that wood, we
can talk unobserved. Come, follow me. Dead ! yes, dead
years ago—but justice! Ah, cruel, treacherous to the
end ! Where is Frankland—where, where ? Do not leave
me again ; I am very weak—very, very weak; and my
brain's on fire. Give me more of that drink V
41 do not know that I may,' said Stephen, bending over
him. 4 Let me call Hillyard V
4 No, no ! I pray you do not leave me ! Give me the
drink !' he added almost fiercely; 4 what does it matter if
it does make life burn away the quicker 1 It gives me—
strength to—speak, and speak I must, and will.'
The two surgeons entered the room as he spoke, and a
meaning look passed between them as they saw the change
that had come over his expression.
4 O yes,' said Hillyard, in reply to Stephen's question,
4 you may give him anything and everything he fancies, now.
Mr. Somers, the magistrate, has come, and also the chief
constable of the county. Will he see them V
The words were spoken almost in a whisper, but Brand-
ron heard them, and replied for himself. 41 will see no
one,' he said slowly, and with much firmness. 4 I thank
you all for what you have done for me, but I wish to be left
alone with Captain Frankland—quite alone. Please to
give me some more of that drink, which strengthens me, and
then leave me with my friend.'
They did as he desired, and quitted the room.
4 Are they gone—all gone V he asked.
Stephen assured him that they had.
' And yet,' Brandron continued, gazing fixedly towards
the foot of the bed,41 see her sitting there as plainly as on
that fatal night, with her dear eyes full of tears, and her
bonnie young cheeks all ploughed and sunken with sorrow.
You need not tell me it is a delusion. I know it is—and
MR. BRANDRON'S LEGACY.
109
more, a warning. Yes, justice shall be done. You will
take—But stop; this must be done in proper form. Please
call in Mr. Hillyard once more. Do not leave me—call.'
Stephen called, and in a moment a quick step was heard
on the stair, and the surgeon in the room, eagerly inquiring
what had happened.
' I only want you to witness what I say. I believe
that the law allows a dying man to make a gift without
going through the formality of a deed or will. I am a
dying man, Mr. Hillvard.'
The surgeon made no reply, hut turned his face aside.
' I therefore call you to witness that I give Captain
Frankland my desk, and all that it contains, together with
any papers of mine that may be found here. Also, I give
him all the property belonging to me now on its way from
India. Let my desk and papers be brought up to me now,
that I may formally hand over the bills of lading relating
to those goods. There is nothing of any value,' he added,
as Hillyard left the room ; ' but I will have no strangers
prying into my affairs.'
The desk and papers, which Stephen had sealed up, were
brought, and formally given to him by Brandron, He
then bade them bring his pocket-book, which he said would
be found in the breast-pocket of the coat he had worn. They
searched, but could not find it; and in a few minutes he
seemed to have forgotten his request, and again begged to
be left alone with Frankland.
' Is it evening yet V he asked, when the door had closed
upon the surgeon. ' It is very dark !'
A glorious summer sun, shining in a blue cloudless sky,
was streaming upon the darkened window, upon the honey-
suckle that clustered round it, upon the birds that were
singing in the golden laburnum, and the flowers that were
opening in the garden below—streaming upon the ripen-
ing harvest, upon meadow, stream, and fen, striking the
teeming earth as it were with a magic wand, and bidding
her increase come forth and flourish—streaming upon cattle
standing knee-deep iu babbling brooks; flickering through
thickets, and marking the trees with chequered light and
shade, varying ceaselessly, as the boughs waved slowly in
110
A TANGLED SKEIN.
the lazy summer breeze—blazing upon weary travellers
painfully plodding along the dusty road; upon sturdy
vagrants fast asleep, stretched at full length, face down-
wards, upon its grassy margin; upon timid little leverets, that
stole*out of their nest in the tangled hedegrow to bask in
its enlivening rays. It shone upon snakes and creeping
things that writhed out of darksome places to greet it;
upon man in his strength, and woman in her beauty; and
upon a thousand insect forms, beautiful and loathsome, that
had no life in the morning, and would be dead before the
eve. Stephen Frankland gently released his hand from
Brandron's grasp, and having partly unclosed the shutter
which darkened the chamber of death, the sunlight surged
in like a wave, and filled it.
' Do not leave me again !' Brandron said, when he had
resumed his seat; ' I cannot bear being left here helpless
and alone, amongst all these strange people. As long as I
hold your hand I know that you are not one of them; but
when I loose it I seem to be sinking back into an ocean full
of horrors. Why is it so very dark V
11 am afraid the light has dazzled you; shall I draw the
curtain V
11 think not. There is something white over there; is
that the light V
1 0 yes. Is it too bright for you V
' No, not too bright; only it flows over her like a veil,
and hides her features. I am not afraid that he will come
whilst she sits there, Frankland; but promise me, that if I
should begin to say things that you cannot understand—not
to you, I mean to some one else—you will clear the room,
and let no one hear.'
Stephen gave the required pledge, to quiet, as he hoped,
the wounded man in his approaching delirium. He did not
know then of that marvellous duality of the human mind
which creates in it two thoughts—the one rational, and the
other irrational—upon the same subject. Brandron's insane
thought was, that a female figure was seated at the foot of
his bed, and that other phantoms might appear, when she
departed, to whom he would say something; and his sane
thought was, that this something, whatever it might be,
MR. BRANDRON S LEGACY.
Ill
should not be overheard by the surgeons, the landlady, and
other real persons, whom he knew would probably be in the
chamber from time to time.
Through all he said his manner was perfectly calm and
collected until the very last, and he seemed to be aware that
his delusions were delusions, and by an effort of will re-
strained himself in a great measure from giving way to
them.
' Tell me,' he said, ' what we were speaking of before I
sent for my desk and papers.'
' You were asking me,' Stephen replied, ' to promise
that I would compel the performance of some act of justice,
when you are—in case you become unable to do so yourself;
and I was urging—'
'Yes, I know. You want me to give information as to
who struck me down in the wood, and you have had your
answer. I can remember that. Did you notice the look
she gave me when I asked the doctor if I was not dying ?
But I forgot. You see only the light as it streams through
the window; you do not see her sitting in the midst of it,
waiting for me with that dear, sad, patient smile. Was it
not enough for him that she should be happy—that she
should lead the life that to her was the pleasantest and best 1
Why should he step in with his cursed pride, his vain am-
bition, and blight her in her prime? 0 Frankland, Frank-
land, for God's sake, help me to keep my mind upon the
one point! Stop me when I begin to wander thus. Can
it be that it is too late 1 Everything seems so dark, and
the events of yesterday and those of twenty years ago are
tangled up together so, that I am lost amongst them.'
' Will not these letters help to disclose what you wish
me to know ?' Stephen inquired. ' I found them scattered
over the table in your sitting-room, and sealed them up
thus.'
' That was good—that was kind; I see you will act
faithfully, and she—Look, look, how she is smiling upon
you!'
'You are mistaken; no one is there,' said Stephen;
' think only of the letters'—and he opened the packet and
spread out its contents on the coverlet, as well as he could,
112
A TANGLED SKEIN.
with one hand; ' try and fix your attention on these. Am
I to read them ?'
'Yes; but not now. Precious moments are wasting
fast. Put them away, and read them all hereafter.'
Stephen Frankland quickly gathered them together, and
thrust them into the desk; but as he did so, could not help
remarking that one was folded in a very rough and peculiar
manner, and that the broken seal bore an impression of the
top of a thimble. Had the stately head-butler from Trem-
lett Towers been present, he would have recognised in that
epistle a very near relation of the one which had arrived for
his master on the day when he left home ' on business.'
' Relying on my own powers,' Brandron continued,' and
in a moment of foolish confidence, I trusted him—you know
of whom I speak—and destroyed many papers, which are
unimportant for my own guidance, but which would be valu-
able for yours. One that would have told you all I burnt
the moment before I saw him approaching the inn. No, no,'
he cried suddenly, turning a quick glance towards the light,
' not that—0 no ! That is safe with the others in the
packet! Safe ? 0 Heavens ! Is this real, or a delusion ?
I could not have told him where it was; and yet his manner
was so plausible, and he so solemnly vowed to do what I
should direct, that I— 0 God, help us, if I have told
him where that packet is to be found!'
' If you will tell me where it is,' said Stephen, ' I will
take care that no improper use is made of it. If you will
tell me the name of the person who is interested in obtain-
ing it, I will do my best to get it from him, act upon its
contents as you may desire, or destroy it unread.'
Frankland's anxiety and suspense were now becoming
almost unbearable. For hours a secret, which he knew
must be a terrible one, had been trembling upon the lips of
his friend, and was still unrevealed. The shadow of death
was falling rapidly upon him, darkening his intellect, and
threatening to put the seal of the grave upon the revelation
which he was struggling in vain to make. His voice had
been very weak, and his words, which followed each other
slowly, were pronounced with an effort that became greater
and more painful as he proceeded. The change too which
MR. BRANDRON'S LEGACY.
113
Mr. Hillyard had noticed in his features had deepened, and
was plain enough now to the unskilled but sorrowing eyes
of Stephen Frankland. Again and again did he repeat his
questions respecting the important packet. Brandron
heeded him not, but addressed himself exclusively to the
figure which he supposed to be seated in the sunlight, pray-
ing her to forgive him for some neglect that he had been
guilty of, and imploring her to watch over the papers, as
lie, the unknown author of her wrongs, would not dare to
lay a hand upon them if she were by. The shock of the
real impression that he had revealed their hiding-place, so
suddenly brought upon his mind, had over-balanced his
weakened and failing faculties, and made it wander more
than ever. His head fell back heavily upon his pillow, his
eyes closed, and he babbled vaguely about this hidden
packet.
1 Come, come,' he murmured, ' follow me quickly, lest
he get there first. Now, then—no, not there, woman! Not
in the cabinet; it is opened every day, and some one might
find them. We must get them away out of this cursed
house altogether; but you are watched, and so am I, and
we must find a place of safety for them till we are free.
See! thrust them in here, for the present at any rate, till
we can find a better place.'
Stephen saw in a moment what this meant. Brandron
had begun by imagining that he was seeking the concealed
papers; but, by a very natural process, his memory flashed
back to the moment in which he had hidden them. Stephen
resolved to fix it there.
< Tell me,' he said,1 who it is who holds the packet, and
was about to place it in the cabinet when you prevented her V
' Susan Alston—no ! not Alston; she was not married
then. Susan—Susan,' he repeated the name, trying in vain
to recollect some other. ' Susan—Susan—Alston. Yes, I
know. You were faithless after all, and repented after all.
Twenty years ! until—'
' When you prevented Susan Alston from placing the
papers in the cabinet,' Stephen interrupted, seeing that his
mind was wandering from the point, ' where did you tell
her to thrust them V
i
114
A TANGLED SKEIN.
4 There was a loose board in the wainscoting. We
dropped them into a hole behind it; and I fastened it up
that night as well as I could when the house was quiet.'
4 What house V asked Frankland quickly.
4 The house he sent her to when she fled. The house
where the child was born.'
4 Do you mean where the child's father took her V
'Yes.'
4 Was he her husband?'
Brandron started from the state of trance in which he
had answered the previous questions, and with flashing eyes
cried,
4 Who dares deny it 1 Husband! Ay, that he was,
in the sight of God, and according to the strictest laws of
man. The proofs are there—there, I tell you !'
4 Tell me his name and that of his wife's father at once,'
said Frankland, 4 for I think I can guess—'
4 Hush! guess nothing. The papers will tell you all.
You must get them. Promise me you will get them !'
41 do. Now tell me exactly where they are.'
4 Tap the skirting-board till it sounds hollow, and then
take out the panel. They are within reach of your right
arm, behind.'
4 And the room in which this panel is—where is that ?'
4 Over the armoury, at the end of the corridor that runs
along the far side of the hall as you mount the staircase.
Not the chamber to the right, the one straight on. You
cannot mistake it. It is hung with tapestry to within
about four feet of the ground. The wainscoting is dark
oak; so is the cabinet. There is an old-fashioned mirror,
with a suit of armour on each side of it, facing the window.
I see it now! She sat by that window, just as she is sitting
there waiting for his return; and I knew—'
4 You must tell me the name of the house in which this
room is, and in what part of England it is to be found.'
—4 that he would never come back again to brighten
your dear eyes,' Brandron continued, not heeding him, and
speaking again towards where the sunlight streamed through
the casement; 'never, never; but justice shall be done at
last.'
MR. BRANDRON'S LEGACY.
115
' Not unless the papers are found,' said Stephen, trying
to turn his thoughts back into the old channel; 'and if this
person to whom you think that you have confided their
whereabouts should get possession of them—'
' He must not!' cried Brandron eagerly. ' You must
discover and protect them. You must go and get them,
but not until— Not now—not for a little while longer.'
' I will; I promise you, on my word as a soldier and a
man, that I will; only tell me where are they 1 I mean
where—'
' 0, will you not hear?' the sufferer replied, in an impa-
tient tone. ' In the tapestry chamber over the armoury,
close to the floor—there, there 1' and with a great effort he
raised himself into a sitting posture on the bed, and releas-
ing Frankland's hand, which he had held tightly clasped
all the time, pointed into a corner of the room between the
fireplace and the door. At this moment a cloud passed
over the sun, and the light which had blazed in through
the window faded away. Brandron turned his eyes and
watched it, with a strange sweet smile upon his lips, as the
rays were quenched. Then, as the room gradually dark-
ened, he sank slowly backwards into Stephen's arms.
' I see the very spot,' he said, ' and I shall know the
room amongst a thousand. Only one word more. The
name of the house is—'
' Mangerton Chase !'
' In this county V
Brandron's eyes closed again; his head fell heavily
on Stephen's shoulder just as the last beam of sunlight
vanished. ' She has gone,' he murmured; ' let me rest.'
1 In a moment you shall. These papers are hidden be-
hind the paneling in the room over the armoury at Manger-
ton Chase, and Mangerton Chase is—Where ? pray speak!
Say what town or county. How else shall I ever find it ?
Will any of these letters tell me V
He repeated these questions several times, but received
no reply. Gently he relaxed his support, and let Brandron
sink back upon his pillows.
He had remained thus motionless and speechless, with
the smile I have mentioned still upon his lips, and breath-
116
A TANGLED SKEIN.
ing softly, for some ten minutes, when some one knocked
at the door. Stephen rose, and having opened it, found
the landlady outside with a tray full of good things which
she had brought for his dinner.
' Now, do 'e, sir, take something! You've had no
breakfast, and no supper last nigfyt. I've roasted a nice
chicken, and got some prime cider for you. Now, do 'e
let me lay it out! The look of it will make you hungry.'
Stephen had not thought about being hungry, or, in-
deed, of anything else than his friend; but the savoury
odours which steamed up as the good woman raised the
cover of her dish reminded him that he had not tasted food
for nearly twelve hours. He therefore let his hostess into
the room.
' And how is the poor gentleman now ?' she asked, as
she deposited her tray on the table. ' Sleeping, I do de-
clare, as quietly as a child ! Well, that is good! But
maybe we might wake him with the clatter of the things.
Let me take 'em down again, sir ; and you have your din-
ner in the parlour. Mr. Hillyard is coming up, and will
watch in your place.'
' She's quite right,' said the surgeon, who had followed,
in a whisper. 1 You will be ill if you' do not take some
rest and refreshment. Go down, and I will relieve you.
This sleep is a very good sign, and I hope it may last for
many hours; but I give you my word that I will call you
the moment that he begins to wake.'
So Stephen went down, and made short work of the
chicken, for he was half famished, as he found as soon as
the excitement which had hitherto kept him up abated.
Then, his hunger appeased, he felt tired and heavy-eyed, and
having thrown himself back on the sofa, in two minutes was
fast asleep.
He started awake after having slept, as he supposed,
about half an hour, and found that it was night. The next
moment he was springing up the stairs that led to Brand-
ron's room, and was about to enter, when the landlady came
out and stopped him.
' Don't 'e go in just now, sir,' she said, with her apron
to her eyes; ' they've not done yet!'
DOWN AMONGST THE BACK STREETS. 117
£ In Heaven's name, done what V
' Haven't Master Hillyard told 'e then ?' she asked, in a
tone of surprise.
' No ; but do not speak so loud. Is he awake yet ?'
' You may speak as loud as you please now; you'd not
disturb him,' said the woman sorrowfully.
' Good God, he is dead 1'
' Ay, sir, two hours ago; but 0 dear, sir, don't take on
like that! He went off in his sleep without a groan, and
he lies there now with a smile upon his poor cold lips.'
CHAPTEE IX.
down amongst the back streets.
Little Union-street, Old Kent-road, S., is a locality
with which most of my readers will probably be unac-
quainted. It is a quiet, grimy, low-spirited, little, old-
fashioned street, which seems as though it had quite lost
itself in a labyrinth of noisy, bustling thoroughfares, and
had slunk away into a corner afraid to come out and
struggle with the press. In ten minutes you may walk
from it into the busiest parts of Southwark—may bargain
for tens of thousands with hop-merchants in the Borough,
with tanners at Bermondsey, with wharfingers in Tooley-
street, with warehousemen, in every line of business, all
around. You may have a fish-dinner at Billingsgate; see
a hanging at Horsemonger Lane Gaol; have your head
broken by a drunken costermonger in the New Cut; get it
plastered up at St. Thomas's Hospital; meet a friend from
Norwood, Paris, Grand Cairo, Timbuctoo (where you will)
at the London Bridge Railway-station; see a melodrama
at the Victoria Theatre; purchase an outfit for Australia,
and take your passage to Tasmania, Nova Zembla, or
Heme Bay, without going beyond a sixpenny cab-fare from
Little Union-street. But Little Union-street, instead of
assuming a brisk and independent air, and pricking up its
ears—So to speak—at the sound of the rattle and hum of
118
A TANGLED SKEIN.
mercantile life that surrounded it, as much as to say, 1 I'm
ready for you as soon as ever you like to step my way,'
suffered itself to be scared by the prevailing activity, and
gradually subsided into the dejected state in which it may
now be found. The fact was, it had seen better days. It
once was a thoroughfare; for some houses in a street that
crossed its end at right angles were burnt down a very long
time ago; and the ground got—somehow or other—into
Chancery in 1785, and, as a matter of course, remained
unbuilt upon (a playground and vent for traffic through
Little Union-street) until—somehow or other—it got out
again, a few years ago, when a huge brewery, which turned
its back contemptuously upon the little street and made it
into a cul de sac, was erected with inconceivable rapidity
upon the vacant land.
There were no shops in Little Union-street when this
was done. The houses (fifty-six in all) were dwelling-houses,
two stories high, with a railing, which enclosed a little
patch of black dirt—once a glass-plot—in front of each;
but the tide of trade which swayed down Ruby-row—the
thoroughfare which traversed the end opposite to the
Brewery, oozed round the corner, and caused shops to be
built upon the patches of dirt aforesaid, belonging to three
houses on the one side, and two upon the other. The pawn-
broker in Ruby-row had his private door round in Little
Union-street; next to that was Mr. Stubbs, the greengrocer;
and next to him Mr. Sykes, the baker. Opposite, was a shop
which broke out about every three months into a new busi-
ness. First of all it was opened by a milliner; then by a
tobacconist; then by a widow with two daughters, in the
worsted-work and fancy stationery line; then it was 'To
Let' for a space; and one fine morning, just before our
first visit is paid, a boy came out, took down the shutters,
and lo! Mr. Cornelius Bruffer, Licentiate of the Royal
College of Surgeons, stood behind an imposing row of galli-
pots, with a choice stock of toothbrushes and perfumery,
sternly resolved to cup, blister, and bleed, to draw the teeth
of all comers, to prepare prescriptions with accuracy, and to
give advice upon all the. ills that flesh is heir to, gratis,
every Tuesday and Friday, from nine o'clock till two !
DOWN AMONGST THE BACK STREETS. 119
With his next-door neighbour we are likely to become
very well acquainted. And further on, at the corner, re-
sided old Chincks, the broker, who appeared to drive a
lucrative trade by insulting every customer who entered his
dirty shop.
The intermediate establishment was the humblest one of
all, and the oldest; and to tell truth, the neighbourhood
was rather ashamed of it. It was kept by one Mrs. Wantley,
who in the days of her youth had been lady's-maid in a
nobleman's family, in which she had shown her wisdom by
saving money, and her folly by marrying the under-butler.
Her husband had not a frugal mind, but highly estimated
frugality in others—particularly in his wife. He took her
little hoard, borrowed two hundred pounds, and set up with
her as an innkeeper. Being of a convivial and easy dis-
position, he left his business to take care of itself, whilst
he smoked his pipe in the bar-parlour; lost all he had in
the world; went through the Insolvent Court; had a large
family; took to drinking, whilst his wife took lodgers in
Little Union-street; got delirium tremens, and died—
leaving a silver watch, four masonic orders, a gold-headed
cane, an opera-glass, and fourteen shillings and ninepence,
to pay sixty pounds' worth of debts and provide for his
widow and family of two sons and five daughters.
A more patient hard-working woman and a kinder
mother than poor Mrs. Wantley never lived; but she
sadly lacked the strength of mind and tack requisite for
keeping straight a family with the reckless and jovial Sam
Wantley's blood in their veins. Flora, their eldest-born,
was far too fine a lady to do anything for her living; and
Bob, her brother, got early in fife into bad company, and
became at the age of sixteen as fully developed a scamp and
irreclaimable a 'ne'er-do-well' as ever was known to the
police. He has now nearly completed a sentence of two
years' imprisonment with hard labour in Maidstone Gaol
for a burglary, committed with six others, in a jeweller's
shop at Dover. Helen, the second girl, was the best of
the bunch. She was a good pretty girl, and earned a
guinea a week in the ballet at one of the minor theatres.
Next to her, in age and merit, was Charley, a youth of
120
A TANGLED SKEIN.
thirteen, who was also a bread-winner, holding the high
and responsible office of clerk to three briefless barristers in
the Temple, at the salary of six-and-sixpence a week—
earned, as far as anybody could see, by opening the door to
his masters' visitors, when not better engaged in playing
marbles with the boys of the next court, sliding down the
bannisters, and having things thrown at him for disobedience
of orders.
The younger children were mere pocket-handkerchiefless
brats, whose mission on earth seemed to be to get in the
way and have their ears boxed by their eldest sister.
It was hard work to satisfy all these hungry mouths
out of the profits of the little shop, though the net which it
spread for custom was a wide one. What was Mrs. Want-
ley ' by trade' ? She was a fruiterer—for there was a heap
of venerable apples for sale in one corner of the window.
She was a tobacconist—for a mahogany box, divided into
compartments, and containing rolls of brown vegetable matter
variously designated as 'Prime Havannahs, 2d. each,' 'Pick-
wicks, seven for 6cZ.,' and 'Full-flavoured Cubas, 1 d.,' was
placed prominently on the counter. She was a haberdasher
—for she sold tapes and thread. She was a stationer, for
you might buy as much as two quires of paper without quite
exhausting her stock. She was a confectioner—as proved
by the possession of four pickle-bottles, more or less full of
Bonaparte's ribs, almond rock, bull's eyes, and some to me
unknown condiment, made into the semblance of miniature
barber's poles, and apparently composed of pumice-stone
painted white and red. She was a commission-agent in the
coal line. She kept a ' Registry Office for respectable
Servants,' and a toy-shop for the supply of farthing battle-
dors and whiptops to the juveniles of Little Union-street.
She sold pepper, snuff, and bird-seed. She was a retailer
of patent black-lead; of shilling Bibles and Prayer-books;
of penny balls of string, bottles of ink, boxes of wafers;
portraits of the Red Rover, the Black Knight, Timour the
Tartar, and other celebrities, as they appeared, armed to the
teeth, defying mankind with a limb in all four corners of
the paper. It is only in poor old-fashioned shops like Mrs.
Wantley's, and in poor old-fashioned neighbourhoods like
DOWN AMONGST THE BACK STREETS.
121
Little Union-street, that I see these works of art nowadays.
They are sadly flyblown and dingy, and are, I am afraid,
unsaleable. Has the youth of the present day lost the taste
for gorgeous illustrations which distinguished some of its
fathers? Hoes it cut out the space printed as the petticoat
of the Red Rover, paste a bit of silk ribbon behind, and dot
it all over with little gold spangles at threehalfpence a
dozen ? Hoes it invest in gorgeous foil for the armour of
its favourite knights ? Hoes it sigh for a silver scimitar,
valued at the unrealisable sum of sixpence, to place in the
doughty hand of the Conqueror of Bajazet? Have you
forgotten, 0 reader! the pride with which you exhibited
your first work in this style, varnished all over with that
pennyworth of gum-arabic, the better to display its brilliant
colouring ? I have not. Where is that production now ?
Where are our first baby-socks, our school-letters, the little
presents that we made in our childhood, our first scrap of
poetry ? They will all turn up, perhaps, some day, when
the dear preserver of the relics will not behold in this world
the emotions which their discovery produces. When we
shall wish—0, how heartily !—many a word unsaid, many
an act undone, and mourn for many, manij a neglect, in
presence of those worn and faded evidences of a love which
endured to the end.
But I have not told you yet what was the main business
carried on by good Mrs. Wantley in her shop in Little
Union-street. She was everything I have mentioned, and
something more. She was a newsvendor. You might buy six
different daily newspapers from her every morning, and read
(say) twenty leading articles, for sixpence ! You might lay
out half-a-crown with her every week in .penny periodicals in-
culcating all degrees of virtue and vice, through the medium
of romances numerous enough to stock an old-fashioned
circulating library. You might learn from the British Pump
how the good little boy, who always drank water, lived to
be made Lord Mayor; whilst the naughty little boy, who
had a proclivity for beer, was, as a natural sequence, tran-
sported for life; and will be taught in the chaste pages of
Snarler's Miscellany that the ordinary avocation of an
English nobleman is to go about consorting with resur-
122
A TANGLED SKEIN.
rection-men, abducting milliners' apprentices; that it is the
ordinary custom of members of the aristocracy to poison
their fathers, intrigue with their friend's wife (who, by the
way, if she should happen to be a peeress, is always, after
the custom of her class, deep in the power of her lady's-
maid), and oppress in- every conceivable manner the ' sons
of toil,' for whose delectation these trustworthy pictures of
real life are drawn.
A better class of popular romance might you buy of
Mrs. Wantley—romances to the manufacture of which
there seems to be no limit, and which have the strongest
possible family likeness, the one to any of the others. I
fancy that the gentlemen who compose them must keep
their characters and incidents all ready cast, prepared, and
sorted out, as a printer keeps his type. Do you know, dear
reader, that he keeps it in a sort of box divided into com-
partments, technically called his case, in which his a's and
b's and c's are stored ready to his hand ? I fancy that our
popular authors of penny romances have some such con-
trivance. Where do you keep your heroes and heroines,
messieurs ? Ah, I see ! In this division. These are your
types. Interesting, brave young gentlemen, who don't
exactly know who they are; and fascinating, virtuous young
ladies in high life, with hard-hearted parents and guardians.
Or, vice versa, brave young gentlemen in high life, with
hard-hearted parents and guardians, and virtuous young
ladies who don't exactly know who they are. And where
do you keep the aristocratic but naughty lady, and the
noble but rascally gentleman of riper years, who are the
evil geniuses of the virtuous heroine and the brave hero,
respectively ? In here ? Ah, I see! No; you need not
trouble yourselves to tell me what these are, I know them
so very well. They are the griping old lawyers, money-
lenders, herbalists, poisoners, sextons, receivers of stolen
goods, misers, all who know where the missing deeds and
wills and pocket-books are. And next to them, in there, I
see the heavy-handed physical-force ruffians, who ' do' the
abductions, murders, burglaries, and the rest of it. Here
also are our old friends, the faithful but eccentric servants
of either sex; and there, the deformed boys and workhouse
DOWN AMONGST THE BACK STREETS.
123
drudges, who overhear the secret just in the nick of time.
Well, put out the types as you will, fit them together, and
there is your New and Original Romance !
Dinner is over, and I draw my chair round by the fire-
side. My youngest child climbs on my knee, and the old
cry, ' Please, Pop, a story ?' is heard. ' What story will
you have, my pet?' 'Please, Pop, Cinderella.' 'Rut I
told you Cinderella last night, and the night before, and a
great many nights before that; would you not like some-
thing new V
' Will it be just like Cinderella V asks my little one
suspiciously.
' No; quite different.'
' Then, please, Pop, tell me Cinderella again.'
Is not my child a foolish little thing, 0 discerning
public! to like the same tale repeated every day ?
And now, gentlemen illustrators of these popular works,
for your ' case.' Here are the heroes—you can tell them
by their open brows and the fit of their trousers. Here
are the heroines, with fair hair and simple drapery. Here
is the bad man, breathing vice through his moustaches; and
here the naughty lady, with her evil ways stamped in water
curls on either side of her face. Here is the old miser in
his ragged dressing-gown, elf locks, and pimply chin; and
there the ruffian in laced boots, wide-awake, and a curly
. nose. Don't try and persuade me that he is the honest
peasant. I know better ! The honest peasant may have
laced boots and a wide-awake, but never a curly nose!
Down there, in those little holes, are the tables, chairs,
couches, clocks, mantelpiece ornaments—all massive and
costly, rough and rickety, after their kind; ready to be
' composed' into the study of my lord, the boudoir of my
lady, or the garret of the old miser, just as regularly as
my long-suffering printer will pick out the letters c—o—m
—p—o—s—e—d from their various corners, and make
them into that word.
' And now, Pop, show me some pictures,' says my little
child.
' What pictures, dearie V
'Please, the beast-book.'
124
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' But you saw the beast-book this morning.'
' Please, Pop, I want to see it again.'
Dear, dear, dear ! What dolts these children are ! Why
cannot they acquire a taste for novelty %
I think there be grown-up men and women as fond of
repetitions as my little prattler, or Mrs. Wantley would not
have so many penny prints on hand.
The good woman made a few shillings a week by the
sale of this class of literature ; but her main profit was not
from thence. She had a lodger. Her parlours were let to
a Mr. Sampson Lagger, a gentleman of irregular habits and
varying appearance. Sometimes he was a slim gentleman,
closely buttoned up in a frock-coat. Sometimes he was a
stout gentleman in an Inverness cape. Sometimes he was
a young gentleman, apparently from the country, smoking
a cigar. Sometimes he was an old gentleman in spectacles;
but always a merry kind-spoken gentleman, with a great
thirst for information upon all sorts of topics. He had a
latch-key, had Sampson Lagger, and came in and out with-
out question. Little Helen gave it as her opinion that he
was doing low comedy business at some theatre, and did
not always change his dress when he came home at nights;
and, truly, Mr. Lagger played many parts, but upon a stage
larger than that of Covent Garden or the Britannia. Some-
times he would come in regularly, every evening, at nine,
for a fortnight, and then would pack up two shirts and a
pair of socks in a clean pocket-handkerchief, and not be
seen again for a month.
On the day of Mr. Brandron's death at Westborough,
Mr. Lagger returned somewhat earlier than usual, and ordered
tea, which was served to him by the fair Flora, in her usual
scornful manner. How is it that people who serve you
with eatables and drinkables always regard you with such
sovereign contempt? Talk about the arrogant bearing of
Empresses, Duchesses, and great heiresses! They are
pleasant and condescending in their haughtiest humours, in
comparison with barmaids and the young ladies who hand
you your scalding infusion of birchbroom at a railway sta-
tion refreshment table.
As soon as the defiant Flora Wantley had vacated his
DOWN AMONGST THE BACK STREETS.
125
apartment, and he had finished his meal, Mr. Sampson
Lagger lit his pipe, and began to enter into conversation
with himself—as was his custom when there was anything
upon his mind. Not aloud. O no ! It was his fashion
to speak to himself as though he were some one else; and
he had in himself so attentive a listener that his thoughts
made themselves known and understood without even a
whisper of their meaning.
' You've bin a thinkin' many times, Lagger my boy,' he
mused, ' of re—tiring into private life; and a many times
summut has turned up to stop yer. You was a thinkin' of
it no later than yesterday—and what happens this after-
noon?' There's a good murder down in Kent; and there
hasn't bin a good murder down there for one, two, three—
four assizes.' He dived his great hand into his coat-pocket
and produced an official-looking letter. ' And the Authori-
ties re—quest that Mr. Lagger will set off forthwith for
"Westborough, and co—operate with the county police.' He
dived into his trousers-pocket and produced a printed hand-
bill. ' And there's a re—ward of 100Z. for the capture and
con—viction of the murderer. Good ! Dooty sez—sez
dooty, Be off to Westborough, Sam Lagger, and co—operate
with the county police ! That's what dooty sez. Interest
sez—sez interest, Have nothin' to do with them duffers, my
man; but go in for the 100Z. yourself, and win. Now this
ere's a ticklish case down at Westborough, I can see; and
one pretty easy to be muddled. Penny-a-liners is handy at
muddlin' a ticklish case; and so's crowners; but neither
penny-a-liners nor crowners ain't fit to hold a candle for
muddlement to the county po—lice. So if you'll take my
advice, Sergeant Lagger, you'll com—bine dooty and in-
terest in this ere business. You'll co—operate with these
parties, j ust sufficiently to keep them a muddlin' themselves,
and you'd go in quietly for the reward on your own hook.
That's what you'd do, Sampson Lagger, and so I tell yer,'
added this person, conclusively, as he buttoned his coat and
prepared to leave the house.
' Going out again, Mr. Lagger?' said Mrs. Wantley, as
the detective passed through the shop.
' Why, yes, mum, I've a little matter to attend to that
126
A TANGLED SKEIN.
will take me away for a day or two, if it's quite con—venient
to you.'
' Lor, Mr. Lagger! Why, you know you go in and out
as you please.'
' So I do, mum—that's just it,' said he, as though struck
with the novelty of the idea. ' You're right, mum, as you
usually is. And how's the family, Mrs. W. 1 Getting on
middling, eh?'
' Only middling, thank you, sir.'
'Ah, you've had a deal of trouble, you have. What
did you say was the name of your boy as is locked up ?'
' Bob, sir,' and the poor woman's apron twice was raised
to her eyes.
' Well, well, don't cry ! His time's pretty nigh up now,
isn't it ?'
' No, sir, no. Not for six weeks come Monday.'
'And he was took at Dover,' said Mr. Lagger, musing.
' Now I shouldn't wonder if you'd got some friends down
in Kent?'
' Not I, sir; I never was there in my life.'
' Never heard tell of a gentleman named Brandron, I
daresay?'
' Never to my knowledge.'
' Well, it don't matter. I knows a party in the hop
line as wants to meet with him, that's all. You ain't in
the hop line though, are you ?'
Mrs. Wantley could not say that she was.
'And you don't know anybody that is—down West-
borough way ?'
'Where's that, sir?'
' Do you know Manchester ?'
' Yes, sir.'
' And Pen—zance ?'
' Can't say I do, Mr. Lagger.'
' Well, it's about as far from Manchester as it is from
Pen—zance, and you go there by railway; now you know,
don't you ?'
Mr. Lagger did not pause for a reply, but nodded
kindly to the widow, made a violent blow, which ended in
a pat on the head, at each of the children (who invariably
THE INQUEST.
127
surrounded everybody who entered the shop, and glared at
him with their fingers in their mouth)—rushed out into the
street in feigned terror of reprisals, turned the corner, and
was lost in the crowd that streamed up and down Ruby-
row. He had not gone far when he nearly ran against a
man and a woman who were proceeding towards Little
Union-street. The man was dressed in a faded velveteen
shooting-jacket, corduroy knee-breeches, and a fur-cap, and
was half-dragging, half-coaxing, the woman along. Habit
made the detective turn and look after them; for there
was something in the manner and appearance of the man
that instantly attracted him. He watched till he saw them
turn the corner by the pawnbroker's, and he had taken half
a dozen steps after them when he suddenly checked him-
self.
' Lagger,' he said to himself, ' you're an ass. You're
gettin' painfully ad—dieted to wool-gathering ; you're not
bound to keep your eyes in your waistcoat-pocket; but
when you're arter one game you shouldn't go a worreting
arter another; you're a hunting for larks, my man, when
there's better game in the stubble; and if you was a
pointer-dog instead of a detective po—liceman, you'd get a
warning for it—that's what you'd get!'
Solaced by this reflection he turned his back once more
on Little Union-street, and went his way.
In the mean time Jim Riley and his sister had entered
Mrs. Wantley's shop, and the former asked for a newspaper
of the day before. This was quickly produced and paid
for; but still the man remained fumbling with bis purchase,
staring about him in an embarrassed manner, and was af-
fected all at once with a dry cough. It was meant that
he had something to say> and did not exactly know how to
begin.
CHAPTER X.
the inquest.
An inquest was, as a matter of course, held upon the
body of John Everett, Brandron deceased. The presiding
128
A TANGLED SKEIN.
coroner was a very agreeable old gentleman, who had once
enjoyed an extensive practice in medicine and surgery over
the country round about Westborough. An easy-going,
old-fashioned, popular gentleman, this coroner : so much so
that when a vacancy in the important office which he now
filled occurred years ago, no competitor was found bold
enough to enter the lists against him. Had he not had
something to do with the bringing into the world and sub-
sequent dosing of half the country-side ? Had he not
written a pamphlet about the curative powers of the nasty
water which people drank in the fashionable watering-
place that was near at hand ? Had he not been sent for
once to prescribe for a royal duke whose dinner had dis-
agreed with him at ' the Kentish' ? Of course he had!
Who so fit, therefore, to conduct judicial proceedings, ex-
tract the truth from shifty or unwilling witnesses, and
balance the effect of evidence? If the popular gentleman
had set up to be a Chinese interpreter to the Shah of
Persia, and his election had depended upon the suffrages
of the independent freeholders who had made him a coroner,
he would have had the post.
Was it his fault that he was not a match for such a
case as the Westborough murder? I fancy not. He had
never had experience of such cases, and he made a mess of
it. He lost his head at the outset of the investigation,
and never found it again. Moreover, his spectacles ivould
slip off his nose, and he never could remember into which
of the five pockets of his coat and unmentionables he had
put his pocket-handkerchief; the which—the weather being
hot and his anxiety profound—he required for the purpose!
of swabbing his perplexed countenance every ten minutes.
Then he had such stupid people to deal with. The story of
the Three Black Crows was correct and logical in compari-
son to some of the tales which were brought to him by open-
mouthed rustics. Old Mrs. Killick had seen the murder
committed whilst she was gathering sticks under the great
beech-tree behind the church ! She had told Mrs. Arnold
so; and Mrs. Arnold had informed Mr. Beswick's youDg man
of the fact; Mr. Beswick's young man had mentioned it
in company at the Rising Sun the night before the inquest,
THE INQUEST.
129
and—'Lor bless yer,' said he, ' there ain't no doubt about
it. Let Mr. Crowner Jukes call for Betty Killick and
she'll tell him all about it.'
Mr. Crowner Jukes did call for this lady, and learnt
from her, in the first place, that she was eighty-five ' come
Martinmas,' and that she would not deceive him. She
had been picking up sticks on that identical spot a fort-
night ago, because the Squire, God bless him, ' giv' her
leave.' ' She'd brought up two sons and three daughters,'
she explained, ' and never had as much as a " haputh o'
gruel" of the Union. It worn't no shame for her to go
picking up sticks. What did she see in the wood? Well,
she didn't see naught. What she said to Mrs. Arnold—
who she'd a-known ever sin' she was that high; and if it
hadn't bin for her (Betty) she'd a lost her son Jim in the
measles as sure as sure—well, what she said to Mrs. Arnold
was, " that she had a most a mind to go and pick up some
sticks that mornin', and that if so be as she had gone, why
belike she'd a seen the murder." ' And so on.
The investigation lasted some six hours, and it is quite
unnecessary that I should weary the reader with its ram-
bling details. Stephen Frankland was the first witness who
spoke to any important fact; and all he knew was soon told.
It was no secret that the deceased man had come to West-
borough for the purpose of meeting some one with whom
he had been acquainted in former years. He had said so
himself when he engaged his room. It was clear that he
had met that person; and, the presumption being that he
had fallen by that person's hand, to find out who that per-
son was, was of course the grand object to be attained.
The deceased had refused to denounce him in the presence
of Mr. Hillyard, and Stephen was able conscientiously to
swear that no name had been mentioned to him. The dead
man had persisted in refusing to give his assassin up to
justice. ' He certainly began to give me his confidence,'
said Stephen; 'but what he said related to another subject,
and I must tell you candidly that I am not at liberty to
divulge what he said. This much, however, I can say—
all that he fold me was spoken by him whilst in a delirious
state, and in my judgment would not, if repeated, assist this
K
180
A TANGLED SKEIN.
case.* But even if it would, I gave him my word of honour
that I would not repeat it, and must decline to do so, what-
ever may be the consequences.'
Upon this five of the jurymen cried out, ' Hear, hear !'
and the Coroner looked dreadfully perplexed.
The next witnesses were the boys who had directed the
stranger to the Rising Sun. They fixed almost precisely
the hour at which they had seen the two gentlemen walk-
ing together towards the wood; but could not give any
definite description of the person who had spoken to them.
He was an elderly gentleman; a very kind-spoken gentle-
man; and dressed just like a gentleman, in dark clothes
and a hat. No; he was not like the Coroner, or the fore-
man of the jury. He was much older-looking than Captain
Frankland. Yes; they had seen his face; and one said
that he noticed grayish whiskers; whereupon the rest were
quite certain that he had no whiskers. at all. They would
know him again directly, if they were to see him. They
could not remember whether he had an umbrella, or a stick,
or anything in his hand. He appeared to be a strong active
gentleman. He seemed to be very friendly with Mr. Brand-
rqn as they walked along. Mr. Brandron walked along
with his hands clasped together behind his back, and with
his head bent towards the ground, listening. The other
gentleman seemed to be telling him something particular.
They did not seem to be quarrelling at all. Several of the
lads said that they had been playing about the green till
tea-time ; and that if any one had shrieked out ' murder' in
the wood they could have heard it. They did not hear any
noise or loud speaking all the time. There was no regular
path through the wood, but people sometimes went that
way as a short-cut to Harpenden. "Would little Jack Todd
(who was decidedly the sharpest of these boys) be a good
lad—the Coroner asked—and think a bit, and try to re-
member any person that the strange gentleman was likq 1
' For example,' said the Coroner, as the door opened, and
an elderly man with grayish whiskers made his appearance,
' was he anything like that gentleman ?'
Little Jack Todd immediately replied that the stranger
was not only like that gentleman, but that that gentleman
THE INQUEST.
131
was actually he ! The other boys agreed in chorus; and
great was the excitement for a few moments, until the
gentleman in question calmly tool? a seat by the Coroner's
side and announced himself as Mr. Sampson Lagger the
detective, from London, just arrived with instructions from
Scotland-yard.
After this it was clear that the testimony of the boys
was not to be relied upon; and they were ordered, with
much severity, to leave the room. The boys took no par-
ticular notice—as they said over and over again—of the
other gentleman, or, indeed of Mr. Brandron; but being
badgered by the Coroner and jury to find a likeness for the
former, they did so, and were fortunate enough to hit upon
the very man of all others least likely to be prejudiced by
their mistake.
A police-constable who had searched the wood, and found
what appeared to be the instrument with which the death-
blows had been inflicted, was the next witness. He
produced a heavy hedge-stake, covered with blood, to which
several human hairs, similar in colour and length to tho«e
of the deceased, adhered. This stake the constable had
found concealed in a ditch, at the end of the wood furthest
from Westborough church. It was bidden amongst a lot of
nettles; and he had discovered it by tracking some footsteps
which led to the place from the main pathway.
'And of course,' said Mr. Lagger—whom the Coroner
had asked to put any questions that he deemed important—
' of course you've covered those footmarks over, and set a
man to watch and see that no one meddles with 'em till his
worship can send me down to dig up a pair of 'em out of
the ground for future use 1 Don't you tell me you haven't
thought of doing that,' continued the detective severely, as
the man's manner changed ; ' because, yon know, you're a
constable—you are.'
The poor man (who up to this moment had gained great
kudos for his discovery of the hedge-stake, and had been
described in the reporter's notes as ' that able and intelli-
gent officer, Constable Peter Brown') was obliged to confess
that it had not struck him to do anything of the kind.
' O, dear me, dear me !' said the Coroner, to whom the
132
A TANGLED SKEIN.
notion was also a novelty, 1 that was very wrong. Rqn at
once, and do as Mr. Larger has directed.'
Constable Peter Brown was very sorry, but he was
afraid it would be no use. A number of labourers had
come running up when he found the stake, and they had
quite trodden out all the marks. Leastwise, he had tried
to find them again, and could not do so.
Mr. Lagger looked the crestfallen officer up and down,
from his head to his boots, and from his boots back again
to his head, with an expression of sovereign contempt.
' And now,' he said, ( shall I tell his worship why them
labourers came a-rushin' up? They came a-rushin' up
because you was so proud of findin' that there stick, that,
instead of keeping yourself to yourself, and seeing what else
you could dis—cover about, you shouts out, " Holloa !" or,
" I've found it!" or, " Here it is !" or what not, cackling over
it just like an old hen that had laid an egg. That's why
they came up, and you can't deny it!'
Constable Peter Brown did not attempt to do so; and
the reporter for the local paper at once struck the words
' able and intelligent' out of his notes, and informed the
public that, * but for the culpable stupidity of this witness,
an important clue would doubtless have been obtained.'
Such is fame !
The man who had found the body was then examined,
and deposed to the state in which he had found it. The
clothes of the deceased were only slightly deranged. His
watch was in his fob, his purse in his pocket, his ring upon
his finger. He had evidently been lifted up from the ground
where the marks of blood were, and thrown into the pit—
for the water (which was about two inches deep over the
bottom) having been baled out, prints of his shoulder and
knee were seen in the clay. This examination, I must
observe, was not made till the next morning, before the
inquest—which was adjourned after a view of the body—
had been reopened.
The cause of the adjournment was to enable Mr. Lagger
to make some inquiries touching Jim Riley, whose presence
in the village on the day of the murder had not escaped
attention; and also to give Stephen Prankland an oppor-
THE INQUEST.
133
tunity of reconsidering his determination not to allow the
Coroner to read the papers which the deceased had confided
to his charge.
' Dear, dear, dear !' exclaimed the Coroner—as he lost
his handkerchief for the thirty-first time, and his spectacles,
which had thrown themselves off his nose and were dancing a
reel on the table indicative of mingled triumph and con-
tempt—' dear, dear, dear ! if you will not obey the law, I
really do not know how I am to deal with you.'
' I dosaid Mr. Lagger. ' This 'ere deceased might
have had reasons of his own for not wishing to let out who
it was that assaulted him. The law ain't got nothing to
do with such reasons, and it sez, " This 'ere must be found
out." Good ! Well, these papers may help to find him
out, or they may not. Leastwise, the law sez, " Let's look
at 'emand the law must be o—beyed. Now the Captain
knows what it is to obey orders, else he wouldn't be a
Captain, and what he's a-going to do is this—'
' Certainly not to make their contents public,' interrupted
Stephen, 'until—'
' He's a-going,' the detective continued, addressing the
Coroner, and not noticing this interruption, ' to give your
worship his word of honour that he won't destroy none of
'em; that's what he's a-going to do. And he's a-going to
sleep upon what he said just now, and to dream how very
inconvenient it would be if your worship had to commit him
for contempt of Court, and the law was obliged to take
these 'ere papers—as it has a right to do—by force. He
don't like to be worrited now about 'em; but he'll turn 'em
up after the adjournment quite handsome. Bless your
hearts, I knows what gentlemen like the Captain '11 do.
When they're right they never gives in at all, for anybody;
and when they're wrong, they gives in at last, and makes
the best of it. They're rum customers is gentlemen like
the Captain, to Rooshians and wild Injians, and sich like;
but, bless your heart, they ain't no match agin the law, and
they knows it—that's what they knows.'
Mr. Lagger had certainly an irresistible way of putting
things; and Stephen was very glad of the respite thus at-
forded him. The detective next took the jury in hand, and,
184
A TANGLED SKEIN.
without the slightest consultation with any one of them, told
the Coroner what they were going to do. 'The jury,'he
said, addressing that functionary, ' are a-going to ask
your worship to adjourn this 'ere case till the day after
to-morrow, in order that you may give orders to the officer
from London—that's me—to co—operate with the county
police in making inquiries after this Jim Riley. That's
what the jury are a-going to do. I haven't spent two-and-
twenty years in courts of justice,' he added, turning round
and gazing triumphantly at the ceiling, 'without being
able to tell, with half an eye, what twelve respectable men
are a-going to do in a case like this.'
And Mr. Lagger frowned, and the jury looked wise,
and nodded their heads in a manner which indicated it to
be their opinion that Mr. Lagger was a person of much
discrimination, and not to be misled in his estimate of them
or any one else.
So the inquest was adjourned until the next day but
one; and Stephen, left alone once more in the little inn,
gave orders for the funeral, which was to take place the
following afternoon; and, this done, sat brooding over all
that had passed at the inquest, and worrying himself, not
about the evidence he had given, but about that which he
had withheld.
It was not his refusal to produce Brandron's papers
which troubled him. A very slight reflection sufficed to
show that there was wisdom in what Mr. Lagger had sug-
gested. The law had discovered the existence of certain
old letters, and wanted to see them. Well, the law might
take them. They did not relate to the secret. But of
those other papers which were hidden at Mangerton Chase
(wherever that might be) which did relate to it, the law
had, as yet, no knowledge; and Stephen considered himself
thoroughly justified in declining to volunteer any informa-
tion respecting them. ' It was by no means certain they
would throw any light upon the subject before the Coroner;
and Frankland felt himself bound by the solemn promise
he had given to make no use of them, directly or indirectly,
for any other purpose than carrying out the act of justice.
True, he had sworn at the inquest to tell the truth—the
THE INQUEST.
135
whole truth; but he easily persuaded himself that this
merely obliged him to tell the whole truth relating to the
matter immediately in question before the Court. ' If the
law wants those other papers for its own purposes,' Stephen
mused, ' let the law find them out for itself. I shall not
interfere. Poor Brandron gave them to my care. I intend
to do my best to find them. It will be time enough to
consider what is to be done with them when they are in
my hands; and if I never discover them—there is an end
of it.'
I am giving you now the reasons which, according to
Stephen Frankland's own showing, he gave himself for
acting as he did. It is no use arguing now whether they
were good ones or bad ones. Those who were wise after
the event said they were bad ones, and perhaps they were
right. Stephen was not the man to palter with an oath;
and if you will review his position you will find that it was
a very embarrassing one. He desired to obey the law, and
yet had determined to keep faith with Brandron! He
would gladly have given ten years of his life to see the
murderer brought to justice, and yet he felt himself bound
to become almost an accessory to his escape! It is all
very well to say that he had a duty to perform towards
society which should have overriden all other considerations.
Society had not saved his life. Society had not watched
over him with fatherly tenderness all the long days and
nights of his illness. Society had not clung to him upon
its death-bed, and, with eager eyes and faltering accents,
won from him a pledge to do its bidding. Brandron had !
Let him be right, or let him be wrong, in acting as he
did, no man can say that Stephen was actuated by one cor-
rupt motive or a fear of consequences. What he divulged,
he divulged because he thought it his duty to make it known;
and what he concealed, he concealed because he felt bound
in honour to keep it secret. So far as Brandron was con-
cerned, his conscience was quite clear; but there was one
thing that troubled him sorely. How came it—he asked
himself in vain—that he felt so anxious to keep his father's
name out of the case ? Why was it that he felt guilty of
deceit for not having stated that he had met Sir George in
136
A TANGLED SKEIN.
the lane leading from Mrs. Riley's cottage ? All the wit-
nesses except himself had been asked what strangers they/
had seen about Westhorough on the day of the murder/
What made him await the replies to such queries so anxiously/?
He was not supposed to know natives from visitors, and no
such question had been put to him. Why did he not volun-
teer the information for what it was worth, and say, 11 met
my father here at about half-past five. He had walked over
from the Wells, and went home by Poundbridge, as I kfiow;
for he wrote a letter to me from thence'—why did he not
say this ? ' Because'—as he argued to himself—' whether
my father was here, or at the Land's End, or at the bdttom
of the Red Sea, on that day, can have no possible bearing
upon the question how John Everett Brandron came to his
death. How could it ?' And yet he was not quite easy in
his mind at having made no mention of their meeting. This
concealment might look rather awkward, he thought, if ttie
fact came out from some third person, and at one time /he
had resolved to mention it at the adjourned inquest. But,
upon consideration, he thought that the mischief—if niis-
chief there were—was done, and that the less said would
be the soonest mended. Besides, after all, what could it
matter?
These resolutions were not formed until after Stephen
had carefully examined the papers left by his deceased
friend. In the desk he found a few receipted bills, the
official document granting Mr. J. E. Brandron six months'
leave, and some travelling memoranda of no consequence.
In the packet, which he had sealed up, there were eight
letters and two empty envelopes, the enclosures belonging
to which were probably amongst the papers which Brand-
ron was engaged in destroying when he saw the stranger
approaching the inn. Seven out of those eight letters were
yellow with age, and bore date at various times in the win-
ter of the years 1838-9, and related to his Indian appoint-
ment. They appeared to be written by some attorney act-
ing for the person who had obtained this for him, and one
gave him notice that a sum of 1200/. had been paid into
Coutts's Bank to his credit. No name was mentioned; the
writer stating, 1 My client instructs me to say' this, or 'My
THE INQUEST.
137
client begs that you will be so good as to do' that, and so
on throughout. The signature was ' P. Williams, 14 Buck-
lersbury,' or ' Francis Sawyer, for P. Williams,' &c.; and
they were addressed to 4 J. E. Brandron, Esq., 1 Clement's
Inn, Strand, Londonall but one, and that to ' J. E. B.,
Post Office, Dover.' This was the letter in which the
1200Z. was mentioned.
The remaining epistle was that which has already been
mentioned as rudely folded together and sealed with the
impression of a thimble-top. It was directed to Mr. Brand-
ron, of Richmond, Bengal, Indies, in an uneducated and
shaky hand. Upon opening it an enclosure fell out, which
subsequently appeared to be the copy of a letter written by
Brandron in consequence of the information contained in
the communication with which it was folded and preserved.
As these two letters are of great importance, and con-
tain, as it were, one end of the Tangle in which Stephen
Frankland's fortune and happiness were afterwards involved,
it will be necessary to give them complete.
There was no date, local or other, to the letter with the
thimble seal, and it ran as follows :
'Mr. Brandron,
' Honoured Sir,—You will be surprised to hear from
me after all these years. I have bin a-minded to write
many times and tell you what I have to say, but somehow
I couldn't. Honoured sir, I a^n in great trouble, and no-
thing as ever gone well with me since I deceived you. You
do not know what a wicked woman I have bin. He
told me you was as bad, and that you had sworn to keep
the secret for 1200Z., and never to come back to England
any more. But I found out that this was false, and O, sir,
if you will believe me, he is altogether false. All he told
you about the child being dead and my destroying the pa-
pers is lies. It is alive and well, as I can prove, if you or
any other gentleman will help and protect me from him,
for I daren't—indeed, I daren't—do it by myself. And the
papers is just where we hid them at the Chase. He gave
me the money for burning them, and I swore to him that
I had put them in the fire; but, sir, I daren't go into the
138
A TANGLED SKEIN.
room. It is haunted. She comes there, wringing her
hands, every night, and a-calling out for him, and what
would have happened to a wicked one like me if I was to
see her, poor dear ! Honoured sir, I do hope you will for-
give me; but nothing as gone right with me since I de-
ceived you.
'Sister Lucy, who brought all that shame upon us, is
dead; and Mary has turned Katholic, and is living in that
institution which Father Eustace used to belong to. If
she new I was writin' I am sure she would send her dooty.
0 pray, pray, honoured sir, do something for my poor
lady's child.—And so no more at present from your humble
servant, Susan.'
The copy of a letter enclosed was in Brandron's hand-
writing. It bore signs of much thought, many words and
sentences having been scratched out and altered; but, as it
stood, it was short and to the purpose. It was in these
terms :
1 (Copy.)
' June 23d, 1859.
' Almost immediately after you receive this, I shall be
in England. When I tell you that one of your tools has
exposed the deceit, of which for twenty years I have been
the victim, you will know what to expect.
' As soon as I land I j^hall write again, appointing a
place and time for you to see me. Fail not to attend, and
prepare to do justice upon your peril.
' John Everett Brandron.'
There was no direction to this.
Stephen read and re-read these letters till his head
ached and his eyes swam; and it was midnight before he
could fully realise the difficulty of the task before any one
who sought to weave those contents into a clue which would
lead to the discovery of the more important papers—the
papers which contained the secret. These, as we know,
were hidden in a certain room at Mangerton Chase. Where
was Mangerton Chase? This place once discovered, and
THE INQUEST.
1B9
the rest would be plain sailing. So thought Stephen Frank-
land ; and at first he saw no difficulties in his way. From
the description of the room, given with such minuteness by
Brandron, the house it contained must, he concluded, be
one of some consequence. Tapestry hangings, suits of ar-
mour, oak wainscoting, oak cabinet, a corridor running
along the far side of the hall—all seemed to denote an an-
cient country mansion. Were there not books of reference
in which the seats of all the nobility and county families
were described? Stephen rode over to the fashionable
watering-place on the morning after Brandron's death to
try and get a sight of such a book, and he got it; but there
was no Mangerton Chase mentioned therein. He called at
the office of an estate and house-agent, and asked him, in
as casual a tone as he could assume, if he knew of such a
house thereabouts. The house-agent had no knowledge
whatever of it. Was it in Kent or Sussex? Who lived
there ?
Stephen replied that he had only just returned from
India, and did not know—that all the direction that had
been given to him was that the Chase was in England; but
whether east, west, north, or south he could not tell. The
person to whom he had looked for further information was
dead, &nd it was of the utmost importance that he should
find out the house.
The agent was very civil, and procured a large modern
Gazetteer, together with histories of the surrounding coun-
ties and several others, for Stephen to search in. Amongst
the latter was a History of Derbyshire ; but Stephen put
that aside with a smile, saying, 1 O, that's my own county !
If Mangerton Chase were there I should have had no occa-
sion to trouble you. It must be a great house, and if it
were there I should know it well.'
For hours he pored over those ponderous volumes, and
found that they professed to give account, and often some
illustration, of every mansion of any note, splendour, or
antiquity; but they contained no such name as Mangerton
Chase; nor was there — as proved by the Gazetteer—
throughout all England, Scotland, and Wales, any town,
village, hamlet, township, rape, hundred, borough, city, river,
140
A TANGLED SKEIN.
mountain, forest, or any other geographical expression which
was known by the name of Mangerton. He looked in the
Directory, and found many people so called; but not one of
them was represented as living in a ' Chase.'
It was upon his return from this fruitless expedition
that he first read the two letters just mentioned; and his
heart sank as he saw what a mere shadow of a clue they
afforded.
He saw now that to find out where was Mangerton Chase
he must first discover ' Susan;' and concerning her he drew
the following deductions : The style of her writing and com-
position, and the fact of her speaking of some one as her
'lady,' showed that she was a servant. The manner in
which she spoke of hiding the papers containing the secret
in ' the Chase' pointed her out pretty clearly to be the per-
son of whom Brandron had spoken as Susan'Alston. But
that was her maiden title, and he had spoken of her as a
married woman, professing his inability to remember her
husband's name. If there had been any post-mark upon
the letter, it would have been tolerably easy to have found
out, in the parish register of the post-town, whom Susan
Alston had married some twenty years ago; but the letter
was so worn and yellow with age, that Stephen's eyes—
which were of the sharpest—could decipher no name upon
it whatever. There were a 3, and a J, and something that
might have been a Y, or part of a W; but nothing legible.
Still, Frankland did not despair. There were not so
very many Boman Catholic institutions in England, and
Susan might be traced through her sister Mary. True it
was that her surname was also left in doubt; but the chances
were that, being in such an institution, she was a single
woman. Besides, there was Father Eustace; he could be
found by inquiry amongst his co-religionists, or, at any rate,
the institution with which he had been connected could be
ascertained. ' There,' Stephen mused, ' would be Mary. She
would direct me to Susan. Susan would tell me where to
find Mangerton Chase; and that once discovered, it will be
odd if I cannot find an excuse to be alone for ten minutes
in the tapestried chamber over the armoury that opens from
the end of the corridor on the far side of the hall.'
THE INQUEST.
141
The day following the commencement of the inquest the
murdered man was buried in Westborough churchyard. He
was followed to the grave by Stephen Frankland as chief
mourner, and a great number of strangers whom curiosity
had drawn to the spot. Upon his headstone were engraved,
by Stephen's orders, these words:
Jit fHfinorg of
John Everett Brandron,
who was
Basely murdered in Westborough Wood,
On the 29th of July 1859.
' Vengeance is Mine ; I will repay, saith the Lord.'
Stephen had already written to his father stating what
had happened, and that it would be impossible for him to
be at home on the day fixed for his return. He had now to
make a further postponement, on account of the adjourn-
ment of the inquest. This was the more annoying because,
upon the investigation being resumed, Mr. Lagger was
obliged to admit that he could produce no further evidence,
and at present did not know what to make of the case.
' But what have you discovered respecting this suspicious
person named Biley ?' asked the Coroner.
' That's exactly what I was sure your worship would
want to know,' said the detective. ' As I was a-coming along
this morning, I sez to myself, I sez, " The first thing the
Coroner will ask you, Sampson Lagger, is this : Have you,
or have you not, discovered anything respecting that suspi-
cious person named Riley?"—that's what the Coroner will
say. And the answer you'll have to give, I sez to myself,
is plain. You ain't, I sez, a born fool, and your su—periors
always give you credit for doing your dooty; therefore
you can afford to tell the truth. You must tell his worship,
I sez, that for the present Jim Riley's beat you; that you
don't know where to find him; but that if the information
given to you be cor—rect, this 'ere Jim Riley was a tramp-
in' along towards London, miles and miles away from this,
142
A TANGLED SKEIN.
at the very hour when the murder must have been committed!
That's what I sez to myself, and what I humbly sez to you
is this: Don't think any more about this Jim, for he can
prove an alibi that the Archbishop of Canterbury himself
couldn't get over. No, it ain't Jim Riley !'
1 Then who is it ?' asked the Coroner, feebly struggling
with his spectacles, and looking at Mr. Lagger with his
chin.
1 Well, sir,' replied the officer, 1 it will be my duty to
co—operate with the county po—lice, and try and find out.
But,' he added, with a significant smile, ' as a coroner's
inquest ain't bound to sit for ever, gentlemen of the jury
having something else to do, and as we can take the case
before the justices any day if we find out Mr. Right—con-
sidering all this, it seems to me that poor Mr. B. was
murdered by some person or persons unknown—that's what
it seems to me /'
The hint was taken, and an open verdict recorded.
' I tell you what it is, Stevie,' said Cuthbert Lindsay,
taking his old friend's arm and leading him out of the room,
1 I'm not so satisfied with this Mr. dagger and his off-handed
exculpation of Riley. I know you will not let this horrible
mystery remain unravelled; and if I can help you in any
way, don't hesitate to command me. Confound the villain !
If he were only detected, I'd hang him myself, if nobody
else would.'
' And so, Master Jim Riley,' mused Mr. Lagger to him-
self, after his, fashion, when the last juryman had departed,
' you left here at nine minutes past six o'clock on the morn-
iDg of the 29th July, and you did not arrive in London till
the afternoon of the 30th. Well, having a gal along with
you, you couldn't do it in much less time—if you walked.
But—' (this reservation Mr. Lagger did not breathe even
to himself) he added, however, after a long pause, ' In a
few hours I shall have my eye upon you, my lad; and, if
you are wanted, why, I shall know where to put my hand
upon you—that's what I shall know.'
SEE THE CONQUERING HERO COMES.
148
CHAPTER XL
' see the conquering hero comes.'
If Stephen Frankland had had any idea of the sort of
reception which was being prepared for him at Tremlett
Towers, I think that he would have still further postponed
his return; certainly he would not have left it to be supposed
that he acquiesced in the arrangement by writing—as he
did in his innocence—to let his father know by what train
he might be expected. If there was one thing that he dis-
liked more than another, it was being made a fuss about.
As he was rattled along in the express he could not
help looking forward to the happy meeting which had been
so often in his thoughts, and picturing where, and how,
and in what manner it would take place. Frank, he thought,
would drive over the dog-cart for him, or perhaps his father
would come too : no one would recognise him at the station.
They need not pass through the village, and he would get
dear old Frank to drive him round the back way to ' the
Towers,' so that he might run up unperceived to his mother's
room, and have a quiet hour or two of home-talk with the
three nearest and dearest to him, before he ran the gauntlet
through the kindly but embarrassing welcoming which he
could not but flatter himself would be in store as soon as
his actual return was known upon the estate and through-
out the neighbourhood. Then he arranged that towards
evening he would go down to the housekeeper's room, and
shake hands with Mrs. Cooper the ' JTno,' and Jones the
'Jove,' of that domestic Olympus. The next morning he
would walk over to Ruxton Court—with Frank, most
likely—and see them all there; return by Durmstone;
have a chat with old Hoodgate the barber, who used to sell
him fishing-tackle and gunpowder in his boyish days; and
wind up the day with a visit to poor paralytic Bill Grant,
the ex-head-keeper, at his cottage, the north lodge of the
park. A railway carriage is a capital place for thinking
in, if your thoughts are pleasant ones, because there is
nothing to distract them; but I think that, of all awful
places to be shut up in with a sorrow that has com?, or
144
A TANGLED SKEIN.
the shadow of one that is approaching, a railway car-
riage is the most awful. When people travelled in the old
coaching days, I suppose they made up their minds that it
was no use being anxious or impatient; but now, if per-
sonal experience be worth anything, it seems as though the
speed at which we travel serves, not to allay, but to increase
those feelings, and to make us more and more impatient to
get to such and such a place, in proportion as we are whirled
along faster and faster towards it.
Stephen's reflections, upon the whole, were agreeable
ones. He longed to get to his home, yet was somewhat
shy of the first plunge into it—just as he might desire to
enjoy his shower-bath on some frosty morning, but quaked
at the idea of pulling the string. The upshot was, that
although the last thirty miles of his journey were performed
in little more than half an hour, it seemed to him as though
the express were the slowest train he had ever sat in. But
when it began to slacken speed at Durmstone he would have
given a good deal to have had another fifty miles to travel
before he had to face what he was sure would there await
him.
He was not surprised to see a quantity of people assem-
bled upon the platform, for he remembered that it was
market-day at Derby. Nor was it strange to him that his
father should spring forward and open the carriage-door;
but he was astonished when all the company took off their
hats and shouted with all their might, as he alighted. An
ovation was the last thing that he expected j and his first
notion was that the inmates of the county asylum were there
in waiting for some excursion-train that was to take them
out into the country for a holiday. He was glad, therefore,
when Sir George hurried him through the booking-office to
where he saw an open carriage waiting for him. In this
was seated Lady Tremlett, very elegantly dressed, and,
springing to her side, he clasped her in his strong arms
and kissed her heartily.
•' Bless me !' exclaimed my lady, arranging her rumpled
finery. ' I am so happy, dearest Stevie ! But, you naughty
boy, you've been smoking—and, dear me, how very brown
you are!'
SEE THE CONQUERING HERO COMES.
145
4 And you, dearest mamma, are not one bit changed—
as beautiful—more beautiful than ever !'
He had always been proud of his mother's beauty.
When a child, he had called her his 4 pretty mamma,' tod
as a stalwart youth of eighteen had behaved towards her
more like her lover than her husband's son. He was
more of a man than she of a woman in those happy days;
and her silly, winning little manner, and thorough depend-
ence upon him in the—then—frequent absences of Sir
George, had won for him a deep and faithful affection, such
as stepmothers but rarely enjoy. The 4 poor delicate little
Frank' of that time—though her own flesh and blood—was
not a favourite. His weakness and petulance troubled her;
for, as we have seen, she was of a selfish indolent nature,
and clung with a helplessness which is sometimes mistaken
for affection to any one who would save her exertion and
minister to her wishes.
4 Flatterer!' she replied, as the little vexation she had
felt at the derangement of her toilet vanished under this
incense to her vanity, 4 you know I have grown quite an
old woman.'
41 know no such thing. How kind it was of you to
come for me ! But where's Frank?' asked Stephen, look-
ing eagerly around for his half-brother.
4 My love,' said Lady Tremlett, addressing her husband,
who had just come up from fussing over Stephen's luggage,
4where's Francis?'
The radiant Smile that had lighted up the poor Baronet's
face since he had seen his first-born died away at this
question.
4 Have you not told him ?' he replied, in a low tone.
4 My dear, I understood that he left the message with
you?'
4 So he did. But I thought,' he added, in a tone of
reproach, 4 that you might have spared—I mean, that you
might have told him yourself.'
4 Why, George, how can you be so absurd ? He has
only just asked me.'
4 The fact is, Stevie,' said his father, after a gulp or
two, 4 that Francis is very sorry, dreadfully grieved, I am
L
146
A TANGLED SKEIN.
sure, not to be able to be bere to welcome you. But he
has gone—he was obliged to go, I assure you—compelled
—absolutely compelled, to attend a meeting of magistrates
upon a matter of the greatest importance, about—let me
see, about sewers ? no, no—not about sewers, about reform-
atories—er—er—or something or other, I don't know ex-
actly what; but I give yon my word it was of the highest
importance. Francis has become quite a great man, and
has always something of the highest importance on hand.'
This, I must explain, was not one of the Baronet's fibs.
If people will only be sufficiently dogmatical and disobliging
upon the score of being engrossed in matters of the highest
importance, they will gain a reputation of being 1 quite great
men;' and this useful receipt was followed with much sue-
cess by Mr. Francis Tremlett, so much so, that his father
—who indeed had endured much of it whilst in course of
preparation—believed in him—believed in him generally,
but not on this occasion. The extent of which his father
had availed himself of my lady's carte blanche for his
brother's reception had annoyed him greatly. Moreover,
he perceived assembled in the park certain members 'of
county families whose visits to ' the Towers' had lately been
few and far between, and who had not honoured his
great fete with their presence. Young hearty fellows, like
Lord de Cartarett and his brother Percy Coryton, and
Spencer and Ashton Neville • and hearty old fellows, like
General Barker and the Honourable Joe Pilkinton (known
as ' bumper Pilkinton'), could not stand being put down,
and set right, and patronised, by 1 dear Francis,' and his
set, any more than could the recalcitrant Jack Cutler.
The consequence was, that they kept out of his way on all
occasions when he played the chief part, but were early on
the scene lest they should lose the opportunity of giving
our Stevie a cheer.
So the green-eyed monster was raised in his half-brother's
breast, and it was this offensive Saurian who suggested the
important magisterial business at Derby, which had not
been heard or thought of until Lord de Cartarett was seen
galloping into the park. If * dear Francis' could not pre-
vent his father from doing things on a grand scale, he could
SEE THE CONQUERING HERO COMES. 147
at least put a slight on the affair by absenting himself from
it. Stephen could not help feeling -a little bit disappointed
at his brother's absence, but upon reflection he remembered
that he had been obliged to change the day for his return,
and concluded that by doing so he had unluckily pitched
upon the very time when Frank could not be there to meet
him. It would have been all the same, whatever time and
day he had fixed. ' Dear old Frank,' he said, ' I hope he
hasn't worried himself about it; we shall have many a long
day together now.'
As he spoke these words out of his loving heart, the
carriage drove off, and he noticed for the first time that
there were four horses to it. He saw, also, that many of
the persons who had been upon the platform had mounted
their nags and were following. An uneasy presentiment
that there was something in the wind began to creep over
him; and this was increased when Sir George made him
change places and sit by his mother's side, on the front*
seat, saying, ' No, no; you must have the place of honour,
you know, as you are the hero of the day!' But it was
not until they turned the corner of the plantation near ' the
Towers,' and galloped into the park, which looked like a
fair—so full was it of marquees and tents and booths,
waving flags, shouting people, and bands playing ' See the
Conquering Hero comes'—that the full horror of his situa-
tion burst upon him. It was well for the designers of these
festivities that their conquering hero was in a carriage-and-
four. Had he been on foot or horseback, he would un-
doubtedly have turned and fled in dismay. As it was, he
merely got a little faint and pale, and exclained, ' 0 father,
why have you done this V But before any reply could be
returned, the carriage had drawn up in front of the prin-
cipal marquee, in the midst of a cheering host of friends,
farmers, servants, tenants, and labourers; when Sir George,
rising with great pomp, shook his bewildered son vehemently
by the hand, as though he had just seen him for the first
time, and began what was intended to be a formal speech
expressive of welcome and congratulation, which he had
composed with much care, and committed to memory, but
which broke down after the first sentence, and ended in a
148
A TANGLED SKEIN.
sob and a gulp, and a ' God bless you, my boy—God bless
you!' This was a signal for more cheering, and when
Stephen sprang to the ground, actuated by a rash resolve
to get.it over, he ran an excellent chance of being thrown
down and trampled to death. The confusion which arose
was not mended by a cry that a lady had fainted; and, as
usual, everybody pressed forward and told everybody else
to stand back. The rush to get at the conquering hero
was fearful, and his right arm ached with the shakings that
it got for days afterwards.
However, Lord de Cartarett and Ashton Neville made
a charge, and rescued him from the crowd of striving, cheer-
ing labourers and women, who stood around with joy upon
their lips and their aprons to their eyes, and carried him
bodily into the tent, where the more aristocratic body of his
friends and admirers was collected. In speaking of this
little escapade afterwards, Mr. Francis Tremlett observed
that they had managed things better when he had to receive
the congratulations of his dependents upon the occasion of
his coming of age. They had not broken bounds, and
behaved in such a rude and boisterous manner to him. He
had had them arranged in line, and made to walk past him,
and bow, one by one. And certainly this ceremony was
performed in the most orderly manner. There was no
bursting of barriers to get a shake of the hand from Mr.
Tremlett!
In the tent, Stephen had to undergo a more decorous,
though not less hearty welcoming; the first person to receive
him being motherly Mrs. Coleman, who flung her fifteen
stone of good-nature into his arms, and cried over him and
kissed him, and kissed and cried over him again. But, 0,
what changes ten years had made amongst those who were
there assembled to receive him ! Pretty girls, with whom,
as a young cadet, he had danced and flirted at the county
balls, stood handsome smiling matrons, their flowing skirts
clasped by miniature editions of themselves in short flounced
frocks or knickerbockers, who, finger on lip, stared with awe
at the grave young soldier of whose prowess in the deadly
field they had heard such exciting tales. It was pleasantHo
see the generation of pretty girls which was then and there
SEE THE CONQUERING HERO COMES. 149
competent and willing to dance and flirt with young cadets
at county balls, but who were in the nursery when Stevie
went out, come tripping up to him smiling slyly, and saying,
< 0 Ste—Captain Frankland ! don't you know me ? I'm
Nelly,' or 4 I'm little Chattie,' or repeating some other well-
known name which would sound as a key-note to one or
other of the gladsome old tunes which memory's nimble
fingers were playing on his heart-strings. Pleasant, too, it
was to see the eager flush which lighted his countenance as
the shifting of the crowd revealed some remembered face
approaching, or when a stalwart handsome lad came up and
said, 4 0, I see you cannot remember me. I'm Charley
Prampton ; but, you see, I have grown up after all. Have
you forgotten that day when you taught me to row the punt 1
Well, I'm at Cambridge now, and they've made me " bow"
in the University Eight!' Then the handsome matrons
whom he had known as pretty girls introduced their hus-
bands to him; and the young married men whom he had
known as gay bachelors introduced their wives to him; and
the old neighbours introduced him to the new neighbours
who hftd come since he was at home ; and although his eye
fell here and there upon a black coat or a crape skirt, the
ever-varying excitement of the scene was too great to allow
of his missing some once familiar forms which he was not
to behold again.
The manner in which the marquee and its approaches
Tfere decorated certainly did the Coleman girls the greatest
credit. Nothing could have been more graceful, or in better
taste. Grace Lee was delighted with it; and when people
came up, and, mindful of her Christmas work in the church,
simpered condescendingly that they were sure it must be
her doing, she took them up very short, and gave all the
praise where it was due.
Grace was able to say very sharp things, in a quiet way, to
such as tried to patronise her, and many had thought it expe-
dient to do so when she first came to live at Ruxton Court.
Good Mrs. Coleman, who was—certain small jealousies apart
—very fond of her, had made a great mistake in not defin-
ing her position with sufficient accuracy on the outset.
People were left, therefore, to draw their own conclusions
150
A TANGLED SKEIN.
respecting Grace, and of course—she being a pretty and a
clever girl—drew them to her detriment. The facts that
were known respecting her were as simple as facts can be.
She was the orphan ward of an old professional friend of
Mr. Coleman's. She had a snug little fortune of 300Z. of
her own. Her guardian, who was also her trustee, had
assigned his trusts by will to Mr. Coleman, and died some
four years before the date at which I have taken up this
history. What could Mr. Coleman do better than to get
his wife to take the poor friendless girl to her pleasant
Derbyshire home, and finish her education with her own
elder girls 1 But the worthy matron, not liking, as she said,
the idea of being supposed to take in a lodger, threw out
certain mysterious hints, which made people believe that
Grace was a distant relative of her husband; and this,
coupled with the good-natured girl having undertaken to
teach Jane Coleman what she knew, for want of anything
else to occupy her active mind, raised the supposition that
the poor relative had her board and lodging in Buxton
Court in return for services as a governess. Consequently,
some foolish persons thought it incumbent upon tkem to
pity and patronise her, and, consequently again, Grace took
an early opportunity of showing that she was not to be
pitied or patronised; and the proud, and, it must be con-
fessed, rather smart manner in which the high-spirited lassie
resented this mode of treatment, made her for a while by no
means popular in the neighbourhood. She was an object«of
terror to feeble-minded young gentlemen and shallow-pated
girls of her own years, but became very popular with persons
of more mature age and intellect. Mr. Francis Tremlett,
in the plenitude of his power, had been good enough to state
publicly that he intended to ' take her up,' as a young woman
possessing acquirements congenial to his own; only, some-
how or other, he did not succeed in doing so. Grace had
not many antipathies, but the heir of Tremlett Towers was
one of them, and being 'taken up' by anybody was another.
Stephen Frankland had not been long in the marquee
before he edged his way towards where the Coleman party
had assembled, and hearty were the greetings which wer$
exchanged on both sides. His embarrassment by this time
SEE THE CONQUERING HERO COMES. 151
had somewhat abated, and, after the fashion of the eels, who,
as we are given to understand, become accustomed to being
skinned, he grew a little reconciled to being made a con-
quering hero, and became a little more at his ease.
4 But O, Stevie,' said Laura, after they had been convers-
ing for some ten minutes, 4 1 forgot to introduce you to a
very dear friend of ours. Grace dear, this is Captain
Frankland. Captain Franlcland, Miss Lee.'
Grave Stephen made one of his gravest bows; but Grace
frankly extended her hand • and after a little boggling on
the part of the Captain, the mystic ceremony of presentation
was complete by a juncture of palms.
4 What do you think of him, dearie!' asked the fhree
elder girls in chorus, as soon as some other group had ob-
tained possession of the lion of the day; 4 pray tell us, that's
a darling V
' Well, I think he looks very awkward and stupid,' was
the reply.
4 0 Grace, how can you ?
4 How can I what V
4 How can you say he is awkward and stupid V
41 did not say that, dear. I only said he looked so;
and I am very glad he does.'
4 You funniest of funny things,' said Laura, who was in
high spirits, 4 why V
4 Because I suppose I must try to like him, as you seem
so particularly anxious that I should do so; and he ought to
look awkward and stupid in the midst of all this fuss about
him. That is why, dear. And I give you fair warning
that the very moment he begins to look anything else, I
shall hate him as I do Well, as I do any conceited
upstart.'
4 0 Grace ! and he so good and brave !'
'All men are brave, or ou^ht to be; and as for his
goodness, Laura, I know nothing about that, and never take
goodness for granted.'
' Why, did he not save that poor wounded soldier from
being tortured by the rebels, and carry him on his back
amidst a perfect storm of bullets 1 Is not that goodness,
Grace Lee ?'
152
A TANGLED SKEIN.
11 daresay there are scores of common soldiers in his
regiment who would have done exactly the same thing, if
they had had the chance,' was the reply.
' I see you are determined not to like him,' said Laura,
annoyed by her friend's coldness.
' I am determined to try and like him, dear, for your
sake, and therefore decline to form any hasty opinions which
I may find reason to modify. I will admit, now, that he is
good-looking. Come, that's something, isn't it V
What Laura said in answer was drowned in the commo-
tion which followed a highly important announcement. I
have said that the tent was very beautifully decorated by
the Coleman girls. It had also powerful attractions—con-
tributed by good Mrs. Cooper, the housekeeper at 1 the
Towers,' and her ally, its portly butler—in the shape of
sundry cold fowls, jellies and other delicacies, and long-
necked bottles tipped with tin foil, spread upon a long table
which extended from end to end. And the announcement
in question was a direction to all to sit down and make the
best of these good things.
I think that the company ate and drank upon this occa-
sion much as people eat and drink upon others—that young
gentlemen made the usual feeble jokes, and that the affair
was rather dreary, until the champagne began to sparkle in
the glasses, and somewhere else. Of course it would be
very wicked to suggest that those elegant and fragile crea-
tions, in whose absence the stateliest entertainment is stale,
flat, and unprofitable, would, could, should, or ought to be
the least affected by such dreadful things as ardent liquors,
even when confined in such aristocratic receptacles as long-
necked bottles tipped with tin foil; and far be it from me
to lay myself open to the well-merited punishment which
would follow any statement of mine to the contrary. Only,
were I given my choice §,s to the time at which I should
join festive gatherings of a prandial character, I should
postpone my advent until the champagne had gone round.
What a dull affair is a dinner-party up to the second course !
And that first galop after supper, sir ! Did you find Ange-
lina less agreeable than usual at that period of the evening ?
Had 1 mamma's' good-nature departed, or was Paterfamilias
SEE THE CONQUERING HERO COMES.
158
more than properly grumpy, after his or her ' slight refresh-
ment' ? These are questions which you are not bound to
answer, so pray let me proceed with my story.
At the proper period the ladies left the table, and clus-
tered round the entrance of the tent to hear Stephen's health
proposed, and gloat over him whilst going through the
agony of returning thanks. In the short interval which
preceded this act of cruelty, Mrs. Coleman drew her eldest
daughter aside, and said sharply,
' What made you faint, child, just now V
4 0 mamma, the sun was so very strong, and I was so
tired with standing; and those men frightened me so when
they broke the ropes, and rushed at Ste— Captain Frank-
land.'
4 Hum—m,' said her mother, in reflective mood. 4 Now
tell me truth, Laura : did anything pass between you and
Stevie before he went to India V
4 Anything pass, mamma V
' Yes, yes—don't pretend that you don't understand what
I mean. Did he say anything to you 1 Did he make any-
thing like a proposal, or had you reason to think that he
would propose when he returned V
4 No, dear mamma,' Laura replied somewhat sadly. 4 We
were too good friends for that,' she added naively.
4 Has'he ever written to you V
4 0, no.'
4 Or you to him?'
4 Mamma!'
4 Well, I did not say you had, child. Pray don't stare
at me in that stupid way ! Come; we'll go back to the
tent, and hear the speeches.'
They arrived just as the Hon. Joe Pilkinton had
risen, amidst a great thumping of the table, to ask permis-
sion to propose a toast—a ceremony which was hardly
necessary, insomuch as he had been requested by Sir George,
at an early period of the day, to do so when the right time
should come.
The Hon. Joe was an elderly dandy in a wig, and
laboured under the impression that his huge sky-blue stock
and high-collared coat were the height of the fashion. Being
154
A TANGLED SKEIN.
a Member of Parliament, he was fond of making speeches,
and scorned to come directly to the point of his address.
He adopted what I believe is irreverently called the ' bow-
wow' style of oratory. I mean that he uttered his words
as though he were barking them like a dog. He barked
out a short sentence to the right, and bobbed, violently, in
that direction. He barked out a short sentence to the left,
and bobbed again, that way. He barked out a short sen-
tence straight in front of him, and then bent his body nearly
double over the table to emphasise the conclusion; and at
each bob, and at every bend, he paused until some one said
' Hear, hear !' The manner in which he trifled with poor
Stephen's feelings was cruel in the extreme. He played
with him in his speech like a cat with a mouse. He fenced
and flirted with the subject in the most provoking manner.
Of course, his victim knew what was coming, and a dozen
times thought that it had come, when the voluble M.P.
flew off at a tangent, and talked about something else.
He began by observing that it was very beautiful wea-
ther, and that the next best thing to beautiful weather was
to see neighbours assembled on an occasion like the present,
to do honour to a distinguished relative of a gentleman for
whom they had all the highest regard ('Now for it!' quaked
poor Stevie). Their humble friends, he (the Hon. Joe)
understood (bob), were enjoying themselves in another
place—(by which Parliamentary phrase he designated a
huge booth, from which sounds of riotry were wafted now
and then),—and he was delighted to think—he might say
to be sure (bob),—that the toast he was about to have the
honour of proposing would meet with the cordial approba-
tion of all members of the community. (Bend over the
table, and cries of 'Hear, hear!' during which Stevie studied
intently the pattern of his plate.) Some of them had heard,
the speaker continued with a bob to the right, that the pos-
sessions of her Majesty in the East Indies (bob to the left)
had lately been the scene of a most cruel (bob) and un-
natural (bob), he might say unprecedented, rebellion (bow
over the table and ' Hear, hear!') And had it not been for
the brilliant and enduring services (bob) of a band of men,
whom he would designate, not improperly, as heroes (bob,
SEE THE CONQUERING HERO COMES.
155
and ' Hear, liear !'), he thought he might be justified in say-
ing that it was not impossible but that her Majesty might
have been temporarily deprived of the possessions (bob) to
which (bob) he had alluded. But her Majesty had not
been deprived of those possessions (bend over the table, and
' Hear !'), and the reason why she was not deprived of them
was, that she was served by men, who, as he before ob-
served, were not inferior to the heroes of Thermopylae—and
—and Waterloo (bob, and lusty cheering). Now what
were they to do—what were gentlemen of the county of
Derby to do, when one of these men returned full of honours
to his home? Were they to give him the cold shoulder?
demanded the Hon. Joe defiantly, amidst cries of'Hear,
hear!' and ' No, no !' Were they to decline to place upon
record their admiration of his conduct? ('No, no !') Were
they to allow him to subside into the private life which he
adorned, without paying some public—that is quasi-public
—tribute to his worth? No, they were not! He (the Hon.
Joe) knew they were not. He could see that they were not
(and the speaker bent double over the table, and gazed
angrily into a blancmange). They had amongst them there
that day (Stevie's chair became uncomfortable) many per-
sons who had been acquainted with the family of his excel-
lent friend and host (cheers), Sir George Tremlett, for years,
and they would rejoice with him (the Hon. Joe again) at
being permitted to express at his hospitable board (bob and
cheering) the pleasure they felt in enjoying the privilege
of welcoming back to his country one dear and near to him
(Sir George, this time), who had been many years absent
from its shores. He meant Captain Stephen Frankland !
At the mention of the long-expected name, the whole
company rose, cheered, stamped, waved handkerchiefs, broke
wine-glasses, shouted, upset plates of trifle into each other's
laps, and cheered again fit to shake the tent down. The
uproar having at last subsided, the Hon. Joe came to the
point; briefly sketched Stevie's Indian career, alluded grace-
fully to his winning the Victoria Cross, sympathised with
him upon his sufferings, proposed his health, and sat down
amidst more cheering, and destruction of glasses as before.
The tumult was renewed with increased force when
156
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Stephen rose to return thanks; and what he said was simply
this:
4 Please excuse my making a speech. You have filled
my heart so full, that I cannot get out the words. As for
my services under my dear old chief, no one could help
doing his duty under such a leader. I did no more; and
hundreds upon hundreds of men deserve your praises better
than I do. I thank God for having spared my life. I
thank the Queen for awarding me the honour which chance
enabled me to gain; and I thank you, with all my soul, for
the good wishes you have expressed towards me this day.'
And then he sat down, pulled his tawny moustache, thanked
his stars that he had got over his troubles at last, and longed
—0, how he longed!—to run away and hide himself.
4 O Grace !' said Laura Coleman, 4 I never was so dis-
appointed in my life. I did think he would have made a
better speech.'
4 Did you, dear V replied Grace very quietly.
4 And Mr. Pilkinton spoke so beautifully !'
4 Beautifully !' said Grace dryly.
An hour afterwards, as they were walking to their car-
riage, Mrs. Coleman thus addressed her spouse :
4 My love!'
4 Well, my dear?'
41 really think that it is your duty, as Lady Tremlett's
trustee, to suggest her dorng something handsome for
Stevie.'
4 My dear,' said her husband, raising his forefinger,
' Business!'
4 0, bother 44 business"! I'm sure I love him as though
he were my own son.'
41 am very fond of Stevie,' said her husband.
4 Then why don't you see him properly provided for ?'
4 My love!'—and the forefinger rose again—4Business/'
4 Bah ! Do you know, I think he likes our Laura !'
4 Nonsense !'
4 And I'm quite sure the poor child is in love with him.'
4 That may be. She's a great goose.'
4 It's just like you, to run down your own children,
Coleman; and when it's in your power to—'
SEE THE CONQUERING HERO COMES.
157
' Business /'
' And Khoda would never miss a hundred or two—'
' Business P
' And I'm sure she would be only too glad to take the
hint if you—'
'Mrs. Coleman, I have generally to speak the word
once, and once only; but I have already four times had to
say—Business !'
And so the subject dropped.
But as the good lady was retiring to rest that night,
she mused upon it, and thought, 'Well, I suppose they will
he able to live pretty comfortably upon their pay; and
ladies are made so much of in India. It won't be much of
a match for her, poor thing; but then she gets so dread-
fully in the way of her younger sisters !'
So we can see clearly enough what was passing in her
mind.
The meeting between Stephen and his brother was, to
all appearance, a cordial one, though Lord de Cartarett had
told the former, in his off-hand way, that it was all bosh
about ' dear Francis' being obliged to go away on magis-
terial business. He had only gone, that nobleman said, to
worry the Governor of the House of Correction about some
dirty little boys who were going to be whipped for stealing
apples. But to this statement honest Stevie paid no heed,
and thought rather badly of his old schoolfellow for mak-
ing it.
The hours spent by Sir George Tremlett in preparing
for this fete were the happiest he had known for many a
day. He dearly loved planning, and settling, and arrang-
iDg such things, and fidgeting about with the workmen;
and he chuckled in his sleeve as he thought of ' dearest
Francis,' with his charity children and his tea and buns, his
one tent, and his pretended fear of being ' compromised' by
an ovation to his soldier-brother ! ' It was perhaps as well,
after all,' thought his father, ' that he kept out of the way;
for an ovation there has been, and no mistake about it.'
Lady Tremlett was delighted with all that had been
done. She came into the park to look on occasionally at
the building of the triumphant arch ; and ' Hear, dear,' she
158
A TANGLED SKEIN.
would say, ' what clever creatures you all are ! But what
a mess you've got your new frocks in! Will you ever be able
to get it all down again V At last she even began to take
quite an interest in what was doing, and actually exerted
herself so far as to twine a piece of pink calico a great way
up one of the poles of the marquee ! If, however, she was
not liberal in her assistance, she was so with her praises and
thanks ; and, as I have already said, the poor Baronet was
a happy man.
But, alas, retribution came with the bill! And this
having to pass through the hands of the methodical Mr.
Francis, provided, we may be sure, the text for many a dis-
course upon extravagance, love of display, gluttony, self-
adulation, and all the vices. Nor did Lady Tremlett back
up her husband as she might have done, considering that
she had given him full authority to do what he thought
proper regardless of expense; and had commended, in no
measured terms, what he had done. You see, a grand
dejeuner is all very nice whilst it is taking place (especially
when others have the anxiety of seeing that all goes well),
whilst the band is playing, the flags waving, the friends
complimenting, and everything has got to be enjoyed; you
are inclined to be wonderfully liberal then. But when there
is nothing left of these grand doings but a bare brown mess
upon the greensward, a lot of faded flowers, tarnished
spangles, the recollection of (perhaps) a headache, and the
reality of a bundle of' little accounts,' to which her Majesty's
likeness has got to be attached—why, then I fancy there
is sometimes a good deal of grumbling, and complaints of
some one having ordered so much this, and not having
managed to do without that, and that objections which
never arose before have to be endured, if they cannot be
answered.
Poor Sir George had a sorry time of it when the youthful
chancellor of his wife's exchequer began to settle accounts in
his usual methodical manner. This process, however, was
not commenced until some weeks after Stephen's return;
and what took place in the mean time had anything but a
softening effect upon its rigours.
Quickly passed the days with Stephen, every one marked
SEE THE CONQUERING HERO COMES. 159
by some hearty meeting, or the revival of some pleasant old
association. Sir George, too, had a good time of it just
then; for 'dear Francis' had been made to sing rather
smaller than usual since his brother's return. At first he
tried the high hand with Stephen, and instructed that
Indian officer concerning the manners and customs of India.
He criticised, also, certain military operations in which Stevie
had been engaged with such solemnity and correctness as
nearly to choke the latter with laughter. ' You will be the
death of me, old boy, if you go on like that,' he said ; ' but
pray don't talk so before any one else who knows India,' he
added good-naturedly, ' or they'll set you down as such an
awful Griff.'
This being said in the presence of his father and mother,
before whom ' dear Francis' could not bear to be taken
down, he essayed a formula which he had used with great
auccess on former occasions.
' I am not going to suffer myself,' he said, 1 to be
laughed out of a position. To a casual observer, no doubt,
the thing will appear as you would put it; but if you will
give the matter a little more attention, you will perceive
that I am quite correct in what I have advanced.'
At this, hearty Stevie laughed again, and offered to bet
his brother a ' fiver' that, in his learned commentaries on
the war, none of his dates were right to a fortnight, or his
distances to a hundred miles ; whereupon ' dear Francis'
shirked the main point, and indulged him with a homily
upon the folly of betting, which, however, produced no other
effect than to make his brother laugh again, slap him on
the back, and declare that they ought to make a parson of
him, and he'd be Archbishop of Canterbury in no time.
Whilst this was going on poor Sir George sat quaking
with fear lest his second son should push his obstinacy to
offensive lengths; and my lady reclined languidly upon
her sofa, and backed up the disputants by turns, declaring
at one time that ' dearest Francis' was so very clever that
he could not' be mistaken, and observing at another that
' dear Stevie' had been in India, and therefore must know
best.
' Are you as certain of that, old fellow,' he would say,
160
A TANGLED SKEIN.
when ' dear Francis' began to preach upon some of his pecu-
liar doctrines—' as that Goorzerat is on the Ganges, eh ?'
thus cruelly bringing to light a dreadful blunder that his
brother had made in a recent speech at the Mechanics' In-
stitute at Durmstone—a fearfully penitential institution, of
which he was the founder and patron. Even when he was
right, Stephen laughed at him; for, you see, the process by
which Mr. Tremlett's supposed intellectual acquirements
had become the terror of the neighbourhood was gradual.
Stephen could only think of him as ' dear little delicate
Frank,' the small brother whom he had carried about on his
back, and who had cried for what he wanted; consequently
he treated him, accordingly, with much affection, but not a
scrap of homage—to his intense disgust, and the secret
satisfaction of everybody else.
So, as I have said, the days passed pleasantly enough
with Stephen Frankland at 'the Towers,' until his con-
science began to prick him for neglecting Brandron's dying
request. True it was that, during the four or five hours
that he had been detained in London whilst on his way
home, he had made numerous inquiries respecting Man-
gerton Chase, and neither from word of mouth or in books
of reference could he gain any information whatever re-
specting it.
He saw therefore that he would have to trace it out by
steps, the first of which would be to discover Father Eus-
tace. He did not expect to find anything that would help
him in the heavy luggage of the deceased, which he received
notice had now arrived at the Southampton Custom House.
At first Sir George and Lady Tremlett would not hear
of his leaving home again so soon; but the objections of
the latter were softened when she heard of certain shawls
and ivory ornaments which Stephen had stored in his own
impedimenta.
Any subject connected with Mr. Brandron appeared to
be distasteful to the Baronet (who had never once alluded
to the rencontre at Westborough), and he soon ceased to
offer an opposition, which, of course, would raise the topics
he evidently desired to avoid.
So Stephen promised not to be away longer than a
UNDER HIS NOSE.
161
week at the farthest, and went his way into Babylon the
Great; there to do his best towards picking up the clue
which was to lead to the discovery of the secret hidden
behind the black-oak panelling in the room over the armoury
at Mangerton Chase.
CHAPTER XII.
under his nose.
When Mr. Sampson Lagger informed himself that in a
few hours he should have his eye upon Jim Riley, and that
if he was wanted, why, he should know where to put his
hand upon him—that's what he should know—he little
thought that, ten minutes after he had quitted Mrs.
Wantley's shop in Little Union-street, that same ex-convict
and ostensible knife-grinder had entered it, accompanied by
his imbecile sister, who had come with him in his long tramp
from Westborough.
When the patient reader last heard of him he had just
bought a newspaper, and was shuffling about at the connter,
having evidently something on his mind to say, and lacking
the courage or the wit to speak it out. There he stood,
drawing lines with his great grimy forefinger on the cigar-
box that we have heard of, and rubbing them out again in
an abstracted mood with the sleeve of his coat. At last, in
reply to reiterated questions from the shopkeeper if there
was anything else that he pleased to want, he replied sud-
denly—
'1 wants to speak to Missis Wantley.'
' Well, that's me.'
' Ah !' said Jim, looking at her fixedly, ' I thought so.'
' And what did you please to want with me V said the
woman, edging a little further away—for she did not like
the looks of the strange pair who had invaded her premises.
'If you're the Missis Wantley as I'm a-seeking for,
you've got a son called Bob, leastwise, Robert Wantley V
At the mention of this name she turned very pale. One
m
162
A TANGLED SKEIN.
hand fell heavily on the counter for support, and the other
was pressed to her heart.
4 What of him ? Is he well ? Is he 1 0, tell me, sir
—do ! What of my poor, poor Bob V
4 I suppose you knows where he is V
4 Ah, yes; I do indeed,' replied his mother, with a deep
sigh.
4 Well, up to last Wednesday at noon I wa3 there too,',
said Riley.
Mrs. Wantley drew still further off. There seemed to
he an objection on either side to give a name to the 1 there.'
The reader knows it to be Maidstone gaol.
4 Maybe, then, you are one of those who led my poor
lad into crime and misery?' said the widow, flushing up
scarlet, and regarding her visitor with an upbraiding look.
4 You're wrong. If you please, may the gal sit down ?
She's fairly wearied out. She's my sister, poor thing, and
she's daft.'
Mrs. Wantley made no reply, but brought a chair out
of the back room, and gave it over the counter to him, for
Nancy.
4 Thank you kindly,' said Jim. 41 shouldn't ha' come
here if he hadn't sent me; and what I've got to say is just
this. He, that's Bob, and two others, they made an attempt
to escape one night about—let me see, two months ago.'
4 An attempt! 0 dear, 0 dear !'
4 They made themselves tools, picked the locks of their
cells, and climbed out on to the roof of the Governor's
house. Two of them got down all right; and Bob, he was
the last, would ha' got off all right too, only one of the
knots in the pieces of blanket they'd torn up and made a
rope on slipped, and Bob, he fell, and hurted hisself very
bad.'
4 My God, he's killed 1'
4 No, no 1 Don't e' go on so ! Not killed I tell thee,
though he had a hard time of it, poor lad. Shall I tell
thee all about it f
4 O, do, do! But tell me, how is he now ? How is my
poor boy V
4 Nicely, nicely, I do assure you. You've no call to be
UNDER HIS NOSE.
168
afeard o' me. I ain't as bad a one as I look, though I arn't
an angel—that's true. I tell you this though : if I was to
fall down dead this moment for telling a lie, I am as inno-
cent as your baby of what they locked me up for along with
your son in that gaol.'
There was something in his manner, more than in his
words, that reassured the poor woman, and she asked the
pair of tramps into her little back room behind the shop;
and having turned out the children to play in the street,
eagerly awaited what Biley had to say about the erring
Bob.
' You see,' he said, ' our cells were next to each other,
and we was confined solitary. You don't know, no one as
has not been confined solitary knows, what it is. The days
are all alike, and the nights are all alike; and you see no
one's face but the chaplain's, and that only once in a way;
and you hear no sound, and have nought to do but to stare
at the bare walls, until they seem to eat through your eyes
into your brain like to drive you mad. It won't do to tell
you or any one else how prisoners confined solitary, as are in
the secret, can communicate with each other all over the
gaol—leastwise, all along the side of a passage, holding, it
may be, fifty cells; but Bob being next to me in chapel and
at exercise, as he was next in cells, give me the office.'
' The office ! What office V
i Well, I don't justly know what else to call it. I mean
that he told me how the thing was done; and then I found
out that he, and the next one to him, and the next further
on, had made up their minds to try and escape, and wanted
me to join them.'
' And did you 1 Are you one of the men who got off!'
' Only one of them got right off, and is right off, for
aught I know yet,' Kiley replied. ' The other was took.
No ! I'd only about two weeks more to sarve, and I wasn't
a-going to risk being tried agin.'
' Will my Bob be tried again V
1 Sartin—next assize, and get another twelvemonth I'll
be bound.'
Poor Mrs. Wantley's tears burst out, and she rocked
herself to and fro in her chair, moaning piteously and beat-
164
A TANGLED SKEIN.
ing her hands together at the bad news. When she be-
came a little more composed, Eiley continued—
' For a good bit I thought they had made right off, all
on 'em, as I could get no answer from either cell, right
hand or left hand. But one day the chaplain comes in,
and says he, " No. 37" (that was my number), says he,
" No. 36 has met with a severe accident trying to escape,
and the surgeon thinks that he will die." But he ain't dead,
you know,' Jim added quickly, ' that was only what the
chaplain said; and, says he, " As you're going out soon,
he wants you take a message to his mother. Will you take
it ?" " That I will," said I, glad enough to have any one to
speak to. So he says, " Come along with me." And we
went to the Infirmary. There I saw your Bob, and heard
that he had fallen forty feet, right on to the flags. He
had put out his hip, his right arm was broken in two places,
so was some of his ribs, and he was terribly shook and
bruised all over.'
' My boy, my boy ! But what did he say V
' First of all he asked me my name, and I told
him.'
' Please tell me V said Mrs. Wantley, drawing her chair
a little closer to where Jim Eiley sat.
' My name,' he replied, after a pause, ' is Brooks—Tom
Brooks; and says he, " Jim"—leastwise, as I said, " Tom,
go to my poor mother"—and he told me where to go—
" and tell her from me that I've been a-thinkin' a good bit
of all I've done, and if I die, as they say I may do very
soon, I sha'n't, please God"—this is just his words—" I
sha'n't, please God, die the devil's imp I've bin all these
years; and if I live, why, I'll be a comfort to her yet."'
' God bless him ! I knew he'd mend. I knew it!'
'Well, he got mortal bad after that, and they let me
be with him a good deal, on an' off; but he said nought else
but that what I've told you, many a time over; and at last
he took and got round agin slowly, till the morning as I
come out he was a sittin' up eating his soup quite perky.'
' Heaven be praised! But if I was to go to see him,
do you think they would let me in V
11 think they would,' Mr. Brooks replied. ' The chap-
UNDER HIS NOSE.
165
lain, lie took to him very kindly, and so did the surgeon;
and I think if you was to see them, they'd get you let in.'
' I'll go directly—I'll go this very night! Here,
Flora!'
' Gently, gently !' said Riley, stopping her as she rose,
and was rushing out of the room. 4 To-morrow ain't visi-
tors' day, nor Wednesday neither; and the Governor, he's
a rare one for sticking to rules. You go down on Fri-
day, and you'll have a chance.'
The poor widow thanked Mr. Thomas Brooks heartily
again and again, and, after some further conversation about
her son, asked him where he had come from, and where he
was going that day; and upon this Nancy, who had sat
silent and motionless all the time, broke in.
'1 live at the third cottage opposite the well, a mile
and a bit from Westborough.'
' At Westborough !' said Mrs. Wantley, recalling the
words of Mr. Sampson Lagger. ' Ah, yes; I know West-
borough ! It's down near Penzance !'
Riley (or Brooks, as he chose to call himself there) eyed
her intently for a moment, and then replied,
' Ay, sure; down by Penzance.'
* Arid have you walked all the way V
'Every step from Westborough.'
'Dear, dear, dear!' exclaimed the widow, 'how tired
and hungry you must be, and I not to offer you anything !
We're just going to tea, and if you and the young woman
could stop and take share of what we have got, we shall be
so pleased.'
By this time all the poor woman's fear and antipathy
had vanished, so they all sat down to tea together in the
back parlour. But before the repast commenced Helen
took poor daft Nancy in hand—changed her wet and muddy
boots; combed out her shaggy elf-locks that had not known
care since Mrs. Riley died; washed and tended the poor
helpless thing ; ran together the slits and tears in her tat-
tered dress with nimble needle; made her tidy and com-
fortable with some little things out of her scanty wardrobe
so that you could hardly recognise the wretched weary
drab who dragged herself up-stairs, led by this kind-hearted
166
A TANGLED SKEIN.
girl, in the almost nice-looking woman with whom she re-
turned after a brief half-hour into the little back parlour.
Had not the poor creature's brother brought good news of
Bob? And if there be joy in heaven over one sinner that
repentetb, shall no delight be expressed on earth, my bro-
thers ?
Elegant Miss Flora was the only member of the family
that did not do his or her best to make the strangers wel-
come. ' If mother chooses,' this lady remarked, 1 to make
up to a lot of idiots and pickpockets out of the street, and
ask them in to tea, just because they pretend to have come
with a message from that disgraceful Bob, I ain't a-going to
demean myself by sitting down with them !' saying which
she tossed her head and flounced out of the apartment.
Refined, however, as was Miss Flora's mind, her appe-
tite was considerable; and when the savoury odour of eggs
and fried ham—delicacies purchased suddenly as a treat for
the visitors—was wafted into Mr. Lagger's room, which his
fair attendant invariably occupied, in state, during his
absences, she began to soften. First she went down again
into the back parlour, under pretence of getting some work
which she had forgotten, and left the room tossing her head
with lessened severity. Then she reentered, finding that
no one entreated her to stay, and intimated that she had
condemned Master Augustus (this was her youngest brother)
to go supperless to bed on account of sundry acts of insub-
ordination committed by that juvenile during the day, but
added that perhaps she could be persuaded to let him off if
he begged her pardon. This Augustus—who had already
gorged until he was utterly unable to swallow another
mouthful, and was rapidly subsiding into a comatose state
—sleepily declined to do; whereupon his mother whipped
him with a severity out of all proportion to the fearful
howling which followed the infliction, and carried him off
to bed. What, then, could the fair Flora do but take the
vacant place, and preside?—'just to mind the children dur-
ing their mother's absence,' as she protested, ' nothing more,'
saying which she immediately helped herself to a plateful
of the savoury dish which had been exciting her gastric
juices, and made a very excellent meal.
UNDER HIS NOSE.
167
It was soon time for Helen to start for her theatre—
for she was to appear in the first piece—and she departed
smiling. It was soon time for the nomadic and predatory
young Wantleys to go to bed. Thitherward they were
driven, for the most part, howling; and then the way-
farers were left alone with the kindly widow and her eldest
daughter.
'How, Mr. Brooks,' said the latter, when she had
cleared the table, ' I'm sure you would like to smoke your
pipe a bit. So you take off your coat, and make yourself
comfortable.'
Jim was not slow to accede to her request, and was soon
puffing away at some excellent tobacco which the omnivor-
ous little shop provided ; whilst the fair and fragile Flora,
whose dislike to the fragrant weed was for a while subdued
by curiosity to hear what the—to her—unwelcome visitor
might have to say, sat at the window pretending to read
the current number of Crimes and Coronets, or the
Mysteries of the Peerage. But although the previous
number had left the innocent heroine hotly pursued by the
wicked nobleman along the sewers under the Westminster
Bridge-road, into which she had dug her way with a pair
of scissors from that reprehensible peer's mansion in St.
James's, the judicious peruser was too well versed in such
escapades to imagine for a moment that any harm would
result to injured innocence; and consequently had plenty
of attention to give to the conversation which ensued.
'But you don't mean to say,' remarked the widow,
when Jim had stated that he was bound to Sheffield, ' that
you're going to drag this poor thing'—indicating Nancy,
who had crept to her side, and was gazing wistfully in her
motherly face—' all that weary way V
' What else am I to do V asked Jim; ' I wouldn't if I
could help it; for it's most like I shall have to tramp back
agin if a gentleman as I met at West at Pen—zance,
you know, doesn't find me summut to do.'
' Hasn't she got any friends in London who would take
care of her whilst you were away V
' I wish she had.'
' And I suppose—hoping I don't intrude in asking—
168
A TANGLED SKEIN.
I suppose you can't afford to pay any one for taking care
of her V
11 could,' said Jim gravely, puffing away at his pipe;
' I could; mother left a little money behind her—saved up
for Nancy, I'll be bound. Leastwise 1 sha'n't touch a penny
of it. It comes altogether to nigh upon five pound, and I'd
give it all, cheerful, to any one as would give the poor lass
board and lodging, and use her well, for—well, say two
months; and after that, if I got work, I'd pay so much a
week out of my wages to keep her comfortable.'
'I'm sure that's very good of you.'
1 You see,' continued Jim, in a reflective tone, ' if she
was all right in her ye ad she could cook and that for me,
and keep a bit of a room neat and clean for us to live in.
But, bless you, she can't do nought, and a great rough chap
like me ain't no use to her. Look what she was afore your
good gal cleaned her up a bit, and look what she looks like
now !'
' I'm sure my Helen would be very kind. Helen would
do anything for anybody who belonged to anybody who was
kind to our poor Bob,' replied Mrs. Wantley.
' Ay !' said Brooks, ' she's one of the right sort, I can
see ; but it ain't likely that such as her would mind Nancy.
You don't happen to know any one,' he continued, after a
pause, ' who has childer of her own, and would feel kindly
like to a poor half-witted thing—some one who'd take care
on her for a time ? Because if you did, I'd give her the
money down, and I'd go and look for work with a light
heart.' And he cast a searching glance at the widow, as
though he were reading all that was passing in her mind.
The sum named as a subsidy was not a large one to
feed and board a full-grown woman upon, but as things
went in that frugal household it was quite sufficient, and a'
little to spare. Moreover, it had been a bad time lately in
the little shop. A fast young gentleman, who lodged
higher up in the street and had run up a longish score, ran
it off through the Insolvent Court just as the water-rate
(for which the expected payment had been intended) became
oppressively due. Then there was the intended journey to
Maidstone to see the crippled prodigal, and cherish his good
UNDER HIS NOSE.
169
resolves with more of the long-enduring motherly tenderness
which, like bread cast upon the waters, had come home at
last. That visit must be paid, if all the stock had to be
sold up to raise the money, and 1 it will cost a good bit,'
thought poor Mrs. Wantley.
Be good enough to remember that these calculations
relate to a household to which a few shillings a week, more
or less, made all the difference between plenty and want—
between the comfort of owing nothing and the misery of
debt. Please to think of this, ladies and gentlemen, when
you make your bargains, and tell Styles's little girl to call
again some other day for her mother's little account, as it
is too much trouble to get change now. You are at dinner,
you are going out for a drive, and are hurried. You are
just come in from a walk, and are tired. ' Bless the
woman !' you exclaim, ' why does she tease one so! Let
her send again.' These may seem small things to moralise
upon; but the parish unions can tell you of hard-working
folk who have ended their days in misery, because they had
too often to ' call again' at rich men's doors. The gaol and
the reformatory can tell you of children driven upon the
streets to starve when the bread-winner's little shop was
sold up, or his tools pawned to satisfy those who would
not ' call again' on Mm ! Fingers that once were decorated
with the insignia of honest toil, but upon which now glit-
ter Vice's costly fetters, could write the history of patient
work-girls, who would be patient work-girls still if grim
Hunger could be told, as they have been, to ' call again.'
Ay, and the black whirling river can show you the ghastly
forms of those who will never ' call again,' unless it be for
vengeance on those whose selfishness, indolence, or fraud
has brought them to their nameless graves.
It was no use to 1 call again' on the fast young gentle-
man, and the rate-collector had announced that he would
pay his last visit on the next morning but one. The tak-
ings of the little shop, with Mr. Lagger's rent and the
earnings of Helen and Charley, kept the honest household
afloat, despite the extravagances of Miss Flora; but there
was no surplus to be drawn upon for a contingency like the
present. So good Mrs. Wantley, after some hesitation,
170
A TANGLED SKEIN.
declared that she did really think that she knew somebody
who would be likely to take good care of poor Nancy.
' You see,' she said, ' she seems very quiet, and won't give
much trouble after all.'
' Trouble!' exclaimed Jim, who knew well what was •
coming • 'just give her some of them old pictures, or a
pair of scissors and a bit of paper to cut about, and she'll
sit as quiet as a mouse from morning to night.'
' The children would soon get fond of her,' mused Mrs.
Wantley, ' and she of them. And we could easy put her
up a bed.'
' You could V
'Bless me! what am I talking about? Well, my
thought's out now, you see, Mr. Brooks; and if you like to
trust me with your sister, why, I'll trust you to do what's
right in return.'
Riley sprang to his feet, and smacked his hand in hers.
' It's a bargain 1' he cried joyfully. ' By goles, it was good
luck that sent me here this night!'
The compact was not concluded without a protest from
the fair Flora, who declared that mother might do what
she liked, but she wasn't a-going to be put about by lunatics,
and so she told them. She thanked her stars that there
was them about as would soon see her settled somewhere
else—a hint of impending matrimony which the gentle
creature kept for occasions like the present.
The bargain, however, was struck, and the money paid
over, Mrs. Wantley insisting upon being allowed to draw
up in writing what she supposed to be an inflexibly formal
document which would bind her in the severest manner
to perform her part of the contract. To her sorrow, she
had become acquainted with the roundabout phraseology
of the law, as contained in the various mortgages and as-
signments made by her jovial but reckless husband; and
she made use of her knowledge, good honest dame, in the
following deed :
' I hereby promise for myself, my heirs, executors, ad-
ministrators, and assigns, to take care of .her, and treat her
well, and give her as much victuals as she can eat for two
UNDER HIS NOSE.
171
months, for this money, according to arrangements now
made. And I declare this to be my act and deed, anything
herein contained to the contrary notwithstanding.'
But as it did not show who the ' I' might be, or who
was the ' her' who was to be taken care of, or hc% much
' this money' amounted to, or what the ' arrangements now
made' were, and as, moreover, it bore no signature and no
date, it cannot be said to be a satisfactory production in a
legal point of view. It answered, however, all the purposes
for which it was made, and Jim Riley wrapped it up in a
piece of old newspaper and pocketed it with much apparent
satisfaction^
It was then resolved that Nancy should stay and begin
her sojourn that very night, sleeping with Helen till a bed
could be prepared for her—that Jim should be accommo-
dated at a respectable lodging-house, known to Mrs. Want-
ley, in Ruby-row—that he should depart for Sheffield the
next morning—and that out of his first wages he should
send up money to buy Nancy some clothes, or, failing his
obtaining employment, tbat the little which was requisite
should be purchased out of the five pounds and made up
afterwards—and, lastly, that Mrs. Wantley should go to
Maidstone by the parliamentary train on the following
Friday to see her erring son. Then they began to talk of
things in general, and, amongst others, of the gentleman
who had promised to help Riley if he went to Sheffield.
' I've got other friends down there as is likely to find
me something to do,' said Jim, ' besides that gentleman.
He lives in a great house near Durmstone, and I don't
expect there's much in my line to be done there.'
' Near Durmstone!' replied Mrs. Wantley, in a tone of
surprise; ' what is his name V
' Captain Stephen Frankland.'
1 Ah, I've heard that name somewhere, but I don't re-
member him. But, law ! it's twenty years and more since
I was near Durmstone, and I was there only for a few
weeks.'
< In the town V
4 No j I was living in service with Lord Penruthyn.
172
A TANGLED SKEIN.
It was my second place; I wasn't married then. Haven't
you ever heard tell of the Hon. Horace Penruthyn V
'No.'
1 He was a wild one! He was my lord's younger
brothe^ My lord was only a young man himself, and
rented an old house down there for the fishing and shoot-
ing, and what not. Eh, but it was a gloomy place ! It
nearly give me the horrors to live there; and 1 was not a
bit sorry when the establishment was broke up and the
family went abroad.'
1 Why was that, if I might make bold to ask?' said Jim.
1 Well, it was something to do with Mr. Horace and a
wild young friend of his—as wild a one as himself. They
was all as poor as mice for all their title, and he—that's
the Hon. Horace—got his brother into some awful scrape
with bills, and one thing and another, so that they was
obliged to make a flit of it without any warning. I lost
my wages, and so did the other servants; but I did not
mind that. I was quite satisfied to get clear of that ghastly
old house. Don't talk about it, it makes me creep to think
of it.'
So the subject was dropped; and soon afterwards, Helen
having returned early, as she was not wanted in the after-
piece, Nancy was again given into her charge, and Mr.
Brooks went his way to the lodging-house in Ruby-row,
saying that he would return in the morning to wish his
sister good-bye.
A long account of the inquest upon the murder in West-
borough Wood appeared in the next day's papers; and in-
stead of Jim Riley came a message from him, stating that
he had fallen in with a friend who was going into Yorkshire,
and with whom he had agreed to travel in company; but
as this friend would start as early as daybreak, why, Mr.
Brooks would not disturb Mrs. Wantley, but wished her
and Nancy good-bye, and they should soon hear from him.
Nancy never missed him. At first she was restless and
querulous in her new home; but Helen and Mrs. Wantley
were very good and gentle with the poor creature, and the
children kept her constantly amused; so that in a very
short time she not only became quite contented with the .
UNDER HIS NOSE.
173
change, but seemed to brighten up considerably. Her un-
changed eventless life, in the little cottage at Westborough,
was almost enough of itself to deaden any intellect that
was not of the strongest. Certainly, it had the worst pos-
sible effect upon a mind which had never yet awakened.
Little Union-street—not, as we have seen, the gayest of
localities—was to her full of wonders, and the humble shop
and its customers slowly filled her mind with new but vague
ideas, which, confused and distorted as they were, were
better than no ideas at all.
In due time Mr. Lagger returned to his lodgings. He
sauntered in as though he had just been as far as the door
to see whether it was fine or raining, and by some chance
stumbled over Nancy on the staircase. This happened
upon the day on which Mrs. Wantley had gone to Maid-
stone. Helen was absent at a rehearsal, Charley was in the
Temple, and the elegant Miss Flora, being engaged in a
flirtation with Mr. Cornelius Bruffer, the chemist next door,
the small Wantleys, left to themselves, were devastating
the neighbourhood, and getting among the horses' hoofs
and under the wheels of the vehicles passing down Ruby-
row. How comes it that small children of this class cannot
be run over 1 If you were to place the infant heir to ten
thousand a year alone in Little Union-street, he would be
a mangled corpse in as many minutes.
Nancy was, therefore, all alone; and having a vague
notion that the person left to ' mind the shop' was expected
to treat all incomers as so many natural enemies thereto,
flew fiercely at the detective, and would have ejected him
summarily, to his intense astonishment, if Miss Flora—
attracted by the disturbance—had not made her appear-
ance.
1 Hoity-toity !' exclaimed Mr. Lagger; ' what's all this
about V
' If you please, sir, it's only a poor lunatic that mother
would go and take charge of, to worrit us all. She won't
hurt you.'
' I won't take my oath of that,' replied the lodger, cast-
. ing a doubtful glance at Nancy's flushed and angry face.
< Who the dickins is she f
174
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Asking this, he gave what Helen would call 1 a cue,'
and it was taken immediately, for Nancy replied eagerly,
11 live at the third cottage opposite the well, a mile and
a bit from Westborough
If Mr. Sampson Lagger had never yet been taken
aback during his long professional experience, he was fairly
taken aback now. His astonishment vented itself in a long
low whistle.
' Whee—u—u ! Westborough, eh ! And where's bro-
ther Jim V
Ay, where was brother Jim ? Nancy could give no in-,
formation; but Flora told what she knew of his movements
—and Mr. Lagger did not sleep that night at home.
CHAPTER XIII.
on the track.
Stephen Frankland's anticipation that there would be
nothing in Brandron's heavy luggage to give a clue to
Mangerton Chase was correct. It consisted, for the most
part, of articles evidently intended as presents to the gen-
tier sex, and of great value. Cashmere shawls, exquisite
Indian muslins, bracelets and other ornaments in gold and
silver filigree work; boxes, ornaments, and puzzles carved
in ivory and sandalwood—curiosities of all sorts there were
in plenty, and underneath, at the bottom of the box, Ste-
phen found a bundle of shares in a Calcutta bank which he
knew to be worth near upon eight hundred pounds. There
was also some wearing-apparel; but no letters—no papers
or memoranda of any value whatever for carrying out the
quondam owner's dying request.
We have seen that Stevie had well considered the man-
ner in which the clue was to be sought for. The key to the
secret was in the hands of Father Eustace; and the first
step was to find him out and obtain an interview, or to
ascertain with what institution likely to afford a home to
ON THE TRACK.
175
such a person as Mary Alston he was connected, some time
between the years 1838—when Brandron went to India—
and 1859, when he received the letter signed ' Susan.'
But how was Stephen to commence these inquiries—and
where ? He had thought over this many a time before he
left home on his search, and from questions which he had
put in a casual manner to the Yicar of Durmstone and
Percy Coryton—who was a Roman Catholic, but, I am
afraid, not a very good one—he learnt that something in
the nature of a Clergy List was issued at the office of a
notorious Roman Catholic newspaper which was published
every week in the Strand. To the office of this journal he went
direct from the railway-station, and obtained permission to
look over the current list, and such of the lists for previous
years as were on the premises. These went back as far as
1847, and the publisher was not sure whether there were
any others. He rather thought that the publication was
commenced then, or thereabouts ; but was not quite certain.
In none of these was the name of Father Eustace.
Stephen next began to inquire about institutions in
which a person in humble life could obtain a home, but
obtained very vague replies. Such public institutions as
existed in London would be mentioned in the Post-Office
Directory. The publisher knew nothing about those in
the country; perhaps the sub-editor did, only he was out;
and the editor never came to the office. The publisher
rather thought there was one at Birmingham, and one at
Salford, and had heard about one at Liverpool. This much,
however, he could say: there was no printed guide whatever
which would give the inquirer such information as he de-
sired, relative to all England or to private charities. Was
the publisher acquainted with any person who would he
likely to know? Well, perhaps the sub-editor might.
Would Stephen call again 1 Stephen promised to do so,
and left the shop a little dashed by this failure in a quarter
from which he had been led to expect so much.
An interview with the sub-editor was fixed for the next
day at two o'clock; and, being so near the Temple, Stephen
thought he would call upon Cuddy Lindsay by way of killing
time. He found no difficulty in getting into this abode of
176
A TANGLED SKEIN.
learning; but after having wandered to and fro amongst
its courts and passages for about three quarters of an hour,
he perceived it to be by no means so easy for the stranger
to get out of it, or to find any point therein of which he was
in search, particularly if he trusted to the directions of the
clerks and ticket-porters who infested its precincts.
At last he stumbled upon Sycamore-court, and upon the
lintel of No. 7 found painted the name of Mr. Cuthbert
Lindsay, with two others, as occupying the third floor. He
sprang up the stairs, and, when he had mounted about half
way, encountered a young gentleman laboriously engaged
in zoological investigations. He had caught an unlucky
mouse, and, having tied a long piece of black thread securely
to its tail, was trying to make it walk up one of the ban-
nisters backwards. Of course Stephen boxed his ears.
There is a sort of boy to box whose ears in passing is a
debt one owes to society, and which society should exact.
It may not be quite legal perhaps; but this is a fault in
the law which will not be wholly just until it makes box-
ing the ears of an electric-telegraph boy discovered playing
marbles, a doctor's boy caught sliding on the pavement, or
an office-boy seen playing on the staircase, an assault not
only justifiable, but compulsory.
The delinquent upon this occasion—who was no other
than our friend Charley Wantley—resented the infliction
after the manner of his tribe. He stiffened his arms, held
them behind him, and, thrusting his chin very close to the
bottom of Stephen's waistcoat, requested him to hit him
(Charley) again, in a tone which threatened the severest
consequences in case the blow were repeated. In the con-
fusion the mouse escaped, and Stephen, pushing its indignant
tormentor aside, continued his ascent, and found Cuddy's
door open. He was about to enter, when Charley ran up,
and seeing whither the stranger was bound, assumed a peni-
tential mien, and asked whom he pleased to want.
He was about to reply, when strange sounds from within
attracted his attention. First came a slight noise, as though
of a struggle; and then a voice, which he knew to be
Cuddy's, exclaimed,
'Now, I say, put me down, Jackson, please put me
on the tback.
177
down ! Con—found you ! Don't—don't ! Don't be a
fool! Put me down!'
' Then swear you won't tell.'
' I'll see you hanged first! 0 !'
At this moment an inner door was thrown open, and a
gentleman in red-morocco slippers and a velvet shooting-
jacket, who could have commanded a handsome salary as
the giant in a travelling show, appeared in the passage,
carrying Cuddy in his arms as a nurse would carry an in-
fant, and occasionally tossing him as infants are tossed.
' You great idiot,' screamed Cuddy, ' put me down!
Don't you see there's some one at the door V
The great idiot did not, for his back was towards it;
but thus appealed to, he dropped Cuddy in so summary a
manner, that if the little man had not had a good hold on
his nurse's whiskers he might have come to grief.
' I think you used to know this person, Stevie,' said
Lindsay, when the first greetings were exchanged. ' He
was with us at Rugby. He owns to the vulgar name of
Jackson. Jackson, Captain Frankland.'
' I am ashamed,' replied Stevie, ' to own that I do not
remember Mr. Jackson.'
' 0,1 only came just as yom were leaving. I was quite
a little fellow when you were a preposter,' was Jackson's
reply.
' I hope to goodness that I never thrashed you, then !'
said Stephen gaily, glancing at the Herculean proportions
of the speaker, who thereupon roared out a hearty laugh,
and observed, that if Stevie had done so, he probably well
deserved all he had got.
There is a sort of freemasonry in these things; and
Stephen, who would have been as stiff and cold as Gold-
Stick-in-Waiting towards the giant, had he been a stranger,
warmed up towards him directly he heard that they had
been together for a few weeks at the same public school.
' Your state is the more gracious, I assure you,' Cuddy
observed,' for not remembering the creature called Jackson.
It was indulging its fierce and brutal nature when you
came in.'
' If you only knew, Captain Frankland, what a desper-
N
178
A TANGLED SKEIN.
ate little tyrant Caddy is in these chambers, you would
consider him mercifully dealt with. It is the only way we
have of bringing him to order.'
' Don't say we,' replied a voice from the inner room;
' and either come in or shut the door.'
' The person who now speaks,' said Cuddy, ushering
Stephen into the apartment from whence the voice pro-
ceeded, ' is another familiar, whom I picked up at Merton.
He is a working creature, and has recently put us to open,
shame by getting briefs. Captain Frankland, Lorimer.
Jackson, you may smoke one pipe! Stevie, behold some
bitter beer ! Lorimer, put away those insulting briefs!
And now, my children, you know one another—bless you !
—be happy!'
After a short but pleasant conversation, Jackson and
Lorimer left the room.
' Those are two of the best fellows in the world,' said
Cuddy, shutting the door after them, 'in diametrically
opposite ways. They have rooms of their own on the
opposite side of the lobby, but they are always with me, or
I with them. How tell me how you found all at home?
What a grand splash you had on the 31st! We saw it all
in the Illustrated.'
' To tell plain truth, it was an awful bore to me,' Stevie
replied; ' but the dear, old governor was pleased, and the
mater too ; so it was all right in the end.'
' Anything discovered about poor Brandron ?'
' Nothing. I have called to-day to ask your advice
about a matter closely connected with him.'
' What is it ?'
' Don't be offended, old man, if I say that I may not
tell you. I can ask you what I want to know, but must
not tell you why I want to know it. You must have per-
ceived at the inquest that there was a secret between us
that I cannot reveal.'
' I did; and I know well that you are not the man to
break your word. Use me just as you please, Stevie, and
I shall be delighted to give you any assistance in my power,
without asking why or wherefore. What do you want to
know V
ON THE TRACK.
179
' I want to find out one Father Eustace, a Roman
Catholic priest, who is, or was, connected with some charit-
able institution in England.'
' Then Lorimer is your man !' Cuddy exclaimed. " He
is a great theologian; and he and a distinguished Papist,
who knows everybody and everything, are constantly en-
gaged in the profitable occupation of consigning their
mutual souls to perdition, each supposing that he is rapidly
converting the other. Here, Dragon !'
Dragon responded to the call, in the person of Charley,
so christened by Jackson on account of his name of Want-
ley being associated with dragons.
' Go and tell Mr. Lorimer he is wanted,' Cuddy com-
manded; (but Mr. Jackson is not to come. Quick
now!'
Lorimer appeared, and Stephen's wish being explained
as far as was necessary, he readily promised to give the
latter an introduction to his friend and polemical foe, the
Reverend Mr. O'Hara—1 only,' he added, as he sat down
to write the note, 1 you will excuse my advising you not to
let him draw you into a religious argument, unless you
happen to be very well up in controversy.'
Stephen replied that he would take care of that; and
after some more jolly talk and chaff amongst the friends, in
which the giant—or Gigas, as they called Jackson—was
permitted to join, Stephen took his departure; and not
caring to trust himself again in the labyrinths of the Tern-
pie, hailed 1 a hansom,' which he found in King's Bench-
walk, and drove off to Finsbury-circus, where the Reverend
Mr. O'Hara resided.
He found there a brawny middle-aged Irishman, who
received him with the greatest bonhomie, and laughed a
rich deep laugh, that matched well with his rich deep
brogue, at almost every remark he made.
' Assist you—Ha ! ha ! ha ! Of course I yvill—if I
can. Glad to see any friend of Lorimer's !—Ha ! ha ! ha !
So you want to find Father Eustace, eh?—Ha ! ha ! Well,
sit ye down—sit ye down—Ha! ha ! ha ! and before we go
any further ye'll take a bit of lunch with me, for I can't
talk on an empty stomach, and I have not tasted bit, bite,
180
A TANGLED SKEIN.
or sup, since one o'clock this day.' It was then half-past
four.
In vain Stephen protested against this exercise of hos-
pitality from a perfect stranger. The jolly priest laughed
louder than ever, pooh-poohed his scruples, and rang the
bell. The summons was answered by a neat-handed Phillis,
who had an intuitive knowledge of what would be wanted,
as she returned in about three minutes with a tray, upon
which the greater part of a cold fowl, a Strasbourg pie, a
crusty loaf with its head set on in a confidential and invit-
ing manner, and a foaming tankard of fat ale, were set out
on the snowiest of cloths.
Having done ample justice to these good things, to his
reverend entertainer's intense delight, expressed by chuckles
which surged and bubbled up from depths deep beneath
his ample waistcoat, Stephen found that he had been
hungry, and gave the most practical admissions of that
fact, notwithstanding all he had declared to the contrary.
At last the tray was cleared off. ' And now,' said the padre,
crossing his comfortable legs and drawing back his chair,
' now to business. Are ye quite sure ye'll not take a glass
of toddy, or anything else ?'
1 Quite sure!'
'Just to settle the pie !' insinuated the jolly priest.
' Many thanks—no. I never touch spirits.'
' Ye're wrong. Indeed, ye're wrong—Ha ! ha ! ha ! A
jug of wholesome punch—in moderation, mind—is the
stomach's best friend.'
' What would the Temperance folks say to that doctrine V
' That! for the Temperance folks,' replied Mr. O'Hara,
snapping his fat fingers. ' Let those who cannot master
their appetites take an oath to touch nothing, for fear they
should take too much; but let moderate men enjoy the
good things Providence gives them, in their own way.'
' Well,' said Stephen, smiling, ' I did not expect—'
' Did not expect what V
1 Why, if I must finish a sentence imprudently begun,
I did not expect to hear such—such—'
' Go on—Ha ! ha! ha ! Such common sense from a
priest, eh ? Was that what you were going to say ?'
ON THE TKACK.
181
' Something like it,' said Stevie, ' I must confess.'
I Know us a little longer and a little more, my dear
sir,' replied Mr. O'Hara, with more earnestness than he
had yet displayed, ' and ye'll find that treating human
beings as human beings, and talking common sense to
them, is the secret of the hold we have on our parishioners.
Your clergy, for the most part, preach over the heads of
the poor. This, and your pew system, is what keeps them
from your churches. But to business—to business—Ha !
ha! ha ! Ye want to discover Father Eustace.'
II do; and if you will—'
' Sure, I'll do anything for ye that I can. But tell me
now, first of all, what's his surname V
' His surname V
1 Faith, yes; a man has two names, if he's a Christian ;
and Eustace sounds to me more like a Christian name than
a surname.'
41 never thought of that,' said Stephen, in a tone of
vexation.
' Maybe he is a foreigner V
' That I cannot say. All I know of him is, that he
was connected with some institution (which I suppose to
be in England) within the last twenty years. I own it
seems absurd to trouble you upon so meagre a clue.'
4 Not a bit of it—Ha ! ha ! ha ! What made me ask
you if he is a foreigner is, that our priests are not usually
called by their Christian names in this country. Maybe it
is a surname after all. Eustace—Eustace! Eustace !
The name seems familiar too. Where can I have heard it ?
Faith, I have it!' The padre did not laugh this time, but
grew suddenly grave, and asked abruptly, 4 What do you
want him for V
' That I may not tell you.'
4 Hum ! Will you tell me what you don't want him
for, if I put a few questions to ye V
4 Certainly.'
4 If ye did find him out, would it be to his detriment V
4 No. I want him to direct me to a certain place—no
more.'
4 And if he directed you to this place, whatever or
182
A TANGLED SKEIN.
wherever it may be, would anything happen prejudicially
to one of our faith V
1 On the contrary, an act of justice would be performed,
in which I believe every good Christian, be he Protestant or
Catholic, would rejoice.'
' You are connected with the law V said the priest
quickly.
4 Not I.'
' Or with some public department V
1 No. I am acting as a private individual, attempting
to carry out the wishes of a friend who died before he could
fully express them.'
' One question more, and I have done. Supposing that
you are enabled to carry out those wishes fully, will they,
in your judgment, and upon the honour of a gentleman,
affect, directly or indirectly, the propagation of the Holy
Faith' (here the priest crossed himself), 1 in this country or
abroad?'
* I thinks I can say, conscientiously, that they will not.
I give you my honour, that, if I find them likely to do so,
I will make no use of any information I may glean from
Mr. Eustace in carrying them out. I can say no more.'
' You have said enough. I will give you a letter to a
person who, I have every reason'to believe, can tell you what
you require to know. Whether he will, or not, is a matter
for himself. Excuse me for a short time.' So saying
Mr. O'Hara left the room, and returned in about a quarter
of an hour with a note in his hand.
' It is usual, I know,' he said, ' to send letters of intro-
duction open, but you must excuse my sealing this. Go
to the person to whom it is addressed,' he continued, handing
Stevie the note; 'only, mind, I do not say he will assist
you, I only think he can'
They then talked of things in general, and the jolly
priest began to laugh again.
It was too late that day for Stephen to follow up his
search; but the next afternoon he proceeded to the address
given by O'Hara, and sent up the letter of introduction
with his card.
He was shown into a spacious room with folding doors.
ON THE TRACK.
183
The carpet was of the thickest velvet pile, into which the
foot sank deep at every step. The furniture, which was
of the most elegant and costly description, was of walnut,
covered, where covering was required, with morocco leather
of a dark-green tint. Curtains of dark-green cloth, bound
with gold twist, half closed the plate-glass windows. A
few choice water-colour drawings hung upon the walls, and
statuettes in alabaster and bronze of rare beauty were sprin-
kled here and there, unobtrusively, throughout the apart-
ment, around all sides of which ran a low book-case well
stored with richly-bound volumes. Stephen saw at a glance
that he was in the domain of a man of wealth and taste; and,
absorbed in contemplation of so many pleasing objects, did
not perceive that the folding doors had opened, and that
its master was standing between them, watching him.
He was a man of about forty—slight and tall, and
dressed entirely in black. His brow was broad and massive,
his face pinched and sharp in the lower portion, and he
had glittering restless eyes, which seemed to eat into
anything upon which they fixed. He fixed them upon
Stephen Frankland as he turned, and the cold piercing
glance sent a shudder creeping through him from head to
heel. The manner of this person, though distant, was
courteous in the extreme—a wonderful contrast, though,
to that of the jovial priest in Finsbury-circus.
' Captain Frankland, I presume V he said, bowing po-
litely. * Pray be seated. You have seen Mr. O'Hara V
' I have; upon a subject which, doubtless, he has named
in his letter.'
' He has done so. You seek information respecting
Father Eustace 1'
Stephen bowed assent.
* He was here last night. He sat, if I recollect aright,
in the very chair which you now occupy.'
' Then he lives in England V exclaimed Stephen, de-
lighted with the news.
'Well, hardly so. He had just arrived from Copen-
hagen when I saw him, and early this morning he sailed for
Australia.'
Stephen's bright look fell.
184
A TANGLE!) SKEIN.
' Will he be away long V he asked.
' He cannot tell; no one can tell how long he may re-
main. He may return by the next mail; he may spend
the rest of his life there.'
i I owe you an apology for asking so apparently vague
a question,' said Stephen; ' but as he is not approachable,
can you put me in the way of—'
* Ascertaining what institutions he has been connected
with V interposed the gentleman with thq restless eyes, con-
suiting O'Hara's letter, which he held open in his hand.
' Certainly. He was educated at Stony hurst. You are,
probably, acquainted with that college V
' I cannot say that I am,' said Stephen.
The previous speaker smiled, and continued: i He
became one of its professors of theology. Subsequently, he
was made master of St. Patrick's Catholic Schools here, in
London, and left them to be confessor to the Queen of
Spain. His next appointment was as chaplain in the work-
house at Skibbereen in Ireland, and afterwards he acted for
some time as secretary to the principal of one of our con-
vents at Hull. His movements upon leaving this were very
unsettled; do you wish me to follow them 1 I can do so.'
' I am giving you an infinity of trouble.'
* Not at all. First he went to New York; from thence
to Mexico ; from thence he returned for a short time to the
Isle of Jersey; from thence he passed to France, Constan-
tinople, and Bengal. He was at Calcutta for, let me think,
eighteen months, and then—'
* Pardon me ! It may save you some trouble if I ask,
Was he connected during this time with any institution in
which an English person of the grade of a domestic servant
would enter V
' No; his last appointment, bearing anything like a
permanent character, was that which I have mentioned at
Hull.'
' May I ask in what year he filled this V
' He went in 1840, and left in 1845.'
' And since that time he has been travelling abroad V
1 Exactly.'
' Then I think 'I have gained the clue I seek.'
ON THE TRACK.
185
'1 hope you may be successful in carrying out your
object.' And the speaker fixed his glistening eyes on
Stephen's as though he were looking through them into
his mind and reading it there.
Stephen thanked him for his wish, and the service ren-
dered towards fulfilling it, and took his leave well satisfied
with that day's work. He determined to go to Hull by the
night mail, but, having plenty of time to spare, thought he
would look up Cuthbert Lindsay again and acquaint him
with the progress he had made.
Cuddy was out when he called, and so was Gigas; but
Lorimer was in, hard at work upon some pleas.
' I won't disturb you,' Stevie said; '1 only came to tell
Cuddy I was going out of town for a day or two, and to
thank you for the very valuable assistance you have ren-
dered me.'
' You've found out what you wanted then V
' Thanks to you, I have.'
'From O'Hara?'
1 No; from a friend of his to whom he recommended
me.'
' Who was that, if I may ask ?'
' Certainly.' And Stephen repeated the name which
was written on the letter.
Lorrimer appeared greatly astonished at what he heard.
' Indeed ! and did you see him V
' Yes.'
' And he told you— V
1 Exactly what I wanted to know—at least, I hope so.'
' I should not have thought he would,' said Lorimer
musingly.
' Why not V
' Because he is not the sort of man to give information
without knowing exactly how it is to be used.'
' Do you know him, then?'
' Only by name. Who does not V
'I, for one,' replied Stevie. * Who, and what, is he?'
' You don't mean to say that you don't know V
'Hot I. He seems to be a man of taste, and speaks
like a gentleman.'
186
A TANGLED SKEIN.
1 He is the General of the Jesuits,' said Lorimer; 'take
care what you are about, if what you have to do should in-
terfere with any of the schemes of his order.'
Stephen was not so much struck as Lorimer expected
with this discovery. The Jesuits and their chief were no-
thing to this honest-hearted young soldier. The man had
been civil enough, and might have easily declined to give
the information if he had not wished to do so. He had
entered into minute details respecting the movements of
Father Eustace, and so showed that he had nothing to con-
ceal about him. This Stephen explained to his new acquaint-
ance, and so the matter ended for the present. >
The next morning found him in Hull, at the convent
gate; but in the mean time he had thought a little more
deeply about Lorimer's warning. 'From excess of caution,'
he thought, 'they may perhaps throw some obstacles in my
way, so I will not ask if they know anything about Susan's
sister, but boldly take it for granted that she is hdre.' So
when his summons was answered by the porteress he said,
' I want to see Mary Alston.'
To which the porteress replied,
' Please to step in, sir, and I will tell her.'
' She is here, then,' thought Stephen. ' So far so good,'
and he entered the convent hall.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHECK I
The convent was an ordinary street house, or rather,
three ordinary street houses knocked into one; and there
was nothing about its appearance, external or internal, as
far as Stephen could see, to indicate anything peculiar in
the mode of life of its inhabitants. It might have been a
boarding-house, a school, the residence of a very large family,
a ' special' hospital,-or, indeed, anything else. Butchers and
bakers came to its door, as to others; received their orders,
CHECK!
187
and sometimes did a little bit of flirtation on their own
account with servants of the ordinary type. Postmen
brought letters and passed them into the letter-box for
every one to take her own and read what she listed. Through
a glass door at the end of the hall Stephen could see that
there was a large and well-laid-out garden behind the house,
and in the room into which he was shown to wait he found
most of the periodicals of the day, from the Quarterly
Review down to the current number of Punch, which openly
displayed an illustration by no means flattering to the Pope.
For a man naturally diffident and shy of strangers as
was Stephen Frankland, he had hitherto got on remarkably
well in his interviews. The bonhomie of O'Hara, and the
curiosity and excitement which his visit to the General of
the Jesuits had roused, prevented him from plaguing him-
self with a dozen-and-one tiresome scruples which would
have stood in his way under other circumstances. But now
that he had so far successfully pursued the track, and was,
as he supposed, on the very verge of an important discovery,
he felt as restless and apprehensive as a child. ' If it were
a man now,' he thought, 'that I am going to see, I should
know how to deal with him; but a woman !—and of all sorts
of women a nun ! What am I to say to her ? How open the
subject? Suppose she begins to cry, or faints, what on
earth am I to do ? Of course she has been taught to con-
sider all men monsters of iniquity, and if I am not awfully
careful she may get frightened, and refuse to tell me any-
thing.'.
As Stephen thus mused, a woman, dressed as a Sister
of Charity, in a plain black-stuff dress, and plain white-
linen cap fastened with a broad band under the chin, en-
tered the room, closed the door behind her, and stood with
her arms folded—as servants sometimes stand waiting for
orders—close inside it.
Though her posture was that of a dependent, there was
no token of dependency in her demeanour. A more mascu-
line figure,' a harder and more cruel-looking face, than that
which she turned upon him, Stephen never remembered to
have seen, as she stood biting her thin bloodless lips, and
staring at him boldly under her contracted brows.
188
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Stephen bowed, and placed a chair for her.
4 You have sent for me,' she said, waving aside the prof-
fered seat; ' what do you want V
4I am going to ask you to let me have a few moments'
conversation with you. Pray take a chair.'
4 No.'
' Then I must stand too,' said Stephen, rising.
1 You can do as you please. Go on with what you have
to say.'
I First let me be sure that I am troubling the right
person. Do I address Miss Alston ?'
(My name is Mary Alston.'
4 Then will you be good enough to give me the address
of your sister V
II have no sister.'
4 Indeed ! Am I not correct in supposing that you have
a sister named Susan, who once—long ago—lived at Man-
gerton Chase V
4 I had such a sister; but she broke all ties of relation-
ship when she went to the house you have mentioned. She
has been dead to me for more than twenty years. She is
dead to all now.'
4 Dead !' exclaimed Stephen.
4 It is little I hear or care, to know of those whom I was
associated with in other days,' replied the stern Sister of
Charity; ' but I have lately learned that she is dead. She
has my prayers, but neither my pity nor my regret. She
should have died long ago.'
4 It is not for me to ask why one in your position should
speak so bitterly of a near relative,' said Stephen, disgusted
at her harshness. 4I have only now to request, as I cannot
get the information from her, that you will he so obliging
as to direct me to Mangerton Chase V
4 How can IT
4 Your sister lived there V
4 Well V
' Surely, if, as I gather from what you have just said,
her going there gave you offence, you must be able to tell
me where she went V
4 She left her home,' said Mary Alston,4 contrary to the
CHECK!
189
wishes of her parents, and against my advice. Her home
was too quiet and religious for her frivolous and sinful
mind. She persuaded her youngest sister to accompany
her, and led the wretched girl to her perdition here and
hereafter. They shook the dust off their feet against us,
and we closed our doors and our thoughts to them for ever.
I know that she who was once my sister Lucy brought dis-
grace upon our honest name. I know that she who was
once my sister Susan took menial service in some great
man's family. I know no more.'
' Not even the name of that family ?'
' No.'
1 Or where is Mangerton Chase, in which they lived ?'
< No.'
' God help me !' moaned Stephen ; ' this is bad news
indeed. Pray excuse my being importunate. I do assure
you I am actuated by no idle curiosity. To find Mangerton
Chase is of the greatest importance to me. Think, con-
sider well, before you reply. Can you give me no clue to
it—no clue to any one who may know it, or the name of its
owner ?'
1 None.'
' Will you tell me where you lived when your sisters left
home V
' Close to Ipswich.'
' Do you know where they went from thence ?'
' First to Cambridge, and then to London.'
' And how long after their departure from Ipswich was
it that you heard your sister Susan had gone to live at
Mangerton Chase?'
1 About eighteen months. She deceived us by getting
some stranger to direct the letter in which she stated where
she had gone, otherwise we should not have opened it.'
I One question more,' said Stephen, ' and I will trouble
you no further. Is her husband alive V
II was not aware till three days ago that she had been
married.'
' Some of your family may know; will you—'
' By associating herself with what brought shame upon
us all, she was disowned by her family. There is not a
190
A TANGLED SKEIN.
member of it, now that my father and mother are no more,
who are aware such a person existed,'
1 She might have written to some of her relations un-
known to you V
I Perhaps.'
' Will you enable me to see some of your connections
to ask V
'No.'
' You have a reason for declining, I suppose ?'
II have. I do not choose to rake up old sores to please
a stranger.'
(Believe me that I wish to do no such thing. I pledge
you my word that I will not mention your sister's name,
but only ask if they know Mangerton Chase.'
' They will not know it.'
1 How can you tell ?'
The Sister of Charity made no reply, but stood motion-
less, as she had stood all the while, with her arras folded,
biting her thin lips, her cold stern gaze fixed on Stephen.
' Am I to understand you as still refusing ?' he asked,
after a long and, to him, embarrassing pause.
' You are.'
' Then,' said Stephen, 1I can do no more, and so I take
my leave.'
The Sister of Charity stepped three paces aside to let
him pass, but did not return his bow, and left the room by
an opposite door, without glancing to the right or left.
' It's queer, isn't it V said the porteress to one of the
other servants, soon after she had let Stephen out, ' that
Sister Mary should have had three visitors since Monday T
' Lor, Anne ! what of that V said the person addressed;
«why, some of the ladies have four or five every week.'
' So they do,' replied the porteress ; ' but I've been here
sixteen years come Christmas, and I never knew her have
one person to see her all that time. Now three come one
after the other. There's something up, I'll be bound. I
wonder what it is ?'
If Sister Mary had been willing to tell Stephen all she
knew, and the result had come to nothing, the chances are
that his failure upon, as he thought, the very brink of
CHECK!
191
success, would have dashed his spirits and made him very
hopeless for the future. There are some people, however,
for whom opposition is the best spur, and Frankland was
one of them. ' No,' he said to himself—dealing his knee a
mighty thump, as the train started with him back again to
London—' no, I'll see her hanged first! I'll not give it up.
I'll find Mangerton Chase yet, in spite of all the Sisters of
Charity that ever scowled. The old catamaran ! I wonder
if her relations could have told me anything ? Mangerton
Chase—Mangerton Chase. Confound it! It sounds a
name that everybody ought to know—like Alton Towers,
or Haddon Hall, or Belvoir Castle; but nobody seems to
have ever heard of it. If it were not for " Susan's" letter
I should doubt there was such a place, and treat it as a
myth of poor Brandron's delirium—like the woman he
fancied he saw sitting by the window. Then, if it wasn't
for the armoury and the tapestry that he spoke of, one
might fancy it to be some cockney affair, built by a retired
cheesemonger. But no ! It's an old house—that's clear.
It's probably a large house ; for, according to old catamaran'
—(by which unflattering expression Stevie was wont, in his
own mind, to designate Sister Mary)—' her sister took ser-
vice in some great man's family. Ha, ha ! she did give me
one wrinkle, in spite of her teeth, though I ought to have
known it before from what Brandron hinted. It's a noted
house, or he would have told me where it was. He evi-
dently took it for granted that I should know, or easily as-
certain, and so devoted his mind to describing whereabouts
in it the papers would be found.'
Thus musing, Stephen began to recall what Brandron
had said on various subjects, and remembered the fears ex-
pressed by him, lest, in an unwary moment, he had betrayed
to his murderer where the papers were concealed; and a
moment's consideration of this point sufficed to knock on
the head a scheme which Frankland had formed. It would
not do to advertise. He had no doubt but that an inquiry
touching Mangerton Chase in that mysterious second column
of the Times would bring him a dozen answers, particularly
if the hope of a reward were held out to the informer. But
then it would give a very dangerous hint to others, if
192
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Brandron had made known the depository of the secret.
There was just a chance, Stephen thought, that the person
or persons interested in preventing its being brought to
light would not, or perhaps could not, act immediately upon
the information; but the moment they found out that some
one else was on the track, they would be sure not to lose a
moment. ' They must know well enough where Mangerton
Chase is,' Stephen thought, * and could be beforehand with
me. No, no; it would not do to advertise, except as a last
resource, and the time has not yet come for that. I have
not seen much of England out of our own county. I'll do a
little travelling some day soon, and see if I cannot hit upon
this mysterious house that way. It's no use my bothering
my head about the clue—that's done for. I'll be bound,
that if ever I find Mangerton Chase at all, I shall stumble
upon it by accident, and when I least expect to hear of it.'
So he returned to London, and deposited Brandron's
property, under seal, with his agents. ' I may know,' he
thought, ' some day, perhaps, for whom it was intended.'
Then he went back to Tremlett Towers, and settled down
quietly in his home. He remarked no particular changes
in it or its ways. It seemed to him that he had taken up
with it again pretty nearly about the point at which his con-
nection was broken off, and that all the years he had spent
in India went for nothing. The trees had grown a little,
and Frank had grown a great deal; the ivy had overrun
the old portion of the house somewhat thicker and prettier,
and there had been a change of under-servants—that was
all. To others, though—to those who had become familiar
with the state of things which the ' dear Francis' regime had
inaugurated—there was a change indeed. Lord de Carta-
rett, and the Nevilles, Corytons, Markbys, Mainwarings, and
scores of other pleasant and hearty young fellows who had
been Stevie's chums in former days, but who, as we have
seen, had lately begun to fight shy of 'the Towers,' on
account of the airs and graces assumed by ' dear Francis,'
rallied round his brother and themselves; and their division
of the county of Derby was a gayer place that bright August
than it had been for many a long day.
You see, Tremlett Towers had come to be considered
CHECK!
193
the 'great house' of the district (for Lord de Cartarett,
though a peer, was by no means a rich man, and being a
bachelor, had let his grand house to some people who were
not visited) ; and possibly you may be aware that it is not
lawful to do anything in the country that is not first done
at the great house. If the great house gets up picnics and
archery-meetings, or if its sons patronise the village cricket-
club, then picnics and archery-meetings are charming recrea-
tions, and it is quite the thing for everybody to go and
witness the great match between ' our club' and the ' eleven'
from Muddleborough. But if the initiative be taken in any
other quarter—no matter how well everything may be done
—Materfamilias must impress upon her daughters the im-
propriety of joining this picnic, or attending that archery-
meeting, and wonder what pleasure any one can find in seeing
a lot of low fellows knock a ball about.
It follows, therefore, that if the great house chooses to
be stupid and sulky, all the country within reach of its in-
fluence must be stupid and sulky in company. When Stevie
had been at hand to take all the trouble of arrangement off
her hands, and before poor Sir George had been extinguished
as a motive-power in his wife's house, Lady Tremlett had
been a great patron of such amusements as I have indicated;
but Mr. Tremlett had no taste for them. They were frivo-
lous and puerile, he said; and as his wisdom increased, so
the country became more and more stupid. At first his
lady mother missed the gaieties in which she used to shine
—a bright and particular star; and once or twice feebly
suggested it would be very nice to do this, that, or the
other; but she lacked the energy to move herself, even for
her own pleasure; and after Sir George had been snubbed
sufficiently for attempting to move on her behalf, the once
accustomed diversions faded away, and grave stately dinner-
parties, from which, as soon as the coffee had been served,
the guests fled as from the plague, and now and then a
solemn meeting of the county archaeological society, became
the only diversions contributed by, or patronised by, the
great house.
This was a state of affairs of which Stephen had no
knowledge, He began to do just as he had done before, to
o
194
A TANGLED SKEIN.
the great delight of his mother and discomfiture of 4 dear
Francis,' without imagining for a moment that he was
doing anything strange or new. It all came so natural to
him. Every one was pleased by this except Mr. Tremlett,
who saw his power oozing gradually away, and had nothing
upon which he could fix a complaint—for Stephen, in the
innocence of his heart, would treat him as the dear little
Frank of former days; and, 4 I say, old fellow, we're going
to have a match with Castleton on Thursday, and as you're
a muff, and can't play, you're to come and score,'—or, 41
say, old fellow, the mammie says we're to get up a picnic
at the Waterfall,'—or, 41 say, old fellow, look sharp, and
get out your archery-tackle, for the Coleman girls, and
Miss Lee and the Nevilles, are coming over to shoot after
luncheon, and we are going to try and have the next club-
meeting here,' was the manner in which he would arrange
such matters as far as his brother was concerned. And
when the disgusted Mr. Francis would begin to preach
against such trivialities, he would be told to 4 shut up;' and
when he attempted to excuse himself from participating in
them upon the ground of having some important engage-
ment elsewhere, at Quarter Sessions or the like, he would be
told—which was worse than all—that they would get on
very well without him, or that he was to 4 come along, like
a good fellow.'
Portly Mrs. Coleman's delight at this opening of mar-
kets for her girls was great; but she was somewhat be-
wildered by it; for her designs on Stephen Frankland were
greatly deranged by the attentions which Lord de Cartarett
began to pay her eldest daughter. Uneasiness, however,
on this score, was amply counterbalanced by the secret joy
she felt at seeing that a far greater catch—namely, Percy
Coryton, who was three-and-twenty, had ten thousand a
year already, and would some day be Lord Rossthorne, with
fifty thousand more—was rapidly yielding to the fascina-
tions of her 4 beauty-daughter,' Emily. How she blessed
our Stevie for bringing about this increase in the circulation
of marriageable young men of fortune ! There had been
*uch a tightness in the matrimonial market lately.
All went on, then, as merrily as marriage-bells, till one
CHECK !
195
day something happened which jarred upon Stephen's happy
but sensitive heart, and gave him a glimpse behind the
curtain that concealed his father's miserable and dependent
life, and the worthlessness of the brother whom he loved.
It happened one bright Sunday afternoon, when the
Tremlett party, including even my lady, had agreed to
walk home from church across the fields, accompanied by a
goodly detachment from Ruxton Court, who were invited
to luncheon at ' the Towers,' that they sauntered along
through the pleasant meadows in ever-changing groups of
twos and threes till they came near to a clump of elm-trees
upon the side of a hill, from the crest of which the house
could be seen in the distance. Here Stephen halted, and
shouted out to his brother, who was in the rear of the
party, ' I say, Frankie, do you remember when last you and
I were here V
11 cannot say that I do,' was the stately reply.
' I have not forgotten. It was the evening before I
started for India,' Stevie continued to Laura Coleman, who,
with Grace Lee, was walking by his side; ' and the poor
old boy was awfully cut up about my leaving—wasn't he
now V
1 He was, indeed,' replied Laura.
' Well, we went wandering about in a disconsolate sort
of way, till we came here; and then he asked me to cut
my name on the trunk of one of those trees yonder, because
he could always see it from the house. When I had carved
what he wanted, he said, " 0 Stevie, how long shall you
be before you come back ?" I told him, perhaps ten years.
" Then," he said, " cut ten notches under it, and I will come
here this day every year and hack one out till you are
home again." Come along this way, and I will show it
you.'
And he ran on in front; and springing into the hedge-
row, near the first of the trees, began clearing away the
brambles which partly hid the trunk.
' I don't remember it as well as I thought I did,' he
added, after a short examination of the bole. 1 It must be
the first beginning at the other end.' And he ran on again,
and began to do the same thing as before to the last of the
196
A TANGLED SKEIN.
elms. By this time the whole party had come up and halted,
wondering what he could be doing.
' Looking for my name that I cut on one of these trees
just before I went abroad.'
11 do not think you will find it,' said Mr. Tremlett;
' for the tree has been cut down.'
' Cut down !' exclaimed Stevie, halting suddenly in his
struggles with the bushes.
i Yes; cut down.'
1 0 father!' said the poor fellow, in a reproachful tone;
' how came that ?'
1 My dear Stevie—my dear boy,' exclaimed Sir George
eagerly; ' I had nothing whatever to do with it. I daresay
the woodman—I—some mistake—I really don't know. If
I had thought that you—you—I—that is—but I assure
you I was not consulted about it—or, or, or—' stammered
the Baronet.
' I had it felled,' said ' dear Francis' coolly.
' You /' gasped Stevie; ' you cut down my tree V
'■Your tree?' replied his younger brother, with a
sneer.
' You know what I mean, Frank,' Stephen said, in a
low tone, and flushing crimson. ' I am sorry you did so.
Were there not others to cut down?'
1 It spoilt the view from my study window,' replied
' dear Francis ;' ' and really, I think it most absurd to make
such a fuss about an old elm that was not worth sixpence a
foot for timber. If you want to see your precious carving,
I daresay you'll find it in the wood-stack, if they have not
split it up into billets for the fires.'
Nothing further was said, and the whole party walked
on, leaving Stevie to get out of the hedge, where he had
been standing during this conversation, and follow. He
did follow; but slowly, and apart from them all, with a
sharp pang at his heart. I have told you that, with all
his strength and all his bravery, he was a very child when
his feelings were touched.
He marched on gloomily, and did not perceive that
Grace Lee had lagged behind the rest, under pretence of
gathering some wild-flowers, till he was close up to her,
CHECK !
197
' Captain Frankland,' she said softly, 1 all people do
not regard the same things in the same way.'
1 We should quarrel dreadfully if they did,' replied
Stevie, with a gaiety he did not feel; 1 but why do you say
so now ?'
'Because I see you have taken something to heart
which, perhaps, was not meant heartlessly.'
' 0, you are mistaken. I was a little disappointed, of
course; but it's all right. I—I don't worry myself about
such trifles.'
I Do you really think it a trifle V asked Grace, bringing
her gentle earnest eyes to bear, just for one second, on
Stevie's.
Short and diffident as was the glance, it spoke volumes.
It drove back the fib which was on the point of Stevie's
tongue, tapped at his heart, and opened it to one who, up
to this time, he had almost avoided. Could this kind girl,
who could read his foolish sensitive thoughts and sympa-
thise with them, be the cold, matter-of-fact, strong-minded
Grace Lee against whom he had been warned 1
II daresay you will think me a great fool, Miss Lee,'
he said, in an undertone, ' if I confess it seems to me that
when they cut down that old tree with my name upon it,
they cut me away from my home.'
' Do not say they,' was her reply. ' But see, Lady Trem-
lett has stopped, and is waiting for us.' And they passed
on without another word.
Many a time after this Stephen found himself chatting
with Grace Lee. They had mutually begun, as Mrs. Mala-
prop advises, ' with a little aversion.' Frankland got over
this at a bound when he saw, by her sympathising with him
in his first rebuff, that she had feelings congenial to his
own; and a letter which Grace received shortly afterwards
from Gerty Treherne set right a misunderstanding under
which she had laboured concerning his delay in visiting his
home. He had not gone to stay with friends, as she had
supposed. He had not remained away from his parents to
give time for the preparation of a grand reception. The
fite which had taken place was arranged without his know-
ledge, He had gone to Westborough to do one kind action,
198
A TANGLED SKEIN.
and he had been detained there by another. In short, he
was not such a bad fellow after all.
' What do I think of Captain Frankland now V she
said—in reply to a question from Laura, on their return
from the archery-meeting, which, to Lady Tremlett's great
delight, was held at ' the Towers,'—' why, I think he is
not a bit like his brother.'
' You goosey ! who ever said he was 1 Stevie's quite
handsome.'
' I was not speaking of his face, dear,' was the quiet
reply.
This interesting 1 he' was, as we know, an inveterate
smoker of cheroots, his Indian life having accustomed him
to be hardly ever without one in his mouth. Now there
was every modern appliance in his mother's house except
a smoking-room. So he smoked in his bedchamber whilst
he was getting up, smoked in the garden during the day,
and smoked in his bedchamber again when he retired for
the night, to the dissatisfaction of' dear Francis,' who ex-
pressed a rooted antipathy to the fumes of the fragrant
weed.
One morning, soon after breakfast, he lit up as usual;
and, standing upon the grassplot under his mother's win-
dow, began talking to her merrily, cheroot in hand. She
had just said how very nice dear Stevie's cigar smelt, and
how good it would be for the magnolia that climbed up the
wall to get some of the smoke over its leaves, when ' dear
Francis' came up, and in an angry voice declared that it
was disgusting. Stephen was making tbe house like a
tavern with his beastly cigars. The process, before described,
under which Stevie had unconsciously put down his potent
younger brother, had to be kept up as its effect wore away;
and the affair of the tree—which Mr. Tremlett considered
as a victory—had reinstated him as the great Panjandrum
himself for despotism and dignity.
He was echoed, of course, by his lady mother, who
observed that it certainly was nasty to have smoking in the
house. Upon which Stephen replied, in the gay affectionate
tone which he always used towards his mother,
' Then why don't you set up a smoking-room, old
CHECK!
199
woman? You'll want one when all those fellows you've
been talking about come down to shoot.'
1 My friends do not require a smoking-room,' said Mr.
Francis.
' Then your friends are muffs,' was all the reply that
Stevie deigned.
Lady Tremlett declared that to have a smoking-room
would be charming, and they really must and should have
one. ' And, 0 Stevie,' she said, 1 puff, puff, puff—directly.
Puff some smoke up here—there's such a dreadful bee
coming in at the window, and he's going to sting poor me
—the nasty thing !'
So Stevie laughed, jumped on a garden-seat, and puffed
long whiffs of tobacco-smoke at the intruder ; and whether,
like c dear Francis,' he did not fancy nicotine, or had some
other business to transact instead of stinging Lady Trem-
lett, I cannot say, but off he went; and off my lady's
mind went, after him, the idea of setting up a smoking-
room.
Stephen, however, began to cast it over in his, but
could not hit upon a locality. This room could not be
spared; that was too large; and the other was not con-
veniently situated. Musing as a man does when he has a
good weed between his lips and enjoys it, he sat on the
grass beneath one of the huge sycamore-trees, and counted
the windows on that side of the house, in order that so the
various rooms possible for the contemplated divan might be
suggested. ' By Jove,' he thought,' if there were only just
such a little den as the mammie's at the other end of the
wing, what a capital place that would be ! I wonder if it
could be built!'
From the other end of the wing extended a row of silver
poplars, as a sort of screen to the lawn. The last tree grew
quite close up to the house—so close, that some of the
branches grew over the roof, and others ground and chafed
themselves away against the masonry. Stevie's bedroom
was the last along this side, and he had often been disturbed
by the scraping and moaning sound made by the boughs,
when there was any wind to move them. He knew there
could be no chamber beyond his own, for the passage ended
200
A TANGLED SKEIN.
with a dead wall close to his door. He had a good deal of
taste for engineering, and I daresay, if he had been born a
rich man he would have spent a fortune in bricks and
mortar. As it was, he was quite ready and willing to have
a finger in the pie at somebody else's expense, and sauntered
along with his hands in his pockets, puffing away leisurely
at his big cheroot, to survey this unsymmetrical end of the
wing.
He scrambled through the evergreens which covered a
high bank on which the screen of poplars grew, and jumped
on the top of a dwarf-wall in their rear. What was his
astonishment to find that there was an oriel window, exactly
similar to that of his mother's boudoir, entirely concealed
from without by ivy and the surrounding foliage, and which
he had never before seen or heard of! Beneath this was
the laundry, the lattices of which opened into the stable-
yard at the other side of the dwarf-wall.
' Well, there must be a room above,' said Stevie, half
aloud ; 1 though hang me if I know how they get to it.'
He was roused from puzzling himself over this knotty
point by hearing his own name called out; and looking
down—for the wall was the whole height of the bank on
the stable-yard side—saw his father and brother approach-
ing from the coach-house, where they had been to inspect
a new brougham that ' dear Francis' had set up for his
private use.
< What a boy you are, Stevie,' said the Baronet, ' climb-
ing about like that! Ho, don't jump down—you'll sting
your feet awfully if you do.'
' I'm not going,' Stevie said. ' Come here! I want to
show you something.' And he pointed up towards the
hidden oriel window.
If Sir George had worn a mask upon his face, and that
gesture of his son's had touched a spring which cast it off,
the countenance of the former could not have assumed a
more thorough change. His gay fussy manner left him in
an instant, and he turned deadly pale. Stephen noticed
this slightly at the time; but O, how the remembrance of
it made his heart ache afterwards i
' Is there a room up there V he asked.
CHECK!
201
' No, no,' replied his father hurriedly, ' of course not—
that is, I mean, not one that is used.'
' Time it was then,' replied Stephen; ' it's the very
place for our smoking-room.'
' It has the advantage of being well away from the
habitable part of the house, if you must have such a place,'
said Mr. Tremlett.
'We must have this old tree down though,' Stevie
observed; ' it will make it so dark.' And he sat down on
the top of the wall, and rubbed the stains of climbing off
his hands, with a satisfied air, as though the whole affair
were settled.
' You will do no such thing !' cried the Baronet angrily.
' I tell you that room is not habitable; it has not been
used since you were born, and it has fallen into decay. It's
damp and unwholesome; and—and—there's no floor; and
—and no furniture; and—I—I won't have that tree touched.
I value it exceedingly.'
'Well, then, let it stand!' said Stevie; 'we shall only
want to use the room at night.'
' As for its being in decay,' chimed in ' dear Francis,'
who loved to oppose his father,' that must be looked to, for
fear the mildew should get into the beams and affect the
rest of the wing.'
' And there are half a dozen carpenters about the place
eating their heads off for want of something to do, who would
put it all to rights in less than no time,' continued Stevie.
' I tell you I will not have it touched !' cried his father,
stamping with anger. 'Are my wishes never to be con-
suited, Francis? That room was shut up before—before
—I—you know what I would say. And shut up it shall
remain as long as I live, and as long as your mother lives;
for her wishes are mine in this respect. There now ! And
as for you, Stephen, I take it very ill that you should begin
to upset all our arrangements and annoy me in this manner
almost the moment you come home.'
' 0, very well, sir,' Stephen said, letting himself down
from his perch; ' if you treat it in that way, there's an end
of it at once, I had no notion you were so particular about
it, Had you, Frank V
202
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' I did not even know that there was such a place,' was
his answer; 1 but if my mother assures me that it shall be
left to rot, of course she must be obeyed.'
' Tell me one thing though,' said Stephen, with a smile;
' is it up there that you keep the ghost ?'
His father took him by the arm, and looked him full in
the face. His anger ceased as suddenly as it had broken
out as soon as the disagreeable project was abandoned; and
though still very pale, and trembling in his speech, he spoke
collectedly, and with kindness.
1 There are some things, my dear boy,' he said, ' which
we Franklands cannot afford to treat with levity. Take
my advice, and trouble yourself no further about that
room.'
'The dear old governor is awfully superstitious, isn't
he?' Stephen remarked to his brother when Sir George
had left them; ' but we must let him have his own way,
and find a baccy-den elsewhere.' And so they did.
CHAPTER XY.
shows how mr. tremlett rea3sumed his sway, and how
grace lee spoilt her bonnet-strings.
The Yigil of the Feast of St. Partridge—commonly
known as the 31st of August—was a busy day with Stephen
Frankland. We know how fond he was of field-sports, and
what pleasant memories he preserved of those old days
when the prowess of his eager youth was the delight of his
father's shooting parties, and the glory of Bill Grant.
Many a bright afternoon did he spend in the harvest-fields,
sucking away at his big cheroots, and watching the sacred
coveys as they basked in the newly-cut stubbles, innocent,
as yet, of dog and gun; or following them with excited
gaze, as they skimmed over the hedge-rows when disturbed
by the gleaners. He looked forward to ' the 1st' with al-
most childish impatience. It was so long since he had
MR. TREMLETT REASSUMES HIS SWAY. 208
come face to face with an honest English partridge; and
wouldn't he make up, now, for lost time ! Sir George had
given up shooting for some years. Frank did not care
about it; and. his friends were not expected till the 3d.
' So,' thought Stevie, ' I shall have three days quietly to
myself. I won't spoil their fun, though. I'll just shoot
over the outlying farms, and get as much game as will keep
the larder full; and when they are ready to begin, will
show them what's what.'
With one exception, the expected guests were all
strangers to Stephen, and when we recollect that your
thorough sportsman is always close and selfish in matters
of sport, it will be seen that this concession of the good-
hearted fellow was no slight one. Of course he never spoke
of it. To do what was right and kind came so natural to
him, that he never thought of mentioning the subject. Be-
fore he went to India, whilst his father was yet a sports-
man, all the shooting arrangements had been confided to
him, and now he took them up again as a matter of course.
So he sent for Mr. Maggs—who had succeeded Bill
Grant as head-keeper—unpacked, and gave out his guns to
be cleaned and put in order; sent for his license; ordered
powder and shot; saw that his flasks and other gear were
in good condition; went down to the kennels and made
friends with the dogs; looked out his shooting clothes;
was very particular over the oiling of his boots ; fixed the
when and where for the morning ; talked of birds and dogs
and guns incessantly; and fussed about his shooting tackle
as gentlemen will talk and fuss on the eve of St. Grouse
and St. Partridge. Finally, he had all his things laid on
a table in the old hall, where the family pictures and oak
carvings (which old Tremlett wanted to have painted white,
and gilt) were; and constantly sauntered up to fidget with
them, making the day seem as though it had a hundred
and twenty-four hours, with his impatience, and wondering
if it would ever come to an end.
Mr. Tremlett was more usefully employed. He had left
home at an early hour to attend the County Sessions ; had
sat at the right hand of the chairman all day, looking so
fearfully wise, that the judge was compelled at last to ask
204
A TANGLED SKEIN.
his opinion upon a very important point—namely, as to
whether one month's imprisonment with hard labour was
a sufficient punishment for a miserable urchin of eight years
old, who had pleaded guilty to stealing four turnips, value
three-farthings. He wisely suggested the addition of a
whipping, which was added, to his intense satisfaction and
the despair of the blubbering culprit. He returned to ' the
Towers' swelling with importance, and was crossing the
hall, with all his honours thick upon him, when Stephen,
engaged in the trivial pursuits already mentioned, bawled
out,
' I say, Frankie ! are you coming out with me to-mor-
row ?'
< Where ?'
1 Well, we shall begin at Tittlestead, go over Marsh's
Farm and Burridge's, and then try Shenstone Hill. Maggs
says there are a lot of birds there, and if we don't drive
them down into the meadows, we shall never see them again;
because there are such a lot of poaching blackguards about
Chapel Furnace.'
' Then you are going shooting ?'
' What on earth else should I be going to do on the
" 1st of September" ?'
' I think you might have consulted me before you made
such arrangements,' replied his brother, stopping short in
his triumphant entry.
1 Consulted you, you dear old muff V said Stevie, slap-
ping him on the back. 1 What do you know about shoot-
ing?'
1 Dear Francis' tried hard to look dignified; but only
succeeded in assuming an expression of stupid surprise,
mixed with vexation.
' I must confess,' he said, after a pause, ' that I have
paid little attention to a sport which I consider cruel, and
—and—a waste of time. You might, however, have asked
my—my per that is, it would have been more decor-
ous if you had not acted so entirely without—without—
and it was a great impertinence of Maggs 1' he added, with
a burst.
( What was V
MR. TREMLETT REASSUMES HIS SWAY.
205
I Taking upon himself to do this without orders.'
£ My dear boy, he took nothing upon himself. He just
told me where the outlying birds were to be found, and I
gave him his orders accordingly,' Stephen answered, click-
ing the locks of his double-barrel, as innocent of what was
passing in his brother's mind as the child unborn.
' Does my father know you are going V
II believe so.'
' And Lady Tremlett V
1 Yes. She has promised to drive me to Tittlestead in
the pony-carriage.'
' You seem to have settled everything to your satisfac-
tion?' observed the dear fellow, with one of his patent
sneers.
' Perfectly !' replied the unconscious Stevie. ' Will
you come V
1 Certainly not!' And the great man turned on his
heel and left the hall, with his head in the air.
1 All right !' said Stevie, shouldering his gun, and bring-
ing down an imaginary brace of partridges, right and left.
* Only look sharp and dress, or you'll be late for dinner.'
He was late for dinner. So also were Sir George and
Lady Tremlett, and they all came down together, looking
very grave. Any one but Stephen would have perceived
that there was something wrong, only he was so full of his
prospective engagement, and so utterly unconscious of the
high treason he had committed, that he paid no attention
to their constrained manner, and rattled on just as usual—
chaffing Frank and playing with his mother in his usual
cheery way.
When prayers were over, he lighted his mother's bed-
room candle (as he always did), and, putting it into her
hand, kissed her, and said,
' Good-night, mammie dear ! I shall go to bye-bye,
early, too; for I shall have a long day's work to-morrow.'
Generally speaking, she used merely to lift up her
oheek to his salute on these occasions : now she threw her
arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his affection-
ately, with a strange look of pity—which he did not notice
in her beautiful eyes, Poor weak thing I she loved him
206
A TANGLED SKEIN.
as far as her shallow nature could love anybody. It was
too much trouble, however, to try and save him from what
had been agreed upon up-stairs, whilst dinner was waiting.
Stephen lit his own candle and followed ; but was un-
able to resist having another last fidget with his dear guns
and tackle. Thus engaged, he was joined by his father.
4 And so you are going to shoot to-morrow V
4 Of course.'
'Well, I hope you'll have a fine day. Is this your
gun V
4 Yes.'
4 Why, it's your old one !'
4 And a better never was made. Do you remember
giving it to me V
4 That I do. But you really ought to have a breech-
loader. Every one has a breechloader now. Do let me
give you a breechloader.'
4 By all means, if you like,' said Stevie ; 4 but this will
last me for some time to come.'
4 O, but you must have a breechloader. I should not
like you to go out with Lord Rossthorne and Francis's
friends without a breechloader.'
4 All right.'
4 And I'll tell you what I'll do,' continued the Baronet,
fidgeting nervously with a shot-pouch : 4 I'll telegraph to
Purday to send one down, and you'll get it before the
3d.'
4 How kind you are! I never say nay to a good
thing.'
4 Then you'll put off going out till the 3d V
4 Why V answered Stevie, raising his eyebrows.
4 You can't go out without a proper gun.'
4 Bless your heart! I'll back myself and my old gun
against any one of them and their new-fashioned things.
I'll bet you a pound now that I send home ten brace before
luncheon.'
4 Then you are determined to go V asked the poor
Baronet sadly.
4 Why not V
4 But to speak plainly, I—that is, Francis—I mean we
MR. TREMLETT REASSUMES HIS SWAY.
207
all, want to give these people who are coming as good sport
as possible, and if you disturb the birds—'
'Do you suppose I have not thought of that?' inter-
rupted his son ; ' I am going to break along the outskirts
in order that they should have as good sport as possible.'
'But Francis—'
' 0, he knows nothing about it! Never mind what he
says.'
' My dear boy,' said Sir George, laying his hand upon
Stevie's shoulder, gazing sorrowfully in his face, ' I am
obliged to mind what he says.'
Stephen put down his gun and was serious in a moment.
' Frank has been saying something to you about me ?'
' He has indeed.'
' Tell me what it was.'
' Stevie, you know my position here ?'
' Go on, sir.'
' I am not my own master; I never was since my mar-
riage ; and when your brother came of age the little au-
thority I had on the estate passed away to him. If your
mother were to die to-morrow it would all be his, and I
should be dependent upon him, as I now am upon her. It
is painful—bitter in the extreme—for me to speak thus,
but it must be said. My poor boy, my poor Stevie, thanks
to my own sad follies, we are but lodgers and dependents
under the roof beneath which our forefathers have been men
and masters.'
Stephen thought of the old elm-tree, and the truth be-
gan to dawn upon him.
' Don't grieve over what has passed,' he said, in a low
saddened tone; ' I think I know what you would say, and
will save you the pain of saying it. All that about the
breechloader was a kind pretext to put me off my intended
sport to-morrow ?'
' It was indeed.'
' Because my brother and my mother'—the last words
came with a gulp—' refuse me permission to shoot over
their land.'
' Only till the 3d—only till Thursday, dear Stevie—;
only till Thursday, when—'
208
A TANGLED SKEIN.
1 When their friends come. I understand. It would
have been more manly if he had told me so himself.'
1 0, pray, Stevie, do not think that I took any part in it.
I did my very best. I was very angry. I urged—I en-
treated; but he was determined, and said he would write,
and—'
4 You wished to break his unkindness to me. It was
like you. God bless you, father; you, I think, are still
unchanged to me.'
The poor Baronet fairly broke down at this, and sob-
bed like a child on Stevie's shoulder.
' You cannot think,' he said at last, ' what bitter letters
he can write. He never speaks his mind, he always writes
it; and there is a blow in every measured word.'
' I would not have thought it of him ; but let it be as
he wishes;' and Stephen slowly took his gun to pieces, and
began repacking it in its case.
' 0, don't do that!' said Sir George; 1 don't do that!
You shall not lose your sport. Coleman will give you a
day—two—a dozen, with pleasure, I know. I will send
over the first thing in the morning, and ask him. You shall
shoot, after all.'
< My dear father,' replied Stevie, with one of his sad
sweet smiles, ' do you suppose it is the loss of the sport
which has upset me ! Tell me that the first time I fire
that gun I shall blow off my right arm and never see a
day's sport again, but that what you have told me to-night
is untrue, and I will thank you heartily.'
i It is his way,' pleaded Sir George. 11 do not think
he means altogether unkindly, but he has a domineering
way about him. He thinks that you—that you, being the
heir to the title, you—you—'
* Please go on. I should like to hear all, now that you
have begun.'
1 It is a miserable task for me, but I think you are right.
I think it only just that you should know all he said of you
up-stairs. He wished it to be communicated, and hang me
if I spare him. Stevie, although he is my own flesh and
blood, I say it, he is a heartless prig and a cur» As for his
mother—'
MR. TREMLETT REASSUMES HIS SWAY.
209
1 Stop, stop ! Pray let us keep her name out of this.
Frank may have her consent, but I do not think her heart
goes with it.'
' Stevie, it ought to go with it or against it. It is her
miserable weakness that makes all this misery. If she had
treated me with respect—I don't say a word about affection
—Francis would never have thought of behaving towards
me as he does.'
' It is not for me to hear complaints against my—against
Frank's mother,' Stevie replied, in a low broken voice.
' God help us !—this is indeed an awakening. I pictured
you as being so happy and united. I longed so to be
amongst you again, to share your happiness. At this mo-
ment I cannot realise its being all lost. Frank cannot mean
what he does. He is thoughtless and conceited, and may
have bad advisers. He cannot have a deliberate intention
to wound either of us—why should he1?'
' I would help you to think so, my boy,' said the Baronet,
' if I had the slightest hope that any good would come of
such a delusion; but it would only lay you open to new
wounds—new pain. Stevie, though he is my son, he has
not one drop of the Frankland blood in his veins. He
inherits his grandfather's obstinate, cruel, vulgar pride.
He hates me because I am poor. He hates you, because
you have won the love and respect he never could gain.
Why did he absent himself from your reception here 1 Why
destroy that old tree 1 Why has he done a score of paltry
spiteful things of which you are yet ignorant ? Why !
Because he is bitterly jealous of you—that is why ! Your
popularity is an incessant reproach to him. In getting up
all these cheerful gatherings that have made the neighbour-
hood so pleasant, he deems that you have encroached upon
his prerogative to make everybody stupid and unsociable
like himself. He is burning to avenge himself for it; and
he will—mark me, he will ! I know him as he is. 0, it
is a comfort to be able to speak my mind about him !' said
the Baronet angrily. ' He is not worth quarrelling with,
Stevie. He has the power to annoy you, which he is cur
enough to use relentlessly, if you submit to remain subject
to it,'
p
210
A TANGLED SKEIN.
1 What would you advise me to do V
1 Stevie, that was the proudest day of my life on which
I welcomed you home. I had a foolish hope that your
honest hearty presence—my own dear wife's own child!—
would have dispelled this misery,' sobbed the poor victim of
' settlements'—1 but I am hopeless now. The happiest
moments in my life are those which I have spent in your
society; but this I say, and say deliberately—leave us.
Make a home elsewhere, for here you will find only disap-
pointment, injury, and wrong.'
' And you V
' O, never mind about me,' replied Sir George, trying
to force a smile; ' I am accustomed to it. I have got thick-
skinned. I can stand his cursed airs and nonsense; but I
cannot and will not stand seeing them played off on you.'
' And there is one thing 1 will not stand, father,' said
Stephen, with flashing eyes : ' I will not stand seeing you
made light of by my younger brother. I have no idea of
beating a cowardly retreat before what I know to be unna-
tural and base. I shall have it out with Master Frank,
were he fifty times master of Tremlett Towers. So God
bless you, my dear father, for all your kindness to me, and
good-night.'
But he did not have it out with Master Frank after all.
He retired to bed full of great resolves—to speak his mind
roundly to that great potentate, and \to leave his mother's
roof within the hour if his remonstrances were unheeded ;
but he did what every wise man ought to do with great re-
solves. He slept upon them; and they had altogether
changed before the morning.
He met his brother next morning, before breakfast, pac-
ing up and down a gravel walk on the lawn—in search,
perhaps, of an appetite—and ' dear Francis' would have
avoided him. Stephen, however, was not to be avoided
when he had a duty to perform.
4 Frank,' he said, ' you and I have misunderstood each
other on some important subjects—how and why, it is useless
now to inquire. I had forgotten that many changes must
have happened here during my absence of ten years; and
you, I think, have not remembered that I might so forget.
MR. TREMLETT REASSUMES HIS SWAY.
211
You know how greatly I was indulged before I left; and if
I have offended you by taking too much upon myself lately,
I sincerely ask your pardon, &c.'
He paused, expecting that his concessions would be met
half-way. He reckoned without his host. His brother was
secretly chuckling at his supposed victory, and stood with
his head in the air, exulting over Stevie at his banquet of
humble pie.
'1 was wrong in giving those orders about the shoot-
ing,' continued Stevie,' without consulting my father.'
'Your father,' replied Francis loftily, 'has nothing
whatever to do with the estate.'
' Pardon me,' said Stevie sternly, ' whatever else may
be his position here, he is your father, and as such, in the
sight of God and man, Francis Tremlett, his wishes in every
respect should be consulted, and treated with respect, I hope.
I shall always so treat them ; and this I know—that I shall
regard any member of my family who fails to do so with
the contempt that he deserves.'
This idea was quite a novelty with ' dear Francis,' and
its exponent left him utterly nonplused by it.
And why did not Stevie follow up his advantage % Why
did he not quit Tremlett Towers as his father had recom-
mended ? Because ' sleeping upon it,' or rather, spending
a sleepless night thinking about it all, he came to the pru-
dent conclusion that a scene with ' dear Francis' would not
make his father's life more comfortable; and as for him-
self, he had but a few months to spend in England, and
determined to use them as a peacemaker. Besides—and
here we come to a very interesting point—there was some
one in the neighbourhood whom he did not like to lose
sight of. Unknown to himself, he was getting fond of
Grace Lee—quiet earnest Grace Lee, who had stood aloof
from him during the brief days of his happy return, but
whose sympathy had welled forth from her lustrous eye„.
when the first breath of unkindness' had chilled him. Ho,
he could not quite make up his mind to leave Grace. This
was the ' besides,' and I think he is not the first man whose
Resolutions have been changed by such a cause.
He spent a good deal of time at Buxton Court, to the
212
A TANGLED SKEIN.
astonishment of good Mr. Coleman, who wondered that so
keen a sportsman should care to renounce his favourite
sport to wander about with a parcel of girls. Stevie was
certainly very attentive to that ' parcel,' especially when
Grace Lee was bound up in it.
They were all botanisers and geologists in a small way;
and who so ready to crack the big stones and carry home
the bag of uncomfortable spoil than gallant Stephen
Frankland ? And when the Coleman feminines were busy
with their hortus siccus, their microscope, their cabinet,
and what not, in the evening, who so ready to talk with
Grace ? Grace knew a little more than her companions
about such things, and did not care for their ABC work.
Perhaps she cared for something else. Who knows ?
And what passed during these pleasant tete-d-tetes ? I
never knew, and for the life of me I cannot guess. Dear
ladies ! do not some of you know how hearts are lost and
won ? Will you be good enough, gentle sir, to state the
process under which you managed that little affair with
Arabella, who had refused so many good offers? You
decline ! Well, then, there is no help for it. If others
less experienced than yourselves desire to make a precedent
out of the converse of Stephen and Grace, they must be
disappointed. It was all strictly confidential; and, as I
have stated in an early part of this history, I am not going
to draw upon my imagination when real persons are doing
real things. I have not more space at my disposal than
is requisite to tell what I actually know, and what has
been collected from trustworthy sources. So if judicious
readers must be taught how to lead captivity captive, let
them send thirteen postage-stamps to the gentleman who
advertises in the papers his ability to confide the mighty
secret, and they will get a good deal more out of him for
that small remuneration than ever they will from me at
any price.
One fact, however, I will state, and you may draw
whatever conclusions you please from it:
Captain Stephen Frankland, V.C., took to caressing
Doggie !
' There are none so blind as those who will not see,'
MR. TREMLETT REASSUMES HIS SWAY.
213
says the proverb, and good Mrs. Coleman furnished no
exception to the rule. Having completely made up her
mind that Stephen was to be led captive by her daughter
Laura, she would see nothing in his walks, his talks, his
whispers with Grace, which she considered incompatible
with a consummation so devoutly to be wished. Young
people are shy and diffident, she thought, and like to have
a confidante. Had not she been made a confidante scores
of times ? Had not Edwin made her the depositary of his
anxious fears about that beastly Captain Prettyman ? And
had not Angelina poured forth her sorrows into her sym-
pathising bosom ? Had she not told the swain to ' Speak
out, and never mind the Captain,' and assured the damsel
that her adorer had only gone off in a tiff? Were not her
consolatory words confirmed by the humble and penitential
letter which arrived from the love-lorn victim by the next
post ? In short, had she not brought a dozen couples be-
hind a bride-cake by tactics similar to those which Grace
was employing now? Grace was a good girl'. A nice
affectionate girl, in the eyes of her guardian's wife, for so
acting. ' And really,' thought that lady, ' I must see what
can be done for her; only, of course, she cannot expect to
enter a county family—poor child—with her antecedents.'
Mr. Coleman saw more clearly; and one day, when
Stevie was lunching at Ruxton Court, the conversation
turning upon mesalliances, in consequence of an acquaint-
ance having married very much below his own station, Mrs.
Coleman remarked,
'Well, if they are happy, poor things, what can it
matter ?'
' Supposing them to be happy,' replied her husband, ' is
begging the whole question. I don't see much prospect of
happiness in this sort of marriage; for if the husband and
wife manage to get on well together, it is ten to one their
families will set them by the ears sooner or later. No, no;
I'm not particular about much love or much money—they'd
come in time, if the pair are worth their salt; but disparity
of rank is the very—What is the matter with you, Bobby ?'
' I wath waiting to hear your exthclamation of thur-
prithe,' said that incorrigible.
214
A TANGLED SKEIN.
1 You're a bad boy,' exclaimed his mother, shaking her
head at him.
' No, mar, I ain't! And I tell you what: when I mawy
I than't mawy a great big wife like pa wants people to. I
thall mawy a little wife, and then I can make her do what
I pleathe.'
' Just listen to the brat!' exclaimed his delighted mother.
1 He thinks disparity of rank means difference of size!
Well, I think that up to a certain point the one has no
more to do with happiness than the other; don't you,
Stevie V
1 Stevie,' interposed Mr. Coleman, addressing his remark
not to his wife or to that person, but to Grace Lee, ' is a
regular old-fashioned Frankland; and I'll be bound that he
would not dream of asking any girl to become his wife
who could not show half-a-dozen quarterings.'
Stevie laughed. ' Who am I,' he replied, ' that I
should be so particular ?'
' A member-—the prospective head—of a family that
can show a longer, and, taking it altogether, a purer, pedi-
gree than half the House of Peers can boast of—that's all!'
said Mr. Coleman. 1 You are proud of your family tree,
and you know it. The old Franklands took their wives
out of families like their own, and they were happy. Some
of them looked higher, and a few lower, but no good came
of it, or ever will.'
1 Well I'm sure, Coleman!' observed his wife, pausing
in helping the great pie, ' you're going on at a fine rate.
Stevie's family is a very good and a very old one, but I
hope there are many others equal to it in which good has
come of making high matches. I like a family to rise, as
I told my poor sister Janet when Lord Ballysquander pro-
posed for her. Not that there was much of a rise in her
marriage; for my father was a Spencer on the mother's
side, and my own dear mother was the granddaughter of
an earl. All your family, too, are highly respectable,
though they were lawyers to begin with.'
' Who said they were not, my love ?'
' And although poor Janet died in her first confinement
—(dear, dear, how scandalously they mismanaged her!)
MB. TBEMLETT BEASSUMES HIS SWAY.
215
and James—I mean Lord Ballysquander—has been twice a
widower since, he always calls me his dear sister—always !
So I'm sure you must not go trying to set people against
our—our family.'
4 I'm sure I never thought of doing such a thing. I
merely say that people should not marry out of their sta-
tion.'
4 But Lord Ballysquander—'
4 Bother Lord Ballysquander !'
4 That's right! Abuse my relations because you have
not a—because you are jealous of the good blood your
children have got in their veins.'
4 Hot at all.'
4 You are ! You know you are ! We must introduce
you, Stevie,' she continued, addressing her guest, 4 to Lord
Ballysquander : you will like him so much. He is so con—
so kind.'
4 Particularly when he wants anything,' growled pater-
familias.
41 am ashamed of you, Coleman, talking like that
Poor dear man! he is the most open-hearted being alive
and I'm sure you behaved shabbily about that mortgage.'
4 My love !' said Mr. Coleman—4 business P
4 Bah !' ejaculated his wife ; but the subject was dropped,
and she went on helping the pie, to Bobby's great relief.
Stephen Frankland had forgotten all about this subject
before the cloth was removed; but there was one present
into whose heart it had sunk deeply.
4 Let him be proud!' burst (apropos of nothing), in
what I am afraid I must call a vixenish tone, from the lips
of Grace Lee, accompanied by what was undoubtedly an
impatient gesture—a stamp of the foot, I think—as she
tied her bonnet-strings before the glass that afternoon.
4 Let him be proud ! I can be proud too. It is cruel, cruel,
cruel, to despise a poor girl because she is left alone in the
world, and does not know—never knew— Ah, but I can
despise too, and I will /' Here there came a lug at the poor
strings, which did not improve their appearance.
Afterwards they all went out for a walk, accompanied
by Doggie; and really it seemed at first as though that
216
A TANGLED SKEIN.
morose and repulsive quadruped must have recently bitten
his fair mistress, so altered was her manner to every one. It
was only when, upon their return, they visited the old col-
liery, and Stephen told how it had been drowned the year
after he was born, and spoke so humbly, but withal so con-
tentedly, of that calamity, making him a poor man when
otherwise he would have been a rich one, that Grace looked
down at her tumbled bonnet-strings, and the sweet smile
which was born that day when Stevie missed the old me-
morial elm mantled upon her soft fresh cheek.
Bonnie Grace Lee ! Henceforward, if you please, ' our
Grace,' for our Stevie—my Stevie—my dear, true old friend,
is getting dear to her; and if there be any truth in the lan-
guage of eyes, she is getting very dear to him.
CHAPTER XYI.
a discovery.
The very day on which Stephen Frankland did not leave
Tremlett Towers, and Grace Lee spoilt her bonnet-strings,
was to have been rendered one of fasting and humiliation to
many inoffensive inhabitants of Durmstone and the neigh-
bourhood, by reason of its being fixed for one of Mr. Trem-
lett's solemn dinner-parties ; but by a daring innovation of
his brother's, executed some days before the affair of the old
elm-tree, the Coleman girls, and one or two intimate friends
of Stevie, were invited in the evening.
' Going to give a dinner !' this rebel had exclaimed, in
his hearty off-hand way. 1 All right! Get the mammie to
ask a few girls, and we'll have a hop afterwards.'
This was said in the presence of Lady Tremlett, who
became so charmed with the idea, that ' dear Francis' did
not think it prudent to oppose it. There were some thou-
sands a-year at my lady's disposition, to do what she
pleased with, by will.
So the little hop came off, and, for the first time since
A DISCOVERY.
217
she had come to Derbyshire, Grace Lee was seen to dance.
She danced with Stephen once; and then with Lord de
Cartarett twice; then with Ashton Neville; and then de-
clared that she hated dancing, and would no more of it.
She would play for them the rest of the evening: and she
did so—Stephen sometimes sitting by her side, and talking
to her the while; for it so happened there were more bache-
lors than girls, and he liked his friends to have partners.
Between the dances, and at supper, Grace and our Stevie
had a good deal of conversation upon a variety of subjects—-
more solid than the usual talk of ballrooms; for Stephen
had long since found out that beneath her proud and strange
manner was a soft and kindly heart, and a vein of sterling
common sense that was well worth working. ' Ah,' he had
thought more than once,' if I might confide poor Brandron's
affairs to her and ask her advice, I might get some hints
worth having.'
Later on in the evening somebody introduced the subject
of the oak carvings in the old hall, and several of the guests
went away there to examine them afresh. Grace had never
seen them at all, she said, or been in the ancient part of the
house.
' Haven't you, really V said Stephen; ' then pray come
with me, and I will show you all sorts of queer things.'
He was as good as his word. Old armour, old pictures,
old banners, quaint old furniture, were just the things in
which Grace delighted.
' 0, what dear old things!' she exclaimed, in her own
voice and manner (she had somebody else's voice and man-
ner which she used to Stevie until recently), ' what dear
old things! Haven't you got a ghost story to match V
1 To be sure ! And, as it's very short, I'll tell it to you
now.'
No better time and place could there be for such a tale.
The harvest moon sent a flood of light through the wide
unshuttered casements, making those parts of the old hall
into which the light did not penetrate dark and gloomy
with an unnatural darkness and gloom. The mouldering
banners waved to and fro solemnly in the vaulted roof, like
pendulums of some huge and goblin timepiece that was
218
A TANGLED SKEIN.
marking, at every beat, the flight of centuries. Armed
warriors and dames of ancient race frowned from dark
oaken-framed pictures on the walls, and here and there a
rusty suit of mail seemed as though it were endowed with
unearthly life, and was moving in the fitful and uncertain
light, as Frankland moved here and there the solitary lamp
which lit up the silent darkness, bringing into life strange
and uncouth shadows.
So engrossed was Grace in the recital, that she did not
notice the departure, one by one, of the other guests, and
that she and Stephen were left alone in the old hall.
4 Wonderful!' she said, when he had concluded; 4 and,
of course, perfectly true. It would never do to doubt a
ghost story in a place like this. But who is that dreadful-
looking old fellow up there V pointing to one of the pictures.
4 Is that the ghost V
4 That! O, you must not call him a dreadful old
fellow. That's my famous ancestor, Boger Frankland.
He is not the ghost, though he has made many in his
day. He was a famous navigator, and did some things
upon the Spanish main which will not bear moralising upon;
but he fought with Drake and Frobisher against the Armada,
and afterwards went down to the bottom of the sea in his
ship, with his glorious flag flying, sooner than strike it to
three Dutch men-of-war. That young-looking man to the
right, in the drab coat, was the friend and schoolfellow of
Hampden; and next to him is Clarence Frankland, Knight
Banneret, who died on the field of Agincourt.'
' You are proud of your ancestors.'
4 Proud ? I should think so ! Are not you of yours V
The instant that the words had passed his lips he knew
that he had made an unlucky speech. Grace flushed crim-
son, and then turned deadly pale. Stephen tried to change
the subject, but she returned to it.
4 And yet you admit that one, at least, of them was a
thief.'
4 A thief!'
4 Exactly. Is not taking other folk's property by force
thieving, when done on the Spanish main, quite as much
so as if the scene were in Begent-street ?'
A DISCOVERY.
219
'Well,' said Stevie, smiling, 'as I said before, we must
not moralise about old Roger. They thought differently
of those things in his day. But I am tiring you V
'No. I like these remembrances of bygone times. I
like to hear of your forefathers; and, do you know, I much
prefer the old part of this house, in which they lived and
died, to the new part, for all its splendour.'
' So do I.'
' And the old name is far better than the new one.'
'Ah, yes,' replied Stephen sadly; 'the old name will
soon fade out and be forgotten.'
' It is almost entirely forgotten now, I am told,' said
Grace.
' That's not complimentary to me.'
' Why so V
'Because I bear it. I am, and always shall be, a
Frankland.'
' 0, I was not speaking of the name of the family, but
the name of the house.'
' What do you mean V
'Why, you know, it was not always called Tremlett
Towers.'
' Always! I never heard it spoken of by any other.'
' Perhaps it was before you were born,' said Grace, in
a musing tone.
' What was ?'
' That the name of the house was changed.'
' You must be mistaken. Its name never was changed.
Who told you it was V
' A poor creature down in the village, whom I visit now
and then. She never calls it Tremlett Towers.'
' What, then, in the name of fortune V
' She is a very old woman, and calls it by its old name.'
' And that was— 1'
' Mangerton Chase 1'
The lamp fell from Stephen's hand ; and he reeled, and
fell, as though he had been shot through the brain.
The piercing shriek forced from Grace Lee by the
strange consequences of her lightly-uttered words brought
Sir George Tremlett and his guests hurrying to the spot.
220
A TANGLED SKEIN.
The lamp was broken and extinguished in its fall, and a
cloud having just obscured the moon, the old hall was left
in utter darkness. The Baronet ran as fast as any one
along the passage which led to it; but when he came to the
door and looked into the black silence beyond, he hung
back and called loudly for lights, surrounded by a group
of wondering men and panic-stricken ladies, who knew not
where to go or what to think.
Lord de Cartarett and Ashton Neville rushed back into
the drawing-room, and seizing each a pair of branches,
forced their way through the bewildered crowd, and sprang
forward into the centre of the hall, calling out, ' Who is
here 1 What has happened 1 Speak, for God's sake, who-
ever you are !' and waving about the lights so that their
feeble rays might fall into the shadow-shrouded recesses
and gloomy corners of the ancient place.
It so happened that they began their search on the
wrong side, and it was some minutes before they came round
to where old Roger Frankland, the buccaneer, frowned from
the mouldering canvas, and there—on the floor below—
they found the insensible body of Stephen Frankland, and
close beside him Grace Lee, speechless with terror, and
clinging for support to a huge oaken chest against which
he had fallen, as evidenced by a deep cut upon the fore-
head, from which he was bleeding profusely.
' Good God!' exclaimed Lord de Cartarett,' he is killed.
Who has done this V
Grace Lee's lips moved, and she made a gesture with
her hand, which recalled those who had started away to
search for his supposed assailant, but she could not speak.
Nevertheless, she was the first to kneel down by his side,
to feel his wrist, and place her hand upon his heart, and,
whilst eagerly counting its faint throbbings, pressed her
little handkerchief firmly upon the red gash which marked
his brow.
It did not mend matters for a score of people to press
round, clamorously demanding of each other and of Grace
what had happened 1—Who had done it ?—What was the
matter 1 She could not reply. She had but one thought.
She waved them back; and casting a half-scared, half-ap-
A DISCOVERY.
221
pealing look at Lord de Cartarett—who had shown more
head than any one hitherto—but anxious loving eyes on
Stephen's pallid face, redoubled her endeavours to stanch
his wound. It was only when Dr. Cutler had declared that
he was only stunned, and was coming to, and the warm
motherly arms of Mrs. Coleman had closed around poor
trembling Grace, that she did what a young lady of well-
regulated mind ought, I believe, to have done long ago—
that is to say, she fainted dead away. But as the whole
affair did not occupy more than ten minutes, although the
events of as many hours seemed to be crowded into them,
we may, possibly, be allowed to offer some excuse for her
conduct upon the ground that she behaved like a sensible
human creature only for a very short space, and then, see-
ing the error of her way, immediately began to conduct
herself like a young lady.
They carried Stephen into the drawing-room, and laid
him upon one of the sofas, where Dr. Cutler and his son
Jack, the traitor—whom, ignorant of his treason against
Francisco, the King, and consequent banishment from the
royal favour, Stevie had invited to the party—accepted a
bottle of eau de Cologne and a vinaigrette, out of about
thirty-seven similar appliances which Lady Tremlett and
her anxious guests provided; and having loosened his
necktie and collar, set themselves to bringing him round
with all the proper formalities.
Another detachment, commanded by Mrs. Coleman,
bore Grace towards Lady Tremlett's boudoir; but she
came to consciousness on the way, and having begged to
be put down, sat herself on the stairs and cried bitterly for
some five minutes; she then sprang up, ran away, and
could not be found for half an hour, when she was dis-
covered sitting all alone in the dark in an old lumber-room
there was at the top of the house.
' My own darling Gracie, are you better?' was Laura's
affectionate inquiry as they helped her into the carriage.
' 0, don't speak to me !'
' Why so cross, dear ?'
1 Cross ! Who wouldn't be cross at having made such
a fool of oneself? What will he think?'
222
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Who do you mean V
' Why, this precious hero of yours, of course! This
clumsy idiot, who cannot show his stupid old pictures with-
out dropping the lamp, and tumbling over furniture on his
thick head ! Bah ! I've no patience with him !'
11 am sure he did not mean to frighten you, dear,' said
Mrs. Coleman.
' Then why did he take me into that villanous old musty
hall ? I was very happy where I was in the drawing-room.
Why could he not leave me alone 1 Awkward imbecile !
A captain in the army, and not able to hold a lamp ! He
took too much champagne at supper—that was it. Brute!
I'll never speak to him again—never, never ! But 0, dear
Mrs. Coleman, what will people say ? What will people
say V And her poor little throbbing head sank again on the
kind matronly bosom, and her indignation was drowned in
a flood of tears.
What did he (meaning the ' clumsy idiot' aforesaid)
think ? Why, until he awoke the next morning he had no
distinct idea of what had happened to him. He then found
his head very heavy and painful; and his forehead very
stiff with a trellis-work of diachylum plaster. On the
thoughts which were troubling poor Grace he dwelt but
little, his mind being engrossed with other and graver con-
siderations as soon as he had collected it sufficiently to think
at all. Only when he rose and tried to dress, there fell
from his clothes, which had been thrown all in a heap upon
a chair at his bedside, one of those pretty scraps of cambric
and lace which ladies call a handkerchief, upon which—
though soaked through and through with blood—he could
decipher the letters G. L. He could guess whose it was,
but little imagined what hand had pressed it to his wound.
He smiled that sad sweet smile that we know of; and I
should not wonder if it were pressed elsewhere before he
locked it up in the secret drawer of his dressing-case.
And what did other people say? They said a good
many things that did not accord well with their prayers that
night. All sorts of ingenious and charitable conjectures as
to the cause of Stevie's accident were indulged in, the most
harmless of which, perhaps, was that most in favour with
A DISCOVERY.
228
the fair sex of Grace's own age, namely, that Captain
Frankland had proposed to her, and that she had been told
some dreadful secret about herself. Brothers, cousins, and
other intimates of Stevie's standing in the world dissented
from this view. Stevie was not the sort of man to faint away
at anything a girl could tell him. No, no; it was quite
clear what it was. He had tried to snatch a kiss when they
were alone together in the old hall, and the strong-minded
damsel had knocked him down with the lamp.
Paterfamilias and madame sa femme could not, for the
most part, be got to express themselves otherwise than by
Burleighean shakes of the head, wise raising of eyebrows,
and pursing up of lips. Such things were not to be talked
about before the young people, and what passed between
those elders within the dread sanctuaries of their bed-cur-
tains is not for me to divulge.
Into good Mrs. Coleman's thoughts we have been ac-
customed to pry, and therefore may continue the objection-
able practice, upon the prevailing principle of continuing
doing what is wrong because you have begun to do it.
This matron's thoughts naturally took a matrimonial direc-
tion.
' Ugh !' she exclaimed within herself, as she left poor
Grace's room after having seen her disposed of comfortably
for the night,—' ugh ! it's been her, then, all this time!
And the goose has gone and refused him. Who would be
pestered with girls and their foibles and fancies ? Here's
one without a father or mother, or any relation in the world
to take care of her, who flings over a young fellow like
Stevie, just as though husbands were to be picked off the
hedges like blackberries. Ugh ! I've no patience with
her !'
Nevertheless, Mrs. Coleman was very tender and con-
siderate over Grace, and would not allow any one to talk
about the affair in the old hall, as she saw that its mention
annoyed her. Nor did she recur to it herself except once,
when, after having returned from a visit to ' the Towers,'
she drew Grace aside, and said,
' You'll be glad to learn, dear, that Stevie is quite well
again.'
224
A TANGLED SKEIN.
1 Indeed ! How lucky it was that he fell on his head !'
' How so V
' You see, dearest,' Grace replied, with one of her odd
looks, ' if he had fallen on anything else he might have hurt
himself.'
The affair, like most others, had its comical side. Can
you imagine the appearance of Mr. Jones, the portly butler,
bringing up the rear of the frightened domestics, carrying
a huge blunderbus gingerly, and looking as if he did not
know which to be most frightened at—the robbers who
were supposed to be sacking 1 the Towers,' or the unfami-
liar instrument of destruction with which he might be called
upon to face them ? Try and picture also nine yards and a
quarter of footmen cut up into lengths averaging some six
feet two in length, done up in plush and powder, and ex-
hibiting respectively the extremes of stupidity, stolidity,
and fear upon their countenances. Lastly, realise the
coachman, a dumpy and rotund body with a red face and a
wig, who had evidently been seeing if anything were left in
the decanters as he took them from the dining-room, and
who, armed with the kitchen poker, rolled into the middle
of the black coats and crinolines, heroically requesting that
they would stand aside, and let him (Jehu) get at them
(the supposed robbers), for the purpose of warming them.
1 Let me get at 'em,' roared the little man, struggling vio-
lently, with one leg through a tarlatan skirt, a lace scarf
caught in the stiff curls of his coachman's wig, the round
end of his poker jobbed painfully against the third button
of a pale young gentleman's waistcoat, and the point, still
hot and smoking from the fire, gyrating under Mrs. Cole-
man's nose; ' let me get at 'em, and I'll warm 'em!'
Picture all this, I say, in the midst of a scene which at first
was really one of terror, and you will see there was plenty
to laugh about when it was known that a broken head and
a fainting fit were its worst consequences. The worst con-
sequences I mean, of course, that were known to those who
had not heard the apparently simple words, ' The old
name of Tremlett Towers was Mangerton Chase,' and
were ignorant of the disclosure they made.
And how did Mr. Tremlett behave ? The reader has
A DISCOVERY.
225
discovered that I have taken a dislike to this young gentle-
man. Most true I have; because I know him. Nevertheless,
I am not going to do him an injustice. I think the shock of
seeing his brother stretched motionless on the ground, with
the long crimson lines stealing slowly down his pallid face,
struck off a large piece of the husk which vanity and syco-
phantic worship of small minds had hardened round his
heart, and let out some of the emotions which the ' dear
little delicate Frank' of other days might have felt in a like
case. Of course he had not sanctioned the dancing with
his presence. If it were not for the fear of offending his
mother he would have very soon put a stop to that. It was
easy enough to change Lady Tremlett's first impressions
when they related to the interests of others, but the idea of
a pleasure to herself, once roused, was permanent.
So the dance went on, and Mr. Tremlett took unto
himself some half a dozen of his slaves, and led them to an
upper room where he kept his books and scientific instru-
ments, and from the window of which he had not been able
to get a sufficiently extensive view without cutting down
poor Stevie's memorial tree, and then proceeded to lecture
them upon philosophy and the sucking of eggs—to the de-
spair of some of the victims, who, being young fellows,
would have given one of their eyes to be amongst the
dancers.
In the midst of a dreary palaver about order, forces, or
some such subject, which might have been interesting if the
assembled sages understood what they were talking about,
Grace's wild scream ran through the house, and they all
rushed pell-mell to see what had happened ; and the cause
having been ascertained, Francis behaved, as I have said,
with much feeling and tenderness to his wounded brother.
Just one idea crossed his mind which was not a meritorious
one. ' Will he die ?' thought dear Francis; 1 and if he does
will—will— But no matter'—and the thought, whatever
it was, passed away almost as soon as it was entertained.
The shock of his discovery was a heavy one enough for
poor Stevie as it fell. But I do not think that the worst
of bad news is its first delivery, however suddenly that
delivery may be. At first there is always a chance—a
Q
226
A TANGLED SKEIN.
faint one if you like, but still a cbance—that you have
misunderstood the messenger of evil. That he may be
mistaken. That, after all, it may not be quite as bad as it
seems. That it may be confuted, combated, neutralised—
anything!
Wait till the morning !
Wait till the excitement of the wounding has passed
away, and nothing remains but the dull aching of the
wound. Wait till you have slept upon the calamity, and it
comes back gradually and surely, fully and hopelessly,
upon your mind. Wait till the waking for the worst—
when you know that the days which are to come will be
overshadowed by it—when it looms more huge, and black,
and crushing, upon the horizon of your life. Wake, 1 say,
in the morning, to find that happiness is never to be known
again, save in your dreams; and then bad news is bad
indeed.
The bad news which Stephen had heard became worse
and worse the more he thought upon it. He had made
no inquiries about Mangerton Chase in his own county,
because he felt sure it was not there. It was not only in
his own county, but in the possession of his own father,
at the time when the papers containing the secret were
hid! The thought of their hiding-place raised a gleam
of hope, which flickered for some moments in his mind.
Grace must have been misled. There was no such room as
Brandron had described in Tremlett Towers—in the old
part or in the new. Every chamber was familiar to him,
except the closed room at the end of the west wing; but,
then, that was not over an armoury. There was no ar-
moury; so how could there be a chamber over it ? Armour
was in the old hall certainly, but then the roof of the hall
was the roof of the house. There was no space whatever
between.
This hope was bearing his storm-tossed mind into calmer
waters, when it suffered sudden shipwreck by remembrances
which flocked upon him. He had deemed them of no con-
sequence when they happened; but they assumed a grave
import in the light of the discovery that Tremlett Towers
had been called Mangerton Qhase. His father's unex-
A DISCOVERY.
227
plained visit to Westborough, his conflicting statements
respecting its cause, his desire to have it concealed from
his wife, his anxiety to avoid all mention of Brandron, his
anger at the mere suggestion of opening that closed cham-
ber, the mysterious hint he had thrown out about there
being certain things connected with the Frankland family
into which Stephen was not to inquire—had been treated
by our hero as so many ciphers representing the negative
qualities which, to his sorrow, he knew his parent to possess.
But when the great discovery was placed as an unit before
them, they represented an awful sum of misery, suspicion,
and horror.
' Can it be possible,' moaned poor Stevie, ' that my
father is a—is— ? No—ten thousand times no ! God
forgive me for judging him ! He is weak, and has been
erring enough—may have been compromised by villains and
made their scapegoat, but a murderer—the murderer of
the man who saved my life ! 0, no ! No, no ! It is im-
possible.' And his strong loving heart gave way; and he
wept like a child.
As soon as he had recovered himself a little he began
to think how he should test the truth of Grace's informa-
tion; and, after consideration, resolved to go and see Bill
Grant, the ex-head-keeper, and see what he could tell him.
In as unconcerned a tone as he could assume he asked if it
were true that the old house had been called Mangerton
Chase, and the keeper, after some demur, confessed that
this was so.
' But don't you let the Squire know that I told you,' he
said, ' or he will be cross. We used always to call it " the
Chase" you see, and many never knew the other name.'
Then Stephen pretended to take a great interest in the
old house, and made Grant describe it. He had not pro-
ceeded five minutes before he mentioned the armoury.
' Where was that V asked Stephen quickly.
' Why, they turned it into a laundry, they did—moved
all the coats of arms, and suchlike, into the hall, and—'
' There is a room above it.'
' Ah, yes, sir, there is,' replied the old keeper solemnly.
' Have you ever been in it ?'
228
A TANGLED SKEIN.
4 Only once, when I was a lad and knew nothing about
it. I would not go in there again—no ! not for fifty thou-
sand pound.'
4 Why not T
4 Because it's haunted.'
4 Haunted ! By whom, or what, in the name of wonder V
41 don't think I ought to tell you, Master Stevie; I
don't indeed. It's a family matter, and—and—'
4 Therefore one I ought to he acquainted with. Go on,
Grant. I will know—if not from you, from some one else.'
4 Well, but I don't half like telling you.'
4 I'm quite determined to know.'
4 In that room, sir,' said the keeper, in a low voice, 4 all
the heads of your family die. Old John Frankland died
there, and his father before him, and his grandfather. And
there—mark me, Master Stevie—some day your father
will die.'
4 And I, too, then V
41 pray God, Master Stevie,' said the faithful servant,
4 that the time may be far off; but when Death, which comes
upon us all, comes upon you, he will find you in that room.'
Stephen could not help being impressed with the solemn
tone in which the paralytic spoke, and the feeling of convic-
tion which marked his words.
4 Tell me what you remember of the appearance of the
chamber?' he said, after a long and painful pause.
4 Well, when I saw it—I mind it well—'
4 One moment: was it shut up then V
4 No ; your father was the first to shut it up. In old
days I've heard tell that the Franklands used to go there to
die in their old age—and they mostly lived long lives—and
that they passed away there without pain or struggle. There's
a tale of Sir Oswald Frankland—'
41 know ; he fought in the wars of the Hoses.'
4 Maybe, maybe. Leastwise, he got wounded to death,
and made his people carry him up there in his armour, and
he died standing upright with his sword in his hand. But
that's only a tale.'
4 I've heard of it before, but never heard that it took
place in any particular room.'
MANGERTON CHASE.
229
4 Well, the Squire he didn't like these tales and things;
so he had the door bricked up; and quite right too.'
4 But you saw it when it was open?'
4 Ay.'
4 Then tell me what it was like ?'
4 It's just shaped like my lady's room at the other end
of the wing.'
4 And the walls V
4 Well, when I saw them, they was hung with that sort
of worsted work, like—'
4 You mean tapestry.'
4 Ay, tapestry. And it was furnished with dark carved
oak furniture.'
4 Of what description V
4 There was a great cabinet.'
4 Anything else remarkable V
4 Yes; a looking-glass that makes you seem smaller
than you are.'
4 A mirror.'
'That's it. Well, then there was two suits of armour,
and a stag's head. It was the last seen hereabouts, and
Colonel Gilbert Frankland, your grandfather's brother, shot
it; but when he went up to the beast to cut its throat, it
gave him a tear in the thigh with its antlers. It was nothing
of a wound, but the poison of the horn killed him.'
Stephen paid no attention to the concluding sentence.
He had heard enough—too much! There was no doubt
now. The deserted chamber in Tremlett Towers was the
very one described by Brandron on his deathbed ; and there,
within reach of his hand, lay hid the papers which contained
The Secret.
CHAPTER XVII.
mangerton chase.
The reader will probably have shared the curiosity of
the porteress of the convent at Hull, and not only wonder
why three visitors should intrude upon the hitherto undis-
230
A TANGLED SKEIN.
turbed privacy of Sister Mary in so short a period as one
week, but will want to know who they were. The porteress
was right. There was evidently ' something up.'
The first visitor was Jim Riley—very much changed,
however, as to his outer man from when we last beheld him.
The fur-cap, the nasty velveteen shooting-jacket, the fustian
smalls and hobnail-boots, had disappeared, and were replaced
by a suit of black, in which he looked highly respectable,
but wofully uncomfortable. I can understand why he should
purchase black clothes. He was in mourning for his mother.
But why he should have broken out in a satin waistcoat and
a tail-coat is one of those mysteries which I have striven in
vain to penetrate. My deep but baffled researches convince
me that his mother's recent death had little or nothing to
do with his choice of those vestments. Black is out-and-
out the worst-wearing colour we have. The newest black
cloth looks shabby in daytime after the least provocation;
and yet, go into the streets on Sunday, and you will find
that all the people who can apparently afford only one suit
a year choose it black. The Hon. Reginald Fitz-Stultz, of
the Guards, has a suit for every day in the month. When
he is tired of them they go to his valet; and yet I'll be
bound that not one of them is black. Evening dress I put out
of the question. Giles Scroggins, the journeyman carpenter,
has one. When at last it has ceased to be his Sunday best
it has to be utilised as working apparel; and yet I'll lay my
head against that of one of his tenpenny nails it's black—
the dingiest, the most rotten colour he can get for money!
Would the Hon. Reginald Fitz-Stultz think of wearing
a tail-coat in the daytime ? The hideous solecism apart, he
could not wear a more uncomfortable, useless garment. Still
Giles cleaves to it with a desperate affection. He will have
his black tail-coat—and very nice indeed he looks—with its
useless pockets full of the missus's little things, and the
child's etceteras banging to and fro against his legs, or stand-
ing out at any angle hut that of beauty, as he takes his family
to tea with a friend.
And a black-satin waistcoat! Has your bricklayer never
come for orders in what was once a black-satin waistcoat ?
Do not suppose for an instant that it is the cast-off garment
MANGEETON CHASE.
281
of some other better-to-do person. Visit him at his lodgings
in Little Union-street, or elsewhere, next Sunday, and you
will find him in his shirt-sleeves smoking his pipe in the
window, clad in the successor of that rusty and frayed piece
of unserviceable apparel, which, at its best, looks greasy
about the seams, and utterly impracticable and worthless,
after its kind. He has a succession crop of black tail-coats
and black-satin waistcoats, and his son will have them after
liim. There is no hope of change ! His wife and his
daughter follow the last new fashion set by my Lady Clara
Vere de Vere. They have their crinolines, their fancy pockets,
their pointed belts, their porkpie-hats, their Balmoral boots,
their linsey-petticoats, their flyaway, their spoon-shaped, their
Mary Stuart bonnets, their sealskin (imitation) mantles,
their dull gold (imitation) solitaires and bracelets, their vel-
vet (cotton) headdresses, their sleeves, their skirts, their
flounces—all made in cheap imitation of my lady; but no
power will get Giles to imitate my lord. Of the two I
think I like Giles the best. I have an impulse towards my
handkerchief when I see cheap dirty finery. There is Miss
Wantley now, with her hair waxed and smeared and twisted
into a wonderful network, which endures, innocent of brush,
from Sunday to Saturday, and who spends as much money
upon tawdry finery as would keep all the family in clean neat
prints for a twelvemonth. In her own neighbourhood she is
considered ' quite the lady.' I have my suspicions respect-
ing the internal economy of the fair Flora's toilette. It is
all very well outside, but Giles's black-satin waistcoat
has, at any rate, the merit of disclosing a clean shirt. His
tail-coat, objectionable as it is, has been well brushed.
There is an odour of yellow soap about the honest fellow,
which is reassuring if not fragrant. Yes, I prefer Scroggins
as it is, and should like him all the more if he took to wear-
ing good serviceable tweeds and doeskins, made up into com-
fortable and useful jackets and waistcoats upon the patterns
of the Hon. Fitz-Stultz, which would be cheaper in the end,
and far more satisfactory throughout, than his unsuitable
black-satin ' vest' and tail-coat.
Here the reader, who has, perhaps, skipped this di-
gression, must be informed that it has not been indulged in
232
A TANGLED SKEIN.
without a cause. Have I not said that if I am 1 wanted' I
should dine at Simpson's and take lodgings in Regent-
street upon the reasoning before stated ? And do you think
that I would go about in a fur cap and velveteen shooting-
jacket, or a curly-brimmed hat and coach-and-four studs
in my shirt, or a light-blue frock-coat, with a flower in my
buttonhole, or Hessian boots, a High Church uniform, or
a suit of war-paint, to attract everybody's attention ? No !
I should do as Jim Riley did. Adopt the commonest
costume I could think of, and rub elbows with Inspector
Lagger in the street without a shade of fear.
How the quondam knife-grinder obtained funds for this
metamorphosis need not at present appear. Perhaps he
had obtained remunerative employment through the instru-
mentality of his grandmother at Sheffield—perhaps he had not.
The second visitor to Sister Mary was a rough-looking
sailor-man, who, previous to Jim Riley's advent, had made
a tender impression upon one of the kitchenmaids at the
convent. He formally announced his intention of 1 keeping
company' with her, and his offer was accepted. Her
' Sundays out' were spent with him. They had oyster
suppers in the evening, and he never came empty-handed
to the rendezvous. Ribbons of the most resplendent hue
found their way to the caps and dresses of Patty Marsh,
in which she timidly scuffled out of the convent's back-
door to gladden the eyes of her nautical admirer. They
had their photographs taken at the sailor-man's expense.
Patty's disclosed a libel upon a pretty buxom lass, and the
sailor-man's—bar a great black beard—might have passed
for a portrait of Mr. Sampson Lagger.
This sailor-man was most curious about all that took
place in the convent; and when he heard that a Mr.
Brooks had called to see Sister Mary, desired and obtained
as correct a description of his person as Patty could give.
This obtained, their converse was not so long that evening
as usual, the sailor-man having, as he said, sundry import-
ant matters connected with his ship to attend to. The
next morning Mr. Sampson Lagger in person had an inter-
view with Sister Mary; and the sailor-man having been
informed the following Sunday that another gentleman had
MANGEBTON CHASE.
233
visited that lady in the mean time, Mr. Sampson Lagger
again presented himself at the convent door. Patty had
nothing to do with opening it.
' The answer is,' said the porteress, when the detective
had been announced up-stairs, ' that you are to send up
your business.'
' And what am I to send it up in, my dear V asked Mr.
Lagger.
1 My dear' was an old woman of sixty-two.
' You are to tell it to me, and I'll mention it,' she
replied.
' Well, you've got an uncommon fine head, you have,'
said the visitor, looking at her with his own on one side
and one eye shut; ' but I don't think it will hold my busi-
ness. You can't put a quart of beer in a pint-pot, can you
now V
The porteress expressed herself as knowing nothing
about pints and pots, and Mr. Lagger continued,
' Just you tell the lady I must see her. I won't trouble
her long, but I must see her.'
The reply was that, she had seen him once already—
that she had nothing further to tell him, and therefore
positively declined to give him another interview.
' Yery good,' said Mr. Lagger; ' now I know what to
do. I don't want to run rusty with ladies, but must is
must. You take this 'ere card to the Principal, and you
say just this : " Mr. Lagger, a detective officer from Lon-
don, is below, and he wants to see Sister Mary alone for
ten minutes; Sister Mary won't see him, and all he wishes
to know is this—is he to telegraph to the gentleman who
lives on the first floor with the green-cloth curtains in
Jermyn-street, London, Middlesex, or is he not ?—that's
what he wants to know !"'
The reply this time was, that he was to please to walk
up-stairs ; Sister Mary would come in a few minutes.
What passed between them is best told by its re-
suits.
( Not know where Master Jim's got to ! Well, per-
haps she don't. Not know why Captain Frankland wants
to find out where Mangerton Chase is ! Well, perhaps
234
A TANGLED SKEIN.
she don't agin. But what brings the Captain to her, and
what's Mangerton Chase to him ? That's the question
just now for you, my man' (addressing himself as usual).
' That's about what you have got to find out. The Captain
knows a precious deal more than he'd tell at the inquest.
He's got private information of his own—that's what he's
got! He's on the track, that's sartain. Hang me if I
don't follow him where he goes, and see what he does. I'll
keep my eyes on him. Maybe we'd come up to the clue
together. If we does, there'll be a fair race for it, Samp-
son Lagger; and if you're the man I takes you for, some-
body else will have to be second at the finish.'
So he took himself off back again from whence he came,
and poor Patty never set eyes on her sailor-man again.
Arrived in the metropolis, he had an interview with a person
in authority at Scotland-yard, and, having paid a flying visit
to Little Union-street, took the train the same night for
Durmstone.
A wonderful man for making acquaintances was Mr.
Sampson Lagger. Jones, the Jupiter Tonans of the below-
stairs Parnassus of Tremlett Towers, was not the sort of
person to be easily picked up by a stranger. His air was
dignified, his words were few, he stood stiffly to his dignity,
and resented the slightest approach to familiarity. Never-
theless Mr. Lagger picked him up, and was high in his
favour before a week was out. Vanity was the soft spot in
Mr. Jones's character, and into this the detective struck his
hook and led him about like a sheep. Vanity was the tap
of Mr. Jones's breast, and into this the detective fitted his
pump and pumped it dry.
Their intimacy began at a pigeon-shooting match which
was held in the neighbourhood. A dispute arose, and some
one having appealed to Mr. Lagger, he replied angrily,
4 Don't you appeal to me. You appeal to some one as
knows more than me; and I see a gentleman here as knows
more than me, and more than you and all the rest of the
company put together. He's a gentleman of judgment and
discrimination—that's what he is. I've heard of him, and
bless me if I should like to be a pigeon when he's shooting
a match.'
MANGERTON CHASE.
235
Having attracted general attention by his loud voice and
gestures, the company requested to be informed who this
paragon could be, and fifteen small farmers began to look
sheepish in anticipation of their being introduced as the
Admirable Crichton in question.
' Who is he V retorted Mr. Lagger. ' Why, I am sur-
prised at you ! Who has lived and spent all his life amongst
gentlemen as know about these sort of things ? Who is
here that is in the confidence of half the squires in the
county? Who has come down to this 'ere little game a
purpose to give a sanction to the pro—ceedings? I'm a
stranger hereabouts—I am; but I'm not such a born fool
as not to know an upright and talented referee when I see
one.'
The upshot was that he indicated Mr. Jones as the sub-
ject of his eulogy, and won that person's heart, inside and
out. Such good friends did they become, that Mr. Lagger
was invited to ' the Towers,' was shown all over the house
in the temporary absence of the family, and regaled after-
wards in the butler's sanctum with some rare port and cigars,
to which the guests of ' dear Francis' and my lady were
not often treated. Then Mr. Jones proceeded to pump his
visitor as to what business brought him to Durmstone ; and
Mr. Lagger would wink, place his finger on the side of his
nose most significantly, and throw out mysterious hints
about new railways—bill before Parliament—landowners—
rival company—secret information—confidential service—
and the like. Upon which Mr. Jones would wink his eye,
lay Ms finger on the side of his nose, most significantly of
nothing, and make belief that he understood all about it,
and was not the man to divulge the important secrets which
had been confided to him. Many an evening did the detec-
tive pass in the butler's sanctum and the wider circle of the
housekeeper's room. Mrs. Cooper declared she had never
met a more agreeable gentleman; and Mr. Markleby, who
was * gentleman' to ' dear Francis,' was hurled into the
depths of despair by the flirtation which was instituted be-
tween this welcome guest and Mrs. Patten, my lady's
lady's-maid.
Nor was Mr. Lagger the only visitor in those regions.
286
A TANGLED SKEIN.
The servants' hall of Tremlett Towers was filled with strange
liveries; the more extensive apartments devoted to upper
servants were full of strange ladies' ladies and gentlemen's
gentlemen. The expected guests had arrived, and the
partridges and hares were having a bad time of it. Not
such a bad time as they might have had if our Stevie had
been in the field. Nothing, however, would induce him to
join the party. It was a small sort of revenge to take, and
was, I think, unworthy of him. Your very sensitive people
often make geese of themselves in this way, and think that
they are punishing others when they are only vexing them-
selves.
He had made an inward vow that he would never draw
trigger again upon his mother's land, and even if that har-
rowing disclosure had not been made and absorbed every
other thought than the wretched fears and fancies it engen-
dered, he would have kept his word. As it was, he had a
good excuse for keeping aloof from the new-comers—none
of whom, with one exception, he knew or cared for. His
head, he said, was still very painful, and his face was so
stuck about with plasters that it was not fit to be seen.
So he kept his room, sitting within a few yards of where
the secret was hidden, fretting his heart out, not dar-
ing to make a bold stroke and know the worst at once.
Have you ever received a letter which you hope may con-
tain news of some great pleasure or advantage, or fear may
bring home to you some great loss or grief; and have you
always had the courage at once to break the seal ? Have
you ever had a question trembling on your lips which you
would give the world to have answered, but dared not ask ?
Do you know what it is to have received a wound which you
have not nerve enough to look at ? If you do, you can tell
why Stephen Frankland procrastinated and shuddered at
the thought that, sooner or later, he must raise the veil which
covered severe humiliation and grief.
The only one amongst the guests whom he could see
came up more than once and sat with him, chatting about
old times and his Indian experiences. This was Percy
Coryton's uncle, the Earl of Rossthorne, a very old friend
of Sir George Tremlett's. 'Dearest Francis' was glad
MANGERTON CHASE.
237
enough to welcome his father's friends when they were
earls !
Lord Rossthorne was a nobleman of what is called the
' old school,'—courteous with women, quiet with men, dig-
nified and cold with all. He was not in the habit of order-
ing people about in a brutal tone, by way of impressing you
with his dignity and power—after the manner of some
youthful heads of noble houses; nor was he given to
patronising. The servant who attended him for orders,
and the acquaintance who answered his finesse with the
knave of hearts at the whist-table, were listened to with the
same placid smile, and received their reply in the same soft
measured voice. He was more than sixty years of age,
tall, and more erect and hearty than many a dandy of
twenty-two. So striking was his appearance, with his
bright eagle-like eye, snow-white hair, and quick firm tread,
that no one could pass him in the street without remarking
what a fine handsome man he was. Old you could hardly
call him, for every movement of his body, every expression
of his countenance, evinced firmness, strength, and—to a
keen observer—an indomitable will. There are whispers
about that in his youth he had sown a goodly crop of wild
oats, and those cereals were of luxuriant growth in the year
1819. Even then, however, I do not think that he brought
harlots to brush skirts with his sisters at the Opera, or lent
his hunters to notorious courtesans and patronised them at
the meet, or chatted with them openly in the public pro-
menade. Shocking things these to think of, no doubt;
but as good society does not cut rich young noblemen for
doing them, it can scarcely be angry with a poor young
author for suggesting that they are done.
Sir George Tremlett became acquainted with Lord Ross-
thorne during his memorable visit to young Harcourt in
the days when George the Fourth became king. Young
Harcourt was now a needy man, living as he could at
foreign watering-places; and, notwithstanding the influence
which he had inherited—there was little else to come—from
his popular father, and to which, as we know, Stevie was
indebted for his commission, he might have starved in his
old age, but for the assistance which the noble companion
288
A TANGLED SKEIN.
of his better days generously and delicately afforded. Many
such acts are recorded in favour of the cold and proud Lord
Rossthorne. He had been a widower for upwards of forty
years, and had neither kith nor kin—with the sole excep-
tion of Percy Coryton, his sister's son, and heir to his title
and estates.
The next in rank of the visitors was the Honourable
and Reverend Theophilus Corbyle, one of Mr. Tremlett's
' set' at Oxford, and his bride, a lady of imposing stature
and extreme High Church views, who lost no opportunity,
' as a clergyman's wife,' of putting everybody and everything
to rights, after having picked everybody and everything to
pieces, as a preliminary.
Then there were Professor Spraggle and his lady—also
from Oxford. Three University contemporaries of ' dear
Francis,' a cousin of the Honourable and Reverend Mrs.
Corbyle, and one Colonel Vincent Champneys—of whom
anon—who with Lord Rossthorne formed the shooting
party.
Colonel Vincent Champneys was a new acquaintance of
Francis Tremlett, and a distant connection of the Arch-
deacon of the diocese, who had introduced him at 'the
Towers.' It was not altogether clear from whom this
gentleman had received his commission as Colonel. He
never talked of the regular army, militia, or volunteers,
but had seen much service in many irregulars all over the
world. He had served in Spain, had been a General in the
army of Nicaragua, had worn the white uniform of Austria,
commanded Turkish troops in the Crimean war, and was
fresh from Garibaldi's glorious campaign, when he arrived
at Tremlett Towers. In appearance he was a bronzed
veteran on the wrong side of fifty-six. In manner he was
loud, active, and rather assuming. He could converse
fluently in half-a-dozen languages, knew something of every-
thing, was the best billiard-player in the house, and the
only antagonist worthy of playing, after Lord Rossthorne,
at whist. He soon became upon excellent terms with most
of the party, including the Honourable and Reverend Mrs.
Corbyle, who, ' as a clergyman's wife,' made his roving life
the subject of sundry sermons, to which he listened devoutly.
MANGERTON CHASE.
239
The Honourable and Reverend Mrs. Corbyle was a sort of
4 dear Francis' in petticoats, and greatly infringed upon that
potentate's prerogatives. Lady Tremlett was delighted with
the Colonel. So droll, so entertaining, so good-humoured
was the Colonel.
4 Hope you had a better night's rest, Professor,' said
Sir George to Mr. Spraggle upon the second morning of
his visit.
4 I cannot conscientiously say that I had, Sir George,'
was the reply. 4 Mrs. Spraggle's ears are very quick—
remarkably quick! She asseverates that she heard that
noise again distinctly; and when Mrs. Spraggle hears a
noise in bed, I never have a good night's rest,' said the
little Professor, with the air of a man who had solved a
problem which entitled him to the gratitude of mankind.
4 It must have been the wind,' observed Sir George.
4 Wind, my dear Sir George, or atmospheric air in a
state of agitation, is an impalpable body, incapable, of
itself, to produce any sound; and I am not aware of any
body acting upon which the noises described by Mrs.
Spraggle could be produced.'
4 What were they like V
4 Here she is to answer for herself. My love, our
worthy host requests to know what description you can give
of the sounds which have disturbed your—ahem ! our rest,
for the last two nights.'
4 0 my dear Sir George,' replied that lady, who was
celebrated for her nerves, 4 they were dreadful; like some-
body sharpening a chisel on th4 hearthstone.'
4 Well, well, my dear madam, we will change your
room. You shall not be disturbed again. I think I know
what it was. There is a large tree which grows close to
the house, near your window, and its branches rubbing
against the wall might perhaps produce the sounds which
annoyed you. We will put you in the other wing.'
4 It was not the branches of a tree rubbing against the
wall, Spraggle,' this lady declared when they were alone;
< it was somebody scraping something gritty with some-
thing hard and sharp. I cannot be mistaken, my nervous
240
A TANGLED SKEIN.
organisation is so very acute. What business have people
to be sharpening chisels all night long in a gentleman's
house. It's disgraceful!'
'And so we sha'n't see any more of you, Mr. Lagger?'
said Jones, the butler, to his guest that evening, as he held
open the back door for his departure.
' No,' replied Mr. Lagger seriously; ' all that's bright
must fade, and I must get back to London town. I've bin
among a many pleasant people in my time,' he continued,
addressing the yard pump,' but never among any who come
up to this little lot here: they're regular out-and-out
fizzers—that's what they are.'
Presently, sober Mrs. Cooper and pert Mrs. Patten,
and one or two other of the ladies' ladies, came out to
shake hands with their pleasant visitor under the summer
stars, and wish him good-bye and a pleasant journey on the
morrow. And so he left, to the great regret of all the fair
sex and the satisfaction of Mr. Markleby. He really was
a jolly fellow, and a gallant one in his rough way, was
Sampson Lagger, being just a servants'-hall edition of the
popular Colonel Vincent Champneys.
The nearest way to Durmstone was to cross the lawn
and pass through a wicket in the iron fence which separated
it from the park, into a footpath which led direct to the
church. Mr. Lagger paused at this wicket, and indulged
in one of his usual soliloquies, addressed indifferently to
himself and the moon.
'You've been down here,' he mused, 'pretty nigh a
fortnight, and what have you done beside standing on your
head in that there servants' hall? Why, you ain't done
much. How could you ? You came down here—very pro-
perly—to watch the Captain, to go where he went, see who
he saw, and find out what his little game was; because you
thought that his little game was your little game. You stays
here pretty nigh a fortnight, and you comes to the conclu-
sion that he ain't got no little game at all ! It was a rum
start, too, his going all the way to that old woman at Hull
to find out what his own father's house used to be called
before he was born. It was rum, too, that the Bart, should
A RAT ! A RAT !
241
get that there letter and be off to London in such a hurry
the day before the murder; but then—Holloa! what's
that V
Well might the detective exclaim, 'What's that?'
Straight in front of him, not fifty yards off, an upper win*
dow was opened, and a man bearing a lantern and a knotted
rope passed out, and seizing hold of a water-pipe which ran
down the wall close at hand, swung himself on to the para-
pet above. Then he passed on to the end of the wing, and
having hooked something which was at one end of his rope
to the coping stones, lowered himself through the branches
of the old poplar on to the roof of the oriel window. This
gained, he jerked his rope free, and fastening it again as
before, descended by it till he remained half standing on
the window-sill, half swinging by the rope. With the
hand that was at liberty he next broke and removed one of
the small diamond-shaped panes of glass, and opened the
window from within. In another moment he had sprung
into the chamber.
' Blazes !' exclaimed Mr. Lagger, who had dodged be-
hind a bed of lauristinus when first he saw the light.
' Blazes! here's a pretty go! That chap ain't up to no
good, and it's your dooty, Inspector Lagger, to see what
he's up to—that's about what your dooty is.'
CHAPTER XVIII.
a rat ! a rat !
When Professor Spraggle retired to rest the second
night after his arrival at Tremlett Towers, he found his
better-half sitting up in bed—her fair person describing the
most correct of right angles—with sternness upon her fea-
tures and a watch in her hand. Every one of the numerous
curl-papers which decorated her classic brow appeared as
though it had screwed itself up extra tight for the occasion,
and each particular frill of the severely-starched garment
which her position displayed seemed to stand on end with
r
242
A TANGLED SKEIN.
terror, as the learned man stole mildly into the apartment.
He was a mighty Don in his University ; an object of awe
to quaking undergraduates in 'the Schools;' a very lion
as he paced 4 the High' in full professorial costume; but
the gentlest of ewe-lambs in the presence of his wife, espe-
daily when that authority had assumed her diadem of curl-
papers, and sat in awful state, enthroned between the bed-
curtains. There was then no hope for him until the
morning. He knew that she was shaking her head at him
as he entered, for he heard the curl-papers rustling together.
They seemed to be ringing a muffled peal in memory of his
hope for a night's rest, which had then departed.
4 Spraggle,' said the lady, in a severe tone j ' it is a
quarter to one o'clock.'
4 Is it really, my love ? I did not think it could be so late.'
4 Think !' retorted the injured fair one. ' What busi-
ness have you to think? You know that you are allowed
twenty minutes when I retire, and I told you that it was
twelve o'clock as I left the room. You've been drinking
soda-water, Spraggle, with those young men.'
The Professor eagerly repudiated any participation in so
wild an orgie.
4 I assure you, my dear,' he said, 4 that you are mis-
taken. I have touched nothing since you left. The fact
is, that I got into a very interesting conversation with Mr.
Tremlett respecting Pre-Adamite literature, and—'
4 Pre-Adamite fiddlestick's end !' interrupted his lady.
4 What do you know about Adam more than you hear in
church, or Mr. Tremlett either ?'
4 But you must know, my dear, that a very learned
Russian—'
4 Don't talk to me, sir, about your Russians, or your
Prussians either,' exclaimed Mrs. Spraggle. 4 If they teach
you to keep your lawful wife awake all night, destroying
her health in this way, they ought to be ashamed of them-
selves. I've no patience with people who pretend to know
more than their betters. Pre-Adamite literature indeed!
Why, you will be wanting to persuade me next that Abel
kept a circulating-library, and that Noah had a printing-
press in the Ark.'
A RAT ! A RAT !
243
The Professor assumed a dignified air, and replied, ' I
would have you to know, madam, that—'
' Spraggle ! Spraggle ! ! If you go on talking in this
incessant manner—if you do not get into bed without one
other word—you will put my poor nerves into such a state,
that I shall not get a wink of sleep all night.'
This was enough. In three minutes the Professor had
assumed a horizontal position parallel to his better-half,
and at the furthest possible distance from her pillow. He
had just resigned himself to descending slumbers, when his
spouse sprang up into her former angular position, with the
agility of a ' Jack-in-the-box.'
' Spraggle!'
' My love V
' This is not such a good room as the one we had last
night.'
' No, my dear,' replied the Professor. ' Perhaps not;
but then, you know, it's very quiet.'
' I am not so sure of that. I heard a noise just before
you came in.'
* It was somebody going to bed.'
' Do you believe it was a tree scraping against t e wall,
that made the noise last night ?'
' Of course it was, my dear. Did not Sir George
say so ?'
'Then why did he not have the tree cut down?' de-
manded the lady.
' Cut down, my love V
' Yes; cut down! Don't repeat my words, Mr. Spraggle,
like that.'
' Because, my life, he thought it would be best to change
us into another room,' pleaded her husband mildly.
' I will not be changed about into different rooms every
night, Mr. Spraggle, for you or anybody. My father was a
bishop, and I'm not going to be made nothing of. It's just
like your mean-spirited ways to want it.'
'My dear,' expostulated the poor Professor, 'did I say
I wanted it V
' I don't care whether you do, or whether you don't,' re-
plied his wife, making a hurricane of her curl-papers. ' All
244
A TANGLED SKEIN.
I say is this—if people are allowed to go about the house
sharpening chisels to-night, I shall pack up my things and
leave to-morrow. I will not endure it. There 1' and the
curl-papers rang out another peal, as the offended lady
flopped back again upon her couch.
Half-an-hour afterwards, when the Professor was in his
first sleep, dreaming of a lecture he was about to give upon
his return to Oxford, respecting the use of the Digamma,
Mrs. Spraggle again became suddenly rectangular.
i Spraggle !'
'0 dear! O dear ! What is it, my love V
1 There's a noise.'
Spraggle groaned.
' Don't presume to groan at me like that, Mr. Spraggle,
for I'll not endure it!' exclaimed his better-half. ' I say, I
believe there is a noise.'
' Then you are not quite certain, my love V said the Pro-
fessor, greatly relieved by the doubt expressed.
' No 1' she replied, after a pause. ' I can say, conscien-
tiously, that I am not quite certain. You may go to sleep
again, Spraggle; and if I hear anything I will be sure to
wake you.'
' Thank you, my dear,' said her husband, and again he
lapsed into Dreamland, but only to be violently torn once
more from its charms. He was dreaming that his great
treatise, in fourteen volumes, on the Greek particles, had
been given to a discerning public, and that he had been
elected Dean of Christ Church by acclamation, but that
some one insisted upon pulling his academical gown off his
shoulders just as he was going to be installed. He awoke,
and found that it was his wife who was shaking him.
i Whatever may be your conduct towards me, Spraggle,'
said the lady, as soon as she had thoroughly aroused him,
' I shall always be fair and candid towards you. I am not
obstinate, like some people I could mention, and do not
mind acknowledging myself to be in error. I find that I
was mistaken when I woke you and said that there was a
noise.'
' I am very glad to hear you say so, my dear,' said the
Professor.
A RAT ! A RAT!
245
' Of course you are!' retorted his spouse; 'of course
you are glad to find something which you can throw in my
teeth hereafter. I daresay I shall never hear the end of
the admission which my truthful nature compels me to
make; but I am not going to tell a lie for you, Spraggle,
or any one else !'
' Of course not, my love. I—'
' Will you let me to speak ! I was saying, when you in-
terrupted me, that I am determined to tell the truth, come
what may; and the truth is, that I have not been able to
hear any noise. I have listened attentively for the last
three-quarters of an .hour, and I can conscientiously affirm
that the house is quite quiet. Therefore pray let me go to
sleep, Mr. Spraggle, if you. do not wish to have me quite ill
from want of rest.'
So the Professor slept the sleep of the blessed at last.
Nevertheless, the house was not quite quiet all that
night; though the fact of there being a slight break in the
silence cannot be taken to disparage Mrs. Spraggle's highly
sensitive acoustic powers, when we consider the distance
which separated her from the scene of the disturbance.
One of Mr. Tremlett's University friends—a stout young
gentleman with white eyelashes and pink hands, who had
asserted his ability to sleep anywhere—had been transferred
into the chamber originally occupied by the Professor and
his wife; and some chaff was indulged in at the expense of
the learned man, when Colonel Yincent and one or two of
the least serious of the visitors assembled the next morning
in the breakfast-room.
'Well, Mr. Roundleby,' said the Colonel, when the
stout young gentleman made his appearance, ' did the
ghost come and sharpen chisels in your room last night V
1 Well, not exactly.'
' What do you mean by " Not exactly." How did you
sleep ?'
' Pretty well.'
' Is that all 1 We all thought, from your own account,
that you were a lineal descendant of the Seven Sleepers,
and that nothing would disturb you.'
' O, I sleep very soundly as a general rule,' replied
246
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Roundleby; 4 only you see when a man expects to hear
anything, he gets fidgety, and that keeps him awake.'
4 Did you hear anything, then ?' asked his intimate
friend, Mr. Octavius Flounder, a profound metaphysician
of twenty, and one of dear Francis's most ardent admirers.
4 Well, I think—I may say I am sure—quite sure I
did.'
4 What was it V asked the Colonel quickly.
4 Just such a noise as Mrs. Spraggle described—a
grating, scraping sound, as though somebody were at work
with a chisel.'
4 But did you not hear how Sir George accounted for
it V asked Mr. Flounder. 4 The boughs of the tree that
grows outside, by the window, scrape against the wall when
swayed by the wind.'
4 When swayed by the wind, perhaps they do,' said
Roundleby; 4 but there was no wind last night—not a
breath.'
4 It was certainly very sultry,' mused the metaphysician:
4 but are you quite sure, my dear Augustus, that you were
not misled by fancy 1 The human mind, in reflecting im-
pressions conveyed by what we vulgarly call our 44 senses,"
frequently—'
4 Yes, I know,' interrupted his friend, who apparently
was prepared for what was coming. 41 daresay it was all
fancy—that an ideal something was, by an effort of the
imagination, supposed to be rubbed against an ideal some-
thing else, and that the result was a purely ideal noise.
Nevertheless, it was such a noise as no one could help
hearing.'
4 From whence did it proceed V
4 From the end of the passage.'
4 Where all that old tapestry hangs f
4 Exactly.'
4 Why did you not get up and see what was making it V
4 0, it was no business of mine.'
41 should think anything that kept me awake all night
a business of mine,' replied the metaphysician.
4 What! if it were* only an idea 1 But your usually
logical mind has taken a jump, my dear Flounder. The
A EAT ! A EAT !
247
noise—whatever it was—did not keep me awake all night.
It lasted at the utmost for about half-an-hour, and was
not continuous. It may have begun again, though, after
I had fallen asleep.'
' I think I can explain the mystery,' observed Colonel
Vincent Champneys, who had been listening to the fore-
going conversation. * The sound you describe is very like
that which would be made by a rat gnawing through the
oak wainscoting.'
' But, my dear Colonel,' replied Roundleby, ' a rat
would not take two nights to eat his way through a board,
and he would hardly masticate that hard old wood for
amusement.'
'Tor amusement, No—from necessity, taught by in-
stinct, Yes,' said the Colonel. ' Are you not aware that
the incisor teeth of the rat grow so fast that it is obliged to
gnaw to keep them down. Take my word for it now, that
you were disturbed by a rat, and don't notice the noise
when you hear it again. You can do no good by getting
up and driving it away. The rascal will come back to his
work when all is silent again, and I daresay—ah, here
comes Sir George, he will tell us. Are you troubled with
rats here, Sir George?
'Rats !' exclaimed the Baronet, as he came fussing, as
usual, into the room ; ' I should think so. We have got
some of the most ancient families of rats in the country.
They breed amongst the hollow floors of the old house, and
I am sorry to say that they have overrun the whole building.'
' You should have a grand battue some day. We had
one at Keystone Castle last month, and it was capital fun,'
said the Colonel.
' By Jove !' exclaimed Sir George; ' a capital thought!
So we will—so we will—we'll have a grand battue, and
you shall manage it—will you ?
' By all means. You have only to order the keepers to
bring their ferrets and a few sharp terriers, and I dare-
say,' the Colonel continued, turning to Roundleby, 'that
we shall polish off your enemy amongst the rest.'
' Enemy ! enemy !—what enemy ? inquired Sir George,
looking from one to the other.
248
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Colonel Vincent thinks that it is a rat which makes
that noise in the passage close to my room,' replied
Boundleby. ' By all means begin your battue there.'
' There !' exclaimed the Baronet. ' No, no, no; that
would never do. There are no rats about that passage.'
' Not behind the tapestry under the skirting boards V
replied the Colonel. ' I should have thought that the very
best place to look for them.'
' But pray don't; you are quite mistaken,' said Sir
George, becoming suddenly flushed and excited. 'I—I
must ask you, really as a favour, not to—not to move
the tapestry. It—it—is very old, and—and—fragile, and
I will—I say I value it highly, and—and there is a great
deal of dust accumulated behind—don't you see. So pray
do not touch it. Now, will you promise me—will you,
gentlemen, promise me—not to touch this very old, and
ha—ha—ha—very dusty tapestry ? Because you see,'
continued their host, without waiting for a reply, 'it
would be no use doing so—only make a mess—as all the
rats are in the new part of the house—every one.'
'Well,' said Colonel Champneys, 'we can begin the
slaughter there.'
' I think,' replied the Baronet, after a pause, ' that it
would be hardly worth while; we have trapped so many
lately that there are not more than one or two of the crea-
tures about. Now, if you -were to go to the granary in the
farmyard, you would find excellent sport.'
' Sport!' exclaimed the Colonel; ' my dear Sir George,
you do not suppose I consider ratting " sport" ? I only sug-
gested it as a means of abating a nuisance, for I certainly
understood you to say that your house, and especially the
older part of it, was infested with those vermin; but of
course you know best, and I may be mistaken.'
' 0, quite so—quite so—quite so ! Ah, here are the
ladies !' and the Baronet, hearing the distant rustle of silk,
fussed away into the hall, received his fair guests, and
passed back with them into the breakfast-room.
' And so we really were successful in finding you a com-
fortable room, my dear Mrs. Spraggle 1 I am so glad!
You were not disturbed again?'
A RAT ! A RAT!
249
' No, Sir George, I am happy to say that I was not,'
replied the lady. ' It was very good of you to prevent the
recurrence of that odious noise.'*
' And yet,' replied the Baronet, * here is a gentleman
who fancies that he heard it.'
' Who is he V demanded Mrs. Spraggle severely. ' Show
him to me. Let him step forward.'
Roundleby was indicated as the pretender, and con-
fronted—looking very sheepish — with the indignant
lady.
' Mr. Spraggle,' she said to her husband, who had just
entered the room, ' be so good as to inform this gentleman
whether I did, or whether I did not, make a communication
to you last night, with regard to the house being, or not
being, perfectly quiet V
' You certainly made several observations on the subject,
my love,' replied the Professor.
' And what was the opinion, Mr. Spraggle, that, after
careful consideration, I arrived at f
i That the house was quiet—quite quiet, my dear.'
' I believe that, after having expressed myself to that
effect, I went to sleep.'
' You did, my love.'
'We have been married, if I am not incorrect, Mr.
Spraggle, for eleven years ?'
' We have, my dear,' replied the Professor, with a sigh.
' Prom observation of my nervous system during that
time, do you think it possible that I could have slumbered,
had there been a noise in the house V
1 Certainly not, my love !' replied the Professor empha-
tically.
' Then I think that the gentleman had better not make
himself ridiculous by repeating a statement which cannot
have any foundation in fact,' observed the lady, gazing
sternly at the wall about two yards over Boundleby's head.
' I never was so insulted in my life,' she observed after-
wards; ' a mere Bachelor of Arts to tell me that he heard
noises whilst I was asleep ! Let him take care what he is
about, or either he or I will have to leave the house !'
It was on this same morning that Stephen Prankland
250
A TANGLED SKEIN.
made his first appearance in public since his accident, and
was introduced to his brother's guests, to all of whom—as I
have already said—he considered himself to be a stranger.
When, however, he was presented to Colonel Vincent, a
bright flush suffused his pale face, and instead of frankly
shaking his hand, as he had done with Eoundleby and the
others, the grave young soldier assumed his gravest manner,
and passed this new acquaintance with a distant bow. The
gay Colonel was rather taken aback by this sudden change
in the demeanour of the eldest son of the house, but he was
too much a man of the world to show his vexation; he only
bit his lip and said nothing. Nor was Stephen's apparent
rudeness noticed by the other visitors, for Lady Tremlett
entered the room at the moment, and engrossed the general
attention.
She had been greatly affected, as we know, by Stephen's
misfortune when it happened; but had forgotten all about
it by luncheon-time the next day. She had even gone so
far as to declare to Lord Kossthorne that it was very unkind
indeed of1 dear Stevie' to stay up in his room, and not help
to entertain the company. If he was well enough, she
complained, to go out and visit a dreadful old gamekeeper,
surely he was not too much hurt to make himself agreeable
to the charming people who were all so fond of' dear Francis.'
The idea of visiting him, and seeing for herself how he
actually was, never had occurred to her. She had sent her
maid to inquire, and the answer was that he had gone out.
It was subsequently reported that he had been seen by one
of the stable-boys coming out of Grant's cottage. Hence
my lady's complaint. But when he kissed her in his old
affectionate manner, and she saw what a change those few
days had made in him, she forgot all her grievances. She
flung her arms round his neck; she parted aside the crisp
brown locks which hid the wound upon his forehead, with
her pretty jewelled fingers; she kissed the strip of black
plaster which covered the scar, and cried over it, before all
the guests. ' O, how pale he was! O, how haggard he
looked ! 0, what a strange expression he had in his eyes !
She was sure he was very ill! He had broken something
dreadful in his brain; William must ride over, directly, to
A RAT ! A RAT !
251
Derby, for Dr. Cutler. William must telegraph imme-
diately to London for Dr. Locock, and that other clever
doctor that the newspapers praised so much—what was his
namel 0, do somebody tell her his name ? 0, it was
Holloway, Professor Holloway ! How wicked it was of her
—Lady Tremlett—not to have sent for the doctors before.
The dear fellow! O, did anybody know what to do for
him ? She was sure he had dislocated his brain ! Ought
he to be bled, or take a Seidlitz powder, or be trepanned, or
what 1 Sh'e was confident that he would die if they did not
do something immediately !' Thus she ran on.
This was just the sort of thing that would have worried
Stevie beyond measure at any other time; but now he was
not sorry to use the bodily suffering under which he was
presumed to labour as a veil to hide the effects of that
mental agony which, in truth, had blanched his cheeks, and
ploughed furrows on his brow. He assured Lady Tremlett,
in as playful a tone as he could assume, that he was getting
quite well again, and that there was not the least cause for
her anxiety; but did not object to Dr. Cutler being sent
for. He had no heart for society, and gladly seized the
excuse which would be accorded to him, as an invalid, of re-
maining in his own room, when, and as long as, he pleased.
And there, at the foot of the breakfast-table, very pos-
sibly in the same chair in which he had sat only a few
weeks before, with that ugly scrawl burning in his pocket—
laughing, chattering, making silly old jokes, paying absurd
compliments right and left, as though he had not a care or
a regret to cast a shadow on his life—sat Sir George Trem-
lett. When, the meal being concluded, he laid his hand
upon his elder son's shoulder, and with real earnestness
begged him to take medical advice, an involuntary shudder
ran through Stevie's veins, and he could not help shrinking
from the touch. In a moment it had passed away, and
beckoning his father into one of the bay windows, he said,
11 want to have just a word or two with you, sir, if you
have time.'
< Certainly, my dear boy, certainly. What is it V
( Where did you pick up this Colonel Vincent Champ-
neys ?'
252
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' He was introduced to me by the Archdeacon; he is a
connection of his wife.'
' Do you happen to know what he is V
' 0, he has been in the army—all over the world. Been
everywhere. A very superior man, I assure you.'
1 Humph!' said Stevie. ' Now, pray don't let this go
further, for I may be mistaken. I think I have heard of
him in India.'
' O yes, he has been in India.'
1 When V
1 Ah, that I cannot say; but you can ask him.'
' Scarcely ; for if he be the man I take him to be, he
was expelled the club at Simla for cheating at cards.'
' Impossible!'
' I do not say positively that he is the same. The man
I mean, who never was in our army or the Queen's, but
who held some command in the service of one of the Ameers
of Scinde, and who rendered himself infamous from Cape
Comorin to the Himalayas by his conduct to his wife, was
pointed out to me once at Barrackpore; and if that soi-
disant Colonel Vincent is not your Colonel Vincent, then
all I can say is, that your friend labours under a most un-
fortunate similarity of name and appearance with about the
greatest blackguard that ever trod the earth.'
' Really, really, my dear Stevie,' exclaimed the Baronet,
' you are going too far. The idea ! It is really too bad
of you to make such charges. A friend of ours—a gentle-
man who visits all over the country; a relation of the
Archdeacon's ; an officer—'
' Pardon me !' interrupted Stevie. 1 There you beg the
question. I say he is not an officer. Ask him, casually, in
what regiment he has served, and show me his name in
the Army List—you have a whole collection of them, I
know, somewhere—and I withdraw all I have said, and ask
your pardon for having cast wrongful aspersions on your
guest. Only be careful; for if I should happen to be right,
you have no minor villain to deal with.'
Lord Rossthorne did not come down to breakfast this
morning. The night before he paid Stevie a visit in his
room, and sat some time with him, chatting over old times,
A RAT ! A RAT !
253
and in the course of conversation had then complained that
he felt his old enemy, the rheumatism, creeping over him.
4 He's tracing out his works, my boy,' said the courteous
old nobleman. 41 got my feet wet in those splendid turnip-
fields of yours, out shooting to-day, and he has proclaimed
war in consequence. I must try if I cannot raise the siege
by a coup de main, or, at any rate, make terms of truce;
so if you do not see me to-morrow morning, make my ex-
cuses to Lady Tremlett, and tell her that, if we old fellows
will be boys, we must take the consequences.'
The shooting party, therefore, was deprived of its best
shot.
As its various members are waiting for the dog-cart,
which was to take them on their way, Colonel Vincent
Champneys drew Roundleby aside, and observed,
4 This eldest son seems a morose sort of individual.
How did he get that blow on the head which he makes such
a fuss about ?'
4 Tremlett tells me that he tripped up over some girl's
dress, at a party they had some nights before we came, and
tumbled against something.'
'Was he screwed, then?'
' I daresay he was,' replied Roundleby. ' These Indian
officers are awful rips—some of them.'
4 Is he in the Indian army ?' asked the Colonel quickly.
' So I am told.'
' Of what Presidency ?'
' I don't know; but here comes his brother, he will
know. 0, Mr. Tremlett! tell us what Presidency does
Captain Frankland belong to V
4 Bengal.'
4 May I ask in what regiment ?' inquired Colonel Champ-
neys.
4 The -—th Light Cavalry. But look, look, Colonel!
You have dropped your cigar amongst the powder-flasks.'
41—no—have I ? Well, it does not matter, it is out,'
said Vincent, in rather a confused tone and manner.
41 beg your pardon,' replied our methodical Francis;
41 can see it smoking. Why, the end is quite red-hot.'
4 So it is ! Very strange! I thought it was out,' And
254
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Colonel Vincent Champneys placed it again between bis
lips, and having blown out a dense cloud of smoke, took
up his gun, and sauntered away towards the shrubbery.
CHAPTEE XIX.
the old, old story.
The Italian style of architecture, so admirably adapted
by Messrs. Eubble & Square to enlarge the ancient Eliza-
bethan mansion once known as Mangerton Chase, had been
followed in the erection of Euxton Court. Mrs. Coleman
had her weaknesses, and one of them was to follow the lead
of ' the great house.'
Her own particular room was situated in a sort of gazebo,
from which an extensive view of the surrounding country,
and especially of the drive which led up to her hall-door,
could be obtained. There—having duly performed her
onerous domestic duties—she sat on the watch, like the
warders of old, not for the purpose of warning her strong-
hold into a state of defence, upon the approach of any enemy
that might appear in array before it, with the view of tak-
ing it by storm and carrying off its treasures, but that she
might be able to have a graceful reception prepared for the
foe, and exhibit those treasures to him in their most attrac-
tive form, with a view to their being carried off as speedily
as possible. By all which I mean to say, that the good
lady took care that her 1 gals' should never be taken at a
disadvantage by a possible suitor. On the contrary, that
they should be discovered, on all occasions, attired in the
most charming toilettes, and engaged in the most elegant
pursuits. About a quarter of a mile from the house was an
iron gate through which every visitor had to pass, and
which, swinging to and fro till it finally closed, made a loud
clicking noise that served as a preliminary signal. This
heard, the ' gals' would be ordered into the drawing-room,
and when the coming man was announced, he would find
Laura at the piano, in the paroxysms of some well-studied
fantasia; and the beautiful Constance seated by the win-
THE OLD, OLD STORY.
255
dow, giving the finishing touches to wonderful water-colour
paintings, kept expressly for the purpose; whilst the mother
would feign astonishment at the arrival, and heartily wel-
coming the guest, would apologise for the girls being found
at their work.
In the days when Stevie was supposed to have a ten-
dresse for Miss Coleman, he was once welcomed in this
fashion; but the scheme received its deathblow, as far as
he was concerned, by revelations made by her truthful but
indiscreet brother Bobby, who, having rushed into the
drawing-room at the moment when Mrs. Coleman was ex-
plaining that Laura had just been trying over some new
music, exclaimed,
' 0 ma, what a crammer! Why, she learnt it last
winter!'
It was no use trying to frown the urchin into silence,
or to tell him he was mistaken. This made matters worse.
' I tell you she did, ma. She began in the middle just
as Captain Stevie passed the window. Didn't you, Laura ?
You always do. And Conny—now, Captain Stevie, I'll
tell you what Con does. Whenever Mr. Coryton comes,
she fetches out that old thing'—indicating the work of art
aforesaid—' and makes believe to paint. I say she does
now ! Don't make faces at me, Constance—ma says its vul-
gar to make faces, and so you're vulgar—there !' And this
enfant terrible stuck his hands in his pockets and his tongue
in his cheek, and considered that he had evinced a power of
perception for which he ought to be rewarded. Doubtless
he was when the visitor had taken his leave.
The shooting party having set off from 1 the Towers,'
Stevie wended his way towards Buxton Court. Click, click,
went the iron gate, and in an instant Mrs. Coleman and
her eldest daughter were at the window.
' It's only Stevie,' said the former, resuming her work
1 how slowly he walks !'
4 I'll go and tell Grace,' said Laura, springing towards
the door.
4 Stop—you'll do no such thing—sit down ! What
business have you to meddle with Grace, I should like to
know V
256
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Why, mamma, dear, I thought—'
' I wish to goodness, Laura,' interrupted her mother,
taking off her spectacles and looking her eldest) born in the
face, ' that you would not think. You always think wrong
—remain where you are !'
Mrs. Coleman was perfectly aware that to warn Grace
of Stephen's approach was the surest way to make her
dash up into her own room, and remain there until he was
gone. She knew also that this intractable damsel was
busily engaged in the conservatory, through which Stevie
had to pass on his way to the drawing-room, and therefore
resumed her occupation with much composure.
Stephen found the person he had come to see superin-
tending the repotting of some choice plants. One of those
very comfortable, but remorselessly ugly, sun-bonnets, which
look like a coal-scuttle in a flounced dress, almost hid her
face. Her pretty fingers were thrust into a pair of shabby
old gardening gloves, and her gown, which was tucked up
in some mysterious manner, disclosed the most perfect little
pair of hob-nailed boots that were ever seen. In one hand
she wielded a garden trowel deftly, and in the other sat a
big yellow frog, which shared, with Doggie, such affection
as she had to expend upon the animal kingdom.
Great was Stevie's surprise when, in her confusion at
his unlooked-for appearance close by her side, she gave
him her hand, frog and all, to shake.
Froggie hopped off into some ferns, and the under-
gardener was hurrying away also when Grace stopped him.
' Do not go, Joseph; I have not done with you yet.'
i Beg your pardon, miss, but it's dinner-time,' and the
man stood irresolute.
Grace made no reply, but turned upon her heel and
marched quickly towards the drawing-room, into which she
Would have passed, only Stephen intercepted her.
' May I have two or three minutes' conversation with
you, Miss Lee, before you go in ?' he asked, in a low voice.
' Well, what is it? What have you got to say?'
* I have got to tender you my sincere apologies for what
occurred on Tuesday night.'
' 0, pray do not give yourself the trouble,' replied Grace
THE OLD, OLD STORY.
257
brusquely. 'It was nothing to me. You were the only
sufferer, I think.'
' Physically speaking, I was,' resumed Stephen, ' but
still you must have—that is—I mean it was very awkward,
and—I,was much to blame for placing you in such a situa-
tion. You were—you are, I can see, annoyed V
'It certainly is not pleasant to have people making
wicked—talking absurdly about one,' replied Grace, flush-
ing up angrily at the recollection of some little spiteful
speeches she had overheard on that eventful night.
' Do I understand you to hint, Miss Lee,' inquired
Stephen gravely, 'that any one has dared to—to—'
' You understand me to hint nothing. I never hint. I
hate hints,' Grace rejoined, playing a tattoo upon the en-
caustic tiles with one little hob-nailed boot. ' And I dis-
like talking about disagreeable things. Pray drop the sub-
ject. I was as much to blame as you. What business had
I to -go gaping at a lot of grimy old pictures of people
whom I don't care a straw about1? It served me right;
but really I think that you might have contented yourself
with making me look ridiculous before all those people,
without coming here to remind me of my stupidity when
I had forgotten all about it.'
' 0 Miss Lee,' replied Stevie, deeply hurt by the levity
and harshness of her tone, ' if you only knew the horror of
that revelation—if you would believe me when I say that
I would give the best days of my life that it should not
have been made—above all things, that you should not have
made it, you would not—you could not speak thus.'
' Revelation!'
' I can call it by no other word.'
' Perhaps you misunderstood me,' said Grace, in a softer
tone than she had spoken heretofore. ' I merely mentioned
that the ancient name of your father's house was Mangerton
Chase.'
' And that fact,' replied Stephen bitterly, ' is—but I
cannot explain. That is what I feel must place me in such
a contemptible position before you; but pray give me credit,
Miss Lee, for not behaving like an idiot, or—or—worse, in
the presence of a lady; and believe me when I say that a
s
258
A TANGLED SKEIN.
far stronger and better man than I can ever pretend to be
would have been, I am sure, struck down as I was struck
(town by the thought which flashed out of those—to you—
simple words.'
1 Are you in earnest ?' asked Grace, turning her kind
and honest eyes full in his face.
She found her answer there.
' How wretchedly ill you look !' she added, half to her-
sejf: ' has your wound been very painful ?'
Stephen smiled sadly; but, remembering the part he
had to play, replied,
' Well, rather. You see my poor brains had been half
addled by the sunstroke I had in India, and this last shake
has not improved matters.'
' You must remain quiet, and not think about anything
t^at is disagreeable; you will soon be yourself again then,'
prescribed Dr. Grace.
1 Not think !' Stephen replied. ' Ah, if our minds were
only like our arms, or that we could use them or not at our
pleasure ! Or, better still, like our eyes, so that we could
shut them upon that which we do not wish them to dwell
upon ! Not think ! That would be a happy state of being.'
' Captain Frankland,' replied Grace, in her quietest
manner, 'you are talking very wildly. You are, as you
admit, not fully recovered from a serious attack, and are
exciting yourself very unwisely. You are saying things
which you will wish unsaid some day; so please let us
change the subject and go into the house.'
' You are right,' said Stephen, with a deep sigh, as he
followed her towards the door; ' but you do not know what
it is to have a secret grief gnawing at your heart.'
Grace had plucked a flower in passing, and as Stevie
spoke thus she paused and began slowly tearing it to pieces,
a deep melancholy flowing over her face the while. He
stood by her side watching the bright leaves as they flut-
tered all bruised and mangled to the ground, and the slow
abstracted motions of the dear hands that destroyed them. 1
Ho you not know that sort of dreamy preoccupation which
sometimes steals over one when alone with a person dreamily
preoccupied 1 Mr. Coleman passed along the garden-wall
THE OLD, OLD STORY.
259
that ran along the outside of the conservatory, within five
yards of where Stephen and Grace were standing, and he
stopped a few moments looking at them, and trying to
attract their attention. He was on the point of making a
stride over the flower-plot to tap at the window, for they
stood with their backs towards him, but he changed his
jpind and went on. He had entered the house, and was in
his wife's room, up in the tower, before Grace replied.
1 You are mistaken,' she said, in a very low tremulous
voice, and turning her head aside to conceal the tears which
had been gathering in her eyes, and which at last fell on
the little heap of floral ruin that lay at her feet; 1 you are
mistaken there. I do.'
' Then,' replied Stephen, in a tone which was an echo
of her own, ' you know, perhaps, what it is to yearn for
some one with whom to share that grief—whom to seek
for advice and comfort. I cannot tell why,' he continued,
after a little, seeing that she made no reply, and as though
thinking aloud ; ' but in all my troubles, none of my old
friends suggest themselves to me as advisers. I am always
wondering what you would think, what you would do, what
you would advise.'
An indescribable expression, in which surprise, pleasure,
and a little fear were strangely blended, stole over the face
of his companion as our Stevie made this confession. She
looked up timidly, and finding that his gaze was averted,
the puzzled look melted away and gave place—must it
be told ?—to one of sympathy and tenderness, which deep-
ened as it lingered on his honest, handsome, haggard face.
Ah, if some of us could only recognise the splendid
chances which the whirligig of time brings round for us
now and again, sometimes never to reappear, what a bless-
ing it would be ! If Stevie had but looked round at that
moment, how different might his life have been for many a
day !
The stupid fellow knew that he never felt so peaceful
and happy as when by her side; that the air around her
seemed full of a delicious languor-creating perfume; that
the slightest touch of her dress thrilled through him to the
quick ; that every movement of her lustrous eyes, in those
260
A TANGLED SKEIN.
moments of enchantment, seemed as though it drew his
heart nearer and nearer to her own, leaving him so faint
and powerless, that if he had had the surest knowledge
that the touch of her lips was death, and they were bending
towards him, he would have yielded to that sweet poison and
drained it to the dregs. In a word, he knew that he loved
her as he had never loved before: but the idea that she
felt any tenderness towards him; that that sinking and
trembling of her voice meant anything in particular ; that
at the moment when, fascinated by the sweet presence, he
stood spellbound, gazing at the scattered leaves which had
been swept along by the train of her dress, she was watch-
ing him and loving him with all the strength of her pure
strong heart—pouring over him a flood of tenderness from
her dear gentle eyes—never occurred to him for a moment.
It was, perhaps, as well that it did not; for had he
looked up, and caught her with this expression on her face,
and profited by the mute avowal, it is just a toss-up
whether she would have frankly held out her hand, and
said, 4 Stevie, I do believe you love me, and I know that I
love youor whether she would have flown in a rage with
herself for betraying herself—have vented it in refusing
him—have told a big fib, declaring that she had no senti-
ment towards him but that of friendship, &c., and then have
run away and fretted her poor little heart out in secret for
all time to come.
Stephen was the first to break the silence.
4 Do you remember,' he asked, 4 that day when we came
back from church, through Collyer's farm, when I found
that my old tree was gone V
Grace bowed her head.
4 You seemed to understand me then—to know what a
foolish soft-hearted fellow I am; and it is because you
spoke so kindly that I have learned to look upon you really
as a friend, notwithstanding the comparative shortness of
our acquaintance.'
Grace turned round upon him sharply, and demanded,
4 What has that—what has Mr. Tremlett been doing
now V
4 Why do you ask V
THE OLD, OLD STORY.
261
1 I'm sure I don't know,' replied Grace, resuming her
former careless tone ; ' idle curiosity, I suppose. You re-
ferred to an occasion upon which he had annoyed you, and,
with the bad logic peculiar—as some of you say—to my sex,
I jumped to the conclusion that he had been annoying you
again. But pray, if we are to stand here talking at all, let
us find something more pleasant to talk about. I must ad-
mit that I was vexed at what happened the other night; it
did look so very awkward, and, as I thought, so clumsy.
You don't seem inclined to tell me what it was that could
affect you so deeply ; and, though I am so stupidly curious,
I don't mean to ask. I will take your word that—that
there was cause, and so let it end.'
' I've made an idiot of myself again,' muttered Stevie,
as he followed her into the drawing-room. ' I've told her
nothing, and yet said too much. What a whining dreamy
fool she must think me ! Why on earth could not I have
said just what I had made up my mind to say, and no
more ?'
For our Stevie had rehearsed, as he came along, the
part which he intended to play on this occasion, and had
concocted an elaborate speech, in which he was to express
his sorrow at having annoyed Miss Lee by his conduct in
the old hall, without giving any hint as to its cause; only,
somehow or other, it all went clean out of his head the
moment he began to address her. I fancy that he is not
the first, and will not be the last, person that memory will
play those tricks upon.
' I'd give worlds,' mused Grace, 1 to know what he has
got on his mind. Poor fellow ! he seems dreadfully per-
plexed and worried by it. It's that precious brother. 0,
if I were a man !' and she set her teeth and gave a little
spiteful stamp. This took place in her own room, whither
she had retired to wash her hands for luncheon; and having
done so she unlocked a little box that stood upon her
dressing-table, and took out some letters in which the m's
and n's and w's were all alike, very sharp and angular, and
the y's and g's had very long tails, and in which there was
a ' dearest' or a ' darling' or a ' sweet,' in every fourth line.
' That goose of a Maud Treherne, what does she mean by
262
A TANGLED SkElN.
writitig so much about him?' she said to herself. 'Yes,
here it is—" always talking of his brother"—" loves him
dearly"—" longs to get home"—" cannot speak of anything
else"—" must be very good." Ah, Maud dear, he is good,
ahd he said all this before he knew what a worthless pack
he had left, and saw how his home had changed. 0 God !*
she exclaimed, flinging up her arms, the bitter tears start-
ing in her eyes, ' it is bad enough to have no home, to know
no fliother, father, brother—not even to have their hlemory.
Bht to have known them—to have loved thfem—to fancy
that they still loved one, and to return and find all changed,
hardened, estranged ! O, it is cruel—cruel! Bah ! if he
had a spark of courage he'd pull the place down about then*
eats ! I've no patience with such tame-spirited nonsense.
I half believe that ninny of a Maud is in love with him.
She ought to be ashamed of herself, writing thus abdtit any
man, and I'll tell her so—that I will!' and Grace made a
dash at the letter, and having torn it angrily to shreds,
bathed her eyes and went down to luncheon.
' I say, Gracey,' demanded Master Bobby, confidently
sliding up to her, and giving her a dig with his elbow, ' has
ma been rowing you f
( No, you silly boy.'
' Then what have you been crying for V
' I have not been crying, sir.'
' Yes, you have. Here, Captain Stevie !—Grace says—'
' Hush ! Hold your tongue ! O Bobby, do be quiet,'
she whispered, seizing him by the arm, ' and I'll give you
anything ; I'll give you sixpence.'
The bribe was paid, and the terrible child was pacified
for a time.
Shortly afterwards Stephen took his departure. Mr.
Coleman accompanied him towards the garden-gate, and
then, instead of wishing him good-bye, laid his hand affec-
tionately upon his shoulder, and said,
' I have seen very little of you, my boy, during these
years of your life, in which character is formed for good or
ill; but if the promise of your youth has not been belied,
you should be an honest and an honourable man, Stephen
Frankland.'
THE OLD, OLD STORY.
268
4 You have something particular to say to me, sir,' he
said, after having cast a look of surprise in the old lawyer's
face, and finding that it was very grave. ' Pray go on.'
'I passed the conservatory just now, when you and
Grace were talking there.'
Stevie felt the tell-tale blood rush into his face, and
thought it best to say nothing. He nodded assent.
4 Stevie, they call me a dry old stick; and so, perhaps,
I am; but I love that girl as though she were my own
child. She's not the common sort of girl, who fancies any
man who will pay her a little attention, and can take up
with one after another, like—well, like a town flirt. If any
one she respected were to trifle with little Grace it would
make her very unhappy for a long time, Stevie. Little
Grace must not be made unhappy.'
4 Certainly not, sir; certainly.'
4 Therefore, my dear boy—to be plain with you—though
we all are very fond of you, I think you had better not come
here so often.'
4 Good Heavens, Mr. Coleman! Why V exclaimed
Stephen, aghast.
4 Because I've noticed that you seek her a good deal;
and she—well, no matter about her; you cannot marry
her, and you shall not break her heart! That's why !' re-
plied the lawyer, with a gulp.
4 Be plainer still with me,' said Stevie, turning his honest
gaze full upon his old friend, 4 and tell me why I cannot
marry her; I can see many reasons why she would not
marry me. I am not a rich man, never shall be, but—'
4 0, it's not that.'
4 What is it, then V
4 My boy, she has no friends—no family.'
4 So I have been told.'
4 Worse than that—she is an unacknowledged child. Do
you understand me % My good old friend, Spencer Fane—
now dead—knew, I believe, who her father—if not her
mother—was; but I know nothing of her except that she
is—spare me repeating the hard name which the law gives
my good gentle little ward—and the Franklands' pride—'
4 To the devil with the Franklands' pride !' cried Stevie,
264
A TANGLED SKEIN.
bristling into a rage, and bringing bis fist down upon the
gate with a bang which nearly smashed it off its hinges;
' I beg your pardon, Mr. Coleman,' he added, the next
moment, wrapping his handkerchief about his bleeding
knuckles, ' but really it is hardly time now to talk about
the family pride. I now understand what you were driving
at the other day at luncheon.'
' Then I need not repeat to you what I said on that
occasion.'
' No, sir, you need not,' replied Stevie. ' Grenville
Frankland—my great great something or other—married a
woman of low birth, low tastes, low associations, for her
beauty—and he was unhappy. My father married for money
and— Well, the less said on that head, perhaps, the
better. When I seek a wife I shall take warning from
this. I shall not be allured by mere good looks, and I shall
certainly not sell myself for a fortune. But when I hear
from the lips of the girl I love the glorious news that she
loves me, I shall be quite content in knowing that she had
one ancestor who was named Adam, and another on the
mother's side who was called Eve; and if her more imme-
diate kindred have forsaken her, and left her, poor darling!
all alone in this bad world, I'll take her still closer to my
heart, and make a present of my scorn to those who have
disowned her—praying God that He may keep them out
of our path, though they may be the highest and proudest
in the land. And so, thanking you very much, Mr. Cole-
man, for your warning and good advice, I will take myself
and my family pride back to—to Mangerton Chase.' So
saying, Stevie wrung his old friend's hand and strode away,
quickly, down the path.
' He's a noble fellow,' said Mr. Coleman, as he watched
his retreating figure. ' I wish, though, that he had said
something more to the point. Poor Grace—poor little
girl! How the deuce, though, did he get hold of that
name 1 Who has been talking to him about Mangerton
Chase V
' I'll do it this very night,' muttered Stevie, as he hast-
ened along; ' I'll put an end to this miserable uncertainty,
once and for all; and to-morrow—ah, to-morrow !'
THE SECRET.
265
On his way home he called at Grant's cottage and bor-
rowed a dark lantern and a piece of stont but slender rope
of the ex-head-keeper, both of which he concealed upon his
person, and arrived at Tremlett Towers just in time to dress
for dinner.
CHAPTER XX.
the secret.
When some people make up their minds to do a thing,
that thing may be considered as good as done. We are
wont to declare very glibly that to the brave and resolute
most things are easy; but who is brave ?—who is resolute ?
I have heard of an officer who stood waist-deep in the Alma
on that glorious day when the river ran red with the blood
of heroes, and every yard of its surface was ploughed with
round-shot or spattered with musket-balls, and there rallied
his men as coolly as though he was upon parade; but who
afterwards confessed that all the time he was in mortal
fear—of what ?—of horse-leeches, with which that stream
is said to abound ! Was he brave? I know of one who,
to carry out a vain boast, essayed to cross the Great St.
Bernard alone—at night, and in a snow-storm. Was he
resolute ? I am very much of the opinion of Mr. Scrooge,
who attributed the seat of valour to a less honoured organ
than the heart. When the ghost of the late Mr. Marley
complained of his partner's incredulity, he declared boldly
that he was by no means satisfied that the phantom was
what he pretended to be—' You may be a bit of undigested
potato, for aught I know'—pleaded this philosopher ! And
truly how many ghosts there are which can be laid by a
blue pill ? How many men's courage and resolution depend
upon the state of their stomachs ! How many men's cou-
rage and resolution depend upon the state of that more
delicate organ still—their mind ! There be bits of moral
potato which lay there undigested, and play the deuce with
us. You have begun, some of you, perhaps, to think that
266
a tangled skein.
Stephen Fi-arikland is but a wishy-washy sort of fellow?
after all—a man with no strength of character. Be good
enough to consider what he has gone through since his re-
turn to England, and that the very qualities which made
him brave and strong have been grievously wounded of late.
Will you back a man with a rickety broken leg to win a
foot-race? I think not. Is it unreasonable, then, for me
to ask you not to expect a man with an almost broken
heart to act promptly—decisively—in the matter which is
actually breaking it % Mind you, I am not saying that the
fears and suspicions to which he was the prey should have
had this effect. I warned you—if you remember—at a
very early period of this history that he is not a hero ; and
you must kindly take him as he is, for good or for bad.
If it had not been for his love for Grace Lee, it is very
probable that he never would have solved the mystery of
that darkened chamber, where Brandron's secret lay hid;
but would have gone on worrying his life out, and conclud-
ing for the worst, and then trying to argue away his con-
elusions. As a man of honour, however, he determined
that he would not attempt to win her love until he was con-
vinced of his father's innocence, and had done his duty to
his dead friend. Strange as it may appear, he felt lightef
and happier than for many a long day when he made up
his mind at last for action ; and, as I have said, when some
people make up their mind to do a thing, that thing rdky
be considered as good as done. Stephen Frankland wis
one of these people.
His resolution was taken while Mr. Coleman spoke to
hiiit of Grace, as narrated in the last chapter, and that
same night, as Soon as the house was still, he climbed frorri
the window of his room (which, as we know, was situated
next to the deserted chamber), mounted on to the roof of
the house, and, with the rope which he had borrowed from
Grant, let himself down to the top of the oriel window, arid
from thence to the sill of its casement, immediately below.
He then beat back the lead-work of one of the stnall dia-
mond-shaped panes of glasS, inserted his hand, forced back
the fastenings on the inside, and sprang lightly into the
room.
THE SECRET.
267
It was much larger than he had supposed, running
completely through that wing of the house, and having
another window at the further end, which was hidden and
almost blocked up by a part of the new house. There was
a damp sickly smell in the place, which, together with the
exertions he had made in entering, made him feel a little
faint at first; but this soon passed away. He turned the
light of his lantern all round the walls, and found the
apartment exactly as Brandron had described it. There
was the old oak cabinet; there the mirror; there the
armour—all rusty and covered with cobwebs; there the
stag's head and antlers; there the black wainscoting,
behind which, somewhere, the papers were to be discovered.
Moreover, in a recess, he saw a huge state bed, also of dark
carved oak, the hangings of which, once of rich brocade,
crilmbled into dtist in his hand as he attempted to draw
therti aside.
He lost no time in consideration, but advanced at once
towards the panelling and sounded it.
It was all hard and immovable !
A gleam of joy passed over him—but no superficial
search would content him now. Btis memory naturally re-
verted to the little chamber at Westborough, and he called
to mind that the dying man, fancying himself in the scene
of his thoughts, had pointed to the spot where the papers
were hid. He had pointed a few yards to the right of where
the sun streamed through the window, and Stephen reflected
that the midday rays would shine, not upon the window by
which he had entered, but the other. He placed himself, as
nearly as he could calculate, in the exact relative position
where Brandron lay, and found that the spot indicated would
be in the recess behind the massive bed. Perhaps it had not
stood there then 1 He thrust against it with all his force,
and with great exertion moved it a few feet from the wall, and
as he did so one of the squares of the panelling fell out!
In ail instant he Was down on his knees beside the open-
ing, had thrust his right arm into the cavity, and the first
thing it encountered was a parcel covered with dust, which,
upon being seized, gave forth a crackling sound, as though
full of papers.
268
A TANGLED SKEIN.
O, how his heart beat!
He rose, and having taken the packet to the foot of the
bed, settled his lantern on a ledge of the oaken cabinet, and
began to examine it.
The outer covering had evidently been a woman's silk
apron, and in one part was eaten away, probably by the rats,
so that the contents protruded. Stephen was too excited to
open it at its fastenings, so he tore it still further at this
part, and drew forth what it contained.
' Now!' he exclaimed, almost triumphantly, ' at last I
have it! Letters—a sealed packet—a Bible, and—ah !' he
added, half aloud, as, upon opening the book, a long narrow
strip of paper, on which were printed and written charac-
ters arranged in columns, fell from between the leaves,
' what is this V
1 Why, a marriage certificate. That's about what it is,'
said a voice behind him, and the next moment it was snatched
from his hand.
The next moment! But before it had well passed he
had seized the intruder by the throat, had flung him back
upon the bed, and with his knee upon his chest, held him
there half-choked, and wholly powerless.
' Loose your hold, sir—loose your hold,' he gasped, 'or
I'll alarm the house.'
' Hush—h,' said Stephen, in a fierce whisper, as with
flashing eyes he bent over his assailant. ' If you dare to
utter but one cry, it shall be your last.'
• My God, sir, you don't mean murder ?'
' I mean anything sooner than that you should retain
that paper. What brings you here ? Who are you ? Stay,
you need not answer; I remember you now. You are the
detective I saw at Westborough.'
' Right, Captain; but—'
' Not a word. Give up that paper !'
'No,' replied Lagger resolutely; ' not if I can help it.
Stop, loose your hold; damn it all, loose your hold! I'm
not resisting you now, am I ? There, that's better,' he added,
as Stephen, surprised at his coolness, relaxed slightly the
grip he had upon his throat. ' Listen; I'll only speak in
a whisper, and I'll give you my word that if you'll take no
THE SECRET.
269
advantage of me, I'll lie here, quite quiet, and take no ad-
vantage of you. Now, then; you're right, I am the detec-
tive as has charge of the Westborough murder. These
here papers that you've just found have got something to
do with Mr. Brandron. A cat with half an eye could see
that. But it's my dooty to take'em. You don't want any
one to know as you have found 'em here, or you would not
have got into the room as you did. That ain't difficult to
understand. You're a strong man, Captain Frankland, and
you have got the upper hand of me just now; but I ain't no
chicken neither, and when we do begin our scrimmidge, I
expect that it won't end without some one being the wiser.
That wouldn't suit you, Captain !'
'You infernal blackguard,' hissed Stephen through his
set teeth,' I—'
' Now, don't you call names. That ain't no sort of good.
—And just you remember that your po-sition in this busi-
ness ain't altogether a nice one to come out in public.—
Why wouldn't you tell the Coroner all what Mr. Brandron
said ? Where was you the night before his body was found ?
—What did you want making all those inquiries about
Mary Alston at Hull 1—And if these papers do re-late to
the murder, why should you refuse to give them up to the
law, if you're an honest man V
' Good Heavens!' said Stephen, turning deadly pale,
' you do not suppose that I— You do not accuse me of
his murder V
'1 accuse no one just now, but I mean to do before I've
done, and so I tell you,' replied the detective boldly.
' Mr. Brandron confided to me certain affairs which you
have no right to suppose are connected with his murder,'
said Stephen. 'These papers relate to them. Give up
what you have taken, and promise me solemnly to say no-
thing of this night's work, or—'
' Or what ?' the detective demanded coolly.
' By Heavens, man, don't try to play with me to-night,'
hissed Stephen through his clenched teeth. ' It would be
safer to play with a tiger that had tasted blood. I am quite
desperate V
' People as have clear consciences don't get desperate,'
270
A TANGLED SKEIN.
replied Lagger. ' You keep yourself quiet arid listen to me
and reason. You don't know what these papers contain, no
more than I do. Suppose they don't re-late to the murder,
what harm will there be in my looking at them if I give you
my word of honour—'
1 The honour of a spy ! a thief-taker !'
'Ay, sir, all that, but something more. You seal up
them papers—I take your word about keeping of 'em safe
as I did with the others—and you go to Scotland-yard to
Sir Eichard Mayne, and ask him what he knows of the spy
and thief-taker named Sampson Lagger, and whether he'd
take his word. Ask him whether to his knowledge S. L.
has been trusted—in the way of his business—with family
secrets of a highly pe-culiar character; and if he has ever
know'd him to betray them. Go to—but if I were to tell
you who had trusted me, I should half betray the trust.
Go to Sir Eichard, I say, and if he don't tell you that you
may believe my word, why, do what you like, with thp
papers, 1 won't interfere. No, Captain; thief-taker I am,
spy I must be for the purpose—and it ain't a bad 'un after
all—hut I'm an honest man for all that, and not the only
one in the trade.'
' Go on,' said Stephen, somewhat mollified by this ap-
peal, ' with what you've got to say.'
' Very good. Suppose we find that these papers re-late
to this particular business of yours, and the murder as well,
what then 1 Why, you attend to your department and I'll
attend to mine; adding this, that I won't ask you to help
me, and I'll give you as much assistance as you like to ask.
Now.'
' And what if I refuse V
1 Then, as I said before, there'll be a scrimmidge. The
house will be alarmed. They will break open the door—'
' The door is walled up.' The moment these words
passed Stephen's lips he would have given worlds to have
recalled them.'
' What for ?' asked Lagger quickly.
' No matter. Go on.'
' Well, then, they'll come in through the window.
When I saw—quite by accident—what you was doing, I
THE REGRET.
271
tried to climb up by the tree, and couldn't; so I just went
round to the yard and got a ladder, that I found in a shed,
to see what was up. It's by the window now, and if I get
my throat free—which I mean my best to do—I shall
holler for them as hears me to come in that way. Now,
Captain, you just think a bit. I've got one arm free; I've
got my staff in my pocket handy; and I tell you fairly I
shall use it if I can. If I gets the better of you it's all
found out; if you gets the better of me, even though you
was to kill me in the act, it will be all found out just exactly
the same. Be sensible. Let me look over these here
doc-uments, now, and say as you'll meet me somewhere to-
morrow, to con-sider them more careful, and I go and hold
my tongue. But if you wortt be sensible nohow, why give
the word, and damn me; but you'll find me a tough cus-
tomer, strong as you are.'
' Get up,' said Stephen, entirely releasing his hold. ' I
see there is no help for it. I must trust you.'
' Captain Frankland,' replied the detective, rising,
' they've told me as yqp was a brave man, and now I know
it. Any fool can fight; but it wants a good plucked one to
give in as you do. I declare most solemnly that I'll keep
good faith to you, and I know you are too much the gen-
tleman to try and deceive me. So now to business.'
Then together they read those letters, broke open that
sealed packet, and made out the contents—as far as they
went—of that marriage certificate; and what they dis-
covered will be told in its proper time and place. The task
was not a long one ; but morning began to break before the
detective took his leave and descended, as he had mounted,
removing the ladder after him. All their conversation,
from the very first, had been conducted in the lowest audible
whisper ; and even the struggle which preceded it had been
so short, and, owing to Lagger having been thrown back
upon the bed so quiet, that not even sharp-eared Mrs.
Spraggle could have heard any sound from the next room.
But there was no inhabited room next to that portion of the
deserted chamber where the papers were found and the
affray took place.
Stephen had already mounted on a seat which yan
272
A TANGLED SKEIN.
round the oriel window, and was in the act of quitting the
chamber as he had entered it, when he was startled by hear-
ing a low grating noise emanating from near the door. He
paused and listened.
It was like that which would be made by scraping
a brick with some iron instrument.
He advanced on tip-toe to the door and listened more
attentively. There could be no doubt about what was going
on. Somebody was attempting to break into the room
from the outside.
CHAPTER XXI.
every cloud has a silver lining.
Stephen Frankland instantly darkened his lantern,
and, having stolen noiselessly to the spot from whence the
sound proceeded, listened. He heard an incessant scraping,
as of some sharp instrument, against the brickwork outside;
the drip, drip, drip, of the detached mortar as it fell to
the ground, and the heavy breathing of the worker. Now
and again these sounds ceased for a while, and then came
a heavier fall of mortar into the space between the brick-
ing and the door ; and sometimes the old door itself would
creak as though some force was being employed against
it. After this, the scraping would be resumed. Some-
times the chisel seemed to slip, and came with a dull
' thud' against the panelling; and thus the listener could
tell that some, at least, of the brickwork had been removed.
How much he knew not. The door was not locked. The
breach was being made close to the handle. The light by
which the worker was operating shone through the cranny
between the1 door and the lintel, and flickered on the ceiling
above Stephen's head as he stood almost breathless, press-
ing both hands upon his heart, in a vain attempt to silence
its wild throbbings. At any moment—for anything that
he could tell—the work might be completed, the long
closed portal opened from without, and his competitor for
EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING.
278
Brandron's secret stand face to face with him in the de-
serted chamber. Then flashed across his mind all that he
had heard from Grant respecting the room. It was the
death-chamber of his race. Every Erankland, in the direct
line, for generations past, had ended his days there—some
by violence. What if the intruder—not recognising him
in the uncertain light—should rush upon him 1 If there
should be a struggle—a chance blow—an unlucky fall, and
he should become a paricide 1 The idea of personal danger
never occurred to him; nor had he from the very first the
slightest doubt as to who was toiling there at midnight to
break his way into the forbidden room, or the motive for
which he sought to enter it.
Have you ever experienced that wondrous faculty of
the mind which enables one—without the slightest effort
of thought—to realise, and even consider, the consequences
of an event in the same instant of time in which that event
occurs, and sometimes, as we fancy, before it has actually
happened ? An idea is on its way from the outer world to
your brain through your nerves. These are active intelli-
gencies enough, but how the mind outstrips them! It
seizes on the idea on its way, exposes it in every shape,
unfolds its consequences, and reveals to you how they may
affect years of your life, or the lives of those dear to you,
before the eye or other organ of the senses has well made
known that it has even started on its journey! To the
metaphysician or pathologist I may be displaying gross
ignorance in thus reflecting. Very probably I am. I
merely attempt to describe what I have felt—however
erroneously—to be the case on more than one occasion,
and what Stephen Frankland has described as his feelings
on this eventful night. His listening, after the first mo-
ment, merely taught him the mode by which an entrance
was being made. The first moment taught him all else,
reproduced the events of months, and created thoughts
which the most rapid speaker could not clothe in language
in an hour.
It taught him that the fear expressed by Brandron on
his deathbed was well founded. He had betrayed the
hiding-place of the papers to the person whom he had met
T
274
A TANGLED SKEIN.
at Westborough. That person was now seeking theili to
prevent the performance of the 1 act of justice' which
Stephen had sworn to execute, and who he was could be
no longer a matter of doubt.
You must pardon my attempting to give you even the
faintest idea of the young soldier's misery. Place yourself
in his position and try to realise it! The best-tried friend
you have ever known has been basely murdered, and a
chain of facts, hopelessly cogent, point out your own father
as his murderer ! But a few hours since you have parted
with the woman who has opened your heart to the softest,
the noblest, the most exquisite emotions that man caii
entertain; who has made the world appear to you happier
and purer and in all things better than before, because her
sweet presence reigns upon it. You hasten to remove the
only obstacle which seems to stand between you and her
love. You touch it, and instantly the flood-gates of a sea
of blood are opened, and your life's welfare is wrecked, be-
yond hope, upon the hideous tide !
The same moment in which this terrible blow was
struck revealed a long array of its inevitable consequences.
How could he explain his future conduct 1 He saw himself
misrepresented by the world, misjudged by friends, icon-
demned by those whose good esteem he valued. He could
never gladden his eyes with the sight of Grace again. The
home towards which his strong brave heart had yearned
so tenderly was no place for him now. He saw himself
returned to his Indian career, a careworn broken-spirited
man, dragging on a haunted life, with the possibility that
any hour might bring him the news that his father had
expiated an inhuman crime by a disgraceful death. Such
small matters, even, as when and how he should take his
departure in the morning, presented themselves side by
side with those graver fears and mournful reflections. I may
be told, perhaps, that I am describing impossibilities; but
any one who has ever fallen from a height, and remembers
the number of ideas—serious and absurd—which crowded
themselves into the few seconds during which he was pass-
ing through the air, will know that the picture is not att
exaggerated one. It was all the work of an instant*
EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING.
275
In an instant, also, Stephen had made up his mind what
was to be done; and he paused, listening—as I have said
—only for the purpose of resolving when and how to do it.
He determined to surprise the worker at his work, and to
say and know the worst at once. Procrastination had
vanished with the doubt which encouraged it.
At first he thought of bursting open the door; but a
moment's reflection sufficed to show him that he might not
be able to do this with one. effort, and that the worker,
alarmed at the noise, would escape him. Moreover, the
breach in the brickwork might not, as yet, be large enough
for him to thrust his body through in pursuit. He might
have waited, indeed, until an entrance had been effectually
made from without, and the seeker of Brandron's papers
had entered the room, but the suspense was too great for
him: ' And how am I sure,' he thought, ' that his entrance
will be made to-night at all ?' Ho ! He felt that his only
safe course would be to return to his own chamber by the
way he had come, and to surprise the worker in the passage.
There could be no escape then!
Silently he made his way to the open window, and
gained the roof of the house by means of the rope which
still hung from the parapet. It was more difficult to mount
than to descend, of course; and yet the great clock on the
stairs, which had chimed the quarter to two o'clock some
minutes before he had begun his retreat, had not struck the
hour before he found himself again in his own room, with
his hand on the lock of the door prepared to spring upon
the worker in the act.
Do you think badly of Stephen Prankland when I say
that he trembled in every limb, and that a miserable sick-
ness stole over him and sapped his strength 1
He threw open the door, and staggered rather than
sprang into the corridor towards which hung the tapestry
which concealed the entrance to the deserted chamber.
No one ioas there !
Aghast at a discovery so opposite to what he had ex-
pected, he paused and listened. The house was still as
death, but for the monotonous ticking of the great clock
and the louder beating of his heart. There hung the old
276
A TANGLED SKEIN.
tapestry as it had hung for years. Not a particle of dust
or mortar was on the floor. He drew aside the hangings,
and there was the rough brickwork complete.
Had he been dreaming ?
Perplexed, bewildered, half-stupefied with wonder, he
leant for support against the wall, and it gave way with him !
It was evidently no dream! The bricks had been cut
out and replaced carefully.
The worker had done his work for that night, and
would return to it the next!
He could now account for the mysterious noise which
the guests had been talking about during the last two days,
and wondered how it was that he had not heard them—he
whose bed-head was within a few yards of the spot from
whence they proceeded—he who was usually such a light
sleeper ! Short had been his hours of rest since Grace Lee
had made that portentous revelation, until these last two
nights, during which he had slept, as he now remembered,
long and heavily, and in the morning had woke up dull and
unrefreshed. 1 Is it possible,' he thought, 4 that I have been
drugged?' No ! A second thought showed him that this
could not be. He had taken nothing from his father's
hand which could contain a narcotic. He had not even been
in his company for some hours before retiring for rest. He
had spent the latter part of each evening with Lord Ross-
thorne, with whom he had always been a favourite, and
whose gout had become so severe as to confine him to his
dressing-room. There Stevie had sat chatting with him
till nearly midnight, and smoking the inevitable cheroot.
On each occasion he remembered that he had drank a turn-
bier of weak brandy-and-water, as was his wont, just before
retiring for tbe night. The spirit had been taken from the
case of bottles in ordinary use. The water had been brought
up a moment before by Sanderson, the old lord's valet, for
his master's use. The more Stephen considered, the more
he felt convinced that the only person who had an interest
in drugging him could not have tampered with this drink;
and the more he considered the more he felt convinced that,
somehow or other, he had been drugged.
Thus wise one can be after the event i
EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING. £77
Stephen returned slowly to his own chamber, but not
to rest. If a narcotic had been administered again this
night, the excitement which he had undergone was sufficient
to neutralise its effect. No sleep for him.
He threw open the window, and, with a heavy heart,
gazed into the opening day—into the bright opening hours
of morning that so few of us see, except with jaded eyes
after a night of pleasure and of pain; the bright opening
hours in which every created thing but Man joins in a
triumphant hymn of praise to the Great Creator, and of
welcome to His sun. And the fresh morning breeze, fall of
the perfume of a thousand newly-opened flowers, full of the
melody of newly-wakened birds, full of health and promise,
played on his throbbing brow, and brought him some relief.
Reflection began to point out one little spot—not of light,
but of less than the surrounding blackness—in the storm-
clouds which had gathered over his life. There was no
direct mention of his father in the papers over which he
had glanced with the detective in the old oak-panelled
room. The latter had not heard the worker at his work.
He had promised that they should work out the clue toge-
ther, and Stephen had given no pledge which would prevent
him from warning his father the moment that he became
in peril. Brandron had wished him to escape. The victim
of his crime had not called for vengeance, so that the act
of justice was completed. Who, then, had a right to de-
mand blood for blood ?
The rising sun was not above the hills before Stephen
had resolved upon the course he should pursue. He might
have waited till the following night, and, taking care that
nothing should interfere with his watchfulness, surprise the
worker at his work, or in the act of seeking for the secret,
and in the terror of the moment wring from him a confes-
sion of all that the papers left undisclosed. But he scorned
the idea of playing the spy on any one, much more upon
his father. Through all, and in spite of all, he felt that he
ivas his father, and, notwithstanding his crimes, to be dealt
with frankly and with compassion by a son. '1 will tell
him plainly what I know,' resolved Stephen. ' If he chooses
to have confidence in me, and explain this fearful mystery,
278
A TANGLED SKEIN.
well and good; if not, I must work it out my own way.
In either case,' he mused, gazing with glittering eyes over
the brightening landscape, so suggestive, as we know, of
happy reminiscences, 1 one thing is quite clear, the house
which once was Mangerton Chase is no longer a home forme.'
So he set to work at once to make preparations for his
departure; and remembering that he had left in the library
his desk, which contained Brandron's letters and other
papers of importance, was descending thither to obtain it,
when, upon passing a partly-opened door, a voice from
within called out,
1 Sanderson—Sanderson ! Is that you ?'
It was Lord Rossthorne's voice, and it sounded as if he
were in pain.
' No, it is I—Stephen. Can I do anything for you ?
May I come in V
10, of course; but I did not know you were such an
early riser,' added the old nobleman, as Stevie entered the
room.
' I do not think that any one is up yet. Shall I go
and rouse your servant 1 or can I get you what you want V
1 You can indeed, Stevie, if you do not mind playing
the sick-nurse to an old cripple for five minutes. Do you
see a bottle on the mantelpiece containing a dark fluid and
marked chlorodyne. Well, measure me out thirty drops of
that, and give it me in a wine-glassful of water. I have
had a wretched night, and my old enemy has just opened a
heavy battery upon my right knee ; but if you would only
help me to take him in reverse, and spike some of his guns
with the help of that little bottle—No, not that one, the
next! Thanks.'
Lord Rossthorne was sitting up in bed as Stephen en-
tered, wrapped in an old dressing-gown of plain blue flannel;
but there was an innate look of grace and dignity about
him which nothing could lessen. They say that no man is
a hero to his valet-de-chambre, and, perhaps, Lord Ross-
thorne was no exception to the rule. If you were to take
him, however, when racked with agony and dress him in
rags, he would look every inch a peer !
The same thing with his words. There was a charm—
EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING.
279
not so much in what he said, but in his manner of saying
it, which it was very difficult to resist. He was so courte-
ous, so considerate, so ready with some flattering expres-
sion of thanks for the slightest service; and yet there was
an undercurrent of command running through it all.
11 remember,' he said, as Stephen was preparing the
medicine, ' reading a very clever little article some time
ago upon bad nights. The writer discussed them under
two heads—"the bad night early" and "the bad night late."
In " the bad night early" you cannot get to sleep when you
go to bed, but doze off at last, and wake up refreshed at
your usual hour. In " the bad night late" you get your
first nap without trouble, start up thinking it is time to
rise, find that you have only rested for an hour or so, and
spend the remainder of your time making your bed uncom-
fortable, and counting the long hours as they drag along.
I have had " the bad night late." '
' Did anything disturb you, then ?' asked Stephen
quickly, pausing in his occupation.
' No. I woke about two or half-past, and have not been
able to close my eyes for more than ten minutes at a time
since. Ah, that's capital!' he added, as he tossed off the
draught which Stephen now handed to him. ' It is an ex-
cellent anodyne, and is all the better for being administered
by a friendly hand. It is not a pleasant thing, Stevie, my
boy, to be left all alone in the world at my time of life—to
receive no care or attention save what one buys of servants.
It is a natural consequence of old age, though ; one of the
penalties of having lived too long,' he added sadly, ' and I
must not complain.'
' One may have lived too long and incur it,' replied
Stephen, in a low tremulous voice, ' without being old.'
Lord Rossthorne watched his averted face attentively
for a few moments, and then, laying his hand kindly on his
arm, said,
' I have wished to speak to you, Stevie, about yourself.
The pre ent seems a good opportunity. Can you spare me
a little ime, or are you going to be busy this morning? If
so, I—'
Stephen drew a chair to the bedside and sat down.
280
A TANGLED SKEIN.
1 Remember,' said the peer, ' that I knew your mother;
that I have known you since you were a child, and I think
we have always been good friends ; have we not V
' You have always been very kind to me, my lord.'
' Tut, tut! There is nothing so good for an old man,
who has seen, perhaps, too much of the world, as the society
of a frank loyal boy who had yet to enter it. You gave me
that society, Stevie, a few years ago. It was you who were
kind to me. I am younger in heart now than I was then ;
and you, I am afraid, are older. May we speak now as
equals V
1 Say what you please. It is sure to be generous and
kind.'
' "Well, then, when last I saw Percy Cory ton—it is not
often that he honours me with his company, though he is
my heir, but let that pass—when we last met, he could talk
of nothing else but you and your doings here. How well
you looked, how you were the life and soul of the place,
how cleverly—I suppose I must out with it—you, to use
his own expression, " sat upon" your half-brother. In a
word, he gave me the idea that things were going on here
as they should be ; for I must confess,' added Lord Ross-
thorne, with a smile, 'that the little I have seen of Mr.
Tremlett gives me the notion that he wants a good deal of
" sitting upon"—whatever that operation may be—if its
results are the abatement of pretentious, and therefore
offensive, pride. But the few days I have spent here suffice
to show me that my nephew has been very much mistaken,
or else that your position has encountered some grave
change. I know that it is a most delicate and difficult one.
I am inclined to believe that my latter view is the correct
one ; and I think I am not presuming upon our friendship,
Stephen, when I ask you if I am not right V
1 You are ; but you must not blame Frank,' added our
Stevie quickly; ' I mean he is not so much to blame, after
all. You see, I had home so constantly before my mind's
eye whilst I was away in India, that when I returned I
could not realise how many years had passed or how many
things had happened—how greatly my brother's authority
had advanced since I left. His education has been so dif-
EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING. 281
ferent to mine—so much better. He has mixed with a
set so different, again, to the set I have lived amongst—so
much cleverer. I own I think him hard and—and worldly;
but I'll be bound there is many a man who has double my
brains who will give him credit for much good sense.'
' Double your brains !' mused the peer. ' Hum—m !
This is a question more of heart than brains, Stephen Frank-
land.'
' Of course,' replied the young soldier, mistaking his
meaning; ' and when a man is fried to death out in India,
without anything to do or occupy his mind, he gets dreamy
and thin-skinned, and grows sulky, like me, when he comes
home, if everybody does not fall down and worship him. I
don't know whether it is that the bond of relationship
slackens as we get on in life, or whether other ties, con-
tracted during absence from one's kith and kin, take its
place. I would do a great deal for my brother Frank; but
I am not ashamed to own—now that I have seen him as
man—that there are those—my old Colonel, for example—
whom I like—no, that's too cold a word—whom I love better
than he. Why, then, should I blame him for affecting
other people and their ways more than me and mine ?'
1 How is it that you speak entirely ofyour half-brother 1'
' Because I have no right to criticise the conduct of any
one else in this house—nor will I do so. They take their
own course.'
' Then why do not you take yours ?' replied the peer.
1 It is tolerably clear to me from what you say, and certain
from your manner of saying it, that your associations here
are no longer pleasant. Why not form new ones ? You
are young, the world is still all before you. You expected
to find happiness in one place—it is not there ! Shake the
dust off your feet, and seek it elsewhere. You expected
to find the old bond of love strong and close—it has rusted,
and crumbling away. Take heart of grace, man, and forge
another that will last you your life. In a word—marry.'
Stephen flushed crimson. 1 Marry ! I marry ! Im-
possible !'
Lord Rossthorne smiled. 1 My dear boy,' he said, ' to
a young fellow with your appearance in possession, and a
282
A TANGLED SKEIN.
title in prospect, nothing in the matrimonial market is " im-
possible."'
' You would have me sell myself and my name for a
fortune,' replied Stephen bitterly. 1 Eo, my lord. To me
of all men in the world I think such a proposition, might
have been spared.'
I You quite misunderstand me, and the fault is mine for
expressing myself so clumsily. God forbid that I should
urge you to an unworthy union ! You ought to know me
better, Stevie, than to suppose such a thought to be in my
mind. Before I was your age I was a father. My wife
and my children were taken from me one by one; but still
my married life, short as it was, was a happy one. Who is
it who said, " It is better to have loved and lost than never
to have loved at all." I speak for your happiness and your
welfare.'
' But I must consider the happiness and welfare of
another. I cannot look upon marriage as the one-sided
bargain which so many men regard it. What have I to
give a woman in return for the privations, loss of friends,
destruction of old associations, which she must sustain in
becoming my wife 1 You do not know what Indian life is,
Lord Rossthorne, or you would not ask me to subject one
I might love to its monotony, its sufferings, its tempta-
tions.'
II ask you to do no such thing. I see no necessity for
you to return to India—nay, do not interrupt me. Listen !
I am your godfather, as well as your friend, and am entitled
to preach. Did I not promise and vow that you should
hear sermons V said the old nobleman gaily. ' I am a very
lonely man, Stevie, and cannot afford to lose one who does
not mind sometimes giving up himself to be bored by me,
as you do. Master Percy is a wondrously fine gentleman,
and will make a passable Earl Rossthorne. But my for-
tune has always been ample; my expenditure, for many
years, very moderate; and there is room fpr others in my
will. Moreover, though I never mixed much in politics, I
am not without some influence with those who do. So if
you are determined to adhere to your profession, now that
there is every prospect of your army being consolidated
EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING.
283
with that of the Queen, why, there is no reason why your
services should be confined to India. If politics have any
charm for you, there is a borough not a thousand miles
from here, which I think would look kindly upon a candi-
date who had my support—the more so because I have
never attempted to influence its choice hitherto. Ah, Stevie,
I see the old Frankland pride twitching at your nostrils
and darkening your brow. I know exactly what you would
say about obligations and independence, and the rest of it.
Don't say it, Stevie. Take pity upon a poor gouty hermit,
whom you can put under greater obligations than ever he
can impose upon you. Stay in honest old England. Marry,
and let an old lonely man have a corner on your hearth.
Let him hear again the sound of children's voices, and, if
God spares him to live, let him have something to live
for.'
Stevie had buried his face in his hands as the peer pro-
ceeded—too much moved by the earnestness of the appeal-
ing gaze, which once met his own, to dare to encounter it
again.
' Your own kindred could do all this,' he said at last, in
a musing tone, without raising his head.
' Not so,' said Lord Rossthorne, speaking more calmly
than before. ' Young Coryton, as I have already said, is a
very good sort of young fellow, but not my sort. He stayed
with me last Christmas—a sort of duty visit. It was a
great sacrifice, I know, for him to leave Melton, and drag
through seven days with me in my old house; but this I
can assure you—I did not bore him half as much as he bored
me. It is said that no man likes those who will succeed
him. You have done me so much good this morning, that
I feel half induced to make an execrable pun, and say that
I object to Percy Cory ton's airs. Rossthorne and the bulk
of my fortune will go to him, as a matter of course. I shall
leave him something more for the proper maintenance of his
title; a few thousands will go in legacies and charity, and
you will have to discuss what becomes of the residue with
my executors; for my will is made, and it will be yours
whether you like it or not.'
* You cannot expect me to answer you now !' exclaimed
284
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Stephen, almost angrily, starting from his chair, and pacing
up and down the room. ' Why do you speak to me thus
now ? now, when— Give me time, give me time ! But 0,
do not think me ungrateful,' checking himself, he added
suddenly, 1 if I cannot find words to tell you how I thank
you—bow heartily I thank you—not for your generous
offers; no, no, I am not thinking of them now, but for
having saved me from the bitter bad thoughts which have
been haunting me. There are good men left in the world
after all. There is a use for every life, however blighted it
may appear.'
' Bah! You have no business with such thoughts at
your age. You are hipped and disappointed now, naturally
enough. Never mind what has passed; you'll see it in a
different light some day. You are too sensitive. Besides,
it may all come right again.'
' You would not say that if you knew all,' said Stevie
gloomily.
' I desire to know no more than I do at this moment,'
replied the peer, 1 and that is, that you can never be at
peace here. I have told you what to expect at my death.
Why wait till then ? Take it now, with the advice which
I gave you just now. Sit down by my side again, and hear
me quietly, for I have not done yet. That's right. I am
now going to act the father confessor, and require to know
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, upon
a very delicate point. I have heard some of the guests
here couple your name with that of a Miss Lee, in the
vulgar badinage which some people think it witty to in-
dulge in.'
1 Who has dared to—' burst out Stevie.
Nevermind,' interrupted the speaker. 1 Do not let us
diverge from the main track. Was it that young lady who
was here with Mr. Coleman and his family the night that I
arrived?'
' It was.'
' She is pretty, well educated evidently, agreeable, and
lady-like. You might do worse, Master Stevie !'
' She is all you have said and more; but I can never
ask her to become my wife,' he replied gloomily.
EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING.
285
Then came a lengthened pause, during which the peer
plucked nervously at the tufts of the counterpane. At last
he lifted his head with a sigh, and said,
' Do you remember a conversation which we had when
you came to wish me good-bye, just before you left for
India V
' I do, well.'
' I ventured to give you some advice upon a subject
which, I regret to learn, applies to the position of this
young lady. I was much struck with one of your replies.
I have thought it over many times since, and now repeat it
to you. It is not for us, Stephen Frankland, to visit the
sins of the fathers upon the children !'
' It is not that,' cried Stevie eagerly; ' believe me, it is
not that. She would make a wife of whom the proudest
in the land might be proud. The obstacle is all on my
side—God help me !'
1 Then you do love her V exclaimed the peer.
' I do—with all my heart, with all my soul!' And
all his heart and all his soul seemed to beam through his
honest brown eyes as he made the confession.
' She has refused you, then V
' No.'
' You have never spoken to her of love V
' Never.'
' And you will not V
' I have not done so.'
1 Hem!' mused Lord Rossthorne. ' I think I see. One
more question, and this the last. Who is this Colonel
Vincent Champneys, whom Sir George and Lady Tremlett
appear to have taken such a fancy for 1 He was talking a
good deal about India a night or two ago, before you reap-
peared,' the peer continued, without waiting for a reply;
' and I thought perhaps you might know him.'
' I have no personal knowledge of him,' Stevie replied ;
' but if he be the person I suspect him to be, I have heard
of him, and not to his advantage.'
1 Ha ! I am not generally affected by first impressions,
but I must own that I took a dislike to him from the mo-
ment when we were introduced. I don't like his eyes: you
286
A TANGLED SKEIN.
meet them incessantly when he is not speaking to you, and
never when he is.'
Thus craftily did the peer attempt to divert Stephen's
mind from dwelling upon the main subject of their colloquy,
perceiving with excellent tact that it was not one to be
pressed. Gradually he led the conversation back to it, and
began to make arrangements for the future, as though it
had been definitely settled as he wished. But Stephen's
manner was gloomy and absent, and his replies were some-
times strangely at variance with what had gone before.
4 You must fix a day to come to Rossthorne, before I
leave,' said the peer; 4 and if I can shake off this attack, I
must bid you good-bye the day after to-morrow.'
4 I go to-day.'
4 Indeed ! So soon V exclaimed Lord Rossthorne. 4 Can
you not wait till I go, and accompany me V
4 Much as I should like to do so, I fear I must say no.
I have that before me which cannot be postponed. I must
be in Derby to-day at four o'clock.'
4 But surely you can return. How long will this busi-
ness, whatever it is, occupy you 1'
4 1 cannot tell. I—'
4 At any rate you will join me when it is concluded?'
4 Ah, when /' replied Stevie, with a deep sigh. 4 If I
only knew what would happen then !'
4 There's something on your mind, my boy, beyond what
I know,' said Lord Rossthorne, after a pause. 'Confidence
is seldom worth having when it is asked for, but help prof-
fered at the right time has often a double value. Can I
assist you ? If so—how ? I will add this much only, that
should your troubles be those which are commonest with
young men in your profession—an expensive and ill-paid
one—my solicitor shall give you a panacea which will set
them at rest for ever.'
4 You are all goodness. 0, my lord,' Stevie exclaimed,
4 how shall I ever be able to convince you how deeply grate-
ful I am; and should I be driven to decline all your gene-
rous offers—if I should even be compelled to renounce the
privilege of sharing your roof, and doing my little best to
solace you for the dear ones over whom you mourn—if—'
A STORM GATHERS OVER T&EMLETT TOWERS. 287
and the speaker's face grew very sad—' if it must be that
this meeting should be our last—think of me at my best.
Deem me not ungrateful—anything but that; and what-
ever you may hear of me, however unnatural my conduct
may seem, believe—and I will never ask you to believe a
lie—that all I do is done in the execution of a duty which
I should be a villain to disregard.'
And whilst Lord Rossthorne was yet overcome by the
surprise which this strange speech occasioned, Stephen had
fallen on his knees beside the bed, had uttered one fervent
' God bless you!' and pressed his hand, and without another
word or look rushed from the room.
CHAPTER XXII.
how a storm gathered over tremlett towers.
For most of us who have led country lives, there is, I
think, some quiet spot which we seek in times of trouble
or of joy. To stranger eyes it is merely a shady nook, a
pleasant walk, a seat in an old arbour, or the corner of a
window-sill. In our eyes there is erected thereon a temple
sacred to Thought ; and to us—its chief and only priest
—alone are revealed its mysteries. What sacrifices have
been made upon its altar—what innocent and happy rites
have been celebrated in its groves—what temptations have
been whispered amidst its cloisters—what lamentations have
echoed round its garlands, no tongue but ours can tell.
Childhood first erected it; Love's rosy fingers have piled
its golden pinnacles; and, even amongst its ruins, Age need
not look in vain for consolation.
Such a spot you may be sure there was for a man of
Stephen Frankland's temperament, and thitherward he in-
stinctively wandered as soon as he found himself in the open
air, after having quitted Lord Rossthorne in the abrupt
fashion narrated in my last chapter.
It was a spot down in the park about a mile from the
288
A TANGLED SKEIN.
house, where a little babbling stream, which appeared to be
deviating its course through the open country beyond, had
apparently changed its mind at some epoch in its existence,
and, with a sort of 'No-I'll-be-hanged-if-I-do' air, had turned
sharp round and dashed into a plantation of young ash-trees,
over which certain giant oaks watched with a fatherly and
protecting air, as though they had been appointed their
guardians by some Court of Equity amongst the sylvan
deities, in which perhaps the great god Pan is Lord Chan-
cellor. This was one of the scenes to which his daydreams
on board ship had so often transported him, and there we
may leave him with his thoughts, which the reader, who
knows him pretty well by this time, cannot fail to divine.
An hour afterwards—whilst the morning was still young
—he retraced his steps, and on entering the shrubbery
which skirted Lady Tremlett's particular flower-garden, he
caught a glimpse of a white dress through the laurels. My
lady was not given to early rising, and supposing that the
promenader might be Mrs. Spraggle or the Hon. and Kev.
Mrs. Theophilus Corbyle—personages either of whom he
did not care to encounter in his present frame of mind—
Stevie turned into a thickly-planted by-path, which a stranger
would not be likely to find, and hurried towards the house.
At a bend, however, in its maze-like windings, he came full
tilt against the wearer of the white drapery, and found that
it really was his stepmother out at that unusual hour, and
not alone ! An ugly frown darkened over Stephen's brow
when he found that Colonel Vincent Champneys was her
companion.
Lady Tremlett uttered a shrill cry of fear, and clung to
the Colonel; then, when she saw who it was that had sur-
prised them, uttered a little shrill cry of surprise and clung
to Stevie.
The Colonel was not in the least disconcerted, but drew
lines on the gravel walk with the point of his cane, and
observed,
' This charming spot seems to be a place of general ren-
dezvous. Lucky for me that it is so. I should have lost
my way in the labyrinth, if Lady Tremlett had not just
come up by accident.'
A STORM GATHERS OVER TREMLETT TOWERS. 289
' 0, yes, Stevie dear, I assure you, quite by accident,'
idded my lady eagerly. 'I have only just this moment
mmeout; breakfast is so late; I don't know what Jones
2an be about.'
Stevie made no reply, and all three turned back together.
As soon as they reached the lawn, Colonel Yincent Champ-
neys suddenly remembered that he had promised to show
Sir George some coins which he had in his room, and went
into the house to get them.
' The first bell has not rung yet,' said Stevie, as soon as
the visitor was out of hearing; ' will you walk a little way
with me now ?'
' But, Stevie, I was not walking with him, and it's very
wicked of you to say so ?'
' I did not say so.'
' But you think I was; you know you do, Stevie ! And
you'd go and tell Francis, and—'
' Dear mammie,' said Stevie, taking her arm, and draw-
ing it within his own, ' why should you think that I would
play the spy upon your movements ? I am very glad that
I have met you, though, and I will tell you why. Now,
pray don't be offended with what I am going to say. 1 love
you, and respect my father's wife too much to venture, for
one moment, to dictate to her the course which she ought
to pursue towards any gentleman—any person who might
be under her roof; but when I tell you that I am convinced
this Colonel Yincent Champneys is one with whom no man
of honour, knowing his antecedents, would associate, I think
you will see that you ought to be very careful how you admit
ilfim to the least degree of intimacy.'
. n 'He is a wicked—dreadful creature, and I never will
speak to him again. I won't, indeed, Stevie,' burst forth
Lady Tremlett, flushing crimson.
Stevie was surprised. 'Has any one else told you?
How do you know?' he asked.
' He has—that is, I—you—0, how tiresome you are,
Stevie !' stammered my lady. ' Did you not say so just now ?'
' Well, mammie dear,' said her stepson, caressing affec-
tionately the little hand which trembled on his arm, ' we
will not talk any more about it; of course we must be civil
u
290
A TANGLED SKEIN.
to him while he remains your guest. Only take my advice,
and drop his acquaintance.'
' But he is a relation of the Dean; and what has he
done ?'
'1 cannot tell you. I have written to a friend who
can say if my suspicions are well founded. You shall
know when I get an answer; but see ! There's Frank call-
ing to us. Let us go in.'
As they approached the open broad windows of the
breakfast-room, •' dearest Francis' came running out to meet
them in a high state of excitement for so (generally) self-
possessed a personage.
' 0, I've found you at last,' he said, out of breath,
and waving his arms about vaguely. ' Come with me!
come this way at once !'
'What do you mean?—where?—what has happened
—can't you speak, man ?' said Stephen.
' Ask no questions, but follow me. Come and judge
for yourself. Come this way ! I tell you at once.'
And he crossed the hall, followed quickly by Lady
Tremlett and Stevie, towards his father's so-called ' study'
—the room where we saw that ugly-looking letter burned
a month or two ago—and flung open the door with a
crash, revealing Sir George standing, the picture of misery,
by the mantelpiece, and two odd-looking men seated on the
extreme edges of two chairs, brushing their two hats with
the cuffs of their two coats, nervously, and watching him.
One glance sufficed to send the blood tingling to the roots
of Stephen's hair.
' My God !' he exclaimed half aloud; ' ifs come /'
'Dear ! dear! dear!' cried Lady Frankland, 'what is
the matter ? What do these dreadful creatures want? Do
look at their dirty shoes all on the nice clean drugget.'
' Beg your pardon, marm, I mean my lady, if you be
my lady,' said one of the men, rising ; ' there ain't no call for
you to put yourself about. We've just come down from
London to take Sir George Tremlett, Barrowknight, and
we've been and took him as a gentleman ought to be took.
All he's got to do is to come along gently with us—least-
wise, if he has to come at all,' he added, in an under tone.
A STORM GATHERS OVER TREMLETT TOWERS. 291
'What's a hundred or two to a gentleman as lives in a
house like this ?'
' Do I understand you to mean that money can settle
this—this affair ?' asked Stephen, in a whisper.
' Of course ! Why, what can't money settle ? Debt,
two hundred and eighteen pounds; costs, forty-five pun ten
and sixpence—total, two hundred and sixty-three pun ten
shillings and sixpence.'
The words ' Debt' and ' Costs' have not usually a plea-
sant sound, particularly when uttered by a sheriff's officer;
but, 0, what music they made in Stephen Frankland's ears !
He gave a great gasp of relief and said,
' Then this arrest is only for a debt!'
'Only for a debt!' sneered Mr. Tremlett; 'but for
one of nearly three hundred pounds, and Sir George has
just now acknowledged that he has not got three hundred
pence to pay it with.'
' Hush—h, Frank!' cried Stephen, casting an angry
look from his half-brother to the bailiffs; but he was not to
be hushed.
' It is right,' he continued, ' that these men should be
told—it is right that their employers should know how
matters stand. What business had they to trust him with
two hundred and eighteen pounds?' demanded this dutiful son.
' Ah !' commented my lady, playing with her bracelets;
' what business had they to trust him with so much money ?
Why it's more than dear Francis paid for that brace—'
' It is enough to found an infant school,' interrupted
the dear fellow, unwilling, perhaps, that the purchase in
question should be mentioned just then, ' and do inestim-
able good ; whereas, most probably, it has been squandered
—squandered foolishly, if not worse. What, I ask, is there
to show for it ?'
The poor Baronet lifted his head at this appeal, and re-
plied, ' I will tell you—nothing !'
' There 1 you hear—" Nothing." Two hundred and
sixty-three pounds, besides the shillings (which alone would
pay the weekly wages of many a respectable family), and
all for nothing! It is too bad. What has become of the
money ?'
292
A TANGLED SKEIN.
4 Listen and you shall know all. The debt, out of
which—'
4 Beg your pardon, sir,' said the bailiff who had spoken
before; 4 but if you'll give me your word, as a gentleman, not
to try to escape by the window, we'll go outside out of hear-
ing. We don't want to hear family matters, do us, Jim V
4 What you say, Tom,' replied the other man, 41 ollus
sticks to ; what does the genelman say ?'
4 That he thanks you for a degree of consideration from
which others'—with a glance towards his second son—
4 might well take example. Still he begs you to remain.
You have heard too much not to hear what yet remains.
Sit down. I was speaking,' continued Sir George, after a
few moments of apparently painful consideration, 4 of the
original debt, out of which my present liabilities arise. It
amounted to more than twelve hundred pounds, Francis,
and was contracted before you were born.'
4 0, poor dear; and he has paid all the rest out of his
pocket-money !' observed Lady Tremlett. 4 Well, it might
be a great deal worse.'
41 have paid it, principal and interest, twice over,
Rhoda.'
4 0, why did you not tell these creatures so at first,
and send them away ?'
41 will explain all to you, dear,' replied the Baronet, in
a broken voice; for the little gleam of kindness in his
wife's manner had softened his poor weak heart. 41 bor-
rowed the money—it matters not, after all these years, to
inquire why—upon promissory notes; and, when I could
not pay these as they became due, I had to renew them—
I mean I had to sign others, and give sometimes as much
as fifty pounds at a time for the indulgence; and yet had
the same amount to pay, with accumulating interest, in the
end. You know what my income has been, and you may
judge to what shifts I have been driven to meet these ex-
tortionate demands, and yet pay off nearly a thousand
pounds of the debt. I tell you frankly I have been obliged
to borrow of friends for this purpose. I owe Lord Ross-
thorne a hundred pounds, and Coleman has my I O Us
for a hundred and seventy at this moment.'
A STORM GATHERS OYER TREMLETT TOWERS. 298
4 In short,' observed dearest Francis to his mother, 4 he
has gone on wasting the means that he had, and incurring
fresh liabilities without the remotest prospect of ever being
able to discharge them. Exposing us to strangers, too, in
this way ! Bringing bailiffs into the house before all my
friends ! What are we to think of such conduct ? If I
were called upon in my capacity as a county magistrate to
express my opinion, I should call it— 0 !'
Stephen had been endeavouring in vain to frown the
speaker into silence ; but he lectured with his head in the
air, after his usual lofty style, and did not perceive or heed
the gestures—now beseeching, now angry—that were
addressed to him. In seizing him by the arm, our Stevic
only meant to compel his attention; but such was the honest
fellow's indignation that his great brown fingers closed, in
spite of him, upon his brother's tender flesh with such force
that the threatened judicial dictum degenerated into the
cry0of a beaten child, and it was some days before five black
spots faded out of the dear fellow's skin.
4 Silence,' whispered Stephen huskily in his ear, whilst
he still writhed in that iron, grasp. 4 Have you no respect
—no pity ?'
4 Eh, let him be, sir,' said the spokesman bailiff; 4 let
him have his little talk out. We're accustomed to this
sort of thing, ain't us, Jim ? Genelmen as 'as to pay other
genelman's debts ollus likes to have a bit of talk fust. It's
natural they shud want summut for their money. Let
him be.'
41—I am not going to pay the debt!' cried Francis,
forgetting his bodily pain in the keener anguish which the
idea of being called upon to pay for his father's release
occasioned. 41—I have nothing whatever to do with this
affair !'
4 Then you ain't one of the parties as is liable on these
bills, supposing the Barrowknight's obleeged to go to quod V
inquired the bailiff, producing the two ominous slips of
paper, on the back of which Sir George Tremlett's dishon-
oured acceptances were set out.
' I never sign bills—upon principle.'
4 P'r'aps you're a-going to lend him the money V
m
A TANGIiED SKEIN.
' No such thing, man ! How dare you V
' If you ain't a party to the bills, and ain't a-going to
lend the money to pay 'em, who the dickens are yer. You
can't he a relation, by the way you talk.'
' Fellow, I am a relation, and—'
' Then,' cried the bailiff, in a burst of honest indigna-
tion, ' I'm damned—I beg your ladyship's pardon, but I
am damned if you oughtn't to have your head punched.'
I Hold your tongue!' thundered Stephen, coming for-
ward from the window where he had stood, chafing and
burning with shame, during the above colloquy; ' you for-
get yourself! May I see those papers V
i Certainly, sir j' and the man placed them in his hand.
' For God's sake bring this scene to an end, one way or
the other,' said Sir George faintly. 11 am legally bound
to pay this money. If it be not forthcoming I must go to
gaol. Rhoda, what do you say V
My lady, thus appealed to, appealed in turn to her son:
' Dearest Francis, you are so very clever! Tell me,
what do I say ?'
The dear fellow maintained a dogged silence for some
moments, and then muttered,
' It is bad enough to have to pay the debts, but the
costs are more disgraceful still. Forty-five pounds ten
shillings and sixpence for costs—all of which might have
been avoided. Why did he not come and tell us—you, I
mean—why did he not go and tell you when the bills were
coming due that he could not pay them V
' O yes, my love, you ought to have come and told me
—Francis is quite right.'
' Still, I suppose,' continued the dear fellow, ' that the
money must be paid—that is, I mean advanced.'
II only ask it as a loan, my dear Khoda,' the Baronet
pleaded, ' only as a loan. In a year or two it will be re-
placed. You know,' he added, in a low voice, ' that you
have it in your power to deduct it from my—my allowance.'
At this moment Stephen, who had retired with the
writs to a side table and had there been writing, came for-
ward with them, and a third slip of paper in his hand, and
addressed the bailiffs.
A STORM GATHERS OVER TREMLETT TOWERS. 295
1 There are, I see, two bills,' he said; (one for a hundred
and sixty-five pounds, and the other for fifty-three. Here
is a cheque upon my agents in London for the larger
amount and the costs. In all, two hundred and ten pounds
ten and sixpence. I am sorry that I cannot draw at pre-
sent for the balance, but I am going to town in a few hours
—I will accompany you if you desire it—and shall be able
to give your employers ample security for payment of the
entire debt in three days. Will this do V
1 Dear Stevie,' exclaimed my lady, 4 how very kind ! I
must really give him a kiss—so generous !'
'Hum,' sneered Mr. Tremlett, 'I did not know that
captains in Indian regiments could afford such romantic
notions. I only hope he is as just to his own creditors as
he is inclined to be generous towards those of—of—'
4 His father,' said Stephen sternly. ' I do not wonder,
Frank,' he added, in a lower tone, 4 that the word sticks in
your throat.'
4 The genelman—who is a genelman as I can see with
half a eye,' said the bailiff, turning the cheque over in his
hand, ' axes if this 'ere sort of thing will do. Well, gene-
rally speaking, it won't. Generally speaking, we has orders
to take nothing but the brass or bank-notes, which comes
to the same thing. But in this 'ere case we has instruc-
tions not to be hard on the Barrowknight, and to take any
good security for the debt. Well, is this 'ere a good
security ? You ain't much of a speaker, Jim, but you ain't
often took in; what do you call it V
Jim turned his little ferret eyes upon Stevie's anxious
face, and then upon the cheque, and after a short delibera-
tion gave the following verdict solemnly,
' I calls it a hout and houter.'
4 Then that's settled,' said his chief, rising and prepar-
ing to replace his papers in a huge greasy pocket-book ;
4 and I've your word, Mr.—Mr.—'
' My name is Frankland. I am a Captain in the army,
and Sir George Tremlett's son—his eldest son.'
4 Hey ! why didn't you say that before? That makes
right righter.'
4 Stop !' interrupted Mr. Tremlett; 41 must interpose
296
A TANGLED SKEIN.
here. Rejoiced as I am to find Sir George released from
his painful position, I cannot allow credit to be received
under a false pretence.'
' A false pretence !' exclaimed Stephen.
' At any rate a suppression of the whole truth. You
have said that you are my father's eldest son, and these
good men will go away under the impresion that you have
some claim upon this property, whereas—'
'1 have none. If I had—but no matter. I am—as I
am' (this to the bailiffs), 'and will pay the money in three
days, upon my honour as an officer and a gentleman.
Knowing what you now know, will you quit this house V
' The other genelman don't feel inclined to put his name
to the cheque, too, does he?' asked the sheriff's officer.
' I object—upon principle,' replied the ' other gentle-
man' loftily.
' Very well,' said the bailiff, pouching his pocket-book.
' You ain't got no call to come with us' (this to Stevie) 'with-
out you like. Only as you are going to London, you call
to-morrow morning on Messrs. Puddle & Snap, 287a Buck-
lersbury; have a talk with them, and that'll settle it.'
Several times during this conversation, Sir George had
tried to break in, and had been prevented by a gesture
from Stevie. Now he could no longer be restrained.
' It shall not be !' he cried; ' I will not have it! My
noble, noble boy—my own true-hearted Stevie ! I will
not owe this to you. Take your hard-earned savings—the
earnings of your blood ! Never ! I will rot in prison first.
Give him back that cheque. Take me with you—now ! I
am ready. And you,' he exclaimed, turning towards his
second son, with flashing eyes, ' shame upon you for stand-
ing by and consenting to such a sacrifice ! I will not accept
it! Let me go, I say ! Stevie, let me go—let me go—let
me go !' and he struggled towards the door through which
the bailiffs were passing.
' Calm yourself, sir,' said Stephen, restraining and
gently forcing his father, into an armchair. ' There has
been no sacrifice. Mother, pray go to your guests, and
then no one need know what has happened. Prancis, I
think you had better leave us too.'
A STORM GATHERS OVER TREMLETT TOWERS. 297
1 Allow me to explain, though, that what I observed
just now, about—'
' 0, never mind what you observed,' rejoined Stephen
wearily.
* But I must say that you have acted very liberally;
and as you are not a rich man, I shall advise my mother
that—'
' Spare your advice,' said Stephen, in his sternest tone.
' I tell you, plainly, brother, that but for your advice, and
the influence—gained I know not how—which gives it
weight, this house might be the happy home it once was
when—when—'
' When your influence prevailed, I suppose you would
say,' retorted ' dearest Francis,' with his best sneer.
Was it because Lady Tremlett, who had left the room
at Stephen's request, had overheard his words from the
passage that, the moment Francis had passed her, she came
running back in tears, and threw herself into her stepson's
arms, sobbing like a child 1
Gently he disengaged himself from her embrace, and led
her to the door, kissed her on the forehead in his old
tender protecting way, and returned to where his father sat,
with his face buried in his hands.
For some time they remained there in silence—the Ba-
ronet pondering painfully over what had passed, and Ste-
phen bowed down with sorrow for what had got to be said.
At last the former started from the chair and exclaimed,
' Let me go with you to London, Stevie. Let me try
and manage this miserable business my own way. I have
pulled through so much already. I can pull through it all,
if they will but give me time ; and they will—they will, in-
deed, Stevie! They have had me arrested here because
they thought that Fran— that—that the money would be
paid. Take me with you ; say you will, Stevie !'
Stevie shook his head.
' Only for a little time—a day or two. Don't leave me
alone here, Stevie—don't! I cannot bear to be left alone.
Let me go with you for a little time until it has blown over.'
1 It cannot he. But for this mischance we two should not
have met again. As it is, we must part—perhaps for ever.'
298
A TANGLED SKEIN.
1 In Heaven's name, why ?' cried the Baronet aghast.
' When I tell you,' replied Stephen solemnly, 1 that I
know what reason took you to Westborough—whom you
went there to see, and what you—what happened—your
own heart will tell you why.'
' My God, Stevie !' his father gasped, turned absolutely
livid with consternation and terror. ' My God !—you will
not betray me?'
' Betray you ! No ! But beware: there are those who,
in spite of my utmost efforts, have gained a clue to the
secret which at present is locked in my breast.'
The Baronet groaned aloud.
'The time will come when they will know all that I
know—perhaps more! Happily for you, I am able to
follow their movements, and the moment you are in danger
I will warn you. I can do no more. Then you can only
find safety in flight.'
' But where ?—how ?—I—I—■'
' I will provide the means. Almost the last breath of
your victim was spent in a prayer that you might escape the
punishment which this world awards to your crime, pro-
vided—mark me well!—that justice be done where it
is due.'
' You mean to the child. It shall be-^-it shall be!
But, O Stevie, I have lost all clue to her. I have, indeed !'
' When and where did you see her last ?'
'I have never seen her—never. I had a clue once,
but—and now she is lost!—lost!—lost!—lost!' and the
Baronet wrung his hands at every repetition of the word.
' Be it my task to find her, then,' said Stephen; ' and
from henceforward I devote myself to it, and to it alone.'
' But you forgive me—say you forgive me, Stevie ?'
' God help me, I cannot! It was so base—so treacher-
ous.'
' It was, it was ; but, 0 Stevie ! if you knew all.'
' I know enough—too much. No more need be said.
You may escape its consequences in this life; pray to
Heaven that it may be pardoned there.'
'No! no ! no ! Stevie, you must not go thus,' cried his
father, seizing upon him in a frenzy of grief, as he turned
A STORM GATHERS OVER TREMLETT TOWERS. 299
to quit the chamber; ' you cannot have the heart to leave
me with this fresh horror on my head ?'
' I must.'
' You will return soon—very soon ! Stevie, you will
come back to us again ?'
'Never.'
' 0, recall that word—that bitter cruel word ! 0
Stevie, my son !—my only stay !—my hope !—my loving,
noble son!—my son !—my son !' and Sir George Tremlett,
the tears streaming down his cheeks, fell upon Stephen's
neck, and sobbed and implored him to stay, to return, in
vain.
' Father,' he said, ' you have well-nigh broken my heart.
Do not add to my pain by useless supplications, which must
be rejected. I have a duty to perform towards the living
and the dead. The very day this is completed I shall return
to India—would to God I had never left it! I came home
—it seems only a few days ago—full of love for you all—
full of I cannot say what happy anticipations. You all
know how they have been realised. If I had never met you
at Westborough—if I had never learnt the secret of that
darkened room'—the Baronet started—' could this be any
longer a home for me? You are silent. It was only the
other day that you bade me leave it for my own peace of
mind. How much more am I bound to quit it now 1 God
in His infinite mercy bless you all! God turn your hearts
more to Him and to each other ! Farewell!'
So saying Stephen turned, and without giving another
look towards where his father had sunk on his knees—
crushed and speechless—slowly left the room.
In the hall he had left a small bag, in which he had
packed what he required for his journey. This he seized,
and hurrying out of a side-door, was making his way through
the shrubbery towards the park-gates, when he heard a
quick step behind him, and his own name called out faintly.
He looked back and saw that his stepmother was following
him.
< O, I am so glad I have caught you. Are you going
now V she panted, all out of breath.
' I am.'
300
A TANGLED SKEIN.
I What 1—all alone—on foot V
II prefer to walk to the station.'
1 See here,' said my lady, looking round her nervously,
and trying to force a roll of bank-notes into his hand; ' see,
see—take them ! You have been so good—so generous;
take them—but don't tell Francis.'
' Dear mammie,' replied Stevie, with his sad sweet
smile, rejecting the proffered gift, ' let us forget about this
weary money. I do not need your help. Let me go on in
my own way.'
' And you will very soon return, Stevie, won't you ?—
and we will try and be happy together, as before.'
Stevie pressed her hand in silence, and turned his. face
aside.
' Only look at those dark clouds that are flying up
yonder,' she added. ' I am sure there will be a dreadful
storm. Do let me order one of the carriages for you.
Francis will lend you his brougham—he said he would,
indeed he did, just now.'
' Never mind the clouds,' Stevie replied; ' they will not
hurt me. Kiss me, mammie dear. Be kind to my father.
Once more. Have I hurt you % No ! God bless you, and
good-bye !'
And so he left her, and ran on into the storm which was
darkening over his path.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SECRET.
' Now, I tell you what it is, sir,' said Mr. Lagger to
Stephen, when, true to their appointment, they met on the
platform of the Derby Railway Station : ' let's you and me
take a little country walk, and talk this 'ere matter over
quietly. It's done raining now, and the fields'll be mighty
pleasant.'
' Wouldn't it be better to engage a private room in the
hotel V
THE SECRET.
801
1 Beggin' your pardon, sir, I don't like ho-tels. Private
rooms in suchlike places ain't always private. Give me the
open air for business, where two's company and three's
none.'
Stephen made no further objection, and forth they sallied,
passed through the town and its outskirts, struck into the
meadows, and soon arrived at a spot sufficiently lonely for
their purpose.
' Now, sir,' said the detective, 1 if you'll set yourself down
on that there hank, I'll squat on this here stump; and if
you sees any one coming along the path to the right, you say
" Hem !" and if I sees any one coming along the path to the
left I say " Hem !" and when this person passes us I shall
say—pretty loud—"But my friend can't give more than
five-and-twenty shillings a quarter for it," to which you
must reply, "0, he can't, can't he ?" whereby this here
person won't he much the wiser about what we're really
saying.'
Stephen could not help smiling at this quaint precaution,
and seated himself as the detective had suggested.
' You ain't repented having trusted me, Captain Frank-
land, eh?' he asked.
' Before I answer that question,' said Stephen, ' you must
tell me what brought you to Tremlett Towers, and why you
entered that room ?'
4 To tell you plain truth, sir, you've bin watched ever
since the inquest. I've bin a-watching you myself ever
since you left the Convent at Hull.'
4 How do you know I was there V asked Stephen sharply.
4 I know it—that's enough; and I know what you went
there to find out—that's more ! Lord bless you, Captain,
I sees through all this like glass. Mr. Brandron sez to you,
sez he, "There's papers at Mangerton Chase hid away in
such and such a place but he—he didn't make you clearly
understand where Mangerton Chase is—or rather where it
isn't—for it's Tremlett Towers now. You set to work to
find it out, and as soon as I knew your little game, I sez to
myself, sez I, " Here's a hound"—begging your pardon—
" as is on the scent. Stick to his heels, Lagger, my man,
and you won't go far out of the way !" If I hadn't seen
302
A TANGLED SKEIN.
you get into that room, I should still have had my eye on
you. That's why I got that stupid old Crowner to let
you down so easy at the inquest. Why, we might have
quodded you for not telling all you knew—all what Mr.
Brandron told you; but, thinks I, "No, give him time, and
he'll tell us everything,"—and so you have.'
' I have told you nothing, man ! What do you mean ?'
' There's ways of telling a thing without talking about
it. Come, come, Captain ; if you and I had not met now,
we should have run against one another some day, and then
somebody would have been hurted. Let's work this busi-
ness out together—you for your purpose, I for mine. You
can't prevent my getting along, and I can help you. I ax
you agin—you ain't repented having trusted me, eh?'
< Upon the whole, No,' replied Stephen thoughtfully.
' That's right—that's as it should be. How about these
here papers; have you got them with you ?'
' I have. They are here.' And Stephen produced the
bundle just as he had fastened it up with the detective the
night before.
1 Ha, all right! Now, sir, if you don't mind reading
those letters out slowly. They're very nicely composed,
they are. I've bin a-thinking over them amost all night,
and I've pretty nigh made plain English out of 'em. There's
nothing like hearing a thing read, though, to draw the
broth out of it. Just begin at the beginning, will you,
sir?'
Stephen assented. The paper was yellow with age and
dust, and eaten through here and there by rats; moreover,
the writing was blotted in places, as Stephen thought, by
tears. 1 give them as they stood, and the blanks must be
filled in by help of the context.
' Tuesday.
' Mr. Howell presents his compliments to Miss Bruce,
and begs to send for her the books he mentioned this
morning, and which a wish to have.'
(No date.)
' My dear Miss Bruce,
' How could you have imagined that you had offended
me? You ask me to be perfectly candid, and I ■"
THE SECRET.
303
I have never passed pleasanter hours than those which have
been spent house, but there was that in your father's
towards me which makes me fear that I am not so
welcome as I used to be. I am not conscious of having
offended him in any way. What have I done ? Pray
peace. I enclose the tickets that will pass you through
the lines at the Review on Thursday, if you to go.—
Yours faithfully, George Howell.
1 P.S. I suppose I ought to thank you for returning
the books, but I should have been much more grateful
deigned to accept from me, as I hoped you
would.'
' Saturday.
' Will I come to your cousin's ball ? Won't 11 It was
Mrs. Chappell who told me that you thought you had
offended me. Am I that this invitation as a
sort of peace-offering from your family ? What I can
have done, though, to provoke hostilities, and make one
I have no more idea than the man in the moon.
Shall you go early ? Will you keep a dance or two
me ? Signify your royal pleasure in this behalf by coming
without a bouquet. You will for you in the lady's
room. Who is this Mr. Brandron ?—Yours, G. H.'
4 Wednesday night.
4 My own Beloved,
' I cannot sleep, I cannot rest with those ecstatic words
ringing in my ear. You me! You have said so,
Mary, with your own sweet lips—or dream? 0,
let me hear them again ! How that I know that you are
mine , Mary, for ever, in spite of all the world; I
live a day you, I think, darling. How impos-
sible it was for one tithe of my love—to thank you,
my glorious, brave, beautiful one, for the inestimable gift
of your own, in all that crowd ! Be in the Square garden
to-day at twelve, or any time. wait all day to see
you. I great friends with Sarah, and you
this. We must be very careful now, till something can be
settled.—Your own ever-loving Georgie.'
304
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' To-morrow, dearest, same time and place. I met your
father just now in Regent-street, and got nothing but black
. suspect V
' My own darling Mary,
' I regret as much as you do the which compels
us to deceive your family, and, consequently, my own. But
I do ? Were I to call on your father and ask him to
sanction our engagement, he would set himself up in his
foolish pride, give me a long lecture about unequal mar-
riages, show me the door, more or less politely, and
to see or communicate with me again. As it is, he does
not forbid you to do so, and I do not see that at all
bound to tell him that we meet daily—alas, naughty girl,
not daily ! Why did yesterday 1 I wandered up and
down the banks of the Serpentine, waiting for you, till
really the policeman looked as though he thought I was
going to run away with the bridge or suicide. No
such nonsense. I have something to live for now. And
so you still preserve that faded ? Don't keep faded
flowers, bright one; come for fresh ones every day. I—
jealous of old Brandron ! Nonsense !—Your own
* Georgie.'
' 0 you dear little goose !
1 The idea of fretting about such a proposition. Accept
at once, but not too eagerly, for may suspect. Say
that you are tired of the gaieties of the season, and want
country air. I have a friend among the Derbyshire
wilds, not more than a few miles from Macclesfield, and
consequently well within lover's distance of your aunt's
home. Mary, darling, he is a clergyman, the best fellow
in the world, and the of his little out-of-the-way
not count a dozen. He has often asked me to go and stay
with him, and—but I must what I have in my mind.
I cannot write it, it would frighten you—and yet it is not
frightful, darling. Accept at once. God bless you, my
love !—my life !—my wife that shall be !'
' Craigsleigk.
' Everything is arranged. Richard will perform the
ceremony. Be at the brook at which we parted last at 10
THE SECRET.
305
on Monday. Bring Susan, , whichever her name is—
I mean Alston—that is, if you think that you can really
trust her.'
' Jersey.
1 My own beloved "Wife,
' I find to my sorrow that be detained here
than I supposed. You ask me if I did not feel guilty
during those two days between your departure from
Craigsleigh and at home. Guilty of what 1 Of
spending the happiest hours of my life in the of the
best, the most beautiful, and the dearest of little wives 1
"Not guilty, my lady, upon my honour," as my Lord
Rossthorne I wish you were here. You have no idea
what a beautiful island this is, or how much more lovely it
would be in my eyes if your dear presence were here to
of the scene!
' Have you heard of Richard's good luck ? The
is worth 1000Z. a year, and I hear that the climate is not
at all unwholesome.
' I cannot help thinking that you are wrong, 0 sapient
wifey ! in not letting me have it out with your father
before I left; but no more of this till we meet again, which
very shortly. Be very careful, dear, with that fel-
low, Brandron. I cannot make him out. Is he a spy 1 I
hate his quiet stealthy manner, and have often caught him
watching you in a way that used to make me savage. I
jealous of him, Mary, as I was of was permitted
to come near you, when I, who loved you, who had won
your love, was an exile home. Of course I am not
of him , only be careful. We must not be found
out. We must take the initiative and disclose all; and the
sooner this the better pleased will be your ever loving
husband, Georgie.'
' Jersey.
1 My beloved Wife,
41 seize an opportunity of replying to within an
hour after its receipt. The news you send beyond
expression. We must make our marriage public now.
But O, you wicked wife! why did you not tell me before ?
x
8Q6
a t4ngl^p $£ein.
The slightest; shade of blame must your honour, or
on our little child's good name. I have been bandied about
here from pillar to post, and all my applications for release
have been disregarded. There must be some influence at
work, somewhere, against me. I shall leave directly, at
any risk, and almost as soon as my letter. Still,
should anything happen, on no your father's anger
alone. Let jne bear the brunt of it, and if by any chance
your discovered before I can arrive, fly at once to
Mangerton Chase- No one lives there now, and the —
house is . Wait there—take Susan—Sarab, I mean,
with you—till I come. I have no time more. That
God may guide and watch , beloved wife, is the inces-
sant prayer of your proud, happy, and ever-loving ,
' Georqip.'
This was the last of the letters.
From a paper in which the marriage certificate was
folded, Stephen Frankland next read as follows, but the
right-hand edge was so gnawed by the rats that the words
it contained were illegible :
'I certify that I was present in the chapel a
where my mistress, Miss Mary Bruce, only daugh
married by license to Mr. George Howell, as his
from the Begister will prove. I say that she
of grief, being deserted by her husband and acc
ther, falsely, of having given birth to an illegit
In truth, it was born in lawful wedlock, on the sec
January.
' And I say that this child was taken away
sister Lucy to be nursed. And further, I de
be lost or the proofs of its legitimacy be destr
our will, the person who does this crime is
has already tried to bribe us to do so
may happen to me this is true and m
me God.
' Susan—sometimes called Sarah—Alston.
(Witness) 'John Everett Brandron.'
'Now these here letters,' said Mr. Lagger, when Ste-
MR. LAGGER VISITS CRAIGSLEIGH CHAPEL. 307
phen had concluded, ' is very pretty -writing, but what do
they come to when they're biled and peeled 1 Shall I tell
you V
1 By all means. Pray go on.'
' They comes to this. The gentleman as writes from
Jersey—Hem!—being a friend of mine, says that he won't
give more than five-and-twenty shillings a quarter for it.
Dop't you see V
CHAPTER XXIY.
what mr. lagger thought about the letters, and how
he visited craigsleigh chapel.
The wayfarer whose appearance had drawn from Mr. Lag-
ger the preconcerted signal and observation was a wretched,
ragged, hungry-looking tramp, who slunk along slowly, with
his hands in his pockets, and his eyes upon the ground, as
though he had left nothing behind him, had nothing to hope
for at his journey's end, and nothing to do from one day to
another, but slink onward—here and there—towards that
somewhere where his weary pilgrimage should end in a
pauper's grave. There was such an appearance of dejection
and hopelessness in the fellow's manner as he approached
and climbed the stile, that our soft-hearted Steevie's hand
stole involuntarily towards his purse, from whence he took
a small coin, in anticipation of an appeal to his charity.
But no such appeal was made; on the contrary, when the
tramp came near to the spot where Steevie and the detective
sat, he struck across the meadow so as to avoid them, and
rejoined the path by a detour.
1 Humph !' reflected Mr. Sampson Lagger, watching the
retreating figure with a professional eye, ' I shouldn't won-
der if somebody wanted you. You've got the " I've-been-
and - gone- and- done -it - and- everybody-as-sees-me-knows-it"
look in your eyes, my fine fellow—that's about what you've
got! But I say, Captain,' he added, turning to Stephen,
' you missed your cue, When I sez, " He won't give more
308
A TANGLED SKEIN.
than five-and-twenty shillings a bushel for it," you should
have replied, " 0, he won't, won't he?" according to agree-
ment. Don't you forget that again, now, next time as any-
body comes along, and I say " Humph !" '
'Well, well, well!' replied Steevie impatiently; 'but
you were going to tell me what you deduced from the letters
I have just read.'
' What I de-duce from them there letters is—but where's
the marriage certificate you had in your hand last night
when I came in up yonder ?'
Stephen handed it, and the detective examined what
remained decipherable of its contents carefully. I say
' what remained decipherable,' because, like the paper in
which it was folded, the extremity of the right-hand side
was more or less eaten away by rats.
' Ah!' said Lagger, when he had turned it over and over
after the manner of persons who don't exactly make out what
they read—' ah ! and if them there cursed rats had taken
counsel's opinion on the matter, they couldn't have gnawed
it better; but, Lord ! what does it matter? We only have
to go to Craigsleigh Chapel to see the original.'
' The original!'
' Of course; this 'ere's only a copy. I went to the
parish church here this afternoon before you arrived, just to
see what particulars a marriage certificate as had not been
grubbed by rats should give, and I find that it will tell us,
over and above what is set down here, the " condition" of
the bridegroom—that is, whether he was a bachelor or a
widower at the time of this marriage—his rank or profes-
sion, bis place of residence (but that we know), the surname
of the father or mother of the bride, and their rank or pro-
fession. Bruce ain't an uncommon name, no more ain't
Howell—tbat is, if so be as his name really was Howell.'
' Why should you doubt it ?' asked Stephen.
' I'll tell you by and by; everything in its turn. I say
these ain't uncommon names, but when we get a clue to the
father of the young lady, if so be as she was a young lady,
and know what he was, and where he lived, and the profes-
sion of this 'ere George Howell, why that's business, that is.'
' And we can find out all this at the church ?'
MR. LAGGER VISITS CRAIGSLEIGH CHAPEL. 309
' In the registry-book. We can go over there kt the
morning. You ain't in a particular hurry to get to London,
are you, Captain V
' I am, indeed; I have an appointment—at least, I
must see some one on a matter of considerable importance
to-morrow.'
' Well, then, I'll go alone, and I'll bring you a faithful
copy of what I find. Will that do V
Stephen assented, determining in his own mind that as
soon as he had arranged his father's affairs with Messrs.
Puddle & Snap, he would run down to Craigsleigh and
make inquiries for himself.
' That's settled, then,' said Mr. Lagger. ' I'm going to
be all fair and above-board with you, Captain, in this affair;
all through 'cordin' to contract. So now I'll tell you what
I de-duce from these 'ere love-letters.
(If it hadn't bin for what Sarah Alston sez just at the
last, I should 'a come to a different con-clusion; but sefctin'
down what she sez as truth, if George Howell was to come
to me and say, " Well, now, Mr. Lagger, what do you think
of me ?" I should up and re-ply, " Mr. Howell—if so be as
your name is Howell—I think it belongs to a blackguard,
that's what I think." '
' But why—why so ?' demanded Stephen impatiently.
' What does he do V asked the detective, in a severe and
judicial tone. 1 He becomes beknown to Mary Bruce. He
gets talking poetry and sich-like to her—for I'll be bound
that them books he lent her was poetry books—and visits
at her house werry often—so often that the governor, he
cuts up grumpy. Why does he cut up grumpy 1 Because
he sees Master Georgie a-spooning his daughter. Who is
Master Georgie 1 He sends tickets to see a review, so I'm
in-clined to think he's a officer in the army ; and when you
finds a young fellow prancing about in scarlet and gold before
a gal in Hyde Park in the daytime, and a-reading poetry
books with her in the evenings, and when this young gal
goes and tells a friend that this young man is " offended"
with her because he does not come to see her as often as he
used, why there's something up between them as ought to
end in church on a week-day. Why shouldn't it end in
310
A lANGLED SKEIN.
church, both parties being agreeable ? Because the gover-
nor of the young lady won't have it—that's why ! And why
won't the governor have it 1 Because there's a disparity of
rank between them; that's what " Georgie" means when he
sez, " Your father," sez he, "will preach to me about ' un-
equal marriages.'" At first,' continued Mr. Lagger, in k
reflective tone, ' I thought that the—the—that what ain't
equal, you know—'
' The inequality.'
' That's the very word ! I thought the inequality was
on the gentleman's side, but if he had married into a rich or
a distinguished family he'd never have deserted his wife as
he did.'
' He writes of her father's pride? suggested Stephen.
' Poor chaps are proud—prouder than rich ones in some
things,' replied Lagger. ' I may be wrong, but I fancy this
Howell was a man of po-sition in the world, and Miss Bruce
a young lady who wouldn't be his mistress, and whom he
hadn't the pluck to acknowledge as his wife. Well, he
goes to this 'ere ball they mentions, and there he speaks his
mind. He gives her a bookay of flowers, and he talks to
her like one of his own poetry books; and she—poor little
thing—she locks up the fine flowers in her box, and the fine
words in her heart, and goes out to meet him every day
unbeknown to the governor, and frets and worries till he sez,
sez the governor, " You're a-fretting and a-worrying after
that feller. You sha'n't stop any longer in London. You
shall go and live with your aunt down in Derbyshire; that's
what you shall do." Now what happens when she goes
down to live with her aunt is as clear as mud in a wine-
glass. They get married—secretly. Then, when it's time
for her to go home again, he meets her on the road, and
they stop a day or two at Leamington.'
' How can you tell that1?'
1 This here Bible,' answered Lagger, producing the book
which had been found in the bundle with the papers, 'was
bought there; look at the ticket pasted in the cover!—-
" Sold by Smith, Bookseller, Leamington." I should not
wonder, now, if they bought two—one for him to give to
her, and one for her to give to him. This is what he gave
MR. LAGGER VISITS CRAIGSLEIGH CHAPEL. 3H
to her, and he's bin and wrote in it, " To my wife, 2d July
1835 but he don't sign his name. Not he ! He knows
better. Afterwards she goes home to her governor, and
Master Georgie cuts away somewhere.'
' To Guernsey. Do not let us lose sight of facts in
forming conjectures,' said Stephen. ' Let us not forget that
the father of the child that was born at Mangerton Chase,
in the month of April 1836, was living in Guernsey and
Jersey during the months of December 1835, and up to
the 20 th of the following February !'
' Humph ! leastwise he makes belief to have bin there.'
' Why, man, he describes the scenery of the islands, and
his letters are dated from thence.'
'How comes it, then, that there's no direction? and
more—no post-mark on any of 'em V
1 Because they are sent by a private hand,' replied Ste-
phen, a little too eagerly, for he knew well that Sir George
Tremlett—then Frankland—was in England at the dates
mentioned. ' Observe how that letter from Jersey com-
mences, " I seize this opportunity," &c. This shows that
it was sent by hand; and as to the others—'
' Well, what of them V
' They may have been sent by post, but under cover, to
some person whom he could trust to deliver them into the
hands of his wife. It is impossible to doubt that he was
where he represents himself to have been.'
1 Now that's as it should be,' said Mr. Lagger, looking
complacently at Stephen, with one eye shut, and his head on
one side, much as a respectable magpie would behold the
well-directed attentions of his son and heir towards a silver
fork which had fallen in his way, ' that's as it should be!
I likes to see a gentleman sharp. I likes to see people as
has cut their eye-teeth a-using on 'em. Why, if you was a
counsellor at the Old Bailey, a-trying to make out a halabi,
you couldn't be sharper.'
The word alibi jarred upon Stephen's ear, though it was
strictly in harmony with the thought which was uppermost
in his mind. He forced a laugh, and replied,
' What possible interest can I have in making out that he
was in one place more than another 1 I do not know the man.'
312
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Never heard tell of him V
1 Never.'
' And you don't know how he come to send his wife to
Mangerton Chase1?'
' No.'
1 Then I'll tell you,' said the detective. 1 You'll excuse
me, but I've been pretty busy with your family affairs for the
last fortnight, and I know as much about them as most
people.'
Stephen flushed, and bit his lip.
' You see, Captain,' Lagger continued, ' knowing that
you was up to some little game, I made my investigations
with a view of finding out what it was likely to be. And
knowing, as I did, that poor Mr. Brandron left England a
little more than twenty years ago, and con-cluding that
whatever happened to rile him took place about that time,
I naturally set to work to find out what your people was a-
doing just then. You couldn't have bin up to mischief,
leastwise this sort of mischief, then; for you was a little
curly-headed boy, you was; and an out-and-out little cock-
o'-wax too, I'll be bound.' This compliment did not soften
the frown which was darkening over Steevie's brow.
' Go on,' he said curtly; ' never mind what I was.'
' Well—not to mince matters—your governor, Sir
George, he was up a tree just then—wery high up a tree he
was. My ! what a fine gentleman he was while the money
lasted, and before these mines went to the bad !'
< You may spare me all this.'
' Wery good; well then, being hard up, why, he let his
house and land to Lord—but there ain't no good mention-
ing names. He let it to a fam'ly as went to the bad—all
on 'em—horse, foot, and dragoons soon afterwards, and rum
scenes went on in Mangerton Chase while they had it, I can
tell you. They had to bolt in the autumn of 1835. They
went up a tree, too—they did! and never come down again.
It wasn't till some time after Sir George's second marriage,
when they built that fine front part, that any of your family
lived down yonder.'
' Consequently we know nothing of this George HowelL'
' Exactly; but putting this and that together, I shouldn't
MB. LAGGER VISITS CRAIGSLEIGH CHAPEL. 313
wonder if it was that rackety young lord's brother, or else
one of his harem-scarem friends, who married this poor
young lady. She, naturally enough, ran off to the place he
named, when she could no longer conceal her secret, and he,
like a villain, absconded abroad with the rest on 'em, leav-
ing her to die, maybe of grief.'
' You think she is dead, then ?'
i Sartin. That letter which we found at Westborough
—the one from this Susan, or Sarah what-do-you-call-her,
sez so.'
'.But the child is alive !'
1 Not a doubt of it, and now we comes to business.
Who has an interest in keeping this marriage dark, except
this 'ere un-natural parent, who—'
' Stop one moment. Why should he do so ? It is not
as though his wife were alive, and he were a rich man. He
levanted from his creditors, and has long been free to marry
again. Why should he not acknowledge the child V
1 Ah ! there's the pinch. Some one has an interest in
concealing its parentage. You can't get over that.'
1 No; and that some one was in England—at Manger-
ton Chase—soon after its birth,' mused Stephen, carried
away, in spite of himself, by the interest which these in-
quiries aroused.
' 0, Mr. Brandron said so, did he V asked the detective
quickly.
' No—yes; that is, ah—well, he did not say so in as
many words, but I gather the fact from the letter you have
already referred to—'
' And which corroborates my idea about his being a
great man.'
1 Just now you set him down as an absconding spend-
thrift !'
' Look you here, Captain Frankland, I don't disguise it
from you that I'm a-guessing in the dark. It may be that
he was one of them young scamps, it must be that it was
some one connected with 'em, else how could he get the run
of Mangerton Chase? Now a young nobleman may be
ruined, and come round all right again by a good marriage,
or what not, and a ready-made child might be a spoke in his
314
A TANGLED SKEIN.
wheel in after life. That this child is a spoke in some one's
wheel is plain, or Mr, Brandron would never have been sent
to India, and might have been alive to this day. P'r'aps it
was a friend, maybe one of them kind friends who used to
play lansquenet and blind hookey with the young lord and
his brother all night, when they lived over ypnder; perhaps
it wasn't. But this 'ere is not a Christmas riddle as has got
to be guessed. It's a puzzle as has to be worked out by you
and me in different ways. I've got to put the murderer of
John Everett Brandron into the dock, and to hunt up such
evidence against him as will make a jury say he's guilty.
What happens to him afterwards is no affair of mine.
You've got to find this 'ere child—a young man or wonian
by this time—and see that it has its rights. It ain't a lively
look-out for it, though,' mused the detective, ' to pick up its
regulars off its father's gallows.'
' I don't see what right you have to assume his guilt,'
said Stephen angrily; ' some relation of the mother might
be equally interested in suppressing the marriage.'
' Might be,' replied the detective, rising; ' we shall See
in good time. Meanwhile it seems to me, Captain, as we
ought to hunt in couples.'
' You have promised me your assistance, and so of cotlrse
you will require money.'
' Not a sixpence. What I does, I does professionally,
only I communicates unprofessionally with you 'cordin' to
contract. Where's your house of call in London ?'
' East India Club—but no, don't call there. I will leave
a letter for you, whenever you please, stating an address
where you can see me always.'
' Good; send your letter to care of Mrs. Wantley, Little
Union-street, Boro'.'
Stephen took down the address in his note-book Care-
fully; packed up the letters and Bible, and, still accom-
panied by Lagger, returned to the Derby Railway Station,
and took the mail train for London, whilst the detective
remained for the purpose of going, on the next morning, to
Buxton, to search the registers of the district church at
Craigsleigh. Before he left Derby, however, he provided
himself with a butterfly net, and a pair of green spectacled;
MR. LAGGER VlfelTS CRAIGSLEIGH CHAPEL. 315
iiiid when he made his appearance at the little parsonage, it
was as an elderly gentleman of entomological tastes, who had
lost his way on the hills, and was so tired as to be obliged
to ask permission to rest himself there for a while.
Like Sir George Tremlett, you see, he had a round-
about way of doing things.
But whatever may have been his original plan for gain-
ing the information which he desired, it was modified by a
circumstance which occurred soon after his arrival at the
little parsonage.
I think that one of the principal causes of that reserve
and surliness which Continentals lay to the charge of us
Britons, is our inability to judge, by external appearances,
of the station, profession, tastes, or habits of those with
whom we are thrown in contact. Modern fashion, the dis-
appearance of special costumes, and the cheapness of gentle-
manly apparel, make us all externally alike, so that the
person whom we encounter on the railway or steamboat, or
who occupies the next table to us in the hotel or club, may
be a duke or a dust-contracter, a Rothschild or a Redpath, a
Peabody or a pickpocket, for anything that we can tell; and
so we hold our tongues respectively, and glare at each other
in mutual distrust. But let one of us have a fishing-rod, or
a cricket-bat in his hand, a hunting-coat on his back, or a
sketch-book amongst his luggage, and if the other is not a
snob, we shall get into conversation in ten minutes, because
there is one subject, clearly indicated, upon which we can
begin to talk. Thus it was with Mr. Lagger and Mr.
Thomas, the Incumbent of Craigsleigh. The butterfly net,
carried by the former, was their introduction.
' And so,' said the clergyman,' you're an entomologist V
1A what, sir V
1 An entomologist.'
' Can't say that I am, sir,' replied the detective gravely.
' To tell truth, I was brought up in the muffin and crumpet
line, and when I growed up I went into the po-lice.'
' I meant to ask you if you were fond of the study of
insect life,' said the clergyman, with a smile; ' they call
people who are, entomologists.'
< Now, do they really !' replied Mr. Lagger, in a trium-
316
A TANGLED SKEIN.
pliant tone. ' Lord, what fine things a man may be without
knowing! But there ain't no study about it with me—
leastwise what gentlemen like you calls " study." You see
I've bin kept pretty close to the collar all my life in Lon-
don, and when a man re-tires into private life, he must give
his mind up to something, else I'm blowed—asking your
riverence's pardon—if his mind won't give him up.'
' You are quite right.'
' Some,' continued the detective thoughtfully, ' gives it
up to skittles, and some to raising green gooseberries out of
season, and some goes into the private inquiry line. I'm
wery partial to the country, because I've seen so little on it.
Why, bless my soul! there ain't a bush, or a rock, or a tuft
of fuz hereabout as is not full of cu-riosities for such as me;
and there ain't no harm, is there, sir, in liking to look at
things, and to turn 'em over, even though you don't know
nothing about them skientifically V
One glance through the parsonage windows had shown
this fox that Mr. Thomas was a naturalist; and having
struck the right chord, harmony was instantly established
between them. The good clergyman was only too glad to
find an auditor for discoveries upon his favourite hobby, and
had not the faintest notion that it was being converted into
a pump, through which most of the information which his
disciple required flowed freely. Thus did Mr. Lagger be-
come aware that the predecessor of his instructor was the
Rev. Richard Stourton, who had been appointed Bishop of
Scalp town, somewhere on the east coast of Africa; that his
clerk—poor old man !—had died last Christmas, and had
been succeeded by a very superior young person, who had
been recommended by some charitable people in London.
That 'The Elms,' a neighbouring mansion, was formerly
occupied by a Mrs. Chappel, who, however, had not lived
there since Mr. Thomas's arrival. That very few marriages
took place in the little church; so few, that all which the
present incumbent had celebrated did not half fill one regis-
try book. That this volume was in use in Mr. Stourton's
time, but that there were others which the new clerk had
discovered in shocking bad condition, huddled away in a
vault, and which he had removed to his own lodgings in a
MR. LAGGER VISITS CRAIGSLEIGH CHAPEL. 317
neighbouring farmhouse. Very warm in praise of this new
clerk was Mr. Thomas, and why so well-spoken and fairly-
educated a person should be content to fill so humble a
position in that out-of-the-way spot, the good gentleman
could not think. There were those who asked the self-
same question respecting the new clerk's master.
Between each stroke of the pump, Mr. Lagger craftily
led his entertainer back amongst the ferns and zoophites in
which he took delight, plunged him deep into the old red
sandstone, where his choicest treasures had lain hidden, and,
after allowing him to revel there for a short space, drew him
off imperceptibly into the shallower regions in which the
facts that the detective desired to ascertain were embalmed.
And so pleasant was their converse, that Mr. Thomas for-
got all about some letters of importance which he had to
write before the lad who carried the post-bag to Macclesfield
should arrive. Having suddenly remembered this obliga-
tion, he begged Lagger to excuse him; ' and, 0 ! by the
bye,' he said, ' of course you'd like to see the church' (there
is a general but harmless mania amongst clergymen that
everybody wants to see their church); ' so I'll send for Fer-
rers—my clerk, you know—and he will show you over it.
If you will not mind waiting in the other room, he will be
with you in a few minutes. His school is close at hand,
and it is just time for him to break up for the day.'
So the detective left Mr. Thomas to his letters, and re-
tired to the apartment indicated, from the window of which
he could see down the lane towards the farmhouse in which
the new clerk lived, and had set up his village school. He
saw the messenger run down; then came a shout, and a
rush of smock-frocked urchins up the path, and after them,
proceeding more leisurely, the new clerk, swinging the heavy
keys of the church in his hand, and looking hot and tired,
but still having that indescribable something in his mien
which belongs to a man who has put his heart into an
honest day's work, and has done it well. Mr. Thomas was
quite right. Ferrers did not look the sort of young man
who would be content with 25Z. a year as a parish clerk, and
the weekly pence of the little hedge-side school. But the
instant that he entered the room where the detective was
318
4 TANGLED SKEJN.
waiting, a change, awful to behold, came over hjm, and he
fell on his knees, as if struck down by a blow.
' My God ! my God !' he groaned, ' you have come to
ruin me. 0, it is cruel, cruel! Have I not been punished
enough V
Mr. Lagger started from his chair, and though, as we
are aware, not given to be taken aback, was certainly not a
little surprised by this strange appeal. He quickly made a
rough guess at the state of affairs.
i Now don't you get talking anyhow, like that,' he said
roughly. 'That there sort of gammon won't do you no
good, and so I tell you. Get up !'
The new clerk rose and eyed him sullenly, trembling
the while in every lipnb. 'And so,' continued Mr. Lagger,
' you call yourself Ferrers ! What next!'
' I do not deny that the name is a feigned one,' replied
the clerk. ' What could I do? Would any one give me
employment under that which I have disgraced ?'
' Then you don't deny that you are—'
' I deny nothing. Why should I ? Did I not plead
guilty at the trial ?'
' In course !—that's about the only sensible thing you
done. Why the evidence was conclusive, and they'd have
hit you if you'd a' had the Lord Chancellor to defend you,
and the Archbishop of Canterbury as a witness to cha-
racter.'
' I was driven to it by sheer hunger. Laxton lied when
he said his firm discharged me because my accounts were
not properly rendered;' and the new clerk's pale face flushed,
and his eyes brightened, at the recollection of this injury.
' They discharged me because—no matter now, but it was
not for fraud. I tell you I was starving, but with hope of
employment—mind that! It was promised; and when I
drew that bill of exchange, I had every reason to suppose I
should have been able to meet it before it became due, and
never meant to defraud a soul.'
' So everybody says when they commit forgery.'
' Well, be it so,' replied the new clerk wearily. ' I have
committed a crime, and I have suffered for it. Is that not
enough ?'
MR. LAGGER VISITS CRAIGSLEIGH CHAPEL. 319'
1 And 3 pretty fellow you are to set up for a parson's
clerk, and get them innocent kids grown up to your teach-
ing. Ain't you ashamed of yourself V
1 No; I am getting a living, poor as it is, honestly.'
4 Under a false name 1'
4 Yes, and why ? Because you, and such as you, never
give a wretch who has once fallen a chance of recovery. In
spite of all my precautions, you have hunted me out here,
just ag you hunted me out before. You will betray my
wretched secret to Mr. Thomas, and I shall be driven from
a place where I am doing my duty, where I am striving to
retrieve the past, where I am liked, and, perhaps, respected
a little; and then, if despair should drive me again—which
God forbid—into sin, you will say, " See here, this fellow is
incorrigible; transport him, rid the country of a confirmed
felon !" But for this cursed cruelty and injustice, I might
have lived and died an honest man.'
' You're just talking anyhow again,' said Lagger. 1 Did
I sqy I was a-going to split upon you V
' Then why are you here ?'
1 That's my business,' replied the detective. '1 ain't one
to interfere with a young man as has been in trouble, when
I find him going on the square; but I tell you plainly
there's bin some hankey-pankey tricks played with church
registry books lately, and when the au-thorities find a chap
as has sjgned other folk's name by mistake, instead of his
oyrn, on a bill of exchange, in a po-sition of trust over the
legal records of honest people's marriages, why the au-
thqrities likes to know how that 'ere trust is dis-charged—
that's what the au-thorities likes to know.'
' Well V
' And when they finds that a chap convicted of forgery
has bin and took church registry books out of their proper
place, and bin a-meddling with 'em at home without anybody
by to see fair play, why the au-thorities, they likes to know
what's what—and small blame to 'em for it, say I.'
' Good heavens !' exclaimed Ferrers,' has this been made
into a charge against me 1 I thought I was doing a praise-
worthy action ! I found these books mouldering away in a
most unfit place, and my sole endeavour and object have
320
A TANGLED SKEIN.
been to repair, as far as possible, the damage that has al-
ready been done, and to preserve them for the future.'
' Wery well, then; you satisfy me of that, and it's all
right,' said Lagger, scarcely able to repress a twinkle that
would come into his eye.
' But you have been speaking with Mr. Thomas; you
have told him—'
' Nothing about you, and if I find all right about the
books, I sha'n't tell him nothing—there now ! If you likes
to let out why I've come down here, why of course you can.
I sha'n't. Come, none of that,' the detective continued, as
the new clerk sprang forward, in a paroxysm of delight and
gratitude, and tried to seize his hand—' I'm a-going to do
my duty, I am ; you wait till that's over, and then we see
about shaking hands. You come along and show me the
church, 'cordin' to orders, and when that's done, if there's
anybody by, you sez to me, " Will you step up to my little
place," you sez, "and take a cup of tea, Mr. Brown? you
must be dry after your long walk;" to which I shall re-ply,
"Thank you kindly, Mr. Ferrers, I will." Then I shall
ac-company you home, examine them books, and if I find
them all serene—why, I don't mind if I do have a cup of
tea, and so I tell you. Now you go on ahead and open the
doors.'
' Sam Lagger,' mused the detective as he passed through
the parsonage garden, 'it's high time you re-tired from
business. Your memory ain't what it used to was, my man,
or what it ought to be. If this 'ere young chap had not
made a fool of hisself, and split upon hisself, you wouldn't
have known him. He knew you sharp enough. You've
had a finger in his pie, that's clear; and not so wery long
ago, neither. But I'm darned if you can remember him, or
his right name, or if you know any more about how he
come to get into trouble, than he has been flat enough to
tell you. Seems a good sort of young fellow, too, though
he has made a slip. Ex-pose him to his governor! Not I.'
THE MARRIAGE REGISTERS.
321
CHAPTER XXV.
the marriage registers.
It must be confessed that the little district church did not
contain any object of interest to Mr. Lagger, with the excep-
tion of the place where the registry books had been huddled
away by the old clerk, and, in his own mind, he felt perfectly
convinced that it was not a safe repository for them. Ap-
pealed to, however, on this point, he could by no means
admit the excuse advanced by Perrers for their removal.
4 Now you just answer me this question,' he said. 4 Is
this 'ere a Church of England Es-tablishment, or is it not V
4 Church of England, no doubt.'
4 Well, then, a Church of England Es-tablishment has a
parson, to do what the prayer-book orders him to do, and a
clerk to say A-men to what he sez, and wardens, dooly
chosen, to take charge of and be responsible for this, that,
and t'other, necessary for the celebration of this, that, and
t'other service—that's what a Church of England Es-tablish-
ment has. Now what are you 1 Are you the parson, or the
clerk, or the two churchwardens of this 'ere Es-tablishment ?'
4 The clerk.'
4 Very good ! Then you stick to your A-men, and let
the others stick to their business.'
4 But I thought—'
4 You thought! What call has a parish clerk got to
think ? Wait till you're a parson, or two churchwardens,
and then you may think, and welcome.'
4 Mr. Thomas thoroughly approved of what I did.'
4 And what right had he to meddle with them books
any more than you ? Now don't you go argufying the point
with me, young fellow, or you'll find yourself in the wrong
box,' said Mr. Lagger severely. 4 You've bin and com-
mitted a mistake, to say the least of it. You prove to me
that you ain't bin and done woss, and I'm not the man to be
hard upon you. Now tell me. The marriage registry book
now in use—where's that V
4 In the vestry.'
4 How long does it go back f
41 cannot say exactly; about twenty or thirty years.'
y
322
A TANGLED SKEIN.
'Well, then, you go and fetch it, for I must re-port
upon 'em all. You've bin in the habit of carrying the books
to your place, so no one won't notice your taking this. Cut
along, and I'll wait for you outside.'
This conversation had taken place at the foot of the belfry
tower, in a sort of vault below the level of the church floor,
in which the bell was rung with a long rope, and where—in
a sort of cupboard rough-hewn in the wall—the old books
had been discovered.
Mr. Lagger found his way out again into the church-
yard, where he was soon joined by the new clerk, carrying
the required volume under his arm.
' That's right,' said the detective: ' now come along
home, and let's overhaul these books while there's daylight
to see what's what. There ain't no one to hear you, so you
need not ask me to tea; only when we come to your lodg-
ings, you sez to your landlord or his good lady, whichever
you meets fust—sez you, " Mr. What's-his-name, or Mrs.
What's-her-name, this gentleman's an old ac-quaintance of
mine (which is true, you know), and he's come to have a
chat over old times." True agin—for them registers go
back to the days of our godfathers and godmothers in our
baptism, and afore then.'
'I have done no wrong,' replied Ferrers, 'and see no
occasion for this secrecy and deceit.'
' Werry well! werry well! Then you bring down the
books to the parsonage, and we'll have a public in-quiry;
only, of course, I must tell the parson the reason why it is
to be held.'
Ferrers turned deadly pale again, and gnawed his nether
lip till the blood trickled.
' Have it your own way,' he said at last, in a half-choking
voice. ' I am in your power. God help me !'
' You help yourself. God made you a reasonable being,
not a pig or a idiot, that you should be helped along.'
' Follow me, and I'll do as you desire.'
'Not a bit of it. Old friends just met, arter a separ-
ation, don't march along in single file. You take my arm,
and carry this 'ere butterfly-net; and look pleasant too—
that's about how old friends should go along.'
THE MAEEIAGE EEGISTEES.
328
Ferrers shuddered, as he felt the grasp of the detective
tighten on his arm. He conducted him down the lane in
silence, and they were soon seated in the new clerk's plea-
sant but homely quarters, with the heavy registers spread
out upon the table.
' Before we begin this 'ere in-quiry,' said Lagger, ' tell
me one thing. You gev a wrong name when you was took
up; didn't you, now V
'No, Clarke was my right name — an honest one
once.'
' Clarke, eh ? so it was !' said the detective, slapping his
thigh. ' Forgery at the Old Bailey, three years' penal ser-
vitude, Mr. Justice Wightman; I know; you'd a dozen
witnesses to character, you had; but the judges, they're
always down hard and heavy upon forgers. You may
smash a man's skull in (so as you don't quite kill him) for
twelve months, but if you forges his name you catches it
hot. This ain't nothing to the purpose, though. Let's get
on with the registers.'
The books were sadly the worse for damp and mildew,
but so much care and ingenuity had been expended by the
new clerk upon their restoration, that the bindings were
firm, and the contents perfectly legible. There were three
in all, the one in use making the fourth.
' This,' said Ferrers, drawing forward one of a smaller
size and more ancient-looking manufacture than the others,
' is the first.'
' How am I to know that ?' asked Lagger.
'Because it commences in April 1697—the month in
which the church was first consecrated.'
' And how am I to know that ¥
' I will show you the deed by which it was endowed.'
' What! you've bin and took the deeds away too ! I
say, young fellow, you've bin going it!'
' I took away everything that hole contained. A crack
in the external wall had widened, and the rain came in, and
the recess was half full of water when I opened the door.
If I had waited till I could get leave from the wardens, the
entire contents might have been destroyed.'
' And what odds was it to you if they had been V
324
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' None to me, certainly; but it might have been of the
most vital importance to some one else.'
' Humph—m !' mused the detective, turning over the
pages of the old book, ' this seems to be all square enough,
and not so badly mended either.—When does the] next
begin V
' The first entry is the 22d September 1748, Elizabeth
Carter and Herbert Wentworth.'
' Good! go on a page or two. Stop ! there's something
scratched out.'
' Yes, but if you look to the bottom of the page, you
will find a note explaining why this was done. The woman
gave her mother's maiden name, as they sometimes do still,
in these parts, when the father is dead. The clergyman
found out her mistake, and corrected it. The note is in
the same handwriting as the entry, and signed with his
initials.'
' This book seems as if it had been well-nigh all to pieces,'
resumed Lagger, turning over page after page; ' but how
do you know that the leaves you have stuck in belong to the
places where you have bin and stuck 'em ?'
' I compared the dates of the several entries, and some-
times an entry ran from one page into the next, and so
guided me.'
' They ought to have been drawed up in a regular form,
and numbered.'
' You will find that that is done, when you come to the
time when the Act of Parliament was passed, which—'
' Now don't you go jabbering to me about Acts of
Parliament,' interrupted Lagger—'just as if I didn't know
the law!'
' Here, then, you find it complied with,' said Ferrers,
opening the third volume. ' I suppose it was not thought
worth while to have a new book, as this was not quite filled
up • so the few entries under the new system have been
made in a form ruled by hand. The book now in use is
printed, but the entries run on regularly from the first—
year after year.'
The detective continued to make his feigned scrutiny
with much apparent care, dwelling upon an entry here and
THE MARRIAGE REGISTERS.
325
there, in order that when he came to that which alone he
cared to see, no suspicion might be aroused as to his motive
in closely scanning its details. Habit had made him careful,
and long experience as a hunter of criminal men had taught
him what remote and trifling mistakes will sometimes suf-
fice to put the quarry on his guard, and lengthen, if not
break off, the chase.
' Jist so,' he said, as he came to the more formal entries;
1 Number—When married—Name and Surname—Age—
Condition—Rank or Profession—Residence at time of
marriage—Father or mothers surname—Rank or Profes-
sion of father. Right! When you marry,' observed the
detective, shaking his forefinger at the new clerk, ' it ain't
sufficient for you to know who was your wife's father and
mother, and what they was; or for your wife to know who
was your father and mother, and what they was. The law
steps in and sez, " Des-cribe yourselves, every one of you.
I want to know all about the lot," that's what the law sez !
" I ain't a-going," sez the law, " to have you making a row
when you get tired of each other, or any one else making a
row for you when you're dead, and saying, ' This 'ere John
Smith was John Smith, but he wasn't the identical John
Smith as married Mary Brown !' I ain't a-going to stand
none of those little games," sez the law, and so I tell you;
consequently the law will make you des-cribe yourself and
your fam'ly, and your lovely bride's fam'ly too, so that there
may be no mistake about it,—that's what the law does.'
11 am perfectly aware of the regulation and its inten-
tion,' said the new clerk humbly.
'Werry well, then; don't you get a-trying to e-wade
'em, or else you'll catch it hot, and so I tell you.' This
warning was delivered by Mr. Lagger with much severity
of tone and gesture, as though the new clerk were on the
point of leaving the room to contract a marriage in defiance
of the legal forms.
Ferrers could not help smiling, troubled and anxious as
he was. ' When I marry,' he replied, ' you may depend
upon it that I shall observe all due formalities.'
' You'd better,' said the unrelenting Lagger; ' but where
are we now 1 0, March 1834, when you enter the certifi-
326
A TANGLED SKEIN.
cates properly ; hem ! not many of 'em; January '35—more
people married about Christmas-time, I see, than any other
season of the year. April, four entries—one a week.
April's got a page to itself. Well done, April 1835' (the
detective was getting gay), ' and the merry month of May's
only got one. But let's get on—let's get on. June 1835
has one, two—ah, and here the book ends. Hand over
the last volume, young man,' said Lagger, leaning back in
his chair and whistling a tune, ' and let's get along with
June 1835.'
The new clerk removed the books through which the
scrutineer had passed, and spread the last open at the first
page before him. Mr. Lagger was in no hurry to look at
it. He examined his boots, he examined his finger-nails, he
examined nothing at all, very fixedly, out of the window;
at last his attention returned to his task. ' And so,' he re-
marked, in the most casual of tones, 1 this 'ere new book—
leastwise this 'ere book which is the one in use now—begins
in June 1835 : good ! How many entries was there in the
last one for this month of June 1835 ?'
' Two; one on the 2d, and the other on the 9th,' replied
Ferrers, referring to the older volume.
'And here we have— What were the names in the
other two ?' asked Lagger quickly.
' Job Stokes and Hannah Barnardiston, on the 2d, and
Jane Crofter and Charles Shelmordine, of Manchester, on
the 9th.'
' And the numbers—the numbers ?' demanded the detec-
tive, his face getting flushed, and his manner full of excite-
ment, in spite of him.
' Stokes's marriage is Ho. 54.'
' Shelmordine's, then, is 55?'
' Of course ! It is the last entry in the book. The next
will be that where your hand is now.'
' That,' replied the detective sternly, but in a very dif-
ferent tone from his assumed severity of a few moments
before, ' that is dated July 28th.'
' Well, what then?'
' Where are the entries of marriages which took place in
the mean time ?'
THE MARRIAGE REGISTERS.
327
1 There were none, I suppose,' replied the new clerk.
1 You find only one for May. Why should you suppose that
there should be more than two in June?'
' There were four marriages celebrated in June and July
which are not entered in this book, or of which the certifi-
cates have been destroyed,' replied the detective deci-
sively.
' How can you possibly think that ?' said Ferrers, smil-
ing incredulously, but turning a little pale. ' Excuse me
saying so, but guesswork—'
' Goes for nothing of itself,' said Lagger, looking at him
hard and full in the face; ' but it leads to a good deal, as
you shall find, my fine fellow. I guessed there was some'at
wrong about you, and likewise about these books, pretty
much as a beagle guesses there's a hare cutting along some-
where when he comes upon her scent. Guesses is scent to
me; and here' (bringing his fist down upon the first page of
the newest book, with a thump which made the old table
creak again), ' here's my game run into and chopped up.'
'I cannot see anything to complain of there,' replied
Ferrers; 'there is not an erasure or a blot, and every par-
ticular filled in as regularly as can be. What fault do you
find?'
' The last entry in the other book is numbered 55;
the first in this is numbered 60. There are four certificates
in every page, consequently a whole page is wanting /'
' Good God !' exclaimed Ferrers, ' it is so, indeed ! But
you do not think that I— You cannot accuse me of—of—'
' For the present,' replied the detective, in his quietest
manner, ' I say a whole page is wanting. I don't accuse
nobody of nothing, but I must have this 'ere page. Where
is it ?'
' I cannot tell you. I have never seen it. Never till
this moment noticed that there was a gap in the dates.'
' And yet you noticed the dates in the other parts ?'
' Because there were a lot of loose pages which I had to
fit in at their proper places.'
'Where did you put them? You may have forgotten
this one.'
' No; I am perfectly certain that I fixed them all.'
328
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' All that you brought from the church, perhaps; but it
may be-in that hole this very moment.'
' Impossible ! I searched it thoroughly. Besides, it
was only about the middle of the third book, where it was
open,—having fallen from the shelf,—that the leaves were
loose. If you look at the end, you will see that they are all
intact. Look at the back, under the binding, and you will
see for yourself that what I say is true.'
' Then how do you ac-count for the gap in the numbers V
' Probably the clergyman, or his clerk, made a mistake.
These entries in the commencement of the new book are in
the latter's handwriting. He was an old man even then.
He might have forgotten the number of the last entry, or
made a guess at it, to save the trouble of referring back.
0, really,' added the new clerk, with an attempt at a laugh,
' there are a dozen ways of accounting for such a trivial
error.'
' It ain't trivial,' replied the detective sternly; 'and it's
not to be accounted for anyhow. I know there is another
page somewhere or other, and it's for you to find it.'
' For me ! I have nothing whatever to do with it.'
' Now, you jest attend to me,' said Lagger; ' I ain't a-
going to be too hard upon you, and I ain't a-going to shirk
my duty. If you'd a let these 'ere books alone, and stuck
to your A-men, as you ought to have done, you would have
had nothing to do with it; but you goes a-meddling with
things as don't concern you; as usual, you burns your fin-
gers. Suppose I goes to the parson, or the two church-
wardens, and sez, " There's an entry as I knows was made,
and which I can't find in your books,"—what will they say ?
They'd say, " The clerk's a been and meddled with these
volumes. He's routed 'em out of their proper place. He's
took 'em and a lot of them loose leaves home; and we can't
be held res-ponsible for any fraud he's com-mitted.'
' Fraud ! What possible interest could I have in sup-
pressing anything V
' I ain't here to answer your questions,' replied the detec-
tive; 'I'm here to ex-amine these books, and to re-port
upon their condition. Now, what I says, I means; and
what I means, I sticks to; and what I sticks to is this 'ere :
THE MARRIAGE REGISTERS.
329
You find these 'ere missing entries. Not a word ; I won't
hear it. Be they made on a leaf torn out of either book, or
be they contained in another odd book, or a piece of odd
paper,—you find 'em, or you discover who's got 'em.'
' But how am I to do this ]'
' That's your business,' replied the detective, rising, and
taking up his hat.
' You have no authority to require me to make such a
hopeless search,' said Ferrers moodily; ' and I refuse to
attempt it.'
' Wery well, wery well; then I must make it myself.'
' That will be far the better way.'
' Ex-actly. So come along with me to Mr. Thomas, and
listen whilst I tell him why I'm a-going to ask a lot of
seemingly impertinent questions in his parish. You young
ninny-hammer ! Don't you see that you can make inquiries
without suspicion agin you, having already took to meddlin'
with the books 1 It's one way or the other, you know ;—
either you have stole these entries, and destroyed 'em, or
you haven't.'
'I swear to you most solemnly that I have not.'
' Well, then, if you haven't, you take the high hand, and
you go to Mr. Thomas and the wardens, and you say,
" Here's four entries wanting; and it's your dooty to in-
vestigate the case; or else it's my dooty to write to the
bishop, and ask him what he thinks of it." '
' But you say I had no right to look into the books.'
e And you said as Mr. Thomas ap-proved of your doing
so.'
1 According to you, he also is without authority to give
such approbation.'
' Humph—m ! Never you mind. You're on the popu-
lar side, and if you're wrong in removing the books, the
wardens are wrong in keeping 'em where they did, so they
can't say nothing. Any way, you do what I tell you. It'll
be better for you to be turned out for exceeding your dooty,
than for being a convicted felon.'
4 And if I fail in my search for the missing leaf V asked
the miserable Ferrers.
' Well, then I shall be o-bliged to form my own con-
330
A TANGLED SKEIN.
elusions as to how it come to be missing, that's all,' was
Lagger's reply. 1 No, I sha'n't take no tea,' he said, in
answer to a gesture from the new clerk; ' I never breaks
bread with those as I has my eyes upon professionally. You
fill up a cup, and chuck the stuff out o' winder, dirty a plate,
and make believe as though I'd had some grub. And look
here,—I shall stop at Macclesfield for a week. It ain't far
for a young fellow like you to walk, so you come over next
Thursday, and let me know what you've done. You'll find
me at the Stork Inn. D'ye mind? Rout out them entries,
or discover the man who's took 'em; or, as sure as eggs is
eggs, you'll never say A-men again after next Sunday.'
And with this, the detective took his leave.
< You've been precious hard upon that young fellow, Sam
Lagger,—precious hard,' he mused, as he passed along; ' but
What are you to do? You must find that page; and if you
can get hold upon a likely cove to help you, why,—pro-fes-
sionally,—you'd be an ass not to squeeze him pretty tight.
As to the mo-rality of the thing,—you jest wait, my man,
till you're retired into private life, before you goes bother-
ing yourself about morals.'
CHAPTER XXYI.
nancy.
Stephen Frankland, in the mean time, had arrived in
London, and settled affairs with Messrs. Puddle & Snap,
whom he found most accommodating gentlemen, with almost
a repugnance to ready money, when presented in the form
of a payment in full of all demands. They would take the
Captain's IO U; they would take the Captain's guarantee;
they would take the Captain's bills, at six, twelve, eighteen
months,—anything rather than his crisp new bank-notes for
the entire sum due on Sir George's acceptance. They
would renew, they would extend, they would accept part
payment, and leave the rest to run on, with interest, till it
was quite convenient to the Baronet,—anything rather than
be paid and have been done with it. In short, Messrs
NANCY.
331
Puddle & Snap farmed the turnpike on the road to ruin,
and kept it in remarkably good travelling order.
Our Stevie, like most young Indian officers, had gone
a short stage upon that famous and much-frequented
thoroughfare. He was a little behindhand with his agent;
there were a few figures against his name on the wrong side
of the book in a Calcutta bank. He had slightly anticipated
the rents of his small patrimony, and he had been obliged
to dip somewhat further, to provide for the expenses of his
visit to England, and return. You know of his resolve not
to touch a shilling of Brandron's money. How then did he
procure those crisp new bank-notes, the acceptance of which
caused Mr. Puddle so much grief 1 Why, he went to Cuddy
Lindsay, and said,
' Cuddy, I owe just a thousand pounds. Hitherto I
have not quite managed to live upon my pay, and it will be
three or four years before my rents run off the mortgage on
the farm at Durmston. I want a hundred directly. Will
you lend it me ?'
And Cuddy made no reply whatever, but only asked him,
'How he'd have it?' when he had drawn a cheque for the
amount, and put on his hat to get the cash from Twinmg's.
But what a goose he was, observes the reader, not to
take the money from his mother, when she offered it to him,
instead of telling a fib, and placing himself under an obliga-
tion to a mere friend ! Well, he is a goose; I don't pre-
tend to deny that: only don't talk about ' mere friends' in
that way; because there's many a man who would rather be
under a heavy obligation to a ' mere friend' like hearty little
Cuddy, than owe a shilling to such blood-relations as Stephen
Frankland had. Only fancy how delighted' dearest Francis
would have been when, in his systematic management of his
mother's accounts, he discovered that Stephen was indebted
to her for his father's release ! No ; he got the money he
required from Cuddy, paid the greater part of it to Mr.
Puddle, and then went off quietly and insured his life, so
that his friend should not possibly lose by his prompt and
kindly assistance. Nor was there the least shyness between
them afterwards. Stevie took it quite for granted that he
was welcome to the money till he could return it; and Cuddy
332
A TANGLED SKEIN.
thought it the most natural thing in the world that his old
schoolfellow should have asked him for it, and should keep
it as long as he liked.
Then, in a few words, Stevie gave him to understand
that there were reasons which had made his home not so
pleasant as he had hoped to find it; that the business, upon
which he had spoken on a former occasion, was anything
but completed; and that he intended to remain in London
till it was, and then rejoin his regiment.
'I am sorry for you—very sorry, poor old bov!' said
Cuddy; ' but, to tell you the truth, not one bit surprised.
I have heard fellows talk of your brother, and can easily
imagine your turning your back on Tremlett Towers. I
know a little of that affair at Westborough, and can under-
stand what you wish to see done before you leave England ;
but, in the mean time, I'm not going to have you sulking
and wasting your substance in hotels, or giving yourself up
a prey to lodging-house keepers. You're coming to live
here. Gigas,' said the little man, addressing Jackson, who
just then entered the room, 'Captain Frankland—to be
known henceforward in these regions of the blessed as
Stevie—is coming to live with us; so be careful, sir; and
behave yourself properly.'
1 I'm sure I shall be delighted to have him in the cham-
bers; and we'll get up a revolution, and raise barricades
against you, you small despot, in no time !'
' But I shall be inconveniencing you. You've no room,'
said Stephen, to whom, however, the idea was an agreeable
one.
' We'have the apartment which once used to be inhabited
by the person formerly beloved here, and known as Lorimer,
but of whom we have been obliged to get rid.'
' Say rather, who has been obliged to get rid of us,'
laughed Jackson.
' Gigas has expressed himself in his usual brutal manner,
but there is some truth in what the creature says. Several
attorneys whom, in the interests of justice, I hope soon to
see struck off the rolls, on account of their confirmed and
rapidly increasing lunacy, have given Lorimer so much busi-
ness, that he has taken a first-floor in Paper-buildings, and
NANCY.
333
become a rising man. The very day after you left, he got
two special jury briefs, and became unendurable; so he has
gone, as the dew-drop is blown from the bough; and you
are to have his room, and conform to the regulations of the
establishment.'
And so it was arranged, greatly to the satisfaction of
all parties.
' Not that we shall be able to amuse you,' said Cuddy.
' People who come to London in September must take the
inevitable consequences. There's not a soul in town,—only
about two million and a half. The odd thousand or two
have gone abroad.'
' Are you not going anywhere V asked Stephen.
'Presently. Gigas has an idea that he is going to
Italy.'
' I am—next week.'
' Gigas, I repeat, has an idea that he is going to Italy,
but he is not. Gigas is going where I am going; and that
is not to Italy.'
' Did you ever hear such a little tyrant ?' said Gigas.
' I declare one cannot call one's soul one's own, for him.'
' The lower animals, and bipeds over six feet two in
height, have no souls; therefore your complaint is trivial
and impertinent,' replied Cuddy, with much gravity.
' Cuddy, my child,' said Jackson, 'you are getting frac-
tious. You require to be nursed; you know you do. You
have only been dandled in these fond arms once since the
captain was here last. Come here !' and the jolly giant ap-
proached his small friend with outstretched arms, where-
upon Cuddy uttered a burlesque shriek of despair, and fled
for refuge behind Stevie's chair.
' Save me !' he cried, dodging from side to side,' save me
from this monster ! The man who would see his Cuddy in
distress— Ah, Stevie ! if you don't come to my rescue,
I'll chop up all the hair-brushes in the chambers, and fill
your bed with the bristles every night.'
' If you do, you shall sleep in it.'
' Thus shamefully betrayed and abandoned, I surrender
at discretion; which means that Gigas is to be supposed to
have the usual number of organs, moral and physical, and
334
A TANGLED SKEIN.
that he is to let me alone. In token of which we will smoke
the calumet of peace. What, ho ! Dagon ! In the name
of the prophet—pipes !'
So tranquillity was restored, and Cuddy took an early
opportunity of telling Stevie what a splendid fellow Gigas
was : and Gigas, as soon as the little man's back was turned,
launched out in his praises, narrating how he had nursed
him (Jackson) through the scarlet fever, having found him,
quite by accident, living alone in other chambers, deserted
by every one, and too weak to seek or even call for assist-
ance; till Stevie became almost gay again in their pleasant
hearty companionship.
Immediately upon his becoming settled in the Temple,
he wrote to Mr. Lagger, according to agreement, giving his
address, and requesting the detective to call upon him there.
He directed this letter to Little Union-street, and posted it
with his own hand; but having received no reply, he wrote
again at the expiration of a day or two, and this time the
missive was intrusted to Dagon, otherwise Charley Wantley,
for deliverance into the charge of her Majesty's Postmaster-
General. The features of this youth expanded into a broad
grin, when he saw the address : and with open mouth, and
hands extended behind his back, he winked, after the man-
ner of small boys who burn to disclose the depth of their
knowledge or observation, to Stevie, and cried,
' 0 sir ! if you please, sir, it's no use sending this. The
gentleman ain't come back yet.'
' How on earth do you know that 1' said the surprised
captain.
1 Please, sir, he lodges with us, Mr. Lagger does. Mrs.
Wantley's mother, and we live in Little Union-street, with
Nancy.'
1 And, pray, who may Nancy be ?'
1 Nancy Biley, sir,' replied Dagon; and then sinking
his voice, and assuming a mysterious mien, he added, 1 and
if you'll believe it, Captain Frankland, she's a-getting
better.'
' Very glad to hear it, I'm sure. What has been the
matter with Nancy V
' Why, please, sir, she was mad.'
NANCY.
385
Stephen started. 1 Nancy Riley—mad ! By heaven, it
must be the same ! Has she a brother with her V
1 No, sir, not with her; but he comes to see her some-
times,—not often. At first, mother thought he had played
her a trick, and cut away, and left Nancy to be took care on
for nothing; but he came back all right, He tea'd with us
last Sunday.'
' Where does he live ?'
' Don't know, sir.'
' Do you think your mother does ?'
' Don't know, sir; but I'll ask her,' added Dagon, with
a jerk, delighted at the prospect of having something to do.
' You will do no such thing,' replied Stevie. ' Where
is Little Union-street?
1 Down in the Boro', please, sir. You go over Black-
friars Bridge, and take the fourth turning to the left, and
the first to the right, and then cross—'
' Never mind telling me now. You shall show me the
way yourself, when you go this afternoon.'
' Lor, sir ! are you coming to see Nancy ?'
* Never mind whom I'm coming to see. What time do
you leave here V
' Six o'clock, sir.'
1 Then at six I shall be ready to go with you.'
In due time, Dagon, bursting with importance, rushed
into his mother's little back parlour, and, to her great sur-
prise, announced that a gentleman, one of his masters—the
new one, a great captain from India—wanted to see her.
The good lady had been cleaning up, and was hardly pre-
sentable, at that moment, to company. Bang went the
door, and Stevie was left waiting in the shop, whilst its
mistress performed a hasty toilette. At first he thought he
was alone, and began to fidget and worry at the idea that he
was intruding on strangers; for Stevie had the idea that
it is quite as bad taste to intrude upon your inferiors, as
upon your equals or superiors, an idea which the better
judgment of many of his contemporaries has scouted as it
deserves. He was roused, however, by a voice which pro-
ceeded from behind him, and asked what he pleased to want.
He turned, and saw a rather good-looking girl, poorly but
336
A TANGLED SKEIN.
very neatly dressed, who had evidently just risen from a
seat behind the counter, and who, with her knitting in her
hand, came forward and put the question which had turned
the current of his thoughts. He came prepared to see
Nancy Riley, but could not recognise the poor witless slat-
tern whom he had encountered in that green Westborough
lane, in the pale and almost refined-looking young woman
that stood before him.
' I have come to speak with Mrs. Wantley,' Stevie re-
plied; ' is she at home V
' Yes.' And she sank back into her chair, and resumed
her knitting, without another word or look.
' Am I right in supposing that your name is Riley V
' I'm Nancy Riley. I live—I live with Mrs. Wantley,
Little Union-street.'
' Do you not remember me ?'
'No.'
' I saw you once at Westborough.'
' I must not talk about Westborough.'
' Why not V
' Because I live here now. I live with Mrs. Wantley,
Little Union-street.'
She spoke as a child would speak, looking him full in
the face, and deliberating over her words.
In a few minutes Mrs. Wantley appeared, looking very
hot and red about the elbows, and wafting along with her a
powerful odour of yellow soap. I do not know which was
the more shy or embarrassed of the two; but after a pro-
fusion of apologies on both sides, Stephen came to the point,
and made his inquiries after the erratic Jim.
Mrs. Wantley was very sorry—very sorry indeed—but,
upon her word and honour, she did not know. Jim was
here to-day, and gone to-morrow. He never would tell her
where he lived; though, to be sure, he acted quite honour-
able, and paid his money like a man. Did she know when
she would see him again 1 No, she did not. Perhaps he
would come that very night, perhaps not for a month. It
was quite uncertain. He was working hard at his trade,
and— Well, he was doing something else as well. Did
the Captain know him ?
NANCY.
387
' I met him once,' replied Stevie ; 1 and I think if you
will mention my name, and ask him if he will give me a
call at Mr. Lindsay's chambers, that he will come. I should
like to see him much, for two reasons, one personal to my-
self, and the other relative to that poor girl,' he said, sink-
ing his voice, and indicating Nancy.
'O, 0!' replied Mrs. Wantley, assuming that mysterious
air peculiar to matrons of her class; ' about Nancy, is it 1
Then I'm sure he'll call. Do you know, sir, he's working
night and day for that girl.'
' I rejoice to hear it, and so will some friends of mine,
who took a great interest in her, having known her mother.'
' Her mother !' cried Mrs. Wantley, ' this is news ! So
you know who her mother was, do you, sir ?
1 Certainly, though I never saw her. She died the day
before I came into that part of the country in which she
lived; but I heard much about her from my friends.'
' You'll excuse me, sir, if I'm making too bold,' said the
good woman, still in a state of high excitement, ' but I have
taken such an interest in poor Nancy, that I cannot help
asking. Might one know who her mother was ?'
' Of course. She was a highly respectable though
humble person, and lived at Westborough, in Kent.'
1 0 dear, dear, dear !' replied Mrs. Wantley, in a tone of
disappointment. ' Is it only that you know ? I hoped you
had come to tell us who's child she really was.'
' Why, what can you mean ? Is she not Riley's sister V
1 Not she ! She's— But I have no business to • talk
about what don't concern me. I ask your pardon, Captain
Frankland; I thought you knew more than you do, and
therefore I've said more than I ought.'
'Mrs. Wantley,' said Stevie earnestly, 'I assure you
that I am not actuated by mere curiosity. I assure you,
most solemnly, that I have no motive but a good one in fol-
lowing up the clue you have let fall. May you—will you
tell me what makes you suppose that she is not Mrs. Riley's
child V
There was no resisting the appeal of those honest earnest
eyes; and, indeed, Mrs. Wantley did not require much
pressing to enlarge upon a subject which she had long
338
A TANGLED SKEIN.
burned to have a gossip about. But the shop was not a fit
place for it; so having explained, by way of a salve to her
conscience, that as the Captain was friendly to all parties,
and she was friendly to all parties, too, there could not be
much harm in such friendly persons exchanging friendly
information, especially as he (the Captain) was a great gen-
tleman, and might be able to help them all, she showed
the way up to Mr. Lagger's room, where (after having dis-
lodged its usual invader, the haughty Flora) she then un-
bosomed herself of what had been weighing like lead upon
her mind for many a long day.
'Well, sir,' she began, 'I don't mind confessing that
things were not going smooth with us when poor Nancy
came; and she hadn't set foot in the house a week, when
they began to mend; and they've gone on mending ever
since. My eldest boy, sir, has come home, and is behaving
like an angel—though, poor fellow ! he is a cripple for life;
and Flora—that's my daughter—she's engaged to be mar-
ried to a very respectable young man, a chemist and drug-
gist, next door. Add to this, that Mr. Lindsay has raised
Charley's wages; that Helen, my second girl, has been put
on in speaking parts—she was in the ballet, sir; and that
the shop is taking at least five shillings a week more than
it did last year, and you will see that we've much to be
thankful for, sir. I can't help thinking that it's Nancy who
has brought us good luck; and therefore I'm all one with
those who try to bring good luck to her.'
'Your feelings do you credit; but you were going to
tell me what makes you think that she is not Riley's sister.'
' Mr. Riley told me so himself, Captain Frankland, in as
many words. He's a rough rude sort of man, is Jim, but
I don't think he 'as a bad heart. You see he was badly
brought up, and soon settled down to a vagabond life. He
couldn't bear to live at home, and, from what I have heard
of poor Mrs. Riley's way of life, it was not one to suit a wild
young fellow like him. I don't know that it had not a good
deal to do with poor Nancy's weakness of mind. Why, she
brightened up wonderfully directly she came here. But I'm
wandering from my text, ain't I, sir V
' Well, you are slightly—pray go on, though.'
NANCY.
389
' Thank you, sir. Well, the second time I ever saw him
was about a fortnight ago. We thought we should never
see him again, but that's neither here nor there; and I put
it to him roundly, What are you going to do with Nancy ?
She's got quite bright and handy about the house, I said;
and though I don't pretend to say that she's got all her wits
about her, she's got enough to take charge of a little place
for you, to keep it clean, cook your dinner, ay, and buy it,
too; for she's uncommon sharp about money. She's wel-
come to stay here as long as you like, I says; but supposing
anything was to happen to me, I says, where would you be 1
She's your sister, says I, and you ought to provide for her.
"To tell you plain truth, Mrs. Wantley," says he, "she's
not my sister." Not your sister, Jim ? says I. " No," says
he. Then whose child is she? says I. "I wish to God I
knew,' says he, thumping the table with his fist; " but I'll
find out. Mark my words, missis"—he always calls me
missis—" I'll find out, sooner or later." And with that, he
up and told me all about it.'
Stephen drew his chair closer to the speaker.
' He told me that his mother—she was his mother, you
know—was very fond of Nancy, and used to moan about
what was to become of her when she was gone; for she was
a long time ailing before she died. And she used to beg
and pray Jim to steady down, and be able to take charge of
her, giving him to understand that there was a money pay-
ment—she would not say how much—which came in
regularly every quarter-day, on her account. Upon this,
Jim he asked her straightforward if the poor creature was
not some gentleman's child, that was to be kept out of the
way 1 and she did not deny it. Many a time he begged and
prayed her to tell him all she knew, so that Nancy might
not want for friends when she died; but she wouldn't speak.
No, she used to say, "Not now—not now. Wait. They
may own her; they may send for her. I cannot trust you,
Jim." For you see, sir, what with poaching, and rows at
fairs, and what not, poor Jim had got a bad name, and even
his own mother dursn't tell him a secret which would put
other folks in his power. " Still," she used to say, " I'll
tell you some day—I'll tell you some day before I die."
340
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Well, the " some day" came, in which, perhaps, she
would have told him, but he wasn't there to be told; and
so she died, and the secret with her; but in searching over
her things, he found what convinced him that Nancy was a
lady's child.'
' What did he find?'
' Ah ! that I can't get him to tell; but he says lie has
a clue, and is working on it hard. He's not a man to
be beaten by trifles, isn't Jim Riley; and, depend upon it,
he'll hit the mark some day or other.'
1 On the contrary,' said Stephen, ' he appears to me to
be a very foolish fellow, and to be taking the worst possible
course to gain his end. Why, the persons of whom I have
spoken would have done ten times more than he can ever
do to get Nancy her rights; but he stole her away from
Westborough in a most reprehensible manner, and frustrated
all their kind intentions.'
1 Jim Riley's not so black as he's painted, Captain Frank-
land; but he's not an angel for all that. He looks after
number one, like most of his betters; and he's not going to
give up the credit or the profit of finding out whose child
Nancy is to any one, and I don't blame him for it.'
' I see,' said Stephen coldly. ' It will be much the same
to him whether she be acknowledged or remain as she is, so
that he gets his price.'
' No,' replied Mrs. Wantley firmly, ' I don't think so
badly of Jim as that. Jim's been cried down enough. He's
tired of a vagabond life, and his aim is to make an honest
name. He'll make it, Captain Frankland, as sure as you sit
there; and I wouldn't, for a thousand pounds, be in the
shoes of those who have an interest in keeping Nancy's
birth a secret; for it will come out. Mark my words, Cap-
tain, it will come out, and before long, or I don't know Jim
Riley.'
' Ho you know where he is now ?'
' No more than the child unborn, sir. As I said, he
may be here to-night, and he may not turn up for a
month.'
' And I believe that Mr. Lagger's movements are equally
unknown to you V
NANCY.
841
1 O, as for him, he's always uncertain. If you want to
know where he is, you'd better go to Scotland-yard. They
know where to find him.'
' A capital hint,' said Stephen, ' and I will follow it.'
' But now turn and turn about's fair play,' said Mrs.
Wantley, whom the lengthened gossip had put entirely at
her ease; ' I've told you what you want to know, as far as
I can; now you tell me what you want with Jim Riley.'
' Certainly. There was a murder committed at West-
borough the day he left it with Nancy. At first suspicion
fell on him, but there is reason to think that it was unfounded.
Another person, a stranger, was there also, on whom grave
suspicion still rests. It is possible that Riley may have en-
countered him, and therefore I wish to ask him a few ques-
tions—that is all.'
Stevie had sample enough of his entertainer's garrulity
to make him keep silence respecting the new suspicions
which her story had raised in his mind. What if this poor
half-witted girl were the child towards whom the act of
justice was to be done,—the abandoned and disdained off-
spring of George Howell 1 What if Mrs. Riley were con-
nected in some way with the writer of the letters found in
Brandron's room,—with the Susan or Sarah Alston who
had helped him to hide the other papers in Mangerton
Chase? The idea was a mere guess. That there were
thousands of other unclaimed children in the country he
knew ; but the presence of this one, in the very place chosen
by Brandron for the meeting with the person undoubtedly
interested in concealing the identity of such a child, was at
least strange and suggestive, and, for want of any other clue,
a circumstance well worthy of deep consideration.
Stephen soon took his leave, having received Mrs. Want-
ley's promise that as soon as she saw or heard of Jim Riley,
or Lagger, she would let him know by Charley, otherwise
Dagon, at his chambers. As he passed through the shop,
he heard the quick thumping of a crutch behind him, and a
gaunt sickly-looking lad shambled forward and opened the
door. Stephen thanked him, and passed into the street
without looking into his face.
The following morning Stephen betook himself to Scot-
342
A TANGLED SKEIN.
land-yard, and made inquiries for Mr. Sampson Lagger.
Of all people in the world who know the least about the
police, commend me to policemen. Lagger's name was a
household word in that locality, but where to lay a finger on
its owner, no one knew; but every one could direct Stevie
to some one else who did, and who, when applied to, was
just as much enlightened as the individual who had sug-
gested him as omniscient. Every official agreed that Lagger
was ' on duty,' but where, and what about, no tongue could
tell. Eventually, Stevie, being in downright earnest, pushed
his inquiries up to the fountain-head, and poured them on
the able and courteous head of the metropolitan police.
From him he got an answer. He was happy to make the
acquaintance of so distinguished an officer as Captain Frank-
land. He was sorry to find him inquiring for a person in
Lagger's department. He trusted that the case was not a
serious one; but his rules did not permit him to divulge
where a detective was employed on secret service. Lagger
was so employed; and much as he (the chief) desired to
oblige Captain Frankland, he must decline to give him the
information he asked.
' One thing, perhaps, you will find yourself at liberty to
tell me,' said Stevie. ' In some dealings—-no matter what
—which I have already had with this man, he referred me
to you for his character, as an honest and trustworthy man.
What is your opinion of him V
' A little headstrong, and fond of his own way. Slow,
but sure. The most incorruptible and straightforward man
in the force. Were he otherwise, he would not be employed
as he is. Good-morning !'
And so Stephen was left in the dark.
Jn the mean while, what had the little great world down
in Derbyshire to say about him? It had a good deal to say.
It saw him, by a credible witness, walk over to the station
that morning, which we remember, with his carpet-bag in his
hand. It heard, by a credible witness again, that he had
sent a fly from Derby for his luggage. It concluded, and
not without reason, that something had gone wrong at
Tremlett Towers ; and it drew its own conclusions according
to its light. He had fallen out with his father; he had
NANCY.
843
fallen out with his mother; he had fallen out with his bro-
ther Francis; he had run away from the snares of Laura
Coleman; he had run away from the snares of Grace Lee;
he had eloped with the under housemaid; he had been jilted
by each one of those ladies ; he had been arrested for debt;
he was obliged to go abroad, on account of that affair down
in Kent, which never had been cleared up; he was going to
be knighted, and receive a lucrative appointment in Ceylon ;
he was going to be tried by court-martial, for being absent
without leave. Lastly, he was not quite right in his mind,
poor fellow ! and don't you remember the fit of delirium
tremens which he had that night when he frightened Miss
Lee so, in the old Hall? The balance of testimony was
certainly against him, and even kind-hearted Mr. Coleman
shook his head when he remembered the conversation which
they had had at the garden-gate, and the cavalier manner in
which Stevie had thrown off his warnings about Grace
Lee.
Meanwhile, the object of all these conjectures lived in
the dark, in blissful ignorance of all that the great little
world said or thought about him. Ho day passed in which
he did not expect to hear of Lagger or Jim Riley, and in
this state of uncertainty, he had written to Lord Rossthorne,
postponing his promised visit, but promising that the next
month should not pass without seeing him. London be-
came very dull and still. Cuddy remained in the Temple,
and Gigas did not go to Italy, but was allowed two days'
barbel-fishing at Teddington Lock, as an equivalent. So
time passed on, and Stevie—who had devised a hundred
plans of working out his clue, but found himself unable to
take the first step in any of them—began to fidget at double
Frankland power, when, one morning, Charley Wantley
glided mysteriously into his bedroom (he had a bad habit of
smoking in bed of a morning), and gave him a note from his
(Charley's) mother, in which that lady informed him that
she had heard of Riley, and that, to the best of her belief,
he was, at that moment, in or near Westborough, making
inquiries about Nancy.
Frankland dressed quickly, and joined Cuddy and Jack-
son at breakfast. They were in close converse.
344
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' May we venture to inquire,' asked the former,' to what
we are indebted for this unusual honour V
' I'll tell you. I am going to leave you this afternoon
for a day or two.'
Jackson looked at Cuddy with a queer expression on his
great face, and Cuddy smiled a smile of pity, not unmingled
with surprise.
' A.nd pray where do you think you are going in this un-
ceremonious and highly reprehensible manner,' asked Cuddy,
' without asking permission, too V
'1 am going to Westborough.'
The two friends burst out into a roar of laughter.
' Stevie, you've been playing the eavesdropper, and are
making a virtue of necessity,' said Cuddy severely; ' this is
a lamentable example to show our young friend here.'
' Playing the eavesdropper !' replied Stevie, colouring;,
' what do you mean f
' It has been arranged ever so long—for the last ten
minutes, in fact—that you are going to Westborough this
afternoon,' said Cuddy; ' it has been arranged ever so long
that Gigas and I should go, though Gigas did not know it.
A letter received this morning from my uncle, with a post-
script from Gertrude Treherne, which profane eyes are not
permitted to read, has settled the when, and ordered that
you are to be brought. Therefore, Gigas, you will please to
see that a supply of clean shirts and other necessaries proper
for the Captain's appearance amongst ladies be packed in
his portmanteau, and you will both be ready to escort me to
the station at half-past three o'clock ;—so, thank goodness,
that's off my mind.'
' But,' stammered Stevie, ' I could not think of—'
' It is not necessary that you should think at all, sir,'
responded Cuddy; ' the exercise of intellectual powers in
these chambers has long been confided solely to me. Brute
force, when necessary, is performed by Gigas. As for you,
being a distinguished officer and accustomed to command,
your duty is to do as you are told and to hold your tongue.
Eat your breakfast. Do you imagine that we should leave
you in these chambers alone with the silver spoons 1 Pre-
posterous !'
NANCY.
345
' What a fellow you are, Stevie !' he added shortly after-
wards, in a more serious tone; ' how on earth did you know
that we were going V
' I had determined to revisit the place for purposes of
my own, quite irrespective of your movements,' replied
Stevie.
' I am glad of that—very glad of that; for do you know,
I was afraid that the reminiscences you have of it would be
too painful to make you care about coming.'
' I tell you frankly, I would not go there, if I had not a
purpose in view other than visiting Mr. Treherne, much as
I like him and his daughters; but as it is, I do not see why
I should not accompany you.'
' Which means that it is a horrid bore our going, but
that you will try and make the best of a bad job,' said Cuddy.
' Never you fear, old fellow ; no one shall interfere with you.
You shall do exactly what you like; go where you please,
and no one shall ask questions.'
'I wish to God, Cuddy, I could tell you all, and ask
your guidance and help in this wretched—you know not
how wretched—case. It looks so unfriendly. But I cannot,
I dare not;' and Stevie bowed his head and moaned.
' Poor dear old man,' said Cuddy, laying his hand affec-
tionately on his friend's shoulder, ' don't you see that you
make me respect and love you more than ever, by the noble
way in which you are keeping this confidence ? No ! I'm
horribly curious, I own, but I would not have you let me
into the secret for worlds. As for my guidance and help—
set me to do anything you like, and I'll do it without asking
why or wherefore : yes, and I'll be hanged if Gigas sha'n't
too ; and if he opens his ugly mouth to ask questions, I'll
very soon stop it.'
So the trio went down to Poundbridge, where they found
Mr. Treherne's carriage waiting for them. Cuddy insisted
upon driving, and away they went towards Kernden merrily,
but it was not without a shudder that Stevie passed the lane
that led to the wood and the old sawpit behind Westborough
Church. The road was full of associations for him. Here
it was that Nancy Eiley sat—here where he had parted
with Jim—here where he had met his father. Pondering
346
A TANGLED SKEIN.
over these recollections, he fell into a sort of a dream; and
the little carriage had drawn up at the rectory before he
knew where he was. Suddenly roused from this reverie, he
was the first to descend. He strode into the porch, and
began to rub the dust off his boots on what he took to be a
small rug placed there for the purpose; but the rug gave a
howl, rushed into a corner, and barked at him furiously.
The rug was Doggie !
CHAPTER XXVII.
deals with puzzles, or at least one sort of them
women.
Yes ! What Stephen took for a door-mat was Doggie,
and tremendous was the resentment of that unprepossessing
animal. If it were possible for a dog to bark himself into
convulsions, Doggie would have done it.
Now, when Doggie was free from durance vile—as, in
his character of guest at Kernden Rectory, he was just
now—he and his mistress were generally to be found to-
gether—the only redeeming point in Doggie's disposition
being his affection for Grace. But how came Grace to
Kernden? Simply thus. Very shortly after Stephen's
departure from Tremlett Towers, a great change came over
this young lady's demeanour and conduct. I wish I could
say that it was marked with those results which my reading
teaches me should be observed in the deportment of damsels
with well-regulated minds, when labouring under similar
trials. Would the reader like her better if I were to say
that she ' brooded o'er her silent grief as in its nest the
dove , that ' she let concealment, like a worm in the bud,
prey on her damask cheekthat ' she pined in solitude,'
and so on ? If he would, please let him skip on to the next
paragraph. Let him fancy that she behaved in all respects
as he would wish the girl of his heart to behave, and not
seek to know the truth, which, as a faithful historian, I am
bound to tell. And this is, that she became silent and—
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
347
must it be said ?—sulky; that she was cross with her
favourite Jane, and boxed Bobby's ears; that she grew dis-
contented with herself, and extremely disagreeable to the
whole Coleman family. Let me say just a few words in her
defence, and I will go on. She loved Stephen Franldand
with all the strength of her pure strong heart. Her woman's
tact taught her that her affection was returned; but she
knew also of the cruel rock which lay between her and the
haven of her happiness, and she had seen—or thought she
saw—her life's hope shipwrecked upon it. Not a word of
all Mr. Coleman had said about the pride of the Frank-
lands, and the misery of their unequal marriages, had been
lost upon her. With gentle eyes — love-softened — she
watched Stevie from her window as he passed through the
garden on the day of his last visit to Ruxton Court. She
saw him pause with her guardian at the iron gate, and in
her mind heard all that passed. 0, how her heart leaped
with joy when she saw our Stevie snap his fingers in the air,
and turn away gaily towards his home ! How it sank when
the news came that he had left it—gone not to return! He
had taken counsel with night, and prudence had come with
the morning. But she had no reproaches for him. All her
anger was directed against herself. 4 Idiot that I am,' she
would break out in the midst of her long fits of musing,
4 to think that I could ever become the wife of an honour-
able man! /, the poor disowned—perhaps the child of
shame! But, O father ! 0 mother ! if you had only let
me know you; if you had only tried to love me; if you had
only trusted me, instead of leaving me all alone and unloved,
all alone in the world—God help me !—all alone !' And
then tears would come to her relief, and she would sob her-
self to sleep.
4 My love,' said Mr. Coleman to his wife one day, 4 our
Grace is fretting herself to death after that fellow Ste—
after Frankland. She ought to have some change to divert
her mind.'
4 So she ought,' agreed his better-half; 4 I'll get Beatrice
to invite her to Ellwood.'
4 Stuff! your sister Beatrice is a— Well, she has not
your pleasant qualities, my dear. Ellwood is not a lively
348
A TANGLED SKEIN.
place, and Grace would mope there more than she does
now.'
4 Let her go to her own relations, then !' said Mrs. Cole-
man, in a decisive tone, with a little vexation in it.
4 My love!'
4 Don't speak to me in that reproachful way, Coleman,
as though I had said something wicked, when I am talking
common sense. The girl has relations, I suppose ?'
4 My dear—business /'
4 If you go on in this way, sir, I declare I shall begin to
think that—'
4 No, you won't, Laura !' was the lawyer's reply, as he
stole his arm round the ample waist of his buxom wife, 4 no,
you won't, old woman. We haven't lived together forty
years for that. Have we, now ?'
4 Well, I don't mean to say that you know more about
her than you ought,' replied Mrs. Coleman, mollified by the
not unfrequent act of affection from the husband she really
loved and respected; 4 but you will own that it is hard to
have a girl under one's own roof, interfering with the pro-
spects of one's own flesh and blood, without knowing who
she is, or where she came from. Not one wife in a thou-
sand would put up with what I have, Coleman; and you
know it.'
4 Because you are a wife out of a thousand, my love,'
replied the old lawyer, with a quaint smile. 4But, to be
frank with you, I do not talk about Grace and her affairs,
because, in the first place, it's business ; and in the second,
because I know no more about them at this moment than
you do.'
4 But you can guess.'
41 never guess. When old Spencer Fane asked me to
become the girl's trustee—it's all nonsense calling me her
guardian, for she is of age—he said that there were reasons
why her parentage should not be discovered; and that he
had taken care it never should be. Now I know enough of
old Spencer to be sure that the clue to a secret hidden by
him is not to be guessed out of its hiding-place.'
4 Could he have been her father V mused Mrs. Coleman
—not to be done out of her conjectures.
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
349
Her spouse shook his head gravely. ' But we are wan-
dering away from our subject,' he said. ' Grace must have
some change. It's quite clear that she loves Stephen, and
that he has jilted her. Don't you see how she clings to
everything associated with him ? Why, she has even taken
up with Lady Tremlett.'
' That's true,' replied Mrs. Coleman. ' Do you know
that Rhoda has been here twice this week, evidently to see
her ? and Grace has promised to spend to-morrow at the
Towers.'
' Well, it will do her no good to go there. How listen
to me. Isn't she engaged to spend Christmas with the
Trehernes V
' She is, and it's a great bore. She is so very useful at
Christmas-time.'
' It will not do to put it in that way; but if you were to
hint that it would be a pity for her to miss our little gaieties
—particularly as the Trehernes, being in mourning, can-
not have any parties—it might, perhaps, be arranged that
she should go there at once. She's fonder of those girls
than she is of ours—naturally enough, for she's known
them longer, and they would cheer her up, if anybody
can.'
' But suppose Stevie were to go there ?'
' What! and revive all his associations with Brandron's
murder 1 Nonsense, my love, it's out of the question.'
Only see what a prophet Mr. Coleman was !
His ideas were communicated—diplomatically enough—
to Grace, and jumped at. And 'How splendid of you to
come, you delicious thing !' wrote Gerty Treherne, in reply
to the letter in which her friend asked if it would be quite
convenient for her to change the time fixed for her promised
visit.
The only person whom this arrangement displeased was
Lady Tremlett, who—as we know from the hint thrown out
by Mr. Coleman—had suddenly taken a violent fancy for
Grace.
' What!' she cried, when she heard the news,' you going
too—you going to leave me 1 0 Grace, how can you be so
unkind1? What shall I do ? what shall I do?'
350
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Do V replied our candid Grace, 1 why, pretty much the
same as you did a week ago, I suppose.'
' But you cannot think—you don't know how I have
learned to cling to you in that little time. I must have
somebody who is good to cling to now, Gracey dear. O, if
Stevie had only stayed—if you would not go !'
' I can understand your wishing to have Captain Frank-
land here,' said Grace, in a low tone.
' Do you think he would come back V asked my lady
eagerly; ' we will all beg his pardon if he will. 0, ask him
to come back, Gracey—do ask him !'
' Nonsense, Lady Tremlett! How can you suppose that
I could do such a thing V
I But if we were all to beg his pardon,' reiterated Lady
Tremlett, in a tone of entreaty—' if Francis were to promise
to behave better! But I forgot—you don't know why
Stevie went away.'
II suppose he had his reasons,' said Grace, beginning to
feel uncomfortable.
' 0, yes, that he had ! and we all behaved so badly—he
so well. Do you think he will ever come back V
' How can I possibly say V replied Grace, who was burn-
ing to know what reason Lady Tremlett assigned for her
stepson's abrupt departure. ' How can I possibly say,' re-
plied the astute damsel, ' unless I know why he went V
And then the poor weak woman told her all—all about
the arrest of Sir George, and the conduct of Francis and
Stephen thereon, with many digressions touching the beha-
viour of the former towards his half-brother; and Grace
went home a happier girl than she had been for many along
day, but still not happy. Good reason was there for Stevie
to leave his home so suddenly; but had he not left her too,
having heard that she was what she was, and without a
word—a line to say good-bye ?
Knowing my lady's silly volatile nature, Grace thought
little of the sorrow—almost despair—which she evinced at
their parting. The time came when she saw what it meant.
So she went to Kernden, and there learnt, for the first
time, that Stephen Frankland had taken up his quarters
with Cuthbert Lindsay, in the Temple, but knew nothing of
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
351
the latter's approaching visit; for the best of reasons—
because he was not expected till the day before he actually
arrived, and poor Doggie was mistaken for a mat. Cuddy,
you must know, had a long-standing invitation from his
uncle to run down when he pleased, with his friends, for
such pheasant-shooting as the neighbourhood afforded; but
having heard that there was a probability of the girls spend-
ing some time at the seaside with their aunt, the little man
postponed his trip ; not wishing (for reasons of his own) to
expend his bidding upon a time when they—at least, one of
them—should be away from home. As soon, then, as he
heard that their departure was indefinitely postponed, he
wrote to say that he was coming ' immediately, if not sooner,'
and asked for leave to bring a friend, whom he described,
in the slang of the day, as ' a young man from the country,'
in lieu of Lorimer, who had gone abroad. ' And won't they
be pleased, just'—he chuckled to himself—'when they find
it's old Stevie V
If this reticence had not been preserved, the county of
Kent would not have contained Miss Lee when the carriage
drove up with the three Templars to the rectory door. As
it happened, however, she was standing in the little honey-
suckle-shaded porch, with Doggie at her feet, her hands
clasped before her, and her beautiful head thrown back
wearily—gazing up into the clear autumn sky, and think-
ing—thinking—thinkin g.
Doggie did not hear the sound of approaching wheels,
for, upon the principle of ' love me, love my dog,' he had
been plied with all sorts of unaccustomed viands at luncheon,
and was sleeping the sleep of innocence and dyspepsia.
Grace's thoughts were busy afar off, and the phaeton ap-
proached within a dozen yards of her before she was roused
from her reverie. Then one glance was enough, and she fled
—fled through the hall, up the stairs, and into Gertrude's
room, where she found her friend preparing to dress for
dinner, and rushed upon her, and seized her by the arm.
' O, you wicked girl! O, you false, wicked, wicked
creature !' she gasped, with flashing eyes, and lips all in a
quiver; 1 you knew it, you knew it, and did not tell me !
0 Gerty!'
352
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Gerty was really frightened—and well she might be—
by the suddenness of the attack.
' Good heavens ! what has happened ? Are you mad,
Grace? What on earth do you mean ? I declare you have
hurt me dreadfully !' she continued, as she shook off the
grasp of her excited assailant, and looked at her pretty
white arm in the glass. ' You wild animal! I shall not
be fit to be seen to-morrow.' And, indeed, there were five
red marks, which bade fairly to become black ere long.
' You knew he was coming !' cried Grace, with a stamp
of her foot and undiminished anger. ' It's a plot between
you, and it's shameful—shameful !' And here, exhausted
by the excitement, she broke down, and began to cry.
1 Dear Gracey,' said Gertrude, mollified by the sight of
her tears, 1 do explain yourself. I give you my word that I
am not conscious of having done anything to make you
speak and look thus. Gracey! little mother! can you
think that your child—your own Gerty—would hurt you ?'
' Little mother' was the school name of the Treherne
girls for their friend and protector; and now Gertrude took
Grace in her arms, as she had been taken many a time by
her in her own childish troubles, and petted and soothed
her, begging the while for an explanation of what had so
distressed her.
1 He's here,' she sobbed, 1 he's here now—-just arrived
with your cousin Lindsay, and they'll say that I came to
meet him. I am sure they will. They've said all sorts of
horrid things about us already, and you know I never
expected him. You know I did not, Gerty ! How dare
you sit there and smile, you wicked girl, like that ? You
know I did not !'
' Did not what, dear V
1 Why, know that he would come ! How could I ?'
' Perhaps you will enlighten me as to who this mysterious
" he" is, and then, maybe, I can answer you.'
' Were you, or were you not, aware that Captain Frank-
land was expected with Mr. Lindsay ? Tell me candidly,
Gertrude.'
( Candidly, no !—but has he really come ?' she asked.
1 What a goose Cuddy is to play such tricks! He only told
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
858
papa that he was going to bring a friend. But what a
pleasant surprise!'
1 Pleasant for you, I daresay,' replied Grace drily; ' as
for me, I shall leave this house as soon as it is convenient
for you to send me to the station.'
' Humph,' mused Gertrude; ' I think I see. Grace
dearie, there used to be no secrets between us. You don't
love me less than you used in the old days, do you V
i No, my darling, not one bit!'
4 But you love some one else a good deal more, sly-
boots ! You love this handsome grave Stevie !'
4 Pshaw!' was Grace's contemptuous reply. 4 Love
him /'
4 Not a little—little bit1?'
4 Don't be silly, Gertrude.'
4 I am so glad you don't like him, dear,' said Gerty,
hiding her winsome face on Grace's bosom, and creeping
close to her, 4 because, you see, you're so pretty and clever,
that other girls would have no chance against you. He's
just the man to fancy a clever girl like you, and—and
you're my own dearest friend; but you don't love him the
least bit, Gracey dear ? I don't mind telling you that I
—I—'
A change, curious to behold, came over Grace Lee as
these faltering words fell on her ear. The contemptuous
smile left her lip, and it quivered with a totally different
emotion.
4 You !' she gasped, turning deadly pale, and repulsing
the lithe and elegant figure that reposed in her arms, as
though it had been a snake that had stung her, 4 you ! 0
Gerty !' And there was a depth of reproach and misery
thrown into those two little words that I cannot attempt to
render. But Gerty only burst out into a peal of merry
musical laughter, and shook her finger at Grace, saying,
40 you hypocrite! If you do not love him, why
shouldn't I ?'
4 The man's a fool!' replied Grace, vexed at having
fallen into the trap.
4 What for, dearie ?'
4 Because he's so mild and humble—that's why. He
AA
354
A TANGLED SKEIN.
goes about just as though he were nobody at all, and lets
them all trample upon him down at home, just as their bad
cowardly hearts please, when—when—'
' When what 1—eh T
1 Why, when the tip of his little finger is worth them
all, body and soul together. Because he's the noblest-
hearted man, the kindest, most honourable gentleman that
ever won a poor girl's heart. There ! it's out.'
It was Grace's turn now to hide her face.
' Woe betide poor me,' said Gerty, with a smile, 1 if I
had called him a fool. He would be one if he did not love
you, though. He does love you, Gracey ?'
' A little—a very little, I think. That's the worst of it.'
' His loving you only a little V asked Gerty archly.
1 No, dear,' said Grace, a shadow of pain passing over
her flushed face as she spoke ; 1 his loving me at all.'
' You very strange child, why T
1 It will grieve him when—I mean, if he should ever—
Gerty, I can never be his wife.'
10 Gracey ! Why not V
( No matter, love. You and yours have been very good
to me—most considerate and kind; and in forgetting what
—what I am, and giving me your friendship, think that
others are equally generous; or, perhaps, do not think about
it at all. Others are not equally generous, Gerty.'
' But, dearie, if we, who are only friends—though very
staunch and dear ones, you know—love and honour you, as
we do, without considering that—without thinking of any-
thing but your sweet winsome self—surely the man who
loves you would do the same.'
1 At first he might,' replied Grace sadly; ' but, in the
course of time, ill-natured people might pity him; he might
repent of having made a nameless girl his wife; he might
even tell me so.'
' Not if he is the man you take him to be.'
' I do not think he would say so in words. I don't
depend on their words to know what is going on in people's
minds. He has never told me that he loves me, and yet I
am sure he does—a little. Were we to marry, he would
never tell me that he had grown weary of me—that he was
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
355
ashamed of his poor foundling of a wife—but I should know
it; and, 0 Gerty, it would break my heart!'
Gerty could only reply with a caress.
' But it is no use talking thus,' continued Grace, dash-
ing aside her tears. ' He knows what—what I am not, and
perhaps he is wise, and has determined to forget me.' And
then she told of their last meeting, and Stevie's abrupt
departure from his home, with what she had heard from
Lady Tremlett of its cause. She also narrated, to the
intense indignation of honest Gerty, the versions told by the
scandal-mongers of the neighbourhood, both of this and the
affair in the old hall. 1 And so, dearie,' she said in conclu-
sion, < you see that it would never do for me to remain here
now that he has come.'
' It would never do for you to go, you goose,' replied
Gerty,' for then they would say that he had really attempted
something wrong. Ho; if any one has to leave, it must
be him.'
' Yes, and of course people would declare I had made a
dead set at him, and he had run away to escape! A likely
story, indeed !'
' Well, then, as there are objections both ways, let's ask
Maud what she thinks best. You don't mind trusting little
Maud, do you, dearie f
So Maud was called into the council, and told all. It
was a pretty sight to see poor Grace seated between those
affectionate girls ; the arm of one round her neck, and the
arm of the other round her waist, and with a hand of each
clasped in both of hers. Not the fiery Grace of half an
hour ago, or the quiet resolute little woman whom we have
been accustomed to see at Buxton Court, but a sad and
trembling Grace, full of fears and doubts ; one who required
much love and sympathy at that moment, and who got it.
' Well, dearest,' said Maud, ' you know I don't pretend
to be as wise as Gerty, but it seems to me that you ought
both to remain—for the present, at any rate; and I think
that Gracey ought not to be selfish.'
' Selfish, Maud !'
' Don't be cross, dear. You've told me to say exactly
what I think ; didn't you, now V
356
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' ' Yes ! yes ! Go on !'
' If Captain Frankland really loves you, and tells you so,
and you really love him, you ought to take his feelings into
consideration. What right have you to make him miserable
for a certainty, because you fancy there is a chance of his
making you unhappy some day years hence V
' He will soon forget me,' replied Grace abstractedly.
' I do not think so badly of him,' said Maud. ' He has
evidently got something preying on his mind. He's un-
happy, dear. I never saw a man so altered. I should have
hardly known him again.'
' Have you seen him, then ?' asked Grace quickly.
' Yes, just now, in the garden with Cuddy; and, 0 !
such a great big friend of his, that Mr. Jackson he talks
about.'
f And how is he 1 how does he look, dearie f
' O, very good-humoured, but rather awkward, I must
say.'
'What, St—Captain Frankland, I mean, awkward!'
exclaimed Grace.
'No ! no ! not Captain Frankland. I was speaking of
Mr. Jackson.'
' You goose !' said Gertrude. ' Do you suppose that
Grace wants to hear about your Johnsons and Thompsons ?'
' His name is Jackson.'
' What's in a name ? Your tall awkward friend, Maud,
by any other name, would be quite as uninteresting to
Gracey; wouldn't he, dear ? What about the man of
men T
1 Well, he's looking very haggard and stern, poor fellow.
I'm sure he has something on his mind.'
' Or is in love,' interrupted Gerty.
' Maud is right,' said Grace. ' He has something on his
mind—something dreadful. He told me so.'
' 0 gracious ! What is it V demanded the two girls in
a breath.
' That he did not say. I only know the fact. He did
not give me any particulars.'
' And you did not ask him V
i Ask him, Gerty !'
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
357
' Excuse me. I spoke without reflecting. What on
earth can it be V
' I think I can guess,' said Maud, after a short pause.
' You clever little thing, what is it ?' asked her elder
sister.
' May I say, Grace dear V
' Of course you may.'
' Well, then, I think it's something to do with the
murder of his friend, poor Mr. Brandron.' But Grace,
remembering what had passed in the old hall, shook her
head; and then Maud quoted, in support of her view,
Stephen's refusal to deliver up Brandron's papers at the
inquest, and all that the landlady of the Rising Sun had
told her father about there being a secret between the dead
man and Stevie.
' But what strikes me as most odd,' said Maud, ' is
something that we heard only the other day. It seems that
on the day of the funeral, Captain Frankland went over to
" The Wells," and made all sorts of inquiries about where
Mangerton Chase was. Now, did you not say in one of
your letters, when you first went to live with the Colemans,
that that was the old name for Tremlett Towers ?'
Grace started, flushed, and trembled at the thought
which this statement created.
' Yes,' she said at last, ' I did say so.'
' Then you may depend upon it,' said Maud, in the tri-
umphant tone of one whose prophecy is giving signs of ful-
filment, 1 that there is some connection between this poor
Mr. Brandron and the Frankland family, though, perhaps,
your Stevie does not know it.'
Grace thought of the scene in the old hall, and the
strange words which Stevie had spoken in the conservatory
at Ruxton Court, and was bewildered.
' It is this that is making him miserable,' continued
Maud ; ' and, 0 Grace, if we—1 mean if you could help
him to clear up his doubts, and drive this black cloud
away !'
' Shall I go up to him, drop a curtsy, and say, " Please,
sir, give me your confidence" V said Grace, with a grim
attempt at levity.
358
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' No, dearie,' replied Maud; ' but you're so clever, you
might win it if you liked, without appearing to wish for it.
It must be so sad to have a grief, and not a friend to share
it with.'
' How do you know he has not got a friend to share it
with V asked Gerty. ' Don't be sentimental, puss.'
' Perhaps he has told Cuddy.'
' Cuddy's a goose. No one would dream of confiding
anything to him.'
' You're always running poor Cuddy down, Gerty,' said
her sister, ' and it's very unkind. Isn't it, Grace V
' I don't know,' she replied wearily; ' perhaps it is;
but you must remember that I have never seen your cousin,
and therefore cannot judge whether or not he is an injured
innocent.'
'Well, you will see him very soon,' said Gertrude,
rising, ' for there goes the half-hour bell, and we've none of
us begun to dress yet.'
' I don't think, dear, that I can come down. Please
make some excuse for me,' pleaded poor Grace.
' 0 dearie, that would never do. You must come down
to-day, and we will hold a council of war to-night, when we
go to bed, and see what is to be done for the future.'
So the friends separated; and half an hour afterwards,
Grace sauntered into the drawing-room with an air of the
utmost unconcern and indifference, attired in a plain black-
silk dress, and shook hands with Stephen as though meet-
ing him thus were the most natural thing in the world.
As a general rule, it is not pleasant to be bayed at by
an ugly cur, but the howls of Doggie were exquisite music
in the ears of Stephen Prankland. He had foreseen what
interpretations the Coleman family, and, indeed, Grace her-
self, might place upon his sudden exit from Derbyshire,
and it fretted his sensitive mind sorely to think that he
should be so misjudged by those he respected—by her he
loved. Half a dozen times he essayed to write to Mr. Cole-
man, to his wife, to his old playmate, Laura, and account
for his apparently heartless conduct, but was stopped by the
utter impossibility of explaining it, and a sense of the
futility of saying anything that was not based upon an ex-
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
359
planation. f Now,' he thought, ' I can find an opportunity
to show her that some better cause than this idiotic pride
people talk about, or idle superstition, prevents me from
trying to win her affection.' (The goose could not see that
he had won it already.) ' Would to Heaven that I could
tell her all!' What occasion was there to tell her anything
—what need of an explanation, if she did not care for him ?
None whatever, of course. Stevie was in love ; and when
people get into that lamentable state, logic and common
sense are the last things which occur to their distempered
minds.
Accordingly, he, too, set about playing a part, became
gay and indifferent; and to anybody who was behind the
scenes, there was more real acting going on daily in that
quiet Kentish parsonage than is to be seen behind the
footlights of several popular metropolitan theatres that
could be mentioned. The two principal performers deter-
mined that they would do nothing that could betray their
actual characters, and, in consequence, made themselves
as wretched as their worst enemies could wish them to
be; not only themselves, but certain of their very good
friends : for no doubt the astute reader has perceived that
there was something more than a mere cousinly liking be-
tween Cuddy and the lively Gertrude; and, consequently,
may imagine that it did not add to the comfort of the
former, or of poor Grace, to see the handsome Captain
always walking by Gerty's side in their rambles, and con-
stantly in possession of her ear at other times. However,
Grace took good care to disguise her feelings during this
game of cross-purposes, and you may imagine how pleasantly
the time passed. If people will go play-acting in private
life, they must take the consequences, and three days of
this work sufficed to cool considerably the friendship be-
tween Gerty and Grace, Cuddy and Stephen, and sowed
the seeds of a very pretty quarrel between the two latter.
What a poor foolish bird is that which sticks his thick
head in the sand, and fancies no one can see his plumes !
What vastly superior beings were the ladies and gentlemen
at Kernden Rectory! They were all so sure that they
were each working towards his or her end undiscovered,
360
A TANGLED SKEIN.
and that this end was a good one. Grace Lee was
quite sure that she could play her cards so as never to
give Stephen the glimmering of an idea respecting the
secret which fluttered in her poor little breast. Stephen
was quite sure that he could let her see that there was
some hidden obstacle between him and her heart, with-
out touching it in the attempt. The Treherne girls were
quite sure that they would smooth the path of true love for
their friends sooner or later, and that Cuddy never could be
jealous. Cuddy was quite sure that he was beginning to
hate old Stevie. Good simple Mr. Treherne was quite
sure that nothing extraordinary was going on in his house;
and all were perfectly agreed that Gigas was far too stupid
to have anything out of the common way on his big
hands.
Whilst all these heads were in the sand, Stephen had
not neglected the business which had been the cause of his
visit to Westborough. He took an early opportunity of
telling his host of the discoveries he had made respecting
Jim Riley, and the poor afflicted girl who had passed as his
sister. The good rector was no less delighted than surprised
at the news, and readily acceded to Stevie's request that
he would give him his aid towards discovering Nancy's
parentage. ' And I'm sure it's very noble in you, Captain
Erankland,' he said, ' to take so much trouble about one
who has no sort of claim on you.'
' No sort of claim on me!' mused Stephen. ' If it
should turn out as I suspect !' But he kept his own counsel,
and be credit given to his disinterestedness.
Between them they discovered that Mrs. Riley had
come into the neighbourhood with the child some fifteen
years ago. That, from certain hints she had let drop, it
was generally understood that she had come from Norfolk;
that she had been in service, and had saved money; that
she had married, and lately lost her husband ; that a lease
of the cottage in which she died had been bought for her
by some attorney in London, whose name the steward of
the manor could not remember; and that at first the child
wore very good clothes—silks and laces—and had a gold
chain round its neck.
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
361
Stephen also found out that Mr. Lagger had been stay-
ing at the Rising Sun, and that since the departure of the
detective, Jim Riley had been beforehand -with him (Ste-
phen) in the inquiries that he was making amongst the old
people of the village. No more information could he obtain,
far or near.
O, if he could only discover the lawyer who had nego-
tiated the lease!
One day whilst thinking of something—perhaps it would
be more true to say some one—else, an idea ran full tilt into
his head, as ideas sometimes will run, when you are not
labouring after them. The same person who had tried to
keep Brandron out of the way had, it might be concluded,
a hand in sending Mrs. Riley and the child from where
they were known. That Mr. Williams who had corre-
sponded with the murdered man just before his departure
for India—' Might it not be he,' mused Stephen, ' who had
established Mrs. Riley in that quiet Kentish lane 1 What a
blockhead I am not to have thought of this before !' He
determined to leave the next day, return to London, see the
attorney, and try what else he could get out of him.
It was on the road back to the rectory from West-
borough, where he had been prosecuting his inquiries, that
this idea struck him; and, on entering the garden, he found
Gertrude and her sister seated on a rustic bench which sur-
rounded the bole of a huge oak-tree, and working away at
their—I don't know what to call it—a wondrous and be-
wildering tangle of coloured worsted, pretty fingers, and
sticks ; that's what it was. Working away, I repeat, and
chatting confidentially. A little startled, a half-guilty smile
broke over Gerty's face as Stevie made his presence known,
for the sisters were so intent in their converse that they had
not noticed his approach.
They began to talk about many unimportant things,
and at last a walk in the plantation was proposed. ' Only
wait a minute or two,' said Maud, ' Grace will come
directly;' but just then her father appeared at his study
window, and called her; so little Maud tripped over the
greensward to do his will, whatever it was, bidding her
sister not to start till she came back; and so Stevie and
862
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Gertrude were left alone under the great oak. Not the
least disconcerted were they, either of them : for Gerty was
an agreeable lively girl, and had always plenty to say for
herself; and Stevie's thoughts were too much given to
another to feel anything awkward in being tete-a-tete with
Gerty, in that quiet shady spot.
4I do think,' said Gertrude, as she watched the crimson-
ing sunset, 4 that when our English autumnal days are bright,
they are the pleasantest in the whole year.'
4 They are indeed,' Stevie replied; 4 but, like other
pleasant things, they must come to an end—at least for
me. I shall have to thank you all to-morrow for having
given me some of the pleasantest hours I have spent since
I returned from India;' and Stevie sighed.
4 And why particularly to-morrow, Captain Frankland V
asked Gerty, with a smile.
4 I regret to say that I must leave you then.'
4 To-morrow—already V she said, opening wqle her soft
eyes, and looking a little scared. 4 Why—why—you have
had no shooting at all yet.' She paused, then uttered the
last words rapidly, as though the subject had not been in
her mind when she began to speak.
4 I have had something else to do ; besides, your cousin—'
4 0, don't talk of Cuddy and shooting together. He
cannot hit a barn-door. Stupid fellow ! But he has got
leave for you to shoot over the Brixford covers next week,
and you really must stay.'
4 I cannot.'
4 0 dear, dear,' said Gerty, 4 what a pity! and you've
lost all your time bothering yourself about that stupid
Nancy, when—' Here something seemed to occur to this
pretty intriguer, and she continued, in quite a changed tone,
4 But I'm sure it's very generous and good of you to take
so much trouble about the poor girl.'
Stephen smiled, but made no reply.
4 Because, you see, she is so very helpless and alone,'
Gerty continued.
4 She has her bro—I mean Riley, to take care of her.'
4 Yes, but I don't quite believe in him, you know ; and if
he were to change, and desert her ?'
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
363
' Then she would indeed be helpless.'
' I don't exactly know what to think about her plight,'
mused Gerty, her fingers busy with some grass which she
had plucked as she spoke. ' Sometimes it seems as though
her loss of intellect were a blessing.'
' How so?'
' Because, poor thing, she does not know what people
think of her.'
' What do they think of her V asked Stevie eagerly.
41 don't know—I—I—cannot exactly explain,' stam-
mered Gerty. ' It isn't so much what people say in such a
case as what they do, or rather what they would do. Sup-
pose, now, that Nancy were sensible, and like any other
young woman of her class; would any honest working man
ask her to become his wife?'
I Why not ?'
' Well, I don't know ; perhaps in that sort of life they
don't care about—about such things. If she had been
brought up as a gentlewoman, now, it would have been
different, of course.'
II cannot see why,' said Stevie, getting hot and fidgeting.
' Because, Captain Frankland, you have not mixed with
people whom nobody knows anything about, and, conse-
quently, have never had an opportunity of testing what
would be your sentiments towards them,' replied Gertrude,
in as careless a tone as she could assume.
1 Miss Treherne,' said Stephen, with flashing eyes, 4 if
I thought that I could entertain towards a lady who was
alone and unprotected in the world one sentiment which I
would not presume to express about a princess—if I knew
one—I would not let my black heart beat again in the pre-
sence of an honest woman.'
A sob of delight sprang up into Gerty's throat as
Stephen spoke thus, but she kept it down, and only smiled
demurely.
' It takes one back into the days of chivalry,' she said,
' to hear such gallant words.'
' They are something more than words, Miss Treherne.'
1 0, I do not doubt that you mean what you say,' she
answered; 1 and I flatter myself that there are thousands
364
A TANGLED SKEIN.
of gentlemen who think just as you think; they would not
be gentlemen else. Civility costs so very little. But if
some sacrifice were required, how would it be? For ex-
ample, suppose that you had a brother—a real brother,
mind—and he were to fall in love with a girl without
friends or family; would your Frankland pride consent to
their marriage ?'
1 Much good has come of our Frankland pride!' said
Stephen bitterly.
' That is no answer to my question.'
' I answer it thus : Oar happiness is our own, to make
or mar. His marriage is usually the most important step
that a man can take. In taking it, he has no right to dis-
regard advice, because it affects the welfare of another; but
there is a point beyond which no one should interpose, and,
for weal or for woe, he should have his way.'
' And the lady V
' I say the same of her. Who have more to gain or
peril by a union than those whom it makes one for life ?
Let them have every opportunity of discovering the best and
the worst in each other's disposition, and then any one who
attempts to join or separate them against their will incurs
a responsibility which no one has a right to. assume. I
think strongly upon this subject,' said Stevie, after a pause.
' Perhaps I am wrong. You have asked me a question, and
I have answered it as best I can.'
' Thank you; but tell me one thing more,' said Gerty,
turning aside her face, and plucking at the bark of the
great oak. ' Am I right in gleaning from what you have
said, that you pay little regard to such considerations as
birth and blood and pedigree ?'
1 0 dear, no ! On the contrary, no one esteems them
more highly. Why, they influence the entire creation—
from the lowest plant, the minutest animal, up to man. It
is impossible to disregard them. Would you plant a brier
in your rosary, Miss Treherne, and expect it to rival your
choice standards ? Would you think me a clever sportsman
if I were to enter your shaggy cart-horse colt for the Derby,
or take Doggie out partridge-shooting as a pointer ? Do
you blame a milkmaid for not having the grace of mind
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
865
and body which marks your thoroughbred gentlewoman?
No ! Then, if the power which has created us has provided
that birth and breeding, or the want of them, shall produce
certain effects, can we be wrong if we estimate them at their
proper value ?'
' Poor Charley always said you were proud,' said Ger-
rude, in a musing tone, from which she could not exclude a
shade of vexation.
' If admiration of what is generous and strong, noble
and pure, be an indication of pride,' returned Stephen,
' then I confess poor Charley to have been right, and that
I am proud.'
' Ah, but now you have shifted your ground. We were
discussing the value of good birth, long pedigrees, and all
that. How many persons are there, who, having a family
tree as high as this oak, are, nevertheless, weak in body
and mind, selfish, and the very reverse of noble or anything
that is good!'
' I am afraid there are too many.'
1 And, on the other hand, look at that poor Mrs.
Wantley whom you were telling papa about this morning.
Take into consideration her means of being so, and can you
deny that she is generous and noble V
1 Certainly not.'
' But still you consider birth and pedigree as everything,'
said Gerty, the vexation that she felt deepening in her tone
and manner. 11 do not understand you, Captain Frank-
land.'
' Because you—quite unwittingly, I believe—misinter-
pret me. I do attach much value to birth and pedigree,
but only as a means for producing a certain end. Granted
that some thoroughbred horses are slugs, and some thorough-
bred men snobs; that is the exception to the general rule.
Tell me that I may have my choice out of a lot of hunters
that I have never seen, and I will choose the one which has
the reputation of the best pedigree. Mount me haphazard,
and let me find that my nag can carry me through a long
day at the head of the hunt, and I will not trouble you to
say who his father and mother were. I ought to apologise
for talking thus to a young lady,' said Stephen, checking
366
A TANGLED SKEIN.
himself and turning red, 1 but you know I am a dragoon,
and dragoons are wont to indulge in horsey talk.'
11 think your illustration very good,' Gerty replied.
'It makes me understand exactly what you mean. Pray
go on.'
< Well, I follow the same rules in society. Give one the
choice of what class I should ma—I should make friends
in, and I should say, give me the thoroughbreds ; but if one
encounters a person beautiful alike in person and in mind,
one would be a dolt to avoid her—him, I mean, because—
because I—I mean, what on earth does it matter what her
father or mother are like, or who they are ? You are not
obliged to marry them.'
0 Stevie, Stevie, where are your thoughts wandering ?
Who was talking about marrying, or giving in marriage ?
Puss! puss ! poor pussy ! What a fine cat is this which
you have let out of the bag ! There she is—head down, back
arched, tail in the air—rubbing herself complacently against
Gerty's skirts, and purring demurely. But Stevie does not
see her—does not know—as my good critics do—that there
is not one rag of his argument which will hold on to
another; and so he goes on, his head well buried in the
sand as heretofore.
' There is nothing like an example,' he continued, warm-
ing into his subject. ' Look at your friend Gra—Miss Lee.
If she were a duchess in her own right, she could not move
with a more graceful dignity—a dignity which inspires re-
spect without repelling. She could not be more beautiful,
more thoroughly gentle and good, if the concentrated blood
of a hundred belted earls and noble chatelaines were in her
veins. What can it matter, then, that her origin remains
unknown ? Is it good ? then every requisite which this
word demands is fulfilled. Is it bad ? then all the more
credit to her for having overcome every evil influence, and
being what she is.'
' The darling ! But, 0 Stevie !—may I call you Stevie
just for a little time?' continued Gerty, checking herself, and
clasping her little white hands together with an imploring
air that was not to be resisted—' I should be able to say
what I have—what I want—to say to you so much, 0, so
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
367
much better, if you would not think it odd, and let me call
you Stevie. Long before we saw you we all liked you so
much by that name, for it was the name by which dear
Charley knew and loved you. Maud and I have always
talked of you as Stevie,' said the frank girl, ' as Charley's
Stevie, you know, and associated with the name so much
that is brave and true and gentle, that just now, when I was
going to take a very great liberty, and say something which
I could not say to Captain Frankland, the familiar word
sprang unbidden to my lips. May I go on % May I speak
to dear Charley's friend as I would have spoken to dear
Charley himself, if God had spared him to us V
The grave look which had deepened almost into stern-
ness as Gertrude began changed and grew sad when she
mentioned her dead brother's name, and then slowly melted
into that sweet, almost womanly smile of his that we know
of. He looked her searchingly in the face, but its kind
anxious expression never wavered. There was no romantic
nonsense in Gerty.
' Call me what you please,' he said; ' say on, and I will
listen as poor Charley's friend.'
' First of all,' Gerty commenced, ' tell me; you have no
sister V
' No, thank God !'
Gertrude expected quite a different reply, and was a
little taken aback.
' I never had a sister,' Stephen continued; ' I am quite
alone in the world now. I have no home, no brother, no
mother ! I am the last of my name, and again I say, Thank
God!'
' That expression betokens a strange state of mind, Ste—
Captain Frankland, and—pardon me for saying so—rather
a morbid one.'
e Miss Treherne,' replied Stephen, turning his face aside,
and speaking in a troubled but deliberate voice, ' you will
hear and observe many things about me—perhaps you have
already heard and observed some—which may make you
consider my conduct strange, my mind morbid. I should
like to be thought of kindly and well in this house—to leave
a good name amongst your family, and—and your friends.
368
A TANGLED SKEIN.
It is a bitter sorrow to me not to be liked and respected by
those I like and respect. You will give me credit for this,
Miss Treherne ?'
4 Readily—entirely !'
4 Then think what it must cost me to say, I am going
deliberately to do things which will lose me your esteem, and
I cannot offer a single excuse for them—I cannot even bid
you suspend your judgment, and let time justify me.'
41 know what you mean,' said Gertrude quickly; 4 you
have discovered who murdered Mr. Brandron—you are going
to give him up to justice, and you fancy we will all think you
revengeful and bloodthirsty. Is it not so V
4 You are wrong—quite wrong,' Stephen replied. 4If
the—if that person were to be discovered, and—and
punished, it will not be through my instrumentality.'
41 am glad of that—very glad ! Not but that I should
like to know that such a wretch should have his deserts;
only one does not like one's friends to be mixed up in such
things. Besides, fancy the after-life of a murderer! It must
be a far greater punishment to let him live in never-ending
remorse, in hourly fear of detection, than to strangle him on
the gallows. And then, villain though he must be, I dare-
say there are some innocent ones who care for him, and on
whom cruel people would visit his sins.'
4 Is it not written, that the sins of the fathers shall be
visited on the children V said Stephen, in a changed husky
voice.
4 Ay, by God—not by man, Captain Frankland; and not
even by God under the covenant of the New Testament, if I
read it aright.'
4 You asked to call me Stevie,' he said, with glittering
eyes. 4 Dear generous girl, you little know what comfort
there is in those words.'
4 You require comforting.'
4 God help me ! no one more,' he moaned, covering his
face with his hands.
4 Then seek it in His word and promises.'
41 have, I have ! But, 0 ! if I had a—if I were not so
utterly alone !'
4 Stevie,' she said, laying her hand timidly but with sis-
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
369
terly tenderness upon his bowed head, ' dear Stevie, Charley's
Stevie ! listen to what I was about to say (but with far less
reason and force than I can say it now), when by mere
accident I touched upon the subject which—I know not why,
neither do I ask—has struck such a sad chord in your heart.
You are the prey of some deep and secret sorrow, Stevie;
we can all see that, and we have all grieved in beholding
it. Do not fancy for an instant that I ask, or wish to
become your confidante,' she added quickly, as he raised his
head, and was about to make a reply, ' but share your
troubles with some one you must, Stevie; or they will wear
your sensitive nature into the grave. Who knows,' she
continued, more gaily, ' that you are not fretting yourself
about nothing at all 1 An explanation—a reflection, in other
eyes, of what appears to you so black and gloomy—in eyes
that love you, Stevie—may present a picture vastly different
from that over which you brood so painfully. A sorrow
shared is a sorrow more than half assuaged. Share your
sorrows then, Stevie, but only with her who has the right to
bear them with you. If poor Charley were alive you would
be guided by him—be guided now by poor Charley's
sister, who cannot bear to see his friend so wretched, and
who sympathises with him from the very bottom of her
heart.'
' What would you have me do?
' Share your griefs—whatever they may be—with the
girl you love.'
11 do not—I mean, I must not love any one !'
'Now, Stevie,' replied Gertrude, 'this is folly. Do you
suppose that we are all deaf and dumb and blind down in
Kent here ? Unless we knew you to be the good man and
honourable soldier that you are, we should—not being bereft
of our senses—think very badly of you ; but we are aware
that love makes cowards and—geese of the bravest of you
men ■ and for all your Victoria Cross, and your scars, your
bronzed cheek, and the battle-flash which sometimes lights
up your eye, we know you to be a very coward in the pre-
sence of a certain silken skirt. Do you suppose that little
Maud and I have not noticed you start, and turn pale, and
tremble, when somebody's gown has rustled past you 1 Take
BB
370
A TANGLED SKEIN.
heart of grace, Stevie, and—and don't tell fibs. Look^ up,
sir, this moment, and give a plain answer to a plain question.'
Stephen did look up, but disclosed a face so changed, so
haggard and ghastly, that the sight of it frightened the
playful words that hung on Gerty's lips, and she merely
said,
' You love Grace Lee.'
1 With all my heart, with all my soul,' Stevie exclaimed,
with warmth. ' I love her now, and I shall love her till
my last hour, but I can never tell her so. Good God!
what is that V he cried, starting from his seat, as a low cry
—half sob, half wail—was heard from the other side of the
great oak.
He darted round, and there saw Grace Lee herself—or
rather what might have been taken for her wraith, so pale
and lifeless did it seem—standing with one hand pressed
upon her heart, and the other stretched out towards the
great tree, vaguely seeking for support. She would have
fallen if Stephen had not caught her in his arms; but at his
touch a shudder ran through her frame, and with a mighty
effort she regained sufficient strength to repulse him.
' Maud told me you were here,' she gasped—' that you
were waiting for me; and I heard you mention my name,
Gerty, and—and—I came; and, O Gerty, you know you
sent for me!'
But Gerty had disappeared, and therefore there came no
response to this appeal.
' Let go my hand, Captain Frankland,' poor Grace cried,
flushing crimson as she saw that they were left alone. ' It
is cruel—unmanly of you ! How dare you detain me thus,
when I wish to leave ?'
Grace had a manner of saying ' How dare you V on great
occasions which was not to be withstood. Stephen released
her hand, and she sank upon the rustic seat, burst into tears,
and sobbed, 1 Leave me, 0, do—do leave me !'
' I will,' said Stephen sadly; ' but not till I have said
what, in common justice—in common mercy, you should
hear. You have heard too much not to hear still more.'
' I heard my name. I thought—Maud said Gertrude
wanted me—and—and—'
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
371
' Then you heard what followed V
'Yes—yes ! but you did not intend it for my ears. Do,
do consider it unsaid, and now go—leave me here, and send
Gerty back.'
' Presently. For the first, and, maybe, the last time, I
must say to you what I have already said of you—what
has been in my heart of you many and many a day; I love
you, Grace, as I never loved before—as I shall never
love again; but too fondly, too well, to ask you to give one
kind thought for one who may bear a dishonoured name.'
' A dishonoured name !'
' Hear me out, and judge how deep is that love when it
forces me to confide to you a secret which I thought I
should have carried with me to my grave, unless—but no
matter ! And, 0 Grace, if—no, I will not, dare not hope.
Listen ! A few days before I first saw you, when I was last
here, a murder was committed in the wood behind West-
borough Church. The man to whose gentleness and care I
owed my life was the victim. I have too good reason to
believe that he fell by the hand of my own father.'
Grace Lee sprang to her feet. ' Gracious heavens !' she
exclaimed, ' I see it all!' and then, when he expected to see
horror and aversion stamped upon her face, it was suffused
by an expression of unutterable love and pity, and in a
tone of ineffable tenderness she murmured softly, ' My poor
Stevie ! 0, my poor, poor Stevie !'
It was enough. The next moment she was clasped to
his heart, and— Come away, reader. No one but the
little birds saw what followed, and they won't tell.
' Why, what can be keeping dinner V inquired Mr. Tre-
heme, looking at his watch. ' I declare it is a quarter to
seven.'
' Hush, papa 1' replied Maud, leading the rector into
the bow-window of the drawing-room; ' they've only just
come in.'
' Who have only just come in 1'
' Grace and Captain Frankland; they—they've been out
for a walk.'
' What, in the dark V
872
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' They did not know it was dark—they lost their way in
the wood.'
' Keally 1' rejoined the good clergyman ; ' how very dis-
agreeable!'
Little Maud smiled.
' But I'm very glad,' continued her father, in a confiden-
tial whisper, ' that they seem to have overcome that cool-
ness, not to say antipathy, which they seemed to have
towards each other.'
' Antipathy, papa ! What do you mean ?'
' You are too young and giddy, my pet,' he said, patting
his pretty daughter fondly on her fair cool shoulder, 'to
notice such things ; but it was quite clear from their manner,
and the way they have avoided each other, that they had
taken a mutual dislike. It is Very foolish and uncharitable,
Maud, to take dislikes; and I hope, when they become
better acquainted—for they are both very estimable young
persons—that they will overcome such nonsense.'
' Why, you darling old blind bat!' cried little Maud, at
the end of a peal of musical laughter; 'they'—and she
threw her arms round her father's neck, and whispered in
his ear.
' Well, I never was so much astonished in my life !' he
exclaimed; and his looks did not belie the assertion.
Some twenty minutes or so before this conversation took
place, Grace rushed into Gerty's room, flung herself upon
that young lady, and cried, ' 0 Gerty, what am I to do ?
I am so happy !'
' Be as happy as you please, dear,' replied she demurely;
'but pray don't tumble my fichu. I declare I shall be
obliged to change it, and I put it on fresh not five minutes
ago !'
' If you are so provoking, Gerty, I will not tell you what
has happened.'
'Very well, dear; go and dress for dinner. You're
very late 1' and the provoking one proceeded leisurely to
select another lace fichu.
' Gerty dear!'
' Well!'
' He loves me, he loves me, he loves me !' cried the happy
DEALS WITH PUZZLES.
378
girl, with a little jump of delight at each repetition of the
phrase ; ' and I've told him—'
' Told him what V
Strong-minded Grace Lee began to cry ; whereupon the
provoking one (who, in truth, was burning to hear the news)
was provoking no longer, and heard with great delight how
it was that the pair, whom she had left under the old oak,
had lost their way in the wood, and what sort of conversa-
tion had made them forget all about dinner-time, and that
it was getting dark.
' And he's going to write to Mr. Coleman to-night,' said
Grace ; ' and we're going to India very soon, and you and
little Maud are to be bridesmaids, and your papa is to
marry us—very quietly, you know; and I believe that it
was all through you, you darling ; and I told such a big fib
—and O, I am so happy !'
She was certainly not coherent, though.
' But what fib did you tell, dear V asked Gerty.
•' Why, I told him that I only came up when I heard
you say my name ; and really, I came just as you said his.
I heard you call him Stevie, Gertie; and, 0, I was in such
a rage! I was so wickedly jealous of you, it was all I
could do to prevent myself from springing upon you, and
tearing your eyes out!'
' Mercy on us ! what an escape I've had ! And did
you hear all we said afterwards V
c No, dear, not all; but Stevie told me.'
' That was very silly of him,' said Gertrude, looking
vexed.
' No, dear, it was not. At the risk of my taking
offence at knowing how his proposal had come about, he told
me all that had passed between you and him; and if there
is one quality that I prize more than another in that man,'
she continued proudly, 1 it is his unswerving honesty and
truth.'
' You are a pair for that, I think,' said Gerty, kissing
her.
' No, no, we're not,' Grace replied demurely; 41 did
not tell him half bow I love him. I was very reserved and
cold to him, poor fellow.'
374
A TANGLED SKEIN.
e Well, we must not stop talking here. They're waiting
dinner; so run along to your room, change your dress,
dearie, and I'll come and help you. It will not take five
minutes to slip on that black silk.'
' Yes, but I should like—if you thought there would be
time—I should so like to wear my white muslin with the
pink spots. Don't you think, dear'—and she sidled up to-
wards Gerty, and began to fidget with the buckle of her
waist, her eyes cast down the while—' don't you think, dear,
that I should look nicer in my muslin V
Gerty laughed. 'Why, where is our strong-minded
Grace, who used to profess such contempt for finery, and all
the vanities V
1 Gone, Gerty, clean gone, I think,' she replied, in a piti-
ful tone. ' He is strong-minded enough for both; and
since his strong arm has been round me, and his big brave
heart open to my own, I have felt so weak and happy, that
I am afraid I shall never be strong-minded any more, only
don't tell him.'
So Grace Lee came down to dinner, in her white muslin
with the pink spots; and the fish was boiled to rags, and
the haunch of mutton overdone.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
IN WHICH TOOR GRACE LEE's NEW-BORN HOPES ARE SHIP-
WRECKED.
' Cuddy,' said Mr. Treherne, as he rose, and was about
to quit the dinner-table soon after the girls had left the
room, ' you will find more claret in the cellaret. Captain
Frankland, when you have quite done dessert, I should like
to speak to you for a few moments, in my study.'
' Holloa !' said Jackson, when the door closed upon his
host, ' what's the matter V
1 Never you mind, Gigas,' observed Cuddy, who was in
the secret; ' you go on eating those plums, and you shall
grace's new-born hopes are shipwrecked. 375
have the cholera morbus, and be buried like a gentleman, to
the great relief of your family.'
Stevie lost no time in following Mr. Treherne, and found
him deep in the mysteries of Bradshaw.
4 My daughter Maud has told me, Captain Frankland,'
he said, ' that you have made a proposal of marriage to our
dear friend, Miss Lee, and that you have been so fortunate
as to be accepted.'
4 You may, indeed, say fortunate, sir. I would have
told you of this myself, sir, and so would Grace, I know,
if we had had any opportunity.'
4 I am sure you would—I am sure you would. I give
you joy with all my heart; but there are other persons of
more importance than I, my dear young friend, deep as is
my interest in you both, to be informed and consulted with.'
4 I know what you mean. I am going to write to Mr.
Coleman by this night's post, and so is Grace.'
4 Grace may write, my dear boy, but you must go and
see him. You must go and see your parents, and consult
them. There are so many things to be weighed and dis-
cussed on a subject like this, that if you were to write letters
for a month you would not conclude anything properly.
No ! There is nothing like talking matters over face to
face. Now I see here,' he went on, pointing to his Brad-
shaw, 4 that the early train, which leaves Poundbridge at
seven'—poor Stevie winced: he had been thinking how
nice it would be to show Grace, by the pleasant light of
early morning, how it was that they had lost their way in
the gloaming—4 arrives in London,' continued Mr. Treherne,
'just in time for you to catch the midday express. By
this you can get home to dinner. You might have a long
talk with Sir George in the evening, and a couple of hours
next morning might suffice to arrange all that need at pre-
sent be arranged with dear Grace's guardian.'
4 She is of age—her own mistress in every respect. Mr.
Coleman is only her trustee.'
4 Be it so. You know best. Still he must be consulted.
Go, then, my dear friend; and the quicker you are back,
the better I shall be pleased; only you must excuse my
saying that I cannot consent to your remaining in my house
376
A TANGLED SKEIN.
(under present circumstances) for one hour more than is
absolutely necessary, until and unless everything is properly
arranged, with the consent of your family and her—her
trustee.'
The rector's tone was very kind, but so firm, that Stevie
gave in at once—indeed, how could he do otherwise? £It
is rather hard, you'll admit,' he said, with a brighter smile
than had lighted his eye for many a day, ' to leave her so
very soon; but you are quite right, Mr. Treherne, and I
thank you much for your good counsel. I will see Mr.
Coleman, and — and I will undertake to bring you my
father's consent to my marriage.'
( That's capital—capital! I should have thought very
poorly of you if you had not felt it a great bore to go; and
more poorly still if you had not made up your mind to do
what is right in the end. And now I will not keep you any
longer from the drawing-room. God bless you, my dear
young friend ! If Grace had been my own child, I could
not give her to you with more confidence or less regret. Ah,
poor Charley!'
In the hall Stephen encountered Jackson, who seized
him by the hand, and nearly dislocated three of his fingers
in his herculean grasp. £ Cuddy's told me,' he whispered,
1 and I ain't a clever fellow, you know, or eloquent and that,
but I do wish you joy, Stevie; I do with all my heart. It
seems like a good omen.'
1 Of what ?'
Gigas blushed like a girl of sixteen, and began to stam-
mer something about its bringing good luck to the cham-
bers ; in the midst of which incoherent utterances, Stevie
thanked him for his good wishes, and passed on.
The folks at Kernden Rectory were too kind and well
bred to say or do anything which could embarrass the
happy lovers, and so the evening passed much as many of
its predecessors had done ; except that the pleasant circle of
friends broke up and-separated for the night rather earlier
than usual, as though by common consent.
Grace retired to her room alone, wrote a short business-
like letter to her trustee, and to Mrs. Coleman a long and
affectionate epistle, in which she opened her heart to the
grace's new-born hopes are shipwrecked. 377
jolly matron from whom she had received so many acts of
kindness ; and this done, took out her Bible and began to
read, breaking off every now and then, as her mind would
stray from the page, to wonder whether her happiness were
real or merely a dream, from which she should wake before
the morning dawned.
It was long past midnight when a slim figure, draped in
white, and which might have been taken for a ghost but for
its rosy cheeks, glided into the room where the Treherne
girls slept, and sat itself at the foot of the bed.
' Gerty, Gerty,' it said, in a low voice, ' are you awake,
dear Gerty V
This last appeal, in a louder tone, and accompanied by a
shake, settled the question, and Gertrude and her sister,
sprang up together with cries of alarm.
' O Grace ! what has happened V gasped Gerty.
1 Don't say it's thieves !' said Maud, really frightened,
and stopping her ears lest she should hear the dreaded
word.
1 No, no, dears; there is nothing the matter—really
nothing. I only came to ask a question. I'm sorry I
woke you. I thought that perhaps you were not quite
asleep. I want to know, Gerty dear, if it would be very
wrong—if I might—if there would be any harm, dearie, in
my going down and giving him his breakfast. The car-
riage is ordered for him at six o'clock, and it will be so
uncomfortable for him if there is no one up to make his
tea.'
' Bother him and his tea !' cried Gerty, in assumed
indignation. ' You bad wicked girl to come waking us
out of our beauty-sleep about your wretched him and his
breakfast! Go away ! Avaunt, this moment!'
1 0, but she would so like to see him off, Gerty,'
pleaded little Maud, ' and it is so early for him to go. If
it would not be right for her to go down alone, I'll get up
now—is it time, Gracey 1—and help her. Let me get up
and dress.'
1 Well, I never supposed that two girls could make such
fools of themselves as to get up in the middle of the night
to bother about a man's breakfast. What, are there no
878
A TANGLED SKEIN.
servants in the house 1 They will give him his breakfast
just as comfortably as you can.'
' You did not think so when Cuddy left the last time,
Gerty,' replied Maud. 4 You made me get up to do pro-
priety whilst you gave 1dm his breakfast, and—no, I
will not be smothered—hold her off, Gracey. O, you
ought to protect me when—Goodness gracious ! What's
that V
It was the sound of breaking glass, and Gerty, startled,
desisted from the attempt to smother the tell-tale.
' 0 dear! it's thieves. I knew there were thieves,'
whimpered Maud, clinging to her sister.
' Nonsense, child. Thieves do not make such a noise as
that. It's that great clumsy Mr. Jackson has poked some-
thing through his window.'
'Mr. Jackson isn't clumsy,' replied Maud. 'Besides,
his room is not on that side of the house.'
' Hark! Some one is walking in the passage. It's
Stevie's step, I know it,' said Grace. ' Hush, dear, don't
cry' (this to the trembling Maud). 'We are quite safe,
even if it be thieves, now.'
But still the three girls listened with painful anxiety for
the sounds which followed. They heard Stevie descend the
stairs, open the hall-door, and go out. They heard him
rustling through the evergreens which grew under his win-
dow. They heard the latch of the iron gate ' click, click,'
as though he had gone out into the road. In about ten
minutes, which seemed to them an hour, he returned, re-
mounted the stairs softly, closed his door after him, and then
all was silent as before.
' What can have happened ?' said Grace, under her
breath.
' Pho ! nothing at all,' replied Gertrude, sinking back
upon her pillow. ' As I said before, only of the wrong per-
son, he's knocked something—perhaps his horrid pipe—
through the window, and has gone down to fetch it. That's
all.'
' Perhaps so; but, 0, I do so wish the morning would
come,' sighed Grace.
' So do I, dear,' Gerty rejoined,' as it seems that I am to
grace's new-born hopes are shipwrecked. 379
have no more sleep. Well-11 ! did it look vexed? Come,
then, and be kissed and patted by its big child.' And Gerty
drew Grace to her side, and—was as good as her word.
' And I'll tell yon what we'll do,' she said, after a while;
' we'll all get up and give him his breakfast, and then no
one can say anything.'
Grace pressed her hand in silence, and soon afterwards
left the room.
' How changed she is !—all in a moment, too, as it were,'
observed Maud, when the sisters were once more alone.
1 She's happy, dear,' was the reply. * Go to sleep.'
Stephen Frankland smoked a couple of his muscular
cheroots with Cuddy and Gigas, in the deserted kitchen, to
the chirping of the crickets, and when at last he retired to
his room, threw himself into an easy-chair, and thought of
all the wise resolves which those simple words, ' My poor,
poor Stevie,' had blown away into thin air, never again to
settle, cloud-like, upon the clear horizon of his life. What
a true adviser, what a prophet, was Gerty ! He had shared
his griefs and fears, and how much lighter, how much hap-
pier he was ! Grace loved him through all, and in spite of
all—would love him, as she had said with her own bright
lips, more dearly, if possible, than before, if the sorrow and
the shame he dreaded were to fall upon his house. 0, he
was a happy man that night ! He made plans for the mor-
row. He would go straight, he thought, to Ruxton Court,
settle all with Mr. Coleman, and get him to arrange the
affair at ' The Towers.' He could not bear to see his father
again, and it gave him a little trouble to think that the wed-
ding must take place at the Colemans' house, when he re-
fleeted what Sir George would be called upon to say and do
upon the occasion. However, he consoled himself by the
thought that the ordeal would only last for an hour or two,
and would end by his carrying away Grace—his first love—■
to happier scenes, as his wife.
From these reflections he was roused by a crash of glass,
and something hard and heavy fell on the table, and rolled
from the table to the floor.
We know what followed. He went out, searched the
380
A TANGLED SKEIN.
shrubbery and the garden, looked up and down the lane, but
found no one, heard no sound, and so returned to his room.
' Some drunken tramp,' he thought, ' passing by, and
seeing a light in the window, has thrown a stone at it.'
But where was the stone 1
Stephen searched where he had heard it fall, and found
it. To his surprise, he saw that a folded paper was attached
to it firmly by a piece of faded black ribbon. It was some
time before he could undo the knots, and then he read what
was written on the paperv
' This precious Stevie will miss his train if he does not
make haste,' said Gertrude Treherne to her sister, whilst
busy making tea for the breakfast of the departing guest.
' Where's Grace ?'
' Not down yet.'
' Well, she's a nice girl, to wake people up in the middle
of the night to get them to come down early with her, and
not to make her appearance, after all.'
' Perhaps they are out in the garden together.'
' No, Grace would not do that, I am sure. It seems so
odd that he's not down. 0, Williams,' she said to the ser-
vant, as he entered with some dish, * have you called Captain
Frankland V
' Yes, miss—more than an hour ago.'
' And I knocked at Grace's door myself,' said Maud, 'and
she answered me.'
'What can she be doing?'
' If you please, miss,' interpolated Williams, ' Elizabeth
went up to Miss Lee's room about half an hour since with
a letter.'
' What! has the post come in already ?'
' No, miss. It was not a post letter.'
' What was it, then 1 Who sent it f
' I don't know, miss. Perhaps Elizabeth—'
Gertrude did not wait to hear the rest, but sprang two
stairs at a time up to Grace's room.
' Grace, Grace !' she cried, knocking at the door.
No answer !
' 0 Grace, do say something ! Grace !'
grace's new-born hopes are shipwrecked. 381
Still silence !
' 0 dear ! what shall we do ! what shall we do !' she
cried, wringing her hands, whilst Maud, who had followed,
stood by, wondering and asking what could have happened.
' Is anything wrong, Miss Treherne?' demanded Jack-
son, who at that moment appeared on the scene.
1 Yes !—no !—that is—0 Grace, do answer !'
' Good heavens ! is Miss Lee ill 1 Where's Frank-
land V
' Gone, sir !' said the maid Elizabeth, from the foot of
the stairs. ' He left before five o'clock, and gave me a letter
for Miss Lee, which I took up to her just now.'
'In her room?'
' Yes, sir.'
Jackson rattled the door, and banged it with his knuckles
loud enough to wake the dead. It was locked inside.
' Miss Lee !—answer, pray 1 Your friends are dreadfully
anxious. Miss Lee ! !!'
No sound in reply.
' Shall I break open the door V
' 0 yes ! please do—now at once!' cried Gerty.
Gigas just seemed to lean his shoulder against the door,
and in it flew.
They found Grace completely dressed, sitting on the
floor, and staring at them as they entered, but with no sight
in her gaze. Staring, pale as ashes, through them, past
them, into vacancy—staring as a corpse might stare into
futurity.
Gertrude and Maud flung themselves upon the ground
beside her, twined their arms round her, called her by every
endearing name. They could not rouse her. They brought
every sort of restorative, and forced them upon her—in vain !
Nothing that they could do averted that stony lacklustre
stare into vacancy. She let them raise her to her feet.
She let Jackson lift her—and he did it tenderly—and carry
her to her bed. She let the girls take off the pretty dress—
never worn before—which she had put on that morning be-
cause it was a colour that Stevie liked. She let the doctor
come and feel her pulse, and shake his head over her. She
even murmured ' Thank you' now and again, as little ser-
382
A TANGLED SKEIN.
rices were rendered her; but still, through all, that horrid
vague stare into vacancy !
At last Mr. Treherne noticed that she held something
clenched in one of her hands. They opened it as gently as
they could—she not resisting—and found there the letter
she had received crushed up. A wild, blotted, incoherent
scrawl, in what might be the ghost of Stephen Frankland's
handwriting, in which he bade her to think of him no more;
to fancy all that he had said to her of love and marriage as
folly, nonsense, untruth—anything but what she had taken
it to be. Praying her to forget, to pray for him, to hate
him, if it must be, but to forget him then and for ever.
And where was the writer? Hurrying away towards
Rawthorne Castle, the first place he had thought of when
the horror revealed by the letter attached to the stone had
burst upon him, and driven him in despair from the house,
as though it had been the very brink of doom. For the
words it contained—written in a cramped female hand, but
cruelly clear and plain—were these :
1 A merciful Providence enables me to save you from a
fearful fate. Beware 1 The woman with whom you were
walking in the wood this day is she whom John Brandron
came from India to make a liar and a profligate acknowledge
as his child. She is your own father's child, Stephen Frank-
land, so help me God ! Maky Alston.'
The first person that Stephen encountered on the plat-
form of the little railway-station that was nearest to Raw-
thorne Castle was no less a personage than Sampson Lagger.
' You here !' Stephen exclaimed. ' Why have you not
communicated with me, as you promised ?'
' Because I have been too busy, sir, with my own busi-
ness, to be able to attend to yours,' replied the detective,
firmly returning Frankland's angry gaze. ' Before I am a
day older I shall lay my hand on the murderer of John
Everett Brandron 1'
Stephen staggered back aghast.
' He—he is not here!' he gasped, not knowing what he
said.
A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF.
383
41 know lie isn't,' replied the detective ; 4 leastwise, not
yet, but he will he before nightfall. Lord bless you, sir, I
have him as safe this moment as though he were under lock
and key in Maidstone jail. I'm sorry for you, sir, I am
indeed, but dooty's dooty, and must be done.'
CHAPTER XXIX.
a house divided against itself—by settlement.
It was not with unalloyed satisfaction that our 4 dearest
Francis' looked back upon his half-brother's final departure
from Tremlett Towers. Not that he regretted it. His
bitter jealousy of Stevie made him rejoice in the assurance
that the house and the county had seen the last of him;
and his own conceit was too great to let him suppose for a
moment that what he had said and done was not the sole
cause of so agreeable a result. Why, then, was not his lofty
mind at ease? Was he a little ashamed of his conduct
towards his father—of his cold-heartedness towards a brother
who had loved him with such an enduring manly love?
Not a bit of it! He acted throughout upon principle ; and
eloquent were the arguments, most convincing the logic,
with which he assured himself that he had behaved in an
exemplary manner. Still he was not quite at his ease. He
was one of those persons who do mean and disagreeable
things 4 upon principle' only where there is something in the
nature of interest to be gained thereby. There was a set-off
against the exit of the rebel Stevie, and Mr. Tremlett re-
gretted exceedingly that he had not got rid of him on easier
terms.
The fact was, that, for about the first time in her life,
Lady Tremlett had shown some feeling. We have seen
that she supposed Stephen's absence would only be a tern-
porary one. Had she not encountered him on that stormy
autumn morning, whilst walking down to the railway-sta-
tion, with his carpet-bag in his hand ? Had he not smiled,
and kissed her in his old, tender, protecting way, when she
384
A TANGLED SKEIN.
begged him to make haste back to them again ? My lady
burst into such a rage as those who knew her best never
dreamed that she could be capable of, when she learned the
truth. How dared they deceive her 1 How dared they drive
him out of her house 1—yes, her house 1 He was her only
friend; the only one she loved of them all. They were all
bad, wicked, crafty designers. She would leave them, and
go and live with dear Stevie. Where had he gone 1 They
must know. Would he come back ? 0, let somebody go—
let Sir George go—and ask him to come back ! The poor
Baronet shook his head, and assured his excited wife that it
would be no use (he did not tell her why). Stephen had
left what was once his home, for ever. At this news my
lady's rage melted into a flood of tears, and all day long she
sat sobbing, wringing her hands, and moaning, ' O Stevie,
Stevie, why did you go % why did you leave me now ? What
shall I do ? 0, what will become of me! O Stevie, if you only
knew! 0 Stevie, Stevie, save me ! 0, let me go to Stevie !'
It was not altogether love for the absent one, however,
which drew these lamentations from the pretty hps of Rhoda,
Lady Tremlett.
' Dearest Francis' did not show his wisdom in approach-
ing his mother whilst in this mood, and assuring her of his
complete devotion to her and—his mean little mind could
not help adding—her interests.
< 0 yes—yes, I know,' replied his mother impatiently;
' but you are not like Stevie. I'm not wise and strong like
some people ; and I used to lean on him so. He was not
like a son; and, 0, why did he leave me now, when I am
so sorely tern—' and my lady burst into a fresh paroxysm
of weeping.
1 Let me be your support—lean on me,' cooed the dear
fellow, in his most insinuating tones, when this had slightly
subsided; but his mother shrank from him with a strange
wild look in her. eyes.
' You !' she cried, ' you ! 0, no, no, no ! You, so cold
and cruel—you take Stevie's place 1 never ! And if it had
not been for you, and your nasty crafty Ways—I know what
you want—he would be here now to take care of me. 0,
it was cruel of him to go—cruel, cruel; but you—now mark
A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF.
385
what I say, Francis—you'll repent this. You will! You'll
repent it all your life, if you have a heart—if you ever loved
your wretched mother.'
' It is because I love you so dearly, that I have adopted
a course of conduct towards my half-brother which at pre-
sent you condemn,' said he. ' I am aware that I shall be
misjudged, and perhaps condemned for what I have done,'
he added, with martyr-like resignation; ' but the fear of
"blame from the frivolous and the worldly-minded has never
yet dissuaded me from acting upon principle. You, who are
so good, and kind, and straightforward, think that all the
world is the same. Ah, my. dear mother, to what lengths
might not your confiding nature have taken you !' and the
dear fellow lifted his eyes and hands in deprecation of the
sad result.
' Do you dare to suggest that Stevie is not good, and
kind, and straightforward V
'My dear mother, you must remember that he is my
father's son.'
' 0 that he had been mine—my own, very own !' sobbed
my lady; ' or that my own had been like him !'
' My dearest mother,' said her son, taking her hand as
Stevie would have done, to soothe her,' how can you speak
thus, when I—'
' Don't say you love me—don't tell lies, Francis Trem-
lett,' she burst out angrily. 'You know you do not love
me, or your father, or anybody but yourself. You would
not be a Tremlett if you did. We are all cold, selfish,
false-hearted. I love no one—only—only Stevie. I hate
myself—I am afraid of myself. 0, if I had him here to
uphold me! my noble, strong, generous Stevie ! 0, if I
only had Stevie, to save me from sin and sorrow—to save
me from myself! It is your fault; yes, yours—yours,' she
cried, again turning upon her son. ' There will be no one
who will repent it so bitterly as you will; for if it had not
been for you, he would never have—he must have gone—
he could not—he—0, if Stevie—' But what my lady
might have added was checked by a violent fit of hysterics,
in the midst of which she was carried off to her room,
whence she emerged no more that day.
cc
386
A TANGLED SKEIN.
It was sad that my lady found nothing to complain of
in her son's conduot towards his father.
Mr. Tremlett was slightly puzzled to make out what
his mother could mean by calling on Stevie to save her ; but
his attention was chiefly directed to her threat, that he
would one day repent his conduct towards Stevie. ' Con-
found it,' he mused, 1 she's going to leave him that money,'
alluding to the odd thousands of ready money that were at
my lady's disposal by will—' but she must be brought
round; Stephen might make improper use of it; besides, it
is so bad for a professional man not to be dependent on his
profession. He gets so careless and unambitious if he has
anything else to rely upon.'
Thus did the dear fellow console himself; but to his
surprise he found that his mother—hitherto so plastic in
his hands, so forgetful one day of what had caused her plea-
sure or pain on the day before—was not to be brought
round. On the contrary, her moans after Stevie, her
entreaties that some one would bring him back to her—poor,
weak, helpless thing, she never thought of acting for herself
in the matter which she had so much at heart—increased as
the time went on, whenever she found herself alone with her
husband or her son. The former could not help her, the
latter would not.
This, you may be sure, made her son very uncomfort-
able; nor was it all he had to trouble him. He felt that
he had made a great mistake in that unpleasant affair
between his father and Messrs. Puddle & Snap. He had
held the ace of trumps in his hand, and had let Stephen
win the game with a trumpery four ! The old vulgar Trem-
lett love of money, as money, had got into his eyes and
blinded him. It was not in the nature of Francis Tremlett
to think himself a fool; but he admitted, in his own mind,
that it would have been much better for him if he had not
acted ' upon principle' this time, and had let his mother pay
the debt and costs ; better even to have paid them himself,
than to have given so cheap a triumph to Stevie, and through
him to his father.
To his great discomfort the latter made no secret of his
arrest. Lord Rossthorne, whose gout had got better, came
A HOUSE BIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF.
387
down to luncheon that very day, and was admiring the horses
in Lady Tremlett's carriage, as it stood at the porch ready
for her to take her afternoon drive with the Honourable and
Reverend Mrs. Corbyle, and the lady of Professor Spraggle.
' Yes,' observed Sir George bitterly, ' they are very
handsome; thoroughbred, of course ! They cost four hun-
dred guineas, a sum which was not forthcoming this morn-
ing to save me from a gaol.'
1A what V exclaimed the peer.
'Father,' cried dearest Francis, in an agony, 'pray—'
But Sir George did not heed the exhortation, or attend
to the gestures—now threatening, now entreating—of his
son. He continued quite calmly,
'Yes, a gaol ! You would not think it, to look at this
house—the magnificent country seat of Sir George Trem-
lett, Baronet, as the guide-books call it,' he said, with bitter-
ness, ' and at all that rich and fertile land about, all pouring
in its rents regularly four times a year in thousands; you
would not think, I say, that I was arrested here this morn-
ing for a debt of some four hundred pounds, and had not
four hundred shillings to pay it with.'
' Disgraceful!' muttered Mr. Tremlett.
' What's disgraceful V echoed his father, who had deter-
mined to humiliate him; ' that I should not have four hun-
dred shillings ?. Four hundred shillings make twenty pounds,
and how can you expect a man whose whole annual income
is only 150Z. to have so much in his pocket in the middle of
a quarter 1 You are unreasonable, Francis.' There was an
irony in this—said before the peer—which cut the dear
fellow like the stroke of a whip, and made him flinch again.
'But the arrest, the arrest?' impatiently interposed
Lord Rossthorne. 'I do not understand—how—who—
You are not now—'
' I will explain all,' Sir George interrupted, ' in good
time.'
' I really do not see the necessity of any explanation,'
pleaded Mr. Tremlett; ' the thing is past and over. It is
a very disagreeable subject—why not let it drop ?'
' Because, sir,' rejoined his father sternly,' you have used
the word " disgraceful" in connection with my conduct in
888
A TANGLED SKEIN.
the affair, before one of the oldest friends I have, and so I
choose to explain.'
' If you like to expose yourself—' began dearest Francis,
getting very hot.
' Silence, sir !' said Lord Rossthorne, in a subdued voice,
and not a shade of violence in the gesture, but still with a
tone and manner which would have cowed a bolder man than
Francis Tremlett-, 'your father is speaking to me. You
were arrested this morning for four hundred pounds ?' he
continued to Sir George, as though there were no such per-
son as his second son in existence.
' There or thereabouts—the amount is no matter. It
was the residue, my lord, of an old loan of 1200/., contracted
by me more than twenty years ago, for—for a purpose
which I need not mention. You know what my position
was about that time. I was a rich man, as it were, yester-
day, and a beggar at post-time this morning. Well, I bor-
rowed this money. Was there anything disgraceful in that?
Nobody supposed that those cursed mines could not have
been pumped out dry, and that I should have been a rich
man again. I might have become a bankrupt, and wiped
off all my liabilities; but I did not. I wish to God now I
had. Is there anything disgraceful in that ? I ran away
with an heiress; and out of her three hundred thousand
pounds they gave me, knowing my tastes and habits—the
habits and tastes of a gentleman—they gave me one hundred
and fifty pounds a year. That was how they went to work
to make old Mark Tremlett's daughter and Joshua Trem-
lett's niece love and honour me as my wife, and prepare a
happy future for us. You know,' he went on, in a lower
tone, ' what money I have had from you. I have borrowed
a hundred or two from Coleman • and with this, and what
I have saved from my income, I have paid off upwards of
two thousand pounds' worth of debts, and have still kept my
club, and looked, I hope, like a gentleman. I have not
spent fifty pounds a year upon myself. Is there anything
" disgraceful" in that?'
' You owe my mother ninety-three pounds seventeen
shillings and sixpence, that you have borrowed from her
from time to time,' interposed Mr, Tremlett, in a sulky
A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF. 389
tone, determined that his father should not have more credit
than he could help. 4 If you will go into disagreeable sub-
jects, you must admit you have had that to spend too;
besides, all your debts were paid for you when you married
my mother.'
4 You are a young man, a very young man, Mr. Trem-
lett,' observed the peer deliberately, with a shade—just a
shade—of contempt in his tone; ' but if you should live to
be a hundred, I doubt if you will ever know a man who has
had all his debts paid for him; that is to say, if the dis-
charge of all, by some other, depends upon the confession of
all by himself.'
' I admit that it requires more moral courage than we
find in ordinary people, to avoid making some small conceal-
ments,' said dear Francis, delighted at the prospect of an
argument with the peer; ' but two thousand pounds—to
say nothing of the ninety-three pounds seventeen and six-
pence—is a large sum, and—'
4 And what V demanded Lord Eossthorne sternly.
4 I insist upon investigating if such a sum has been
really paid,' was the reply.
4 By what right V
The question was an obvious and a simple one; but this
dutiful son found some difficulty in answering it. His power
in his mother's house had been gained gradually. The poor
Baronet—the nominal possessor of Tremlett Towers, the
sham great landlord and influential squire—had given way
at first to small aggressions made by his second son, when
that philosopher returned from Oxford for his first Long
Vacation, bursting with the importance and wisdom usually
imbibed by young gentlemen of his stamp during their
freshman's term. It was then that he first began to realise
his position as heir, and that of his father as a pensioner on
his mother's bounty. He was a true Tremlett, was Master
Francis, and added to the commandment, 4 Honour thy
father and mother,' the words, 4 provided always that they
are rich, and have something to leave you in their wills.'
The idea of the absolute inheritor of fifteen thousand a year
being expected to honour a parent whose income was only a
few pounds better than that of the butler never entered his
390
A TANGLED SKEIN.
head. The feeling that it would be just, and kind, and
generous to uphold a gentleman of ancient family in such
unfortunate dependency, and, by treating him with respect,
win for him the respect of others, was not such a one as was
likely to enter the mind of a Tremlett.
No; dearest Francis suddenly discovered that his
mother's wishes had not been properly consulted in the
management of affairs, and very soon succeeded in con-
vincing her that she had been a very ill-used and neglected
woman. In an evil hour the poor Baronet gave way—for
the sake of peace and quietness, as he said; his dutiful son
followed up his advantage relentlessly, and that false step of
Sir George's was never recovered. He struggled hard, but
it was no use. My lady could not be troubled with com-
plaints of dear Francis; they made her quite ill. My lady
must really request that Sir George would not interfere
with what dear Francis was doing for the estate—dearest
Francis was so very clever. Besides, what could it signify
to Sir George what was done to the estate ? Sometimes,
when father and son came to hard words in her presence,
she would burst into tears, and declare that they were killing
her. This generally took place when her son was decidedly
in the wrong. With two to one against him—with active
invasion of his authority on the one hand, and passive re-
sistance against his complaints on the other—what could Sir
George do—himself of a weak and temporising disposition—
but give in, and be gradually drawn back, and back, and back,
till he became the miserable cipher that we beheld him on
the eve of that eventful journey to Parliament-street, via
Westborough 1
Such was the process under which Mr. Tremlett had
elevated himself into the position from which he presumed
to discredit his father's statement that he had paid two
thousand pounds' worth of debts since his marriage; but
Lord Bossthorne's question—short, sharp, and to the point
—did not admit of an answer.
1 By what right, sir,' the peer repeated, ' do you insist
upon investigating whether such a sum has been really paid V
Dear Francis, who had got very red in the face, and
looked exceeding awkward, stammered out,
A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF.
391
' Because he—Sir George—says—or rather insinuates
that—that my mother has not—that the allow—the in-
come, I mean, that he gets is not—not enough. That—
in short, that my mother has not been liberal towards him,
when—'
' The question, then,' interrupted the peer sharply, ' is
one between your parents, according to your own show-
ing.'
' Certainly,' replied Mr. Tremlett, thinking that his drift
was now understood, and that he should be allowed to con-
tinue the investigation.
' Then who made you—their son—a judge between
them V replied Lord Rossthorne severely. 4 For shame,
young man ! If, after what has passed, you think proper
to remain a witness to what your father has yet to explain
respecting this arrest, I cannot, of course, command your
absence; but you will have the goodness to remember that
the conversation is between your father and myself, and I
must request that it may not again be interrupted.'
It would have been well for the dear fellow if he had
taken the hint and left the room; but, as I have said before,
his mental cuticle was uncommonly tough. He only thought
that Lord Rossthorne desired to be alone with Sir George,
and therefore remained in order to annoy him. The annoy-
ance, however, was quite the other way, when his father
came to recount Stephen's share in the transactions of the
morning. Then he saw the peer's noble countenance light
up with pleasure, and heard the few eloquent words in which
he expressed his admiration of our Stevie's act, and the way
in which he had performed it. This was gall and wormwood
to Mr. Tremlett, and the one contemptuous glance with
which the old lord regarded him from head to foot, when
his father told, in a choking voice, how Stevie had left them,
never to return again, gave his half-brother plenty to think
of for the rest of the day. Assuredly he was paying rather
dearly for his triumph.
In spite of all Stephen had said respecting Colonel
Champneys—or rather, I think, because he had warned his
family against him—that gentleman remained a welcome
892
A TANGLED SKEIN.
guest at the Towers. What an agreeable, well-spoken, un-
selfish person he was, to be sure! Mrs. Spraggle was
delighted with him—he spoke so respectfully of University
dons and their wives. Mr. Roundleby, who in his secret
heart was inclined to be a fast young man, declared some time
afterwards, when he had lapsed from dear Francisism, that
Tremlett's friends were all infernal prigs—all but Champ-
neys, who was a regular brick; and the Honourable and
Reverend Mrs. Corbyle assured her bishop's lady that, as a
clergyman's wife, she had set her face against all officers in
the army, believing them to be an unregenerate set; but
that she had modified her views since becoming acquainted
with the Colonel. He was so serious and thoroughly Chris-
tian, was this Colonel Vincent Champneys.
Th« object of these somewhat contradictory encomiums
was not less satisfied with his admirers than they were with
him. He was the sort of man who got intimate with you
very soon. Introduced to you yesterday, as it were, you
found him calling you by your Christian name to-day. Thus
Mr. Spraggle soon became 'my dear Professor;' Mr.
Roundleby, ' Sam ;' and the two young country justices
(who were always shooting) respectively' Mat' and' Charlie.'
The Colonel very rarely addressed himself to Sir George;
in fact, he treated him with scant civility. Towards my
lady he was attention itself; and always spoke to and of
her son as Mr. Tremlett. 0, the Colonel knew what he was
about!
Dearest Francis was not slow in making his guests aware
of the position held by his father in Tremlett Towers, and a
very few hours sufficed to teach the Colonel what was ex-
pected of one who wished to be well with the heir. This
alone would have induced him to treat the poor Baronet in
an off-hand, semi-contemptuous manner; but Sir George had
been asking him certain questions, unpleasant to hear and
difficult to answer, and therefore he determined to put him
down. This was not so easily done.
The spell which had given over the once gay and proud
George Frankland, bound hand and foot, to the mercy of his
rich wife and her methodical son and heir, was one which
has made slaves of many better men than he, and crushed
A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF.
398
their faces into the dust before meaner scoundrels even than
Mr. Francis Tremlett. It was that which is woven by the
demon Debt—a fiend who produces more lies and tricks and
meannesses, I think, than any other devil in or out of
the pit. Once let his clutclf fasten upon you, and good-bye
to self-respect, good-bye to peace, good-bye even to exer-
tion; for—unless, perhaps, with the very strongest of us—
he paralyses the powers which might be used to throw him
off. For years he had sat constantly on Sir George Trem-
lett's heart—he and another enemy to peace; but in the
relief which the Baronet felt, when by Stephen's act he was
released from the one, he almost forgot the other, although
Stephen himself had warned him that his secret was no
longer his own. It may be that when he did remember
this it made him restless, and led him to say and do things
which would have cost him a shudder to contemplate a week
ago. One of these was to investigate the truth of what his
eldest son had hinted respecting Colonel Vincent Champneys.
He cross-examined that gentleman so acutely respecting
certain statements which he had made about himself and his
services, and pressed him so closely as to his right of
assuming a military title in England, that the popular gen-
tleman had no resource but to be insolent, and so broke off
the conversation. Upon this the Baronet sought his wife in
her pretty boudoir, and told her Stephen's misgivings and
his own more than suspicions, that the pretended Colonel
was not a fit person to associate with them, and readily con-
vinced her that it was so.
' 0 yes,' said my lady, more earnestly than was her
wont; 'I am sure that he is a wicked bad man, and he
ought to go. Why don't he go 1 Tell him to go, please.'
This resolution having been imparted to her son, he also
had an interview with my lady, the result of which was,
that he assured Sir George, the next time they met, that it
was all a mistake; that the Colonel was a most exemplary
person; and that she had asked dearest Francis to request
that he would prolong his visit at the ' Towers.'
At this juncture it was only necessary for the Baronet
to express a wish, however proper or simple, to set 1 dearest
Francis' up in opposition to it. The reader is aware that
394
A TANGLED SKEIN.
the 'dear fellow' was not so thoroughly as heretofore in
his mother's favour, but his father was in deeper disgrace.
You will have noticed that, in all her complaints against
Francis for having caused his brother's departure, she never
once alluded to her son's condufct towards his father, which
had so roused honest Stevie's indignation.
' How dare he go and get arrested V she cried petulantly.
' If he had not got into debt, and made those horrid men
come after him, there would not have been all that fuss, and
dear Stevie would have remained; and, 0, what shall I do
without him, now that— 0 Stevie, Stevie ! come back,
come back !'
Mr. Tremlett was not one to test the accuracy of his
mother's logic. Anything would do that brought blame
upon the poor Baronet; and when his wife's mind was most
bitter against him, his amiable son told her what had passed
between Sir George and Lord Rosstborne, and discussed
with her the alleged payment of that two thousand pounds,
armed with the schedule of debts which had been paid on
the Baronet's marriage. A long tell-tale list, this. It con-
tained (besides the names of bill-discounters and money-
lenders, and the sums due to them) statements from wine
merchants, horse-dealers, butchers and bakers, confectioners,
and other household tradesmen; half a dozen tailors', as
many jewellers' and bootmakers', a, silk mercer's or two, a
milliner's, and four dressmakers' bills.
' It seems odd,' remarked Mr. Tremlett, 1 that these
milliners' and dressmakers' bills are dated after the death of
the late Lady Frankland. I suppose they were incurred
for my brother. There are no items given, but is not
293Z. 18s. Id. rather an extravagant sum to spend in one
year upon the dress of a little boy of six V
Lady Tremlett turned deadly pale, and trembled as her
son spoke.
1 It seems,' he continued, ' as though every possible ex-
travagance were included in this list. Look over it, my
dearest mother, and see if you can suggest any liability which
my father is likely to have had, and which is not entered
there.'
My lady looked it through, paying especial attention to
A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF.
395
the mysterious milliners' and dressmakers' accounts, and
could not help her son to guess at any further debts.
' And yet he says that he had to borrow twelve hundred
pounds just before his marriage with you,' Francis con-
tinued, ' which is not mentioned here; and that he has paid
nearly two thousand pounds' worth of debts—he calls them
debts—since.'
He placed so much stress upon the word in italics, that
his mother demanded what he meant. ' What should your
father pay people money for,' she asked, ' unless he owed it V
Mr. Tremlett looked wise, and shook his head.
' Don't shake your head,' said she peevishly—my lady
had been very peevish lately—' it makes me quite nervous
to see people shake their heads. Why don't you answer ?'
' My dear mother,' replied Francis, ' I really do not like
—it is not for me to accuse my father.'
' Accuse him ! O dear ! what do you accuse him of ?'
' I? Of nothing. It would be very wrong of me to
accuse him at all. I only suspect—'
'What? what?'
' Dearest mother,' he rejoined, imitating, as far as he
could, Stevie's caressing voice and manner, ' let us talk of
something more pleasant.'
' No,' said my lady resolutely, ' I will have an answer.
What do you suspect ?'
' It is not right that I should tell you,' was the reply,
delivered in a low and solemn voice.
' Yes, but it is; and you are very wicked if you do not
tell me this moment,' said my lady, getting more and more
excited. ' I must and will know.'
' Well, if you must, you must; but mind, I only suspect.
My father's debts were all paid on his marriage; he cannot,
he does not pretend they were not. What has he to
show for all this money he says he has paid ? Nothing.
Painful as it is for me to come to any conclusion in such a
case, I can form but one; and that is, that my father has
some person or persons dependent upon him, of whom we
know nothing; and that these sums, and others which he
has borrowed of Lord Rossthorne, have gone in supporting
them in secret.'
396
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Lady Tremletfc heaved a deep sigh, and sinking back
upon her sofa, did not speak again.
That afternoon, as on the two previous ones, the family
barouche was given up to the use of the guests. My lady
took an airing in her pony carriage, and was driven, as
before, by Colonel Vincent Champneys. He was, as I have
said, all attention and politeness to his hostess; there was
something even chivalrous in his deference towards her ;
but she trembled and shrank from him when he addressed
her, though she could never keep her eyes off his face when
they were in the same company. The expression of her
gaze was that of some poor bird fascinated by a serpent,
and being drawn nearer and nearer to its doom.
It was almost dark that evening when they entered the
park, returning home. Their drive had been a long one.
Just before they drove up to the door, Colonel Champneys
said, as though remarking upon something that his com-
panion had been saying, ' Your son is right. I have reasons
to know that his suspicions are well founded. Rhoda,' he
added, almost sternly, looking her full in the face with his
cold glittering gray eyes, ' have I not told you that this is
not your destiny? You are made to be loved, to love, and
to be happy. You are not happy here, Rhoda. Your
destiny is elsewhere, and with another.'
My lady hung down her head, and was silent. This
took place on the day but one before Stephen fled from
Kernden Rectory, as narrated in the last chapter. Ah,
Stevie, old friend, if you had known then—even then, in the
hour of your deepest agony—the retribution which hung
over the heads of those who had driven you from your home,
jou would have forgiven all, and hurried to their aid. But
so it was not to be!
THE HARDEST KNOT OF ALL.
397
CHAPTER XXX.
the hardest knot of all.
Lord Rossthorne was from home when Stephen arrived
at the Castle, but was expected to return in the course of
the day. He had left early in the morning by rail, without
luggage, and had taken a ticket for B , which was the
nearest station on the main line, the railroad which passed
close to Rossthorne being merely a ' feeder.' Whether their
master had booked again at the junction, and if so, whither
he had gone, none of the servants could tell; but he had
ordered dinner for two, and a bed to be prepared for a gen-
tleman who was to accompany him home. He had received
a telegraphic despatch about half an hour before he left.
Stephen had been expected, as we know, for some time;
and even if he had not, his arrival would have caused no
apparent commotion in that well-managed household. My
lord's 'own man' conducted him to the rooms he was to
occupy, and respectfully inquired for his luggage. Had
Captain Frankland left it at the station? If so, would he
please to give him (the valet) the tickets, and it should be
sent for. Stephen stammered out something about not
having come to make any stay—merely wishing to speak to
Lord Rossthorne for a few minutes—no; he had not any
luggage to be sent for. The man begged to be excused if
he presumed—he was sure he did not mean any disrespect;
but had anything happened?—was Captain Frankland ill?
—would he take anything ? Stephen assured him that there
was nothing amiss ; he was quite well—he was much obliged,
but would take nothing; only— The well-meaning ser-
vant understood what was required of him, and left the room.
' I never saw a gentleman so changed !' he exclaimed,
when he reached the housekeeper's room ; ' he looks as
though he had seen a ghost—all haggard and scared, you
know.'
Stephen sat just where the valet had left him for some
hours, before his mind had become sufficiently calm to allow
him to think why he had come there, and what good end
was to be answered by remaining. He had been thoroughly
898
A TANGLED SKEIN.
stunned by the awful disclosure contained in Sister Mary's
letter, and hitherto had been staggering about vaguely,
following consistently but one idea—that of seeking Lord
Bossthorne.
From the first Stephen had felt assured that Sister Mary
knew more than she would own. Why else had she refused
to refer him to any member of her family for information as
to so (apparently) simple a fact as the whereabouts of an old
house in which her sister had once lived % The motive for
secrecy was clear now. In that house a child had been
born, and confided to that sister's care. There, also, another
sister had hidden the proof of that child's legitimacy; and,
having acted as confidante between its mother and her un-
worthy husband, had, at his instigation, falsely pretended that
it was dead, till, conscience-stricken, she confessed the truth.
She knew full well who was the father of that child. She
could guess too truly who was the murderer of Brandron.
So mused Stephen Frankland.
It was growing dusk before he roused himself from the
stupor into which he had fallen, and leaned from the open
window, wondering when Lord Bossthorne would come. His
room overlooked a road—not the principal one—which led
up to the Castle from the village ; and as he mused, he saw
three figures strike into this from a bypath which led from
a neighbouring plantation. He did not notice the first or
the second, but a chill ran through his veins when he saw
that the third was Inspector Lagger, and remembered what
he had said when they had met at the station a few hours
ago. The detective had declared that he should arrest the
murderer of Brandron that night. ' I have him as safe this
moment as though he were lodged in Maidstone jail!'
Those were his words. What, then, could he be doing under
the walls of Bossthorne Castle 1 Whilst Stephen yet won-
dered, the sound of a carriage approaching fell on his ear.
Another moment and it was close at hand. He heard Lord
Bossthorne's voice calling to the coachman to stop at a side
door, which was used as an entrance in wet weather. The
carriage drew up almost directly under the window, and the
first person who descended from it was Sir George Tremlett!
A second glance showed Stephen that Lagger was ap-
THE HARDEST KNOT OF ALL.
899
proaching the house. He walked first of the three now,
and to his amaze, Stephen recognised in the second man, who
slouched along by his side, the long-missing Jim Riley.
The third, who was ajmuch younger person than either of
his companions, carried a large book under his arm.
Stephen sprang from his room to a corridor outside,
which overlooked the entrance-hall, and watched. He saw
his father enter with the peer. He saw the butler advance
and speak to the latter. He knew well what was said from
the effect produced upon the hearers. The poor Baronet
turned pale as ashes, and made as though he would return
to the carriage. Lord Rossthorne was no less surprised.
4 Captain Frankland !' he exclaimed; 4 when did he
come ? where is he 1 Here, show Sir George to his room,'
he continued hurriedly, not waiting for a reply. ' Where
is Captain Frankland V
4 In the blue room, my lord.'
4 Better not see him now, George,' he said, in a low voice,
to the Baronet, who stood trembling by his side. * Go to
your room. Leave it to me to break the news, poor fellow.
I will join you again presently.'
Stephen did not hear these last words. He had returned
to his room as Sir George was about to follow the servant
up-stairs, and he was hardly seated again when Lord Ross-
thorne entered.
4 Stevie,' he said, holding out his hand, 4 this is a sur-
prise. I wish I could say that it is a pleasant one.'
Stephen rose from his seat, and flushed crimson.
4 0, don't misunderstand me, my dear boy,' resumed the
peer; 4 you are as welcome as ever, but—your father is
here.'
41 saw him enter with you just now.'
There was that in his tone and manner which startled
his host.
4 Good heavens !' he said, in an agitated voice; 4 is it
possible that you already know—'
4 God help me !' sighed Stevie. 41 know too much.
But to what do you allude V
Lord Rossthorne took his hand, and wrung it in silence.
4 It's a bad, bad business,' he said, after a long and painful
400
A TANGLED SKEIN.
pause, 1 but you must bear it like a man, Stevie. Remem-
ber, you are not the principal sufferer.'
(Is all discovered V
4 All! But bow on earth has the news reached you ?
I only received it by telegraph this morning.'
4 From whom V
'From himself. I have been over to the Towers to-
day. Of course, after what has happened, he could not stay
there another hour, so I brought him here. It is safest and
best for him to remain here till it has blown over a little.'
' Blown over V
' Of course. This sort of scandal makes a great noise
at first, but something else turns up to distract public atten-
tion, and then it is forgotten. We must get him abroad
as soon as possible, and leave the rest for the lawyers to
settle.'
4 My lord ! my lord !' exclaimed Stephen, 4 there is no
such chance for him. Why—why did you bring him here
into the very jaws of death ? There is not a moment to be
lost! He must escape at once ! They are only three now;
more may arrive at any moment. Let me go to himand,
wild and breathless with excitement, Stephen sprang towards
the door, but the peer threw himself in the way.
' Are you mad V
4 jSTo, but I shall be if you stop me. I tell you I saw
the detective Lagger and two others under that window just
as you came in. Let me pass. I know him to be a man
who will do his duty without fear and without favour. He
may have arrested my father whilst we are talking here.
Pray—pray let me pass !'
4 Honsense, Stevie; you are excited, naturally enough.
You know not what you are saying, my dear fellow. Sit
down.'
4 Lord Rossthorne,' said Stephen firmly, but through
quivering lips, 4 you are about the last man in the world
against whom I would raise my hand, but I will leave this
room—I will save my father.'
The brows of the peer darkened. A threat of personal
violence was more than he could stand, even from the man
whom he wished to adopt as a son.
THE HARDEST KNOT OF ALL.
401
' If I had known you less well than I do, Captain Frank-
land,' he replied haughtily, ' I might be able to account for
this extraordinary conduct; as it is, I cannot. You speak
of escaping " detectives" and " arrest." You are labouring
under some extraordinary delusion. Nothing that has passed
would justify any one in arresting your father. How on
earth should it ? If you think it kind, or even reasonable,
to withdraw him in his affliction from beneath the roof of
his oldest friend, pray do so; only— Stevie, what is the
matter? Are you ill? Lean on me, my boy; you are
faint,' he said, as Stephen staggered from him.
' No, no. I—I am better now,' he replied, sinking into
a chair. ' Forgive me for what I said then ; and tell me—
as quickly as—you can—please, what—what has happened
at ho—at the Towers.' He spoke with his hand pressed
upon his heart, and in gasps.
11 thought you knew.'
'No. I was thinking of something else. Never mind
what I said, and tell me all—all.'
' You remember that person who called himself Colonel
Yincent Champneys ?'
' I do. And I know now—I have conclusive evidence
that he is the scoundrel that I took him for. I sent it to
my father the day before yesterday. I only got it then.'
' It came too late. He has since added yet another
act of villany to his list.'
' What has he done? Go on, pray go on.'
' Stevie, with all her faults, you loved your stepmother ?'
' I did—I do ; but what of her ?'
' She has left her home—eloped.'
' Impossible!'
' It is too true.'
' But not with Champneys ?' cried Stephen. ' No, no,
my lord, not with him /'
The old peer made no reply ; but Stevie saw from the
expression of his countenance that his worst fears were
realised.
By this time the gloaming had darkened into night,
and there was no lamp in the room. Neither of its occu-
pants cared to call for one, as they both felt they had that
DD
402
A TANGLED SKEIN.
to say which is best said if accompanying emotions could be
veiled. Stephen rose, and turned aside to the window,
where he stood speechless, gazing sternly out into the dark-
ness. Suddenly he returned to where Lord Eossthorne sat,
and demanded,
' We must save her. When did they go ? Where have
they gone ? Is it possible to overtake—to save her ?'
Lord Eossthorne shook his head.
' She left her home on Tuesday night,' he replied.
' This is Friday. They have gone abroad.'
t How do you know ?'
' Your poor father received a letter from that—' some-
thing rose in the peer's throat, and prevented him from
getting out the word—' that villain, this very morning,
stating where he will be found—'
Stephen started up with a gesture of impatience and
surprise.
'—This day month,' resumed the speaker. ' My dear
Stevie, the scoundrel has us completely in his power. He
offers to give Sir George the satisfaction of a gentleman—
mark his words ! he give the satisfaction of a gentleman!
—at St. Malo, a month hence. Do you think he will take
his poor victim there 1 Hot he. In the mean time he says
he will give your father any assistance in his power in
taking the necessary steps to obtain a divorce.'
' A divorce V
1 The very thing he desires himself. Lady Tremlett's
fortune is her own for life ; a good deal of it her own abso-
lutely. Of course, it was for her money that he has com-
mitted this act of treachery. It will be all his when he
marries her. Ah, Stevie ! if her fate, and your poor father's
sufferings for the last four years, could be made known to
the world, what a lesson they would furnish to those who
think that a wife's happiness is to be established by making
her husband a dependent upon her and her children ! But
it is no use moralising now,' he added, with a sigh. ' Will
you come and see your father?' And the peer rose to
leave the room.
Stephen caught him by the arm, and detained him.
(Pray do not leave me,' he said. ' I have something
THE HARDEST KNOT OF ALL.
403
to tell you that must be said, and there is little time to
say it. This last blow for a moment diverted my thoughts,
and—and I feel so confused and—lost, as it were,' he mur-
mured, pressing a hand to his throbbing brow, ' that I fear
I can hardly express myself. You must pardon it if I
speak vaguely—bear with me, even if your reason seems to
revolt from what I say ; for as there is a Heaven above us
both this night, Lord Rossthorne, I am in sad and fearful
earnest.'
' My poor boy ! my dear fellow ! you are ill. This bad
news has upset you,' he said, in a fatherly anxious tone,
drawing his chair nearer to where Stevie sat. ' Do not
dwell upon it. Let me ring for lights, and—'
'Ho, no ! not yet. I am not ill, and you must hear me.
Before you told me this bad news, I said that my father
was in deadly danger here ; that the officer who has come
to arrest him is at the gate, if not inside it. He must
escape, and at once; for God's sake! help me to contrive
the means !'
' Escape from what V exclaimed the wondering peer.
' From a felon's death,' cried Stephen, in a voice of
anguish. ' 0 my lord ! his life is in your hands ; be gene-
rous, and help me to save it.'
1 Are you mad, Stevie ?'
' No; but I shall be soon, if you treat me thus. Why,
why will you waste these precious moments ? why will you
not believe—?'
' Believe what, in Heaven's name V
' Listen,' said Stephen, calming himself with effort.
' When I returned from India, I was accompanied by a
gentleman named Brandron.'
' I know, I know,' interrupted Lord Rossthorne, some-
what impatiently; ' he was killed at Westborough. You
were very kind to him. I heard all about it.'
' He came to Westborough,' Stephen continued, not
heeding the interruption, : to meet a person whose interest
it was to conceal the birth and parentage of a certain child.
Brandron was determined that this child should have its
rights; and to prevent the exposure he threatened—that
person murdered him.'
404
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Yague surmise—guess-work. Any other romantic
story would fit the facts as well,' observed the peer, in a
low voice • ' but what can this possibly have to do with
your father f
' My lord, it was he who went with Brandron into
Westborough Wood. It was he—God help him !—who
was the murderer!'
' No ! no ! no !' thundered the peer, starting from his
seat. ' Ten thousand times no, Stephen Frankland. How
can you, how dare you, bring such an accusation? Your
father was not there at all.'
' I saw him.'
'At Westborough?'
' Within a quarter of a mile of the village.'
'You surprise me. But what if he were? There
were others — I mean, there must have been dozens of
strangers in and about Westborough on that day, as on
any other.'
' Hear me out,' said Stephen. ' Shortly before his
death, Brandron implored me to see justice done to the
child, and told me that I should find proofs of her birth
secreted in a certain room in Mangerton Chase. I did
not know then, nor for some time afterwards, that this was
the ancient name of my father's house.'
' But—but of course you found that this was a delusion
—a dying man's fantasy,' said Lord Kossthorne, in an
agitated voice. ' You did not discover the papers?'
' I did. I found them all just as they had been
hidden.'
' When—when V
' On the night of the 5th of September.'
' Good God !'
' You know what happened on the following morning.
I told my father, in leaving him for ever, that I knew his
secret.'
' But he contradicted the—he explained—'
'Nothing. He merely implored me not to betray
him.'
' Impossible ! Do you mean to tell me he did not deny,
indignantly deny, such an accusation ?'
THE HARDEST KNOT OF ALL.
405
11 made no accusation,' replied Stephen sadly. 4 Alas !
his conscience supplied one. As I have already said, he
merely implored me not to betray him.'
' And yet you have done so V
4 Lord Rossthorne!'
4 0, pardon me, Stevie. I am so agitated—so confused
by what you say, that—that— But if his secret rests with
you, how can he he in danger now V
4 Unfortunately the papers discovered at Mangerton
Chase fell into—it would take too long to explain how—
into the hands of the detective who is below. He was at
the inquest on poor Brandron. He has been on the search
for a clue to his murderer ever since, and now he ha« him
almost within his grasp.'
4 But I cannot understand—I do not see— Did you
read the papers found in Mangerton Chase V
4 I did—all of them, carefully.'
4 And yet you suspect Sir George Tremlett of being the
murderer of John Brandron V
4 Too surely. Because he is the father of the child in
whose cause poor Brandron died.'
4 He ! 0 Stephen, think — think again. You are
excited now, and—and may be speaking at random. How
could those papers prove that ?'
41 have pondered painfully over all I am saying to
you, Lord Rossthorne,' replied Stephen sadly. ' You
may be sure that I should not readily come to a conclusion
that condemns my own parent of a fearful crime.'
4 I am sure of that; but to me it seems so monstrous,
so wild, and— But go on.'
4 From the papers, I found that the child, when an in-
fant, had been confided to the charge of one Lucy Alston.
There are three Alstons, sisters, who are mixed up in this
case—Susan, Lucy, and Mary. Susan was the servant and
confidante of the child's mother. It was she who hid the
papers in Mangerton Chase. These prove that the child
was confided to Lucy. Susan and Lucy are dead; but Mary
lives, till lately a recluse in a convent at Hull—a stern
unfeeling woman, not likely to be deceived or to deceive ;
and from her—0 Lord Rossthorne, pity me, for now I
406
A TANGLED SKEIN.
come to my crowning misery—from her I learn that— But
I will tell you all.
4 You remember the conversation we had in your room
at the Towers respecting—respecting my—my marrying?'
4 I do, well.'
4 You asked me if I loved Grace Lee, and I told you
that I did, but there were reasons why I could never marry
her.'
4 Had you then those suspicions of your father V
41 had.'
4 Ah! I see; go on.'
4 In a moment of happiness—0 ! such deep unalloyed
happiness !' continued poor Stevie, 4 I forgot the full misery
of my position. I told her that I loved her ; I asked her
to be my wife. I found that she, pure angel that she is,
loved me.'
4 0 Stevie,' cried the peer, in an excited but joyful tone,
4 this makes up for all. I am so glad. My dear, dear
boy, I wish you happiness with all my heart. And you
will be happy ; you will be happy, Stevie, in spite of all,
with such a wife.'
4 0, forbear, my lord, forbear!' cried Stephen, to
whose heart every well-meant word went like a stab.
4 You know not what you say. Grace Lee, who, but for
God's mercy, I might have made my wife, is my father's
child.'
Lord Bossthorne uttered an inarticulate cry of surprise
and pain.
4 Now do you see,' Stephen continued, 4 how fearfully
strong a chain of evidence can be, perhaps already is, forged
against my wretched father ? Between the death of my
dear mother and his second public marriage he contracted
a private one; and his wife having died, he sought to con-
ceal the existence of a child which might have proved an
impediment. He got Sarah Alston to pretend that the
child was dead ; he deceived Brandron, who was a friend of
its mother, and procured him an appointment in India.
But what is the use of my going through link after link,
when I tell you that he has confessed his guilt V
4 No, no ; not confessed it—impossible !'
THE HARDEST KNOT OF ALL.
407
' Not in words, but in acts. My lord ! my lord ! there
are dozens and dozens of facts, all pointing to him as having
killed poor Brandron. It may have been in a struggle ; I
think—I hope it was without premeditation; but that he
struck the death-blow is, I say it to my grief, as certain
as—'
' That Grace Lee is his child V
Stephen bowed his head in sorrowful assent.
Lord Rossthorne rose, and paced two or three times up
and down the dark chamber. Then he paused where Ste-
phen sat, and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said, in a
voice half choked with emotion :
' Do you love her V
i Love her ! when—'
' Tush ! I know what you mean. I will put my ques-
tion differently. Did you love her yesterday V
' With all my soul.'
' When you found that she returned your love, did you
resolve to deserve it all your life ? The first love of a girl
like Grace Lee is a holy solemn trust for a man to receive,
Stephen Frankland.'
' It is indeed.'
1 There are few of us who can look back into our lives,
and say that we deserve it.'
' Very few; not I, for one.'
1 Honest as ever. Did you resolve to give her all your
heart in return, and to keep it always hers 1 Did you resolve
to make her happiness the first object of your life, to shield
her from all sorrow—in a word, to do your utmost duty as a
Christian gentleman towards her V
' I did, I did, my lord;' and the tears which he could
not restrain poured down his worn cheeks.
* But this was yesterday !' There was a strange gleam
in Lord Rossthorne's eyes as he spoke, and the tone of his
voice made it almost seem as though he were mocking
Stephen's grief. He took one other rapid turn up and down
the room, and was just on the point of speaking again, when
a violent altercation was heard in the corridor outside; and
before he could reach the door to see what was the matter,
it was violently thrown open, andj a glare of light poured
408
A TANGLED SKEIN.
into the room, and, for the moment, blinded its occu-
pants.
When their eyes became accustomed to it, they saw Mr.
Lagger in the act of locking the door on the inside. He had
put down his lamp on the table.
1 You know what business has brought me here, Cap-
tain,' he said, in a firm but respectful voice. ' I depended
upon the county po-lice; but, as usual, they have made fools
of themselves and me. I'm not a-going, though, to let night
come on without doing what I've got to do. I'm sorry
for you, Captain, very sorry; but dooty's dooty, and must
be done; so I call on you in the Queen's name to aid and
assist me.'
'And I decline to do so,' said Stephen, confronting
him.
1 Captain, you don't know the law. If you assist in the
escape of a murderer, you make yourself an accessory after
the fact to the murder, and so I tell you.'
1 Ho matter, I refuse. Man, how can you call upon me
—me—to assist in the apprehension of my—my— I refuse;
there!'
' Then I shall do my dooty single-handed,' said Lagger,
drawing a revolver from his pocket; ' and take care what
you are about. It's best to take these things quietly.
People don't get no sort of good by resisting. Ha! at
last!'he said, as the sound of horses' hoofs rang in the
road below. ' That's the patrol; and pretty fellows they
are to put on the outside of a horse ! Why, I'd have come
in less time on my hands and knees. How,' he added,
advancing to Lord Rossthorne, and laying his hand on his
shoulder, ' you see that resistance is useless. You are my
prisoner.''
' Lagger,' cried Stephen, in amaze, ' you are wrong;
that is not my—that is Lord Rossthorne.'
'I know it; and he is my prisoner.'
' Stand off, fellow !' exclaimed the peer ; ' how dare you
lay your hand on me V
1 By virtue of a warrant issued yesterday by Mr. Turner
and Sir Joseph Sykes, justices of the county of Kent.'
' And what, in the name of fortune, do they charge
DISENTANGLEMENT.
409
against me V asked the peer, smiling in spite of his annoy-
ance at this scene.
' You are charged with the wilful murder of John
Everett Brandron, in Westborough Wood, on the twenty-
ninth of July last. Now, you're not obliged to make any
reply, but I caution you that if you do say anything, I shall
take it down, and it may be used in evidence against you.'
Before the peer and Stephen could recover from the
astonishment caused by these words of the detective, the
tramp of men was heard in the passage, Lagger threw open
the door, and half a dozen armed police marched into the
room, followed by Sir George Frankland.
CHAPTER XXXI.
disentanglement.
' What on earth is the meaning of this V cried the
Baronet. ' What are these men doing here V
' They have arrested me for murder,' replied Lord Ross-
thorne, in a hollow voice. He was deadly pale, almost livid,
and huge drops of perspiration stood on his brow.
' Murder ? Absurd ! Whose murder V
11 am charged with having killed John Brandron, at
Westborough, on the twenty-ninth of July last.'
' There must be some horrible mistake,' said the Baronet,
getting very pale in his turn, and trembling violently as he
spoke. ' Why, he was not there at all.'
' How do you know V demanded Lagger, turning sharp
round upon him.
' Because I was there myself,' replied Sir George, ' on
the very day.'
' Ah !' observed the detective, in his reflective manner,
' you was the other. I know now. You was the one as went
to old Mrs. Riley's cottage, and wanted to know—'
' Hush-h!'
1 Well, that ain't no business of mine. You're sure you
did not see his lordship there—about Westborough, I mean
—that day ?'
410
A TANGLED SKEIN.
'No. I could take my oath he was not there that day.'
' There ! you hear,' said Stephen. ' This is some folly,
or worse—a conspiracy to extort money.'
Lagger cast a reproachful eye at the speaker.
' Whatever it is,' he said firmly, ' it's no manner of use
talking to me about it here. You must talk to Mr. Turner
and Sir Joseph Sykes, in Poundbridge Town-hall, where I'm
bound to take his lordship as speedily as possible.'
'The man is quite right, George,' said the peer; 'his
warrant is regular, and must be obeyed. Do you propose'
(this to Lagger) ' taking me hence to-night V
' Why, if so be as certain persons had come when they
ought to have come,' replied the detective, scraping his chin
with his fist, and eyeing the county police in a not over-
flattering manner, ' we could have caught the mail train,
got safe to London, and gone on the first thing in the morn-
in'; but as they've bin to sleep, and let the time slip by, it's
impossible. You can stop here to-night, my lord; only
you'll ex-cuse my stopping outside your door, and allow
these officers to remain in the house.'
' Certainly. The inconvenience will only be a temporary
one.'
' Of course. These sort of things always are,' replied
Lagger dryly.
'For the present,' continued the peer, ' I suppose I may
be left in peace with these gentlemen,' indicating Stevie and
his father ; ' I have much to say to them.'
' Say what you please,' replied Lagger ; ' only remember
you are not obliged to say anything, and—'
' I know; I know. Leave us now. You need not look
at the window; it is at least forty feet from the ground, and
I am not a squirrel.'
The officers then withdrew, and for some moments there
was a painful silence. It was broken at last by Lord Ross-
thorne, who said,
' Sir George Tremlett, will you answer me one or two
questions as a man of honour, in the presence of your son,
before I ask you to hear what I have got to say in answer
to this incredible charge V
' That I will.'
DISENTANGLEMENT.
411
' Wliat do you know about the murder of John
Brandron V
' As little as from the bottom of my heart I believe
you do.'
' Thanks, old friend !' said the peer, warmly pressing
his hand—£ thanks ! You have said that you were at
Westborough on that fatal day. Did you go there to see
him]'
' No.'
'Did you see him when you were there V
' As I never knew him, I cannot say whether I did or
not.'
'Were you aware that certain papers bearing upon busi-
ness of his were hidden in your house—I mean Mangerton
Chase that was V
' Not I! Who says they were V
' One more, and I have done,' continued Lord Ross-
thorne, not heeding the question. ' Think well now before
you answer. Have you ever, in joke or earnest, or speaking
ambiguously, given any one to understand, or said what
might lead any one to suppose, that you had act or part
in Brandron's death V
' My God ! no. How could I ] Does any one presume
to think that I—'
Stephen sprang forward with glittering eyes, and half
choking with the emotion which he had with difficulty sup-
pressed during the above colloquy; but Lord Rossthorne
spoke:
'Hush-h!—hush, my boy !' he whispered in his ear;
' enough has been said—hush !'
' No, not enough yet!' replied honest Stevie. ' I have
done my father a bitter wrong, and will atone for it. Father,
can you forgive me 1 Since the night of the third of Sep-
tember I have looked upon you as Brandron's murderer !'
' In Heaven's name, why ?' demanded the Baronet,
aghast.
Then his son made a clean breast of it, and told him
All—all that we know so well had been tormenting him,
from his first suspicions to what he had considered the
crowning proofs of his father's guilt, namely, his entreaty
412
A TANGLED SKEIN.
not to be betrayed when he (Stevie) had said he knew why
he (his father) had gone to Westborough, and the statement
of Mary Alston respecting Grace. This told, he ended with
a passionate and almost childish appeal—he, the strong,
battle-bronzed hero—for that forgiveness which the poor
Baronet was only too ready to accord.
'The secret of my journey to Westborough, which I
fancied you had penetrated when I spoke those unlucky
words,' he said, ' needs no longer be concealed. I have truly
loved but one woman all my life, Stevie, and that woman
was your dear mother. But I was a vain fool in my younger
days, fond of conquest and intrigue; and a few years after
your birth I got entangled in a disreputable connection with
a person long since dead, the result of which was the birth
of a child—a girl, whom I placed under the care of a
woman who had been a servant of my friend Lord Pen-
ruthyn, who once rented Mangerton Chase. Her name was
Riley.'
1 Then she was Mrs. Riley, of Westborough?'
' She was. For years we had no communication beyond
my sending her the quarterly payment which I was able to
make for the support of the child. At last I received a poor
ill-written letter from her, saying that she was dying, and
calling upon me to come and take away the child, then grown
into a young woman, but, poor creature, an idiot from her
birth.'
0, how Stephen's heart leaped !
' I went,' continued Sir George, ' but arrived too late.
The poor woman was dead; and her son, for some reason
which I cannot fathom, had removed the child; to this
moment I know not whither. I wish to Heaven I did.'
' May I ask you one question V said Stevie.
' Twenty, if you like.'
' Under what name did the mother of this child know
you?'
' Under my own. That was the reason why I was so
anxious to conceal the existence of the child, when I was in
the power of Mr. Tremlett, the guardian of the lady who
was once my own wife. Lord Rossthorne has told you of
this last blow, Stevie.'
DISENTANGLEMENT.
418
' He has.'
' "Well, it is all over now,' said the poor Baronet, with a
sigh, ' and there is no reason why the truth should not be
known.'
' In our own trouble we must not forget to sympathise
in the happiness of others,' said Lord Bossthorne. ' Stevie,
you have a confession to make to your father. Speak out,
man. Do you not see that this error, or lie, of Mary Alston's
is blown to the winds, and that the Grace Lee of yesterday
may be the Grace of many a happy year to come 1 Why do
you sit thus aghast ? Must I speak for you V
Stephen tried to explain, but was too agitated to make
himself understood. Poor fellow ! he had borne up bravely
against his misfortunes; but the delight of finding his father
innocent of that fearful crime, and of knowing that Grace
might yet be his own, was too much for him, and he fairly
gave way. So Lord Bossthorne continued the story, and
made clear to Sir George what the reader already knows.
Then taking up what remained of the Tangled Skein, he
unravelled it at a touch.
'The accusation made against me just now,' he said,
' necessitates the disclosure of a secret which I thought—
which I hoped—would descend with me into the grave. A
secret,' he added bitterly, ' which will be public property
before to-morrow night, bawled out, I daresay, at the corner
of every street, and hawked in every penny newspaper. I
am charged with the murder of John Brandron. No, do
not interrupt me, please. Let me tell my story in my own
way, and hear me patiently. I do not know what evi-
dence may be brought against me upon this charge, but what
I am about to tell you is the truth—the plain cruel truth—
so help me God !
' When your father first knew me, Stevie, I was a proud
and happy man. I do not know that I could have wished
for anything beyond that which I enjoyed. I was rich—I
had good health and a happy home. I was ambitious ; and
such was the state of political parties then that I had
only to hold out my hand for the highest offices in the State
to fall into my grasp. I was proud of my name and ancient
family; and saw around me five stalwart sons, destined, as
414
A TANGLED SKEIN.
I hoped, to perpetuate the one and add fresh lustre to the
other. What more could a man desire ? I possessed every-
thing in plenty that a man could ask; and how did I use all
these good gifts and blessings ? As a trust confided to me
by the Giver of all ? No ! I made them into a throne which
I usurped over my less fortunate fellow-men; and, in the
plenitude of my power and self-conceit, scorned them as
though they belonged to a different race—as though they
were beasts of burden, slaves, to work my bidding, or foils,
to prove, by their misery and disgrace, how great and
good a man was I. Pride was my besetting sin—pride of
race; and its punishment has been that I am now alone in
the world, the last of my name. In those days I lived some
part of the year in London; and what was it to me that
thousands of miserable wretches were herded together like
swine within a few hundred yards of the fashionable square
in which my mansion stood ? They were out of sight.
Their nakedness and squalor did not offend the eye. They
were generally quiet in their wretchedness. If they broke
our law and disturbed our tranquillity, care enough was
taken to punish them, and provide against a repetition of
the annoyance; but not a finger was lifted by me, and
those like me, to teach them obedience to the natural
laws of God, by which His universe is governed. Ignorance,
and filth, and crime—those Furies more terrible than heathen
imagination has conceived—ran riot amongst them, and their
handiwork was death ; a sudden, terrible, all but incurable
fever. The poor creatures, by whose neglect of common
decency it was engendered, seldom ventured into the wide
handsome streets where we, who should have taught them
better, lived our lives of ease and comfort. If they ven-
tured to loiter there, the police drove them back to their
pestilential, teeming courts and alleys. But whose was the
power to keep the deadly fever they had produced within
their bounds? Who could prevent it from flying where
an outraged Providence directed it? It found my dear
wife surrounded by every luxury that love could devise,
and struck her down. It found my eldest son, my heir,
revelling in the strength and spirits of approaching man-
hood, and in two hours killed him. It passed over his baby-
DISENTANGLEMENT.
415
brother, smiling in his cradle, and he never smiled again.
We fled from the plague-stricken place, but it was no use.
The destroyer was in the midst of us, and not only of us, but
of our neighbours. The 3d of June is the anniversary of
my birthday. On the 3d of June 1825 a true loving
wife, and five happy handsome children, wished me joy.
On the 12th of the same month I was a heart-broken
widower, watching beside what they told me must be the
deathbed of the only little one that was left me. All the
rest had perished. By God's mercy she was saved.'
' That was poor Mary,' said Sir George, seeing that the
narrator paused.
I It was. 0, how I loved that child! She was the
very light of my eyes; and as she developed into a lovely
womanhood, the fear that she might be won away to leave
me preyed upon me day and night, and made me suspi-
cious and morose, even to her. It is all vastly well to phi-
losophise, and say that parents must make up their minds
that their children will sooner or later marry and leave
them, even as they have done their parents in their turn
before. Mothers, I believe, feel a sort of pride that their
daughters should become wives and mothers in due course
of time and nature; but (if I may judge by my own feel-
ings) it is vastly different with a father. The idea that
my beautiful fragile Mary could ever leave me for love of
another; that I—I, her father, who had hardly ever let her
out of my sight for fifteen lonely years, should give her
over to the arms of a stranger, was galling; nay, more than
that, it was horrible.
II have no doubt that my great sorrow had made me
morbid,' Lord Rossthorne resumed, after a pause, and in a
more composed tone, ' but so it was. I need not tell you
that I had long given up all ambitious views. I had no
heart for anything, and lived here in close retirement with
Mary till she was in her eighteenth year. Then I was
over-persuaded by my wife's sister—you remember her,
George? she married Algernon Chappel, who afterwards
became Lord Manxover—a good-hearted but shallow woman
of the world. By her Mary was presented at Court and
introduced into society, I accompanying her wherever she
416
A TANGLED SKEIN.
went. Will you believe me, Stevie, when I tell you that
when I saw her the centre of attraction (as she was at every
ball we attended), I felt more than once an irresistible
impulse to dash into the circle of young fellows who were
clamouring to engage her for the dances, scatter them
right and left, and carry her off to this grim old castle once
more, away from them all 1
'A great friend of Mrs. Chappel's was one George
Howell, a lieutenant in a line regiment on leave from
Canada. Of all the young men by whom Mary was sur-
rounded, I was least jealous, least apprehensive of him.
He never obtruded himself upon her as others did; besides,
though by birth and profession a gentleman, he was so
very far below her, that I considered it impossible that she
could ever give him a thought as a lover; she whose beauty,
birth, and wealth entitled her to the highest coronet that
our peerage could offer. Ah, what a blind fool I was ! I
think he must have fascinated her with his sad steadfast
eyes, and low soft voice; but I discovered the spell too late
to save her: she loved him !
' Many and many a time have I cursed myself for the
folly of the course I pursued on this discovery. What must
I do in my wisdom but insult the man she loved, in her
presence, by way of winning back her heart from him to
me; be constantly telling her that she should marry him
only over my dead body, by way of seeking to make her
forget him; be hard and cold to her, by way of making her
contented with her lot with me; accuse, mistrust, and, as a
final piece of madness, imprison her in her rooms, by way
of obtaining her confidence, and teaching her not to de-
ceive me ! She did deceive me. She had a clandestine
correspondence and stolen interviews with Howell. But it
was I who drove her into deceit. Finally, I sent her away
into the country to live with her aunt, who, I must do her
justice, heartily opposed Howell's pretensions. Chappel's
country residence was then near his father's estate, in a wild,
lovely district on the borders of Derbyshire, on the Lanca-
shire side, not far from Buxton. There, I thought, she
will be safe, particularly as I had used some influence I pos-
sessed at the Horse Guards to get the remainder of Howell's
DISE NTANGLEMENT.
417
leave cancelled, and to have him ordered to join the depot of
his regiment in the Channel Islands.
' I have said that I had no fears on this score till it was
too late. There was one about me who saw clearer than I
did, loving as I was, jealous and fearsome of this very danger.
This was John Everett Brandron, my foster-brother.'
At these words a cold shudder ran through Stephen
Frankland, for they brought upon him the remembrance of
what Brandron had said in his delirium; how he had all
but denounced his foster-brother as his murderer, as the
man who had done the wrong, to demand reparation for
which he had come from India.
1 This Brandron had been for many years my secretary,
and a sort of general manager of my estates and agent in
my affairs. He was of a stern unprepossessing character,,
but a man of the strictest honour, and in heart and soul
devoted to me and mine. He had known my Mary from
her infancy, and, strange as it may appear, loved her—he,
a man older than myself !—with a patient, silent, and of
course hopeless affection. I was blind to this also, till the
end came. He saw what was passing, and told me of it. I
was indignant at the bare suggestion, and, in return for his
anxious warning, gave him the first harsh words he had ever
received from my lips.
1 "Well, time passed by, and Mary returned here, much
changed, as I thought, and looking worn and ill. She
would sit silent for hours, and I often saw tears stealing
down her cheeks. Woe is me ! They were of my causing,
and they washed away the roses from her bonny face.
' One dreadful day, the memory of which haunts me still,
she fled; and so well were her measures taken, that nearly
a month passed before I could obtain a clue to where she
had gone. At last I received information which hurried me,
George, to your house in Derbyshire, then, as you know,
under lease to the Penruthyns ; and there, attended only by
her maid, Sarah Alston, I found her on the very eve of
giving birth to a child !
* Penruthyn, I believe, was more sinned against than
sinning; but you may remember, Tremlett, what sort of
reputation his brothers enjoyed in those days. Hot a
EE
418
A TANGLED SKEIN.
woman, married or single, gentle or simple, was safe from
them. Judge, then, what were my emotions when I found
my loved child in such a condition and in such a house !
The truth, bad enough in itself, was a blessed relief; and
the truth was, that during her visit to Derbyshire my
daughter had been privately married to George Howell.'
' Who basely deserted her in her hour of sorrow !' burst
out Stephen, in a tone of indignation.
'Ho, my boy,' replied the peer sadly—' who was drowned
at sea whilst hurrying to console her. When the news came
to him that she could no longer conceal her secret from me,
he left Guernsey, where he was stationed, in an open boat,
and tried to make Weymouth. Poor fellow ! A sudden
squall arose, the boat foundered, and he was lost in sight of
the lights of the town. This, however, was not discovered
till long after poor Mary's death, and up to this moment is
known only by me. Let me pass quickly over what fol-
lowed the birth of the child. My darling faded gradually
away; and when she was gone I committed the crime, the
folly, which has embittered my years. I was so enraged
against Howell that I resolved never to acknowledge his
child. I hushed up my daughter's flight as well as I could,
pretending, whilst moving heaven and earth, secretly, to find
her, that we had had a quarrel; that I was in the wrong;
that she had merely returned to her aunt; had written,
asked me for forgiveness; and that I had consented to her
remaining. I implored Lady Manxover to bear me out in
this, and she did. I had my poor darling removed privately
to her house, and there she died. Only three persons shared
my secret—Lady Manxover, Sarah Alston, and Brandron.
I won the first two over to my scheme, but stern John
Brandron was obdurate. He swore that Mary's child should
be acknowledged, and urged her rights in spite of me and
my pride; and it was only by bribing Sarah and Lucy
Alston to declare that the child had died (Lucy not knowing
whose child it was), that he reluctantly agreed not to dis-
close the marriage. From this moment our connection
ceased. I obtained an appointment in India, and we
parted.'
' I find from his papers,' said Stevie,' that he received
DISENTANGLEMENT.
419
a sum of twelve hundred pounds shortly before he left Eng-
land. "What was that for V
1 That was his savings. I had invested them for him,
and there was some difficulty about realising the securities ;
so that the money could not be obtained till just a day or
two before he sailed.'
' It was not a bribe, then V
1 A bribe ! No,' replied Lord Rossthorne; 1 the Bank
of England could not bribe John Brandron to be a party to
a lie, as I, a peer of the realm, was driven by my cursed
pride to be.'
* Was the Lucy Alston whom you have mentioned ever
in the service of the Penrutbyns V asked Sir George Tremlett.
1 She was.'
* How very strange !' ejaculated Sir George. ' This Lucy
Alston was the mother of my poor afflicted child. She
gave it birth about the time when poor Mrs. Howell must
have died.'
' She did; and both children remained with her till her
death,' resumed Lord Rossthorne, ' when they were taken
charge of by her sister Susan (or Sarah, as she was some-
times called, because there was another servant called Susan
in my house), until I removed my grandchild.'
' Is he still living V asked Stephen, unable to control
his curiosity.
' It was a girl, Stevie, a poor helpless girl, that I cast
adrift in the world without a protector. Many a time I re-
pented of the act. Do me the justice to remember that I
was half mad when I committed it. But it could not be
recalled. My heart yearned towards her as she grew into
womanhood and became the very image of her mother. She
lives still, Stevie, and I have never lost sight of her. Can
you realise how I must love and honour those who have
loved and honoured my child in spite of the dark stain that
I have cast upon her birth ? Will you wonder at my wishing
to make you my adopted son, when I tell you that the child
of my own darling Mary is no other than your affianced
bride, Grace Lee?'
' Grace Lee !' exclaimed Sir George, in amaze.
< Henceforward Grace Howell till I die, then Lady Ross-
420
A TANGLED SKEIN.
thorne, a peeress of Great Britain in her own right. Poor
Percy Coryton has lost his chance of a seat in the House of
Lords.'
' By Jove, Stevie !' cried his father, 1 think of that.'
{ I shall love her none the better for it,' he answered,
with a sigh; 1 but pray don't mind me; I am so dazed with
all that I have heard. Go on, pray go on, Lord Rossthorne,
about Brandron.'
' You are ashamed to love the daughter of a murderer,
I see.'
' Nothing could make me ashamed to love Grace Lee,'
replied Stephen stoutly; ' but this must be cleared up. Was
it you who walked with John Brandron into Westborough
Wood on the afternoon of the 29th July 1858 ?'
' It was.'
Sir George fell back aghast; and Stephen resumed, 'I
have been so deceived by circumstantial evidence that I will
believe no more of it. This much I know from Brandron
himself, Susan Alston wrote to him in India, confessing that
the child—your daughter's child, as you own—was living.
He appointed a meeting with you to compel justice to be
done it; and up to the hour of his death he believed that
yours was the hand that struck him down.'
' Good Heavens, Stevie !' cried the peer, amazed by what
he heard, e you must mistake. It could not be. Did he
mention my name at all ? No, he could not, or you—'
' He did not mention your name, though repeatedly
urged to do so. I tell you, my lord, that though he re-
fused to denounce you, he said things which satisfy me,
beyond the possibility of doubt, that he considered you his
murderer.'
' Then why did*he not denounce me?'
' For the sake of your daughter, whom he loved, and of
her child, he desired that no shame should fall upon you if
you performed the act of justice which he demanded.'
' Did he say so ?' asked Lord Rossthorne, in a choking
voice.
< He did.'
' Stevie, had he his senses when he said this ?'
' Once I thought that he had not, that what he said was
DISENTANGLEMENT.
4^1
merely the ravings of delirium; but everything he told me
has turned out so true that I can think so no longer.'
' True even to the fact of my being his murderer V
asked the peer.
Stephen made no reply.
' Stephen Frankland, I have committed many sins ; some
—the gravest, perhaps, in man's eyes—I have confessed to
you this day; but, as I hope for forgiveness of all when I
stand before the judgment-seat of God, I am not guilty of
Brandron's death! I left him alive and well that day in
Westborough Wood, as I hope for salvation !'
Stephen looked him full in the face as he spoke those
solemn words. There was no falter in his speech, not a
quiver in his countenance. Stevie believed him, and told
him so, wringing his hand with emotion.
' I had long wished to do what he required,' Lord Ross-
thorne resumed, ' but lacked courage to take the first step.
Moreover, there had been great difficulty in my way, and
to my sorrow it remains. I had destroyed as far as I
could—I need not here tell you how—the evidences of my
child's marriage. Brandron, however, told me where I
should find others; and I left him, fully resolved to do all
that he could ask. I sought for those proofs where he
directed, but they were not to be found.'
' Where—where was it that he told you to seek V de-
manded Stephen eagerly.
' Strangely enough, in an old room, the door of which
had long been bricked up, at Tremlett Towers.'
' The room at the end of the tapestried corridor V
' That was it.'
' And you—you searched there 1 How ? When V
1 During my late visit. You must forgive me, Sir George.
I knew I could give you no valid excuse short of the truth
for opening that room; so whilst you all thought I was laid
up with a fit of the gout, I broke through the brickwork
under the tapestry, working at night, and in the middle of
the day when every one was out, and at last made a hole
sufficiently large to thrust my body through into the room.
I found the place indicated by Brandron as the depository of
the proofs, but they were not there. I am afraid that Susan
422
A TANGLED SKEIN.
Alston was only too faithful to the evil trust I reposed in
her, and that she destroyed them.'
' She did not!'
' Stevie ! How can you know V
' Because they are in my possession.' Then Stevie told
how he had anticipated the peer; had found the papers;
how Lagger had surprised him at their perusal; and how
he had rushed to the conclusion that it was his father who
was working outside the door on that eventful night. He
also stated, as well as he could from memory, the contents
of those papers, and the letters which had been found in
Brandron's possession at Westborough.
' It is plain now why this charge has been brought
against me,' said the peer gloomily. ' That letter of Susan.
Alston's conveys a dreadful suspicion against the person of
whom she speaks, and they have identified that person with
me, because I am, or was, interested in concealing the
parentage of the child, and thus they have concluded that
I had a motive in silencing poor Brandron.'
11 agree with you that the papers contain an inference
that the person who was interested in concealing the birth
of the child was the person who murdered Brandron,' said
Sir George Tremlett,' but they must go a step farther before
they can implicate you. They must show either that you
are the man who met him at "Westborough, or prove poor
Mary's marriage, and identify you as her father. How, did
any one see you with Brandron that day ?'
' Only some boys ; and they could not describe me. They
would not know me again. In fact, they mistook that detec-
tive who is here now for me at the inquest.'
' I think I know what has led to your arrest,' said
Stephen. ' At first the detective suspected the father of
the child mentioned in Alston's letter; and the marriage
certificate found by me being destroyed by rats, on the part
where the description of the father—his rank, his parent's
names, and so on—is entered, he went to compare it with
the original, for the purpose of supplying these details.'
' But how did he know where the original was to be
found?' asked Sir George.
4 0, that was stated plainly enough on the certificate.
disentanglement .
423
He will examine the registry books of Craig sleigh, and
there he will find that the bride was the daughter of Lord
Rossthorne and—'
' Do I understand you that the description of the bride's
parents is also obliterated from the certificate V asked the
peer, in an eager excited tone.
'Yes, entirely.'
' Then they have no case against me,' said Lord Ross-
thorne decisively. ' 0 Stevie, I wish they had, as far as
this goes, for I am innocent; but the want of this part of
the certificate renders it impossible that my dear grand-
child's rights can ever be legally established.'
' How so, when there is the register V
' The page in the register which contains the entry of
her mother's marriage has been destroyed.'
' Then,' said Stevie, smiling, ' 1 shall not marry a
peeress. It is getting late now, and I have too long delayed
to do what I ought to have done an hour ago, only I have
been too excited and confused to think of it. Is there an
electric telegraph, my lord, at your station V
' I am sorry to say there is not. It is only a loop line.'
' Which is the nearest station where there is one ?'
' B—; but it is twelve miles off.'
' Will you lend me a horse to carry me there, and not
mind my riding him hard V
' W ith all my heart! but what do you want to do V
' Can't you guess V
' Humph! I think I can. Poor child ! poor child !
This must have been a sharp, though, thank God, a short
trial for her. Don't spare my horses, Stevie. I would say
send, hut 1 know your heart says go.'
Stephen raced to B—, and set the lightning in motion.
CLICK ! click I went a needle at Poundbridge station—one
message. CLICK ! click ! again—another—both from
B—. A sleepy flyman woke up and went to harness his
horses. He was to have five pounds—so said second tele-
graphic message—if he delivered the first at Kernden Rec-
tory in an hour.
It was long past midnight when Stephen returned from
B—. He was quietly making his way up to his bedroom
424
A TANGLED SKEIN.
when one of the county police met him in the passage, and
thrust a slip of paper into his hand.
It was a summons, requiring him to appear at the Town-
hall, Poundbridge, on the following day, as a witness against
Charles, Baron Rossthorne, on a charge of wilful murder;
and to produce all papers in his custody or control which
he had obtained from John Everett Brandron, deceased or
otherwise, by reason of information by him given.
CHAPTER XXXII.
explanations.
The news that the perpetrator of the Westborough
murder had been discovered ran like wildfire through that
village and Poundbridge, and people came trooping in from
all directions, till the Town-hall was crammed to suffocation; I
and a goodly mob collected in and about the railway station/
to see the prisoner taken out of his carriage, and groan at
him according to custom. The latter assemblage, however/
was disappointed. Up came the train, and out bundled its
passengers, but no handcuffed ruffian, no police, appeared
Three gentlemen were helped out of a first-class carriage by
a respectably-dressed man, who might have been their set-
vant, so attentive was he to them, particularly to the one
with the gray hair. A fly was engaged, and the eldest two
of these passengers, accompanied by the respectably-dressed
man, were driven off to the town. The third, who remained
behind on the platform, was Stephen Frankland; and the
cause of his thus delaying was, that Cuthbert Lindsay was
there to meet him, in accordance with a request contained
in the telegraphic message of the night before.
' No, sir,' said the little man firmly, and drawing back,
as Stevie pressed forward to shake him by the hand. ' There
is a good deal to be explained before you and I shake hands
again, Captain Frankland.'
* Have you not received my telegram, then ?' he de-
manded.
EXPLANATIONS.
425
11 have, but it tells me nothing. When a gentleman pro-
poses for a young lady, and rushes out of the house the next
morning, telling her not to think of him again, it requires
something more than a vague telegram, saying that he has
been deceived as to something which he does not condescend
to mention, to set him right with her friends,' said Lindsay
dryly.
' True, Cuddy, and I am here to answer everything. Now
come more this way, where we shall be out of hearing. Read
that;' and he placed Sister Mary's letter in his friend's
hand. 1 That was flung through my window the night before
last. Can you wonder now that I fled the house V Cuddy's
stern demeanour fell from him like a mask.
'0 my poor fellow I is it true f he exclaimed.
' Thank God, no, Cuddy. But I had awfully strong
reasons to believe that it was, as I think you will admit, when
I tell you what must now be told.'
' What an infamous wretch the woman must be !'
11 am almost sure that she, too, has been deceived,
and acted conscientiously. But, 0 Cuddy, do let me explain
all afterwards, and tell me now, how is she—how is Grace V
' Grace Lee's a thorough brick !' replied Cuddy, with
fervour. 1 At first we were in an awful fright about her.
Upon my word, Stevie, we thought that she had lost her
reason.'
I My poor darling ! my poor, poor darling ! Was her
grief so wild ?'
' No, that was the worst of it! If she had cried, and
gone into hysterics, and all that, one would not have minded
so much; but she was so awfully calm. Half the day she
remained in a sort of trance; and about sunset she heaved
a deep sigh, pressed Gerty's hand, and whispered, " It was
like a happy dream, dear—too happy to last. Don't think
badly of him, Gerty, for my sake;" and then she dressed
and came down, and tried to go about as usual, but we
could see that her heart was breaking.'
< We are wasting time here !' cried Stephen petulantly.
' Come away, Cuddy. Let me go to her at once. I will
explain all as we drive along.' And he kept his word.
II got into an awful row with Gerty,' said Cuthbert,
426
A TANGLED SKEIN.
when Stevie had concluded,' for sticking up for you. Lord,
what a lot of lies I told for your sake, old boy. Hang it, I
knew you were not the man to do such a thing for nothing,
though I was cross with you to your face at the station.'
' You have not shaken hands wTith me yet. No, no !'
Stephen cried, as Cuddy began to pull up the ponies in order
to do so. 4 Don't stop ! I'll take the will for the deed.
Pitch into those fat brutes, and make them go along. You
don't half drive, Cuddy !'
' Don't you be impatient! But, as I was going to say,
it's an ill wind that blows nobody good. After having
fought the whole house on your account, and being pitched
into right and left, you may imagine how cocky I was when
your telegram came. They had gone to bed; but I had
them all up, after having first of all sent little Maud pri-
vately to tell Grace. I assembled them in the dining-room,
and talked to them like a father about the folly of jumping
to conclusions, for about a quarter of an hour, before I let
them know what news was in the telegram; and I would
have kept them longer in suspense, if that great blackguard
Jackson had not taken it away from me by force. The up-
shot was that Gerty relented, said she was sorry for having
rowed me, &c. Why, then I went in and won.'
' What, proposed for her V
' Yes. Tremendously plucky thing for a little fellow like
me to do, wasn't it, now V
' And have you been accepted V
'Well, at first I was, unconditionally; and I became the
happiest little chap alive; but this morning she said all
depended upon your making it right with Grace.'
' Then consider yourself again the happiest little fellow
in the world, as you are the best,' said Stephen. ' Cuddy,
how can I show you my gratitude V
' By not thanking me ;—but I have not told you all.
Scarcely had it got wind that Gerty and I had—you know
what, when that ruffian Gigas comes sidling into my room,
looking like a great sheep ; and, after a deal of stammering,
lets it out that he and little Maud had been engaged for the
last three days, and that they had not pluck enough between
them to tell anybody. Of course, I flung a boot at his head,
EXPLANATIONS.
and afterwards dragged him into the presence of the injured
44 parient." '
4 And what did the injured " parient" do V
4 Well, he had little Maud into his study, and she said
she liked the creature, though how— No, chaffing apart,
he's a right down good fellow, is old Gigas, and the brute
will have at least a couple of thousand a year: so they are
to be married in the spring.'
4 And you V
4 Why, it never rains but it pours,' replied Cuddy. 41
have not got rich uncles and estates in Lincolnshire, you
know; and dear Gerty's face is her fortune. Will you believe
it that this very morning comes a letter, with a big official
seal, containing such a jolly letter from old Pam to Mr.
Treherne (they were at college together), offering him the
vacant Crown living of Questerthorpe, worth 12 00Z. a year?
There was a slice of luck !'
4 It was, indeed !'
4 Nothing remains, therefore, but for you to make it all
right with Grace, and then we shall all be as jolly as sand-
boys.'
41 am sorry to say that there is more than that to be
done, my dear old boy,' said Stevie,—' at least as far as
Grace and I are concerned. I have told you whose child
she is not. It will soon be acknowledged whose child
she is.'
4 Indeed !'
4 She is the granddaughter of Lord Rossthorne; and,
incredible as it may appear, he is on his trial at this mo-
ment for the murder of John Brandron.'
4 Good Heavens ! and is he guilty ?'
41 believe not, with all my heart; but there is an aw-
fully strong case of suspicion against him. I am summoned
as a witness, but they won't catch me till I have seen Grace;
beside, the papers that they require are in my luggage at
the rectory. But what are you about—what on earth are
you doing now ?'
Well might he ask; for having arrived at the top of a
hill, Cuddy pulled up the ponies, and taking a fishing-rod
from under the seat of the phaeton, began to put it to-
428
A TANGLED SKEIN.
gether. This done, he got out, took off his coat, and began
to climb a big tree there was on the road-side.
' Never you mind, old man !' he said, swinging himself
up into the fork, and dragging the fishing-rod after him;
' you hold those spirited animals, and see what you shall
see.' Then the climber, having reached the topmost
branches, tied a white handkerchief at the end of the rod,
stuck it up high above the now thin and withering foliage,
and there left it.
1 They can see that signal from the rectory windows,'
he said, as he reseated himself in the carriage, 1 and they
know now that the devil is not so black as he is painted—
the present application of which pleasant proverb is, that
Stephen Frankland has explained himself to the satisfac-
tion of Cuthbert Lindsay, who promised, on his honour, to
judge him impartially; and that he is being brought back
in triumph to Kernden, home, and beauty. Hurrah ! Come
up, you little rascals ! Do you think I haven't got a point
to my whip ?' And the ponies caught it.
So when they arrived at the rectory, no stern inquiry
stood between Stephen and the happiness of once more
clasping Grace to his heart. By degrees he told her the
origin and progress of his suspicions against his father, and
cleared up every doubtful point in his past conduct. I am
sorry to add that, thus engaged, he forgot all about his
subpoena and Poundbridge Town-hall, until Sir George
appeared, to report that the prisoner had been remanded
for two days j not, however, on account of Stevie's absence,
but because another witness, whose evidence was required
to complete the case, had not yet arrived; and also to
give Lord Rossthorne an opportunity of obtaining legal
assistance.
' Which,' said the Baronet, 1 he stands sorely in need of,
Stevie; for they have produced a man who swears that he
saw poor Rossthorne coming out of the wood about three-
quarters of an hour after the boys. Little Tod and the rest
say that they saw Brandron enter it with the stranger.
They, too, identify our friend; but after their mistake at
the inquest, that won't go for much.'
1 Whom have you'sent for V
EXPLANATIONS.
429
4 Well, we've telegraphed for Coleman, with instruc-
tions to bring down some one from London whom he can
trust.'
4 And where is he now—Lord Rossthorne, I mean?'
4 They have let him remain at the hotel in custody of
the police. The magistrates are behaving very well—very
well indeed. Have you told her yet V he added, in a whis-
per, indicating Grace Lee.
4 Ho; but it must be done to-night,' Stevie replied, with
a sigh. 4 After all, the case is only one of suspicion. They
cannot prove that he killed Brandron.'
4 My dear boy, many a man has been hung on circum-
stantial evidence less cogent than what can be brought
against Rossthorne—if they get all that we know of. They
will make you divulge all that Brandron said on his death-
bed; and if they can only connect the accused with that
secret marriage and the concealment of the child, so as to
show a motive, I do not know what can save him.'
, 4 But he is innocent. He will swear it.'
4 Prisoners are not allowed to defend themselves on
oath. No one was present in the wood but themselves
during their interview. There can be no direct evidence,
as far as I can see. The case will have to be judged by
circumstances, and all the circumstances are against us.
If they can only prove motive, we are done for.'
Mr. Treherne was very anxious that Sir George should
take up his quarters at the rectory, but he declined.
4 Thank you very much,' he said, 4 but I must stay with
my friend. I only came over to tell Stevie what had
happened. I guessed where I should find him. Good-
bye. Nay, Grace, I have a right to one kiss as Stevie's
father. God bless you, my dear child ! Good-bye;' and
he hurried away to his fly, and drove back to Pound-
bridge.
That night Stephen took Grace aside, and told her all.
4 0 Stevie !' she said reproachfully, 4 why did you not
let me know this before ? What will he think of me for
not having hastened to his side to sustain him under this
heavy accusation? Promise that you will take me to-
morrow, the first thing, Stevie ; promise now.'
430
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' I will, my darling; but remember that his safety
depends upon those who prosecute him not discovering
that you are not Mary Howell's child.'
' My poor mother ! But, Stevie, why is that ? What
can it matter, when he is innocent?'
' Dearie, those who understand these things better than
I do say that if it can be proved that your grandfather is
actually the person that poor Brandron came to meet, a
motive for the murder will be attached to him.'
' But you say they were seen together at Westborough !'
'Yes; and it will appear from the papers that I shall
be obliged to produce, that some one had a motive for si-
lencing the murdered man. They have to prove that Lord
Rossthorne is that some one, and they have not done that
yet. The mere fact of their meeting is comparatively an
insignificant one.'
' And is it possible that life and death depend upon
such subtleties as this V demanded Grace.
' Indeed it would seem so.'
' Stevie!'
' Darling mine.'
' You will not misjudge me if I tell you what is passing
in my mind V
41 am certain nothing passes there but what is good
and unselfish.'
'Well, then, I think this—I think that no good will
be gained by hiding the truth. I don't know why, but I
seem convinced that his safety depends upon all the truth
being known. Don't imagine that I say this because I
want to be acknowledged, Stevie. I ask no prouder title
than that of your wife,' she said, creeping close to his
side, and hiding her dear face on his shoulder; ' but I
cannot think that any good can come from hiding the
truth.'
The next day Stephen kept his promise, and, accom-
panied by the rector, drove Grace over to Poundbridge;
and for the first time Lord Rossthorne pressed his grand-
child to his heart. Later on towards the evening Mr.
Coleman arrived, with the barrister whom he had retained
to conduct the defence, and a long consultation took place.
EXPLANATIONS.
431
Like Grace, but without concert with her, Lord Ross-
thorne was all for admitting the truth; but the lawyers
would not hear of it.
1 If your own evidence could be taken in the case, my
lord,' said Mr. Serjeant Markham, ' it might be different.
As the law stands, a criminal prosecution such as this is
like a game of chess—the least blunder is fatal to success;
and as one bad move may cost the best player his game,
so one incautious admission may send an innocent man to
the gallows. No, we will admit nothing. We will hold
them to the strictest proof. By the way, I am told that
Captain Frankpledge—is not that his name ?'
' No; Frankland.'
' Thank you. I am told, I say, that this gentleman
made some demur about producing certain papers at the
inquest. Is he a friendly witness V
1 Most friendly,' replied Mr. Coleman. ' Would you
like to see him ?'
' No, not I. Only let some one beg of him to make
no objections now. We will not help their case, but we must
not damage our own by appearing to withhold evidence.
That would never do.'
Next morning Markham was up betimes, and had ex-
amined the locus in quo of the murder.
Afterwards the hearing of the case was resumed in
the Town-hall. The prisoner was allowed to sit at the
table next to his counsel, and Stephen, with the Trehernes
and Grace, who insisted upon being present, occupied a
bench close behind him.
The finding of Brandron's body and the appearance
of the stranger amongst the schoolboys on the green had
been proved at the first sitting by the same witnesses
who had given evidence at the inquest, and the proceed-
ings were now commenced by the cross-examination of the
person who had deposed to having seen Lord Rossthorne
coming out of the wood on the afternoon in question.
'Your name is Torrington, I believe, sir?' began Mr.
Serjeant Markham.
' It is, sir.'
' What are you, Mr. Torrington V
482
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' A foreign traveller in the service of Messrs. Staple,
Stagg, & Mansfield, of Cannon-street.'
' Humph ! And is your employment sufficiently light
to allow of your reading the newspapers, Mr. Torrington ?'
' I read the newspapers.'
' Regularly ?'
' Pretty well.'
' There appeared a long account of the inquest in this
case in most of the London papers, I think V
'1 daresay there did.'
' You daresay, sir ! Did you not read it ?'
'Yes, I have read it.'
' When was it that you first informed the police that
you could give the evidence we have just heard from your
deposition V
' Last Monday.'
' Four days ago V
Mr. Torrington bowed.
' Now, sir, will you explain,' said the learned< serjeant,
in his blandest manner, ' how it is that you have kept
silence on so important a subject from the 29th of last
July until last Monday, a period of nearly two months V
' Because I was abroad.'
' When did you go abroad ?'
' On the 29th of July. I was on my way to Pound-
bridge station, to take the train to Folkestone, when I saw
Lord Rossthorne coming out of the wood.'
' How do you know that the person you saw was his
lordship ?'
' I know it was.'
'But how, man?—how? You had no motive for
noticing him.'
'Yes, I had ! My brother-in—'
' I don't want to know anything about your brother,'
interposed the serjeant.
' Ah, but we do, Mr. Markham,' said the presiding
magistrate. ' The witness was about to give his motives
for noticing the prisoner. These may be very important.
Go on, Mr. Torrington.'
' My brother-in-law is a tenant of his lordship's,' re-
EXPLANATIONS.
438
sumed the witness, ' and he pointed him out to me a short
time before in London. He was very good to my brother-
in-law and my sister when they were in a bit of trouble last
year, and I felt half inclined when I saw him there to thank
him for it. Besides, he looked tired, and I thought, being
on foot, he might condescend to take a seat in my gig; but
he hurried past me, and I thought better of it, and did not
like to intrude.'
' You considered it impossible, I daresay,' asked Mark-
ham, 'that a man like Lord Rossthorne could have any
part in such a crime ?'
' I did not know that a crime had been committed till I
returned from Spain last Saturday.'
' But you told me just now that you read a report of the
inquest in the papers.'
' So I did, but only on Sunday, when I amused myself
by looking over the back numbers of the Observer, which
had been delivered at my house during my absence.'
' Humph! You have said that his lordship was coming
from the wood ?'
<Yes.'
' And you were driving in the road ?'
' I was.'
' Whereabouts were you in the road when you first saw
him?'
'Just at the turn before you come to the green.'
' Where there are two heaps of stones ?'
' There were no stones there then.'
' Yery well. I think we both mean the same spot—just
about twenty yards short of the milestone ?'
' Yes.'
' Now, is there not a deep valley there between the road
and the wood?'
' There is. When I first saw him he was just mounting
the slope.'
' Yery well. Are there not two pathways, right and
left, at the bottom of that valley, as well as the one straight
on, which leads past the church into the wood ? Is this not
so, Mr. Torrington?'
I believe it is.'
FF
484
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' You did not see him in the wood V
'No.'
' Then all you can really say is, that you saw him mount-
ing the slope ?'
' ComiDg from the wood,' interposed Sir Joseph Sykes.
' I beg your worship's pardon,' said the serjeant sternly;
' he might have come from the church, or from along either
of the two paths, and not have been near the wood at all.
Is that not so, Mr. Torrington V
'He might have come from the church.'
' Or from either of the two other paths ?'
' Of course.'
' You may stand down.'
' No, wait one moment,' interposed the attorney who
conducted the prosecution. ' You said, when you were first
examined, that he was coming from the wood.'
' Well, he has explained that,' said the serjeant im-
patiently.
' Not quite. Why did you say he was coming from the
wood, witness V
' Because he was coming from the direction of the wood.'
' As also from the church. What reason had you for
speaking of the wood V
' I had a reason.'
' What was it V
' I thought he was coming from the wood.'
' But why, Mr. Torrington ? Why V
' Because he had a hazel switch in his hand, with the
leaves on.'
' Bah !' exclaimed Mr. Serjeant Markham. ' Hazel
switches grow in every hedge.'
' But not in the church, Mr. Serjeant, or nearer than
the wood,' was the reply of the attorney.
The two justices put their heads together.
' The effect of the evidence of this witness,' said the
chairman, ' has been so much modified since we sat last, that
really, Mr. Snugley, unless you can prove something like
motive—'
' I am about to do so, sir,' replied the attorney. ' Call
Captain Frankland.'
EXPLANATIONS.
435
Stephen stepped into the witness-box, and was sworn.
' Have jou brought the papers you were subpoenaed to
produce, Captain Frankland?'
' I have.'
' Then produce a letter signed " Susan," which was found
in the deceased Mr. Brandron's room at the Rising Sun.'
The letter, which the reader will remember, was produced
and read.
' Now a paper headed " Copy," written by the deceased
himself.'
This was also read.
' Did Brandron tell you—'
' Stop ! stop ! stop !' said the Serjeant. ' What he said
is not evidence.'
Mr. Lagger whispered something in the attorney's ear.
Lord Rossthorne wrote three lines on a scrap of paper,
and handed it to his counsel.
' Mr. Brandron knew that he could not live when he
spoke,' said Snugley, addressing the bench; ' and I submit
to your worships that if I prove this fact—and I can do
so—I am entitled to give evidence of what he said, as a
dying declaration.'
' Then I withdraw my objection,' rejoined the serjeant,
in a careless tone, and playing with his pen.
Those who knew the serjeant well, and were opposed to
him, got nervous when he put on that tone, and flicked the
table in that idle way.
' Well, then, did Brandron direct you to find any other
papers relative to the subject of those already in evi-
dence V
'He did.'
' Where were you to find them V
' Hidden in a room at Mangerton Chase.'
' Did you find them there V
'I did.'
' Exactly where he told you they would be V
' Exactly.'
' Where are they V
Stephen handed them in; and all George Howell's
letters and the marriage certificate were read by the clerk
436
A TANGLED SKEIN.
of the court. Last of all, the declaration made by Susan
Alston, and witnessed by Brandron, respecting the birth and
legitimacy of the child, was handed to the chairman.
' Have you any other questions to ask Captain Frank-
land, Mr. Snugley V he asked when he had read it.
Mr. Snugley had not.
Serjeant Markham rose slowly, and pressing a piece of
blotting-paper on his notes as he spoke, asked:
' You were with Mr. Brandron, I think, from the time
he was brought to the Rising Sun till he died V
' Almost until he died.'
' "Was he sensible V
' I believe he was.'
' At any rate, you found the papers just produced
exactly where he told you they would be V
' Yes; I have said so already.'
' Now, sir, I venture to ask you plainly, did he make
any accusation against Lord Rossthorne ?'
' He did not.'
1 Did he mention his name V
'No.'
' That will do, Captain Frankland.'
It was clear now why the serjeant had permitted what
Brandron said on his deathbed to be given in evidence, even
though by doing so he admitted the papers found in Man-
gerton Chase. Having got what he wanted, he then pro-
ceeded to attack what his adversary had gained.
' I am sure,' he said, ' that your honours will not allow
your minds to be prejudiced by the contents of those docu-
ments until my client is connected with them in some way.
It really seems to me to be a waste of time to go on in this
fashion.'
' If the learned gentleman will have a little patience, he
shall see that I am proceeding quite regularly,' said Snugley.
1 Call Charity Spence.'
Charity Spence was called, and a very old woman,
dressed in rusty black, hobbled into the witness-box.
' Are you a widow, Mrs. Spence V demanded the attorney
loudly, for the witness was deaf.
'Ay.'
EXPLANATIONS.
437
4 Was your husband, William Spence, parish clerk at
Craigsleigh, in Derbyshire V
4 Ay, for two and for-ty year.'
4 Do you remember anything in particular that happened
in the year 1843 V
4 Ay. We was sold up for debt. We opened a small-
ware and provision shop in the village, and failed.'
4 And so you remember the year 1843 well, Mrs. Spence
—eh?'
4 Ay, I do that.'
4 Just after the failure, did a gentleman—a stranger, call
upon you ?'
4 Ay.'
4 Should you know him if you were to see him again ?'
41 think I should, sir.'
4 Look round the court, and tell me if you can recognise
anybody here present as that gentleman.'
Charity Spence looked round the court, scanning every
face, till she came to the table in front of the bench. Then
she pointed her long claw-like hand at Lord Rossthorne, and
said,
4 That's he!'
4 How do you know him again ?'
4 By his proud face.'
4 Well, what did he do when he came to your house ?'
4 He got clacking wi' my master.'
4 You mean your husband V
4 It's all one in our parts ! Am I to tell what he
wanted ?'
4 Yes; tell it your own way. Go on, Mrs. Spence.'
4 Well, they got clacking—talking, you know. They'd
met at the church, and clacked as they came along. When
they came in my master sent me and the children out, so as
we mightn't hear what was said. I went out wi' em, but
was curious, and came in again round by the back door,
and listened. They spoke so low that I could not justly
hear what they said at tirst; but looking through a crack
there was in the door, I saw the gentleman give my master
five bank-notes, and then he said (and I heard him plainly),
" Remember," said he, 44 it's the first page. Remove it as
438
A TANGLED SKEIN.
neatly as you can, and I will come again this day week
to see if you have kept your promise. If you have, you
shall have the other fifty pounds." That's what he said,
and then he went away.'
' Did he come again that day week V
'Not to our shop; but soon afterwards my master
brought back the things that had been seized by the bailiffs,
and they cost nigh upon ninety pounds. He told me his
brother in London sent him the money; but I knew
better.'
'How tell me, did your master, as you call him, ask
you to make anything for him the day after the stranger
came V
' Ay; he told me to make a cup of strong paste, and
I did make it, and gave it him.'
' "What did he do with it V
' He took it out with him.'
' Do you know where he went with it V
' Not justly.'
' When he went out did he go towards the church V
' Ay, he did go that way.'
'1 have no further questions to ask this witness,' said
Mr. Snugley, sitting down.
' But I have,' said Mr. Serjeant Markham, springing up.
' Now, Mrs. Spence,' he said, ' remember you are upon
your oath. Did the late William Spence, parish clerk of
Craigsleigh, wear a nightcap ?'
' Ay, to be sure.'
' Did he put it on the night after you made him the
paste sixteen years ago V
'Ay.'
' I must request your honours to have these last two
answers taken down,' said the Serjeant, with grave irony;
' for they seem to me to be quite as important as any other
part of her evidence.'
' We shall see,' replied the attorney quietly. ' Call
Charles Ferrers.'
And the new clerk of Mr. Thomas stepped forward with
a big book under his arm, and was sworn. He deposed to
being the present clerk of Craigsleigh Church, having the
EXPLANATIONS.
439
pustody of the registry books, and described the condition
they were in when he first found them.
' Upon discovering which,' asked Mr. Snugley, 4 you did
your best, I believe, to repair them ?'
4 Yes, sir. I did not think there could be any harm in it.'
4 Nor was there. Now, in consequence of something
that was said to you (no matter by whom—unless, indeed,
my learned friend wishes to know), did you discover that a
page was missing out of one of the books V
4 I did ; out of this one.'
4 What page was it V
4 The first.'
4 How do you know that ?'
4 Because each entry is numbered, and the first entry in
this volume did not run on consecutively from the last entry
in the preceding one.'
4 Have you got that one with you V
4 No; but it is in court.'
' Yery well. Did you search for the missing page ?'
41 did, everywhere. I had no rest night nor day for ten
days about it.'
4 In the course of your inquiries did you see the last
witness, Mrs. Spence ?'
41 did.'
4 And from something that she told you, did you make
a further examination of the book you have in your hand V
4 Yes. I had suspicions that—'
4 Never mind your suspicions ; tell us what you did.'
41 took off the back, and then I discovered that the first
page—which hitherto I thought had been extracted—was
pasted down on the cover, under the blue marbled paper
which lined it inside. I soaked this lining with warm water,
and removed it, as you see, and then disengaged the first
leaf without separating it from the book,—merely undoing
what had been done before,—and there it is.'
4 Your worships will perceive,' said Mr. Snugley, handing
up the book to the magistrates, 4 that the original of the
mutilated certificate found, according to Brandron's state-
ment, at Mangerton Chase, is entered on this page, and that
the lady who contracted the secret marriage spoken of in the
440
A TANGLED SKEIN.
letters which have been read was Lord Rossthorne's daughter.
I submit now (after this evidence and that of Mrs. Spence),
that I have connected the prisoner with all and every one
of the documents in your hands, and suggested his motive
for the murder of Brandron.'
A dead silence reigned through the crowded court as
Ferrers demonstrated the discovery he had made of the
missing page; and when the attorney for the prosecution
thus stated its portentous bearing upon the case, a thrill
and a murmur ran through the spectators, and all eyes were
turned on the prisoner.
Then Grace Lee rose, advanced to where he sat, and,
laying her hand on his shoulder, turned round haughtily
upon the crowd, with heaving bosom and flashing eyes, defy-
ing them. Another second, and Stevie was by her side.
' Do you ask Mr. Ferrers anything V inquired the chair-
man of the prisoner's counsel, who, with Mr. Coleman, was
closely scrutinising the register which had been passed
down to them.
' Of course I do, sir !' was the reply, in the air of a man
who is about to materially alter the impression which had
penetrated even to the bench. ' How long have you been
parish clerk at Craigsleigh, Mr. Ferrers ?' he inquired.
< Only about eight months.'
(Don't turn away. Look me in the face, if you please.'
The new clerk did, and met the cold keen glance of the
practised advocate ; but only for a moment. ' What were
you before you came to Craigsleigh 1' His nervousness was
not lost upon Mr. Serjeant Markham.
* I was a clerk in London.'
' To what church, may I ask ?'
' Not in a church at all. I was in a merchant's office.'
1 Indeed ! and how came you to leave that employment?'
The question was a chance one, but it hit the mark.
Ferrers flushed crimson, and hung down his head.
' Come, sir, you heard my question, did you not V
< Yes.'
' Then be good enough to favour me with a reply.'
The serjeant paused for the reply which came not. ' Well,
then, I'll change the question, as you seem to find some
EXPLANATIONS.
441
difficulty in answering it. When did you leave that em-
ployment ?'
'In April 1856,'replied Ferrers, with a sigh of relief.
The keen eyes were on him.
' And you went to Craigsleigh eight months ago V
' I was appointed early in last January.'
' Now, sir, upon your solemn oath, where were you and
what were you doing from April 1856 to January 1859 V
' Am I obliged to answer this ?' gasped the wretched
man, wiping the perspiration from his brow, and appealing
to the bench.
'Certainly, if it be pressed,' replied the chairman;
' though I don't see what it has to do with the case.'
' Perhaps it would have been better to have waited till
the question was answered, sir, before you said that,' ob-
served Serjeant Markham respectfully, but with cutting
sarcasm. 'Now, Mr. Ferrers, we are waiting for you.
Where were you and what were you doing from April 1856
to January 1859 V
' I was living with friends part of the time.'
' What part of it V
' The latter part.'
' Yes ; but how long did you live with your friends V
' Nearly six weeks.'
'Well, that takes you back to about Christmas last.
Where were you from the year 1856 up to Christmas last?'
' Well, if you must know, I—I was in prison.'
' Ha ! ha ! And what for, Mr. Ferrers V
' For getting money on a bill of exchange.'
' Which was forged V Ferrers hung down his head, and
was silent. ' The long and the short of it is, then,' said
the counsel, ' that, before becoming parish clerk at Craigs-
leigh, you had endured a sentence of penal servitude for
forgery. You may go down, and take away your book, Mr.
Ferrers. I am not surprised now at the neatness you dis-
played in wwpasting that leaf.' And the learned serjeant
sat down, with a glance of triumph at the bench.
His satisfaction, however, was shortlived; for the next
witness, the Rev. Mr. Thomas, proved that years ago, long
before Ferrers' time, he had noticed that the entries did not
442
A TANGLED SKEIN.
run on in consecutive numbers from the one book to the
other; and then Mr. Sampson Lagger was called.
He deposed to having been present when Ferrers operated
on the book, and corroborated all his statements respecting
it. He then produced the most damning piece of evidence
of all—the letter written by Brandron at Paris, on his way
from India, appointing the interview at Westborough, and
which had been found, addressed to the prisoner, amongst
his papers at Rossthorne Castle !
'My client reserves his defence,' said, Mr. Serjeant
Markham, in answer to the formal requisition from the
bench.
1 Then,' said the chairman, ' our duty is as painful as it
is clear. Lord Rossthorne, you stand committed to Maid-
stone jail to take your trial for the wilful murder of John
Everett Brandron.'
CHAPTER XXXIII.
winding up on the reel.
Lord Rossthorne was right when he said that his
secret would soon be public property. The great world could
talk of nothing else for a day or two after his commitment.
The fellows who bawl out strange and wonderful news in
the streets by night got a shilling apiece for evening edi-
tions of the Globe and Standard, in which the first report
appeared. The morning papers took it up, and published
leading articles upon it, in which the prisoner's guilt was
proved to demonstration in the choiceit language. To be
sure, they wound up by requesting every one to suspend his
judgment till the trial; but it did not seem to occur to the
writers to suspend their own. In this free England of ours,
every man is supposed to be innocent till he is found guilty;
only, if people will go and get charged with murder in the
dull time of the year, when subjects for leading articles are
scarce, they must take the consequences. The cheap illus-
trated journals rummaged amongst their old blocks to find
some portrait of an elderly gentleman which would do for
WINDING UP ON THE REEL.
448
Lord Rossthorne; and the choice knots of pothouse politi-
cians who are good enough to return our metropolitan mem-
bers to parliament were delighted at the idea of a peer of
the realm—a member of the ' haristocracy'—being sent to
jail like a common feloD. Then arose exciting discussions
amongst the unlearned in all classes of society about what
would become of the prisoner if convicted, and there was no
end to the absurdities propounded. A peer could not be
hanged—yes, he could; but the rope must be a silk one,
provided on purpose by the Lord Mayor of London. The
High Sheriff of Kent would have to act as executioner—no,
bless your heart! the execution would be on Tower Hill.
The prisoner was confined in the Tower—everybody knew
that/ What nonsense to talk about lords being hanged !
they were always beheaded (be-eaded was the usual way of
pronouncing the word in the quarters where this idea was
prevalent). ' Them there bloated haristocrats was always
treated different to other people.' The learned in Lincoln's
Inn and the Temple were full of excitement. Would the
prisoner claim his privilege, and be tried by his peers?
Would parliament be sitting when he would be called up
to plead to the indictment ? Would there be a trial in West-
minster Hall, with a Lord High Steward, and all the rest
of it? Who would defend him? Would Markham lead?
How much would he have on his brief ? And so on. After-
wards, when no further disclosures were forthcoming, and
all these good people had had their say, they found some-
thing else to talk about.
Lew were more agreeably surprised and perplexed at the
disclosures which were made than our old friend Jim Riley.
He, too, had been hunting, and at first hit upon the true
scent. He was the first of the three visitors who called on
Sister Mary (whom he knew to be his mother's sister), in
the convent at Hull. To her he communicated his suspicions
that poor Nancy was—and he called her—' a gentleman's
child.' He urged that the mysterious hints thrown out by
his mother referred to her—there he was right; and that the
miniature and other articles which he had found in the cot-
tage at Westborough would, soccer or later, give a clue to
her parentage—there he*was wrong. Not much help did he
444
A TANGLED SKEIN.
get from his grim aunt, until after Stephen's visit and Mr.
Lagger's enforced interview. Then she sent for him, and
was unnaturally communicative. She told him of her sister
Lucy's fall whilst in the service of Lord Penruthyn, and of
the child being placed in his (Jim's) mother's care.
' It was of this wretched infant,' said Sister Mary, 1 of
which your mother spoke. She was always a poor weak-
spirited fool, ready to take the burden of other people's sins
upon herself; and this Nancy that you speak of may or may
not be her own daughter. At any rate, your mother could
not have spoken of her. She spoke of the child which was
taken away from her by its father when you were still a
boy; and the portrait and letter you have found relate to
her. I will help you to trace out this child.' Then she told
him that a man named Williams had removed her from
Westborough, and that she had been placed by him in a
school which she named at Worthing. At that time Williams
was clerk to an attorney in Bucklersbury, London ; but she
(Sister Mary) knew nothing more of him, or what had be-
come of the girl. Jim Eiley traced the clue thus afforded,
and identified her as Grace Lee—the more conclusively on
account of the wonderful resemblance she bore to the minia-
ture before mentioned; and the story told by the grim Sister
of Charity before thus corroborated in an important parti-
cular, he made up his mind to believe it all. His next
discovery was an important one. He found out that a
gentleman had called at his mother's cottage the very day
that he had quitted it with Nancy; that he had exhi-
bited much surprise and consternation when he heard that
Mrs. Eiley was dead, and that her son had carried off the
imbecile woman who passed as her daughter. In the course
of his inquiries as to who this person was, what he was like,
and where he had come from, made of the neighbours and
at the railway-stations, he encountered Mr. Lagger. By
this time the detective had obtained that evidence which
connected Lord Eossthorne with Brandron, and pointed him
out as the person whom the latter had summoned to West-
borough. He, consequently, had ceased to 1 want' Jim as a
principal in the great mtft&er case, but he was very glad to
find him, and have him ready to produce in court at the
WINDING UP ON THE REEL.
445
trial; because his presence there would exclude one im-
portant topic which might be urged in defence of the
prisoner.
'If you'd kept out of the way, Jim,' explained Mr.
Lagger, 4 they'd 'a sed, " Where's Jim Eiley ?"—that's what
they'd 'a sed. They'd 'a sed, " You go and take a nobleman
of high character into custody, because he was seen about
the spot that day, and you don't look arter a travelling
tinker, who has bin in trouble, who was thereabouts too !"
Where is this 'ere travelling tinker 1 Pro-duce him. Have
you searched for him % Well, if you have not, you've ne-
glected your dooty, and in his absence there is a reasonable
doubt that the prisoner is guilty. If you have,'and cannot
find him, there is reasonable cause to believe that he has
bolted because he is guilty : and in either case, the prisoner
might get off. I don't intend this 'ere prisoner to get off.
I intend to con-vict him, and then to re-tire into private life
with my little niece. Therefore you and me will keep com-
pany, Jim, and be very good friends, and help each other.
JSTow, you've got a little game of your own, you have,' con-
tinued the detective, winking his right eye and jerking his
elbow into Jim's ribs. 1 Tell me what it is, and I'll help you.'
After a little demur Jim did tell him, and, in return
for his confidence, and certain useful information which he
incidentally gave, he received the important news that the
gentleman who had called at Mrs. Eiley's cottage was Sir
George Tremlett, of Tremlett Towers.
It must be admitted that our worthy Jim's motives in
seeking and following up these discoveries were not of
unmixed purity. He felt kindly enough towards poor
Hancy, but the thought that he should be able to make
a good bargain, on his own account, with those who might
feel it inconvenient to recognise her, was present to his
mind when he commenced his researches; and great was
his disappointment afterwards, at finding what he had
thought the real scent about to be disclosed by others. He
was, therefore, not dissatisfied with the evidence he heard in
Poundbridge Town-hall, evidence which left his chances
exactly as they were when Sister Mary diverted his search
from the right direction.
446
A TANGLED SKEIN.
And why did she do this? Well, it never was exactly
cleared up, and she was not the sort of woman to volunteer
an explanation. A story was, certainly, put forward, that
she acted under the orders of her superiors, and notably of
the gentleman who lived in those sumptuous apartments in
St. James's ; and that she had deceived Jim Eiley and
Stephen for the purpose of preventing the Kossthorne estates
from passing away from the Cory tons (who were Eoman
Catholics), as would be the case if Grace Lee's legitimacy
were established. I place no reliance whatever in such an
idle conjecture, and think I can trace it to its source, a foul
one, from which springs much foolish and vulgar abuse of a
religion which is, at all events, entitled to our respect, how-
ever much we may differ from its teaching. No, I believe
that Sister Mary had exclusive information, which was
partly correct and partly incorrect; and that the conviction
that the child which was taken away from her sister Susan
was really her sister Lucy's offspring, having once entered
her obstinate head, no argument or consideration could
remove it. She was sent to Westborough to take posses-
sion of Mrs. Eiley's cottage, the lease of which had several
years yet to run ; she heard people chattering about Stephen
and Grace, as people will chatter in small country places;
or, happening to see them that afternoon, wandering, lover-
like, in the wood, drew her own deductions, and gave her
terrible and unnecessary warning conscientiously. It was
from her that Mr. Lagger learned that the ' Susan' who cor-
responded with Brandron was Mrs. Eiley, of Westborough;
and even he was thrown off the right track by the answers
she gave him whilst under the screw, on the day when poor
Patty Marsh lost her sailor sweetheart. Hence the erroneous
deductions which he drew from George Howell's letters. Has
the reader forgotten the hungry-looking tramp who passed
by where Stephen and the detective sat, just when the
latter was about to draw those deductions? There were
others which this poor fever-stricken wretch could have dis-
posed of, if he had heard what was said on that occasion.
All doubt, however, as to Nancy's birth and parentage
was removed the night after Lord Eossthorne's commitment,
when, after a long conference with Stevie, Sir George Trem-
WINDING UP ON THE EEEL.
447
lett sent for Jim Biley, and claimed her as his child. The
fears of a discovery, which had haunted him ever since his
marriage, were now removed ; and he could explain to Stevie,
in faltering tones, and with averted looks, this mistaken
inference he had drawn from his having exclaimed, ' Good
God! Stevie, you will not betray me V when told by the
latter that the secret of his visit to Westborough was
known.
Great, as you may imagine, was the excitement in Little
Union-street when the news about Nancy was brought; and
universal were the regrets felt by Mrs. Wantley and her
family, when, three days afterwards, the poor girl was
removed to a quiet little lodging near Hampstead, which
her father had taken for her. Even the fair and haughty
Flora expressed herself graciously on that occasion, and
hinted the gratuitous services of Mr. Cornelius JBruffor, the
chemist next door, to Stephen on Nancy's behalf. Mr.
Cornelius Bruffor was the abject slave of Miss Flora
Wantley, upon the strength of a promise lately obtained,
after months of devotion, that she would swear to love,
honour, and obey him, as soon as he could establish a pri-
vate practice which should be sufficiently remunerative to
enable him to give up the shop. Miss Wantley, who had
maintained an elegant appearance the greater part of her
life from the sale of penny newspapers, could not ' abide'
marrying a shopkeeper. To Mr. Bruffor's credit be it said
that he had long since declared that Nancy must have
country air, generous diet, and a tonic treatment—recom-
mendations which were echoed by the celebrated doctor
whom Stevie called in, to the great delight of the little
chemist and druggist. So, as I have said, the patient was
taken off to Hampstead, and Helen—her first and best ally
—went with her.
Poor Nancy ! They called her an idiot down in West-
borough. Idiotcy was not her affliction. She was merely
of a weak mind from her birth, and nothing had been done
to rouse her from the mental lethargy into which she sank,
and which grew upon her, until the last spark of sanity was
almost extinguished. Her entire change of life, and the
bustle of the little shop, did wonders in developing her
448
A TANGLED SKEIN.
dormant intellect; but the atmosphere of Little Union-
street and Ruby-row was almost fatal to the bodily health
of one who had spent her life from infancy upwards amidst
the hop-gardens and pleasant pastures of breezy fragrant
Kent. As the strength of her mind increased, so, only in
a greater and swifter ratio, did her physical strength seem
to die away and leave her. She never thoroughly recovered
from the exhaustion of that long tramp from Westborough,
and the effect of sleeping in wet clothes in the open air. It
was only on his arrival in London that honest Jim obtained
the money which he had paid Mrs. Riley. He was all but
destitute when he left his mother's cottage (though he left
money there which he might have taken), and could not
afford to pay for a night's lodging on his way. Nancy was
a stout, strong, hale woman when she started on that
journey, and when Stephen saw her two months afterwards,
he could hardly recognise her, so fair and delicate did she
look.
Good Mrs. Wantley was very sorry to lose her charge;
nor was this her only grievance about this time. Her eldest
son had been discharged from jail—a cripple, poor fellow,
for life—and at first had gladdened her heart by his im-
proved language and conduct; but a great change came
over him shortly after Nancy's departure. He absented
himself all day from the little shop, never returning, except
to sleep and take his meals. Sometimes he would ask to
have his dinner packed up in a basin, and he would limp
away with it in the morning, and never come back till dark.
He was incessantly begging money of his mother, and one
day she saw him emerging from the pawnbroker's at the
corner, and next Sunday noticed, to her sorrow, that he ap-
peared in his every-day suit. In vain she scolded, in vain
she coaxed. He would not tell where he spent his time and
his money. He tried to laugh off his mother's anxiety, and
gave her evasive answers. It was all right; he was not up
to any harm. He would tell her about it some day; and
so on.
But how came he to have the opportunity of thus dis-
tressing his worthy parent ? Why was he not expiating in
Maidstone jail his defeated attempt to escape from his pun-
WINDING UP ON THE REEL.
449
ishment in that prison? Was Jim Riley wrong in stating
that he would be tried for that offence ? No; Robert
Wantley was tried, and acquitted. What, acquitted 1 when
he was found groaning under the wall with a dislocated hip,
dressed in his prison dress, and with a rope made of his
bed-clothes, clutched broken in his hand ! He was, indeed;
and when you hear why this happened, you can, if you
please, moralise upon the glorious uncertainty of the law.
Upon several of the circuits into which England is
divided for judicial purposes, there were—there may be now,
for aught I know—certain young gentlemen of good birth
and fortune, who attend for the purpose of amusing them-
selves and extending the circle of their acquaintance ; who
have no intention—as, indeed, they have no necessity—to
follow the law as a profession, but who see no impropriety
in standing in the way of hard-working necessitous men
who depend upon it for their bread-and-cheese, and thus
snatching a few guineas from their hands. These interlopers
are, for the most part, very ignorant of their profession,
and woujd avoid a difficult brief as they would a friend who
wore an old coat. Providence, however, has created for
them a certain class of business in the criminal assize
courts, which a boy of fourteen years old and average im-
pudence could manage, and has given a good deal of this
for distribution into the hands of a class of men who take
delight in toadying rich young gentlemen—sons and nephews
of country squires—and giving briefs and fees to those who
don't deserve the one nor require the other. Unto such a
person, who came yawning into court for the first time in
the day about one o'clock, came up, with many a cringe,
an attorney of the order lately indicated, who presented
him with the brief against Robert Wantley for an escape,
and requested that he would draw the indictment, as the
circumstances made it rather a special one. Our fortunate
and fashionable young friend, not being able to do this him-
self, got an unfashionable, and, consequently, unfortunate
fellow-barrister, who knew his business, to do it for him;
learned his brief by heart, and invited half a dozen elegant
ladies, his relations in the county, to attend the trial, and
see what a great lawyer he was. Alas ! the brief—all full
GG
450
A TANGLED SKEIN.
of flourishes, and got up with the most elegant penmanship
—omitted to state any evidence upon an important allega-
tion which the unfashionable drawer of the indictment had
added as a matter of course—an allegation for which any
one, with even an elementary knowledge of his profession,
would have been prepared. Our fashionable friend was not
prepared for it. ' He did not know what the judge meant
when he told him he had not proved his case. Barristers
to the left of him, barristers to the right of him, barristers
behind him, prompted and wondered; but, though confi-
dent enough as long as he could read question after question
off his brief, he became hopelessly flustered when the hitch
came,—blundered, flushed, stammered, and sat down, with
the court whirling around him, so that he could not hear
the sharp laconic words in which the judge told the jury
that they must acquit Robert Wantlev, and that no costs
would be allowed in the case, on account of the slovenly
manner in which it had been conducted. ' If pipple will
give business to pipple who don't understond ut, they must
take the consequences,' said his lordship, in an under voice,
to the high sheriff. ' Besides,' added he, ' the poor devil is
a cripple for life; surely he's punished enough. Let 'um
go.' Rough justice, my lord, and thank you for it. Crime
is a rough thing, and cannot be justly measured with an
ivory foot-rule or a pint of rose-water. You and I shall
never meet again with wigs upon our heads, but I shall not
forget how kindly and justly—how fearlessly and well I
have seen you judge poor weak human nature; and who
knows but that some of our countrymen may profit by the
teaching I have received at your hands ?
So Bob Wantley was acquitted, and returned to his
home, only to relapse, after a time, as his poor fond mother
feared, into the bad habits which had caused his ruin.
Nothing that she could say or do would keep him at home.
She locked him up in his room, and he broke open the door.
She hid his crutch from him, and he crawled out without it,
returning at night in fearful pain from the exertion. She
went down on her knees, and implored him with tears in her
eyes not to leave her thus, or, at any rate, to tell her where
he went, and what he did, all those long days. He kissed
WINDING UP ON THE REEL.
451
her, laughed, said it was all right; he was up to no harm;
she should know about it some day, and so on as before;
slipped by her, and passed out into the street, carrying
his dinner with him. One day she set his brother Charley
—then enjoying his long vacation—to follow the truant;
and Charley, who was a sharp lad, tracked him till he
saw him enter a public-house, from which, though he
watched the door for five hours, Charley did not see him
emerge. Charged with spending his time there in bad
company, the culprit laughed, and told her he had known
that Charley was dogging his steps, and had therefore de-
feated him by entering that public-house, and dodging im-
mediately through a side door into the next street, whilst
the confiding brother remained outside.
1 I'll tell you all, mother,' said Bob, ' when the right
time comes; but you won't get a word from me now,
and you sha'n't find out. There /'
L'homme propose ! Mrs. Wantley was not deficient in
that quality which we lords of the creation call < obstinacy,'
when found in the female mind. We have a more dignified
name for it, I think, when it moves in our own lofty bosoms.
The good woman determined to save her son, and, as a
necessary preliminary, to find out where and with whom he
spent his time; therefore, as Charley had failed in this be-
half, she resolved to seek a more skilful ally. The pro-
ceedings at the trial at Westborough had revealed her
erratic lodger in his true character, and to him she applied,
not as a policeman, but as a friend for advice and assist-
ance.
Mr. Lagger turned the subject over in his mind, and
after premising that the business was to be considered as
altogether private, and on no account to deter his re-tire-
ment, consented to undertake it. Very simple was Master
Bob's riddle to Mr. Sampson Lagger, and those whose ser-
vices that lynx-eyed person could command. He had only
to tell the constable on duty in Ruby-row to watch where
he went, and to pass on the word.
' He goes to a lodging-house in Ryder-street, sir,' said
a police-constable on that beat. 1 He was passed on to me
by X 52, who had him from B 13.'
452
A TANGLED SKEIN.
* Ha ! Ryder-street, is it ?' mused Mr. Lagger; { and
what does he do there ?'
' Goes to see a man who's very ill with fever, or some-
thing bad. Takes him his dinner and that.'
' Who's the man ?'
' Don't know. Got no instructions to identify him.'
' No more you didn't. Quite right, X 52 ; you stick to
your instructions, and then you won't burn your fingers.
Who keeps the lodging-house ?'
'Jem Taylor.'
' What, cranky Taylor ?'
' Yes, sir.'
' Ah! then he ain't a very good character, I should
think. I'll go and see him myself,' said Mr. Lagger.
' What time does young Wantley get there in the morning?'
' About half-past nine.'
' Yery well. Now you go to cranky Taylor, and you
sez—sez you, " Mr. Lagger—him as knowed you about the
gold-dust case—is a-coming to your house to-morrow
morning at nine o'clock, and he don't want no public recep-
tion. He knows you, he does ; and you knows him pretty
well now—you'll know him better if you tries to play any
little games with him. He wants the room next to where
this 'ere sick man is, all to himself, and he can't ex-actly
say for how long. He'll be there every day, till he sez
he's not a-coming any more, and nobody's to know he's
there." D'ye understand?'
X 52 nodded. He was a man of few words.
' Yery well, then ; you'll go and do it.'
X 52 went and did it.
The following morning Mr. Lagger paid his promised
visit to ' cranky' Taylor, and went again, and again, and
again, every day.
The room in Ryder-street where Bob Wantley passed
so much of his time was a wretched den at the very top
of the house, lighted by one garret window. Its furni-
ture consisted of one chair which had once been rush-
bottomed, and a wretched straw mattress stretched on the
floor, in the corner where fell the few sunbeams that
struggled in through the neighbouring chimneys. On this
WINDING UP ON THE REEL.
453
mattress, covered only with a tattered patchwork quilt, lay
the tramp already twice mentioned in this history, looking
more hungry, more hopeless, more ill than ever.
'Damn you!' he cried, raising himself on his elbow,
as Bob Wantley limped into the room, ' where have you
been all this time ?'
'It's only just struck ten, Alf,' said the latter, in a
soothing tone. ' Lie down, that's a good fellow.'
'You talk to me as though I were a dog,' replied the
other, sinking back with a groan. ' Have you brought me
anything to eat V
' Yes, Alf, and some tea.'
' Tea be damned ! Have you got any money V
'No. I told you yesterday that mother won't give me
any more, and—'
' Why the hell don't you steal some, then V exclaimed
the tramp, turning upon him savagely.
' Now, I say, Alf, none of that. I get into trouble
enough about what I do for you, as it is. You didn't talk
like that a fortnight ago, when I found you a'most dying
in the street.'
' I wish you had left me to die. Why didn't you V said
the tramp, turning surlily aside.
' Because you once did me a good turn, Alf, though it
didn't come about as you expected. Breaking out of Maid-
stone jail made a cripple of me : but it was the best thing
as could have happened. I thank God, Alf Blakeley, that
I was lamed and taken back.'
' I wish to God I had been caught, too. O Lord ! I
do,' moaned the sick man, clasping his wasted hands.
' O Lord, if I'd only had been taken like you and the
Prowler, and locked up again, I'd not have minded if it
had bin for good.' There was a wild earnestness in his
tone which startled Bob Wantley.
' Why don't you give yourself up, then f he said. ' They'd
put you in hospital, and cure you.'
Blakeley shuddered. 'No,' he gasped, after a long
pause, ' it's too late now. Where's the doctor V
' He'll be here presently, but I have not got any money
for him.'
454
A TANGLED SKEIN.
'And won't he give me any of that stuff as does me good
without ?'
' He don't bring the physic; he only orders it—gives
me a paper to the shop.'
' Tell them you'll pay 'em next week.'
' No good ! We owe twelve and sixpence already. I
tried 'em yesterday, but they'll give no more credit. It's
awful dear, that stuff.'
The sick man groaned.
' Bob, old fellow,' he said at last, in a wheedling voice,' I
must have some more; it makes me strong, and—and
next week I'll get well and work a bit. Can't you borrow
a sov. out of the till at home, Bob 1 I wish I may die this
very minute if I won't pay you back, and nobody'll be the
wiser.'
Bob rose from his seat with a gesture of disgust.
' Don't, don't, don't go,' almost shrieked the tramp.
1 Damn you! you know I go mad when I'm left alone.
Stop, Bob—sit down again, old fellow, and—and—I must
have more of that stuff or some brandy, I must.''
' I tell you again I have no money to buy either.'
' But I have, Bob,' whispered the tramp, seizing his
hand. ' Can anybody hear us V
' No.'
' Just go to the door and see if anybody's about.'
Bob did as he was desired. No one was stirring.
' I have some money, Bob—a little—j ust a little, but I
haven't dared to change it. ^They'd not give a chap like
me change for a ten-pound note.'
' Ten pounds V
1 Yes. But they'd change it for you, Bob.'
1 It's a duffer !'
' No, no, no, s'elp me ! It's a good un as ever came out
of the Bank.'
' Then why have you kept it hid all this time V
1 Cos I daren't show it. I've—I've starved with it in
my pocket. It might be—it—it— But you'll take it and get
some more of the stuff, Bob. I'll give you half, Bob—come
now—if you'll get sovs. for it.'
' Let me see it first.'
"WHICH ENDS THIS STRANGE EVENTFUL HISTORY. 455
The tramp raised himself as well as he could, crawled
on his hands and knees to the top of the mattress where it
joined the wall, and drew from a slit in the ticking a large
black-leather pocket-book. This he opened with trembling
hands, and a thick roll of bank-notes fell out.
CHAPTER XXXIY.
which ends this strange eventful history.
Immediately after his commitment Lord Rossthorne
was removed to Maidstone jail. There was an attempt to
hoot him as he stepped into the carriage that was to carry
him, a prisoner, to Poundbridge station; but the sight of
the pale hut resolute gifl who supported his faltering foot-
steps seemed to overawe the crowd which had assembled
round the Town-hall, and the shouts of execration which
had arisen as he appeared died away through a low mur-
mur into silence as the vehicle drove off; and when Grace
emerged, weeping, from the station to return to Kernden,
those who had followed gave her a lusty cheer.
She did not remain long with the Trehernes. In a day
or two good Mrs. Coleman arrived by arrangement, and
took her on to the county town, to a lodging which Stevie
—who had accompanied the accused—had secured for them
in the vicinity of the prison, so that Grace might be able to
see her grandfather as long and as often as the regulations
of the place permitted.
' I will not play the hypocrite, grandpapa,' she said at
their first interview, nervously playing with his watch-
chain the while, ' and tell you that I love you. I don't love
you—at least, I mean not yet; but—but you are the only
creature in all the world that really belongs to me, and you
are persecuted and in danger, and—and—I do believe you
innocent, I do with all my heart.' And she crept up to-
wards him closer and closer as she spoke, till her dear head
rested on his shoulder, and he clasped her passionately to
his breast.
456
A TANGLED SKEIN.
' Ah, child, child,' he cried, ' you know not what fierce
coals of fire every caress, every kind word heaps upon my
head!'
The night that Mrs. Coleman and Grace arrived Ste-
phen took his departure. No one thought of asking him
whither, as all knew so well where his loving heart would
lead him. Grace turned a little pale, though, as a thought
seemed to strike her whilst he was in the act of wishing her
good-bye; she grasped his hand tightly, and whispered in
his ear.
4 What! dearie,' he replied, 1 with such a man ? No,
you may trust me in spite of any provocation. I will write
often. I shall be back long before the trial.' And with
that he left her.
He followed a clue he had obtained, and found his father's
wife, luxuriously settled in Paris. She screamed and hid
her face when he entered the room; and, 0, what were
they going to do to her 1 0, were they going to send her
to prison 1 0, it was a shame to break in upon her sud-
denly like that. Then Rhoda Lady Tremlett cried, and
declared that Colonel Vincent Champneys was a wicked bad
man; that she had not left home of her own accord; that
he had fascinated her; that he was so kind—he had taken
a box at the Grand Opera for her, and was going to marry
her directly a divorce could be obtained. Thus the poor
weak creature wavered, alternately inveighing against her
seducer, and lavishing the most affectionate epithets upon
him. Finally, she told Stephen that it was all his fault.
If he had remained at ' The Towers' she would have clung
to him, confessed the hold that Champneys was obtaining
over her mind, and by his assistance have broken loose
from it.
Then Ste vie placed before her kindly, but without
mincing matters, the position in which she had placed her-
self. He told her that she could never retrieve that from
which she had voluntarily fallen, but that she might and
could escape from sinking to the depths into which the
villain who had been her tempter sought to drag her. He
told her that Champneys could not marry her, even when Sir
George obtained a divorce, as he was already married, and
WHICH ENDS THIS STRANGE EVENTFUL HISTORY. 457
had left his wife—a young and friendless girl—behind him.
in India, in the power of the rajah he had served. In short,
he had sold her. At this Lady Tremlett became indignant,
vowed that his wife must have been a wicked abandoned
creature ; that< dear Vincent' had told her so; and, O, would
they take her back home, and not say anything about what
she had done? Would they promise to send away 'that
Francis?' (not dearest Francis now.) If they would send
him away, she would come home and be good, and forgive
everybody.
How was it possible to reason with a woman like this ?
But Stevie persevered. Colonel Champneys—as he
called himself—had gone to England on business, and was
not expected to return for a week; consequently Stevie
had his stepmother all to himself that day. He told her
that it was impossible that she could again be received by
his father or her former friends; that she might not re-
turn to her old home, but that a new one, where she could
live in respectability, could be made for her; and implored
her, by all her hopes of happiness in this world and the
next, to quit her betrayer, and go where he (Stephen) would
take her. To his great joy she at last assented, albeit
somewhat sulkily, and promised to be ready early the next
morning to accompany him wherever he pleased.
Stevie went back to his hotel a happy man, and was
wakened the next day by being presented with the following
letter:
' Dearest Stevie,—It was very unkind of you to speak to
me as you did yesterday, and you had no right to do it.
You never treated me properly, any of you, and I shall not
go back to be taunted and abused. I don't believe a
word of what you say against my dearest Vincent, and
will not give him up for any one. Beside, I like living in
Paris,—Your affectionate
' Bhoda Champneys.
' P.S.—It's no use coming to my house, because I have
left it to join dearest Vincent, but I will not tell you where.'
Let us drop the curtain, if you please, on the future
458
A TANGLED SKEIN.
history of Rhoda, sometime Lady Tremlett, merely stating
that Champneys eventually married her—his first wife having
died of a broken heart—and that she experienced another
and widely different phase in the life of a woman who is
married for her money. She received no physical ill-usage.
Her life was too valuable to her new lord and veritable
master for that; but she lived to repent bitterly the lot she
had inflicted upon herself, and, what was a better sign, per-
haps the lot which she had inflicted on her former husband.
Returning from his useless errand, Stephen met Mr.
Coleman in London, and received from him a somewhat
startling proposition.
' I'm very glad you've come back, my dear boy,' said his
old friend; ' and really I had little hopes that you would do
any good. When a fellow like Champneys gets an influence
over a woman, it is not to be conquered. Besides, one must
consult appearances in these matters. It will not do to let
the world suppose that we want to win Lady Tremlett back,
because she takes all her fortune with her.'
' Can you suppose that I gave the wretched money a
thought ?' demanded Stevie, with indignation.
'I? No. But there are those who would. We have
plenty of trouble on our hands already, without coveting
more. Enough of this. It is not what I wanted to speak
to you about. Now be practical and worldly, Stevie, for half
an hour, and put all your fine romantic notions in your
pocket, merely remembering that you have duties towards
others, towards those who may come after you, and that you
must think of them and their interests whilst you form your
own arrangements.'
' Go on. There's something disagreeable coming, I
can see.'
* Well, I don't think you have any right to think it so.
It is simply this: Lord Rossthorne wishes you and Grace
to be married at once.'
Stephen was too astonished to reply.
'You see, my boy,' the attorney continued, laying a
hand upon Stevie's shoulder, ' we, who know Lord Ross-
thorne, are pretty sure that he is innocent; but there is an
awfully strong case against him. I have tried and tested
WHICH ENDS THIS STRANGE EVENTFUL HISTORY. 459
every tittle of the chain of evidence, and so has Markham,
and we can find no flaw. It is all circumstantial, certainly ;
but it all points one way, and there is no gap in it. He may
be convicted—he thinks so himself; and if he is, all his
property will be forfeited to the Crown; whereas now he
can make it over to his daughter on her marriage, and thus
save it in any event.'
1 And do you think that Grace would consent to become
my wife with this charge hanging over her grandfather's
head, for fifty estates 1 If you do, you little know her.'
' I know that you are a pair of proud wilful children,'
replied Mr. Coleman. ' I know also that it is very difficult
to make such people listen to common sense. If Grace
were not a woman I could convince her in ten minutes of
the propriety of this step. I could convince her as it is ;
but she would not own to a conviction. It would not be
right—it would not be maidenly that she should. You
must persuade her.'
' "What! before I am persuaded myself V
' Stevie, if a dying man, whom you loved, made a re-
quest that would cost you nothing but to gulp down some
foolish pride, would you refuse him V
' I think I would not; but—'
' Do you love Lord Kossthorne V
' Ay, that I do, through all and in spite of all. I blame
him—1 cannot help doing so, for much that he has done
but I pity, and—and—I do love him almost like a father.
I oughtn't to do so, I know; but I can't help it, and there's
an end of it.'
'I fear that we must consider him as a dying man,
Stevie ; for if he be found guilty of this crime, no power on
earth can save him from the gallows.'
Stephen shuddered.
' You must go to him,' Coleman resumed, ' and hear
patiently what he has to say. You wo Aid not scruple to give
Grace your name, if the worst came to the worst, would you V
' How can you ask such a question V
( Have you ever considered that, after such a disaster,
she might withdraw her consent, for your own sake, knowing
your pride, and fearing that you would be some day ashamed
460
A TANGLED SKEIN.
at the thought that a felon's blood moved in your children's
veins V
' Good Heavens ! no. Has she said anything that—'
' No; she has said nothing. She does not know yet of
the proposition. Pray understand me, that I am only hint-
ing at what may be possible—perhaps probable. It is all
well that you should see the case from both sides. Come,
come, man, be reasonable. You win a good beautiful wife
and a fine estate, and what do you lose? Nothing but a
grand wedding ! Do you think that your married life will
be any the happier because you will be poor and your wife
subjected to the climate and hardships of an Indian life V
' But it will seem so unfeeling,' mused Stevie. The last
argument had struck home.
1 What will V
1 Why, marrying when he is in such danger.'
1 Do you fancy that it shows good feeling to refuse the
repeated and earnest prayers of one in such a position f
' No, of course not; but—'
' There you are with your " buts" again. Take the
next train to Maidstone, Stevie. See Rossthorne as soon
as you can, and show your good feeling towards him, by
doing what he has at heart, and easing his mind of a great
anxiety. Goodness knows that he has enough cause for
anxiety, which you cannot remove. Be off now, like a good
fellow, and, Stephen, be sensible.''
Stevie went* and, if yielding to such entreaties as the
imprisoned peer made be a sign of sense, he was ' sensible;'
and, after some trouble, Grace became so too. Her chief
difficulty was to acknowledge the necessity for the proposed
step. She had made up her mind that her grandfather was
innocent, and could not be brought to see that others might
form a different opinion. ' What is the use of pretending
that he killed poor Mr. Brandron, because he wanted me to
be owned, and my dear mother's marriage established?
Why, these are the very things which, for years and years,
poor grandpapa yearned to do, only he thought that the
proofs had been destroyed ! Do you mean to say that any
jury would say he was guilty when this was proved V
It was of little use telling her that this could not be
WHICH ENDS THIS STRANGE EVENTFUL HISTORY. 461
proved, as the law does not allow a prisoner to give evi-
dence on his own behalf, and no one else could know the fact.
4 Well, then,' she argued, 4 if he is not allowed to swear
it he can say it, and that will be enough.' Grace, you will
remember, is a woman, and was—what shall I call it 1—ob-
stinate. No doubt—very obstinate.
At last she consented that the marriage should come off
in a fortnight, and, at the urgent request of the Trehernes,
it was arranged that it should take place at the rectory.
4 It will be the last marriage service, most likely, that
I shall ever perform in my old church,' said the rector,
4 and I shall never have performed one with greater plea-
sure or more confidence.'
In the mean time the conveyancers were set to work,
and the deeds which were to make Grace a rich bride were
duly prepared, signed, sealed, and delivered.
4 You will go to Rossthorne after the ceremony, Stevie,'
said the prisoner, 4 and take possession of the old place.
Remember, it and its lands are yours. They have settled
the Welsh property, and some of the money in the funds,
on Grace and her children; but, much as I know she loves
and reveres you, I will not let her own a stone of the house
in which her husband will live, nor an acre of the soil from
which his influence will be derived.'
So Grace returned to Kernden a week before the
appointed day, and Stephen betook himself to London, to
make sundry necessary arrangements for his marriage, and
for his father's future comfort. Now that his wife had left
him, the supposed great squire, the apparent owner of
Tremlett Towers and all they looked down upon, the titled
head of one of the most ancient families in England had
exactly 1502. a year to support himself and his afflicted
daughter !
Do I ask your sympathies for him ? Not I. I think
that he deserved all his misfortunes; but I do not the less
condemn the system which crushed him down under the
will and pleasure of his wife and his son—a system which
has brought ruin ifjpon many a better man than he, and
will continue to do so as long as it is persevered in.
At Sir George's lodgings near Hampstead, Stevie en-
462
A TANGLED SKEIN.
countered Mrs. Wantley, who had called, 4 humbly to
inquire,' as she said, 4 after Miss Nancy.' The fresher
air, and the sight of the flowers in the pleasant little
garden which surrounded the house, had done something
for her, but not much. Every day found her more languid
than its predecessor, and marked more deeply the hectic
flush upon her wasted cheeks, once so rosy and so full.
The good woman was very proud to answer all Stevie's
questions about the little shop and all her family, but
heaved a deep sigh when Bob's name was mentioned.
4 0 sir,' she said, with tears in her eyes, 4 he's deceiv-
ing his poor mother. He's got into bad company again.
He's even deceived Mr. Lagger, who was so good as to
try and find out where he went all day, and what he did.
Mr. Lagger knows no more about him than we do. Ah!
he's very deep, is Bob—very—very,' concluded poor Mrs.
Wantley, with a deep sigh.
This conversation took place the day but one before
that already given between this same 4 deep' Master Bob
and Alf Blakeley, the sick man in the Byder-street lodging-
house. It will, therefore, be apparent that Mrs. Wantley
was mistaken, and that Mr. Sampson Lagger had found
out something respecting the truant, only the right time for
disclosing it had not yet arrived.
The next sun rose on Stephen Frankland's wedding-day.
There was to be no fuss; no display. Sir George Tremlett
was to give away the bride; Gertrude and Maud Treherne,
Laura and Jane Coleman, were bridesmaids, and Cuddy
Lindsay consented to act as best man, provided that Jackson
were associated with him, though in an inferior position, to
4 do the brute force,' in case that Stevie ran restive and
refused to come up to the scratch.
I must do Stevie the justice to record that he required
no such compulsion, and that he behaved very much like a
rational being anterior to and during the ceremony. It
just suited him that it should be thus quietly performed,
that no one but dear friends should watch whilst he plighted
his faith, that Grace should not be flu«tered and stared at
by a pack of strangers, that there should be no grand
breakfast and stupid speech-making when all was over.
WHICH ENDS THIS STRANGE EVENTFUL HISTORY. 468
Nothing but the cause of this privacy disturbed him, and
his dear little bride quite shared his ideas on this subject.
Ah! if he, the absent one, the prisoner, could but have been
there to give them his blessing, what more could they have
asked to render their happiness complete?
Well, the little wedding party has assembled on the
rectory lawn; Grace, dressed in simple white, has come
slyly creeping out, accompanied by her bridesmaids. She
has taken Sir George Tremlett's arm, and they have passed
down the aisle of the old village church to the altar, where
Mr. Treherne, Stevie, and his best man are awaiting them.
The service is begun, and just before the most interesting
part a noise is heard, as of some one entering the church,
and hurrying down the side aisle.
£ Who giveth this woman to be married to this man V
inquires the clergyman.
Sir George is on the point of replying, 11 do,' when a
hand is placed on his shoulder, and a voice whispers in
his ear,
' I beg your pardon. I know it was so arranged, but
may not IV
It is Lord Mossthorne who speaks. Neither bride nor
bridegroom hear or see him, for their eyes are downcast, and
he stands behind them. A significant gesture from him com-
mands silence to the rest of the assembled friends, and the
ceremony continues. He places the little trembling hand of
our dear Grace in Stephen's strong honest hand—the irre-
vocable 11 will' is said, the ring is given, and those whom
God joined that day were never put asunder. No, not by
the breath of one thought.
I will leave you to imagine the surprise of the happy
pair when, upon rising from where they had knelt, and
turning to go into the vestry, they saw who had joined the
party. The explanation then given was a short one. The
real murderer of John Brandron had been discovered, and,
moreover, had confessed the crime! Besides which, a
pocket-book, bearing Brandron's name, containing bank-
notes to a considerable amount; a letter from Lord Ross-
thorne, stating that he would not fail to meet him at the
appointed spot, and a memorandum stating his address in
464
A TANGLED SKEIN.
London, had been found in the culprit's possession, and
fully corroborated his story.
This was the pocket-book which Brandron had asked
for shortly before his death, and which could not be found.
It was the pocket-book which Alfred Blakeley, the escaped
convict, had drawn from the ticking of his mattress, and
which had been seized the next moment by Mr. Sampson
Lagger, who had been so long watching what passed between
the sick man and his guardian friend, Bob "VVantley.
The account subsequently given of himself by this
wretch was a horrible one. Having made good his escape
from the jail, he wandered about the country—never daring
to enter a town or village—hiding during the day, and
prowling here and there in search of food at night. For
four days he had no food but half a loaf of bread, which
he stole from the window-sill of a labourer's cottage, and
such fruit as he could pluck from the hedges. He was
hiding in Westborough "Wood on the 29th of July. He
saw Lord Bossthorne and Brandron enter it. He over-
heard part of their conversation—the part in which the
former had solemnly promised to perform the act of justice
demanded of him. He saw him also write his address on a
slip of paper, which Brandron put away in his pocket-book.
As he opened it the roll of bank-notes was disclosed, and in
those the fugitive saw escape, safety, wealth, but there was
only one means of obtaining them—murder ! Lord Boss-
thorne left the wood, and Brandron sat down on the corner
of the old sawpit, lost in thought.
Let us pass over the sickening details of the scene which
followed. The assassin secured—to his idea—unbounded
wealth, but, as we know, dared not make use of it, but wan-
dered over the country a more wretched outcast than before,
till the fever struck him, and he staggered back into the
streets of London, to be picked up by Bob Wantley, and
sustained by him for old acquaintance' sake till the discovery
was made.
' He'll live to be tried, sir,' said Mr. Lagger, who had
accompanied Lord Bossthorne to the church, 1 but I don't
suppose he'll last out. He'll cheat the gallows, I believe.
And all the better, I fancy, Captain. You see by convicting
"WHICH ENDS THIS STRANGE EVENTFUL HISTORY. 465
him I collar the 500Z. reward, and mean to re-tire into pri-
vate life along o' my little niece, God bless her ! When
one's in the service, dooty's dooty all the world over, but
blood-money ain't a pleasant thing to re-tire upon—is°_it,nowT
Stephen and all present assented.
' So if he airit hanged I shall give half of it to young
Bob Wantley (who did not know anything about what he
had done), and if he is, why, I shall give up all.'
' In either case you shall not be a loser,' said the peer ;
und then he told him how Lagger—immediately upon hear-
ing Blakeley's confession—had instructed an attorney to
apply at judges' chambers for his—the speaker's—admission
to bail; how the application was granted, and sufficient
security obtained ; and how the good-hearted detective him-
self had hastened to Maidstone with the order which once
more made him a free man.
For these services Mr. Lagger declined all thanks.
{ You see, my lord,' he said, ' I fancied myself a deuced
clever fellow, and thought that I should end my career like
the last scene in a pantomime, all fiz and shine, by hanging
a peer of Parliament; hut I made a mull of it—that's what
I made. There's no denying of it. I was bound thereby
to set it right, and I did so, and that's all about it. I wish
you joy, miss, with all my heart,' he continued, turning to
the bride, ' and you, too, Captain. Ladies and gentlemen,
your servant!' and with a duck of his head and a scrape,
Mr. Sampson Lagger took his leave, and the bridal party
returned to the rectory.
Lord Rossthorne's admission to bail was tantamount to
an acquittal. The grand jury at the assizes threw out the
bill against him, and put Alfred Blakeley on his trial for
wilful murder. He pleaded guilty; but as his captor pre-
dieted, never lived to be executed. He was in a dying state
when carried into the dock to plead.
Nevertheless, Lord Rossthorne took a hint given him
by the friendly detective, and went abroad immediately after
Stephen's marriage.
' It ain't pleasant, my lord, to rake up old scores,' said
Mr. Lagger, as they came along together from the station,
' but there's that affair of the registers, you know. People
HH
466
A TANGLED SKEIN.
might make a fuss about it; and if I might be so bold as to
suggest that you should make yourself scarce in this 'ere
country for a year or so, I don't think you'd find it amiss.
I should think, now, that the air of Spain would be un-
common good for your complaint,' he concluded, with his
head on one side, and the old magpie look upon him.
What more have I to tell? Very little. You would
like to know, perhaps, what became of our 1 dearest Francis.'
Do you think he turned out to be a hypocrite, and came to
a bad end 1 Bless you, no such thing. He continued to
be the highly accomplished, self-confident gentleman which
we have hitherto found him. His acts were always founded
4 upon principle.' He took unto himself a wife, and schooled
her down to his own level. There are not a more proper,
well-bred, heartless pair in all London than Mr. and Mrs.
Tremlett. Their house is the best ordered and most dis-
agreeable establishment you were ever in. The gentleman
has got into Parliament for a northern borough, and the
lady writes papers for the meetings of the Association for
the Promotion of Social Science. The Tremletts do not visit
the Franklands. Stephen, willing to forgive and forget,
invited his half-brother to his wedding, and received in reply
a pompous epistle, in which the writer said that the calamity
which had fallen upon his family utterly unfitted him for
sharing in any sort of revelry. (Stevie expressly stated
that there would be nothing of the sort.) He congratulated
him on his good fortune and ' management,' suggesting, in
his nasty little way, that he (Stevie) had known Grace to be
Lord Kossthorne's grandchild from the first. So Mr. Trem-
lett did not grace the marriage with his presence, and its
merriment did not suffer in consequence—the fact of the
matter being, that the dear fellow was busy with his lawyers,
scheming how they could get a portion of his mother's for-
tune settled on him (poor innocent), whom she had left
upon the wide world with the beggarly three thousand a
year, which was his by right on his coming of age.
Let us do him full justice. Out of this he offered his
father an annuity of 100Z.; which, however, was not
accepted, Sir George Tremlett having taken up his quarters
in a pretty villa close to Rossthorne Castle, which had been
WHICH ENDS THIS STRANGE EVENTFUL HISTORY. 467
furnished for him and poor Nancy by Stephen. Alas, poor
Nancy ! Small was the trouble she gave to any one, and it
did not last for long.
The new rector of Questerthorpe was a lonely man for a
short time in the spring following Stevie's marriage. Cuddy
and Gigas were made the happiest of men on the same day,
and two fairer brides than Gertrude and Maud Treherne
never said 4 Amen' at the altar. The dream of dear old Mrs.
Coleman's life was also realised about this time in the mar-
riage of her eldest daughter with Ashton Neville. The
beautiful Constance had already given her hand and heart to
Percy Cory ton; and I understand there is a probability of
her wearing the coronet of a baroness after all, as those
learned in such matters say that Lord Possthorne's views as
to his title are not correct, and that by the Act of Edward
III., reversing the attainder of Nigel, the fourth baron,
the female line had been excluded from the succession.
This his lordship admits, but says that the Act in question
was repealed, with parts of others, in the following reign,
by a clerical error, and that the law which was passed after-
wards to set things right makes no mention of the female
line at all. I must confess that I do not understand much
about the question. All I know is, that Mrs. Frankland
was perplexed and annoyed when she first heard there was a
probability of her becoming ' my lady' in her own right, and
not as Stevie's wife ; and I am sure she will be rather pleased
to avoid an honour so held. This is about the only subject
upon which she and her husband do not agree. The latter
declares loudly, tossing his first-born in the air, that he ' looks
every inch a peer [the brat is five months old], and shall not
be done out of his rights.'
This sentiment Lord Possthorne, who has returned,
applauds ; and Mrs. Stevie looks on with the mother's love-
light in her eyes, not knowing exactly what to say.
THE END.
Printed by Robson & Sons, Pancras-road, London, N W.
CHEAP EDITION OF
MISS BRADDON'S NOVELS.
Price 2s. each; cloth gilt; 2s. 6d.
1. LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET
2. HENRY DUNBAR
3. ELEANOR'S VICTORY
4. AURORA FLOYD
JOHN MARCHMONT'S LEGACY
6. THE DOCTOR'S WIFE
7. ONLY A CLOD
8. SIR JASPER'S TENANT
9. TRAIL OF THE SERPENT
10. LADY'S MILE
11. LADY LISLE
12. CAPTAIN OF THE VULTURE
13. BIRDS OF PREY
14. CHARLOTTE'S INHERITANCE
15. RUPERT GODWIN
16 RUN TO EARTH
17 DEAD SEA FRUIT
I 18. RALPH THE BAILIFF
19. FENTON'S QUEST
20 LOVELS OF ARDEN
21. ROBERT AINSLEIGH
22. THE BITTER END
23. MILLY DARRELL
24. STRANGERS AND PILGRIMS
25. LUCIUS DAVOREN
26. TAKEN AT THE FLOOD
27. LOST FOR LOVE
28. A STRANGE WORLD
29. HOSTAGES TO FORTUNE
30. DEAD MEN'S SHOES ..
31. JOSHUA HAGGARD
32. WEAVERS AND WEFT
33. AN OPEN VERDICT
34. VIXEN
35. THE CLOVEN FOOT-
36. THE STORY OF BARBARA.
Miss JSradden's other Novels will 'fylUw in due mceesiitm.
LONDON: J. k R. MAXWELL, MILTON■ HOUSE', SHOE LANE, E.G.