miss berengaria's servants had been with her for a long time and were all eminently respectable. she was—needless to say—very good to them, and they adored and obeyed her in quite a feudal manner. when at supper in the servants' hall—all old and all sedate—they might have been a company of quakers from the sobriety of their demeanor. the head of the table was taken by the cook, and the foot by james the coachman. those two were married and were both fat, both devoted to miss berengaria, and both rulers of the other servants. the coachman swayed the little kingdom of domestics with his stout wife as queen.
on the very evening miss plantagenet came back from cove castle, the servants were enjoying a good supper, and james was detailing the events of the day. after this his wife narrated what had taken place during his absence. and at the side of the table sat jerry, looking the picture of innocence, occupied with his bread and cheese, but taking everything in. the information conveyed to james by the cook related to several tramps that had called, and to the killing of two fowls by a fox terrier that belonged to a neighbor.
"and a nice rage the missus will be in over them," said cook.
"you should have set sloppy jane on the terrier," said james. "our poultry is prize birds and worth a dozen of them snappy dogs as bite the heels of respectable folk."
"sloppy jane was with me," said a sedate housemaid. "a tramp came to the gate asking for miss alice, and i couldn't get him away."
"what did he want with miss alice?" demanded james, aggressively.
"ah, what indeed!" said the housemaid. "i told him miss alice wouldn't speak to the like of him. but he looked a gentleman, though he had a two days' beard and was dressed in such rags as you never saw."
"did he go, sarah?"
"oh, yes, he went in a lingering sort of way, and i had to tie jane up in case she'd fly on him. i didn't want that."
"why not?" said the coachman, dictatorially. "tramps is tramps."
sarah pondered. "well, cook and james, it's this way," she said, with some hesitation. "this murder of old sir simon—" jerry pricked up his ears at this and looked more innocent than ever.
"go on," said the cook, wondering why sarah stopped.
"they said his grandson done it."
"and that i'll never believe," cried james, pounding the table. "a noble young gentleman mr. bernard, and many a half-crown he's given me. he never did it, and even if he did, he's dead and gone."
sarah drew back from the table. "i really forgot that," she whimpered. "it must have been his ghost," and she threw her apron over her head.
"what's that, sarah? a ghost! there's no such thing. whose ghost?"
"mr. bernard's," said sarah, looking scared, as she removed her apron. "oh, to think i should have lived to see a ghost. yes, you may all look, but that tramp, ragged and torn, was mr. gore. don't i know him as well as i know myself?"
"sarah," said james, while the cook turned pale and jerry listened more eagerly than ever, "you rave in a crazy way."
"oh, well, there's no knowing," cried sarah, hysterically, "but the tramp was mr. gore, and i forgot he was dead. his ghost—it must have been his ghost. no wonder jane wanted to fly at him."
"mr. bernard's ghost wanting to see miss alice!" said cook. "get along with you, sarah! he must be alive. i don't believe all the papers say. perhaps he wasn't drowned after all."
"we must inquire into this," said james, magisterially and feeling for his glasses. "oh, by the way"—he drew a dirty envelope out of his pocket—"here's something for you, young shaver." he threw it across to jerry. "i was sitting in the kitchen in his lordship's castle and being waited on by a dark-eyed wench. i told her of us here and mentioned you. she said she knew you and asked me to give you that. and, to be sure, she would know you," added james, half to himself, "seeing mrs. moon is your grandmother, and a fine figure of a woman. but touching this here ghost——"
jerry rose from the table and retreated to a corner of the warm room to read his note. but he kept his ears open all the time to the coachman's investigation of sarah's doings with the tramp. the note was from victoria asking jerry to come over and see her, and stating that there was a gentleman stopping at the [pg 211]castle. "there's something queer about him, jerry, as he keeps himself very much to himself. also he knows your whistle as you whistles to me, which is funny. can't you come over and see me?" this, with all allowance for mis-spelling, was what jerry deciphered. then he thrust the note into his pocket and returned to the table.
"he had an awful cough, this tramp," said sarah.
"ghosts don't cough," remarked cook.
"this one did awful, and he looked that pale and thin as never was."
"he went away in broad daylight?" asked james.
"it was getting dark—about five maybe. i was sorry for him, and i would have let him in to see miss alice, he seemed so disappointed."
"ah, sarah, it's a pity you didn't let him in."
"but, mr. james, you can a-bear tramps."
"or ghosts," added the cook, fearfully.
"it were no tramp and no spectre," said the coachman. "i see it all." he looked solemnly round the company. "this was mr. bernard come to see if miss alice will help him. he's alive, god be praised!"
"amen," said the cook, bowing her head as though in church.
"and if he comes again, we will let him in and say nothing to the police."
"i should not," said sarah; "he looked so sad and pale. oh dear me! and such a fine, handsome young gentleman he was, to be sure."
"we will swear to be silent," said james, solemnly, "seeing as we are all sure mr. bernard never killed old sir simon."
"i'd never believe it if a jury told me," said the cook.
"young jerry, swear to be silent."
"oh! i'm fly, mr. james," said jerry, easily; "but who is mr. bernard? and why did he kill sir simon?"
"he didn't, and he's the present baronet at the hall, young jerry. you don't chatter or i'll thrash you within an inch of your life."
"oh, he won't talk," said the good-natured cook. "he's an angel."
sarah snorted. she was not so impressed with jerry's angelic qualities as the rest of the company. however, jerry, who had his own reasons to retire, slipped away unostentatiously and read victoria's letter for the second time. then he talked to himself in a whisper.
"he's alive after all," he said, "and he's stopping at that castle. i daresay the old girl"—he thus profanely described his mistress—"went over to there to see him with miss alice. and they brought him back, dropping him on the way so that he could get into the house quietly. he knows my whistle. no one but him could know it, as he heard me on that night. what's to be done? i'll go out and have a look round. he may come back again."
jerry was too young to be so exact as he should be. there were several flaws in his argument. but he was too excited to think over these. it never struck him that miss plantagenet could have smuggled gore easier into the house by bringing him in her carriage after swearing james to secrecy, than by letting him approach the house in the character of a tramp. but it was creditable to the lad's observation that he so quickly conjectured the mysterious stranger at the castle should be bernard. jerry knew that conniston was a close friend of gore's, and saw at once that bernard had [pg 213]sought the refuge of the castle where he would remain undiscovered. but for victoria's hint jerry would never have guessed this. it was his duty to communicate this knowledge to beryl, but for reasons of his own connected with the chance of a reward or a bribe to hold his tongue, from someone who could pay better than beryl—say lord conniston—jerry determined to wait quietly to see how things would turn out. meanwhile he strolled round to the fowls, where he thought it likely the tramp—if he was a tramp—might come. if not a tramp he might come this way also as the easiest to enter the grounds.
the poultry yard was carved out of a large meadow by the side of the gardens. it ran back a considerable distance from the high road, and at the far end was fenced with a thin plantation of elms. wire netting and stout fences surrounded the yard, and there was a gate opening on to the meadow aforesaid. jerry hovered round these precincts watching, but he did not expect any luck. however, the boy, being a born bloodhound, waited for the sheer excitement of the thing.
now it happened that miss berengaria had left the house of a pair of cochin fowls unlocked. she would have gone out to lock it herself but that she was so weary. all the same, she would not delegate the duty to her servants, as she considered they might not execute the commission properly. finally alice offered to go, and, after putting on a thick waterproof and a large pair of rubber boots which belonged to miss plantagenet, she ventured out. thus it was that she paddled round to the yard with a lantern and came into the neighborhood of jerry. that suspicious young man immediately thought she had heard of bernard's coming and had come out to meet him. he snuggled into a corner near the gate and watched as best he could in the darkness.
it was pouring rain, and the sky was black with swiftly-moving clouds. these streamed across the face of a haggard-looking moon, and in the flaws of the wind down came the rain in a perfect drench.
alice, with her dress drawn up, a lantern in one hand and an umbrella of the gamp species extended above her head, ventured into the yard, and locked up the precious fowls. then she came back round by the gate to see if it was barred. to her surprise it was open. rather annoyed she closed it again, and put up the bar. then she took her way round by the side of the house to enter by the front door.
jerry followed with the step of a red indian. he was rewarded.
just as alice turned the corner of the house, she heard a groan, and almost stumbled over a body lying on the flower-bed under the wall of the house. at first she gave a slight shriek, but before she could step back the man clutched her feet—"alice! alice!" moaned the man. "save me!—it's bernard."
"bernard here," said alice, with a shudder, and wondered how he had come from the castle. she turned the light on to his face, and then started back. this was not bernard.
in the circle of light she saw—and jerry slinking along the side of the fence saw also—a pale, thin face with a wild look on it. the hair was long and matted, there was a scrubby growth on the chin, and the eyes were sunken for want of food. still it was bernard's face, and but that she had seen him on that very afternoon, [pg 215]she would have been deceived, until she had made a closer acquaintance with the tramp. but alice, having heard the story of mrs. gilroy's son, knew at once that this miserable creature was michael. he was representing himself to her as bernard, and, mindful of durham's advice, after the first start of alarm she determined to treat him as though she believed he was her lover.
"can you get to your feet?" she said, touching him, although her soul shuddered within her when she thought what the man had done.
"yes," said michael, hoarsely, and tried to rise.
she assisted him to his feet but his weight almost made her sink. "i must get the servants," said she, trying to disengage herself.
"no! no!" said the man in a voice of hoarse terror. "they will give me up. remember what i have done."
alice did remember indeed, and shuddered again. but it was needful for the clearing of bernard that she should carry on the comedy so as to detain the man. a word from her, that she knew who he really was, and he would fly at once—when all chance of saving gore would be at an end. therefore she half led, half dragged him round the corner of the house in the driving rain. jerry waited till the two disappeared and the last gleam of the lantern vanished. then he went back to the kitchen unconcernedly.
"where have you been?" asked james, sternly.
"looking to see if the poultry gate was all right," said jerry. "you see, mr. james, a tramp might come in there."
"it was your duty to shut it."
"i have shut it," said jerry, with assumed sulkiness.
"now don't you give me your lip, young sir, or i'll knock your head off—do you hear? any tramps about?"
"no," said jerry, mendaciously, "all's safe." and, with a wonderful sense in a lad of his age, he said no more. then he sat down to cards with the cook, and never made a solitary mention of what was going on in the front of the house. as he quite expected, miss plantagenet never sent for any of the servants. "they'll manage the job themselves," thought jerry, playing cheerfully. when he retired to bed he had a wonderful lot to think about, and more than ever he determined to watch which way the wind blew so as to make as much money out of his knowledge as possible. jerry was a marvellously precocious criminal and knew much more than was good for him. miss berengaria would have fainted—unaccustomed as she was to indulge in such weakness—had she known the kind of youth she sheltered under her roof.
but poor miss berengaria had her hands full. she left the front door open for the return of alice, and heard it close with a bang. at once she started from her seat before the fire in the drawing-room to rebuke the girl for such carelessness, but her anger changed to astonishment when alice appeared at the door streaming with wet and supporting a man. "aunt!" cried alice, dropping the man in a heap and eagerly closing the door. "here's bernard!"
"bernard!" exclaimed miss plantagenet, staring.
"yes, yes!" said alice, passing over and pinching her aunt's arm. "see how pale he is and hungry. he escaped, and has come for us to save him. if the police——"
[pg 217]the man on the floor, who was in a half stupor, half rose. "the police—the police!" he said thickly, and his wild eyes glared. "no. i will confess everything. alice, i am—i am—" he dropped again.
by this time miss plantagenet, accepting the hint of alice's pinch, was beginning to grasp the situation. she scarcely relished having a murderer under her roof, but for the sake of bernard she felt that she also must aid in the deception. but she could not conceive how michael could have the audacity to pass himself off as bernard to one who knew him so intimately as alice. at the same time, she saw the wonderful likeness to gore. he and michael might have been twins, but michael had not the mole which was his brother's distinguishing mark. still, unless michael knew all about bernard's life, unless he was educated like him, unless he knew his ways and tricks and manners, it was impossible that he should hope to deceive alice or even miss berengaria herself.
also there was another thing to be considered. how came the man in this plight? he had received one thousand pounds from sir simon in the beginning of october, and therefore must have plenty of money. yet here he was—thin, haggard, in squalid rags, and evidently a hunted fugitive. it was not a comedy got up to deceive them, for both women saw that the man really was suffering. he was now lying in a stupor, but, for all that, he might have sense enough to know what they said, so both were cautious after a glance exchanged between them.
"we must take bernard up to the turret-room," said miss berengaria, promptly. "he'll be all right to-night and then we can send for payne to-morrow. help me with him, alice."
"but, aunt, the servants—"
"they will hold their tongues. i'll see to that."
"bless you," murmured the half stupefied man. "i can't thank you for—oh! if you only knew all! i want to tell you something."
"never mind just now," said the old lady, sharply. "try and get up the stairs supported by alice and myself. then we'll put you to bed and give you something to eat."
"will i be safe?" asked the man, looking round anxiously.
"quite safe. do you think i would let you be taken, bernard?" said alice, although her soul sickened in her at the deception.
"i—trust—you," said michael, with a strange look at her. "i am ill and dirty, and—and—but you know i am bernard," he burst out in a pitiful kind of way.
"yes, of course you are. anyone can see that," said miss berengaria, as alice didn't answer. "help him up, alice."
the two dragged the man up the stairs painfully, he striving his best to make his weight light. miss berengaria approved of this. "he's got good stuff in him," she said, when they led him into the small room, which took up the whole of the second floor of the turret.
"he always had," said alice, warmly, and for the sake of the comedy.
but miss berengaria frowned. she applied what she said to michael.
then miss berengaria sent alice downstairs to heat some wine, and made michael go to bed. he was as weak as a child, and simply let her do what she liked. with some difficulty she managed to put him between [pg 219]the sheets, and then washed his face and hands. finally, on alice returning with the wine and some bread, she fed him with sops of the latter dipped into the former. after this, as michael displayed symptoms of drowsiness, she prepared to leave him to a sound sleep. "and payne shall see you to-morrow."
"but i'll be safe—safe," said the sick man, half starting up.
"of course. lie down and sleep."
michael strove to say something, then sank back on his pillows. the two hurried out of the room and down the stairs feeling like conspirators. not until they were safe in the drawing-room with the door closed did they venture to speak, and then only did so in whispers. alice was the first to make a remark.
"if i hadn't seen bernard this very day, i should have been deceived, aunt. did you ever see so wonderful a likeness?"
"never," admitted miss berengaria. "but how the deuce"—she was always a lady given to strong expressions—"does the man expect to pass himself off to you as bernard? there's lots of things bernard has said about which he must know nothing."
"i can't understand it myself. perhaps he came to tell the truth."
"humph!" miss berengaria rubbed her nose. "i don't think a man who would commit a murder would tell the truth. my flesh creeped when i touched him. all the same, there's pluck in the fellow. a pity he is such a scamp. something might be made of him."
"do you think he has got himself up like this to—"
"no, no!" snapped miss plantagenet, "the man's illness is genuine. i can see for myself, he's only skin [pg 220]and bone. i wonder how he came to be in such a plight?"
"perhaps he will tell us."
"he'll tell lies," said the old lady, grimly. "and for the sake of bernard we'll pretend to believe him. wait till i get durham on to him. he won't lie then. but the main point is to keep him. he is the only person who can get bernard out of the trouble."
"what shall we do, aunt?"
"nurse him up in that room, telling the servants that we have a guest. they need not see him. and payne can cure him. when he is cured we will see what durham says. that young man's clever. he will know how to deal with the matter. it's beyond me. now we must go to bed. my head is in a whirl with the excitement of this day."
