King of the Castle

Volume Three – Chapter Seventeen.

A Climax in Glyddyr’s Life

There was a scene one day at the Fort when, after finishing the business in connection with a heavy sum which had been raised to pay over to Gellow, the lawyer had taken upon himself to suggest that it was not fair to his old client’s daughter that such a heavy drain should be kept up on the fortune she had brought him.

This was sufficient to send Glyddyr into a fit of passion, with the result that Trevithick was ordered to give up all charge of the estate for the future, and hand his papers over to another solicitor, who was named.

“Very good, Mr Glyddyr,” said the lawyer quietly. “As far as you have claims I will do so; but I must remind you that I am your wife’s trustee, and even if she wished to obey you, I cannot be ousted from that.”

Claude suffered bitterly for this when the lawyer was gone, but she forbore to speak. She felt that she was forced to give up the hints and friendly counsel of one whom her father trusted, and she trembled lest there should be a breach with regard to Mary, and that she should lose her. Sarah Woodham had been abused and insulted almost beyond bearing a hundred times, and ordered to go, but she always smiled sadly in Claude’s face afterwards.

“Don’t you be afraid, my dear,” she used to say. “Let him say what he will, I’ll never leave you.”

One day Sarah Woodham entered the room to find Mary in tears, but as they were hastily dried, they were ignored.

“I beg pardon, miss; I thought Mr Trevithick was here.”

“Why should you think that?”

“Because I saw him at the hotel half-an-hour ago.”

“No; he has not been, and is not likely to come after such treatment as he received from Mr Glyddyr a fortnight ago.”

“Going out, miss?” said Sarah, as she saw Mary beginning to dress hurriedly.

“Yes. Where is your master – in the garden?”

“No, miss. He has gone down to the quarry.”

“With your mistress?”

“No, Miss Mary. She is in the garden.”

Mary shuddered as she thought of the future, and of Glyddyr’s recovery of his health.

“Are you cold, Miss Mary?” said Woodham earnestly.

“Yes – I mean no. That is – nothing. If Miss Claude – ”

She stopped short.

“I mean, if your mistress calls for me, say I have gone for a walk. No, no, no,” she cried passionately. “I must not go. If he knew that I had been out, it would cause trouble.”

Sarah Woodham sighed. The words were incontrovertible.

Mary began to take off her things, but changed her mind and put them on again.

“I will go. I must see him,” she said. “You shall go with me, Sarah. It would not look so then – would it?”

“I think, as Mr Trevithick cannot come here now, you have a perfect right to go and see him.”

“Mr Trevithick!” cried Mary, with her face aflame; “why do you say that? I did not speak of going to see Mr Trevithick.”

“No, Miss Mary – no, my dear; but do you think I did not know. And I’m very, very glad.”

Mary was looking at her with flashing eyes, but the flames were put out by her tears, and she caught and pressed Sarah’s hand.

“You don’t seem like a servant to us,” she whispered quickly. “Come with me, please.”

Five minutes later they were on their way down the slope to the beach, with Mary trembling at what she thought was her daring behaviour; and as she walked on everybody she passed seemed to know where she was going, and to crown her confusion, just as they were nearing Mrs Sarson’s, Chris Lisle came out, nodded to her, changing colour a little, and was about to pass her, but he stopped short.

It was the first time they had met for months.

“Will you shake hands, Mary?” he said, raising his own hesitatingly.

“You know I will,” she cried eagerly, as she placed hers in his, glad of the relief from her thoughts.

“I am very, very glad to speak to you again, dear,” he said, in a subdued way. “You look so well, too, with that colour. There, I will not keep you. Perhaps some day we may meet again, and be able to have a friendly chat. Good-bye!”

He walked hurriedly away, and the tears rose to her eyes.

“Poor dear Chris!” she said. “I always seemed to love him as if he were my brother.”

“Who could help liking him, Miss Mary?”

“Sarah?”

“Yes, miss. You were speaking aloud. Ah! poor lad, we don’t often see him about now. Look, miss; Mr Trevithick.”

Mary had already seen the lawyer as he stepped out of the hotel and came towards them slowly, till he appeared to see them suddenly, when he turned sharply upon his heel and went back to the hotel.

Mary crimsoned with mortification, and then felt as if she would sink beneath the weight of her misery. Nearly a fortnight had passed, and her lover had made no sign; and now, when they were on the point of meeting, he had openly avoided her.

Mary’s heart felt as if it sank down into the darkness. There could be but one interpretation, she said. He had repented of the engagement, and his eyes had been opened to what a poor, misshapen little thing she was.

“Sarah!” she whispered hoarsely, “I cannot see where I am going; please take me home quickly, so that I am not – ”

“No, no, my dear, let’s walk up here first and over the bridge into the glen. You are too agitated to be seen. Try and be firm, my dear – try and be firm.”

Totally unnerved, the poor girl clung to the sturdy woman by her side, and readily allowed her to guide her right away up into the calm, silent glen, where, making a sign, she let Sarah Woodham assist her to one of the detached rocks, where she sat down to let her tears of misery have full vent.

“And I was so happy,” she moaned at last, as she looked up piteously in Sarah Woodham’s face. “Is there real happiness, Sarah, for poor creatures such as we? Life appears to be all misery and care.”

It was only about the third walk that Glyddyr had taken alone, and he left home reluctantly, and with a shadow as it were following every step.

“I oughtn’t to have gone and left her,” he muttered. “It’s of no use trying to deceive myself; all that quiet, calm way means something, and I’m sure they meet – I could swear it. She never dares to look me straight in the face. I won’t stay away long. I won’t stay here long either. I see him; he’s always hanging about trying to catch sight of her. Does he think I’m blind? I know! I know!”

He walked on hurriedly toward the quarry, but he had over-rated his strength, and grinding his teeth with rage, he sat down and began to wipe his wet brow.

“This cursed weakness,” he groaned. “But I’m stronger and better now. If I could have a drop of brandy now and then – not much – I should soon be all right.”

“Yes,” he said, after a pause, during which he had been looking nervously round, “I’ll go away and take her on the Continent for our wedding trip. In another week I shall be strong and well enough, and we’ll go away, and Chris Lisle may grind his teeth, and say the grapes are sour.

“I wonder whether they ever have met while I was so ill and at my worst? He knows the way. He was found in the grounds that night. Would she dare?

“No, no,” he muttered, after a long pause. “She wouldn’t dare, but he might persuade her. Curse him! Why does he stay in the place?

“There, there; this won’t do. I’m getting hot and excited, and I can’t bear it yet. I’ll go on now and see what the scoundrels are doing with the stones. I know they rob me because I’m ill and don’t understand the trade; but I’ll startle some of them.

“Now, then, I’m better now. The old strength’s coming back, and – No,” he cried, with a whine of misery, “I can’t go on. If I go there it will seem as if he’s back and at my elbow always. It’s bad enough at home. He seems to haunt the cursed place, and I’m always fancying he’s there. That doctor does me no good; no good. I want strength, strength. There, I’ll go back.”

He was so weak that, short as the distance was, he was well-nigh spent, and had to sit down twice. But as he reached the end of the hollow road, overshadowed by trees, and came out in the open, where he could see the sea and feel the cool breeze, he recovered himself.

“Yes, there she lies,” he said, as he let his eyes rest upon his yacht. “What a time since I have been aboard! Yes, why not at once? We’ll go to-morrow and sail across to France, and coast down to the Pyrenees. Get away from here; curse the place. It will be long before I come back.”

He panted a little as he turned up the slope and passed through the gateway, to pause on the terrace, and look once more upon the yacht, as she lay about a quarter of a mile from where he stood.

“I was a fool not to think of it before. Get her right away; she daren’t refuse. No, no; not so bad as that. She wouldn’t have dared. And yet it would have been so easy while I was lying by.”

He entered the hall with curious thoughts buzzing through his brain.

“A miserable, puling, white-faced thing! Where is she? I’ll tell her to get ready. We will go to-morrow.”

He went into the drawing-room, but Claude was not there, and in an instant suspicion was master of his brain. Where was she?

He crossed the room and looked out through the open window, but no Claude. Then, hurrying to the dining-room, he saw that she was not there.

As he came out, he caught sight of a skirt just passing through a swing-door, and he dashed after it.

It was one of the maids.

“Here,” he said, in a half-whisper. “Your mistress – upstairs?”

“No, sir. In the library, I think. A gentleman came.”

“That’ll do,” he said sharply. “No; stop. Where is Miss Mary?”

“Gone out, sir, with Mrs Woodham.”

He turned quickly and swung to the door, with a look in his face that was diabolical.

“Gun – pistol?” he muttered. “No, no; not that – not murder. Better revenge. Lot of the money’s mine. Free, free! Let him take her – let him – curse him! I wish I was strong once more.”

As if impelled by the wave of passion that came over him, he walked quickly to the library door, and as he reached it, he heard a peculiar clang, as of the closing of the book-shelf doors which screened the iron safe.

A peculiar look of rage and cunning distorted his face; and, twisting the handle round, he threw open the door and rushed in, as, with her face wild from excitement, Claude turned towards him.

“Hah!” he cried, with a look of fierce triumph, as he caught her by the wrist, “I’ve come back.” And he uttered a low laugh as he pointed to the great safe.

Claude tried to speak, but no words would come, and she clung to the hand which held her to keep herself from falling.

“Didn’t expect me back, eh? Didn’t expect me back?”

“Come away quick; come away!” panted Claude, in a voice hardly above a whisper.

“Yes, of course,” he snarled, as he held her at arm’s-length, nearly fainting from terror and agony. “Come away, so as not to disturb our dear Chris!”

Claude looked at him wildly.

“Parry Glyddyr!” she cried, as a look of horror dilated her eyes, and she tried to cling to him and push him towards the door, for no further words words would come.

“Yes! Parry Glyddyr, your lawful husband,” he yelled. “Found out at last!”

Volume Three – Chapter Eighteen.

The Lawyer is Busy

John Trevithick would, in an ordinary way, have finished the little business in connection with Mrs Sarson’s savings in a very short time, but he quite fluttered the widow by the importance he attached to the deed, and the way in which he was going to invest the money.

“You will not have any savings left, Mrs Sarson, when he sends in his bill,” Chris said to her grimly; and, on Trevithick’s next visit, the poor woman, in an agitated way, touched upon the topic of the bill of costs.

“Nonsense!” said Trevithick, smiling. “My dear Mrs Sarson, I always charge what the legal men call pro rata.”

“Oh, do you, sir?” she said. “Then that way is not very expensive?”

“Certainly not. You don’t understand. If you were very rich, the bill would be high; but in your case, if you trust to me, your costs shall be very small indeed.”

“Thank you kindly, sir; and will you take the money to-day?”

“No; you have kept it safely so far, and a few days will not hurt. I’ll take it next time.”

When “next time” came, John Trevithick said the same, and at his next visit he once more put her off.

“What a shame!” he said to himself on his next visit to Danmouth. “It is imposing on the poor woman. I must find some other excuse for coming over. By George!”

He slapped his great knee, and laughed with delight at his happy thought.

“I’ll open an office here in Danmouth; take Mrs Sarson’s second parlour, and come over twice a week. Do her good and do me good, and, who knows, it may bring clients.”

Full of this idea, he called upon Mrs Sarson one morning about a fortnight before the incidents of the last chapter, and on being closeted with her, opened out his business at once in a quick, legal way.

“Now, then, my dear madam, if you will hand me that money, I’ll take charge of it, complete the little mortgage, and you can have the deeds of the premises upon which your money is to be lent at five per cent, or I will keep them for you – which you please.”

“Oh, I should like, if you don’t think it would be wrong, Mr Trevithick, to keep the deeds myself, as I shall not have the money.”

“Very good.”

Mrs Sarson, who had recovered from the rheumatic attack which had frightened her into making arrangements about her savings, rose from her chair, and, in a very feminine way, sought for the key, which was kept hidden in an under pocket – one of the make of a saddle bag – whose security depended on the strength of two tape strings.

The lawyer smiled to himself, and thought of his own iron safe, built in the wall of the office, as the widow brought out her key, and opened a large tea-caddy standing upon a side table.

“Not a very safe place, Mrs Sarson, eh?”

“Ah, you don’t know, sir,” said the woman, with a smile, as she threw up the lid, took up a large cut glass sugar basin full of white lumps from the centre compartment, and then first one and then the other of the two oblong receptacles, each well filled with fragrant black and green, for she opened them, and laughingly displayed their contents.

This done, she thrust her hand down into the round velvet-lined hole from which the sugar basin had been lifted, gave it a knock sideways, and then lifted out the whole of the internal fittings of the caddy, set it on the table, and held it on one side, showing that the bottom was the exact size of a Bank of England note, one for ten pounds being visible.

“There!” she said, with a sigh; “that was my dear husband’s idea. He was a cabinetmaker, sir, and he was quite right. They have always been safe.”

“Yes, Mrs Sarson,” said the lawyer; “but you have lost your interest.”

“Lost what, sir?”

“Your interest! How many years have they been lying here?”

“Oh, a many, sir. Some were put there by my poor husband, and I’ve gone on putting in more as often as I could save up another ten pounds, for I kept the sovereigns in my pocket till I had ten, and then I used to change them for notes.”

“Humph, yes!” said Trevithick, wetting a finger, bank-clerkly, and counting the notes. “Twenty-seven. All tens. Two hundred and seventy pounds. I only want two hundred and fifty, Mrs Sarson. You shall put two back for nest eggs.”

He took the two top notes off, before turning the parcel over and looking at the bottom note, one that looked old and yellow, and he read the date.

“Forty years old that one, Mrs Sarson.”

“Yes, sir; but that don’t matter, does it?”

“Oh, no; the Bank of England never refuses its paper. And this top one is dated – let me see. Ah! two years old, and pretty new – Good God!”

The number had struck his eye, and he had turned it over, and read a name written upon the back.

“Oh, Mr Trevithick! Don’t, pray don’t say it’s a bad one!”

“Eh? Bad?” cried the lawyer absently. “Where did you get this note?”

“From the hotel, sir,” cried the poor woman, in a broken voice. “They always change my gold for me there. But they shall give me a good one, for I can swear that I got it there.”

“Wait a moment,” cried Trevithick excitedly. “No; those are quite right.”

“Oh, thank goodness for that!” cried Mrs Sarson, who was trembling so that the notes she took back rustled in her hand. “But do, do look again at the others and see if they are good.”

“Yes, yes, all good, Mrs Sarson,” said Trevithick, looking over them hurriedly.

“Then give me that one, sir, and I’ll take it back to them at once.”

“No, no, Mrs Sarson, the note is quite good,” said the lawyer, putting on his business mask, and looking quite calm, though his heart was thumping heavily.

“Oh, dear! and you gave me such a fright, sir. You are sure it is a good one?”

“So good, Mrs Sarson, that I’d give you ten golden sovereigns for it. Five hundred if it were necessary,” he said to himself; and after being witness to the replacing of two notes in the caddy, and giving a receipt for those confided to his charge, he made his way back to Toxeter in a state of excitement that was new to him, and did not rest till he was locked up in his own private room.

“It seems impossible,” he thought, as he compared the note with the closely written figures he had in his pocket-book, and then examined the signature at the back.

“Yes; there’s the clue I have sought for so long – dropped into my hands like this. Oh!”

He sat back with the perspiration gathering on his forehead, and the look of excitement on his face changing slowly into horror as bit by bit the meaning of the name on the back of that note gradually unfolded itself till he was gazing upon a picture of horror that appalled him.

“No, no, no! It’s too shocking,” he cried at last, as he wiped his brow. The man could not be such a wretch.

“But he is a wretch! A cold-blooded, swearing, drinking brute; and with all his flash and show, and yacht, I know that he was always hard up for money, and being hunted by that usurious scoundrel Gellow.”

Trevithick wiped his brow again.

“Why, he must have had it all. Robbed the poor old man who had taken him to his hearth. Yes, I daresay to pay off that scoundrel and get time. Yes, there’s his name to the note. He must have changed it at the hotel. I knew that money was missing. Robbed him – the man who welcomed him as a son, and encouraged him to win his daughter. The black-hearted traitor. I always hated him. A cowardly, despicable thief, stealing the money that some day would have been his.”

Trevithick leaped from his seat, and in his excitement struck a penholder, and knocked over the ink.

“Good Heaven!” he exclaimed, “he murdered him!”

Trevithick stood with his hands pressed upon his brow, trying to think calmly, but his head became hotter as the idea grew strong.

“Yes,” he said, “died of an overdose of chloral, they said. He could never have taken that money without. He must have got to know, and – yes, he must have drugged him to death, so as to get the heavy sum. Christopher Lisle! Bah! This was the man!

“No, no; I’m growing wild – I must be calm.”

He caught a glass, and poured out some water from a table-filter, drank it hastily, and began to walk up and down the room for a time, till, feeling more himself, he took a seat to try and think the matter out, raising up every point strongly in Glyddyr’s favour.

“No man could be such a wretch as to murder another, and then marry his child,” he said at last firmly; but the accusation came more strongly, and with supporting evidence, as something began to whisper to him, “But what was the meaning of all that drinking – of that conduct on the wedding-day – of the abject dread of Gartram’s picture, and of the delirious wanderings about being haunted?