The Aberystwith Observer

[ALL RIGHTS BMERTED.J THE MURDER AT THE MANOR, BY BEATRICE HERON-MAXWELL & FLORENCE E. EASTWICK. ESTELLA'S NARRATIVE CHAPTER XIX. A LOST DOCUMENT. Amongst my Uncle's papers I have found it plan or scheme drawn out for his book it con- tains a complete list of all the references to be, or that have been, consulted, besides the boob and records in his own possession which beat upon the subject. I confided to Brian when I saw him that I felt rather uncertain how tc commence my part in the work. I showed him this plan, and in it we could trace out exactly how far Uncle Chris had progressed, and the chapters that still remain to be done. Bruin advised me to keep rigidly to the plan, and con- sult it as I went along, so as to know the cor- rect memorandum and books which Uncle Chris mentions there as the authorities for reference. He had evidently gone exhaustively into fix: whole subject before beginning to write his history, and it will lessen the difficulty of my work considerably now that I know what por- tion of the great mass of material collected by Uncle Chris has been already used. I have been separating out the special books and papers appertaining to the chapter which was being written at the time of his death. The table, as well as all the shelves near it, were cumbered with note-books, histories, medieval legends, mixed up with topographical reports and queer journals of antiquarian research. All these needed re-arrangement; I was fully occupied for some days in getting them into order. After that I was able to go straight ahead and I have been so busy that other mat- ters have fallen into abeyance, and the thoughts that caused me such intense grief when I first came home have gradually ceased to torment me. The quiet life here amongst my books and flowers has brought that rest to my tired heart which I had longed and prayed to find in my home. And so for many weeks I have spent some hours daily in the library, at the table where dear old Uncle Chris passed so much time, and I begin to feel as though the end of the task is not so distant and difficult as it seemed at first. It has made me much happier doing flu* work taking up the book where Uncle Chris- topher and Kbys had laid it down. It brings me closer to them bothand I could fancy sometimes that they had only gone on a journey from which they might return at any moment. This last day or two my progress has been checked by the loss of a most important docu- it-ient-tlie old Charter giving Clere to our Var- ley ancestor. I know that Uncle Chris possess- ed it, and se.t great store by it; and I am sure that he kept it always with other of the more important papers, in the Record Chest which stands in the recess by the library door. Yet though I have searched, not only in the chest but everywhere in the room, there is no sign of it. I cannot even find a copy and without this there will be a hiatus in the book. I do not think that Barnie (who came to my assistance) and I, have left a single manuscript unopened, so that it cannot have slipped in- side any of them. "r e have even looked behind the books, and in the books themselves, in case Uncle Chris should have contrived a new hiding place for it. But still we have not found it. Rhys was probably the only person who could enlighten us on the matter, and after hesitating for some time on asking his aid, I wrote to him aud beg- ged him to let me know where this valuable document can have been hidden. Possibly Uncle Chris may have sent it to his Bank or some place of safety in case of fire or any other danger. I heard fom Rhys to-day, and until his letter came I had not realised how starved my heart had been during these last months of silence. I fear lie suffers too as I do—the sadness, amounting almost to hopelessness of its tone stirred up my grief anew. Is it right that the innocent should be punished for the guilty ? Here, in Anne's Confession, I have an avowal of his innocence, but it is made in confidence, and I cannot give this outspoken picture of my sister's most secret thoughts and feelings to the world. I am bound by the ties of kind- red and common womanhood to protect Anne from the ridicule of a hard and unfeeling world. I cannot hold out her heart for these vultures to tear at it. Although I have given Rhys to understand that I have received proof positive that he is guiltless, yet to the world he still remains a man with a shadow on his name. Until that shadow passes, and lie can stand forth in the clear light of day, he has decreed that we two must remain apart and as a wo- man, I cannot without losing both his and my own respect, plead for what he, as a man, has the right to confer. I can only love him and pray for him, hoping that some day he and I will join hands in a perfect un- derstanding. But this letter casts no light upon the res- ing-place of the missing document. He tells tile that it was kept always in the chest with the other records, just as I thought, and he feels convinced it was there when he left Clere. He remembers distinctly putting it away with the other records on the last occasion he had to refer to them—three or four days before his departure, and locking the chest, the key of which was kept in the left hand drawer of Uncle's writing-tabele. Now I know for cer- tain that the chest was standing open on that last evening I saw it myself with the lid rest- ing against the wall, when Harry Maturin brought, me down to the library. I could not iiiistake-every minute portion of that dreadful picture is fixed in my mind I have only to chose my eyes and I see it all again as dis- tinctly as I saw it then Brian Stockwell doming towards me and trying to prevent my seeing what lay beyond, the quiet figure on the lloor with the lamp-light shining on the silvery Pair all stained with blood. And near to it a heap of scattered books and the open chest But at that time many people were coming and going about the house, audit would be difficult now to state absolutely who may not have entered Ods room, although during my Uncle's life no one dared to do so without his permission. If Rhys < annot tcl) me where the Charter is to be found, 1 do not know anyone else who can help me to hnd it. I can only conclude that it has been stolen for the mere value of its age and quaint wording, by someone who has sold it to a col- lector of such things. Ht.il1 I wonder who can have taken it. Surely Adela Kustuce would not have stooped to such It petty thelt, unscrupulous ns she certainly Was. She spoke several times in a casual way of being" hnrd up," and complained that her losses at llridge had prevented her paying other debts which would have to be settled some- how." Once she confided tome that she in- tended raising a loan through her lawyers-if nothing else turned up meanwhile—but she I-IIJoke <inite g;Üly about the matter flS if it were of little consequence, and only a temporary f!nbarrasfnieut. She always eeemed to have plenty of ready money for <vi\yUihig she re* <i"5red, and liei' debts certainly did not weigh bpon herniind she seemed rather to think of them as a good joke. Of course she was aware of Uncle Christopher's intentions towards her, litid that would be sufficient reason for her ^i'ep.e spirits, The mystery that hangs over Clere envelops her too and once when I had told Barnie the whole story from beginning to end, she lOaid. Did it never occur to any of you that t'iidy Eustace—Lady Maturin M she is now "-might have had some hand in the catas- th>j»be ?" There was no evidence to implicate her in ntly way," I answered. She could. I believe, "a ve proved that she was in the ball-room, or Conservatory, daring the hour in which it must nave liappeued. I remember ehe told us all so J the time, and was ready to bring forward ] her partner* to corroborate it. She was a elersr woman and a determined one—yet 1 thinK, hard- ly a wicked one." It was a senseless crime," remarked Barnie. There seems to have been no shadow of mo- tive. [ wonder if Carmela Fortis might by any possibility be able to throw some light on the subject. Have you ever thought of question- ing her r" I answered that I had never done so for one thing I could not put the slightest trust in what Carmelia might say and Barnie agreed that even as a young girl when she used to be often with us in the school-room, Car- mela was fond of inventing stories. Little quibbles and prevarications which you could not controvert, but which you recognised as facts twisted to suit her own purpose. She has still the same propensity, I notice," Barnie continued. When I was at the Dower House with you, that afternoon when I drove over to fetch voti. about three weeks aao. she said something that annoyed me. L aid not speak of it at the time, but perhaps you ought to know, as such remarks should not really be allowed to pass uncontradicted. She brought some tea and said—quite kindly for her, I thought—that seeing me reminded her of the old days at Clere, when she looked upon me as a perfect Encyclopoedia Britannica. You seemed to know evertliing, even how to manage Anne, which none of the other governesses ever could accomplish.' I said that I was proud of Anne as a pupil who certainly did me credit, and I expatiated on her beauty, wit and charm. I felt a little nettled by the way Carmela spoke of her, and I added that in order to appreciate Anne you had o know her—which probably very few people did. Then Carmela said All you think you knew her, but all the same perhaps, I could tell you several things about her that would alter your opinion. There is one thing in particular that would shed a new light on her character, and open your eyes as to what Anne is capable of being and doing.' She nodded her head mysteriously, whispering, I have something at the present moment in my posseasioon which I expect Anne Varley would sacrifice much to get back, but I mean to keep it to myself and not tell anyone.' Now what do you imagine she could have meant by that re- mark ?" Barnie was quite flushed with her vehemence. 84 Perhaps she has got hold of the Charter I suggested. But what could that have to do with Anne—she never troubled her head about Uncle's pursuits in the old days, and she certainly would not feel the smallest interest in the History or anything concerning Clere un- der her present circumstances. No, Barnie J I give it up. Carmela's mystifications and the dis- appearance of the old Charter are equally ex- traordinary, but I do not suppose the one has any connection with the other." Although I treated Barnie's confidence in this off-hand manner, the thought of it rank- led in my mind. I determined to challenge Carmela, face to face, and obtain from her an explanation. This afternoon I saw her at the Dower House and asked her straight out what had been the meaning of her communication to Barnie and I said I intended to insist on sifting it out thoroughly. She put on an appearance of great reluctance, and said she had ever meant me to know, but since I was so determined to learn her secret —much as it grieved her to cause me pain, she would let me see for myself, and then I could judge. Then she took me up to her room, and having locked the door with an air of great precaution, opened a drawer and produced a small packet. The paper was slowly unfolded, and there was a book clamped with silver and bound in red leather. Carmela handed it to me with a tragic glance in suggestive sil- ence. Wondering more than ever what it all meant. I opened the book and saw Anne's handwriting Then in a moment I understood it was Anne's diary, started when I began mine five years ago, and we agreed that it would compare notes on every May Day and see what each of us had to say on the past year's events. 1 smiled as I remembered the first anniversary how I hacl claimed the fulfilment of Anne's promise, and bringing out my diary for her inspection, had demauded hers in return. It had contained a dozen entries at most, made in Anne's de- lightfully irresponsible style and language. We bad laughed together over her extremely irregular method of keeping a diary. That was the one and only occasion on which it was produced, and even as I smiled at the remem- brance, the tears rose at the sight of her writ- tug. How much had happened since I last held the little book in my hands How far apart she and I had drifted since those light-hearted lays of our girlhood. I turned the pages they were fuller now. The last portion of Anue's diary had been entered with greater diligence after a lapse of nearly three years she must have suddenly grown interesting in writing down her various moods, for as I glanced at a sentence here and there. I recog- nised that she had inscribed her impressions with fidelity, making her diary the mirror of liermind. Suddenly, while I read, a thought struck me. How did this come into your possession I enquired of Carmela. She could not meet my eyes. "I found it in your boudoir—one day after Sir Christophei lied." And you stole it—you are no better than a thief." Shutting the book with a snap, I turned quickly towards the door. You are welcome to take it away," Carmela murmured softly. "I meant to keep it in ca-e Anne returned here and tried to brazen things out. But as she has seen fit to go into a con- vent, there is no need now for the contents of the diary to be used against her. Besides I have made some extracts I have got Carlo to witness that they are correct. He did not know what I was copying of course, but he could swear that they are word for word in ac- cordance with the original t" I just gave her one glance of disgust and contempt, then unlooking the door I walked downstairs and out of the house. The diary was written for me to see that was its original purpose, so I commit no breach of honour in reading it. It ends some days be- fore Uncle Chris died thank God for that But already the bitterness of disillusionment was beginning to dull the brilliancy of Anne's outlook, and the pain in her heart was shewn in those written words. Now, more than ever my soul goes out in sympathy to my sister, for I can see how much she must have endured, through what a maelstrom of passion and agonised heart- burning sho was passing, while outwardly en- grossed in the careless amusement of our theat- ricals, and the merry crowd around us at that lime. There are some passages in the diary which suggest some set purpose on Anne's part, some plan which was being evolved in her mind when she found that life was no longer a plaything to be tossed here and there at will. She was realising slowly that she could not turn Fate to meet her desires, and the resolve was cry- stallising within her to break where she could not bend. One passage is significant as shew- ing the trend of her thoughts Another day passed away, and everything remains just a it was yesterday—no miracle or cataclysm has occurred to shake the hateful uni formity of events. I feel as if I must break out and do something amazing, commit some crime even, to upset the smug satisfaction 01 all these people. I should like to frighten, or startle them out of their serenity, each one going his or her own way with such compht- ency A set of silly vain fools -1 them all-ttll except the one who provokes and defies me. But I intend to teach him OIl power yet, indeed the day is not far off when my slightest nod will be sufficient to bring him ill humility to my feet. I have the courage, ii he has not., to seize on what I covet I mean to do what no other woman—except inyseli perhaps would dare to attempt. There shal he no turning back possible then, for eithe; him or iiie For others there may be loss and pain, but I Khali not falter. 1 know I have I lit strength of will to carry this through to tlt- end. I shall not fail, and [ shall not, count the cost afterwards, for I beHevethtttthe joy gaineu will far exceed any petty annoyances which may for a time, accompany my triumph." To me these wordt can have but one tusaniwar they signify Anne's determination to run away with Rhys. She would not realise that another would ever be preferred to herself; she thought that by taking the initiative and giving him an undeniable proof of her partiality, lie must yield his heart and will to her. She was blinded by her own passion and she did not understand that Rhys was possessed of a nature equally determined as her own—that lie knew his own mind, and that she would not be able to make him swerve from the line of action he had settled to follow. After reading this and other passages in Anne's diary, I am convinced that at that time she intended leaving her heme, and uni- ting her fate with his. She was willing to sacrifice her expectations from Uncle Chris., and to risk his displeasure by marrying nle IlIIm of her choice. It was not until later that she became aware of Rlivs's complete indifference to her, and the impossibility of gaining his love. This is how T read Anne's Diary. But others seeing it with different eyes to mine, would place another construction upon her words, particularly under the fierce light cast upon her headstrong temper after the catastrophe of Uncle's death. Here and there in the book are to be found reckless expressions of contempt for the ordinary ideas on morality and right-live- ing. They are only the foolish ebullitions of a high-spirited girl emerging into womanhood, who was impatient of control and who longed to spread her wings and fly out into the world she was hungering to explore. In one place she says If I bad to choose between Life and Love-Life, alone and. bereft of its glory, and Love, evanescent, melting into Death—-I should choose Love. Better to love for a few short hours, and die wearing the crown of happiness, than live on without all that makes life worth the living." And again I would dare any- thing and everything for love, and woe betide the obstacle that may intrude itself between me and the beim? who claims mv heart, mv all lliis little book with its latetul contents would prove a dangerous weapon in the hand of an enemy. Carmela gauged the strength of her position when she gained possession of it. There is enough here in Anne's own writing to condemn her in the eyes of most people as a creature without principle or any feeling of moral responsibility. Men would denounce her as a woman of perverted mind and passions the least censorious amongst them would cer- tainly give her credit for an obliquity in moral sense that might render her a dangerous mem- ber of society. Yet Anne had it in her to rise to great heights of nobleness ? generous, fear- less, capable of an immensity in love such as few ever experience, but craving always for the unattainable while disdaining to take what was close at hand. I am beginning to ses that she could never have been a really happy woman, and I am almost ready to believe that the path she has chosen is the safest in the end for one of her strange temperament. She had sufficient self- knowledge to know that the walls she has set round her undisciplined heart could alone guard her from further disaster. If only things had been different Had Rhys loved Anne, and had I loved Brain Stockwell, I suppose we should each and all have found our lot in life easier and happier. Barnie and I have given up the search for the missing Charter, after another whole morning wasted in turning over everything contained in the two rooms upstairs in the annexe. Old Lady Maturin suggested that it might be there when I told her about our loss. It may have been put there intentionally by some person interested in casting the suspicion upon Mr. Hazarden of causing your Uncle's death," she said byesterday, when we were speaking about our search. Perhaps when you discover who took the Charter, you may discover also who committed the murder. I should fancy myself it must have been committed by either a woman or a madman I pondered over her words all that night the sentence reiterated itself in my mind in the way that a riddle is repeated in one's brain until the answer is found. Indeed it was in my thoughts when, after searching the book-case in Rhys' sitting-room, in case the paper should have been entrusted to his care (aud slipped his memory) or was hid- den there according to Lady Maturin's theory, I passed out on to the balcony and looked across the Park to the Grey Pool. What an immense space of Ume and experi- ence divided me from the day when I went with Rhys to the Pool, and the little grey old man startled me. I remember thinking what a lonely life his must be shut into that little house, with a self- made banier between him and all the light and human kindness of life. Mine is almost as lonely now as his, and there is a touch of kinship between us 011 this score which was wanting on that day. • ••#««** Some vague impulse made me defend the steps and wander across the park until I came to the Pool, where I paused wondering if it would be of any use for me to approach the old man in his hermitage and try to make friends with him. I had unwittingly broken down lr.3 barrier of silence once perhaps this time I might again succeed in doing so. There was the tree against which I had leant when his voice and touch startled rne there stretched the path that Rhys had traversed on his way to and h'om the house hidden in the trees. Yet, as I set my foot 011 it, I hesitated and looked back. A wind was ruffling the surface of the pool, and across near the farther bank, where the shadows lay deepest, something white glinted as it rose and fell, In an instant my imagina- tion ran riot, ad I fancied it a dead hand beckoning to me and so vivid was my feeling of terror that I turned to fly. But before I had taken many steps the fas- cination of the Pool drew me back again, and 1 resolved to control myself and accomplish what I had come out to do. So, resolutely following the path and looking stiaight ahead, I came to the gate of the Utile unkempt bit of garden that straggled round the house. A board with a warning to trespasser.* swung on the top of the gate; and the barred front door and shuttered windows of the house offered no invitation either to friend or foe. But my courage had returned, and with it a restless desire to see the little old man who imposed oil himself this rigid solitude. My repeated knocks on the door brought; no response however, and I could detect no sound of movement inside so that at last, made bolder by my want of success, I forced my way through a tangle of shrubs and creeper to the back, where I hoped to gain an entrance more pasily. Here. where a narrow path had led from the hillside, a clumsy fence had been canatrurted. with the same signal of warning and the back- door was made fast with screws. A bucket dangling by a rope from a small window above the door, showed the method by which the her- mit had received provisions from outside and rendered payment for them. Apparently he used every means in his power to avcid com- munication with the outer world and had long ago secured immunity from observation or en- quiries. I returned to the front of the hcusa more de- termined than before to pass the barriers and as I passed one of the windows I saw that a pane of glass was broken, and the bar across the shutters was loose in fact it needed only a strong pnsh to give way and it fell inwards with a loua clatter. The latch of the casement was free. T put my hand through the broken pane, and in an- other moment the window was open and I could see unhindered into the room. I waited a little while expecting the sound of a denunciatory voice—possibly some menace from within. But except for the sly swift scamper of some rats that dropped from the shelves of a bookcase and made for safety into darker corners, there was no sign of life. The room bad evidently not been used for a long time. Cobwebs hung in festoons from cornice and ceiling dust lay thickly on floor and furniture, and on the writing-table a manu- script had been gnawed at the edges by rat* Thera was a heavy mustineefli too in the atmoa- phere that showed the absence of light and air for many a long day. It was easy to step over the low sill, and I decided to enter, feeling that I had some right to do so, since, in spite of the old man's claim, the house was virtually mine. The eerie stillness of the house no longer alarmed me, for some motive, stronger than curiosity, impelled me to find out whether the old man lived there still and if not, whether there was any trace of him to be found. The rooni on the other side of the passage was a sort of kitchen-parlour, but there was no sign of food or fuel, no trace of habitation, and the dust was undisturbed. Upstairs the four bedrooms were empty only one of them being furnished, and in this there was no doubt the bed had not been slept in recently. The old man had gone then But where, and why, after all these years of persistent seclusion ? I can remember that, years ago, when Anne and 1 came to Clere., we were warned not to play too near the Pool, or the house beyond, and told that a strange old man lived there. [ decended to the sitting-room and examined the manuscript on the table, the crabbed uncer- tain writing betraying a weak intellect. And then suddenly I realised why I had come, and knew the secret of the strange irresistible impulse that had brought me there. For n moment I turned sick and faint my mind a chaos of horror and joy; then summoning all my strength I fled, carrying the papers with me, to the house, and breaking in on Barnie fell into her arms in such a passion of tears as I had never known. (To be Concluded.)