The Black Abbot
you; I’m not so sure that I know.”
She turned this over in her mind for a long time.
“Has it to do with the Chelford treasure?” she asked, and, to her
surprise, he nodded.
XXXIV
In sight of her house he left her, and, remounting his horse,
cantered away. She watched him until a bend of the road hid him from
view, and then with a little sigh she walked slowly toward her home.
What was the mystery? She had never taken the Black Abbot very
seriously, believing that the apparition had its origin in a stupid
practical joke carried out by a villager with a histrionic bent. The
legend she knew; Dick had told her, and Harry, who kept alive all the
legends of the family, had described in detail the
eight-hundred-year-old murder. But how was the Black Abbot affecting
her? And what was the meaning of this close guard that Dick Alford was
keeping on her? She had no doubt that it was he who was watching the
house in the early hours of the morning.
In the night she had reached a momentous decision. It had been made
after long thought and heart-searching, and she would have given
everything to have had the courage to tell Dick that morning. But in
that bright, sunlit world she was averse to hurting him. But would he
be hurt? Her life’s future hung on that question.
She had been dimly conscious that a man was standing before the gate
of Willow House. She had seen him when she was some distance away, and
now, as she drew near, she had a feeling that he was waiting to speak
to her. He was tall and wearing an ill-fitting gray suit and a golf
cap; from his lips drooped a limp cigarette. He took his hands out of
his pockets as she came near and touched his cap, and then she
recognized the ill-favoured Thomas, the ex-footman.
“Good-morning, miss,” he said.
“Good-morning, Thomas.”
She viewed with more interest than she had done heretofore the lank,
awkwardly made man.
“I wonder if I can have a word with you, miss?”
She hesitated.
“I am afraid I can do nothing for you, Thomas,” she said. “Mr. Alford
tells me he has discharged you.”
He forced a grin.
“Mr. Alford never did like me, miss,” he said. “I’ve been falsely
accused, and I’m going to see my lawyer when I get to town. One
minute, miss,” he said hastily, as she was opening the gate. “I could
tell you something that would be worth a lot to you.”
Her gray eyes fixed him in a steady stare.
“You can tell me nothing that would be of the slightest value,
Thomas----” she began.
“Oh, couldn’t I!” His head went up and down in a succession of nods.
He was ludicrously like a nodding mandarin she had on her writing
table. “You don’t know what I know. I could tell you something, and I
could tell Mr. Gwyn something that nobody don’t know. People talk
about the Chelford treasure----”
“I don’t want to hear any more,” she said, and, turning, walked up the
drive.
For a moment he glared after her as though he contemplated following,
but thought better of it, and, lighting the cigarette which had gone
out, he slouched back to his borrowed home. And then an idea occurred
to him. Beyond the low wooden fence was a thick belt of laurels. If
one of his plans were carried out and he had to make a quick exit from
Chelfordbury, it might be worth while to reconnoitre this house. He
jumped over the fence and made a cautious progress through the
bushes.…
“Who’s that you were speaking to, Leslie?” Arthur Gwyn was lying in a
deck chair on the lawn, his eye covered with a piece of white lint.
“Thomas,” she said.
“The footman from Fossaway? What did he bring--a message?”
“No, he’s been discharged,” she said as she passed him. “Dick suspects
him of stealing, and he sent him about his business this morning.”
“Have you seen Dick, then?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes, I met him; he was riding over to see the miller.” She lingered
at the back of the chair.
“You always seem to be meeting that fellow,” he mused, with a frown.
“It is ‘Dick this’ and ‘Dick that.’ Do you think it’s wise, Leslie,
playing with fire and all that sort of thing? You never tell me you
meet Harry----”
“Harry never comes out of his library,” she said with a smile, “and
it’s difficult to miss Dick if you’re out of doors. Not that I’ve ever
tried to miss him.”
He took out his cigarette and looked at it thoughtfully, his lips
pursed.
“Dick’s a good fellow,” he said again, “and it is unnecessary for me
to remind you that he is a second son, and as poor as a church mouse.
Yes, Leslie, I’m going to insist on that poverty. After all, you’re
not marrying a pauper in Harry. And I tell you frankly that it is
necessary that you should marry a rich man!”
The truth was coming--she braced herself to meet it.
“Who will also take my fortune on trust,” she said quietly. “If I
married Dick, who is a business man, he might ask to see my bonds and
shares----”
A tense moment of silence, then:
“There are no bonds or shares!”
He had to set his teeth to make his confession. He could not see her
face; he dared not look round or meet her eyes.
“There are no bonds or shares?” she repeated slowly. “Then what I said
in the car was right? I am penniless!”
XXXV
The truth was out. Leslie stood rigidly behind her brother, looking
down on him.
“I am penniless!” she repeated.
He had to wet his dry lips before he could speak.
“I’ve been trying to work up courage to tell you this for a long
time,” he said. “I’m a coward--a cur! You have a few thousand pounds
that I couldn’t handle, but every other penny of your fortune I have
spent!” His voice was hoarse, scarcely recognizable. “You’ll have to
know this sooner or later; you might as well know it now. I don’t know
what you’ll think of me. I’d like to say that I didn’t care, but that
wouldn’t be the truth. I’ve gambled away a quarter of a million, and
I’m as near to bankruptcy and ruin as makes no difference.”
He pulled the lint bandage from his eye and got up and faced her. Save
for the discolouration of his cheek, he was white as chalk.
“I’d no intention of telling you,” he said in a low voice, “but you
piqued me into it, and I’m glad it’s over.”
Raising his eyes to hers, he did not see the look of condemnation he
expected. There was neither contempt nor consternation in her face.
The red lips were curved in a half-smile, and in her eyes was nothing
but kindliness and pity.
“Thank God!” she said in a low voice, and he could not understand her.
“This means, of course, that Chelford will have to take you without a
fortune,” he said.
She shook her head.
“I have already written to Harry, breaking off my engagement,” she
answered him. And then her arm slipped into his. “Let us go in to
breakfast,” she said. “This is one of the happiest days of my life.”
The letter came to Harry Alford, Earl of Chelford, with two or three
other personal letters; his main correspondence was with London
booksellers, for he was a restless collector of ancient tomes. He
looked at the letter, recognizing the handwriting, frowned, and turned
it over. Then, with some evidence of annoyance, he slit the flap.
Dear Harry:
I have thought for a long time that we have so little in common that a
marriage between us could not possibly lead to happiness for either of
us. I suppose the correct thing to do would be to send back my
engagement ring, but fortunately or unfortunately, you forgot to
present me with this token! I wish you every happiness, and I hope
that we shall still be good friends.
Harry read the letter, rubbed his forehead in perplexity, then, rising
from his chair, almost ran from the library. Dick was on the lawn,
playing with his dog, when his brother burst into the little study.
“I say, look at this! What do you think of it?”
Dick read the letter with a troubled face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Sorry!” said Harry shrilly. “It’s disgraceful! I shall look a perfect
fool! Leslie’s treated me very badly indeed--but that reference to the
engagement ring is in shocking bad taste.”
“I thought you’d given her one,” said the patient Dick. “Didn’t you?”
“It is a barbarous and stupid practice. I never dreamt of giving her a
ring. Why should I? She had a ring, a beautiful one. You must have
seen it--a diamond that she always wears. What is the sense of it? The
reference is in very bad taste--shocking!”
And yet, in spite of his agitation and anger, Dick thought he detected
relief in his brother’s voice. But his vanity had been hurt, and that
is a sore place with many men of greater calibre than Lord Chelford.
“Without any warning.… She was here yesterday, but said not a word
about it!”
“You hardly gave her a chance,” said Dick. “You scarcely spoke to her,
and really, Harry, you took no trouble to entertain her. Be
reasonable.”
Harry fondled his chin and glared through the thick lenses of his
horn-rimmed spectacles.
“I suppose not,” he said, with sudden mildness. “But, really, I’m not
a marrying man. I want no more than my books and my mission. But I’m
going to look a fool over this business, Dick.” His anger was rising
again. “Everybody in the county knows we’re engaged, and they’ll come
prying around to discover what is wrong. We shall have those beastly
newspaper men sitting on the front step, and that is more than I can
endure!”
“Then let them come to me,” said Dick. “I’ll give them all the
explanation they need, and they’ll be sorry they asked. As for
newspaper men--I eat ’em alive!”
Still his brother was not wholly mollified.
“What made her do it? Do you think she’s found somebody else she likes
better?” He peered at Dick in his short-sighted way. “That would make
it even worse. I’m very annoyed with Arthur Gwyn. He threw this girl
at me----”
“Don’t let us talk about it,” said Dick sharply. “It isn’t a very
dignified attitude to take.”
His brother looked at the letter dubiously.
“What am I to do?”
“Write a charming letter, freeing her,” said Dick. “You can do no
less.”
“But do you think she’s got another man in her eye?” demanded Harry.
“She has probably a dozen,” said the other brutally. “Do as I tell
you, Harry.”
And Harry Chelford went grumbling back to the library.
So she had done it! Dick hardly knew whether to be elated or
depressed. A week ago he would have been the happiest man in England;
to-day… he shrugged his broad shoulders, pulled his pipe from his
pocket, and savagely stuffed tobacco into the bowl. This would mean a
break, for a time, at any rate, between the Gwyns and Harry, and there
arose an alarming thought. Suppose Harry transferred his legal
business to another firm? That would mean ruin for Arthur Gwyn. Dick
had so far been able to cover up the defalcations of Leslie Gwyn’s
brother, and in a few months he could have obliterated all trace
without hurt to the estate. But at this stage, if Harry insisted----
“His lordship would like to see you, sir.” The second footman had come
up unnoticed behind him.
Dick steeled himself for the interview and went in. His brother was
sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, his hair rumpled, and an
angry frown puckering the white skin of his forehead.
“Dick, I’m going to cut out these Gwyns,” he said. “I want you to ask
your lawyers to take over from Arthur, and tell them to be deuced
careful and check every item. That fellow handles my mother’s estate,
and roughly I think he must have nearly fifty thousand pounds in
securities. If there’s a penny missing, Dick, I’ll jail the fellow--I
will, by God! He’s made a fool of me before all the county, and if I
get half a chance I’m going to get back on him.”
Dick’s heart sank.
“What lawyers do you suggest?”
“Sampson & Howard. They’re good people and they’re not too friendly
with Arthur. Will you take that in hand, Dick?”