Gwen Wynn Part 37

Not in vain had the green woodp.e.c.k.e.r given out its warning note. As Jack Wingate predicted from it, soon after came a downpour of rain. It was raining as Captain Ryecroft returned to his hotel, as at intervals throughout that day; and now on the succeeding night it is again sluicing down as from a shower-bath. The river is in full flood, its hundreds of affluents, from Plinlimmon downward, having each contributed its quota, till Vaga, usually so pure, limpid, and tranquil, rolls on in vast turbulent volume, muddy and maddened. There is a strong wind as well, whose gusts, now and then striking the water's surface, lash it into furrows with white frothy crests.

On the Wye this night there would be danger for any boat badly manned or unskilfully steered. And yet a boat is about to embark upon it--one which throughout the afternoon has been lying moored in a little branch stream that runs in opposite the lands of Llangorren, a tributary supplied by the dingle in which stands the dwelling of Richard Dempsey.

It is the same near whose mouth the poacher and the priest were seen by Gwen Wynn and Eleanor Lees on the day of their remarkable adventure with the forest roughs. And almost in the same spot is the craft now spoken of; no coracle, however, but a regular pair-oared boat of a kind in common use among Wye watermen.

It is lying with bow on the bank, its painter attached to a tree, whose branches extend over it. During the day no one has been near it, and it is not likely that any one has observed it. Some little distance up the brook, and drawn well in under the spreading boughs, that, almost touching the water, darkly shadow the surface, it is not visible from the river's channel: while, along the edge of the rivulet, there is no thoroughfare, nor path of any kind. No more a landing-place where boat is accustomed to put in or remain at moorings. That now there has evidently been brought thither for some temporary purpose.

Not till after the going down of the sun is this declared. Then, just as the purple of twilight is changing to the inky blackness of night, and another dash of rain clatters on the already saturated foliage, three men are seen moving among the trees that grow thick along the streamlet's edge. They seem not to mind it, although pouring down in torrents; for they have come through the dell, as from Dempsey's house, and are going in the direction of the boat, where there is no shelter.

But if they regard not getting wet,--something they do regard; else why should they observe such caution in their movements, and talk in subdued voices? All the more strange this, in a place where there is so little likelihood of their being overheard, or encountering any one to take note of their proceedings.

It is only between two of them that conversation is carried on; the third walking far in advance, beyond earshot of speech in the ordinary tone; besides, the noise of the tempest would hinder his hearing them.

Therefore, it cannot be on his account they converse guardedly. More likely their constraint is due to the solemnity of the subject; for solemn it is, as their words show.

"They'll be sure to find the body in a day or two. Possibly to-morrow, or, if not, very soon. A good deal will depend on the state of the river. If this flood continue, and the water remain discoloured as now, it may be several days before they light on it. No matter when; your course is clear, Monsieur Murdock."

"But what do you advise my doing, _Pere_? I'd like you to lend me your counsel--give me minute directions about everything."

"In the first place, then, you must show yourself on the other side of the water, and take an active part in the search. Such a near relative, as you are, 'twould appear strange if you didn't. All the world may not be aware of the little tiff--rather prolonged though--that's been between you. And if it were, your keeping away on such an occasion would give cause for greater scandal. Spite so rancorous! that of itself should excite curious thoughts--suspicions. Naturally enough. A man, whose own cousin is mysteriously missing, not caring to know what has become of her! And when knowing--when 'Found drowned,' as she will be--not to show either sympathy or sorrow! _Ma foi!_ they might mob you if you didn't!"

"That's true enough," grunts Murdock, thinking of the respect in which his cousin is held, and her great popularity throughout the neighbourhood.

"You advise my going over to Llangorren?"

"Decidedly I do. Present yourself there to-morrow, without fail. You may make the hour reasonably late, saying that the sinister intelligence has only just reached you at Glyngog--out of the way as it is. You'll find plenty of people at the Court on your arrival. From what I've learnt this afternoon, through my informant resident there, they'll be hot upon the search to-morrow. It would have been more earnest to-day, but for that quaint old creature with her romantic notions; the latest of them, as Clarisse tells me, that Mademoiselle had run away with the Hussar!

But it appears a letter has reached the Court in his handwriting, which put a different construction on the affair, proving to them it could be no elopement--at least, with him. Under these circ.u.mstances, then, to-morrow morning, soon as the sun is up, there'll be a hue and cry all over the country; so loud you couldn't fail to hear, and will be expected to have a voice in it. To do that effectually, you must show yourself at Llangorren, and in good time."

"There's sense in what you say. You're a very Solomon, Father Rogier.

I'll be there, trust me. Is there anything else you think of?"

The Jesuit is for a time silent, apparently in deep thought. It is a ticklish game the two are playing, and needs careful consideration, with cautious action.

"Yes," he at length answers. "There are a good many other things I think of; but they depend upon circ.u.mstances not yet developed by which you will have to be guided. And you must yourself, M'ssieu, as you best can.

It will be quite four days, if not more, ere I can get back. They may even find the body to-morrow--if they should think of employing drags, or other searching apparatus. Still, I fancy, 'twill be some time before they come to a final belief in her being drowned. Don't you on any account suggest it. And should there be such search, endeavour, in a quiet way, to have it conducted in any direction but the right one. The longer before fishing the thing up, the better it will be for our purposes: you comprehend?"

"I do."

"When found, as it must be in time, you will know how to show becoming grief; and, if opportunity offer, you may throw out a hint having reference to _Le Capitaine Ryecroft_. His having gone away from his hotel this morning, no one knows why or whither--decamping in such haste too--that will be sure to fix suspicion upon him--possibly have him pursued and arrested as the murderer of Miss Wynn! Odd succession of events, is it not?"

"It is indeed."

"Seems as if the very Fates were in a conspiracy to favour our design.

If we fail now, 'twill be our own fault. And that reminds me there should be no waste of time--must not. One hour of this darkness may be worth an age--or, at all events, ten thousand pounds per annum. _Allons!

vite-vite?_"

He steps briskly onward, drawing his caped cloak closer to protect him from the rain, now running in rivers down the drooping branches of the trees.

Murdock follows; and the two, delayed by a dialogue of such grave character, draw closer to the third who had gone ahead. They do not overtake him, however, till after he has reached the boat, and therein deposited a bundle he has been bearing--of weight sufficient to make him stagger, where the ground was rough and uneven. It is a package of irregular oblong shape, and such size, that, laid along the boat's bottom timbers, it occupies most part of the s.p.a.ce forward of the mid-thwart.

Seeing that he who has thus disposed of it is Coracle d.i.c.k, one might believe it poached salmon, or land game now in season in the act of being transported to some receiver of such commodities. But the words spoken by the priest as he comes up forbid this belief: they are an interrogatory:--

"Well, _mon bracconier_; have you stowed my luggage?"

"It's in the boat, Father Rogier."

"And all ready for starting?"

"The minute your reverence steps in."

"So, well! And now, M'ssieu," he adds, turning to Murdock, and again speaking in undertone, "if you play _your_ part skilfully, on return I may find you in a fair way of getting installed as the Lord of Llangorren. Till then, adieu!"

Saying which, he steps over the boat's side, and takes seat in its stern.

Shoved off by sinewy arms, it goes brushing out from under the branches, and is rapidly drifted down towards the river.

Lewin Murdock is left standing on the brook's edge, free to go what way he wishes.

Soon he starts off, not on return to the empty domicile of the poacher, nor yet direct to his own home: but first to the Welsh Harp--there to gather the gossip of the day, and learn whether the startling tale, soon to be told, has yet reached Rugg's Ferry.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

AN ANXIOUS WIFE.

Inside Glyngog House is Mrs. Murdock, alone, or with only the two female domestics. But these are back in the kitchen while the ex-cocotte is moving about in front, at intervals opening the door, and a-gazing out into the night--a dark, stormy one; for it is the same in which has occurred the mysterious embarkation of Father Rogier, only an hour later.

To her no mystery; she knows whither the priest is bound, and on what errand. It is not him, therefore, she is expecting, but her husband to bring home word that her countryman has made a safe start. So anxiously does she await this intelligence, that, after a time, she stays altogether on the doorstep, regardless of the raw night, and a fire in the drawing-room which blazes brightly. There is another in the dining-room, and a table profusely spread--set out for supper with dishes of many kinds--cold ham and tongue, fowl and game, flanked by decanters of different wines sparkling attractively.

Whence all this plenty, within walls where of late and for so long has been such scarcity?

As no one visits at Glyngog save Father Rogier, there is no one but he to ask the question. And he would not, were he there; knowing the answer better than any one else. He ought. The cheer upon Lewin Murdock's table, with a cheerfulness observable on Mrs. Murdock's face, are due to the same cause, by himself brought about, or to which he has largely contributed. As Moses lends money on _post obits_, at "shixty per shent," with other expectations, a stream of that leaven has found its way into the ancient manor-house of Glyngog, conducted thither by Gregoire Rogier, who has drawn it from a source of supply provided for such eventualities, and seemingly inexhaustible--the treasury of the Vatican.

Yet only a tiny rivulet of silver, but soon, if all goes well, to become a flood of gold grand and yellow as that in the Wye itself, having something to do with the waters of this same stream.

No wonder there is now brightness upon the face of Olympe Renault, so long shadowed. The sun of prosperity is again to shine upon the path of her life. Splendour, gaiety, _volupte_, be hers once more, and more than ever!

As she stands in the door of Glyngog, looking down the river, at Llangorren, and through the darkness sees the Court with only one or two windows alight--they but in dim glimmer--she reflects less on how they blazed the night before, with lamps over the lawn, like constellations of stars, than how they will flame hereafter, and ere long--when she herself be the ruling spirit and mistress of the mansion.

But as the time pa.s.ses and no husband home, a cloud steals over her features. From being only impatient, she becomes nervously anxious.

Still standing in the door, she listens for footsteps she has oft heard making approach unsteadily, little caring. Not so to-night. She dreads to see him return intoxicated. Though not with any solicitude of the ordinary woman's kind, but for reasons purely prudential. They are manifested in her muttered soliloquy:--

"Gregoire must have got off long ere this--at least two hours ago. He said they'd set out soon as it came night. Half an hour was enough for my husband to return up the meadows home. If he has gone to the Ferry first, and sets to drinking in the Harp! Cette _auberge maudit_. There's no knowing what he may do or say. Saying would be worse than doing. A word in his cups--a hint of what has happened--might undo everything: draw danger upon us all! And such danger--_l'prise de corps, mon Dieu!_"

Her cheek blanches at thought of the ugly spectres thus conjured up.

"Surely he will not be so stupid--so insane? Sober, he can keep secrets well enough--guard them closely, like most of his countrymen. But the Cognac? Hark! Footsteps! His, I hope."