The Solitary Farm Part 32

"How are we going to gain possession of them?" asked Bella lingering.

Cyril looked hopelessly up to the blue sky. "Heaven only knows! The first thing to be done is to find my father and see if they are in his possession. And now that we are parting, Bella, and you feel better, I don't mind telling you that I don't think my father will give them up--if indeed he has them."

"But to me, his son's future wife----"

"My father is quite unbia.s.sed by sentimental considerations," said Cyril very dryly. "What he holds, he keeps. However, there is plenty of time to talk of this matter when we meet my father. Meanwhile, what will you do?"

Bella shook the bundle of papers which she carried. "I am going to my bedroom to read these," she said seriously. "I wish to learn everything that concerns my true parentage. I may have relatives, you know."

"If you have," said Lister emphatically, "I only trust that you will leave them severely alone. I don't care for relatives; they ask everything and give nothing."

"Well," said Bella smiling, for she had quite recovered her spirits, "so long as I have you, I need no sisters or cousins or aunts. Good-bye, dear. No, don't kiss me; someone may be looking on."

"What of that? Everyone knows that we are engaged."

"It doesn't do to emphasise the engagement in public," said the girl seriously, and ran into the cottage. At the door she turned. "I shall tell you all that I read in these papers," she called out, and vanished, while Cyril returned home to think over the strange turn which events had taken. And things were strange, for in striving to solve one mystery they had solved another. In seeking for Huxham's a.s.sa.s.sin they had found the true father of Bella.

Dora had not yet returned, so Bella, in the seclusion of her bedroom, felt relieved. She did not wish, as yet, to share her secret even with the little school-mistress, good friend as that amiable woman had proved to be. Locking her door she sat down and unrolled the bundle. It consisted of many sheets of foolscap, and appeared to be a kind of rough diary kept by Jabez Huxham, when he was in Africa. The script was in his crooked painful writing, but was legible enough, and after some practice Bella managed to read it fairly easily. Seated on her bed, she perused what was set down, and found the reading extremely interesting.

The sheets seemed to have been torn from a ma.n.u.script book, for the diary both commenced and ended abruptly and dealt entirely with Maxwell Faith and his doings. The old pirate had evidently ripped the pages from the diary which he kept and had placed them in the carved chest, which Mrs. Tunks had found in the attic. There also, according to Durgo's story, the jewels had been stored, so apparently Huxham had used the chest--which had belonged to Faith--as a repository for all that concerned the dead trader. But Edwin Lister could scarcely have gone to the garret to seek the chest and get the jewels, since he did not know his way about the old mansion. It was, therefore, evident that Huxham had kept the jewels in his study safe, and had removed the chest containing the torn-out leaves to the attic. Afterwards he had apparently placed the papers in the safe also, where Pence had probably found them. But Bella did not pause to think out these matters. She was to much interested in the story which was set down.

Huxham stated abruptly that he met Maxwell Faith at Calabar, and had been engaged by him to transport certain goods up the Cross River, Nigeria, as far as Ogrude, when they were to be taken in canoes up to Yahe on the stream of that name. The goods were for Kawal, Durgo's father, with whom Faith appeared to have had many dealings. Faith and Huxham--so the writer said--got on very well, and the former told the latter much about himself and his past. The trader declared that he was the son of a wealthy Huntingdon Quaker, but had been disowned by his family and by the Society of Friends, because he had married a lady who was a Roman Catholic. There was one daughter, who had been born in London and had cost the mother her life. Faith said that he had placed his daughter Isabella with some friends of his at Croydon, and had come to Nigeria to make money for her. From what Bella could gather, her father appeared to have been desperately fond of her.

Afterwards Huxham and Faith parted, but met again in the Hinterland at the chief town of Kawal and again became friendly. Then the trader told Huxham that because he had supplied the chief with guns and ammunition, and had proved his friendship in many ways, he had received ancient jewels to the amount of forty thousand pounds. He was going home to his daughter with the money. At this part of the diary a portion of the ma.n.u.script was torn away, apparently that which dealt with the murder of Faith by Huxham.

The story commenced abruptly again with the statement that the writer was going to England with his earnings and with the jewels; and intending to seek out Faith's little daughter and adopt her. Huxham gave no reason for doing so in his diary; but Bella, reading between the lines, guessed that the man was overcome with remorse--a strange thing for so hardened a sinner as Huxham undoubtedly was. Then came hasty notes of Huxham's fears lest he should be robbed for the sake of the jewels, and reference to an unknown man who was d.o.g.g.i.ng his steps.

Ogrude, Afikpa, Obubra and Calabar were towns mentioned as having been the scene of adventures with this man, whose name was not given.

Afterwards the hasty notes detailed the finding of Faith's little daughter at Croydon, her adoption by the writer and her removal to Shepherd's Bush. A few remarks were made relative to the fears of Huxham, and of his determination to find some place in the country where he would be safe from pursuit. The final page was torn off in the middle, and Bella could read no more.

Putting away the bundle in her box, she reflected on what she had read.

It was easy for her to find her Quaker relatives, as the name and address of the family were given. Evidently these same relatives were rich, but very stiff-necked in Quaker traditions. Bella, however, thought very little of this at the moment. Her brain was employed in wondering if Huxham had met with his death at the hands of the unknown man who had dogged his footsteps in Nigeria. Without doubt this man knew of the existence of the jewels, and that Huxham had murdered Faith to get them. It might be that he determined to get the jewels, and, having traced Huxham to England after long years, had killed him and so gained his end. And this man--Bella asked herself the question earnestly--was this man Edwin Lister? She resolved to tell Cyril and to give him the papers to read. He could decide better than she, and probably Durgo could throw much light on the subject.

But there was no doubt that Huxham had bought the Solitary Farm, and had planted the corn thickly, and had mounted the search-light on the roof of Bleacres, so that he might defend himself from robbery and possibly from death. But all his precautions had been in vain, and he had been struck down at last in his very fortress. And by Edwin Lister! Bella felt certain that, as Edwin Lister had been many years in Nigeria and had been a close friend of Kawal's, he must be the unknown man to whom Huxham had so often referred. Lister was the a.s.sa.s.sin; there could be no doubt on that point.

Very thoughtfully the girl locked up the papers, and descended to the drawing-room to wait for the return of Dora. She greatly wished to speak to her friend about what she had discovered, but such a confidence was not to be thought of, as many things had to be done first. Until Edwin Lister was discovered, Bella felt that she would have to be silent. But her thoughts on this subject were brought to an abrupt conclusion when she opened the drawing-room door, for she unexpectedly beheld Silas Pence.

"I came to see you, Miss Faith," he said, using her true name, "and I told the servant not to announce me. I waited here till you came."

Speaking in this jerky, nervous manner, the young man did not attempt to rise, as he appeared to be ill and exhausted. His face was haggard and his head was bound up in a white cloth. Anything more weird than his looks Bella had never seen, and she recoiled on the threshold of the room, only anxious to escape from his unwelcome presence.

"Have you come to persecute me again?" she asked.

"No! no! no!" said Pence weakly, and yet with great relief in his tone.

"I have come to ask your pardon for the way in which I have behaved. I was mad to trouble you as I did, but now I have recovered my reason."

"What do you mean exactly?"

Pence smiled in a ghastly manner. "Can you not guess," said he, touching the linen rag round his head. "The blow I received when I fell on the fender has changed my feelings towards you."

"But how can a blow do that?" asked Bella, relieved but puzzled.

"I cannot say," faltered Pence, resting his aching head on one thin hand. "I really cannot say; my brain won't think just now."

"Then don't think and don't talk," said Bella, kindly placing a plump cushion at his back. "Rest quietly and I'll make you a cup of tea."

"You give me good for evil," said the preacher, flushing painfully.

"No, no!" replied the girl hastily, and remembering her share in his trouble. "You did me great honour in asking me to be your wife, though you were a trifle difficult in some ways. But now----"

"It is all gone; it is all gone. I a.s.sure you it is all gone!"

"What is all gone?"

"All my love for you; all my desire; all my mad infatuation. I like you as a friend, Miss Faith--I shall always like you as a friend--but I can never, never worship you again in the way I did."

"Thank heaven for that!" said Bella fervently. She knew no more than did Silas how the change had come about. But it was evident that the blow on his head had suddenly rearranged his ideas.

"Up to ten o'clock last night I loved you madly, despairingly, and would have risked my soul to gain your hand. But since I fell"--he pa.s.sed his hand across his forehead in a bewildered manner--"everything has changed."

"And for the better," Bella a.s.sured him. "Come, don't think anything more about the matter. I have rung the bell for tea."

"I rung the bell also last night. It brought in Mrs. Queen, very fortunately, or I might have bled to death, Miss Faith."

"Why do you call me Miss Faith?" asked Bella abruptly.

"Because you are Miss Faith," said the preacher, lifting his haggard face to her own in some surprise. "Did not the black man tell you?"

"How do you know that I have anything to do with the black man?"

"I have seen Mr. Lister with him. I saw you all three talking on the common. Oh, Miss Faith, you don't know how I have followed and spied on you!" and the man flushed with shame and dismay.

"Did you listen?" asked Bella abruptly.

"No; I did not fall so low as that, but I followed and watched."

"Why?"

"Because I loved you. That is all over now; I shall never follow or watch you again. I am glad that the black man threw me down last night.

When I found this morning that my prayers had been answered and that I no longer suffered from this mad pa.s.sion, I resolved to say nothing about what had taken place."

"And so invented the story of the epileptic fit?"

"Yes; but the truth is----"

"I know the truth: Durgo told everything to me and to Mr. Lister this morning, or rather this afternoon; also Durgo gave me the papers. I have read them, and know that I am not Captain Huxham's daughter. By the way"--Bella looked sharply at the preacher--"are we friends?"

"Yes, if you will have me for a friend," said Pence meekly.

"By all means, now that you love me no longer. Be my friend,"--she held out her hand, which Pence grasped feebly--"and tell me how you got those papers."