The Solitary Farm Part 48

"It will be made manifest in time," said Bella firmly; "your father, or your father's body, will be found. Where are Durgo and Henry to be buried?"

"In Marshely churchyard to-morrow. I shall go to the funeral. I am sorry for Durgo. In spite of his skin he was a real white man. And when he is under the earth, Bella, I think we had better sell the jewels and marry, and take a trip round the world in order to forget all this terrible business. I am quite glad it is over."

"It is not over yet," insisted Bella, "your father has to be found, and Mrs. Vand must be discovered."

"Or their bodies," said Cyril significantly, and turned away.

It must not be thought that young Lister was callous. His father had never been one to him, and, moreover, his son had seen so little of him, that he was as strange to the young man as he had been to the boy. Cyril deeply regretted the gulf that was between them, as he was of a truly affectionate nature, but his father always had repelled the least sign of tenderness. He only looked on Cyril as one to be made use of, and borrowed from him on every occasion. Had he succeeded in getting the jewels and had aided Durgo to regain his chiefdom, he would have remained in Nigeria as a kind of savage prime minister, without casting a thought to his son. And whether his father was dead or alive, Cyril knew that he would have to repay the one thousand pounds which he had borrowed to cover his father's delinquency in respect of the forged cheque. How could such a son as Cyril Lister respect or love such a parent as Edwin of the same name?

Nevertheless, Cyril, although he said little to Bella, was very anxious to ascertain the fate of his father. It seemed very certain that Tunks had seen him murdered by the evil-hearted old sailor, but what that scoundrel had done with the body could not be discovered. In vain the police dug in the cellars of the Manor-house, tapped the walls, ripped up the floors, and dragged the boundary channel. The body of Edwin Lister could not be found, and as no one had seen him save Tunks, and Pence, and Bella, who had all mistaken him for Cyril, the police began to believe that Edwin, the father, was a myth. And Cyril could not make Inglis see otherwise for all his urging and confession.

"If the man is alive, why doesn't he turn up?" asked Inglis; "and if dead, why can't we find his body?"

There was no answer to this, and Cyril gave up his father's fate as a riddle, when he walked in the cool of the evening towards the Solitary Farm. The immediate object of his visit was to find if Mrs. Vand, dead or alive, was concealed in the thickly standing corn. Bella strolled by his side. But the lovers had taken no one into this particular confidence, not even Dora, and walked towards the well-known house, and up the corn-path, anxiously looking right and left. Then Cyril uttered an exclamation of annoyance. "What a bother!" he said, much vexed: "see, Bella, there are labourers still reaping--yonder, near the scarecrow."

"I suppose Mr. Timson wants the fields reaped quickly," said Bella, also much vexed. "I thought everyone would have been gone by this time. We must wait until the labourers depart, Cyril. It will never do to find Mrs. Vand while they are about. They would tell the police, and she would be arrested. That would be dangerous!"

"So it will be--if she is alive," said the young man, who was very doubtful on this point himself.

The setting sun cast a rosy glow over the fields of golden grain. The old house seemed to be buried in a treasure meadow. All round rolled the radiant waves, and the scarlet-coated scarecrow's task was nearly done.

The corn was ripe for the harvest, and soon the acres of the Solitary Farm would consist of nothing but stubble.

As the lovers drew near the house, they saw a labourer approach the scarecrow. The corn had been reaped for some distance all round it, and now a man had cut a path direct to it in order to pull it down. Its task was over, and it was no longer needed to keep off the birds. Suddenly the man laid his hand on the quaint figure, which had been so familiar to every one for months, and uttered a loud cry of astonishment. Cyril saw him beckoning to other labourers, and shortly there was a crowd round the scarlet coat.

"What is the matter?" asked Bella, and the lovers hurried to join the group.

One of the labourers heard the question, and turned excitedly. "Master!

Missus!" he said, in horrified tone, "it's a corpse."

He pulled the tattered gray felt hat from the scarecrow, and Cyril recoiled with a loud cry of surprise. "Bella! Bella!"

"What is it? what is it?" she said, startled by the discovery.

"It is my father. It is Edwin Lister."

All present knew of the tragedy, and of the hunt made for Edwin Lister.

And now the missing man had been discovered. One of the labourers, mindful of public house gossip, touched the drooping neck of the figure, and shuddered. "Take missy away," he said softly to Cyril, and with a grey face, "this ain't no sight for her. His throat has been cut."

But it was not the man who led the girl away. Bella saw the labourer's face, guessed, with a shudder, what he had said, and, catching Cyril's arm, dragged him away from that awful spot. The young fellow, with a blanched face and tottering limbs, stumbled blindly along as she pulled him forward. In all his expectations, he had never counted upon such a terrible dramatic discovery as this. His father, the missing man, the murdered man, who had been hunted for alive and dead for many weeks, had been used by Captain Huxham as a scarecrow to frighten the birds. No wonder they had kept away from those sinister fields.

"Oh, great G.o.d!" moaned Cyril, sick and faint, "let this be the end."

CHAPTER XXV

RUN TO EARTH

The quiet village of Marshely, in Ess.e.x, was getting to be as well-known through the length and breadth of England as Westminster Abbey. The murder of Captain Huxham had caused a sensation, the death of Durgo and Vand had created another one, but the discovery of the ghastly scarecrow which had warned the birds from the corn-fields of Bleacres, startled everyone greatly. The news flew like wild fire through the village, and in less than an hour the inhabitants were surveying the terrible object.

Shortly the constable of the village who had superseded Dutton--in disgrace for his share in the escape of Mrs. Vand--appeared, and, armed with the authority of the law and a.s.sisted by willing hands, removed the poor relic of humanity from the pole whereupon it had hung for so long.

The explanation of its being there was easy. Undoubtedly Captain Huxham, after he had committed the crime, and while Tunks and Pence were away, the one through horror and the other through sheer worry, had carried out the dead body to fasten it to the pole. He undressed the straw-stuffed figure, with which everyone was familiar, and having destroyed it arrayed the corpse of Edwin Lister in its military clothes.

Then he pulled the tattered grey felt cap well over the face so that it should not be suspected as being that of a human being, and bound the dead to the pole. Of course, no one, not even the Vands, suspected that the figure was other than what it had always been, and it said much for the cruel ingenuity of Captain Jabez Huxham that he had selected so clever a mode of disposing of the body. Had he thrown it into the boundary channel it might have been fished out; had he concealed it in the house, it would probably have been discovered; and had he buried it in the garden near the house, it might have been dug up. But no one ever dreamed that the scarlet-coated scarecrow was the man who was wanted.

Huxham had been struck down almost immediately after he had put his scheme into execution, and it was doubtful if he had intended to leave the body there. Probably he did, as it was isolated by the corn, and when the field was reaped he doubtless intended to get rid of the corpse in some equally ingenious way. The removal of the scarecrow would have excited no comment when the fields were reaped, as its career of usefulness would then be at an end. The dead man's clothes still clothed his corpse under the scarecrow's ragged garments.

One result of the discovery was that everyone decided not to buy the corn which had flourished under so terrible a guardian. Far and wide the newspapers spread the report of the discovery, and Timson became aware that a prejudice existed against making bread of the wheat grown on the Bleacres ground. Not wishing to spend more money, since he would have to account for everything he did to Mrs. Vand, he withdrew the labourers.

The Solitary Farm now became solitary indeed, for no one would go near it, especially after night-fall. The golden fields of wheat spread round it like a sea, and the ancient house stood up greyly and lonely like a thing accursed. And indeed it was looked upon as d.a.m.ned by the villagers.

An inquest was held, and, going by the evidence of Luke Tunks, it was decided that Edwin Lister came by his end at the hands of Jabez Huxham.

Cyril was compelled to attend and give evidence, but said as little as he could, not wishing to make his father's shady career too public. He simply stated that his father was a trader in Nigeria, and being the friend of Durgo, the dispossessed chief of a friendly tribe in the far Hinterland, had come home to see Huxham and get from him certain jewels.

Of course he could not suppress the fact that these jewels had been given by Kawal to Maxwell Faith, and had been stolen from the dead body of the man by his murderer, Captain Huxham: nor could he fail to state that Bella was the daughter of Maxwell Faith, since had he not done so the jewels might have been taken from her. But Cyril spoke as clearly and carefully as he could, quite aware of the delicate position he occupied. There was no doubt that Huxham, dreading lest the murder of Faith should be brought home to him, and anxious to retain the jewels which were the price of blood, had murdered Lister; afterwards he had disposed of the body in the ingenious manner explained. But Lister was dead; Huxham was dead; Vand and Durgo were dead, so the papers suggested that there should be an end to the succession of terrible events which made Marshely so notorious.

"And I think this is the last," said Cyril, when he returned to Miss Ankers' cottage from his father's funeral. "Bella, we can't stay here."

"I'm sure I don't want to," replied the hara.s.sed girl, who looked worn and thin. "The place is getting on my nerves. I'll marry you as soon as you like, dear, and then we can go away. But this morning"--she hesitated--"I received a letter from my father's relatives. They ask me to come to them."

"What will you do?" asked Cyril gravely.

"Write and say that I am marrying you and intend to go abroad."

"But, Bella, if you reside with your relatives you may be able to make a much better match."

"Yes," said Bella with a grimace. "I might marry a Quaker. No, dear, I intend to stay with you and marry you. I have done without my relatives for all this time, and I hope to continue doing without them."

"Bella! Bella! I have nothing to offer you."

"Yourself, dear. That is all I want."

"A stupid gift on my part," said Cyril, looking ruefully in a near mirror at his face, which was now lean and haggard. "You have the money, and also the sympathy of the public. I can offer you nothing but a dishonoured name."

"Oh, nonsense!" she said vigorously. "I won't have you talk in that way.

Why, one of the newspapers referred to your father as a pioneer of Empire."

Sad as he was Cyril could not help smiling. "That is just like my father's good luck," he exclaimed; "alive or dead, everything comes to him. I expect his shady doings will be overlooked, and----"

"No one knows of his shady doings, dear."

"Well, then, he will be looked upon as a hero. It's just as well he is buried in Marshely churchyard, for some fanatic might propose to bury him in Westminster Abbey."

"You will be congratulated on having such a father."

"No!" cried Cyril violently. "I won't stand that, Bella. We shall go to London next week and get married in a registry office. Miss Ankers can come with you to play propriety."

Bella laughed. "I rather think Dora is so busy nursing poor Mr. Pence back to health that she has no time."

"Why, you don't mean to say that she loves Pence?"