The Story of Bessie Costrell Part 9

'An John locked it hisself, an tuk the key?' Saunders proceeded.

John plucked at his neck again, and, dumbly, held out the key.

'An there worn't nothin wrong wi the lock when yo opened it, John?'

'Nothin, Muster Saunders--I'll take my davy.'

Saunders ruminated. 'Theer's a cupboard there,' he said suddenly, raising his hand and pointing to the cupboard beside the fireplace.

'Is't anythin like the cupboard on th' stairs, John?'

'Aye, 'tis!' said John, startled and staring. 'Aye, 'tis, Muster Saunders!'

Saunders rose.

'Per'aps,' he said slowly, 'Mrs. Costrell will do us the favour ov lettin us hexamine that 'ere cupboard?'

He walked across to it. Bessie's hand dropped; she turned sharply, supporting herself against the table, and watched him, her chest heaving.

'There's no key 'ere,' said Saunders, stooping to look at the lock. 'Try yours, John.'

John rushed forward, but Bessie put herself in the way.

'What are yer meddlin with my 'ouse for?' she said fiercely. 'Just mek yourselves scarce, all the lot o' yer! I don't know nothin about his money, an I'll not have yer _insultin_ me in my own place! Get out o' my kitchen, if _yo_ please!'

Saunders b.u.t.toned his coat.

'Sartinly, Mrs. Costrell, sartinly,' he said, with emphasis. 'Come along, John. Yer must get Watson and put it in 'is hands. 'Ee's the law is Watson. Maybe, as Mrs. Costrell ull listen to '_im_.'

Mary Anne ran to Bessie in despair.

'O Bessie, Bessie, my dear--don't let 'em get Watson; let 'em look into't theirselves--it'll be better for yer, my dear, it _will_.'

Bessie looked from one to the other, panting. Then she turned back to the table.

'_I_ don care what they do,' she said, with sullen pa.s.sion. 'I'm not stannin in any one's way, I tell yer. The more they finds out the better I'm pleased.'

The look of incipient laughter on Saunders's countenance became more p.r.o.nounced--that is to say, the left-hand corner of his mouth twitched a little higher.

But it was rare for him to complete the act, and he was not in the least minded to do so now. He beckoned to John, and John, trembling, took off his keys and gave them to him, pointing to that which belonged to the treasure cupboard.

Saunders slipped it into the lock before him. It moved with ease, backwards and forwards.

'H'm! that's strange,' he said, taking out the key and turning it over thoughtfully in his hand. 'Yer didn't think as there were _another_ key in this 'ouse that would open your cupboard, did yer, Bolderfield?'

The old man sank weeping on a chair. He was too broken, too exhausted, to revile Bessie any more.

'Yo tell her, Muster Saunders,' he said, 'to gie it me back! I'll not ast for all on it, but some on it, Muster Saunders--some on it. She _can't_ a spent it. She must a got it somewhere. Yo speak to her, Muster Saunders. It's a crule thing to rob an old man like me--an her own mother's brother. Yo speak to 'er--an yo, too, Mary Anne.'

He looked piteously from one to the other. But his misery only seemed to goad Bessie to fresh fury. She turned upon him, arms akimbo.

'Oh! an of course it must be _me_ as robs yer! It couldn't be n.o.body else, could it? There isn't tramps an thieves, an rogues--'undreds of 'em--going about o' nights? Nary one, I believe yer! There isn't another thief in Clinton Magna, n.o.bbut Bessie Costrell, is ther? But yer'll not blackguard me for nothin, I can tell yer. Now will yer jest oblige me by takin yourselves off? I shall 'ave to clean up after yer'--she pointed scornfully to the marks of their muddy boots on the floor--'an it's gettin late.'

'One moment, Mrs. Costrell,' said Saunders, gently rubbing his hands.

'With your leave, John and I ull just inspeck the cupboard _hup_ stairs before leavin--an then we'll clear out double-quick. But we'll 'ave one try if we can't 'it on somethin as ull show 'ow the thief got in--with your leave, of _coorse._'

Bessie hesitated; then she threw some spoons she held into the water beside her with a violent gesture.

'Go where yer wants,' she said, and returned to her washing.

Saunders began to climb the narrow stairs, with John behind him. But the smith's small eyes had a puzzled look.

'There's _somethin_ rum,' he said to himself. 'Ow _did_ she spend it all? 'As she been carryin on with someone be'ind Isaac's back, or is Isaac in it too? It's one or t'other.'

Meanwhile Bessie, left behind, was consumed by a pa.s.sionate effort of memory. _What_ had she done with the key, the night before, after she had locked the cupboard? Her brain was blurred. The blow--the fall-- seemed to have confused even the remembrance of the scene with Timothy.

How was it, for instance, that she had put the box back in the wrong place? She put her hand to her head, trying in an anguish to recollect the exact details.

The little widow sat meanwhile a few yards away, her thin hands clasped on her lap in her usual att.i.tude of humble entreaty; her soft grey eyes, brimmed with tears, were fixed on Bessie. Bessie did not know that she was there--that she existed.

The door had closed after the two men. Bessie could hear vague movements, but nothing more. Presently she could bear it no longer. She went to the door and opened it.

She was just in time. By the light of the bit of candle that John held, she saw Saunders sitting on the stair, the shadow of his huge frame thrown back on the white wall; she saw him stoop suddenly, as a bird pounces; she heard an exclamation--then a sound of metal.

Her involuntary cry startled the men above.

'All right, Mrs. Costrell,' said Saunders, briskly--'all right. We'll be down directly.'

She came back into the kitchen, a mist before her eyes, and fell heavily on a chair by the fire. Mary Anne approached her, only to be pushed back. The widow stood listening, in an agony.

It took Saunders a minute or two to complete his case. Then he slowly descended the stairs, carrying the box, his great weight making the house shake. He entered the kitchen first, John behind him. But at the same moment that they appeared, the outer door opened, and Isaac Costrell, preceded by a gust of snow, stood on the threshold.

'Why, John!' he cried, in amazement--'an _Saunders_!'

He looked at them, then at Mary Anne, then at his wife.

There was an instant's dead silence.

Then the tottering John came forward.

'An I'm glad yer come, Isaac, that I am--thankful! Now yer can tell me what yer wife's done with my money. D'yer mind that box? It wor you an I carried it across that night as Watson come out on us. An yo'll bear me witness as we locked it up, an yo saw me tie the two keys roun my neck-- yo _did_, Isaac. An now, Isaac'--the hoa.r.s.e voice began to tremble--'now there's two--suverins--left, and one 'arf-crown--out o' seventy-one pound fower an sixpence--seventy-one pound, Isaac! Yo'll get it out on 'er, Isaac, yer will, won't yer?'

He looked up, imploring.

Isaac, after the first violent start, stood absolutely motionless, Saunders observing him. As one of the main props of Church Establishment in the village, Saunders had no great opinion of Isaac Costrell, who stood for the dissidence of dissent. The two men had never been friends, and Saunders in this affair had perhaps exercised the quasi-judicial functions the village had long by common consent allowed him, with more readiness than usual.

As soon as John ceased speaking, Isaac walked up to Saunders.

'Let me see that box,' he said peremptorily, 'put it down.'

Saunders, who had rested the box on the back of a chair, placed it gently on the table, a.s.sisted by Isaac. A few feet away stood Bessie, saying nothing, her hand holding the duster on her hip, her eyes following her husband.