Trevlyn Hold Part 72

"That he has been killed--murdered," continued Miss Diana. "George, I want to get at the truth of it."

He could not rejoin just at first. News, such as that, takes time to revolve. He could only look at them alternately; his heart, for Rupert's sake, beating fast. Miss Diana repeated what Hatch had said. "George,"

she concluded, "I cannot go after these men, examining into the truth or falsehood of the report, but you might."

George started away impulsively ere she had well spoken. Hatch mentioned the names of the men who had been talking, and George hastened to look for them over the fields. Cris was following, but Miss Diana caught him by the arm.

"Not you, Cris; stop where you are."

"Stop where I am?" returned Cris, indignantly, who had a very great objection to being interfered with by Miss Diana. "I shall not, indeed.

I don't pretend to have had much love for Rupert, but I'm sure I shall look into it if there's such a report as that about. He must have killed himself, if he is dead."

But Miss Diana kept her hand upon him. "Remain where you are, I say.

They are connecting your father's name with it in a manner I do not understand, and it will be better you should be quiet until we know more."

She went on to the house as she spoke. Cris stared after her in blank dismay, wondering what the words meant, yet sufficiently discomposed to give up his own will for once, and remain quiet, as she had suggested.

Meanwhile, Mr. Chattaway, unconscious of the commotion at the Hold, was galloping towards Barbrook. He reined in at the police-station, and Bowen came out to him.

"I know what you have come about, Mr. Chattaway," cried the man, before that gentleman could speak. "It's to tell us that Jim Sanders has turned up. We know all about it, and Dumps has gone after him. Hang the boy!

giving us all this bother."

"I'll have him punished, Bowen."

"Well, sir, it's to know whether he won't get enough punishment as it is. His going off looks uncommonly suspicious--as I said yesterday: looks as if he had had a finger in the pie."

"Is Dumps going to bring him on here?"

"Right away, as fast as he can march him. Impudent monkey, going to work this morning, just as if nothing had happened! Dumps'll be on to him.

They won't be long, sir."

"Then I'll wait," decided Mr. Chattaway.

CHAPTER XLIII

JAMES SANDERS

George Ryle speedily found the men spoken of by Hatch as having held the conversation in the sheep-pen. But he could gather nothing more certain from them than Miss Diana had gathered from Hatch. Upon endeavouring to trace the report to its source he succeeded in finding out that one man alone had brought it to the Hold. This man declared he heard it from his wife, and his wife had heard it from Mrs. Sanders.

Away sped George Ryle to the cottage of Mrs. Sanders: pa.s.sing through the small grove of trees, spoken of in connection with this fresh report, the nearest way to Barbrook and the cottage from the upper road, but lonely and unfrequented. He found the woman busy at the work Mr.

Dumps had interrupted the previous day--washing. With some unwillingness on her part and much circ.u.mlocution, George drew her tale from her. And to that evening we may as well return for a few minutes, for we shall arrive at the conclusion much more quickly than Mrs. Sanders.

It was dark when the woman walked home from Barmester--Dumps not having had the politeness to drive her, as in going,--and she found her kitchen as she had left it. Her children--she had three besides Jim--were out in the world, Jim alone being at home with her. Mrs. Sanders lighted a candle, and surveyed the scene: grate black and cold; washing-tub on the bench, wet clothes lying over it; bricks sloppy. "Drat that old Dumps!"

e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed she. "I'd serve him out if I could. And I'd like to serve out that Jim, too. This comes of dancing up to the Hold after Bridget with that precious puppy!"

She put things tolerably straight for the night, made herself some tea, and began to think. What had become of Jim? And did he or did he not have anything to do with the fire? Not wilfully; she could answer for that; but accidentally? She looked into vacancy, and shook her head in a timid, doubtful manner, for she knew that torches in rick-yards might prove dangerous adjuncts to suspicion.

"I wonder what they could do to him, happen they proved it were a spark from his torch?" she deliberated. "Sure they'd never transport for an accident! Dumps said transportation were too good for Jim, but----"

The train of thought was interrupted, the door burst open, and by no less a personage than Jim himself. Jim, as it appeared, in a state of fear and agitation. His breath came fast, and his eyes had a wild, terrified stare in them.

With his presence, Mrs. Sanders's maternal apprehensions for his safety merged into anger. She laid hold of Jim and shook him--kindly, as she expressed it; but poor Jim found little kindness in it.

"Mother, what's that for?"

"That's what it's for," retorted his mother, giving him a sound box on the ear. "You'll dance out with puppies again up to that good-for-nothing minx of a Bridget!--and you'll set rick-yards a-fire!--and you'll go off and hide yourself, and let the place be searched by the police!--and me drawn into trouble, and took off by that insolent Dumps in a stick-up gig to Barmester, and lugged afore the court! Now, where have you been?"

Jim made no return in kind. All the spirit the boy possessed seemed to have gone out of him. He sat down meekly on a broken chair, and began to shiver. "Don't, mother," said he. "I've got a fright."

"A fright!" indignantly responded Mrs. Sanders. "And what sort of a fright do you suppose you have given others? Happen Madam Chattaway might have died of it, they say. _You_ talk of a fright! Who hasn't been in a fright since you took the torch into the yard and set the ricks alight?"

"It isn't that," said Jim. "I ain't afraid of that; I didn't do it. Nora knows I didn't, and Mr. Apperley knows, and Bridget knows. I've no cause to be afeard of that."

"Then what are you quaking for?" angrily demanded Mrs. Sanders.

"I've just got a fright," he answered. "Mother, as true as we be here, Mr. Rupert's dead. I've just watched him killed."

Mrs. Sanders's first proceeding on receipt of this information was to stare; her second to discredit it, believing Jim was out of his mind, or dreaming. "Talk sense, will you?" cried she.

"I'm not a-talking nonsense," he answered. "Mother, as sure as us two be living here, I see it. It were in the grove, up by the field. I saw him struck down."

The woman began to think there must be something in the tale. "It's Mr.

Rupert you be talking of?"

"Yes, and it was him as set the rick a-fire. And now he's murdered!

Didn't I run fast! I was in mortal fear."

"Who killed him?"

Jim looked round timorously, as if thinking the walls might have ears.

"I daren't say," he shivered.

"But you must say."

He shook his head. "No, I'll never tell it--unless I'm forced. He might be for killing _me_. When the hue and cry goes about to-morrow, and folks is asking who did it, there'll be n.o.body to answer. I shall keep dark, because I must. But if Ann Canham had waited and seen it, I wouldn't ha' minded saying; she'd ha' been a witness as I told the truth."

"If you don't speak plainer I'll box your ears again," was the retort.

"What about Ann Canham?"

"Well, I met her at the top o' the field as I was turning into 't. That were but a few minutes afore. She'd been to work at the parson's, she said. I say, mother, you don't think they'll come after me here?" he questioned, his tone full of doubt.

"They _did_ come after ye, to some purpose," wrathfully responded Mrs.

Sanders. "My belief is you've come home with your head turned. I'd like to know where you've been hiding."

"I've been nowhere but up in the tallet at master's," replied Jim. "I crep' in there last night, dead tired, and never woke this morning. Hay do make one sleep; it's warmer than bed."