Tod saw a young hare scutter across the gra.s.s, and rushed after it, full chase. The moon, low in the heavens, as autumn moons mostly are, lighted up the perplexity on Annet"s face. It _was_ perplexed. Suddenly she turned it on the Squire.
"Mr. Todhetley, I am sure you must wonder what I came for."
"Well, I thought you wanted something," said the Squire candidly. "We are always pleased to have you; you ought to have stayed tea."
"I did want something. But I really could not muster courage to begin upon it. The longer I sat there--like a statue, as I felt--the more my tongue failed me. Perhaps I can say it here."
It was a curious thing she had to tell, and must have sounded to the Squire"s ears like an incident out of a ghost story. The gist of it was this: an impression had taken hold of her mind that her husband had not been fairly dealt with. In plain words, had not come fairly by his end.
The pater listened, and could make no sense of it.
"I can"t tell how or when the idea arose," she said; "it seems to have floated in my mind so long that I do not trace the beginning. At first it was but the merest shadow of a doubt; hardly that; but it has grown deeper and darker, and I cannot rest for it."
"Bless my heart!" cried the Squire. "Johnny, hold my hat a minute."
"Just as surely as that I see that moon in the sky, sir," she went on, "do I seem to see in my mind that some ill was wrought to Frank by his brother. Mrs. Radcliffe said it would be."
"Dear me! What Mrs. Radcliffe?"
"Frank"s mother. She had the impression of it when she was dying, and she warned Frank that it would be so."
"Poor Selina! But--my dear lady, how do you know that?"
"My husband told me. He told me one night when we were sitting alone in the parlour. Not that he put faith in it. He had escaped Stephen"s toils until then, he said in a joking tone, and thought he could take care of himself and escape them still. But I fear he did not."
"Now what is it you do fear?" asked the Squire. "Come."
She glanced round in dread, and then spoke with considerable hesitation and in a low whisper.
"I fear--that Stephen--may have--murdered him."
"Mercy upon us!" uttered the Squire, recoiling a step or two.
She put her elbow on the stile and raised her hand to her face, showing out so pale and distressed under its white net border.
"It lies upon me, sir--a great agony. I don"t know what to do."
"But it _could not_ be," cried the Squire, collecting his scared senses.
"Your imagination must run away with you, child. Frank died up at Dr.
Dale"s; Stephen Radcliffe was down here at the time."
"Yes--I am aware of all that, sir. But--I believe it was as I fear. I don"t pretend to account for it; to say what Stephen did or how he did it--but my fears are dreadful. I have no peace night or day."
The Squire stared at her and shook his head. I am sure he thought her brain was touched.
"My dear Mrs. Frank, this must be pure fancy. Stephen Radcliffe is a hard and griping man, not sticking at a trick or two where his pocket is concerned, but he wouldn"t do such a thing as this. No, no; surly as he may be, he could not be guilty of murder."
She took her arm off the stile, with a short shiver. David Skate came into sight; Tod"s footsteps were heard brushing the gra.s.s.
"Good-night, sir," she hurriedly said; and was over the stile before we could help her.
III.
When the rumours first began, I can"t tell you. They must have had a beginning: but no one recollected when the beginning was. It was said that curious noises were heard in the neighbourhood of Sandstone Torr.
One spoke of it, and another spoke of it, at intervals of perhaps a month apart, until people grew _accustomed_ to hearing of the strange sounds that went shrieking round the Torr on a windy night. Dovey, the blacksmith, going up to the Torr on some errand, declared he had heard them at mid-day: but he was not generally believed.
The Torr was so remote from the ordinary routes of traffic, that the noises were not likely to be heard often, even allowing that there were noises to hear. Shut in by trees, and in a lonely spot, people had no occasion to pa.s.s it. The narrow lane, by which it was approached from Church d.y.k.ely, led to nowhere else; on other sides it was surrounded by fields. Stephen Radcliffe was asked about these noises; but he positively denied having heard any, except those caused by the wind.
_That_ shrieked around the house as if so many witches were at work, he said, and it always had as long as he could remember. Which was true.
Stephen"s inheritance of all the money on the death of his young half-brother Francis--young, compared with him--seemed to have been only the signal for him and his wife to become more unsociable, and they were bad enough before. They shut themselves up in the Torr, with that sister of hers, Eunice Gibbon, who acted as their servant, and saw no one. Neither visitors nor tradespeople were encouraged there; they preferred to live without help from any one: butcher or baker or candlestick maker. The produce of the farm supplied ordinary daily needs, and anything else that might be wanted was fetched from the village by Eunice Gibbon--as tall and strapping a woman as Mrs.
Stephen, and just as grim and silent. Even the postman had orders to leave any letters that might arrive, addressed to the Torr, at Church d.y.k.ely post-office to be called for. Possibly it was a sense of their own unfitness for society that caused them to keep aloof from it.
Stephen Radcliffe had always been a sullen, boorish man, in spite of his descent from the ancient Druids--or whatever the high-caste tribes might be, that he traced back from; and as to his wife, she was just as much like a lady as a pig"s like a windmill.
The story of the queer noises gained ground, and in the course of time it coursed about pretty freely. One evening in the late spring--but the report had been abroad then for months and months--a circ.u.mstance caused it to be discussed at d.y.k.e Manor. Giles, our groom, strolling out one night to give himself an airing, chanced to get near the Torr, and came home full of it. "Twere exactly," he declared, "like a lot o" witches howling in the air." Just as Stephen Radcliffe had said of the wind.
The Squire told Giles it must be the owls; the servants thought Mr.
Radcliffe might be giving his wife a beating; Mrs. Todhetley imagined it might be only the bleating of the young lambs. Giles protested it could come from neither owls nor lambs: and as to Radcliffe"s beating "Becca, he"d be hardly likely to try it on, for she"d beat back again. Tod and I were at school, and heard nothing of it till we got home in summer.
"Johnny! There"s the noise!"
We two had been over to the Court to see the Sterlings; it was only the second day of our holidays; and were taking the cross-cut home through the fields, which led us past Sandstone Torr. It was the twilight of a summer"s evening. The stars were beginning to show themselves; in the north-west the colours were the most beautiful opal conceivable; the round silver moon sailed in the clear blue sky. Crossing the stile by the grove of trees that on three sides surrounded the Torr, we had reached the middle of the next field, when a sort of faint wailing cry, indescribably painful, brought us both to a standstill.
"It must be the noise they talk of," repeated Tod.
Where did it come from? What was it? Standing on the path in the centre of the open field, we turned about and gazed around; but could see nothing to produce or cause it. It seemed to be overhead, ever so far up in the air: an unearthly, imploring cry, or rather a succession of cries; faint enough, as if the sound spent itself before it reached us, but still distinct; and just as much like what witches might be supposed to make, witches in pain, as any cries could be. I"d have given a month"s pocket-money not to have heard it.
"Is it in the Torr?" exclaimed Tod, breaking the silence. "I don"t see how that could be, though."
"It is up in the air, Tod."
We stood utterly puzzled; and gazing at the Torr. At as much of it, at least, as could be seen--the tops of the chimneys, and the sugar-loaf of a tower shooting up to its great height amidst them. The windows of the house and its old stone walls, on which the lichen vegetated, were hidden by the cl.u.s.tering old trees, in full foliage then.
"Hark! There it is again!"
The same horrible, low, distressing sound, something between a howl and a wail; enough to make a stout man shiver in his shoes.
"Is it a woman"s cry, Tod?"
"_I_ don"t know, lad. It"s like a person being murdered and crying out for help."
"Radcliffe can"t be tanning his wife."
"Not he, Johnny. She"d take care of that. Besides, they"ve never been cat-and-dog. Birds of a feather: that"s what they are. Oh, by Jove!
there it comes again! Just listen to it! I don"t like this at all, Johnny. It must be witches, and nothing else."
Decidedly it must be. It came from the air. The open fields lay around, white and still under the moonlight, and nothing was on their surface of any kind, human or animal. Now again! that awful cry, rising on the bit of breeze there was, and dying away in pain to a faint echo.