When the poor girl dropped on her knees, and gave vent, to her feelings by a gush of tears, the lady yearned towards her, and, looking at her with compa.s.sion, she said, "Yes, it may be so;"--and, from that moment, she made up her mind to keep the poor creature with her, and teach her all she was capable of learning. She would, by this, be preserving the girl from the ill-treatment which she saw by her countenance and manner whilst the woman was in the room she had evidently been subject to, and she would also, by this act, save herself from the continual annoyance of this woman"s visits and importunity. She might keep this poor girl as a dependant, and account for her presence there, by saying that she came into the garden through the little private door from the lane, and fell on her knees in a supplicating att.i.tude, which she (Mrs. Courland) understood to mean, "Take care of me,"--and she had taken care of her, out of compa.s.sion. This was, in fact, true, as far as it went; and of course the girl herself could not betray her. So, instead of concealing the girl in the little inner room, as she had intended, she sent for her niece and told her the tale.
It seemed so romantic, that Miss Morley was delighted, and amused herself by trying to talk to the girl by signs, which she soon found she understood with remarkable quickness; for, in all but the power of speech and hearing, she was shrewd and intelligent. This was a new occupation for Mrs. Courland; it opened out a new life to her; it relieved her mind from the anxieties which had almost overwhelmed her before.
Her husband might come now,--she was not afraid of the tales of her persecutors. She knew the worst, and was no longer hara.s.sed by suspense.
She could tell him as much or as little as she pleased,--her silent protege could not enlighten him further; and the people she so much dreaded before, she would not admit to her presence again.
A suitable wardrobe was procured for the delighted girl; and Julia, a.s.sisted by Mrs. Courland"s own attendant, succeeded in making her look quite presentable in a short time. They were very much amused at her utter astonishment, when she looked at herself in the gla.s.s, after they had dressed her and arranged her hair, according to the "mode,"--she could not make it out at all. She looked into the gla.s.s and smiled, as if pleased with the change, and then looked round, as if trying to find her former self. They then proceeded to teach her how to conduct herself in keeping with her dress, especially in the etiquette of eating and drinking among well-bred people; and it was astonishing, how soon she learned all they wished to teach her. The next puzzle was to find a name for her; and, as she seemed remarkably fond of flowers, they called her "Flora;"--not that it made any difference to her, poor girl, whether she had a name or not; but it enabled her kind friends to designate her the better when speaking of her.
Mr. Morley and Josiah, in the meantime, had effected an entrance into the deserted house, through the window in the end, which entered into the bedroom on the ground floor. One glance sufficed to convince Mr.
Morley that this was the house,--he had heard it described so often by his father. There were dark marks on the floor still, and the bed was blood-stained, although time had softened it down into a faint tinge only.
That bed appeared never to have been touched since that fatal night, except to remove the dead body of the murdered man from it; and the other rooms also seemed as if they had been lately occupied, except that everything was covered with dust and cobwebs, and the rats and mice had made sad inroads into the bed-curtains and everything that they could convert into food, or make an impression on with their sharp teeth. An old rat came out of one of the bedrooms to meet them as they mounted the stairs, and seemed astonished and indignant at the intrusion; but when he saw that the intruders were not to be daunted by looks of defiance, he turned and scampered back again to his old quarters between the blankets. The beds had remained as they were when the fugitives left; and on turning down the covering of the bed to which the rat had directed its course, Josiah discovered a nest of young rats comfortably settled. They soon scampered off, however, and, in their retreat, roused others; and there was a precious noise through the house, as the inmates rattled downstairs. No wonder that the house had the name of being haunted. These noises had been heard before, no doubt, when some daring thief had attempted to get in to rob it; and their superst.i.tious fears preserved the house and its contents from invasion. It was very easy to account for the last occupiers having left all things as they were; for they were, no doubt, glad to get away as soon as possible, after they had thrown the scent off from themselves by accusing another; and Mr.
Morley"s money, which they must have taken with them, was amply sufficient to compensate them for the loss of the house and furniture, and to provide them with all they would require for a very long time.
The rooms were all in the same state. Some of the drawers and cupboards were partially open, while others were locked, but the keys had been left in them. Everything betokened a hasty flight. In some of the drawers were found a few articles of clothing, both male and female; but these were moth-eaten and discoloured. There were no papers of any kind to serve as a clue to the discovery of the parties.
In searching one of the drawers in what appeared to have been the bedroom of a female, Josiah found a gold earring, of a peculiar pattern, with a small diamond in the drop end of it. This he put into his pocket, with the intention of giving it to the dumb girl, to amuse her; for all the household, at Ashley Hall, had already begun to take an interest in her, and she was getting quite at home with them, and familiar with every part of the house, and she could now make herself understood, without much difficulty. Mr. Morley thought it was very strange that such a valuable ornament should be found in such a house. Those earrings, however, might have been a present from some rich lady for services performed. The other earring might have been lost; or this may have been a stray one, taken in a hurry, among other trinkets, which the owners of that house might have appropriated to themselves from time to time, when they found an opportunity; for it was evident, from the circ.u.mstances that had occurred in connection with that murder, that plunder was their princ.i.p.al object.
When Josiah gave Flora the ornament in the evening, she looked at it at first with pleasure, and thanked the donor in her way. She then took it into another part of the room, and examined it more minutely, and admired every part of it. At last she gave a start, and her countenance became overclouded with an expression of terror and pain. This was in the servants" hall. And, running up to Josiah, she became quite outrageous, pointing to the ornament as if in anger; and then, making a sign, as if she thought it had come from a long way off, she threw it on the floor, and would have stamped on it, had not Josiah s.n.a.t.c.hed it up.
They could not at all understand what she meant. Josiah was about to put the earring into his pocket again, when she s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of his hand, and ran out of the room. Nothing more was heard or seen of the ornament; and so they supposed she had thrown it away or destroyed it.
Mr. Morley was now beginning to feel uneasy about his brother; for he had heard from his friend Fowler twice, and in both letters he said he had seen nothing of Frederick. So Mr. Morley determined to return to Cornwall again without delay.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
BY DOING A LITTLE WRONG, A GREAT GOOD IS ACCOMPLISHED IN THE END.
Frederick Morley"s state of mind can better be imagined than described, at finding himself a prisoner in the house which he intended to have entered as the bold deliverer of his beloved Alrina, who was, perhaps, by this time on her voyage to America. The boy continued to attend upon him, and he was beginning, Morley thought, to take an interest in him, and to pity his position; for Frederick, who was now getting strong again, had proposed taking him into his service,--at which he seemed pleased, although he did not say whether he would accept the offer or not. Cunning boy! he knew very well that he was watched closely by Cooper and his wife.
"What the devil were you and that chap whispering about?" said Cooper to the boy, one day, when the latter came down from attending on the invalid.
"If your ears had been long enough you would have heard," replied the boy, in his usual saucy way.
"Come, none of that!" said the man. "I wish "The Maister" would come and take him off, or give the orders what to do with him; for I don"t like this shill-i-shall-i game."
"Nor I," said the boy; "I"m tired too with this work. I"d rather be out than here tending "pon the sick, like a maid. I tell "ee what I"d do, ef I wor you, Cap"n,--I"d give"n the run of the cellars."
"What"s the good of that, you fool?" replied Cooper, looking as if a bright thought had struck him all at once.
"Why, I"ll tell "ee," said the boy, coming closer to the man, and whispering in his ear,--"he"d be starved to death, or else he"d run his head agen the walls and batter his brains out."
"You young rascal!" exclaimed Cooper, looking at the same time more pleased than he intended to look; "you don"t think I"d treat the young fellow like that, do "ee? He never did any harm to me. If "The Maister"
ha" got a mind to do it, he may, but I sha"n"t."
"You"re turned chickenhearted all at once," said the boy. "I tell "ee,--I don"t like to be shut in here all day, when a turn of the key in the cellar-door would settle it all, and give me my liberty once more; and I tell "ee, Cap"n, ef you don"t like to do et, give me the key of the cellar, and I"ll put "n in there this very night, and n.o.body will be the wiser."
This was what Capt. Cooper would like to have done days ago; but he feared a betrayal on the part of the boy; but now that the young rascal, who was the acknowledged protege of Mr. Freeman, had proposed it himself, he thought he might avail himself of the opportunity, and his friend would thank him when it was all over, and he should be very glad himself to get rid of an enemy so formidable. These were his thoughts and reflections. Why he made them, or what reason either of them had for their antipathy to this young man, did not appear. That they had this antipathy was very evident,--and that their wish to get rid of him was about to be accomplished, was now vividly apparent to the mind of Capt.
Cooper without the possibility of any blame being attached to him. He had sufficient control over his feelings, however, to prevent his showing the real pleasure it gave him, to the boy; but he stipulated that, to prevent an escape, he should himself be present to unlock the door, and put the prisoner into this safe stronghold.
The boy then went back to the prisoner, and told him that Capt. Cooper had granted permission for him to take a little exercise on the beach that evening; at which Morley was much pleased, for he felt almost suffocated, shut up in a close room for so long a time. Anywhere, he thought, was better than that. So, when the boy came in the evening to let him out, he almost leaped with joy. At the bottom of the stairs they were joined by Cooper, and the three went down another flight of steps, which seemed to Morley dark and dismal. The boy whispered to him that he would soon be in the open air, but that it was necessary they should reach it by a circuitous route. The man also spoke kindly to him; and down they went, till they came to a door, which the man unlocked,--and, in his eagerness to secure his prey, he gave his prisoner a push, which sent him headlong down another flight of steps.
The sudden fall stunned Morley for a few minutes; but he soon recovered himself, and, on looking round, he found that he was in what seemed to him to be a dark dungeon. This was worse than all. The boy had betrayed him! This he was now convinced of, and he should be left there in that dark cold dungeon to perish. He groped his way round the place as well as he could, and felt that the walls were damp. He stumbled over some casks and boxes, as he went cautiously along; and by degrees, as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he could see that he was in an underground cellar, not very large nor very high; but in going round by the wall, he found that this small cellar communicated with a large one, which he groped his way into, through a small archway. Here he sank down on the floor from sheer exhaustion, and began to reflect on his situation.
Everything seemed going against him. It was evident, from the way in which the man had pushed him down the stairs, that he was anxious to get rid of him, and would perhaps resort to some speedy way of doing so; and he feared and believed the boy was in league with him. Why Mr. Freeman should have taken such a dislike to him he could not imagine, for he had never seen him that he was aware of. Altogether, it was a mystery which he could not understand; so he gave himself up to despair, and made up his mind that he would never be permitted to leave that place again.
Whether his death would be a lingering one of starvation, or whether it would be a quick one by a.s.sa.s.sination, he could not of course tell;--he almost wished it might be the latter, for the suspense was dreadful.
Hour after hour pa.s.sed away, and there he sat brooding over his unhappy fate, but no one came to end his woes. Night came on,--he could feel it although he could not see it, for all was cold and dark and dreary around him. The damp was coming out from the walls, and he felt a chill pa.s.s through his frame; for he was still weak from his late illness.
Exhausted nature was giving way, and sleep was falling on him. He tried to keep awake; for he feared that if he slept in that place he should never wake again. He got up and tried to rouse himself and keep awake by walking to and fro, but it was of no use. His thoughts were terrible. It was better to suffer death than continue in that state of awful suspense. He sat down at last on an empty box, and yielded to that oblivion which soothes and invigorates the frame, while it relieves the mind from harrowing and disagreeable thoughts and feelings.
CHAPTER XXIX.
MRS. BROWN AND MRS. TRENOW INDULGE IN A CROOM O" CHAT. WHILE CAP"N TRENOW GIVES SOME SAGE ADVICE IN ANOTHER QUARTER.
The gossips of St. Just were spared the necessity of inventing idle tales to keep conversation alive,--a practice so prevalent in small communities, where the events that happen in everyday life are generally so uninteresting and monotonous. Events had happened within the last few months which gave ample scope to the most inveterate and accomplished gossip for exercising the art of conversation to the fullest extent, and yet be most truthful; although they still had the power of embellishing the facts according to their own lively fancy and vivid imagination.
They could talk of "The Maister" now with the utmost freedom; for he was no longer in the neighbourhood to pry into their secrets, and read their thoughts, and ill-wish them for talking of him and his doings. And, as a reservoir of water that has broken through the embankment, after having been pent up till it was full almost to overflowing, rushes with greater force on its first outburst,--or the pent-up steam in a mighty engine when suddenly let loose,--so did the long-restrained tongues of the gossips of St. Just now pour out, to their hearts" content, their secret spleen and antipathy to their dangerous and dreaded neighbour, Mr.
Freeman. There was not a house in which some scandal was not going on continually;--and this was not confined to the women, the men being equally intent on "giving the devil his due," as they termed it.
Business was brisk at the "Commercial" Inn. The afternoons were generally devoted to a gossip over a dish of tea and a drop of "comfort," between Mrs. Brown and a few of her intimate female friends, after which the kitchen was occupied until a late hour by the men, who would drink a double quant.i.ty of beer if anyone could be found to amuse them by relating some fresh tale.
The chair in which Mr. Freeman had been accustomed to sit in the chimney-corner, was generally left unoccupied by a seeming tacit consent, the better to enable the speaker for the time being to designate the person of whom he was speaking, without mentioning any name, by simply nodding his head towards the vacant chair;--for they were, even now, afraid that "The Maister" might be listening to them in secret.
Of all her female acquaintances, Mrs. Brown preferred Mrs. Trenow for a quiet gossip, because, living very near "The Maister"s" house, and having been on intimate terms of friendship with both Alrina and Alice Ann, she could impart as well as receive information.
The whole neighbourhood was teeming with news. Events of the most thrilling interest were happening every hour--and, being told and retold from house to house, they lost nothing in their transit--when, one afternoon, Mrs. Trenow paid her accustomed visit to her old friend Mrs.
Brown, whom she fortunately found alone, with the exception of her husband, who was sitting in the chimney-corner, thinking of nothing, and whistling for want of thought.
As she entered, Mrs. Trenow closed the door after her, and looked round the room in a mysterious manner, much to Mrs. Brown"s surprise,--for they had lately fallen into the habit of discussing their subject rather more openly, in the conscious security of the absence of the evil-eye.
"Arrah, then!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, smiling; "the Franch are landed sure nuf now, then, I s"pose. Ef so, we"ll put up a red coat to John Brown, and stick "n out afore the door to frighten them away."
"I don"t knaw nothen" "bout the Franch, not I," replied Mrs. Trenow, drawing her chair as close to the landlady as she could, and bringing her face almost close to the ear of her friend; "but he"s come back, cheeld vean!"
"Who"s come back?" asked Mrs. Brown,--in a tone, however, which seemed to require no answer.
"I wor setten" up brave an" late, doen a bit of menden"," continued Mrs.
Trenow,--"for, what with one body an" another comin" in chatting, I haan"t done much by day lately--when I heard footsteps outside, and a woman"s voice, complaining of a long walk, and how glad she was to get home once more. So, after they were gone by, I opened the door an"
looked out, an" there I seed a man an" a woman. It was bright moonlight, you knaw,--an" who shud they be, but "The Maister" and Miss Reeney. I cud see them so plain as I can see you now, as they went in through the little gate. Alice Ann was sent for again to-day, an" there they are.
Where Miss Freeman es I caan"t tell. They came back in a vessel, the maid said, an" wor out a bra" while. Where they"ve b"en to she cudn"t tell, nor Miss Reeney neither, I b"lieve, for she wor kept fine an"
close; but I shall knaw more another time,--Alice Ann cudn"t stop more than a minute."
"Well, I"m glad they"re come back, for one thing," said Mrs. Brown--"an"