Run to Earth by Mary Elizabeth Braddon (have you read this book TXT) 📖

London this afternoon. This is the

first place I have come to, and of all men on earth I least expected to

meet you here.”

 

“And from your tone, youngster, it seems as if the surprise were by no

means a pleasant one,” cried Joseph Duncombe. “May I ask how Rosamond

Duncombe’s husband comes to address his wife’s father in the tone you

have just used to me?”

 

“You are Rosamond’s father,” answered George; “that is sufficient

reason that Valentine Jernam’s brother should keep aloof from you.”

 

“The man’s mad,” muttered Captain Duncombe; “undoubtedly mad.”

 

“No,” answered George Jernam, “I am not mad—I am only too acutely

conscious of the misery of my position. I love your daughter, Joseph

Duncombe; love her as fondly and truly as ever a man loved the wife of

his choice. And yet here am I skulking in London, alone and miserable,

at the hour when I should be hurrying back to the home of my darling.

Dear though she is to me—truly as I love her—I dare not go back to

her; for between her and me there rises the phantom of my murdered

brother Valentine!”

 

“What on earth has my daughter Rosamond to do with the wretched fate of

your brother?” asked the captain.

 

“In her own person, nothing; but it is her misfortune to be allied to

one who was in league with the assassin, or assassins, of my unhappy

brother.”

 

“What, in heaven’s name, do you mean?” asked the bewildered captain of

the “Vixen.”

 

“Do not press me for my meaning, Captain Duncombe,” answered George, in

a repellant tone; “you are my father-in-law. The knowledge which

accident revealed to me of one dark secret in your life of seeming

honesty came too late to prevent that tie between us. When the fatal

truth revealed itself to me I was already your daughter’s husband. That

secures my silence. Do not force yourself upon me. I shall do my duty

to your daughter as if you and your crime had never been upon this

earth. But you and I can never meet again except as foes. The

remembrance of my brother Valentine is part and parcel of my life, and

a wrong done to him is twice a wrong to myself.”

 

The captain of the “Vixen” had arisen from his chair. He stood before

his son-in-law, breathless, crimson with passion.

 

“George Jernam,” he cried, “do you want me to knock you down? Egad, my

fine gentleman, you may consider yourself lucky that I have not done it

before this. What do you mean by all that balderdash you’ve been

talking? What does it all mean, I say? Are you drunk, or mad, or both?”

 

“Captain Duncombe,” said George, calmly, “do you really wish me to

speak plainly?”

 

“It will be very much the worse for you if you don’t,” retorted the

infuriated captain.

 

“First, then, let me tell you that before I left River View Cottage

last July, your daughter pressed me to avail myself of the contents of

your desk one day when I was in want of foreign letter-paper.”

 

“Well, what then?”

 

“Very much against my own inclination, I consented to open that desk

with a key in Rosamond’s possession. I did not pry into the secrets of

its contents; but before me, in the tray intended for pens, I saw an

object which could not fail to attract my attention—which riveted my

gaze as surely as if I had ‘lighted on a snake.”

 

“What in the name of all that’s bewildering could that object have

been?” cried the captain. “I don’t keep many curiosities in my writing-desk!”

 

“I will show you what I found that day,” answered George. “The finding

of it changed the whole current of my life, and sent me away from that

once happy home a restless and miserable wanderer.”

 

“The man’s mad,” muttered Captain Duncombe to himself; “he must be

mad!”

 

George Jernam took from his waistcoat pocket a tiny parcel, and

unfolding the paper covering, revealed a gold coin—the bent Brazilian

coin—which he placed in the captain’s hands.

 

“Why! heaven have mercy on us!” cried Joseph Duncombe, “if that isn’t

the ghost’s money!”

 

There was astonishment plainly depicted on his countenance; but no look

of guilt. George Jernam watched his face as he contemplated the token,

and saw that it was not the face of a guilty man.

 

“Oh, captain, captain!” he exclaimed, remorsefully, “if I have

suspected you all this time for nothing?”

 

“Suspected me of what?”

 

“Of being concerned, more or less, in my brother’s murder. That piece

of gold which you now hold in your hand was a farewell token, given by

me to him; you may see my initials scratched upon it. I found it in

your desk.”

 

“And therefore suspected that I was the aider and abettor of thieves

and murderers!” exclaimed the captain of the “Vixen.” “George Jernam, I

am ashamed of you.”

 

There was a depth of reproach in the words, common-place though they

were.

 

George Jernam covered his face with his hands, and sat with bent head

before the man he had so cruelly wronged.

 

“If I was a proud man,” said Joseph Duncombe, “I shouldn’t stoop to

make any explanation to you. But as I am not a proud man, and as you

are my daughter’s husband, I’ll tell you how that bit of gold came into

my keeping; and when I’ve told you my story, I’ll bring witnesses to

prove that it’s true. Yes, George, I’ll not ask you to believe my word;

for how can you take the word of a man you have thought base enough to

be the accomplice of a murderer? Oh, George, it was too cruel—too

cruel!”

 

There was a brief silence; and then Captain Duncombe told the story of

the appearance of old Screwton’s ghost, and the coin found in the

kitchen at River View Cottage after the departure of that apparition.

 

“I’ve faced many a danger in my lifetime, George Jernam,” said Captain

Duncombe; “and I don’t think there’s any man who ever walked the ship’s

deck beside me that would call me coward; and yet I’ll confess to you I

was frightened that night. Flesh and blood I’ll face anywhere and

anyhow; I’ll stand up alone, and fight for my life, one against six—

one against twenty, if needs be; but when it comes to a visit from the

other world, Joseph Duncombe is done. He shuts up, sir, like an

oyster.”

 

“And do you really believe the man you saw that night was a visitant

from the other world?”

 

“What else can I believe? I’d heard the description of old Screwton’s

ghost, and what I saw answered to the description as close as could

be.”

 

“Visitors from the other world do not leave substantial evidences of

their presence behind them,” answered George. “The man who dropped that

gold coin was no ghost. We’ll see into this business, Captain Duncombe;

we’ll fathom it, mysterious as it is. I expect Joyce Harker back from

Ceylon in a month or so. He knows more of my brother’s fate than any

man living, except those who were concerned in the doing of the deed.

He’ll get to the bottom of this business, depend upon it, if any man

can. And now, friend—father, can you find it in your heart to forgive

me for the bitter wrong I have done you?”

 

“Well, George,” answered Joseph Duncombe, gravely, “I’m not an

unforgiving chap; but there are some things try the easiest of men

rather hard, and this is one of them. However, for my little Rosy’s

sake, and out of remembrance of the long night-watches you and I have

kept together out upon the lonesome sea, I forgive you. There’s my hand

and my heart with it.”

 

George’s eyes were full of tears as he grasped his old captain’s strong

hand.

 

“God bless you,” he murmured; “and heaven be praised that I came into

this room to-night! You don’t know the weight you’ve lifted off my

heart; you don’t know what I’ve suffered.”

 

“More fool you,” cried Joe Duncombe; “and now say no more. We’ll start

for Devonshire together by the first coach that leaves London to-morrow

morning.”

 

*

 

CHAPTER XXXIII.

 

“TREASON HAS DONE HIS WORST.”

 

Black Milsom, otherwise Mr. Maunders, kept a close watch on Raynham

Castle, through the agency of his friend, James Harwood, whose visits

he encouraged by the most liberal treatment, and for whom he was always

ready to brew a steaming jorum of punch.

 

Mr. Maunders showed a great deal of curiosity concerning the details of

life within the castle, and was particularly fond of leading Harwood to

talk about the excessive care taken of the baby-heiress, and the

precautions observed by Lady Eversleigh’s orders. One day, when he had

led the conversation in the accustomed direction, he said:

 

“One would think they were afraid somebody would try to steal the

child.”

 

“So you would, Mr. Maunders. But you see every situation in life has

its trials, and a child can’t be a great heiress for nothing. One day,

when I was sitting in the rumble of the open carriage, I heard Captain

Copplestone let drop in his conversation with Mrs. Morden as how the

child has enemies—bitter enemies, he said, as might try to do her

harm, if she wern’t looked after sharp.”

 

“I’ve known you a good long time now, Mr. Harwood, and you’ve partaken

of many a glass of rum-punch in my parlour,” said Black Milsom,

otherwise Mr. Maunders, of the “Cat and Fiddle “; “and in all that time

you’ve never once offered to introduce me to one of your fellow-servants, or asked me to take so much as a cup of tea in your

servants’-hall.”

 

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Maunders,” said the groom, in an insinuating

tone; “as to askin’ a friend to take a cup of tea, or a little bit of

supper, without leave from Mrs. Smithson, the housekeeper, is more than

my place is worth.”

 

“But you might get leave I should think, eh, James Harwood?” returned

Milsom; “especially if your friend happened to be a respectable

householder, and able to offer a comfortable glass to any of your

fellow-servants.”

 

“I’m sure if I had thought as you’d accept a invitation to the

servants’-‘all, I’d have asked leave before now,” replied James

Harwood; “but I’m sure I thought as you wouldn’t demean yourself to

take your glass of ale, or your cup of tea, anywheres below the

housekeeper’s room—and she’s a rare starched one is Mrs. Smithson.”

 

“I’m not proud,” said Mr. Milsom. “I like a convivial evening, whether

it’s in the housekeeper’s room or the servants’-hall.”

 

“Then I’ll ask leave to-night,” answered James Harwood.

 

He sent a little scrawl to Milsom next day, by the hands of a stable-boy, inviting that gentleman to a social rubber and a friendly supper

in the servants’-hall that evening at seven o’clock.

 

To spend a few hours inside Raynham Castle was the privilege which

Black Milsom most desired, and a triumphant grin broke out upon his

face, as he deciphered James Harwood’s clumsy scrawl.

 

“How easy it’s done,” he muttered to himself; “how easy it’s done, if a

man has only the patience to wait.”

 

The servants’-hall was a pleasant place to live in, but if Mrs.

Smithson, the housekeeper, was liberal in her ideas she was also

strict, and on some points especially severe; and the chief of these

was the precision with which she required the doors of the castle to be

locked for the night at half-past ten o’clock.