The Mystery Of An Old Murder (2 page)

"Yes, he is in London. James hears from him, but not often. He never speaks of himself, but I am afraid his life is a very lonely one. I wish he would come home." She paused, but Mrs. Drew did not speak, and she went on more quickly : "Edith, has Marjorie been told? Kitty seems to have heard something in London; she was asking us questions just now."

Mrs. Drew's delicate eyebrows drew together in a little pained frown. "Do people gossip about it still?" she said. "I hoped it was all forgotten by strangers after so many years. No, Marjorie knows nothing; we thought it better to keep it from her. She is such a child still. But you say Kitty is only two months older. I can hardly believe it. She looks two years older."

"How delighted she would be to hear you say so!" said Mrs. Bulteel, with a laugh. She was glad to escape from the painful subject they had been talking of. "Kitty wants to be grown-up. Her little head has been turned by her mother's fashionable friends. But she is a good girl at heart; she won't hurt your Marjorie."

"I am not afraid," said the mother, with a proud little smile. "But you must speak to John, Lucy. And now, let us go down; Nell will be anxious to see you."

CHAPTER 2

aunt nell

Marjorie was just two years old when her grandmother and Aunt Nell came to Saltleigh.

They lived in a house of their own till Mrs. Lane died, but then the house was given up, and Marjorie could hardly remember a time when her darling Aunt Nell did not live with them.

She knew nothing of her aunt's brief engagement to Robert Carew, or of the tragic circumstances that had ended it; so that she did not guess why her mother had sent her to meet Aunt Nell to prepare her for the visitors from St. Mawan.

She ran gleefully along the meadow path, and in a few moments saw her aunt emerge from the grove of trees that hid the village. A couple of rosy-cheeked children were running at her side, and she was talking gaily to them, but on seeing Marjorie she sent them back, and came on alone with a quickened step.

"Marjorie, you have some news—you have a letter from the boys!" she exclaimed, as she drew near to speak.

"Aunt Nell, you are a witch! Yes, there is a letter from Ned; such a long letter, mother has not read it yet. But there is more news. We have visitors—visitors who came in a post-chaise with yellow wheels. Guess who? From St. Mawan!"

A quiver went over Miss Lane's delicate features. Her eyes met Marjorie's in a swift, startled glance the girl could not understand.

"From St. Mawan!" she faltered.

"Did I say from St. Mawan? The post-chaise came from Plymouth; but the visitors belong to St. Mawan—at least two of them do. The third is a fine young lady from London, who despises poor country folk. Oh, Aunt Nell, how puzzled you look! Think of a very fierce-looking old gentleman, with a very red face and very white hair, and gold-rimmed spectacles. Can't you guess now ? And his wife is a dear old motherly body. I fell in love with her at first sight. And when she smiles she puckers up her eyebrows like this."

"Oh, Marjorie, you mimic; of course I guess now," laughed Miss Lane. "It is Mr. and Mrs. Bulteel. But you said his hair was white. Is it white? It used to be raven black when I knew him;" and she ended her laughing speech with a sigh Marjorie did not catch.

"It is white now. He must have looked fiercer still when his hair was black. But he has kind eyes. I am not very much afraid of him."

"He is one of the kindest men in the world," declared Miss Lane warmly. "It is only at first people are afraid of him. They soon find out how good he is, and some of them take advantage of it. He would have been a much richer man if he had not been so good-natured."

"He has a bank, hasn't he?" asked Marjorie. "I have heard father speaking of it—Bulteel's Bank."

Miss Lane looked at her with a smile.

"Bulteel's Bank is one of the institutions of St. Mawan, Marjorie. The family have been bankers there for nearly two hundred years. I really believe the people think its notes safer than the Bank of England's."

"Dear me, no wonder he looks so fierce and authoritative! I shall begin to be afraid of him again. But, Aunt Nell, just think, he knew me in a moment. How was that, I wonder? He had never set eyes on me before. They were pulled up at the crossroads, and the post-boy was trying to read that poor old finger-post, while Mr. Bulteel waved his stick and shouted at him. It was a mercy I came up to them. They would be there now, I believe. And when he turned round and saw me, he called out in an instant, 'You are Marjorie Drew. Don't tell me you are not, for I won't believe you.'"

She said it, drawing down her eyebrows and thrusting out her lower lip exactly as Mr. Bulteel had done. From childhood Marjorie had had wonderful powers of observation and mimicry. But for her generous, healthy impulses, the gift of mimicry might have been a dangerous one, but she had never been known to use it unkindly. And her father had often said that he would rather trust to Marjorie's judgment of a person than to that of many older people.

"Marjorie, how do you do it?" laughed her aunt. "You could only have seen him for a moment. You have wonderful eyes, dear child."

Marjorie softly shook the arm she held. "But how did Mr. Bulteel know me, Aunt Nell? He had never seen me before. How did he know me?"

Marjorie asked the question in a tone of gleeful triumph. And it was her tone and the merry glance which accompanied it that interpreted her meaning to Miss Lane. She shook her head with a smile that was more than half sad.

"I was only a year or two older than you are now, Marjorie, when Mr. Bulteel saw me last. He would not say we were alike now, dear. He will find it hard to remember me."

"Aunt Nell, you shall not talk like that, as if you were an old woman! If you have altered, it is only to be prettier and sweeter and dearer than ever," cried Marjorie fondly. "But there are father and Mr. Bulteel waiting for us at the gate. Am I walking too fast, Aunt Nell? You look so pale. I wish you would let me go and read to Nancy tomorrow. Her room is always so hot, it tires you out."

"Yes, I am very tired," Miss Lane said. She had felt herself begin to tremble in every limb as she caught sight of Mr. Bulteel at the gate. It was so many years since she had seen anyone from St. Mawan. "But let us hasten on, dear. They are coming to meet us."

Miss Lane had been right in thinking that Mr. Bulteel would find her changed. He found it difficult at first to realize that she was indeed that merry, light-hearted girl he had known fourteen years before. The bloom of youth had gone from her face, the sparkle from her eyes; she looked years older than Marjorie's mother. But as they walked back to the house and stood talking before the porch in the soft evening light, he saw how beautiful she was still, more beautiful than she had ever been. Her face had gained far more than it had lost; it had a charm beyond all mere youthful prettiness. And though there were depths in her eyes a smile never reached, it was not a sad face; a ready, cheerful sympathy spoke in every look. He understood what Mrs. Drew had meant by calling her their guardian angel. It was plain that the rector and Marjorie were devoted to her. Whenever she spoke they turned to listen, as if her lightest word were too precious to be lost.

When Mrs. Drew and Mrs. Bulteel came downstairs, Marjorie slipped away, in obedience to a whispered word from her mother.

She went to her room and changed her dress, and then stole softly into her mother's room, where Kitty still lay asleep on the big sofa.

Kitty opened her eyes presently, and after gazing round her in a bewildered way for a moment or two, lifted herself on her elbow to get a better view of Marjorie, who was curled up on the broad cushioned window-seat with a book in her hand.

"I am awake," she said after a moment, in a slightly plaintive voice. She thought Marjorie ought not to have been so absorbed in her book as to be unaware that her nap was over.

Marjorie jumped lightly up and came towards her. "Are you rested?" she said cheerfully. "Tea will be ready soon."

Kitty lay looking at her for a moment without replying. She had no fault to find with Marjorie's white dress, scanty in the skirt and very short in the waist, with its frills of dainty lace round neck and sleeves. And her coral necklace was almost as good as Kitty's own. But her fair curly hair was arranged in quite a childish fashion, and Kitty reflected with much complacency on the high comb her mother had given her for a Christmas present, and which she meant to wear that evening.

"I must have been asleep nearly an hour," she said, after her deliberate survey of Marjorie from head to foot. "It is getting dark, isn't it? How could you see to read by this light? Madame Le Clair would never let me read in a bad light; it hurts the eyes. She was my governess. She was really the Marquise Le Clair; her husband was guillotined by those dreadful French people who killed the king and Marie Antoinette. They took away all her estates, and she has to teach for a living. It was a great advantage for me to be taught by her. But I have no governess now, my education is finished. I suppose you have lessons still. Do you go to school, or have you a governess?"

"I have two, mother and Aunt Nell," said Marjorie smiling. She was very much relieved to find that Kitty was ready to talk. She had feared that conversation would be difficult. "And father teaches me a little too. But tell me about your French governess, Madame la Marquise. Poor woman, how sad for her to lose everything!"

"Oh, she was very cheerful! And you would never have guessed that she was noble. She looked just a brown-faced, shabby old woman. And, good gracious, how strict she was! She would make me enter the room ten times over till I made my curtsy in a proper manner. I will give you some lessons if you like."

Marjorie was secretly amused at this offer to teach her deportment. If Kitty knew how to curtsy she did not know how to walk. Her short, mincing steps made Marjorie feel inclined to shake her.

They were now in the little guest-room, which had been prepared for Kitty. Marjorie was helping her to unpack the small box that had been carried upstairs from the chaise. Kitty explained that most of her dresses had gone on in her big box by the carrier, and would reach St. Mawan some time that week.

"But I have scarcely any new things," she said somewhat discontentedly; "mother said I should not want them down here. But I have a book of fashions I can show you. And I will give you the pattern of my new black silk spencer. It only came home last week. You could send the pattern to your dressmaker and have one made exactly like it. You will come to St. Mawan soon, will you not? And then you shall see all my things."

Marjorie's eyes opened wide. "But I am not going to St. Mawan," she said.

Kitty turned from the glass where she was fastening up her hair and tapped her gaily on the cheek. She had to stand on her tiptoes to do it, for Marjorie was nearly a head taller. "My dear creature, you must come; Aunt Mary is determined to have you. And I am sure we should agree. You are a dear little soul. Positively you must come."

Despite Kitty's affectations there was real good-nature in her sallow little face, and Marjorie's heart grew warm towards her. "I must hear what mother says about it," she said. "I should like to go. I have never been to St. Mawan, though mother and father and Aunt Nell were all born there."

"It must be a dull little place," said Kitty, shrugging her shoulders, a gesture she had caught from her marquise. "You ought to come to London, you dear little country mouse. I shall make mother invite you when I go back. But now we must have you at St. Mawan. Your cousin Carew does not live there now, so that there is no reason why you should not come."

Kitty had said the last words without thinking, but she recollected her promise to her aunt as she saw Marjorie's bewildered look. She turned away biting her lips, pretending to be busy with her comb. But she could not help being amused and gratified at discovering that she knew more than Marjorie about her family history. It added to the feelings of superiority Marjorie's country breeding and evident simplicity had already aroused in her.

"Do you like this comb?" she asked, as she put a last touch or two to her clustered curls. "One like it would suit you, I am sure. But your dress is pretty. It is real Indian muslin, isn't it?"

"Yes, Uncle George sent it to me from India. Kitty, I did not understand you just now. Were you speaking of Mr. Robert Carew? He—"

"Don't ask me any questions, my dear girl. I ought to have been quite silent. And I meant nothing, nothing. Is it time for us to go downstairs now? I am quite ready."

Kitty had expected to find Marjorie bent on cross-examining her, and was surprised and not a little disappointed to find that she dropped the subject at once. There is not much gratification to be gained from refusing to disclose a secret if your companion takes you at your word at once, and shows no further curiosity about it.

But Marjorie, though too proud and too loyal to seek to learn from Kitty what her parents and Aunt Nell had not told her, could not forget Kitty's words; she tried hard to dismiss them from her mind, but they obstinately lingered there. It hurt her a little to find out that Kitty knew something about St. Mawan history which she had not been allowed to know. And she wondered if she would be told before going to St. Mawan. For it was settled that her father should take her there early in March. Mr. Drew would only be able to stay for a day or two, but Marjorie was to stay a month or more.