The Mystery Of An Old Murder (5 page)

CHAPTER 5

Captain o’brien

The van was full that evening, as it usually was. The wives of the smaller farmers round St. Mawan, whose husbands could not afford to keep gigs for them, were regular customers of old Tregelles—Uncle Tregelles, as they all called him, in the kindly fashion of west-country folk. The top of the van was heaped with baskets that had been full of golden pounds of butter that morning, and now contained the week's purchases of groceries and such few things as the farms did not provide for the thrifty households. The owners of the different baskets sat within the queer vehicle, many busily knitting as the old horse leisurely took its way over the hilly roads. But the knitters were as ready for a gossip as their neighbours, and the clack of tongues went merrily on, while many kindly, curious glances were cast at the three strangers sitting near the door.

Mr. Drew was a native of St. Mawan, but, as it happened, none of those in the van remembered him, and old Tregelles, who would have done so in a moment if he had heard his name, had been in too sulky a humour for the rector to care to disclose himself. So the pleasant shock of surprise which comes when a lively curiosity is suddenly satisfied, went through the van when an old woman who had been waiting at the crossroads to be taken up, hailed the rector as "Passon Drew", and elicited from him the information that he and Marjorie were on their way to St. Mawan, to stay with Mr. Bulteel.

After this only one of the strangers remained to be accounted for, and just before the van reached Polruan Hill, a long ascent, up which everyone was expected to walk, the curiosity of the farmers' wives concerning him was satisfied also.

Mr. Drew had given up his seat next the door to the stranger. He still wore his spectacles, but he had thrown back his heavy travelling cloak on entering the van, and his well-made coat and fine ruffled shirt showed him careful of his dress.

Marjorie sat opposite him, and had an odd feeling that he was steadily watching her behind those blue spectacles, though when she looked at him he appeared to be observing the landscape. He had a well-shaped face, but it looked like the face of a man at death's door, so bloodless was it, so painfully haggard, and the ugly scar which ran along one side of it added to its death-like pallor.

He had said a brief word of thanks to Mr. Drew for giving up his place to him, but did not speak again till they were close to Polruan Hill. Then he turned and addressed the rector.

"If you know St. Mawan, sir, you may be able to tell me if my cousin, Mrs. O'Brien, is still alive." His voice was very low and husky, and he spoke slowly, as if articulation was painful to him. His accent was decidedly un-English, though he did not seem to be a foreigner.

The rector, slightly taken aback at the sudden question, and not remembering for the moment who Mrs. O'Brien was, hesitated over his answer; but the fresh-cheeked woman sitting by Marjorie hastened to give the information asked for.

"Do 'ee mane Mrs. O'Brien to Sea Cottage, sir? Her died two months agone. My sister-in-law's cousin's darter nussed her. 'Twas brownchitis took her off at last, but sheed been a sufferer for years."

He bowed politely. "Thank you, madam. I feared she would be gone by this time." He turned again to the rector. "I believe I am her only surviving relative, sir, Thomas O'Brien, captain in the East India Company's service." The rector bowed, but Captain O'Brien went on before he could speak. "I have just returned from India, invalided after thirty years' service. My cousin has written constantly to me, but her last letter spoke of fast failing strength. I feared I should be too late to see her."

By this time every eye in the van was fixed on Captain O'Brien. His name was well known in St. Mawan, though he had never been there. Was not Mrs. O'Brien's little parlour full of the presents he had sent her; a set of carved ivory chessmen, gorgeous Eastern embroideries, tall jars with dragons painted all over them? Was it not the money that came from him which eked out her tiny income, and made it possible for her to save enough to be taken to Exeter to be buried beside her husband?

The woman who had answered his question before now addressed him again. "Her spoke of 'ee often, sir, an' oped to see 'ee. But her knawed at the last her'd have to go afore you corned home. Her was failin' all last summer. Ann, that's my sister's cousin's darter, as kind a maid as ever was, used to carry her down to the parlour till the day afore she died. Her liked to see the things you sent her, sir. An' her'd dust 'em her own self, ivery one of 'em. They're all safe to the bank, 'cept a thing or two her gived away."

Captain O'Brien had listened very gravely, and only interrupted here to say that he meant to distribute among her friends any trifles his aunt had left, a remark received with great favour by the farmers' wives present; and when a few moments afterwards the van was emptied at the bottom of Polruan Hill, they gathered in an eager group round old Tregelles to tell him who the strangers were, and what a pleasant and generous gentleman Captain O'Brien proved to be.

Tregelles never walked up the hill himself, though he insisted on all his passengers doing so. And he listened with crushing indifference from his high seat to the women in the road. He was secretly deeply mortified at not having recognized the rector, or guessed that the invalid stranger was Captain O'Brien. He felt his reputation was at stake.

"What be 'ee scramin' at me like that for?" he said contemptuously to Mrs. Johns, who had spoken to Captain O'Brien, and was allowed the front place by her excited companions. "I knawed Passon Drew the moment I set eyes on 'em. That's his darter. Of course it's his darter. Can't 'ee see the likeness to Miss Lane? Tell me what I don't knaw next time. Gee-up, will 'ee!" (This to his horse.)

"But, Uncle Tregelles," exclaimed Mrs. Johns incredulously, "why didn't 'ee tell us? An' did 'ee knaw 'twas Cap'n O'Brien?"

"O' course I knawed. Mazy Jane would ha' knawed. Isn't his name on his bag?" And the old man triumphantly pointed his thumb at the carpetbag behind him, on which he had just caught sight of the name O'Brien in neat brass letters on the lock. "'Twasn't my place to speak to 'em fust. But only a pack o' silly women would ha' wanted to be told 'twas Passon Drew an' the cap'n. Gee-up, can't 'ee! Do 'ee mane to stop here all night?"

And shaking up the reins Tregelles drove triumphantly off.

Mr. Drew had tried to persuade Captain O'Brien to stay in the van, though not quite sure whether Tregelles would allow it without a good deal of grumbling about the extra weight to his horse. But the captain preferred to walk, and he and the rector strolled up the hill together, while Marjorie went on in front, eager to get to the top of the hill and enjoy the wide prospect awaiting her there.

The others were still far behind her when she reached the top. Tregelles had overtaken her father and the captain, and had actually climbed from his seat to pay his respects. He was walking beside them, holding the reins in his hand, while the market-women in a little flock behind caught eagerly at any crumbs of conversation which reached them.

But Marjorie only gave a glance down the road. Her father had told her she would get her first look at the Atlantic from this point, and she looked eagerly round the wide horizon till in a cleft between the hills she caught a glimpse of misty blue, which made her heart leap. Marjorie's grandfather and great-grandfather had been sailors, and the love of the sea was in her blood. And though she had been familiar from her childhood with the quiet bays and inlets of the coast near Saltleigh, this was her first visit to the north coast. She had never seen the real ocean before, the mighty Atlantic, on whose wide waters Ned's ship was somewhere sailing.

She breathed a long satisfied breath as she looked about her. Though they were still some miles from the coast, the air was briny and invigorating. It blew straight from the sea, across a bare, rolling country that to some eyes would have been dull and uninteresting, but to Marjorie's was full of charm. There were scarcely any trees; the rough wails edging the road were of stone, overgrown with coarse grass and heath; the land was barren, and much of it was uncultivated. Anything more unlike the typical English landscape, rich with verdure, softly wooded, could hardly be imagined.

But the larks sang joyously above the barren fields, the gorse was in bloom, and Marjorie knew that beyond those bare hills on the horizon lay the wide ocean.

She was wishing that she could walk the rest of the distance instead of getting into that stuffy van again, when she caught sight of a trap approaching her at a rapid rate along the white undulating road. She watched it idly for a moment, and then, with a start, saw that the white-haired gentleman, sitting so very upright in it, was Mr. Bulteel. He took off his hat and waved it when he recognized her.

"There you are, Miss Marjorie," he called out as he came near. "Welcome to St. Mawan, little girl. Mrs. Bulteel and Kitty wanted to come with me, but the trap was not big enough to hold us all. Where is your father? Talking to Tregelles about old times, I expect. What do you think of the van, eh?"

He had pulled up, and was looking down at her with such kind, twinkling eyes, that Marjorie wondered she could ever have thought him a formidable person.

"I don't think people can be in a hurry in St. Mawan, sir," she said demurely.

He burst into a great laugh. "Tregelles is one of our institutions, my dear," he said. "We should as soon think of interfering with the high sheriff. But you shall get over the ground more quickly for the rest of the way. I meant to be in Bodmin to meet you, but could not get away in time."

He had helped her into the trap as he spoke, and now drove slowly forward to meet the van, whose creaking wheels could plainly be heard on the other side of the hill. And in a few moments Marjorie and her father were travelling at a rapid rate towards St. Mawan, while the van lumbered behind them in its leisurely fashion.

Mr. Bulteel had asked Captain O'Brien to take a seat in the trap, but he had preferred to stay with the van. He was afraid to venture in an open vehicle, he told the banker in his feeble, hesitating, half-foreign voice.

"The poor fellow looks as though he would soon be with his cousin," Mr. Bulteel said. He is hardly fit to travel."

"He nearly died on the voyage, he told me," remarked the rector. "But he thinks the air of St. Mawan will be good for him. He has settled to stay with Tregelles. Will he be comfortable there, do you think? I warned him the cottage was on the cliffs, nearly a mile from the town, but that seemed an attraction. He wants quiet, he says."

"Oh, he will be comfortable enough; Tregelles's missis is a capital little woman. And she'll be glad to have a lodger. It's lonely up there when Tregelles is away, and she's as timid as a hare. She told me the other day that she had heard Black Jasper screeching as she had never heard him screech before. She was sure summat was going to happen. Black Jasper is our ghost, Marjorie. Did you know St. Mawan had a ghost? He is said to wander about Blackdown Point at night when the tide is high, and howl in an agony of remorse. He pushed his brother over the cliff one winter night, the story goes, and his ghost is doomed to walk for a thousand years."

" When the tide is high the air rushes out of a hole in the caves below the Point, making a strange sort of cry," the rector said gravely to Marjorie. "You can hear it by day sometimes, as well as by night. But all such sounds seem louder at night, and the fishermen really believe the story Mr. Bulteel has just told you."

"We all believe it, my dear fellow," exclaimed the banker with his hearty laugh. "Especially on a dark winter's night, when the waves are going over Blackdown Rock. I shouldn't care to cross the Point then, I can tell you. And your explanation sounds very satisfactory; but did you ever hear it yourself by day, now?"

"Often," said the rector decidedly.

Mr. Bulteel did not look convinced. "Oh, you hear something, I grant you. That's your air in the cavern trying to get out. But at night — well, it sounds different, anyway. And it makes my flesh creep, as well as old Nancy's; I'll confess it. We'll ask Captain O'Brien what he thinks of it. Tregelles's cottage can't be more than half a mile from the Point. How long has he been back from India, Drew? Just landed, I suppose, as he had not heard of his cousin's death."

"Yes, he reached England on Tuesday. But he has been in Lisbon for some weeks. He landed there, not able to bear the remainder of the voyage to England. He seems to have missed his last letters, and had heard nothing from his cousin since November."

"I wrote to tell him of her death. But he must have left India long before my letter was written. It is a pity he could not have got home before. The poor old soul would have been so glad to see him. But from the way she talked of him, I expected to see a much younger man. What age should you say he was?"

"It is difficult to judge when a man has been ill," the rector answered reflectively. "And the climate out there makes one year count for two. I dare say he isn't fifty."

"Ten years younger than I am! He looks ten years older. What do you say, Miss Marjorie? You have a sharp pair of eyes, I can see. But look, you can see St. Mawan now. There, at the end of this valley."

Marjorie looked, and saw a line of roofs and a tall church tower on the side of a bare hill. The curve of the hill hid the lower part of the town and the little harbour, from which the fishing-boats went out.