The Mystery Of An Old Murder (6 page)

"That tower is a landmark to sailors," her father said. "I must take you up there tomorrow, Marjorie. Your grandmother and grandfather are buried in the churchyard."

He was looking eagerly about him now, noting each familiar outline. And he and Mr. Bulteel vied with each other in pointing out objects for Marjorie's attention. But neither made any remark about the gray stone house that presently came in sight—a low irregular house under the ridge of the downs, with a belt of firs about it. It was the firs which first caught Marjorie's eye; they were almost the only trees she had seen since Polruan Hill was left behind.

"How beautiful those firs are!" she said; "but the house looks gloomy with all its windows shut up. Whose house is it, Mr. Bulteel?"

"It is the Manor House," he answered, glancing at her father.

And her father said quietly, "It is your Cousin Carew's house, my dear. Some of it goes back to Henry the Eighth's time. The date 1512 is over the front-door."

"You would not think the house was close to the sea—eh, Miss Marjorie? But it is. Blackdown Point is just over the ridge there. And we all believe in St. Mawan that there is a secret passage between the house and the caves under the Point. What do you say to that, Drew?"

"It is probably blocked up by this time, if there ever was one," returned the rector, in a tone that implied, to Marjorie's ears, that he wished not to talk of it.

But Mr. Bulteel did not understand the inflections of the rector's voice as Marjorie did, and he went cheerfully on:

"Oh, there was one! Old Tregony told me only last week that his great-grandfather and half a dozen others once carried a hundred kegs of brandy from a sloop off Blackdown Point right into the kitchen of the Manor House. But they were all sworn to secrecy, and there is nobody now alive who knows how to find the passage."

"There is probably no passage to find now," said the rector quietly. "Damp and decay must have destroyed it, if it ever existed, about which I have always been incredulous. Do you see those mounds overgrown with grass on the downs, Marjorie? That was a mine once. There used to be an open shaft there, Bulteel. Has it been filled up?"

"We talk of doing it, but it hasn't been done," returned Mr. Bulteel, looking at Marjorie with twinkling eyes. "We don't do things in a hurry in St. Mawan—eh, Miss Marjorie?"

Marjorie was bound to laugh at his quizzical look, but her eyes soon went back to the deserted mine on the downs.

The Manor House was out of sight now, though the tops of some firs rose over the hillside, marking its position. The rolling downs stretched gently upwards to the skyline, against which showed those grass grown mounds that her father had pointed out to her.

They gave the scene a desolate look, and Marjorie was glad when the road made a sudden turn, and the valley broadened out before them, cheerful with scattered houses and garden plots. The town was now close at hand, nestling behind a grassy headland, which jutted out into the sea, forming a shelter from the fury of winter tempests.

Marjorie had a glimpse of a little harbour, where a number of fishing-boats lay moored, of a long line of frowning cliffs to the westward with breakers flashing white against them, of a great, dazzling plain of ocean, below a sky ruddy with the sunset. Then the houses closed the prospect out, and she was in the narrow High Street, eagerly wondering at which house they would stop.

CHAPTER 6

treasure-trove

Bulteel’s bank was about half-way up the High Street, on the sunny side. It was a square, double-fronted house, roomy and comfortable, and had a large garden behind it. The front rooms on the lower floor were given up to the business, but there was a long drawing-room upstairs, with three windows looking on the street, that Marjorie thought was the most delightful apartment she had ever seen. The furniture and ornaments in it had nearly all come from France, Mrs. Bulteel told her, brought over by Mr. Bulteel's father in the days before the war; and the inlaid cabinets, and spindle-legged tables, and smiling Dresden shepherdesses took Marjorie's fancy amazingly. But better even than the room itself was the view from the windows. There was so much to be seen from them; not only the whole length of the little High Street—but at the bottom of the street there was a glimpse to be caught of the harbour and the brown-sailed fishing-boats and the line of frowning cliffs beyond, and between the gabled roofs of the opposite houses a bit of the headland was visible and a shining breadth of open sea.

She was sitting with Kitty next morning in one of the broad window-seats, while Mr. Drew talked to Mr. Bulteel in his office, and Mrs. Bulteel was busy in the kitchen.

Kitty had been spending a delightful hour in showing Marjorie her dresses and jewellery, and describing to her the gaieties of the past winter. But now her spirits had flagged again. Marjorie was not the eager, admiring, envious listener she had bargained for; even the account of the fireworks at an evening fete in Vauxhall Gardens had failed to rouse her to enthusiasm. And she did not seem able to understand how Kitty could like living in a town as big as London, or why she felt bored in St. Mawan.

"These windows are so cheerful," said Marjorie, wonderingly. "Why, Kitty, how can you be dull here? There must be something to see all day long. Look! I think the fishing fleet must be going out. I hope we shall get down to the harbour before they are all gone. Do you think Mr. Bulteel will be ready soon?"

Kitty yawned, stretching out her pretty feet in their sandalled shoes and white open-work stockings.

"I don't think I shall go, Marjorie; a boat is so disagreeable, and I shall be certain to get my feet wet."

Marjorie's bright face clouded over.

"Oh, do come, Kitty; I am sure you will like to see the caves. And perhaps we shall go into the Manor House. Father said he wanted to look at the portraits in the hall."

Kitty sat up briskly at this.

"Oh! I hope we shall go through the house. It will make my flesh creep, I know, but anything for a change. It has been shut up ever since the murder, has it not?" And then, seeing Marjorie's grave, disturbed look, she quickly added, "You know all about it now, don't you, child? There is no reason why I should not talk about it."

"I would rather not talk of it, Kitty," Marjorie said hastily. "Please let us not."

Kitty tossed her head slightly.

"Oh, very well! But I should like to tell you what Lady Trelawny said. She knew Mr. Carew, and she does not believe to this day that he did it. I heard her tell mother so. And she thinks Robert Carew ought to have lived on at the Manor House and married your aunt. I think so too. Why should—"

"Oh, please do not let us talk about it," cried Marjorie, her nerves quivering at Kitty's light, critical tone. "And there are father and Mr. Bulteel coming up the stairs. We shall start now."

Mr. Bulteel was going to take them to Blackdown Point in his boat. They were to explore the caves as far as the tide allowed them, and then were to leave the boat and walk up Blackdown Valley to the Manor House. Mr. Drew had heard from his host that there was an old woman in charge of the place, and he wanted to find out from her, if possible, if her master was coming to Cornwall.

The fishing-boats had all left the harbour when they got down to it, but they were still in sight, and even Kitty was forced to own that they made a picture worth looking at, as they stood out to sea, the sunlight glowing on their brown sails.

"There, Kit, show us something equal to that in Lunnon town!" cried Mr. Bulteel, who had not grown tired of teasing his niece. "Isn't it better than all your Vauxhalls and your Hyde Parks? 'God made the country, and man made the town.' Who is it says that, eh? A sensible fellow whoever it was."

Kitty's face had a little pout upon it as she bent over the boat without speaking. She hated being teased, and had found that silence was her best weapon.

"Kitty has a greater poet than Cowper on her side," said Mr. Drew, seeing how offended she looked. "Does not Spenser talk of 'Merry London, my most kindly nurse'? Our greatest poets have lived in or near London —Shakespeare, Milton, Dryden, Pope."

"There, Kit, that's one for you," laughed Mr. Bulteel. "I must believe it, as Passon Drew tells us so. How delighted old Tregony was to see you, Drew. He knew you in a moment. But he has a wonderful memory for faces. I have noticed it often."

They were now some distance from the town, sailing abreast of the dark wall of cliffs which ran to the south-west from the harbour as far as St. Mawan Point, a rugged promontory sheltering the town on that side as the headland did on the other. Marjorie had been very silent. She was sitting in the bows, breathing deep of the strong sea air, and letting her eyes wander at will over the glorious prospect before her.

A cry of delight broke from her lips as they passed St. Mawan Point, and the lovely line of coast lay before her, headland after headland, point after point, as far as St. Ives Bay.

Mr. Bulteel was delighted at her enthusiasm. He had the Cornishman's pride in the beauty of his country very strongly developed, and poor Kitty, who was of Dr. Johnson's opinion, and thought a London street better to look at than the most beautiful country view, and felt depressed and frightened at those dark towering cliffs her uncle loved so, was reckoned by him as an empty-headed little Cockney, whose opinions deserved to be laughed at. But Marjorie was a girl after his own heart, and he took delight in pointing out to her the various headlands, and telling her the different traditions that clung about them.

But it was on Blackdown Point Marjorie's eyes fixed themselves most eagerly. They were now approaching it; she could see the gulls flying round the bare rocky islet, which had once formed the extremity of the Point, but now was separated from it by a space of foaming water. The Point ran out some distance, sloping gently upward, clothed with heather and short close grass delightful to walk on, and then breaking sheer away in a mighty cliff, impossible for human foot.

It was over this cliff that Black Jasper was said to have pushed his brother, and Marjorie shivered as the boat ran into the deep shadow behind the rocky islet, and she looked up at the towering heights above her. It was only half-tide, and there was still a margin of yellow sand between the water and the rocks; Mr. Drew and the girls were able to land without difficulty. It was only when the sea was very calm that the Point could be approached at all by a boat, Mr. Bulteel told them.

"But nobody ever comes here now, though fifty years ago it was a rare hiding-place for smuggled goods. But there isn't a fisherman in St. Mawan now who will come near it. Since—" He was about to make some reference to Mr. Vyvyan's murder, but checked himself. "I dare say there hasn't been a boat here for years," he added. "Now you must be quick, girls, if you want to see the big cave. The tide waits for nobody."

Kitty hung back a little. But for her dislike to be alone with her uncle she would have refused to enter the cave at all. Marjorie understood that she was really frightened, and that her shivers were not all affectation, as Mr. Bulteel believed. She held her thin little hand tight in her warm strong fingers.

"I won't leave you a minute, Kitty," she said, falling naturally into the position of the leader and protector. And Kitty clung to her, glad to be taken care of, and forgetting altogether her attitude of patronage. And it was from that moment she began to be really fond of Marjorie.

The cave was entered by a narrow passage between high rocks, dank and green with seaweed. The passage was very narrow and low at first; Mr. Drew, who went in front, carrying a lighted candle, was unable to walk upright in places. But presently it grew higher and began to broaden out, and in a few moments they emerged into a great cave floored with fine yellow sand, and with a roof too high to be seen by the light of a solitary candle.

"There is another passage leading to a smaller cave," Mr. Drew said, as the girls clung together, looking about them in the shadowy twilight the candle made. "We will have a look at it if Kitty feels brave enough. What is it, Marjorie?" For as he was speaking, she had made a little exclamation, and moved slightly beyond him, still holding Kitty's hand.

"There has been someone here before us today, father. Look, here are footsteps in the sand."

"Smugglers!" exclaimed Kitty in a voice of terror. "Oh, let us go back! They may be here still, sir."

Mr. Drew was examining the footsteps by the light of his candle. He laughed reassuringly at Kitty. "Smugglers are not pirates, Kitty. But your uncle says these caves are quite deserted now. And whoever has been here must have gone out again. The tide is rising fast, anyone without a boat would be caught."

"There are no footsteps going back, sir," said Marjorie, who was examining the fine damp sand.

"There is another passage out, my dear, to the left there. But shall we go on to the other cave, or is Kitty too much afraid?"

"No-o," said Kitty doubtfully, holding Marjorie's hand tight. Then her good-nature got the better of her fears. "It won't take us long, will it, sir? I should like to go on."

"Bravo, Kitty!" said the rector; " a soldier's daughter and a soldier's sister should learn to be brave. Follow me closely, we shall have to climb a little."

A rough flight of uneven steps cut in the solid rock led upwards to an irregular, low-roofed cavern, much smaller than the one below. The rocky floor was perfectly dry, the tide never rose as high as this. But the air was heavy, and the strange stillness of the place made Marjorie shiver as well as Kitty.

The rector held the candle high over his head. "Do you see those holes in the rock up there, girls? Some of them lead to other caves. If there was ever a secret passage to the Manor House, its opening must be somewhere in this cave. I often looked for it when I was a boy, but never succeeded in finding it. The rock is riddled by holes, almost like a rabbit-warren. The smugglers must have known the right opening by some secret mark of their own."

He turned as he spoke, to lead the way out. As he moved, the light of the candle fell on a small round object close to the wall of the cave, making it glitter.

It caught Marjorie's quick eye, and she picked it up with an exclamation of surprise.

"Father, do look at this pretty thing. How it shines! It must be gold."

Her father examined it closely.

"Yes, it is gold, I think," he said. "It must be the lid of a snuff-box, Marjorie. How could it possibly have got here? Let us look about. We may find the box."

But further search went unrewarded, and presently Mr. Drew declared that they must linger no longer or they would be caught by the tide. Mr. Bulteel hurried them into the boat when they appeared, and it was not till they were safely out in deep water again that Marjorie showed him her treasure-trove.

He put on his gold-rimmed spectacles, and turned it over and over, examining it intently, thrusting forward his lower lip, and knitting his bushy white eyebrows, as if some hard problem had suddenly presented itself to him.

"It must be the lid of a snuff-box," said the rector after a moment. "Marjorie found it lying on the ground."

"Yes, it is the lid of a snuff-box," Mr. Bulteel said mechanically, without looking up. "How in the world could it have got there?" Then suddenly banishing all expression from his face, he gave it back to Marjorie, telling her to put it in her pocket, and began at once to talk of something else.

Marjorie was puzzled for a moment at the sudden change in his manner, but she would have understood if she had heard what he said to her father as they walked up the valley towards the Manor House. Marjorie had expressed a wish to see the deserted mine close at hand, and she and Kitty climbed up the steep heath-grown slope of the Point, Mr. Bulteel declaring he was too old for climbing, and should keep to the valley. He was glad to get a word alone with Mr. Drew.

"It is a curious thing about that snuff-box," he said. "I could swear it belonged to Squire Vyvyan, Drew. It was the one he constantly used, and it was missing from his pocket when he was found."

Mr. Drew stared at him. "How could it have got into the cave?"

"That is more than I can explain. But it was his. Look at it again presently. It has the Vyvyan crest upon it, a dragon. We must show it to Robert. But he will tell you what I do."