"There is a train in half an hour, uncle. She can never get there
in time for that."
"She may be less exhausted than we think; or she may get a lift;
or she may not be alone. How do we know but somebody may have
been waiting in the lane--her husband, if there is such a
person--to help her? No! I shall assume she is now on her way to
the station; and I shall get there as fast as possible--"
"And stop her, if you find her there?"
"What I do, Blanche, must be left to my discretion. If I find her
there, I must act for the best. If I don't find her there, I
shall leave Duncan (who goes with me) on the watch for the
remaining trains, until the last to-night. He knows Miss
Silvester by sight, and he is sure that _she_ has never noticed
_him._ Whether she goes north or south, early or late, Duncan
will have my orders to follow her. He is thoroughly to be relied
on. If she takes the railway, I answer for it we shall know where
she goes."
"How clever of you to think of Duncan!"
"Not in the least, my dear. Duncan is my factotum; and the course
I am taking is the obvious course which would have occurred to
any body. Let us get to the re ally difficult part of it now.
Suppose she hires a carriage?"
"There are none to be had, except at the station."
"There are farmers about here - and farmers have light carts, or
chaises, or something of the sort. It is in the last degree
unlikely that they would consent to let her have them. Still,
women break through difficulties which stop men. And this is a
clever woman, Blanche--a woman, you may depend on it, who is bent
on preventing you from tracing her. I confess I wish we had
somebody we could trust lounging about where those two roads
branch off from the road that leads to the railway. I must go in
another direction; _I_ can't do it."
"Arnold can do it!"
Sir Patrick looked a little doubtful. "Arnold is an excellent
fellow," he said. "But can we trust to his discretion?"
"He is, next to you, the most perfectly discreet person I know,"
rejoined Blanche, in a very positive manner; "and, what is more,
I have told him every thing about Anne, except what has happened
to-day. I am afraid I shall tell him _that,_ when I feel lonely
and miserable, after you have gone. There is something in
Arnold--I don't know what it is--that comforts me. Besides, do
you think he would betray a secret that I gave him to keep? You
don't know how devoted he is to me!"
"My dear Blanche, I am not the cherished object of his devotion;
of course I don't know! You are the only authority on that point.
I stand corrected. Let us have Arnold, by all means. Caution him
to be careful; and send him out by himself, where the roads meet.
We have now only one other place left in which there is a chance
of finding a trace of her. I undertake to make the necessary
investigation at the Craig Fernie inn."
"The Craig Fernie inn? Uncle! you have forgotten what I told
you."
"Wait a little, my dear. Miss Silvester herself has left the inn,
I grant you. But (if we should unhappily fail in finding her by
any other means) Miss Silvester has left a trace to guide us at
Craig Fernie. That trace must be picked up at once, in case of
accidents. You don't seem to follow me? I am getting over the
ground as fast as the pony gets over it. I have arrived at the
second of those two heads into which your story divides itself in
my mind. What did Miss Silvester tell you had happened at the
inn?"
"She lost a letter at the inn."
"Exactly. She lost a letter at the inn; that is one event. And
Bishopriggs, the waiter, has quarreled with Mrs. Inchbare, and
has left his situation; that is another event. As to the letter
first. It is either really lost, or it has been stolen. In either
case, if we can lay our hands on it, there is at least a chance
of its helping us to discover something. As to Bishopriggs,
next--"
"You're not going to talk about the waiter, surely?"
"I am! Bishopriggs possesses two important merits. He is a link
in my chain of reasoning; and he is an old friend of mine."
"A friend of yours?"
"We live in days, my dear, when one workman talks of another
workman as 'that gentleman.'--I march with the age, and feel
bound to mention my clerk as my friend. A few years since
Bishopriggs was employed in the clerks' room at my chambers. He
is one of the most intelligent and most unscrupulous old
vagabonds in Scotland; perfectly honest as to all average matters
involving pounds, shillings, and pence; perfectly unprincipled in
the pursuit of his own interests, where the violation of a trust
lies on the boundary-line which marks the limit of the law. I
made two unpleasant discoveries when I had him in my employment.
I found that he had contrived to supply himself with a duplicate
of my seal; and I had the strongest reason to suspect him of
tampering with some papers belonging to two of my clients. He had
done no actual mischief, so far; and I had no time to waste in
making out the necessary case against him. He was dismissed from
my service, as a man who was not to be trusted to respect any
letters or papers that happened to pass through his hands."
"I see, uncle! I see!"
"Plain enough now--isn't it? If that missing letter of Miss
Silvester's is a letter of no importance, I am inclined to
believe that it is merely lost, and may be found again. If, on
the other hand, there is any thing in it that could promise the
most remote advantage to any person in possession of it, then, in
the execrable slang of the day, I will lay any odds, Blanche,
that Bishopriggs has got the letter!"
"And he has left the inn! How unfortunate!"
"Unfortunate as causing delay--nothing worse than that. Unless I
am very much mistaken, Bishopriggs will come back to the inn. The
old rascal (there is no denying it) is a most amusing person. He
left a terrible blank when he left my clerks' room. Old customers
at Craig Fernie (especially the English), in missing Bishopriggs,
will, you may rely on it, miss one of the attractions of the inn.
Mrs. Inchbare is not a woman to let her dignity stand in the way
of her business. She and Bishopriggs will come together again,
sooner or later, and make it up. When I have put certain
questions to her, which may possibly lead to very important
results, I shall leave a letter for Bishopriggs in Mrs.
Inchbare's hands. The letter will tell him I have something for
him to do, and will contain an address at which he can write to
me. I shall hear of him, Blanche and, if the letter is in his
possession, I shall get it."
"Won't he be afraid--if he has stolen the letter--to tell you he
has got it?"
"Very well put, my child. He might hesitate with other people.
But I have my own way of dealing with him - and I know how to
make him tell Me.--Enough of Bi
shopriggs till his time comes.
There is one other point, in regard to Miss Silvester. I may have
to describe her. How was she dressed when she came here?
Remember, I am a man--and (if an Englishwoman's dress _can_ be
described in an Englishwoman's language) tell me, in English,
what she had on."
"She wore a straw hat, with corn-flowers in it, and a white veil.
Corn-flowers at one side uncle, which is less common than
cornflowers in front. And she had on a light gray shawl. And a
_Piqué_--"
"There you go with your French! Not a word more! A straw hat,
with a white veil, and with corn-flowers at one side of the hat.
And a light gray shawl. That's as much as the ordinary male mind
can take in; and that will do. I have got my instructions, and
saved precious time. So far so good. Here we are at the end of
our conference--in other words, at the gate of the stable-yard.
You understand what you have to do while I am away?"
"I have to send Arnold to the cross-roads. And I have to behave
(if I can) as if nothing had happened."
"Good child! Well put again! you have got what I call grasp of
mind, Blanche. An invaluable faculty! You will govern the future
domestic kingdom. Arnold will be nothing but a constitutional
husband. Those are the only husbands who are thoroughly happy.
You shall hear every thing, my love, when I come lack. Got your
bag, Duncan? Good. And the time-table? Good. You take the
reins--I won't drive. I want to think. Driving is incompatible
with intellectual exertion. A man puts his mind into his horse,
and sinks to the level of that useful animal--as a necessary
condition of getting to his destination without being upset. God
bless you, Blanche! To the station, Duncan! to the station!"
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.
TRACED.
THE chaise rattled our through the gates. The dogs barked
furiously. Sir Patrick looked round, and waved his hand as he
turned the corner of the road. Blanche was left alone in the
yard.
She lingered a little, absently patting the dogs. They had
especial claims on her sympathy at that moment; they, too,
evidently thought it hard to be left behind at the house. After a
while she roused herself. Sir Patrick had left the responsibility
of superintending the crossroads on her shoulders. There was
something to be done yet before the arrangements for tracing Anne
were complete. Blanche left the yard to do it.
On her way back to the house she met Arnold, dispatched by Lady
Lundie in search of her.
The plan of occupation for the afternoon had been settled during
Blanche's absence. Some demon had whispe red to Lady Lundie to
cultivate a taste for feudal antiquities, and to insist on
spreading that taste among her guests. She had proposed an
excursion to an old baronial castle among the hills--far to the
westward (fortunately for Sir Patrick's chance of escaping
discovery) of the hills at Craig Fernie. Some of the guests were
to ride, and some to accompany their hostess in the open
carriage. Looking right and left for proselytes, Lady Lundie had
necessarily remarked the disappearance of certain members of her
circle. Mr. Delamayn had vanished, nobody knew where. Sir Patrick
and Blanche had followed his example. Her ladyship had observed,
upon this, with some asperity, that if they were all to treat
each other in that unceremonious manner, the sooner Windygates
was turned into a Penitentiary, on the silent system, the fitter
the house would be for the people who inhabited it. Under these
circumstances, Arnold suggested that Blanche would do well to
make her excuses as soon as possible at head-quarters, and accept
the seat in the carriage which her step-mother wished her to
take. "We are in for the feudal antiquities, Blanche; and we must
help each other through as well as we can. If you will go in the
carriage, I'll go too."
Blanche shook her head.
"There are serious reasons for _my_ keeping up appearances," she
said. "I shall go in the carriage. You mustn't go at all."
Arnold naturally looked a little surprised, and asked to be
favored with an explanation.
Blanche took his arm and hugged it close. Now that Anne was lost,
Arnold was more precious to her than ever. She literally hungered
to hear at that moment, from his own lips, how fond he was of
her. It mattered nothing that she was already perfectly satisfied
on this point. It was so nice (after he had said it five hundred
times already) to make him say it once more!
"Suppose I had no explanation to give?" she said. "Would you stay
behind by yourself to please me?"
"I would do any thing to please you!"
"Do you really love me as much as that?"
They were still in the yard; and the only witnesses present were
the dogs. Arnold answered in the language without words--which is
nevertheless the most expressive language in use, between men and
women, all over the world.
"This is not doing my duty," said Blanche, penitently. "But, oh
Arnold, I am so anxious and so miserable! And it _is_ such a
consolation to know that _you_ won't turn your back on me too!"
With that preface she told him what had happened in the library.
Even Blanche's estimate of her lover's capacity for sympathizing
with her was more than realized by the effect which her narrative
produced on Arnold. He was not merely surprised and sorry for
her. His face showed plainly that he felt genuine concern and
distress. He had never stood higher in Blanche's opinion than he
stood at that moment.
"What is to be done?" he asked. "How does Sir Patrick propose to
find her?"
Blanche repeated Sir Patrick's instructions relating to the
crossroads, and also to the serious necessity of pursuing the
investigation in the strictest privacy. Arnold (relieved from all
fear of being sent back to Craig Fernie) undertook to do every
thing that was asked of him, and promised to keep the secret from
every body.
They went back to the house, and met with an icy welcome from
Lady Lundie. Her ladyship repeated her remark on the subject of
turning Windygates into a Penitentiary for Blanche's benefit. She
received Arnold's petition to be excused from going to see the
castle with the barest civility. "Oh, take your walk by all
means! You may meet your friend, Mr. Delamayn--who appears to
have such a passion for walking that he can't even wait till
luncheon is over. As for Sir Patrick--Oh! Sir Patrick has
borrowed the pony-carriage? and gone out driving by himself?--I'm
sure I never meant to offend my brother-in-law when I offered him
a slice of my poor little cake. Don't let me offend any body
else. Dispose of your afternoon, Blanche, without the slightest
reference to me. Nobody seems inclined to visit the ruins--the
most interesting relic of feudal times in Perthshire, Mr.
Brinkworth. It doesn't matter--oh, dear me, it doesn't matter
! I
can't force my guests to feel an intelligent curiosity on the
subject of Scottish Antiquities. No! no! my dear Blanche!--it
won't be the first time, or the last, that I have driven out
alone. I don't at all object to being alone. 'My mind to me a
kingdom is,' as the poet says." So Lady Lundie's outraged
self-importance asserted its violated claims on human respect,
until her distinguished medical guest came to the rescue and
smoothed his hostess's ruffled plumes. The surgeon (he privately
detested ruins) begged to go. Blanche begged to go. Smith and
Jones (profoundly interested in feudal antiquities) said they
would sit behind, in the "rumble"--rather than miss this
unexpected treat. One, Two, and Three caught the infection, and
volunteered to be the escort on horseback. Lady Lundie's
celebrated "smile" (warranted to remain unaltered on her face for
hours together) made its appearance once more. She issued her
orders with the most charming amiability. "We'll take the
guidebook," said her ladyship, with the eye to mean economy,
which is only to be met with in very rich people, "and save a
shilling to the man who shows the ruins." With that she went up
stairs to array herself for the drive, and looked in the glass;
and saw a perfectly virtuous, fascinating, and accomplished
woman, facing her irresistibly in a new French bonnet!
At a private signal from Blanche, Arnold slipped out and repaired
to his post, where the roads crossed the road that led to the
railway.
There was a space of open heath on one side of him, and the
stonewall and gates of a farmhouse inclosure on the other. Arnold
sat down on the soft heather--and lit a cigar--and tried to see
his way through the double mystery of Anne's appearance and
Anne's flight.
He had interpreted his friend's absence exactly as his friend had
anticipated: he could only assume that Geoffrey had gone to keep
a private appointment with Anne. Miss Silvester's appearance at
Windygates alone, and Miss Silvester's anxiety to hear the names
of the gentlemen who were staying in the house, seemed, under
these circumstances, to point to the plain conclusion that the
two had, in some way, unfortunately missed each other. But what
could be the motive of her flight? Whether she knew of some other
place in which she might meet Geoffrey? or whether she had gone
back to the inn? or whether she had acted under some sudden
impulse of despair?--were questions which Arnold was necessarily
quite incompetent to solve. There was no choice but to wait until
an opportunity offered of reporting what had happened to Geoffrey
himself.
After the lapse of half an hour, the sound of some approaching
vehicle--the first sound of the sort that he had heard--attracted
Arnold's attention. He started up, and saw the pony-chaise
approaching him along the road from the station. Sir Patrick,
this time, was compelled to drive himself--Duncan was not with
him. On discovering Arnold, he stopped the pony.
"So! so!" said the old gentleman. "You have heard all about it, I
see? You understand that this is to be a secret from every body,
till further notice? Very good, Has any thing happened since you
have been here?"
"Nothing. Have you made any discoveries, Sir Patrick?"
"None. I got to the station before the train. No signs of Miss
Silvester any where. I have left Duncan on the watch--with orders
not to stir till the last train has passed to-night."
"I don't think she will turn up at the station," said Arnold. "I
fancy she has gone back to Craig Fernie."
"Quite possible. I am now on my way to Craig Fernie, to make
inquiries about her. I don't know how long I may be detained, or
what it may lead to. If you see Blanche before I do tell her I
have instructed the station-master to let me know (if Miss
Silvester does take the railway) what place she books for. Thanks
to that arrangement, we sha'n't have to wait for news till Duncan