CHAPTER XII.
THE MOORES OF TORQUAY
Strange to say, in spite of everything, my sleep refreshed me. Iwoke up in the morning strong and vigorous--thank goodness, I havephysically a magnificent constitution--and packed my box, withJane's help, for my Torquay expedition.
I went up to London and down to Torquay alone, though Jane offeredto accompany me. I was learning to be self-reliant. It suited myplans better. Nobody could bear this burden for me but myself; andthe sooner I learnt to bear it my own way, the happier for me.
At Torquay station, to my great surprise, a fresh-looking girl of myown age rushed up to me suddenly, and kissed me without one word ofwarning. She was a very pretty girl, pink-cheeked and hazel-eyed:and as she kissed me, she seized both my hands in hers, and criedout to me frankly:
"Why, there you are, Una dear! Cousin Emma telegraphed us what trainyou'd arrive by; so I've driven down to meet you. And now, you'recoming up with us this very minute in the pony-carriage."
"You're Minnie Moore, I suppose?" I said, gazing at her admiringly.Her sweet, frank smile and apple-blossom cheek somehow inspired mewith confidence.
She looked back at me quite distressed. Tears rose at once into hereyes with true Celtic suddenness.
"Oh, Una," she cried, deeply hurt and drawing back into her shell,"don't tell me you don't know me! Why, I'm Minnie! Minnie!"
My heart went out to her at once. I took her hand in mine again.
"Minnie dear," I said softly, quite remorseful for my mistake, "youmust remember what has happened to me, and not be angry. I'veforgotten everything, even my own past life. I've forgotten that Iever before set eyes upon you. But, my dear, there's one thing I'veNOT in a way forgotten; and that is, that I loved you and love youdearly. And I 'll give you a proof of it. When I started, I knewnone of you; and I told Aunt Emma I wouldn't go among strangers. Themoment I see you, I know you're no stranger, but a very dear cousin.When I've forgotten MYSELF, how can I remember YOU? But I'll go upwith you at once. And I'll countermand the room I ordered bytelegram at the Imperial."
The tears stood fuller in Minnie's eyes than before. She clasped myhand hard. Her pretty lips trembled.
"Una darling," she said, "we always were friends, and we alwaysshall be. If you love me, that's all. You're a darling. I love you."
I looked at her sweet face, and knew it was true. And oh, I was soglad to have a new friend--an old friend, already! For somehow, asalways, while the intellectual recollection had faded, the emotionsurvived. I felt as if I'd known Minnie Moore for years, though Inever remembered to have seen her in my life till that minute.
Well, I remained at the Moores' for a week, and felt quite at homethere. They were all very nice, Cousin Willie, and Aunt Emily (shemade me call her aunt; she said I'd always done so), and Minnie, andall of them. They were really dear people; and blood, after all, isthicker than water. But I made no haste to push inquiries just atfirst. I preferred to feel my way. I wanted to find out what theyknew, if anything, about Berry Pomeroy.
The first time I ventured to mention the subject to Minnie, she gavea very queer smile--a smile of maidenly badinage.
"Well, you remember THAT, any way," she said, in a teasing littleway, looking down at me and laughing. "I thought you'd rememberthat. I must say you enjoyed yourself wonderfully at Berry Pomeroy!"
"Remember what?" I cried, all eagerness; for I saw she attached somespecial importance to the recollection. And yet, it was terrible sheshould jest about the clue to my father's murderer!
Minnie looked arch. When she looked arch, she was charming.
"Why, I never saw you prettier or more engaging in your life thanyou were that day," she said evasively, as if trying to pique me."And you flirted so much, too! And everybody admired you so.Everybody on the grounds... especially one person!"
I looked up at her in surprise. I was in my own room, seated by thedressing-table, late at night, when we'd gone up to bed; and Minniewas beside me, standing up, with her bedroom candle in that prettywhite little hand of hers.
"What do you mean?" I exclaimed eagerly. "Was it a dance--or apicnic?"
"Oh, you know very well," Minnie went on teasingly, "though youpretend you forget. HE was there, don't you know. You must rememberHIM, if you've forgotten all the rest of your previous life. You sayyou remember the appropriate emotions. Well, he was an emotion: atleast, you thought so. It was an Athletic Club Meeting: and Dr. Ivorwas there. He went across on his bicycle."
I gave a start of surprise. Minnie looked down at me halfmaliciously.
"There, you see," she said archly again, "at Dr. Ivor you changecolour. I told you you'd remember him!"
I grew pale with astonishment.
"Minnie dear," I said, holding her hands very tight in my own, "itwasn't that, I assure you. I've forgotten him, utterly. If ever Iknew a Dr. Ivor, if ever I flirted with him, as you seem to imply,he's gone clean out of my head. His name stirs no chord--recallsabsolutely nothing. But I want to know about that Athletic Meeting.Was my poor father there that day? And did he take a set ofphotographs?"
Minnie clapped her hands triumphantly.
"I KNEW you remembered!" she cried. "Of course, Cousin Vivian wasthere. We drove over in a break. You MUST remember that. And he tooka whole lot of instantaneous photographs."
My hand trembled violently in my cousin's. I felt I was now on thevery eve of a great discovery.
"Minnie," I said, tentatively, "do you think your papa would driveus over some day and--and show us the place again?"
"Of course he would, dear," Minnie answered, with a gentle pressureof my hand. "He'd be only too delighted. Whatever you choose. Youknow you were always such a favourite of daddy's."
I knew nothing of the sort; but I was glad to learn it. I drewMinnie out a little more about the Athletics and my visit to BerryPomeroy. She wouldn't tell me much: she was too illusive andindefinite: she never could get the notion out of her head, somehow,that I remembered all about it, and was only pretending toforgetfulness. But I gathered from what she said, that Dr. Ivor andI must have flirted a great deal; or, at least, that he must havepaid me a good lot of attention. My father didn't like it, Minniesaid; he thought Dr. Ivor wasn't well enough off to marry me. He wasa distant cousin of ours, of course--everything was always "ofcourse" with that dear bright Minnie--what, didn't I know that? Oh,yes, his mother was one of the Moores of Barnstaple, cousin Edward'speople. His name was Courtenay Moore Ivor, you know--though I knewnothing of the sort. And he was awfully clever. And, oh, sohandsome!
"Is he at Berry Pomeroy still?" I asked, trembling, thinking thiswould be a good person to get information from about the people atthe Athletic Sports.
"Oh dear, no," Minnie answered, looking hard at me, curiously. "Hewas never at Berry Pomeroy. He had a practice at Babbicombe. He's inCanada now, you know. He went over six months after Cousin Vivian'sdeath. I think, dear,"--she hesitated,--"he never QUITE got overyour entirely forgetting him, even if you forgot your whole pasthistory."
This was a curious romance to me, that Minnie thus sprang on me--aromance of my own past life of which I myself knew nothing.
We sat late talking, and I could see Minnie was very full indeed ofDr. Ivor. Over and over again she recurred to his name, and alwaysas though she thought it might rouse some latent chord in my memory.But nothing came of it. If ever I had cared for Dr. Ivor at all,that feeling had passed away utterly with the rest of myexperiences.
When Minnie rose to go, I took her hand once more in mine. As I didso, I started. Something about it seemed strangely familiar. Ilooked at it close with a keen glance. Why, this was curious! It wasAunt Emma's hand: it was my mother's hand: it was the hand in mymental Picture: it was the hand of the murderer!
"It's just like auntie's," I said with an effort, seeing Minnienoticed my start.
She looked at it and laughed.
"The Moore hand," she said gaily. "We all have it, except you. It'sawfully persistent."
I turned it
over in front and examined the palm. At sight of it mybrain reeled. This was surely magic! Minnie Moore's hand, too, wasscarred over with cuts, exactly like Aunt Emma's!
"Why, how on earth did you do that?" I cried, thunderstruck at thediscovery.
But Minnie only laughed again, a bright girlish laugh.
"Climbing over that beastly wall at The Grange," she said with amerry look. "Oh, what fun we did have! We climbed it together. Wewere dreadful tomboys in those days, dear, you and I: but you wereluckier than I was, and didn't cut yourself with the bottle-glass."
This was too surprising to be passed over unnoticed. When Minnie wasgone, I lay awake and pondered about it. Had all the Moores gotscars on their hands, I wondered? And how many people, I askedmyself, had cut themselves time and again in climbing over thatbarricaded garden-wall of my father's?
The Moore hand might be hereditary, but not surely the scars. Wasthe murderer, then, a Moore, and was that the meaning of Dr.Marten's warning?