CHAPTER XXV
LITTIMER CASTLE
If you had asked the first five people on the Littimer Estate what theythought of the lord of the soil you would have had a different answerfrom every one. One woman would have said that a kinder and better mannever lived; her neighbour would have declared Lord Littimer to be ashard as the nether millstone. Farmer George would rate him a jolly goodfellow, and tell how he would sit in the kitchen over a mug of ale;whilst Farmer John swore at his landlord as a hard-fisted, grasping miserdevoid of the bowels of compassion.
At the end of an hour you would be utterly bewildered, not knowing whatto believe, and prepared to set the whole village down as a lot ofgossips who seemed to mind everything but its own business. And,perhaps, Lord Littimer might come riding through on his big black horse,small, lithe, brown as mahogany, and with an eye piercing as adiamond-drill. One day he looked almost boyishly young, there would be asmile on his tanned face. And then another day he would be bent in thesaddle, huddled up, wizened, an old, old man, crushed with the weight ofyears and sorrow.
In sooth he was a man of moods and contradictions, changeable as an Aprilsky, and none the less quick-tempered and hard because he knew thateverybody was terribly afraid of him. And he had a tongue, too, alashing, cutting tongue that burnt and blistered. Sometimes he would bequite meek and angry under the reproaches of the vicar, and yet the sameday history records it that he got off his horse and administered a soundthrashing to the village poacher. Sometimes he got the best of the vicar,and sometimes that worthy man scored. They were good friends, these two,though the vicar never swerved in his fealty to Lady Littimer, whosecause he always championed. But nobody seemed to know anything about thatdark scandal. They knew that there had been a dreadful scene at thecastle seven years before, and that Lady Littimer and her son had leftnever to return. Lady Littimer was in a madhouse somewhere, they said,and the son was a wanderer on the face of the earth. And when LordLittimer died every penny of the property, the castle included, would goto her ladyship's nephew, Mr. Reginald Henson.
In spite of the great cloud that hung over the family Lord Littimer didnot seem to have changed. He was just a little more caustic than ever,his tongue a little sharper. The servants could have told a differentstory, a story of dark moods and days when the bitterness of the shadowof death lay on the face of their master. Few men could carry their griefbetter, and because Littimer carried his grief so well he suffered themore. We shall see what the sorrow was in time.
There are few more beautiful places in England than Littimer Castle.The house stood on a kind of natural plateau with many woods behind, atrout stream ran clean past the big flight of steps leading to the hall,below were terrace after terrace of hanging gardens, and to the left asloping, ragged drop of 200ft into the sea. To the right lay amagnificently-timbered park, with a herd of real wild deer--perhaps theonly herd of this kind in the country. When the sun shone on the greywalls they looked as if they had been painted by some cunning hand, sosoftly were the greys and reds and blues blended.
Inside the place was a veritable art gallery. There were hundreds ofpictures and engravings there. All round the grand staircase ran a long,deep corridor, filled with pictures. There were alcoves here fitted up assitting-rooms, and in most of them some gem or another was hung. When thefull flood of electric light was turned on at night the effect was almostdazzling. There were few pictures in the gallery without a history.
Lord Littimer had many hobbies, but not one that interested him likethis. There were hundreds of rare birds shot by him in different partsof the world; the corridors and floors were covered by skins, the spoilof his rifle; here and there a stuffed bear pranced startlingly; butthe pictures and prints were the great amusement of his lordship'slonely life.
He passed along the corridor now towards the great oriel window at theend. A brilliant sunlight filled the place with shafts of golden and blueand purple as it came filtered through the stained glass. At a table inthe window a girl sat working a typewriter. She might have passed forbeautiful, only her hair was banded down in hideously Puritan fashion oneach side of her delicate, oval face, her eyes were shielded byspectacles. But they were lovely, steady, courageous blue eyes, asLittimer did not fail to observe. Also he had not failed to note that hisnew secretary could do very well without the glasses.
The typewriter and secretary business was a new whim of Littimer's. Hewanted an assistant to catalogue and classify his pictures and prints,and he had told the vicar so. He wanted a girl who wasn't a fool, a girlwho could amuse him and wouldn't be afraid of him, and he thought hewould have an American. To which the vicar responded that the wholething was nonsense, but he had heard of a Boston girl in England who hada passion for that kind of thing and who was looking for a situation ofthe kind in a genuine old house for a year or so. The vicar added thathe had not seen the young lady, but he could obtain her address. A replycame in due course, a reply that so pleased the impetuous Earl that heengaged the applicant on the spot. And now she had been just two hoursin the house.
"Well," Littimer cried, "and how have you been getting on?"
Miss Christabel Lee looked up, smilingly.
"I am getting on very well indeed," she said. "You see, I have made astudy of this kind of thing all my lifetime, and most of your picturesare like old friends to me. Do you know, I fancy that you and I are goingto manage very well together?"
"Oh, do you? They say I am pretty formidable at times."
"I shan't mind that a bit. You see, my father was a man with avillainous temper. But a woman can always get the better of abad-tempered man unless he happens to be one of the lower classes whouses his boots. If he is a gentleman you have him utterly at your mercy.Have you a sharp tongue?"
"I flatter myself I can be pretty blistering on occasions," Littimersaid, grimly.
"How delightful! So can I. You and I will have some famous battles lateron. Only I warn you that I never lose my temper, which gives me atremendous advantage. I haven't been very well lately, so you must benice to me for a week or two."
Littimer smiled and nodded. The grim lord of the castle was notaccustomed to this kind of thing, and he was telling himself that herather liked it.
"And now show me the Rembrandt," Miss Lee said, impatiently.
Littimer led the way to a distant alcove lighted from the side by alatticed window. There was only one picture in the excellent light there,and that was the famous Rembrandt engraving. Littimer's eyes lighted upquite lovingly as they rested upon it. The Florentine frame was hung solow that Miss Lee could bring her face on a level with it.
"This is the picture that was stolen from you?" she asked.
"Yes, that's the thing that there was all the fuss about. It made a greatstir at the time. But I don't expect that it will happen again."
"Why not?" Miss Lee asked. "When an attempt of that sort is made it isusually followed by another, sometimes after the lapse of years. Anybodygetting through that window could easily get the frame from its two nailsand take out the paper."
"Do you think so?" Littimer asked, uneasily.
"I am certain of it. Take my advice and make it secure. The panels behindare hard wood--thick black oak. Lord Littimer, I am going to get fourbrass-headed stays and drive them through some of the open ornamentalwork into the panel so as to make the picture quite secure. It is an ironframe, I suppose."
"Wrought-iron, gilt," said Littimer. "Yes, one could easily drive fourbrass-headed stays through the open work and make the thing safe. I'llhave it seen to."
But Miss Lee insisted that there was no time like the present. She haddiscovered that Littimer had an excellent carpenter's shop on thepremises; indeed, she admitted to being no mean performer with the latheherself. She flitted down the stairs light as thistledown.
"A charming girl!" Littimer said, cynically. "I wonder why she came tothis dull hole? A quarrel with her young man, perhaps. If I were a youngman myself I might--But women are all the same. I should be a h
appier manif I had never trusted one. If--"
The face darkened; a heavy scowl lined his brows as he paced up anddown. Christabel came back presently with hammer and some brass-headedstays in her hand.
"Don't utterly destroy the frame," Littimer said, resignedly. "It isreputed to be Quentin Matsy's work, and I had it cut to its presentfashion. I'll go to the end of the gallery till the execution's over."
"On the contrary," Miss Lee said, firmly, "you will stay where youare told."
A little to his own surprise Littimer remained. He saw the nails drivenfirmly in and finished off with a punch so that there might be no dangerof hammering the exquisitely wrought frame. Miss Lee stood regarding herwork with a suggestion of pride.
"There," she said, "I flatter myself a carpenter could have doneno better."
"You don't know our typical carpenter," Littimer said. "Here is Tredwellwith a telegram. For Miss Lee? I hope it isn't an intimation that somerelative has died and left you a fortune. At least, if it is, you mustn'tgo until we've had one of those quarrels you promised me."
Christabel glanced at the telegram and slipped it into her pocket. Therewere just a few words in the telegram that would have beenunintelligible to the ordinary understanding. The girl did not evencomprehend, but Littimer's eyes were upon her, and the cipher had tokeep for a time. Littimer walked away at an intimation that his stewarddesired to see him.
Instantly the girl's manner changed. She glanced at the Rembrandt with ashrewd smile that meant something beyond a mere act of prudence welldone. Then she went down to the library and began an eager search for acertain book. She found it at length, the "David Copperfield" in the"Charles Dickens" edition of the great novelist's works. For the nexthour or so she was flitting over the pages with the cipher telegramspread out before her. A little later and the few jumbled, meaninglesswords were coded out into a lengthy message. Christabel read them over afew times, then with the aid of a vesta she reduced the whole thing,telegram and all, to tinder, which she carefully crushed and flung out ofthe window.
She looked away down the terrace, she glanced at the dappled deerknee-deep in the bracken, she caught a glimpse of the smiling sea, andher face saddened for a moment.
"How lovely it all is," she murmured. "How exquisitely beautiful and howutterly sad! And to think that if I possessed the magician's wand for amoment I could make everything smile again. He is a good man--a betterman than anybody takes him to be. Under his placid, cynical surface heconceals a deal of suffering. Well, we shall see."
She replaced the "Copperfield" on the shelf and turned to go again.In the hall she met Lord Littimer dressed for riding. He smiled asshe passed.
"Au revoir till dinner-time," he said. "I've got to go and see a tenant.Oh, yes, I shall certainly expect the pleasure of your company to dinner.And now that the Rembrandt--"
"It is safe for the afternoon," Christabel laughed. "It is generallywhen the family are dining that the burglar has his busy time. Apleasant ride to you."