CHAPTER XVII
RELEASE
I
She opened the front door without knocking, and came straight into mysitting-room.
"'E's not 'ere," she said in a manner that left it doubtful whether shemade an assertion or asked a question.
"Your son?" I said. I had risen when she came into the room, "No; Ihaven't seen him to-day."
Ellen Mary was staring at me, but it was clear that she neither saw norheard me. She had a look of intense concentration. One could see thatshe was calculating, thinking, thinking....
I went over to her and took her by the arm. I gently shook her. "Now,tell me what's the matter? What has happened?" I asked.
She made an effort to collect herself, loosened her arm from my hold andwith an instinctive movement pushed forward the old bonnet, which hadslipped to the back of her head.
"'E 'asn't been in to 'is dinner," she said hurriedly. "I've been onthe Common looking for 'im."
"He may have made a mistake in the time," I suggested.
She made a movement as though to push me on one side, and turned towardsthe door. She was calculating again. Her expression said quite plainly,"Could he be there, could he be _there_?"
"Come, come," I said, "there is surely no need to be anxious yet."
She turned on me. "'E never makes a mistake in the time," she saidfiercely, "'e always knows the time to the minute without clock orwatch. Why did you leave 'im alone?"
She broke off in her attack upon me and continued: "'E's never been latebefore, not a minute, and now it's a hour after 'is time."
"He may be at home by now," I said. She took the hint instantly andstarted back again with the same stumbling little run.
I picked up my hat and followed her.
II
The Wonder was not at the cottage.
"Now, my dear woman, you must keep calm," I said. "There is absolutelyno reason to be disturbed. You had better go to Challis Court and see ifhe is in the library, I----"
"I'm a fool," broke in Ellen Mary with sudden decision, and she set offagain without another word. I followed her back to the Common andwatched her out of sight. I was more disturbed about her than about thenon-appearance of the Wonder. He was well able to take care of himself,but she.... How strange that with all her calculations she had notthought of going to Challis Court, to the place where her son had spentso many days. I began to question whether the whole affair was not, insome way, a mysterious creation of her own disordered brain.
Nevertheless, I took upon myself to carry out that part of the programmewhich I had not been allowed to state in words to Mrs. Stott, and setout for Deane Hill. It was just possible that the Wonder might haveslipped down that steep incline and injured himself. Possible, but veryunlikely; the Wonder did not take the risks common to boys of his age,he did not disport himself on dangerous slopes.
As I walked I felt a sense of lightness, of relief from depression. Ihad not been this way by myself since the end of August. It was good tobe alone and free.
The day was fine and not cold, though the sun was hidden. I noticed thatthe woods showed scarcely a mark of autumn decline.
There was not a soul to be seen by the monument. I scrambled down theslope and investigated the base of the hill and came back another waythrough the woods. I saw no one. I stopped continually and whistledloudly. If he is anywhere near at hand, I thought, and in trouble, hewill hear that and answer me. I did not call him by name. I did not knowwhat name to call. It would have seemed absurd to have called "Victor."No one ever addressed him by name.
My return route brought me back to the south edge of the Common, thepoint most remote from the farm. There I met a labourer whom I knew bysight, a man named Hawke. He was carrying a stick, and prodding with itfoolishly among the furze and gorse bushes. The bracken was alreadydying down.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
"It's this 'ere Master Stott, sir," he said, looking up. "'E's gotloarst seemingly."
I felt a sudden stab of self-reproach. I had been taking things tooeasily. I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to four.
"Mr. Challis 'ave told me to look for 'un," added the man, and continuedhis aimless prodding of the gorse.
"Where is Mr. Challis?" I asked.
"'E's yonder, soomewheres." He made a vague gesture in the direction ofPym.
The sun had come out, and the Common was all aglow. I hastened towardsthe village.
On the way I met Farmer Bates and two or three labourers. They, too,were beating among the gorse and brown bracken. They told me that Mr.Challis was at the cottage and I hurried on. All the neighbourhood, itseems, was searching for the Wonder. In the village I saw three or fourwomen standing with aprons over their heads, talking together.
I had never seen Pym so animated.
III
I met Challis in the lane. He was coming away from Mrs. Stott's cottage.
"Have you found him?" I asked stupidly. I knew quite well that theWonder was not found, and yet I had a fond hope that I might,nevertheless, be mistaken.
Challis shook his head. "There will be a mad woman in that cottage if hedoesn't come back by nightfall," he remarked with a jerk of his head."I've done what I can for her."
I explained that I had been over to Deane Hill, searching and calling.
"You didn't see anything?" asked Challis, echoing my foolish query of amoment before. I shook my head.
We were both agitated without doubt.
We soon came up with Farmer Bates and his men. They stopped and touchedtheir hats when they saw us, and we put the same silly question to them.
"You haven't found him?" We knew perfectly well that they would haveannounced the fact at once if they had found him.
"One of you go over to the Court and get any man you can find to comeand help," said Challis. "Tell Heathcote to send every one."
One of the labourers touched his cap again, and started off at once witha lumbering trot.
Challis and I walked on in silence, looking keenly about us and stoppingevery now and then and calling. We called "Hallo! Hallo-o!" It was animprovement upon my whistle.
"He's such a little chap," muttered Challis once; "it would be so easyto miss him if he were unconscious."
It struck me that the reference to the Wonder was hardly sufficientlyrespectful. I had never thought of him as "a little chap." But Challishad not known him so intimately as I had.
The shadows were fast creeping over the Common. At the woodside it wasalready twilight. The whole of the western sky right up to the zenithwas a finely shaded study in brilliant orange and yellow. "More rain," Ithought instinctively, and paused for a moment to watch the sunset. Theblack distance stood clearly silhouetted against the sky. One coulddiscern the sharp outline of tiny trees on the distant horizon.
We met Heathcote and several other men in the lane.
"Shan't be able to do much to-night, sir," said Heathcote. "It'll bedark in 'alf an hour, sir."
"Well, do what you can in half an hour," replied Challis, and to me hesaid, "You'd better come back with me. We've done what we can."
I had a picture of him then as the magnate; I had hardly thought of himin that light before. The arduous work of the search he could delegateto his inferiors. Still, he had come out himself, and I doubt not thathe had been altogether charming to the bewildered, distraught mother.
I acquiesced in his suggestion. I was beginning to feel very tired.
Mrs. Heathcote was at the gate when we arrived at the Court. "'Ave theyfound 'im, sir?" she asked.
"Not yet," replied Challis.
I followed him into the house.
IV
As I walked back at ten o'clock it was raining steadily. I had refusedthe offer of a trap. I went through the dark and sodden wood, andlingered and listened. The persistent tap, tap, tap of the rain on theleaves irritated me. How could one hear while that noise was going on?There was no other sound. There was not a breath of wind. Only thatperpetua
l tap, tap, tap, patter, patter, drip, tap, tap. It seemed as ifit might go on through eternity....
I went to the Stotts' cottage, though I knew there could be no news.Challis had given strict instructions that any news should be brought tohim immediately. If it was bad news it was to be brought to him beforethe mother was told.
There was a light burning in the cottage, and the door was set wideopen.
I went up to the door but I did not go in.
Ellen Mary was sitting in a high chair, her hands clasped together, andshe rocked continually to and fro. She made no sound; she merely rockedherself with a steady, regular persistence.
She did not see me standing at the open door, and I moved quietly away.
As I walked over the Common--I avoided the wood deliberately--I wonderedwhat was the human limit of endurance. I wondered whether Ellen Maryhad not reached that limit.
Mrs. Berridge had not gone to bed, and there were some visitors in thekitchen. I heard them talking. Mrs. Berridge came out when I opened thefront door.
"Any news, sir?" she asked.
"No; no news," I said. I had been about to ask her the same question.
V
I did not go to sleep for some time. I had a picture of Ellen Marybefore my eyes, and I could still hear that steady pat, patter, drip, ofthe rain on the beech leaves.
In the night I awoke suddenly, and thought I heard a long, wailing cryout on the Common. I got up and looked out of the window, but I couldsee nothing. The rain was still falling, but there was a blur of lightthat showed where the moon was shining behind the clouds. The cry, ifthere had been a cry, was not repeated.
I went back to bed and soon fell asleep again.
I do not know whether I had been dreaming, but I woke suddenly with apresentation of the little pond on the Common very clear before me.
"We never looked in the pond," I thought, and then--"but he could nothave fallen into the pond; besides, it's not two feet deep."
It was full daylight, and I got up and found that it was nearly seveno'clock.
The rain had stopped, but there was a scurry of low, threatening cloudthat blew up from the south.
I dressed at once and went out. I made my way directly to the Stotts'cottage.
The lamp was still burning and the door open, but Ellen Mary had fallenforward on to the table; her head was pillowed on her arms.
"There _is_ a limit to our endurance," I reflected, "and she has reachedit."
I left her undisturbed.
Outside I met two of Farmer Bates's labourers going back to work.
"I want you to come up with me to the pond," I said.
VI
The pond was very full.
On the side from which we approached, the ground sloped gradually, andthe water was stretching out far beyond its accustomed limits.
On the farther side the gorse among the trunks of the three ash-treescame right to the edge of the bank. On that side the bank was three orfour feet high.
We came to the edge of the pond, and one of the labourers waded in alittle way--the water was very shallow on that side--but we could seenothing for the scum of weed, little spangles of dirty green, and a massof some other plant that had borne a little white flower in the earlierpart of the year--stuff like dwarf hemlock.
Under the farther bank, however, I saw one comparatively clear space ofblack water.
"Let's go round," I said, and led the way.
There was a tiny path which twisted between the gorse roots and came outat the edge of the farther bank by the stem of the tallest ash. I hadseen tiny village boys pretending to fish from this point with a stickand a piece of string. There was a dead branch of ash some five or sixfeet long, with the twigs partly twisted off; it was lying among thebushes. I remembered that I had seen small boys using this branch toclear away the surface weed. I picked it up and took it with me.
I wound one arm round the trunk of the ash, and peered over into thewater under the bank.
I caught sight of something white under the water. I could not seedistinctly. I thought it was a piece of broken ware--the bottom of abasin. I had picked up the ash stick and was going to probe the deeperwater with it. Then I saw that the dim white object was globular.
The end of my stick was actually in the water. I withdrew it quickly,and threw it behind me.
My heart began to throb painfully.
I turned my face away and leaned against the ash-tree.
"Can you see anythin'?" asked one of the labourers who had come upbehind me.
"Oh! Christ!" I said. I turned quickly from the pond and pressed a waythrough the gorse.
I was overwhelmingly and disgustingly sick.
VII
By degrees the solid earth ceased to wave and sway before me like arolling heave of water, and I looked up, pressing my hands to myhead--my hands were as cold as death.
My clothes were wet and muddy where I had lain on the sodden ground. Igot to my feet and instinctively began to brush at the mud.
I was still a little giddy, and I swayed and sought for support.
I could see the back of one labourer. He was kneeling by the ash-treebending right down over the water. The other man was standing in thepond, up to his waist in water and mud. I could just see his head andshoulders....
I staggered away in the direction of the village.
VIII
I found Ellen Mary still sitting in the same chair. The lamp wasfluttering to extinction, the flame leaping spasmodically, dying downtill it seemed that it had gone out, and then again suddenly flickeringup with little clicking bursts of flame. The air reeked intolerably ofparaffin.
I blew the lamp out and pushed it on one side.
There was no need to break the news to Ellen Mary. She had known lastnight, and now she was beyond the reach of information.
She sat upright in her chair and stared out into the immensity. Herhands alone moved, and they were not still for an instant. They lay inher lap, and her fingers writhed and picked at her dress.
I spoke to her once, but I knew that her mind was beyond the reach of mywords.
"It is just as well," I thought; "but we must get her away."
I went out and called to the woman next door.
She was in her kitchen, but the door was open. She came out when Iknocked.
"Poor thing," she said, when I told her. "It _'as_ been a shock, nodoubt. She was so wrapped hup in the boy."
She could hardly have said less if her neighbour had lost half-a-crown.
"Get her into your cottage before they come," I said harshly, and lefther.
I wanted to get out of the lane before the men came back, but I hadhardly started before I saw them coming.
They had made a chair of their arms, and were carrying him between them.They had not the least fear of him, now.
IX
The Harrison idiot suddenly jumped out of the hedge.
I put my hand to my throat. I wanted to cry out, to stop him, but Icould not move. I felt sick again, and utterly weak and powerless, and Icould not take my gaze from that little doll with the great droopinghead that rolled as the men walked.
I was reminded, disgustingly, of children with a guy.
The idiot ran shambling down the lane. He knew the two men, whotolerated him and laughed at him. He was not afraid of them nor theirburden.
He came right up to them. I heard one of the men say gruffly, "Now then,you cut along off!"
I believe the idiot must have touched the dead body.
I was gripping my throat in my hand; I was trying desperately to cryout.
Whether the idiot actually touched the body or not I cannot say, but hemust have realised in his poor, bemused brain that the thing was dead.
He cried out with his horrible, inhuman cry, turned, and ran up the lanetowards me. He fell on his face a few yards from me, scrambled wildly tohis feet again and came on yelping and shrieking. He was wildly,horribly afraid. I caught sight of his face as he passed me, a
nd hismouth was distorted into a square, his upper lip horribly drawn up overhis ragged, yellow teeth. Suddenly he dashed at the hedge and clawed hisway through. I heard him still yelping appallingly as he rushed awayacross the field....