The Man with a Shadow

“Then you really do feel hopeful?”

“My dear Mr Salis,” said the old man, “if I am not wrong in my ideas, that sweet-faced lady in the next room will slowly and patiently repay our poor friend for unknowingly restoring her to a life of activity. She will bring him back to calm reason.”

“You think this?” said Salis hoarsely.

“Indeed I do. His long and lucid statement to me shows that in every point but one he was as sane as you or I. He had one little crotchet, due to the overstrain, and that will, I feel sure, with a little help, soon disappear. Mr Salis, take my word for it, you may be perfectly at rest.”

“Good heavens!” cried Salis, springing to his feet, for at that moment a wild shriek resounded through the house, followed by a heavy fall in the room above.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Two.

Missing the Mail Train

Ten o’clock had just struck, and the old tower was still vibrating, when Dally Watlock’s bedroom door was softly opened, and the little lady, clad in her tightly-fitting jacket and natty hat, came softly out, to stand upon the landing listening.

The lamp was burning on the hall table, and it sent up a faint yellow glow which shone strangely upon the girl’s face, as she stood listening to the murmur of voices proceeding from the curate’s study, and she could just make out a faint line of light coming from beneath the drawing-room door.

Dally went slowly and softly across the landing till she reached Leo’s door, where she paused to listen; but all was perfectly still, and stealing one gloved hand to the latch, she tried the door cautiously, but it did not yield, and though she tapped twice there was no response.

Dally drew her breath softly between her teeth, and uttered a low, vicious little laugh.

“Good night, dear,” she said softly; “it’ll be ten o’clock to-morrow when you wake, and then – we shall see!”

One of the stairs gave a loud warning creak as she stopped, bag in hand, holding on by the balustrade, and ready, rat-like, to dart back to her room should any one open the study door.

But the murmur of voices still went on, and Dally stole down the rest of the way to reach the hall, creep softly to a swing-door, and pass through into the neatly-kept kitchen, where a fire still glowed and a kettle sang its own particular song.

Dally closed the kitchen door after her, darted across the broad patch of warm light cast by the fire into the darkness of a scullery beyond, and closed a door after her to stand thinking.

“Craven Street, Strand,” she muttered. “Ten miles to King’s Hampton. Ten o’clock to half-past one; I can do it easy, and at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, my dear, we shall see!”

She said these words with a vicious little hiss, and the next minute two well-oiled bolts were shot, the key was turned, the door opened with a sharp crack, and then there was a rustle as Dally passed through, closed the door with a light click of the latch, and stood in the semi-darkness of a soft starlight night.

Drawing a long breath, as if to get a reserve of force, the girl stepped quickly along the path leading round to the front, passing as soon as she could on to the closely-cut lawn, and over it to the gate.

She had nearly reached it, bag in one hand and umbrella in the other, when she turned quickly round to see that she was not observed by any one in the curate’s study; and as she did so she plumped up against something hard and yet soft.

“Oh!” she involuntarily ejaculated, and she started back, as that which she had thumped against took a step forward, and she found that she was face to face with Joe Chegg.

“Where are you going?” he said sourly.

Dally was too much startled for a moment to speak. Then, recovering herself, she said shortly:

“What’s that to you?”

“Heverything,” replied Joe, in a low growl. “Parson said I was to look out about the place; and I’m a-looking. Where are you going?”

Dally drew her breath with a hiss. It was maddening to be stopped at a time like this, when every minute was of importance; and the mail train was always punctual at King’s Hampton at half-past one.

“D’yer hear?” said Joe. “Well, if you won’t answer me, come on to parson, and tell him.”

“No, no, Joe Chegg; don’t stop me, please,” she said softly. “Gran’fa’s ill, and I’m going to take him something.”

“At quarter arter ten, eh? No, you arn’t. Old Moredock went to bed at half-past eight, for I run down and looked in at his windy ’fore he drawed the blind. Yes, I run down and see.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” cried Dally. “How dare you stop me?”

“Parson said I was to look out.”

“Master didn’t tell you to stop me, you great stupid. Let me go by.”

“Nay, I shan’t,” said Joe. “You’re off on larks, and he arn’t here now.”

“Who isn’t here?” cried Dally.

“You know. He’s gone to London, where he’d better stop.”

Daily’s wrath hissed again, and she was about to say something angrily, but she dreaded a scene, and tried the other tack.

“Now, don’t be foolish, there’s a dear, good man,” she said softly. “I just want to go a little way.”

“Wi’ an umbrella and a bag, eh?” said Joe. “Parson Salis don’t know you’re off out, I know.”

“What nonsense, Joe!”

“Don’t you Joe me, ma’am; my name’s Mr Chegg, and you wouldn’t whisper and carny and be civil if you weren’t up to some games.”

“Oh, what a foolish man you are, Joe Chegg!”

“Oh, I am, arn’t I?” said Joe. “Always going up to the Hall of a night, eh? Gets out o’ my bedroom windy, and steals off to meet squires in vestry rooms, I do, don’t I?”

“Joe Chegg!”

“And carries on as no decent female would wi’ my missus’s young man.”

“Joe Chegg! Oh, please let me go by,” whispered Dally. “I want to go somewhere particular.”

“Then want’ll be your master, for you’re not going without parson says you are to. Come on and ask him.”

Joe caught her by the wrist, but she wrested it away, and nearly got through the gate, but he was too quick for her.

“That shows as you’re up to no good,” said Joe. “You wouldn’t fight against seeing your master if you weren’t off on the sly at half arter ten.”

“Half-past ten!” cried Dally. “It isn’t.”

At that moment the chimes ran out the half-hour, and Dally drew her breath hard, and made a desperate effort to pass; but this time Joe caught her round the waist and held her, avoiding a scratched face from the fact that the girl’s hands were gloved.

“How dare you?” she panted, ready to cry hysterically from vexation.

“I dare ’cause I’m told, and I don’t believe I did right in letting Miss Leo go.”

“What?”

Dally suddenly grew limp and ceased to struggle.

“I said I didn’t think I did right in letting Miss Leo go, but I didn’t like to stop her.”

“Miss Leo?” panted Dally. “When?”

“Hour and half ago.”

“It’s a story. She’s fast asleep in bed.”

“Where you ought to be,” said Joe. “So back you go.”

“It’s a story, I say,” panted Dally. “Miss Leo hasn’t been out of her room to-night.”

“Miss Leo went out of this here gate hour and half ago, just as I come back from your gran’father’s, and she arn’t come back.”

“Oh!”

Dally uttered a low, hoarse cry, and turning sharply round ran swiftly back to the place from which she had come, closely followed by Joe, in whose face the door was closed and the bolt slipped.

In another minute Dally had reached the landing, and was listening at Leo’s door, which she tried again.

All was still, and, her breath coming and going as if she were suppressing hysterical sobs, the girl ran into her bedroom, locked the door, threw bag, umbrella, hat and jacket on the bed, opened the window, crept out with wonderful activity, rolled down the sloping roof, dropped to the ground, and ran over the lawn to the summer-house.

Leo Salis had scaled that rustic edifice many a time with great agility, but her skill was poor in comparison with that of the sexton’s grandchild. In a few moments she was on the roof, and reaching up to Leo’s window, the casement yielding to her touch.

She uttered a low sob of rage and doubt now, as, without hesitation, she clambered in to run to the bed, and pass her hands over it.

Tenantless; and the cup of tea, heavily drugged with a solution of chloral, stood where it had been placed, untouched, upon the table.

Even then the girl was not convinced. She would not believe in the ill success of her plans, and that the handsome woman she despised was as keen of wit as herself.

She darted to the wardrobe.

Leo’s jacket was gone!

To another part of the room.

The hat she wore was missing!

Then for a moment the girl stood as if dumbfounded, as the thoughts crushed down upon her that even if she started now, and could get away, she would be too late to catch the London mail. Worse still: Leo must have caught the last up-train at twelve, and long before she could reach the great city, would have joined Tom Candlish at the place he had named in the note Dally herself had borne; and, though she had planned so well, her chances of being Lady Candlish were for ever gone.

She ground her teeth together and panted hoarsely, hardly able to breathe for the sobs which struggled for utterance.

“It isn’t true. It’s a trick!” she cried at last. “I won’t believe it! I’ll go and be there first, and then —

“Oh! what shall I do – what shall I do?” she cried hoarsely; and then, uttering a wild and passionate shriek of misery and despair, she threw herself heavily upon the floor, to tear at the carpet, like some savage creature, with tooth and nail.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Three.

Dally’s Hysterics

Salis ran out into the hall, followed by the doctor, to meet Mary and the housekeeper from the other side.

“North?” gasped Salis; he could say no more.

“Sleeping peacefully,” said the housekeeper; “what is the matter?” For Mary could not speak.

“Leo must be ill,” said Salis, rushing up the stairs to his sister’s room.

“Leo! Leo!” he cried, rattling the door-handle.

For answer there was a moaning, almost inhuman, sound.

“Can you open the door?” said the old doctor, who had followed him. “It must be a fit.”

“Stand back,” cried Salis; and going to the other side of the broad landing, he rushed forward, literally hurling himself at the door, which flew open with a crash.

The light carried by Mary streamed into the room, and lit up the figure grovelling upon the carpet.

In an instant Salis was down upon one knee, and had raised her upon his arm.

“Dally!” he cried wonderingly, as the girl writhed and fought and moaned in his arms. The doctor glanced at the hysterical girl. “Light here,” he said sternly; and as Mary wonderingly bore forward the lamp, the old man lifted the tea-cup, upon which his eyes had instantly lit, smelled, and then cautiously tasted it. He shook his head. “Is she poisoned?” gasped Salis. “No,” said the old doctor promptly. “The lamp a little nearer, please.”

Mary held it towards him, and the old man bent down over Dally and made a rapid examination; no easy task, for she was throwing herself about wildly, and one hand struck the lamp shade and tore it away.

“That will do,” said the doctor in stern, hard tones. “Here: have you another servant? Get her to bed at once.”

As he spoke he seized Dally’s wrist, and gave it a jerk.

“Get up!” he said harshly.

“What a shame!” murmured Mrs Milt indignantly.

“Of this girl to make such a disturbance?” said the old doctor, who had caught her words. “Yes, disgraceful, when there is so much trouble. That’s right; get up. Not your room, I suppose?”

To the surprise of all, Dally had risen, and stood with her hands clenched, looking wildly from one to the other.

“Can you walk to your room, Dally?” said Mary.

The girl nodded sharply, then looked around wildly, and the full force of her trouble coming back, she burst into a passion of tears.

“But where is Leo?” cried Salis. “Where is my sister?”

He darted to the open window and looked out.

“Want me, sir?” said a voice.

“You there, Chegg? How’s that?”

“You telled me to watch, sir.”

“Have you seen any one pass?”

“Only Miss Leo, sir,” replied the man.

Salis turned from the window, looking as if stunned.

“Gone!” he said wonderingly.

“Yes,” cried Dally, mingling her words with sobs of rage and spite. “She’s gone off with Tom Candlish.”

“And you – you wretch – you have helped her,” cried Salis, seizing the girl by the arm.

“I didn’t. It isn’t true. I’ve done everything to keep ’em apart; but they’ve cheated and deceived me,” cried Dally. “She’s gone up to London to meet him – and – and they’ve gone there.”

She tore an envelope from her pocket, and Salis snatched it from her hand to read the address in Craven Street.

“Hartley,” whispered Mary, clinging to him now, “is it true?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, “it must be true. Hush! I must leave you now. Mr Delton, will you stay in the house, and watch over my sister and my friend? I must go away at once.”

“There’s no train till to-morrow morning at eight,” sobbed Dally passionately; and she stamped her feet like an angry child as her hysterical fit began to return.

“That will do!” said the old doctor sternly, as he grasped the girl’s wrist once more, and she looked up at him in a startled way, and then quailed and subsided into a fit of sobbing.

“Anything I can do, Mr Salis, you may depend on being done.”

Salis nodded; he could not speak for a moment, but gazed full in his sister’s eyes.

“Did you suspect this?” he whispered.

“Oh, no, Hartley,” she replied.

“No; you could not have suspected.”

He drew a long breath, and seemed to be making an effort to check his agony of spirit, and to be forcing himself to act firmly.

“Chegg,” he cried from the window, “go round to the front door. I’ll meet you there. Mrs Milt,” he said, closing the window, “will you be good enough to see this girl to her room? Stay with her for the present. Mary, poor North is alone,” he added; “go down.”

“And you, Hartley?”

“I’ll follow directly,” he said; and as soon as the room was cleared, he turned to the old doctor.

“You tasted that tea,” he said sharply.

“Yes; strongly flavoured with chloral,” he said.

“Chloral? How could that have got into the tea? And the girl’s fit? Not epilepsy?”

“Hysteria. Rage and disappointment,” said the old doctor. “So it seems to me. There is more beneath the surface than appears. Mr Salis, what can I do to help you?”

“Give me your prayers and ask me nothing,” he replied sadly. “There is more beneath the surface, sir.”

“I will respect your silence,” said the old man, taking his hand. “You are Horace North’s friend, sir, and that is sufficient for me. You are going to town?”

Salis nodded.

“My house is at your disposal,” said the doctor, and he handed Salis his card.

At five o’clock, after due arrangements had been made, Joe Chegg was at the door with a chaise, ready to drive Salis over to the station at King’s Hampton; but, long before that, Dally had begged Mrs Milt to “fetch Miss Mary,” to whom the half-wild, sobbing girl had made a clean breast, of all she knew, and this had been communicated to the curate.

“I need not fear leaving North – I mean on my sister’s behalf?” said Salis, as he stood by the chaise.

“Trust to me, my dear sir, and go without fear.”

Salis climbed into the chaise, and, with his head bent, was driven off through the chilly morning air in search of the fugitive who had nine hours’ start; and as he recalled this he muttered: “I am too late!”

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Four.

Out of the Shadow

Hartley Salis found that his words were correct.

He was too late!

He learned that “a gentleman,” as the people at the hotel called him, had been staying at the hotel, that a lady, evidently Leo, had come in by the early train, and that they had gone.

“Heaven only knows where, Mary, dear,” said Salis a week later, as he lay upon the couch, utterly worn out with his efforts to trace the fugitives. “I am broken down. Thank God, dear, I am once more at home. And you?”

“My dearest brother,” she said tenderly, as she knelt beside him and laid her hand upon his burning brow.

“Ah, that’s cool and pleasant,” he sighed, with his eyes closed. “Tell me about North – more than your letters said.”

“He is better – much better,” said Mary, with an eagerness she made no attempt to conceal.

“Yes,” said Salis wearily; “so Mr Delton said.”

“Yes; so Mr Delton said, and he also said, my dear sir, that you too must have rest; your sister, recovering from her own illness, cannot afford to have two invalids on her hands.”

Salis looked up, and held out his hand to the old doctor, who had uttered the words softly, as doctors do: “You have hardly had a good night’s rest since you left.”

“I have not been to bed,” said Salis simply. “There, I will try and sleep now.”

The doctor made Mary a sign, and she drew back as Salis closed his eyes, and the breakfast which had been prepared as he drove in that morning from King’s Hampton after travelling all night remained untasted.

That was at seven o’clock, and it was seven at night when he awoke to look sharply round, and see Mary at the head of the couch.

“I – where am – ? Have I been asleep?”

“Yes,” said Mary softly.

“Hah!” he ejaculated, springing up. “I have done all I could, Mary,” he said almost appealingly. “I think they are married. It’s a proud thing for us, dear, to have a lady of title for sister,” he added bitterly, as he took Mary to his heart, and she felt it throbbing with his emotion.

“There,” he said, after a few minutes’ struggle, “now for other duties. I still have you.”

The pressure of Mary’s hand spoke more than words, and the poor fellow sat at last, feeling that, after all, there were great compensations in life.

The sight of a well-dressed visitor coming up to the house interrupted their quiet communion, just as they had felt that no more could be done respecting Leo, after Salis had been placed au courant with the state of affairs at the Rectory. Among others that Dally had been to and fro several times to see her grandfather, but had settled down to her work as of old.

In fact that young lady entered the room directly after the ringing of the gate bell, to state that Mrs Berens was in the drawing-room, and wanted to see master “partickler.”

“I will see her for you, Hartley,” said Mary.

“No,” replied Salis firmly; “I want work to keep my brain quiet, or I shall be ill. Show her in here, Dally.”

“No, no, I will fetch her,” said Mary, smiling at her brother’s want of etiquette.

She left the room to return directly.

“Come and see her, Hartley,” she said. “Poor woman, she is in sad trouble.”

“Hah! I am glad,” cried Salis. “Something to think about. The best medicine for me.”

“Oh, Mr Salis, what shall I do? What you have so often said!” sobbed Mrs Berens, as he entered the room, and she clung to his extended hand.

“What I have so often said?”

“Yes; about riches. I’m a poor, helpless woman now. All gone – all gone!”

It was a long story about how she had allowed herself to be influenced by Cousin Thompson, whom she had permitted to make investment after investment till he seemed to have got the whole of the widow’s money into his hands.

“And all went so well till that day when I offended him, dear Mr Salis. Since then I have had nothing but bad news about my property, and now I can get no answers from him at all.”

“A scoundrel!” cried Salis; “but what day do you mean?”

“That day when – must I tell you everything?”

“If you wish for my help,” said Salis sharply.

“I do, Mr Salis; but pray don’t speak angrily to me. I am so broken and unhappy now.”

“My dear madam, I want to help you. Pray tell me all.”

“He came down to me one day – I have the date somewhere – and he proposed to me. I refused him at once, for I quite disliked the man, and he went away my enemy, I’m sure, and when I heard of his conduct towards his cousin, I felt that I had had a narrow escape from a perfect fiend. And now, Mr Salis, what shall I do?”

“The dog!” ejaculated Salis. “I’m longing for occupation; leave it to me, Mrs Berens. I’ve been seeing a friend – my solicitor – in town about North’s affair with his cousin; we’ll work the two together, and if Mr Thompson does not mind, he’ll find himself in a strange fix.”

Cousin Thompson did find himself in a strange fix, and what with threats of proceedings against him for conspiracy and fraud, he was very glad to compound matters in a way which restored two-thirds of her comfortable little fortune to Mrs Berens.

What time these proceedings were going on, North was gradually improving under Mr Delton’s care, though the old gentleman laughed, and said that the improvement was not due to him.

Certainly it was the case that when North had his often-recurring fits of imagination, when he was fully convinced that the essence of Luke Candlish was with him still, and he turned wild with horror, the touch of Mary Salis’ soft, cool hand laid across his eyes, where he held it as a talisman, invariably exorcised the fancied spirit, and the ghost was laid.

From recurring daily and with terrible force, the fits came at last weekly, and then a month passed before one came, and that was slight.

Then more and more feeble, and then they came no more.

There could only be one result to such intercourse as this. Horace North gradually awakened to the fact that he had been blind as well as partly demented; but a year had elapsed before one day Salis and Mrs Berens entered the Rectory drawing-room to find Mary sobbing gently on the young doctor’s breast, and heard her say:

“I always loved you from the first.”

“Ah, Salis, you here?” said North, rising without a shade of discomposure on his face. “Mens sana in corpore sano, old fellow. I have been asking dear Mary if she will be my wife.”

“My dear Horace,” cried Salis, his face flushing with pleasure, “Heaven bless you both! I am glad: but – er – the fact is, I have been betrayed into asking Mrs Berens – er – to – ”

“Dear, dear Mary!” sobbed the homely, simple-hearted woman; “don’t, don’t be angry with me. I do love him so.”

Another year had passed, but there had been nothing definite heard about Leo.

Then came a black-bordered envelope, with the direction in her hand, asking her brother to help her, for she was in terrible straits in London with her child. There was plenty of money to be had, she said, but everything was in confusion, and the agent of Sir Thomas Candlish refused to acknowledge her as the late baronet’s wife.

But the energy of Hartley Salis soon set this right.

For old Moredock’s notion had proved to be correct. Tom Candlish had literally drunk himself to death, and the old man, who had been giving Horace North a good deal of trouble lately, and who was exceedingly fractious and jealous of his grandchild’s young husband, his deputy at the church, suddenly perked up on hearing that “young Squire Tom” was to be brought down from London to the family mausoleum.

There was a grand funeral, and the old man, helped by Joe Chegg, got through his part of the business with a good deal of his old energy.

All was over, and Horace North, who had been one of the mourners, as brother-in-law of Lady Candlish of the Hall, was about to turn away, with his mind strongly exercised by the scene, and the recollections it evoked, when he started, for he felt his sleeve plucked.

He turned sharply round to find himself alone, gazing at the old sexton, as he gave him one of his ghoulish grins – more hideous than ever.

“Now, gran’fa,” said a quick voice, and a rosy little woman, who had evidently been crying, took his arm, “you’re tired out, and must come home. Joe will finish what’s to be done.”

“Go ’way! go ’way!” cried the old man angrily.

“No, no, dear; don’t worrit Dr North now. He’ll come and see you another time.”

“Go ’way! go ’way!” cried the old man again; and then, laying his hideous, gnarled hand upon the doctor’s arm: “Don’t want to try no more ’speriments, do you, doctor, eh?”

North looked at him wildly, and could hardly keep back a shudder.