The Coomsberrow Mystery

Front matter

Uniform ivith this Work. The Coombsberrow Mystery. By James Colwall. Dead Man's Rock. By Q. A Queer Race. By W. Westall. The Phantom City. By W. Westall. Captain Trafalgar. By Westall and Laurie. Another's Crime. By Julian Hawthorne. The Yoke of the Thorah. By Sidney Luska. An American Penman. By Julian Hawthorne. Section 558 ; or, The Fatal Letter. By Julian Hawthorne. Who is John Noman? By Charles Henry Beckett. The Tragedy of Brinkwater. By Martha L. Moodey. The Brown Stone Boy. By W. H. Bishop. A Tragic Mystery. By Julian Hawthorne. The Great Bank Robbery. By Julian Hawthorne. Cassell & Company, Limited, Ludgate Hill, London. BY JAMES COLWALL. CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited: LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK d MELBOURNE. 1890. [AXL RIGHTS RESERVED.] CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. Coombsberrow and some of its Inhabitants 1 II.

Mr. Collier 16 III. Mother Gwynn and her Son . . .27 IV. The Pixie 43 V. The Devil's Back-door 58 VI. Godfrey's Quest 72 VII. How Godfrey found his Father . . .84 VIII A Seeming Digression which leads back to the Point 102 IX. The Eye in the Darkness .... 113 X. Francis Gwynn's Wooing .... 123 XI. Constable Stone 136 XII. A Farce within a Tragedy 147 The Ethics of Lying : Part I. of the Tramp's Story 161 CONTENTS. VI PAGE CHAP. XIV. The Tramp's Story, concluded . • • -i"- XV. Village Humours 18° 1QQ XVI. Dry Bones **v XVII. In the Woods 218 XVIII. Ishmael 232 XIX. The Writing in the Cavern. . • -243 XX. Mr. Collier at Bay 250 XXI. The Ruined Barn 269 XXII. Conclusion . . . ■ ■ . • • -283 THE COOMBSBERROW MYSTERY.

Chapter I

COOMBSBE11UOW AND SOME OF ITS INHABITANTS. •* Well, and have you heard as a pixie have been to the Park Farm and have taken another of the fowls last night, Master Godfrey ? "' Godfrey Brydges was passing through the gates of the drive leading up to Coombsberrow House, when Mrs. Cooper came to the door of the old cottage which did duty for a lodge and thus addressed him. "No," he answered. "What pixie ?" " Well, I wonder as you haven't heard," said the old woman. " Mrs. Thomas have been over here but just to tell me." " Oh ! Thomas did tell me that they've been losing several fowls lately. But what about the pixie ?" " Yes, that were it," said Mrs. Cooper ; " so last night they sets George Allen to watch so as to find out who it were as took them. Well, Mrs. Thomas said when she came down there was Allen terrified pretty near out of his senses, and he told her as there' d been a pixie come in the night to the fowl-house."

B THE COOMBSBEKROW MYSTERY. " What did Allen do ? " asked Godfrey. " He kep' still and never moved," said Mrs. Cooper, " and the pixie he just eatched holt on a fowl — one of Mrs. Thomas' best-laying hens it were too — and off with it." " What a fool Allen must be ! What was the pixie like ? " " Well, Allen were that frightened as he didn't rightly know what it were like, but he said as nigh as he could tell it might be about three feet high, or four maybe, and it had a wicked yaller face. But won't you come inside for a bit and sit down, Master Godfrey?" Godfrey pulled out his watch. "No, thanks, nurse," he answered. "I must be going now or I shall keep my father waiting for his breakfast." Godfrey Brydges left Mrs. Cooper standing at the door of the lodge, and went on up the drive towards Coombsberrow House.

It was a bright, clear morning after a wet night, and the breeze was so fresh that, but for the fact that summer had not as yet given place to autumn, it would have been easy to fancy that there was a faint suggestion of frost in the air. The distant mountains of Wales were clearly visible in all their outlines — a sure sign of rain past or to come. In the foreground lay a mere hamlet clustered round a church, though the actual parish is of considerable extent. Coombsberrow House, " The House," as it is called by the villagers, stands moderately close to the village, but considerably above it: for hundreds of years, almost from time immemorial, it has been in the hands of the Brydges family. The estate is tolerably large, and nearly all the inhabitants of Coombsberrow parish are tenants of Squire Brydges.

During the earlier part of the present century the Brydges family, like most of the neighbouring squires, seemed fairly started on the road to bankruptcy. Godfrey's grandfather, Guy, spent his money lavishly and recklessly ; and, when the house was burnt down, there was only a small sum of money forthcoming to rebuild it. Guy Brydges had, however, married a lady possessed of a small fortune and was thus enabled to rebuild the house, though on a smaller scale than before. He afterwards endeavoured to practise economy, though his attempts were not attended with marked success. At his death he left behind him two sons, of whom Roger, the younger, was ten years of age. Roger, who was a clever boy, became in due time a barrister, for which career Nature had eminently fitted him. But before he had practised many years at the bar, his brother died, and he found himself in possession of the property.

Now, although he was, as we have said, eminently fitted to make a good barrister, it did not of necessity follow that he would make a bad squire. Fortunately he was not without a strong love of the country and country pursuits; and, this being the case, he settled down more or less contentedly to the life of a country squire. It was well for the property that b he did so ; since his brother had been a veritable Tony Lumpkin, and under his management affairs had had gone steadily from bad to worse. Roger found the experience and knowledge gained at Lincoln's Inn of no small use in dealing with this state of things. By caution and good management he freed the estate from debt, sold some of the outlying portions and considerably enlarged the house. Not long afterwards he married the daughter of a neighbouring squire : but his wife died little more than a year afterwards, leaving him with one son, Godfrey.

Roger Brydges did not marry again. He had his son educated at one of the principal public schools and afterwards sent him to Cambridge, where he took his degree some three years previously to the period of which we write. Since that time he had remained at home, helping his father in the management of the estate. This was a fortunate circumstance, since Coombs berrow lies in the heart of the country. A windino and hilly road leads across the Putbury Hills, on the western slope of which Coombsberrow House is situated, to Moorchurch, a market town with a railway station, some three miles distant. The railway has not, however succeeded in imparting much life to Moorchurch ; and the trains which pass through the town are neither fast nor frequent. It is, in fact, a sleepy, picturesque country town, which is awakened into sluggish life once a week by the Monday market, when the countryfolk from the neighbouringvillages come thither to buy and sell.

As for Putbury, which gives its name to the range of hills under the shadow of which lies Coombsberrow House, it is now nothing more than a large village, though local tradition asserts that once upon a time it was the most considerable town in Wyeshire. It will thus be seen that, though Coombsberrow can offer no attractions to those who find it indispensable to devour their daily paper every morning together with their " matutinal muffin," the surrounding country is exceedingly pretty, and neither Godfrey nor the Squire seemed discontented with his lot when they met at breakfast. Between the two there was a certain, not very marked, family likeness. The latter was about the middle height, with keen grey eyes and a short, not very well trimmed beard; he had a fine healthy colour, and looked considerably younger than he was, his age being in reality more than sixty.

Godfrey, on the other hand, was a good deal taller than his father and had a well-made and athletic figure. His face was sunburnt, and, but for his keen grey eyes which he had inherited from the Squire, he might have been regarded merely as a handsome, well-made, healthy-looking young man. " Have you heard about the pixie at the Park Farm ? " began Godfrey. " Yes," answered the Squire, " I saw Thomas, and he told me about it." "This is simply the most superstitious neighbour hood in England ; it seems to me that everyone believes in pixies and thinks that the Romans' Cave is haunted and that Mother Gwynn is a witch," said Godfrey with energy. " I have always looked upon Allen as an honest, sensible man, and so he is in the main; yet he believes in pixies as firmly as if he were living in the seventeenth instead of the latter part of the nineteenth century, and stands shivering and shaking while some lad or other is coolly ransacking a fowl-house within a yard of him."

To this his father made no reply, but remarked after a moment's silence, " What are you going to do with yourself to-day, Godfrey ? " •* Well, I'm engaged to lunch with the Colliers at one o'clock," answered Godfrey, ** but up till twelve I am at your service." " By the way, when do you and Miss Collier intend to get married?" asked his father. " I'm afraid," said Godfrey, " that Melaina won't consent to be married before next spring ; — but what do you propose to do, father ? " " I want to settle some of my accounts first of all," said the Squire. " After that I think I shall walk to Hobson's cottage, which, he tells me, needs repairing." " Then our paths will lie together almost as far as Hobson's," said Godfrey. " I ought to start about twelve ; will that time suit you, father ? " The Squire assented, and accordingly the two set out together punctually as the clock was striking twelve; for the Squire set great store by rigid punctuality.

" Let us work up round by the cave to the top of the hills," said Mr. Brydges ; whereupon they began to clamber up the steep and narrow footpath until, about half-way up the hill-side, they came suddenly on the cave of which the Squire had spoken. A rude stone wall had once completely barred the entrance, and fragments of it still remained. This had been partially repaired by the present inmates of the cave with stones and pieces of wood, in such a manner as to form a sort of doorway. It is very possible that a stranger, casually passing by, might have fancied that this doorway was merely the entrance to some small hole cut out of the hill-side, in order to afford protection to sheep or other animals in inclement weather. Before its mouth a fire was burning, beside which stood an old woman engaged in cooking a rabbit.

She was bending over the fire and her face was hidden from view, nor did she raise her eyes as the Squire and Godfrey approached. The figure of a young man could be dimly seen within the cave. Godfrey glanced expressively at the rabbit. " You are poorer by at least one rabbit than you were last night," he said in an undertone. His father followed the direction of his eyes and nodded, but he merely said, "Good day," and prepared to pass on. As he spoke, the woman looked up and regarded the intruders for an instant with a quick, penetrating glance. Then she raised herself to her full height and bowed, without saying a word. She thus disclosed a face which, though weather-beaten and worn with years, was even now remarkable and had once been very handsome. Her hair, onoe almost black, was turning grey ; whilst the expression of her face be tokened determined resolution and something of the grim doggedness of one who believes the world to be her enemy, and rejoices in the fact.

Her eyes were black and piercing, and in them lurked a curious in definable expression, which seemed to indicate that some fixed idea or hallucination had taken firm possession of her mind. It was probably this which led Godfrey to remark to his father, as they continued their walk — " Do you think that Mother Gwynn is quite right in the head ? " " I should say so, certainly," said the Squire. *' What makes you think she is not ? " "There's a curious look in her face," answered Godfrey ; " besides, you know it's the common belief of all the country-side that she has sold herself to the devil, and there may possibly have been something which set the report afloat." " I should have thought that living as she does in a cave alone with her son would account for such reports getting about," said his father.

"Ah! that son," said Godfrey. "Poor fellow! he's always roaming about by himself; you know nobody will have anything to do with the witch's son." " He hasn't got the best of tempers," said the Squire. " I remember that once, years ago, he nearly murdered a boy who tried to bully him." They had by this time reached the top of the hill, and stood still for a moment to take breath and look at the view; then they plunged into a narrow cart-rut winding among the woods, which cover no small part of the Putbury Hills. "Do you know whether that boy Gwynn poaches much game, father ? " asked Godfrey, after a pause. " No, I don't think he does," answered the Squire. " Have you ever thought of expelling them from the cave ? " " No," said the Squire. " I happened to be away from home at the time when they took possession, and, when I returned, I believe I had some thought at first of turning them out; but time went on and I found that she was not troublesome and didn't beg or steal or cause me any inconvenience.

Besides, I was sorry for the woman, badly though she had behaved, and especially for her poor father." " I have heard disjointed fragments of Mother Gwynn's story," said Godfrey, " and also some tale about my grandfather and her husband ; but I never really understood the long and short of it. I should like to hear the whole affair from you, if you have no particular objection to telling it me, though I know you are not fond of telling a story as a rule." Godfrey was right : his father was not at all fond of telling a story. But the request was made at a good time. The Squire's temper, like that of many others whose lives are spent in the country and to a great extent in the open air, varied a good deal according to the state of the weather ; and to-day the bright sun shine and pleasant breeze had put him into the best of humours.

" I wonder at your not having heard the story before," he said; "but I don't mind telling it now, if you wish it, for it's just as well that you should know it, though it wasn't a pleasant business." " He paused : then, his natural instinct to avoid telling a long story proving too strong for him, he added — " But I doubt if there'll be time enough." "Enough and to spare, I should think," answered Godfrey ; " our path don't separate for another mile and a half yet." " Well," said the Squire, " I'll tell you the whole story. The earlier of these events happened fifty years ago, and I have no exact recollection of them myself, but I heard all about them afterwards. As I was saying, about fifty years ago your grandfather was riding home late one evening from Putbury. There was a full moon at the time ■ and he had reached the steep hill below Hodges' farm, where the road crosses Coney Common, when he saw a small figure, carrying a crying child in its arms, cross the track about a dozen yards in front of the horse.

Thanks to the moonlight he saw the figure well, and he seems to have at once concluded that it was a pixie making off with some body's baby. As soon as the creature saw your grandfather it began to run with extraordinary speed towards the nearest cover; whereupon he at once rode in pursuit and, being well mounted, nearly overtook it, when it threw down the child, and, quickening its pace, managed to escape by repeatedly doubling. Your grandfather picked up the child and carried it home. It proved to be a fine baby of about ten months old ; but none of the villagers laid claim to it, and, as no one in the neigh bourhood was known to have lost a baby, it was supposed to be the child of some tramp or gipsy; which, I should say, was most probably the case. Well, a week after wards, your grandfather again rode over to Putbury ; for in those days, Godfrey, there was always a weekly market held there, which he used generally to attend.

He started homewards about the same time as before, but this time the night was very dark and overcast. Farmer Hodges rode with him as far as Northhide Farm ; at the gate of the farm-yard he wished your grandfather * Good night/ and saw him ride on down the hill. He had reached his farmhouse-door and was about to get off his horse, when he heard a loud cry, THK COOMBSBERROW MYSTERY. between a shout and a shriek, coming from the foot of the hill. On hearing this, he at once galloped down until he reached the steepest part, when suddenly his horse shied, and, looking down, he saw your grand father's body lying in the middle of the road. He sprang off his horse and, as he did so, caught a glimpse of some figure hurrying away from the road. Imme diately afterwards he heard a peal of horrible, devilish laughter close to his ear, at which the horse took fright and started down the road at full gallop.

Hodges has told me himself that even now he sometimes wakes up from his sleep shuddering, thinking he hears that laugh. For a few minutes Hodges was left alone with the body ; then some men, whom his wife had sent with a lantern, came up and carried your grandfather to the farmhouse. He had evidently been thrown from his horse with great violence on the stoniest and steepest part of the road, and he died less than an hour after wards. His horse arrived at the stable hi the course of the night, covered with sweat and having apparently had a great fright. There was, of course, an inquest on your grandfather ; but no one except Hodges was able to give any material evidence. The curious part of the affair is that he met with his death on the very spot where he had seen the pixie a week before."

" Yes," said Godfrey ; " and was it not the belief of the rustics at that time that the pixie lay in wait for him and caused his death by startling his horse so that it threw him, in revenge for his taking the child from it?" " I believe it was," answered his father ; " but you seem to know the story so well that there is no need for me to go on." " I told you, father," said Godfrey, " that I had heard fragments of the story, but I know nothing more. Please, go on." " Well," said the Squire, his temporary irritation vanishing: "after your grandfather's death this baby, instead of being sent to the Workhouse, was brought up at the House. He was called Cyprian Coney (his real name, if he had one, being unknown) — Cyprian, because it was on St. Cyprian's day that your grandfather rescued him ; and Coney, because it was on Coney Common that he was rescued.

As he grew older he was employed as stable-boy and developed into a very handsome lad, with dark hair and eyes, a gipsy cast of countenance and a thoroughly gipsy love of idle ness. He was generally roaming about the hills or going to sleep in the sun, when he ought to have been at work. After a time he was promoted to the position of groom, but he was as lazy and idle as ever; still there was something attractive about him which turned. aside people's anger. So things went on till he was about twenty-five. It happened that one evening, when he was about that age, I was walking over the hill and passed close by the entrance to the Romans' Cave. THE CUOMBSBERItOW MYSTERY. Hearing voices inside and wondering who was tres passing, I looked in, and there I saw this young rascal and Mary Gwynn sitting affectionately side by side.

Well, I was very much annoyed, for Farmer Gwynn, who then rented the Park Farm, was a most respectable man ; I was surprised, too, for Mary was a very good looking girl, and was said to have refused several good offers. She was about thirty at this time, and I suppose she must have fallen in love with the rogue's handsome face. However, I reported the matter to Farmer Gwynn, and gave a severe lecture to Cyprian, who was very humble aud submissive ; so that I thought the affair would blow over. But one morning, about a week or ten days afterwards, no Cyprian was to be found anywhere; and, as we were looking for him, Gwynn came in, saying that his daughter had disap peared during the night. Well, we hunted for them high and low, but not a trace of either could be found ; no one had seen them.

For fully four years nothing was heard of either, till one morning a labourer saw some smoke coming from the mouth of the cave, and, on going thither, found Mary Gwynn sitting there with a child in her arms. She absolutely refused to answer any questions about herself or about Coney. I think I mentioned that I was away from home when she reappeared on the scene, and, by the time I returned, she had established herself in the cave. She made no efforts to become reconciled to her family, nor did she have anything to do with any of the villagers. About this time occurred Farmer Gwynn's mysterious murder, and after this I was more than ever loth to disturb her. Besides the cave seemed to have some strange attraction for her, and now I don't think she would exchange it for a palace. She never begged anything from me, and I do not know that she ever stole anything, except an occasional rabbit or partridge.

She has always been a perfectly inoffensive neighbour, and though, perhaps, I ought to have sent her straight to the Wrorkhouse, yet Why, here we are at the junction of our paths," he broke off suddenly. " You must have walked me off my legs, Godfrey. Shall you be back to dinner ? " '■ Yes," answered Godfrey, " and many thanks for your lesson in ancient history. Good-bye." And, leaving his father, Godfrey pursued his way alone to Limpwood Court.

Chapter II. Mr

COLLIER. Jeremy Collier was the second son of a wealthy ironmaster in the Black Country. His father, though himself wholly uneducated, was fully able to appreciate the advantages conferred by a good education, and accordingly sent all his sons to a good school. Here Jeremy, who had hitherto been regarded merely as a lazy boy, wholly lacking in the matter-of-fact common-sense which was the main characteristic of his father and brothers, developed considerable classical tastes. His father acquiesced in these leanings and, being indeed rather proud of a son whose tastes and abilities were so different from his own, sent him to Cambridge. Un fortunately for Jeremy, his father's death, which occurred soon after he had taken his degree, left him in possession of a very comfortable fortune. The young man had always disliked the vulgarity of most of his relations, and thenceforward he coolly turned his back upon them altogether.

He had long held as an abstract proposition that the best way for a man to spend his life was in the pursuit of pleasure; but he was now able to put his theory into practice. " In truth, he carried his plans into execution in a thoroughly painstaking and methodical MR. COLLIER. 17 manner. Before indulging any particular whim, he invariably made a point of considering whether, by indulging his present wish, he might be shutting him self off from greater pleasures in the future. Most men, he was wont to say, even when they were professional pleasure-seekers like himself, would recklessly indulge ray momentary caprice, without even reflecting that the pleasure might he unwholesome and might be followed by an attack of mental indigestion. Accordingly, he was most cautious in preventing himself from taking an over-dose of pleasure, and was sometimes almost heroic in this species of self-denial.

After leaving Cambridge, he travelled a good deal abroad, chiefly in Italy and Greece, and spent his life in an easy, comfortable fashion till he was nearly forty, when he married the daughter of an English baronet, who was captivated by his still handsome face and attractive manners. After this he settled down in England with his wife. When their eldest child, a girl, was born, Mr. Coliier was at first in despair. He had always been wont to rail at his own name — " Jeremy Collier ! " he would say ; " is it possible to conceive of any more hideous name ? But I have got used to the name and am resigned to the inevitable " — (this was hardly the case) — " now, however, I am grieved on purely unselfish grounds. An innocent little babe has come into the world saddled with the name of Collier !

There are plenty of pretty Christian names in c existence by which the infant might be called, if it were not for the fact that -that horrible Collier at the end would make any pretty name sound simply ridiculous — Collier ! faugh ! " He poured out these complaints into the ears of Mrs. Collier ; after which he went out for a walk to calm his ruffled spirits. When he returned he was calm and smiling. "My dear," he said, "I have solved the N. or M. question. You may remember that when I left you, I was troubled about baby's name ; and I went on trou bling myself after I had left you. Soon, however, I recollected that it was against my principles to worry myself about anything. Accordingly*, I proceeded to call upon melancholy to leave me, and began, 'Oh, melancholia ' — here I stopped abruptly*, for it struck me for the first time that my own name was similar in sound to the latter half of the word I had been using — Cholia — Collier.

Then it flashed across my mind like an inspiration that I was now on the track leading to a true solution of the baptismal question ; but Melan itself would not do for a name, so I went further back. Melan was of course the neuter, but the feminine — Melaina — might do. This is then the conclusion of the matter : — Baby's name shall be Melaina — Melaina Collier." Mr. Collier looked triumphantly at his wife, but his brilliant suggestion met with a resolute and energetic Mil. COLLIER. 19 opposition. Mrs. Collier was a clever, managing woman ; she allowed her husband to puisne his own especial pet hobbies undisturbed, but in other respects she managed him and his affairs gently, but none the less firmly. She n:wer called him directly by his Christian name, in accordance with his own earnest request, except on the rare occasions when he proved refractory ; then she called him " Jeremy " or " Jerry," and to this last weapon of attack Mr. Collier at once succumbed.

But on this occasion not even the dreaded " Jerry " could turn him aside from his purpose or hinder the baby from being christened Melaina. Besides Melaina there were three other children. Whether or not it was owing to the fact that, by reason of her name, Melaina was an abiding memorial of her father's ingenuity, certain it is that if any feeling of affection had ever managed to take root in Mr. Collier's breast it had been inspired by her. In the ordinary sense of the word he was an affectionate husband and father, that is to say, he was courteous and attentive to his wife, kind and indulgent to his children, and perhaps he was even fond of them after a fashion. He was ready enough to do little kindnesses ; it was only when called upon to make some real sacrifice that he would be weighed and found wanting.