The Red-Painted Box. Being the narrative of a curious experience in the life of the Reverend Mark Bessemer

Chapter I The Passenger By The Coach

Yes, my life has had its tragedy — a fearful, crushing tragedy, whose shadow dogs me even now. Never until my dying hour will anything blot from my memory that red stained snow before the 'White Hart' Inn — that thin, unbroken trail of blood that led up the steps and over the threshold, crimson against the whiteness of the stone. But let me start from the beginning. I will recall the day of the man's arrival. I A can see myself now, on the afternoon of that day, standing in the wide hall of Belton Chase, taking leave of the woman whom I secretly loved, but who, alas ! did not at that time love me. I can remember her as she stood then, beautiful in her rich velvets, under the armour - hung walls. It was the last day of November, and a pale gleam of cold sunlight shone in for a moment through the small panes of one of the lofty windows, and lighted her radiant face.

She had blue eyes and deep black hair, that was gathered up loosely, showing its natural ripples and leaving only a few soft tendrils to stray at will about her forehead and neck. Long, long before that day her beauty had capti vated me, but as yet I had never dared to breathe to her a single word of love. ' I am sorry you are going so early, Mr Bessemer,' she said, with genuine regret in her voice. ' Will you not come in again this evening ? ' THE PASSENGER BY THE COACH 3 ' I am afraid I cannot,' I answered reluc tantly; 'I have work to do.' She smiled, yet sighed at the same time. 1 I wish you would teach me how to work, Mr Bessemer,' she said playfully, yet half sadly. ' It troubles me often that I, who am young and strong — strong enough to work at something — should lead such an idle, useless life.' ' Not useless,' I dissented, earnestly.

Your life is, in its way, of as great use as any of the lives which seem to you to be so much fuller of activity. God has given you such beauty,' I ventured to add, ' and so much goodness, that the mere sight of you makes the heart nobler and better.' She laughed at my words, taking them perhaps only as an empty compliment. And then we shook hands, and I went out from the old hall into the cold bleakness of the November afternoon. Alas! alas! why had I let pass this op portunity of telling my love? Why had I yielded to the cowardly fear that choked the bold words of avowal back in my throat ? Could I have foreseen what this delay was destined to cost me, I would even then have turned back and gone to Lettice and poured forth the confession whose answer was to make or mar my life. Considering the strength of my love, I should have known no coward fear in de claring it, had it not been for the fact of Lettice Northcott's wealth.

I was only a poor country vicar, whereas she was the only child of a great landed proprietor, and the heiress of Belton Chase. I, Mark Bessemer, at this time a young man of thirty years of age, had been ap pointed some twelve months before to the living of Almington, a village on the western border of Exmoor. As my parish was small and my work light, I had ample leisure for THE PASSENGER BY THE COACH 5 study and for such social enjoyments as the neighbourhood afforded. These were not many, but even had they been fewer I could not have been unsatisfied while still the pleasure was left to me of frequenting one particular house — a house which was situated at about half a mile from the Vicarage and was the property and residence of my esteemed friend, Richard Northcott, Esq., one of the magistrates for the county.

Certain of the local gossips, commenting on the frequency of my visits to Belton Chase, opined that I went there for the benefit of Mr Northcott's conversation, and possibly also to enjoy the flavour of his excellent port. After the confession which I have already made, it is hardly necessary for me to say that their surmises were wrong. It was simply and solely my love for Lettice Northcott which led me so often to the fine elm avenue and the grey stone building at its end. Sometimes I thought that Letty guessed my love and wished me to avow it. But I could not be sure — I could not be sure. The icy wind, blowing across Exmoor, made me shiver as I walked. Wrapped in a great coat and muffler, I was on my way along an exposed road to a cottage, where lived a poor paralysed man, whom I intended to visit.

I had not got far out of Almington when I saw the Barnstaple mail coach coming along in the distance. I watched it idly as it rapidly approached over the frosty road. Presently it stopped before a little wayside inn, called the ' White Hart,' the nearest inn to Almington ; and I reached the spot in time to see the passenger who had descended. He was a young man, apparently not more than twenty-three or four, tall and strongly built, with a frank handsome face, and curling fair hair showing beneath his cap. THE PASSENGER BY THE COACH 7 I did not notice his dress, except that he had a great coat lined with fur. I chanced to observe this detail of the lining, because, while I was passing, he unbuttoned the coat to get at one of its inner pockets. He did not see me at all, apparently, being busied with a bag and a portmanteau and the duty of paying somebody.

And, for my own part, I had not gone many yards beyond the inn before I had entirely forgotten both his arrival and that of the coach, and was again completely absorbed in thoughts of her whose image could never for long be absent from my mind.

Chapter II The Enemy

Three evenings later I went again to Belton Chase. As I approached the lodge gates I noticed that an old gentleman, who had been standing looking up the avenue, slunk cautiously away. Curiously enough, he reminded me of the young man whom I had seen arrive at the ' White Hart ' by the Barnstaple coach. I had not thought of this young man since, and my surprise may be imagined when, on presently entering the drawing-room, I saw him standing on the hearthrug, chatting frankly and easily with Lettice Northcott. Letty introduced him to me as Mr Hartley Robertson, son of Colonel Maxwell Robert son, of Oakwood, Rutlandshire. To save her trouble, the young man volunteered to explain anew that he was on his way, by leisurely stages, to Plymouth, there to await the arrival of his elder brother from a trip to the Colonies.

He accounted for the indirect manner of his journey by stating that he had stayed for a week at Bath with some friends of his family. My arrival naturally put an end to his monopoly of Letty's society. But his pre sence prevented me not only from speaking to her of my love, as I had intended, but even from enjoying my usual tete-a-tete with her. The conversation soon grew common place and uninteresting. Unfortunately, the party that evening numbered only five, namely, the host and his daughter, the local doctor, Mr Hurst, a little man with a small keen face, the stranger and myself. Certainly on many occasions there had been no more than four. But then the quartette had divided into pairs, Mr Northcott and the doctor talking political economy, while Letty and I discussed subjects of more personal interest.

But no such delightful arrangement was possible to-night. The presence of Mr Hartley Robertson cast over the gather ing a certain lightness and levity which seemed even to have affected Letty herself. I thought she had lost something of her sweet seriousness, although, when she addressed herself to me, it was still with a conscious look and a deeper earnestness of tone. Yet throughout the whole evening I could not help regretting that I had not sooner asked and won a definite position in regard to her, a recognised right to claim her attention. To-night, for the first time, I found myself secondary in importance with her. She was listening eagerly to the young stranger's descriptions of life and scenery in Australia — descriptions taken, as he said, from his brother's letters. I remember thinking, as I sat there silent— listening too, though half against my will — that his brother must have been a most remarkable letter writer, since even these second-hand extracts from his correspondence were as vivid and glowing as must have been the experiences themselves.

I became more and more silent as Mr Robertson's talk grew more animated. I studied him with eyes made sharp by dawn ing jealousy, and thought I detected through all his gentlemanliness a certain colonialism of voice and manner. I began to doubt the truth of his account of himself, and wondered at the ease with which he seemed to have gained the privilege of coming as a visitor to this house. I was chagrined to observe the genial pleasure with which Mr Northcott listened to his talk, which was now only interrupted in its flow by an occasional question from Letty or her father. The doctor, leaning back in his chair, listened with a gratified smile, as of one who is proud of his protige*s success. I afterwards learned that it was he who had brought Mr Robertson to Belton Chase. I have always tried to keep my heart pure of malice or injustice towards my fellow creatures.

But I am obliged to con fess that on this evening, and for some time afterwards, I failed to do so. A sullen resentment arose in me against this man who had usurped my position, and was forcing me, as it were, by the tricky novelty of his talk, to sit silent and unnoticed in my place at the end of the table. By using the word ' unnoticed,' I do not mean to imply that I was slighted. Not so. My friendship with Mr Northcott and his daughter was too close and strong to admit of any such sudden chill. It was merely supposed that I, like the others, was listening to the stranger with docile enjoyment. But this very supposition angered me as much as an actual slight would have done. And because I was silent Letty's little manifestations of at tention to me became fewer and fewer, and at last ceased entirely.

Once or twice Mr Northcott tried to draw me into conversation, but my curt replies, and, perhaps, the blackness of my looks, discouraged him. But by this time, I think, he must have clearly seen that I did not appreciate his new guest. Perhaps Letty saw this too, for she presently began to devote herself to me, as if in atonement for her previous neglect. I longed to be sweet to her ; but my spirit was too sore. I was vexed that she should have seen my sensitiveness ; bitterly afraid, too, lest she and others should attribute it to jealousy. Ah ! even the thought of such a motive being attributed to me, Mark Bessemer, in connection with a shallow young coxcomb, who had about him all the signs of an ad venturer, made me burn with fierce indig nation. I answered Letty shortly. Soon I had the deserved disappointment of seeing her leave me to resume her talk with Mr Robertson.

His admiration for her revealed itself in his every look and gesture. I tried not to watch them, but my eyes wandered to them continually. How close their faces were to each other! How dared he — how dared he look so boldly into her eyes ? And she was strangely attractive to-night ; more attractive than I had ever seen her before. Her dark blue eyes shone with unusual lustre, her rich black hair had a thousand ripples in it, and it seemed to me that the soft folds of her faint-blue gown O fell with unaccustomed grace about her splendid figure. Her cheeks, usually pale, were flushed a little, too. I set my teeth. My presence had never called up that rose bloom on her face. Then I compared Hartley Robertson with myself. I had never considered my self ill-looking ; but, beside him, I was utterly at a disadvantage.

He was in evening dress, I in my clerical clothes. I had a student's pallor and thinness, while he had the glow and vivid colouring of one who lives in the open and has been kissed by the sea. His hazel eyes sparkled, his sunny hair curled, his voice and his laugh had the freshness of youth. His manner, too, had a charm that even I was forced to feel — even I, who was beginning to hate him. Hotter and more bitter grew the jealousy at my heart. This evening had been a hard trial to me. I was angry with my host, angry with Letty, fiercely resentful against Robertson, and suspicious of him. Finally, I was contemptuous of myself for having given way to all these evil feelings. The hours just passed had been the most miserable that I had ever spent in all my life. I knew, too, that I had shown myself to Mr Northcott and his daughter in quite a new, and by no means an agreeable, aspect.

I could not stay to endure all this. I left early, responding coldly to Letty's expressions of surprise and regret. I knew I was leaving her to the society of the stranger, who had settled himself as though he did not mean to quit the house for hours. But, in my mortification and disappointment, I longed to be out in the free air and alone. At the turn of the elm avenue I stopped and looked back at the house. How brightly lighted it was, how hos pitable looking ! For years it had been my heaven upon earth, the casket that held my one treasure. Now, for the first time, I felt that I had been turned away from it. And a stranger was in my place, was even now alluring from me the woman I loved. With a sharp exclamation I turned again, and went home to my lonely Vicarage, jealous and unhappy. B

Chapter III Confronting The Impostor

Letty ! My Letty ! How I reproached you in my heart during the fortnight that followed that ominous evening. And yet the fault of your coldness lay partly with myself; for I repelled your tender, friendly questioning, and turned back with stern words your efforts to rouse me from my brooding sullenness. My anger against you was foolish and unjust. You were not bound to me. I had no right to claim either your pity or your love. Why was I so bitter, so resentful ? Not many days had passed after the even ing of his introduction at Belton Chase before I realised that Mr Hartley Robertson had become indeed my rival. Already he was bolder far than I had ever ventured to be. He visited the Northcotts con stantly. Whenever I went to Belton Chase I found him there. Often, driven away early by my uncontrollable jealousy, I left him there, seated comfortably by the fire, talking to Letty.

I could see that both Mr Northcott and his daughter were growing to like him better every day. My own dislike for him did not lessen. Daily I hated him more. I felt, too, that although no sign of it escaped him, yet the genial Mr Northcott was annoyed at my dark looks and the irritability of my manner. I knew that he wondered at the change in me. I believe he consulted Dr Hurst as to the cause. If so, the old doctor, whose furtive watchfulness was insupportable to me, must have assuredly answered — jealousy. This thought increased my inward rage. At first I had comforted myself with the reflection that, after a day or two at the longest, the young man must con tinue his journey to Plymouth. But when a week passed, and he still remained at Almington, this hope of relief grew less sure. ' How is it he is staying here so long ? ' I inquired one day of Letty. ' He said he had to meet his brother at Plymouth.' I remember to this day the maddeningly sweet smile that flashed across her face as she answered me. ' Oh, he has explained all that, Mr Bessemer.

His brother's ship will not be due yet for another fortnight ; and, instead of passing the interval in Plymouth as he intended, he is going to stay on here. He says that he likes the scenery here, and also,' here she smiled again, but faintly and shyly, 'that he is so glad he has met us.' My blood boiled at her tone. I knew what its shy softness meant. I recognised, too, the meaning of the new light in her eyes. Love — dawning love — spoke from her whole being. And that smile of hers, in which the eyes smiled also, how unspeakably sweet it was ! ' And do you believe this tale ? ' I cried hotly. ' What reason have you to be sure that he tells you the truth?' A look came on her face that it hurt me to see there ; a look of reproach and reproof, mingled with pained surprise. ' Such doubts are unworthy of you, Mr Bessemer,' she said in her low tender voice. ' I could not easily forgive you for them were it not that — ' She broke off suddenly, and a deep flush crimsoned her cheeks.

I writhed inwardly. Had she guessed my love for her? Did she think that jealousy was prompting me to idle and malicious insinu ations against an honourable man ? ' I have already noticed that you have no sympathy with Mr Robertson,' she said sadly. ' I hope that some day you will alter your opinion of him. Meanwhile, let us two be friends.' Friends ! We two ? Had it come to this, that she pitied me ? She had held out her hand. But I did not take it. Afraid lest I should be tempted to betray myself, to pour out wildly before her my anguish of love and bitterness and despair, I rushed away. From this time forth she neglected me more and more. How could it be other wise ? How could she wish to speak with a man so unhappy and bitter as I had now become ? I knew I was changed. I knew that just as her love would have saved me, so now the loss of it was working my destruction.

I struggled to quell the demon within me. I prayed for help, and the prayer did me good. But the wild flood of jealousy surged back, the stronger for its suppression, when on the Sunday morning I entered my church and saw the handsome, triumphant face of Hartley Robertson there in the Northcott pew beside the radiant face of my love. My footsteps faltered. He — there in that sacred place by my Letty's side! Not even prayer could vanquish the dark tumult that swelled within me then. At least, I said to myself, on the next Sunday he will be gone. But he did not go. On the next Sunday he was seated there with Letty again, more handsome, because more full of hope, than before. I knew now, beyond a doubt, that Letty was yielding to his fascinations. With Robertson himself I had not as yet spoken much.

I could scarcely trust my self to speak to him. We had had only two or three short conversations, in which I had tried, by tactful questions, to learn something more of his family and of his life. But he baffled me in this as in other things, baffled me so well that I thought he must have guessed my purpose. At length, convinced in my own mind that the man was an impostor, I resolved to make secret inquiries about him. I wrote to Colonel Maxwell Robertson at the address given by his soi-disant son. As I had expected, my letter was returned to me, with an intimation that no such name and address could be found in Rut landshire. I must own that this discovery brought me comfort. It consoled me to know that there had been just cause for my hatred of this man. But how Letty would suffer when she came to learn that her handsome, brilliant lover was a cheat, an adventurer, probably a colonial upstart, masquerading under the guise of an English gentleman !

Should I be the one to tell her? Or should I go first to her father ? No. Either course would seem un generous — inspired by personal malice. It was clearly my duty, both as a gentleman and a Christian clergyman, to speak first to Mr Robertson himself, and give him an opportunity of either clearing himself of my charges or quietly leaving the neighbourhood. Should he fail to do either, it would be my immediate duty to make known his true character. With these thoughts in my mind I went that afternoon to the 'White Hart.' My first impulse had been to invite him to visit me at the Vicarage, but a moment's reflection had shown me that to ask a man to one's house, with the express object of making an accusation against him, was nothing short of an inveiglement. An interview such as ours seemed likely to be was best got through on mutual ground.

Accordingly, I made my way to the inn. The 'White Hart' was, as I have already said, the nearest inn to Almington. It stood at about a mile from the village, on the bleak and lonely high road. It was lonely itself, too — a little, dull-looking house which, during the winter, had scarcely more than half-a-dozen customers a week. Its entire staff consisted of three persons — the hostess herself, Mrs Kemp, and a married couple, who performed the duties of man and woman servants in general. Mrs Kemp was a widow, between sixty and seventy years of age, who had contrived to maintain herself by keeping this little hostelry. I went there now at as sharp a pace as possible, for it was the middle of December, and the cold weather made brisk walking a necessity. The roads were held in the hard grip of black frost, and a strong north wind swept over Exmoor, moaning dismally among the bare tree branches.

No day could have been colder and bleaker than this one on which I walked to the ' White Hart.' It was not long before I reached the inn. I was shown into its little parlour. A very small room was this parlour, but with two windows and a wide grate, in which a liberal fire burnt cheerily. The wall paper was green, with a pattern of white lines crossing each other diamond - wise and enclosing smaller diamonds of a dull red colour. I remember noticing the pattern attentively, little dreaming in what horrible circum stances I should next study it. Hartley Robertson was seated at the centre table, writing. He looked up from his letter as I entered the room, and rose to welcome me with a smile. He showed no surprise at my visit, no reluctance to greet me. Indeed, he seemed really pleased to see me.

I studied his face, to see if it expressed any fear of my purpose in call ing ; but it showed only boyish pleasure. Of all men's faces that I have ever seen his seemed the frankest and the handsomest. I interpreted its frankness as consummate impertinence. My irritation momentarily increased. He invited me to a seat by the fire. I declined it, preferring to remain where I was — on a chair at the end of the sofa. On the sofa I noticed again the great coat lined with fur, and saw that the fur was of a lightish colour, probably opossum. This again suggested the colonies to me, the opossum being indigenous to Australia. My eyes searched the room for some other personal belonging of its occupier, some thing that might convey an idea of his real condition in life. But there was nothing. ' Will you kindly read this letter, Mr Robertson ? ' I said, and I drew from my pocket my returned letter to the non existent Colonel Maxwell Robertson, and handed it to that mystical gentleman's pre tended son.

I pointed out to him the official comments on the envelope. He studied both envelope and letter attentively. His face clouded. At length he looked up with something of hauteur in his manner, and, to my surprise, handed me back the condemning paper. ' Well, sir ? ' he said, interrogatively. His coolness exasperated me. ' I require an explanation of this, sir,' I said, tapping the letter. ' I am sorry I cannot give you one,' was the reply; 'and you must excuse me, Mr Bessemer, if I am compelled to add that I was not hitherto aware that a clergyman counted among his privileges that of un warrantable interference in other people's affairs.' This insult stung me to the quick. How dared he speak so — he who, under the circumstances, ought to have been ashamed to look me in the face ? I rose and con fronted him, standing by the table.

But he went on before I could speak. ' Still, this is only what I might have expected from you. I have felt all along that you were my enemy ! ' ' I am no man's enemy, Mr Robertson,' I retorted, striving to keep my calmness ; ' but I confess that, from the hour of your introduction to me, certain little points in your character and manner suggested to me a young man newly arrived from the colonies, instead of the young English gentleman you represented yourself to be ; and it is my duty, both as a man and as a clergyman, to warn my friend, Mr Northcott, against a scoundrel who has insinuated himself into his house by false pretences, with intent, for the sake of her money, to beguile the affec tions of his daughter.' I had spoken strongly, for my indignation was now thorougly aroused. The young man's whole face flushed suddenly from his chin to the roots of his bright curling hair.

I saw that he only restrained his anger by a violent effort of the will. ' Understand, sir,' he cried, raising his voice, 'that were it not for his sacred calling, the man who has applied the term "scoundrel" to me should measure his length on the floor ! ' He paused, and the flush slowly faded from his cheeks and brow. ' I will not trouble to repudiate your accusations,' he went on, in a quick, panting voice. ' I know them to be the outcome of a passion which it is beyond your power to control. You love a woman who does not love you, and I can understand the jealousy which makes you glad of a pretext to vilify your rival.' ' Pretext ? ' I interrupted loudly. ' Let us keep to the point. The letter I have shown you is a fact, not a pretext. It proves, beyond a doubt, that you have gained the friendship and esteem of Mr Northcott and his daughter by means of a fraud, a palpable fraud, representing yourself to be what you are not.

Can you explain the meaning of your false state ments? Can you vindicate yourself?' ' I refuse to do either,' he said.' He began to walk to and fro, with his hands in his pockets. I retained my position, standing by the table. ' Your defiant insolence is not in your favour, Mr Robertson,' I remarked. He stopped short. His lips moved as if he were about to say something ; but he resumed his impatient pacing without having spoken. I felt he was in my power. I continued, — ' I know you are an impostor. I might this morning have gone direct to Mr North cott with my information. My reason for coming first to you was simply to give you a chance of yourself revealing your de ception. If you refuse to avail yourself of this chance I must insist upon your leaving the neighbourhood immediately.' He lifted his head proudly. ' I shall do neither, sir,' he said. ' Then I must expose you.

It is abso lutely necessary that Miss Northcott should be protected from the designs of such per sons as yourself.' His face, which had grown nearly white, flushed crimson again. He stopped directly in front of me. 1 Have you said all you wish to say to me, sir ? ' 'All but this,' I replied sternly ; ' I will yet leave you a chance of going quietly away. It is the only honourable course you can take. It matters nothing to me who you are or what you are, provided you do not attempt fraudulently to ensnare the heart of a young heiress. If you choose to remain here, I demand of you that you shall conduct your self towards Miss Northcott merely as an ac quaintance. It is not yet too late for that. If you venture again to assume the position of a lover towards her I will instantly expose you. I wish you good morning.' And, taking up my hat, I left the room and the inn. c