The Heart of a Mystery. A novel

Front matter

THE "GREENBACK SERIES" POPULAR $16 NOVELS Ev WELL-KNOWN AUTHORS. (Crown &7J0, Cloth.) Uniform with " The Heart of a Mystery." i. LOUIS DRAYCOTT. By Mrs. Leith Adams, and Edition. 2. GEOFFREY STIRLING. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 5th Edition. 3. BONNIE KATE. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 2nd Edilion. 4. A NEW OTHELLO. By Hon. Iza Duffus Hardy. 2nd Ed. 5. THE MAID OF LONDON BRIDGE. By Somerville Gh.ney. 3rd K.dition. 6. EVELINE WEL1.WOOD. By Major Norris Paul, md Ed. 7. OLD LATTIMER'S LEGACY. By J. S. Fletcher. 2nd Ed. 8. THAT LITTLE GIRL. By Curtis Yorke. 5th Edilion. 9. DUDLEY. By Curtis Yorke. 4th Edition. 10. THE WILD RUTHVENS. By Curtis Yorke. 5th Edition. n. THE BROWN PORTMANTEAU, and other Stories. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 12. HUSH! By Curtis Yorke. 3rd Edition. 13. ONCE! By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 14.

A ROMANCE OF MODERN LONDON. By Curtis Yorke. 3rd Edition. 15. HIS HEART TO WIN. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 16. DARRELL CHEVASNEY. By Curtis Yorke. 17. BETWEEN THE SILENCES. By Curtis Yorke. 18. THE PEYTON ROMANCE. By Mus. Leith Adams. 3rd Ed. 19. THE GOLDEN MILESTONE. By Scott Graham. 3rd Ed. 20. A RECORD OF DISCORDS. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 21. "CHERRY RIPE!" By Helen Mathers. 8th Edition. 22. STORY OF A SIN. By Helen Mathers. 5th Edition. 23. EYRE'S ACQUITTAL. (Sequel.) By Helen Mathers. 4th Ed. 24. JOCK. O' HAZEI.GREEN. By Helen Mathers. 4th Ed. 23. MY L4DY GREEN SLEEVES. By Helen Mathers. 6th Ed. 26. FOUND OUT. By Helen Mathers. 103rd Thousand. 27. THE MEDLICOl'TS. By Curtis Yorke. 2nd Edition. 28. THE HEART OF A MYSTERY. By T. W. Speight. 29. MAN PROPOSES. By Mrs. A. Phillips. 2nd EHition. 30.

THE LAST OF THE HADDONS. By Mrs. E. Newman. Shortly. 31. ALLANSON'S LITTLE WOMAN. By Eastwood Kidson. Shortly. 32. LINDSAY'S GIRL. By Mrs. Herbert Martin. 33. WRONGLY CONDEMNED. By Mrs. Bagot Harte, Author of " Bianca," &c. 34. THE THIRTEENTH BRYDAIN. By Margaret Moule,-i Author of "Wingrove's Ways," "Dick's Wife," "Miss I J Maidment," &c. I ►■ 35. THROUGH ANOTHER MAN'S EYES. By Eleanor I 5 Holmes. § 30. MRS. WYLDE. By Linda Gardiner. _* a, 37. A PRINCE OF COMO. By E. M. Davy. 2nd Edition. 38. RUTH FARMER. By Agnes Marchuank. [Thcrusrsnd. 39. THE LOVELY MALINCOURT. By Helen Mathers. Sixth 40. A GARRISON ROMANCE. By Mrs. Leith Adams, yd Ed. 41. HARUM SCARUM. By Esme Stuart. 42. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE. By Scott Graham. Shortly. 43. THE MAN IN THE CHECK SUIT. By F. W. H. Delf. [Shortly. OTHERS IN PREPARATION.

Prologue

. CHAPTER PAGE I. IN DECEMBER WEATHER 7 II. THE PENGARVONS OF BROOME - - 15 THE STORY. I. MR. HAZELDINE CHANGES HIS NOTES FOR GOLD 23 II. "FAREWELL, A LONG farewell" - 31 III. TEA, TALK, AND MUSIC 39 IV. A LAGGARD IN LOVE - - - 47 V. EPHRAIM JUDD CUTS HIS HAND - - 55 VI. THE DISCOVERY - - "63 VII. WHO DID IT? - - - 72 VIII. MR. HAZELDINE'S LETTER - - 80 IX. THE INQUEST - 88 X. AN ANXIOUS WEEK ... gfr XI. THE VERDICT - 103 XII. AMO, AMAS - - - - III XIII. THE TRIAL - - - - - Il8 XIV. EXIT MISS LETITIA - - - 1 26 XV. AFTER THE TRIAL - - - 1 34 XVI. A LETTER AND ITS REPLY - - I42 CONTENTS. 6 CHAPTER PAGE XVII. THE PROGRESS OF EVENTS - - 15° XVIII. A REVELATION - - - 157 XIX. THE OLD STORY - - - 1 64 XX. "WHAT WILL HE THINK? WHAT WILL HE SAY?" - - - 172 XXI. MILDEW AND DECAY - - 180 XXII. EPHRAIM JUDD'S STRANGE IJXPERIENCE - 187 XXIII.

POOR JOHN ! - - - - 195 XXIV. ENTER MR. HODGSON - - - 203 XXV. EPHRAIM JUDD'S REMORSE - - 211 XXVI. THE BROTHERS - - - - 2l8 XXVII. WRONG VERSUS RIGHT - - - 225 XXVIII. VICTORY - - - - 233 XXIX. MIXED THREADS - - - 240 XXX. THE DOWNWARD PATH. A PROPOSAL - 247 XXXI. CLEMENT'S QUEST - - - 254 XXXII. CORRESPONDENCE - - - - 261 XXXIII. THE QUEST CONTINUED - - 268 XXXIV. ANOTHER LINK - - - 275 XXXV. THE WIDOW VARREL - - - 282 XXXVI. A JOURNEY OF DISCOVERY - - 290 XXXVII. HOW AND WHY - - - 299 XXXVIII. THE CLOUD DISPERSED, AND A BITTER DIS- APPOINTMENT - 307 XXXIX. AN INTERVIEW AND ITS SEQUEL - 316 XL. A STORY OF THE PAST AND DEPARTURE 324 XLI. "GOOD-BYE TO ONE AND ALL" - P ROLOG UE.

Chapter I. In December Weather

ON a certain bitter December evening, when the present century was several years younger than it is now, Miss Pengarvon, of Broome, in the shire of Derby, sat in the Green Parlour at the Hall, working by candle-light at some piece of delicate embroidery. The fingers of the old case-clock pointed to half-past ten — an exceptionally late hour in that remote place. Miss Pengarvon was alone. Her sister, Miss Letitia, had been suffering from neuralgic pains in the head, and had retired an hour ago. Barney Dale, the major-domo and, in point of fact, the only male member of the establish ment, together with his wife, had gone into the village to visit a sick relative, and there was no knowing at what hour they might return. The solitary housemaid, having nothing to sit up for, had been glad to exchange the chilly gloom of the huge flagged kitchen for the comfort and warmth of bed.

Earlier in the evening snow had fallen to the depth of two or three incites, but the sky was clear again by this time and the stars were glittering frostily. Except for the ticking of the clock and the occasional dropping of a cinder, silence the most profound reigned inside the Hall and out. Now and then Miss Pengarvon's needle would come to a stand for a moment while she snuffed the candles, after which the monot onous stitching would go on as before. Be it observed that

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. candlesticks, tray, and snuffers were all of silver, although the candles themselves were of a cheap and common kind. Miss Pengarvon was desirous of completing the work on which she was engaged before going to bed. Both she and Miss Letitia were remarkably skilful with their needles, and, gentlewomen though they were, were not above seeking pay ment for their work. But this was a secret known to them selves and Barney Dale alone. Once a month Barney went over to a certain town some score miles away, where he found a ready market for the proceeds of the untiring industry of the two ladies at the Hall, without anybody being the wiser as to whose handiwork it was. The money thus earned formed a welcome addition to the very limited income of Miss Pen garvon and her sister. At this time Miss Pengarvon was close on her forty-fifth birthday.

She was very tall, and grim, and gaunt. The normal expression of her features was harsh and forbidding. She had fine teeth, an aquiline nose, and unsympathetic blue grey eyes, with a cold, stony gleam in them, deeply set under bushy brows — eyes which looked as though they had never melted with tenderness or softened with tears. The mass of her dark-brown hair, which bt-gan to show signs of the flight of time, was coiled round the crown of her head and held in its place by a high comb, while three small puffs, or curls, which were generally kept in paper till mid-dty, decorated each side of her forehead. When not engaged with her needle, she wore black lace mittens, and she always changed her morning dress of black bombazine for one of black silk before dinner. The dress she was wearing had been both dyed and turned, but was still good for two or three years' longer wear.

Of Miss Letitia it is enough to say that she was a copy, in somewhat less pronounced colours, of her sister, as far as one human being can be a copy of any other ; indeed, by comparative strangers, she was not infrequently mistaken for Miss Pengarvon. She was two years younger than her IN DECEMBER WEATHER. 9 sister, whose stronger will dominated hers, and who had still as complete an ascendency over her as when they had been children together. It was noticeable that if any of the ser vants, or any poor person, wanted a favour granted, or a kindness done them, they went by preference to Miss Letitia rather than to Miss Barbara. The Green Parlour, a'though it was traditionally supposed to be haunted, was tlie favourite sitting-room of the Misses Pengarvon, as it had been of their mother in her time.

It was probably owing to the force of early associations that they clung to it as they did, seeing that there were many pleasanter rooms in the old house, some of them looking over the terrace and the garden beyond, or having views across miles of swell ing moorland ; whereas the two high, narrow windows of the Green Parlour looked on to nothing more attractive than a small shaven lawn, shut in by a thick semicircular hedge of evergreens, and without any embellishment beyond such as might be afforded by a dilapidated and moss-grown sun-dial. Both fingers and eyes were tired, but Miss Pengarvon went on doggedly with her work. She finished her task as the clock was striking eleven. With a sigh of relief she rose from her chair, and began to put away her silks and needles and other materials.

While thus engaged she started suddenly : she felt nearly sure that she had heard a knocking at the front door. She waited, without stirring, for a couple of minutes. Yes, there it was again — the unmistakable sound of someone knocking at the great door of the Hall. Who could be seeking admittance at that late hour? The visitors at the Hall were so few that Miss Pengarvon was utterly nonplussed. Barney Dale and his wife, when they should return, would gain admittance through the back premises, of which they had the key. There might be thieves or tramps abroad, who knew that there were none but women in the house. But Miss Pengarvon was a woman of nerve, and not readily frightened. She was still waiting and hesitating when the knocking sounded for the third time, but less loudly than

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. 10 before. At the best it had been a timorous and half-hearted sort of summons, with little or no self-assertion about it. Miss Pengarvon hesitated no longer. Taking up one of the two candlesticks, for there was no light in any other part of the house, she flung open the door of the Green Parlour and passed into the dark corridor beyond, shading the candle with her hand as she went. From the corridor she passed into the entrance-hall, strange weird shadows seeming to start into life from wall and ceiling, as though they had been sud denly disturbed in their sleep, as she crossed it with her feeble light. Before her was the great door, iron clamped, and fastened with bolt and chain. Putting down her candle on a side table, Miss Pengarvon went up to the door and laid her hand on one of the bolts.

Then she hesitated. She knew not who might be outside, and she was but one lonely woman. Then with a gesture of impatience at her own timidity, she undid the heavy bolts and locks one by one, but was careful to leave the guardchain still up. Then she pulled open the door as far as the chain would allow. A gust of frosty air, that cut almost like a knife, leaped suddenly in, bringing with it a shower of powdered snow and extinguishing the candle. Miss Pengarvon, peering out into the snowy night, saw a female figure, hooded and cloaked from head to foot, standing on the topmost of the broad, shallow flight of steps which led up to the door. As she looked, a dire presentiment shook her from head to foot, as few things else in the world could have shaken her, but her voice was clear and stern when she spoke : '• Who are you, and what is your business here at this untimely hour?

" she demanded. The figure outside came a step nearer. "I am Isabel — your sister,'' was uttered in broken accents. " I have been walking till I can walk no longer. I have not tasted food since morning. I want shelter and rest for to night — only for to-night." IN DECEMBER WEATHER. 11 The tone was one of pitiful supplication. " Neither shelter nor rest is there under this roof for such as you," replied Miss Pengarvon in her stoniest accents. '• You have disgraced the name you bear as it was never disgraced before. This is your home no longer. — Go ! " and without another word the great door was shut with a crash and the bolts and locks shot one by one. As Miss Pengarvon put out her hand in the dark to find the candlestick, one short, sharp, anguished cry — the cry of a broken heart — smote her ears.

She stood for some moments with a hand pressed to her bosom, listening, but the silence was not broken again. Once more the house seemed a house of the dead. Then Miss Pengarvon turned and made her way through the black entrance-hall and the blacker corridor beyond, till she reached the parlour. Going in, she shut the door and tried to re-light the candle, but her hand trembled so that for some time she could not. Her face looked strangely haggard, but the hard, cold look in her eyes never varied. She drew a knitted shawl round her shoulders and sat down by the smouldering embers. Surely Barney and his wife could not be long now ! She felt a strange disinclination for going to bed till they should return, although under ordinary circumstances she would have had no hesitation about doing so.

The wind was beginning to rise, and every now and again there were eerie moanings in the wide chimney, while the windows shook and rattled as though someone were trying them from without. There was only one candle alight, and the room seemed full of shadows such as she had never noticed before. Tlie darkest corner was the corner behind her chair. It made her uncomfortable to know this, so she crossed to the opposite side of the hearth, and sat down in her sister's chair. She wished that Letitia had not gone to bed. She never remembered having felt so nervous before, not even when a child, and she despised herself for the seeling. All this time she was conscious that she was still listening intently. Would that timorous summons at the door make

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. 12 itself heard again ? Perhaps she half hoped that it might. She kept telling herself again and again that it was impossible for her to have acted otherwise than as she had acted, that no other course was open to her — and yet she listened for the knocking to come again. By-and-bye she opened the door a little way. This — as she told herself — was only that she might be enabled to hear Barney when he should arrive. How slowly the minutes passed ! What strange noises the wind made ! Those windows must be seen to in the morning and made to fit more tightly in their frames. It was evident that she would not be troubled with the knocking again. "So much the better — so much the better," she muttered, under her breath — and yet she was listening all the time. Thank Heaven ! here was Barney Dale at last.

She could hear him unlocking one of the back doors of which he had taken the key with him. But he did not re-lock the door, which was strange ; and now he was coming at a great pace in the direction of the Green Parlour : his hobnailed shoes clumping noisily as he came along the stone corridor. He had never before missed giving a preliminary knock at the door, but this time he came in without ceremony. One glance at his affrighted face was enough to tell Miss Pengarvon the news he was bringing her. She rose from her seat as he entered the room. " Oh ! mistress, there's poor Miss Isabel lying outside in the snow, and " Miss Pengarvon's tail thin form drew itself up to its fullest height. " I know it," she said in her deep, harsh tones ; " I know it. Let her lie there, or let her go. This is no home for such as she."

" But, mistress, she's dying ; or, mebbe, dead already — dead and cold. I lifted up her head, and it fell back like a lump o' lead. You munna leave her lying there, to perish. For Heaven's sake, mistress, let me and Joanna see to her ! " " Let her go. This is no home for such as she," was all tliat Miss Pengarvon said. LN DECEMBER WEATHER. 13 "But she canna even stand, and, long afore morning, she'll bi froze to death. Besides, which " he bent forward, and whispered a few words in Miss Pengarvon's ear. A sort of stony horror came into her face as she listened. Then she drew back a pace and clenched her hand, and for a moment Barney thought that she was about to strike him. "It is a lie — an infamous lie !" she whispered back through her thin, dry lips. "It's gospel truth, mistress, and Joanna will tell you the same.

You munna leave her lying there, dead an' cold, poor dear — dead an' cold." ''So be it," said Miss Pengarvon, after a few moments, with an evident effort. " Do you and Joanna bring her in — but not by the front door, not over the threshold she has disgraced. Let her come in by the door at which beggars and vagrants knock." Barney waited for no further permission, but went at once, closing the door behind him. Miss Pengarvon folded her shawl more closely around her and sank into a chair. She sat and stared at the dying embers, her thin lips moving, but no sound coming from them. All the same, her ears were pain fully on the alert. She started as though she half expected to see a ghost, when the door slowly opened, and Miss Letitia entered the room in her grey dressing robe and frilled night cap.

The latter was trembling violently, and her eyes were full of terror. " What brings you here?" demanded the elder sister, sternly. " I thought you were in bed hours ago." " I left the lotion for my face downstairs, and I can get no rest without it. But what are Barney and Joanna about at this time of night? As I came downstairs I saw them bringing something in through the open door." Then she whispered, " Do you know, Barbara, it looked for all the world like a corpse ! " Miss Pengarvon shuddered in spite of herself. " Letitia," she said, ;'go and bolt the door at the foot of the staircase

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. 14 that leads to Susan's bedroom. She might come down unawares, as you have. When you have done that, come back here, and I will tell you what it was that you saw Barney and Joanna bringing into the house."

Chapter II. The Pengarvons Of Broome

THE Pengarvons had been settled at Broome for three hundred years. They were the younger branch of an ancient Cornish family, which professed to be able to trace back its pedigree to the days when legend and history were so inextricably mixed that it was impossible at this distance of time to draw any nice distinction between the two. For twenty miles round they were known as "The Proud Pengarvons;" but whether this distinctive title had its origin in some mental peculiarity of the family, or in their mode of carrying them selves towards their fellows, or whether the family motto, " Pride I cherish," was responsible for it, it would not be worth while too curiously to inquire. In any case, it was accepted as an indisputable fact that the Pengarvons should be proud, and proud they were accordingly.

The present mansion of Broome, which was situate in the extreme north of the county, where the Derbyshire and Yorkshire moors impinge upon each other, dated no further back than the earlier half of the seventeenth century. It was a long, low, two-storied house, built of common grey stone indigenous to that part of the country — the same kind of stone that the rough unmortared walls were built of, which divided one field or stretch of moorland from another (for miles round Broome hedges were few and far between). It was a house which, as regards design and ornamentation, was severely simple almost to the verge of ugliness, but, in years gone by it had been found spacious enough for all the needs of

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. a large family, with accommodation for a score or more guests into the bargain. Sir Jasper Pengarvon, the last baronet — with whom the title became extinct for lack of heirs male — and the father of the Miss Pengarvons, to whom we have already been introduced, had married for his first wife Maria, niece of Lord Dronfield, who brought him a fortune of ten thousand pounds. Sir Jasper was not a man to appreciate the delights of the country, or to settle down after marriage into the groove which had contented so many generations of his forefathers. While still little more than a youngster, he had developed a very pretty taste for the gaming-table, which it was impossible to gratify at Broome. So one day, after he had been nearly yawning himself to death for a week, and after a more pronounced tiff than usual with my lady, whose penurious ways were a terrible annoyance to him, he discovered that important business called him to London, and there, a few days later, his yellow posting-chariot deposited him.

After this, Broome saw little of its master except at infrequent intervals. His visits rarely lasted longer than a fortnight at a time, after which he would be off again, either to London, or to the country house of one or another of his many friends. Meanwhile, Lady Pengarvon vegetated from year end to year end in the gloomy old house, seeing scarcely any company and rarely going from home, bringing up her daughters, giving sparingly to the poor, and being exercised in her mind for weeks before she ventured on the extravagance of ordering a new gown. All this time no heir male came to gladden his parents' hearts. Sir Jasper felt himself to be a deeply injured man, while his wife pined in secret and shut herself up from the world more closely than ever. The Baronet had not been idle all this time.

He had been doing his best, with the aid of the gaming-table, to dissipate the broad acres which had come down to him from a dozen generations of thrifty ancestors. It was a pleasant life, but unfortunately it couldn't last for ever. The end came when his eldest daughter was seventeen years old. His own fortune, his THE PENGAR VONS OF BROOME. 17 wife's fortune, the proceeds of the sale of every acre of land and every foot of timber that he had the power to sell, had slipped through his fingers as easily as water through a sieve, till nothing was left save the old house of Broome, with a few acres of sparsely-timbered land about it, together with two small farms of the rental value of eighty pounds a year each, which it was not in the Baronet's power to touch. Beyond that the ruin was complete.

It was when affairs had come to this pass that Lady Pengarvon took it into her head to die. Her husband admitted that, under the circumstances, it was the most sensible thing she could have done. The poor lady was well out of her troubles. Hardly was the funeral over before the Baronet packed off his daughters to some of their mother's relatives, and shut up the house, after which nothing definite was known as to his movements for nearly three years. At the end of that time information came to hand that Sir Jasper Pengarvon was about to take to himself a second wife, in the person of the daughter of a rich London drysalter, with a fortune of twenty-five thousand pounds. The new Lady Pengarvon proved to be an unrefined, good natured woman, who had probably been very pretty when she was a dozen years younger.

Between her and the young ladies, her step-daughters, there was a great gulf, which they took care she should never overpass. She was their father's wife, and as such they treated her with civility and a certain amount of respect; but it was with a civility that chilled, and with a respect which seemed ever to imply, " We cannot rid ourselves of you, and consequently must tolerate you, but don't look to us for anything more." At the end of half a dozen years the second Lady Pengarvon went the way of her predecessor, fading slowly out of life under the cold, watchful eyes of Miss Barbara and her sister, which seemed to say, "We know you can't last long, and we shall not mourn you over-much when you are gone." She left behind her B

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. one little daughter, Isabel by name, who was at once packed off to a sister of her mother, near London ; then the two Misses Pengarvon breathed more freely, and felt that Providence had not been unkind to them. Meanwhile, Sir Jasper had resumed his old career in London as though there had never been a break in it. The young ladies saw little more of their father after the second Lady Pengarvon's death than they had before. He went down to Broome occasionally for a few days at a time, but that was all. He lived five years longer ; then one morning he was found dead in his Mayfair lodging with a bullet through his heart. Once more he had come to the end of his resources. It was hope less to think of marrying a third fortune. There stared him in the face an old age of obscure penury away from the haunts he loved so well, and the prospect daunted him.

He died as hc had lived, an utter pagan. A few years later, the aunt with whom Isabel had gone to live died, and Miss Pengarvon found herself under the necessity of sending Barney Dale for the child, there being no other home for her than Broome. Isabel at this time was a blue-eyed, yellow-haired, little lady of seven, the very presentment in features and expression of a certain youthful Miss Pengarvon whose portrait by Sir Joshua graced the gallery at Broome. In truth, the drysalter's little grand-daughter had all the traditional beauty of the women of her father's race — a beauty which had so unaccountably lapsed in the case of her elder half-sisters, niece though their mother had been to an earl. It was in the dusk of an autumn afternoon that Barney Dale and his charge reached Broome. The Misses Pengarvon were awaiting the child in the old oak parlour, which even on the brightest day in summer was gloomy and full of strange shadows.

The elder sister came forward a step or two, and taking Isabel by the hand, gazed down in frowning silence on the fair young lace, which returned her look with wondering, frightened eyes. A faint momentary colour flushed her sallow" cheeks. Then THE PENGARVONS OF PRO O.ME. 19 she stooped and pressed her thin, cold lips to Isabel's forehead. " So, you are come back to Broome, child. They had better have found you another home," she said in her dry, hard voice, in which not the slightest chord of sympathy ever seemed to vibrate. Miss Letitia, who copied her sister in everything, went through a similar formula. Isabel gazed from one stern sad-faced woman to the other, and her lips quivered. She turned and clung to Barney's arm. '• Oh, take me away ! take me away ! I want to go back ! " she cried.

Miss Pengarvon turned away in high displeasure, and Barney led the tearful child from the room. That first night, and many nights afterwards, Isabel cried herself to sleep in the huge four-poster, with its funeral draperies, in which they put her to bed. All her life she had been used to being petted and made much of, and had hardly known what it was to be alone. But now she was left by herself in a great ghostly room from six o'clock at night till seven next morning. She felt herself to be quite an unconsidered trifle in that huge ■ocean of bed. She was morally sure that those grim por traits on the walls — dark, frowning gentlemen in perukes and embroidered clothes, and stately ladies in hoops and high-heeled shoes — whispered to each other about her, Isabel Pengarvon ; .and that after the candle was taken away they stepped down out of their frames, and hastened to join the other ghosts in the long gallery, where they danced and flirted and took snuff with each other, till some watchful cock on a far-away farm sounded the warning note which sent them back to their faded frames, there to attitudinise in silent mockery till another midnight should come round.